I’m so swamped with customers that it doesn’t register until noon that something’s different.

I didn’t bother to look across at Medium Roast when I got in this morning. I don’t want to see her over there, hating the hell out of me. There was no spare time, anyway, what with all the coffee to brew and suppliers to double-check with for the Tuesday morning delivery. Everything might be in shambles, but I’ll have coffee to sell.

They start coming in the moment I open the doors—hesitant people, caps pulled low, like they’re ashamed to be here. One woman in a hot pink exercise outfit looks down at her shoes the entire time she’s in the shop, shoving a ten into my hand for her latte and calling keep the change over her shoulder while she rushed out. Her yoga bag knocked against her leg with every step.

Brew the coffee. Make the drinks. That’s all I’m thinking about, other than how Rosie’s doing. I know how she’s doing. She’s with Norma, so she’ll be having a wonderful time.

At noon, there’s a sudden slacking in the traffic until at twelve fifteen, I’m behind the counter at an empty shop.

I give myself three minutes to breathe deeply, and then I go out into the shop with the cleaning spray and a fresh rag.

The sight through the front window stops me short.

There’s almost nobody standing in front of Medium Roast for the first time in three days. I wrack my brain. They were definitely out there this morning when I drove up. I noticed at least that much. It was the usual crowd, plus a few more, and nobody that came in all morning mentioned a curiously empty sidewalk.

It’s empty now except for one man stalking across in front of Medium Roast. It’s Walt, and he’s conspicuous as hell, hands stuck in his pockets and a scowl on his face.

But Walt’s not the most interesting thing.

The most interesting thing is that Medium Roast is closed. The door is shut tight. And all the windows are covered in butcher paper.

Did Ellie’s aunt and uncle have the shop closed overnight? I guess it’s a possibility. After I didn’t back down, maybe she decided to do something else with her life and they decided to abandon ship. I try to ignore the sinking feeling in my gut. I’ve got her number, but that can change in an instant. If she’s already gone, I might never see her again.

But then—no, there she is, running from around the corner. There’s a little-used strip of parking spaces back there. Ellie’s wearing a baseball cap, but I’d know those curves anywhere. She sprints to the front door of Medium Roast and knocks on it. The door swings open right away to reveal a tall blonde whose ragged clothes are doing nothing to hide a model physique. Who the hell is that? Once Ellie’s inside, she sticks her head out the door and peers across the street, right at me. I spin away from the window and pretend to be furiously wiping at an already clean tabletop. It’s a good look.

The next time I check, the door is shut. There’s no sign of anything going on inside.

I’m left to wonder.

* * *

Until the sun sets.

Rosie is fussy all evening. She doesn’t want to lay in her bed. She doesn’t want to be held. We’re both at our wit’s end by the time I bundle her into her car seat and start the engine. I don’t know where we’re going, but we’ll drive all night if we get a break from the fuss.

There’s no reason Ellie should still be at Medium Roast. I’m dying to know what they’re doing inside. I’ll look like a fucking stalker if I go up to the door to read the sign, though, and nobody who’s come in has mentioned anything to me. They were tourists desperate for a caffeine fix. What’s it matter to them if the shop across the street is closed?

I drive five under through downtown, playing a Tom Petty album on my car’s speakers. Aside from The Song, this is the only music that calms Rosie. No surprises there. When she was a newborn baby with her clock reversed, I’d play it softly while I rocked her in her nursery. She wouldn’t sleep then—try convincing her of anything she doesn’t want to do—but she would lay in my arms, content.

I expect to see nothing when we roll through downtown. It’s late.

My heart leaps when I see something.

“Yite,” pipes up Rosie from the backseat. That one word, and then she starts singing a little wordless tune, so sweet it breaks my heart all over again.

She’s right. There is light. Everything on Main Street is shut down, but Medium Roast, in its perch on the corner, is glowing from the inside. The light comes through the butcher paper like one of those flaming lanterns everybody loves to light during festivals. They’ve got to have some kind of work light in there because the regular lights would never glow so brightly.

As I pass by, a shadow stands out on the paper. I recognize her from here. Every inch of me tenses. I want to pull the car over and go in and help. I want my own store to succeed, too, but it would feel good to be there for her right now. It would feel great to be in that room with her alone, work clothes and all, side by side. 

Or on the floor.

I’m hard before I can stop the thought, before I can shove it back into the Pandora’s box it came from. That’s over now unless a miracle happens, and I saw the look in Ellie’s eyes. She’s not going to suffer that more than once. She finally got herself to safety. There’s no way she’d risk it for me. Not a second time.

I want to stop, but I don’t. I keep driving, away from the downtown. Under one of the last streetlights, I glance in the rearview mirror. Rosie has fallen asleep.