My mother had ignored every instruction her doctor gave her. Her arm was still in a sling, yet she was already back behind the counter, serving customers with the same stubborn determination I had inherited from her.

She was refilling a truck driver’s coffee when the bell above the entrance rang.

Travis Cain walked in as though the diner belonged to him. By then I’d begun to realize that, in his mind, it did. Up close he looked younger than I expected — early thirties, well groomed, broad shoulders, an expensive jacket, and the relaxed confidence of someone who had spent his whole life believing consequences were reserved for other people.

“Well,” he said, spotting my mother. “Look who’s back at work.” He slid onto a stool as casually as if it were any ordinary morning. “Your daughter come home, Evelyn?

I heard she flew in from wherever it is she plays soldier.”

My mother’s hand froze around the coffee pot. “Order something or leave, Travis.”