He never meant for anything to go that far. That had always somehow been enough of an excuse before. It wasn't going to be enough today. Ren heard about it 40 minutes later, standing behind the counter at the bakery when Earl himself came through the door, still in his day off clothes, face tight with worry. Ren, he said before the bell over the door had even finished ringing.
You need to hear this from me before you hear it from somebody else. She set down the tray she was holding. Something in his face told her whatever came next mattered. Nora and Frank. Earl said this morning on the bus.
Colton boy shoved past Frank, knocked his cane, and then grabbed Norah's wrist when she stepped in to stop him. She almost went down. She's all right. The baby's fine. They checked her at the clinic just to be sure.
But Ren, he stopped, hands opening and closing at his sides. An old man with no outlet for the anger sitting in his chest. It could have gone a lot worse. Ren stood very still. Something in her, something that had been kept quiet on purpose for a year and a half, something she had built entire routines and bakery shifts and bus rides around keeping still, shifted.
Not rage, something steadier than rage. The old discipline surfacing cleareyed already three steps ahead of her feelings because something had changed in the equation. This wasn't about her anymore. This wasn't a boy putting his boot on her own memory of a friend she'd lost. This was an old man nearly knocked down and a pregnant woman nearly hurt on a bus that ran the same route at the same time every single day.
"If it had happened once, it would happen again." "Where are they now?" She asked, already untying her apron. Norah's at the clinic. They're keeping her for observation just to be safe.
Frank went home. Said his knee needed rest. Earl hesitated. Ren, I don't know what you're thinking, but that boy still out there riding around with his friends like nothing happened. Cocky as ever.