I was exactly on time. It's 9:20. For me, that's on time. They walked. The thing about walking through Silver Creek with Ryder Kain, Clara discovered almost immediately was that he did it without apology.
He didn't hunch or shuffle or make himself smaller to avoid attention. He walked the way he stood, like the space he occupied was his, not borrowed. He nodded at people they passed with a directness that wasn't unfriendly, but wasn't performing friendliness either. Just, I see you. You exist.
Moving on. Clara, who had spent 3 years navigating the sympathetic attention of this town by making herself as unremarkable as possible, found herself walking differently next to him. Her shoulders went back. Not deliberately. It just happened.
The way your posture adjusts to whoever you're walking with. Walt. Ryder said as old Walt Carson and his perpetually outraged dog came toward them. Morning, Ryder. Miss Clara.
Walt's eyes moved between them with an interest he didn't even try to suppress. Fine day. It is, Clara said. They passed. Clara heard Walt's footsteps slow behind them and resisted turning around.
Harriet Bloom was outside the dry goods and she did what Harriet always did, which was become very busy with some small task that happened to face the street. Harriet, Clara called. Harriet looked up with a smile that was about 40% genuine warmth and 60% burning curiosity. Clara and Mr. Cain, isn't it?
Are you two just taking the morning air? Ryder said, "How's your husband's back, Mrs. Bloom? " Harriet blinked at the subject change, then remembered to answer. Better actually since he stopped loading the flour sacks himself. They moved on.
How do you know about her husband's back? Clara asked when they were passed. I loaded some of his flour sacks last week. Ryder said he mentioned it. You just help people randomly.