So far, Miranda Buckley is raising the child of her ex-lover, Dougie. Dougie hasn't been seen or made contact in over a year, but suddenly he has called her. Now she is afraid that he has come to take his son back. She has confronted a teacher of Waylon's, thinking it will help.

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Mitch takes me to lunch at a small cafe just outside of town. It's about the only place where we can eat in peace. Every place in town has locals coming up, interrupting any conversations we try to have. Of course, being the sheriff of the county, he can't tell them to buzz off. He's polite and cordial and everything that I wouldn't be. I never look up or make eye contact basically because my face can't keep a secret. If I'm aggravated, it shows. And constant interruptions are aggravating.

I'm not gonna lie when I say it kind of pisses me off when people look at me like I'm not worthy to be with Mitch. He's a grown up. He can pick to be with whoever he wants, and he has picked me. Suck on that Patterson County.

I remember once when a county commissioner came over just to say hello to Mitch while we were out to dinner. The look on his face, or rather, disbelief on his face when he found out I worked for a gas station and was dating the esteemed sheriff of the county, was irksome. I didn't say anything, even though the words were steamrolling towards the end of my tongue.

Mitch looked over at me after the commissioner was gone. "Really, Miranda?"

"I didn't say anything," I said through clenched teeth.

"You didn't have to. That look you gave him could have curdled milk."

"In my defense, he was very judgmental. Did you notice how he looked at me when I told him where I worked?"

Mitch shrugged. "So what, he's a blowhard. If you haven't noticed, I love you. I don't care what other people think about you or me. You shouldn't either."

But today, we are about the only people in the cafe. We place our orders and Mitch brings up the teacher. "Did you send a note like I suggested?"

I shrug and start to straighten the slight wrinkle out of the corner of linen napkin.

"You didn't, did you? You went in true Miranda style, guns blazing and left him for dead." He does this half laugh that implies he isn't amused.

"I like the direct approach. Things can be misconstrued in texts and notes. I just asked him to give Waylon a little grace. That's all."

"Did you tell Waylon you were going to speak with his teacher?"

"I don't remember." Impatiently, I look towards the kitchen for our waitress. "Where's our food, I'm starving."

"Look, I know you love that kid. I know you'd do anything for him. But sometimes, you have to let a kid figure things out, by themselves. They will come to you for advice if they need it."

"He's had to figure things out for most of his life, Mitch. I just wanted to fight one battle for him. Is that so wrong?"

He reaches over and takes my hand in his. "No. He's lucky to have you in his corner. And I mean that. But you need to look at why you did what you did. Was it for him or for you?"

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After lunch we head to my house for a little alone time before Waylon gets home from school. Thankfully, Aaron's truck is gone again, otherwise, he would have invited himself over like he always does.

While I fix a pot of coffee for us, Mitch sits in the kitchen chair and ties his shoes. "Hey, they found out who those other two bodies were from Haynes Pond. Two Federal Agents. Apparently, they came down from the D.C. area because of a tip off that moonshine was being funneled from Patterson to Raleigh and Durham. They must have been on that old bridge at the same time as Aaron's great uncle. The weight of both cars caused it to collapse. The Haynes family didn't want to get in trouble for letting bootleggers use their land and never reported it."

"Damn," I say. "Can you imagine the hell of waiting for any word on your loved one and never knowing why they didn't come home?"

"No. But those were different times. Still, if there are any family members left, they'll get closure now."

I hand him a mug of coffee and we head out to the deck. The smoke halo of Mrs. Fine can be seen against the bright September sky.

Mitch looks over and waves. "Afternoon, Mrs. Fine."

She tilts her head to the side and puffs on her rank smelling cigarette. "Afternoon, Sheriff. You here on business or pleasure?" When she opens her mouth, a cloud of smoke billows out.

"I'm off duty."

She flicks the cigarette butt into the road. "I like having a cop in the neighborhood. Makes a woman like me feel safe."

I roll my eyes. "Like anybody would mess with that old hag," I whisper.

Mitch nudges me. "Glad I can be of service," he calls back.

"And, Miranda, my hearing is twenty-twenty."

I try not to look at Mitch. I know he's thinking this is the funniest thing. I hear the bus as its brakes protest at the bus stop.

I can tell by Waylon's walk that he's had a rough day. I see the eyebrows that are scrunched down over his eyes. He stomps up the stairs to the deck and storms past us without a word.

"Rough day?" I ask.

He grabs the door handle and stops. "Stay out of my life, Miranda. Stay the hell out of my life."

That's when I realize I should have listened to Mitch. That is the exact moment I realize that even though I have learned to recognize red flags in others, I still don't see my own.

I hop up to follow him, but Mitch grabs my arm. "You, go for a walk. I'll go talk to him."

"He isn't gonna listen to you."

Mitch kissed my forehead. "I'm not the one who screwed up his life."