Mara found the blue umbrella behind the bakery counter, its handle wrapped in a strip of silver tape. She had left it there three weeks ago, on the afternoon her brother called from the hospital. Now the rain tapped at the shop windows, and the man waiting for his coffee kept glancing at his watch. “I'm kind of in a rush, can we make it quick?” he said. Mara looked up. It was Daniel, though his hair had gone gray at the . “It's been a while, hasn't it?” she said.
He smiled as if he had expected her to say something else. They stood beside the counter while the coffee machine hissed. Daniel asked about her brother. Mara’s hand tightened around the umbrella. “Let's not go there,” she said, then softened her voice. “Not yet.” He nodded. “All right. Let's take it one step at a time.” The words sounded familiar, though she could not place when she had last heard them.
A woman came in shaking rain from her coat and asked whether the bus would end before evening. Daniel said he had heard the drivers might return tomorrow. “Let's not jump to conclusions,” Mara said, wiping the counter. “The last time they promised that, we all walked home.” Daniel laughed. “I can't argue with that.” The woman left with her coffee, and the shop fell quiet again. Outside, a bus moved through the rain, almost empty.
Daniel pointed to the umbrella. “You kept it.” “I meant to bring it back,” Mara said. “I just kept forgetting.” He looked at the silver tape. “You fixed the handle.” She had, the night her brother came home, while he slept in the next room. Daniel reached for the umbrella, then stopped. “I've got a gut feeling about this,” he said. “You should keep it.” Mara almost told him the feeling was wrong. Instead she said, “Let's play it by ear.” It was not an answer, but it gave them somewhere to stand.
When Daniel’s coffee was ready, he set a coin beside the cup. It rolled toward the edge. Mara caught it before it fell. “You nearly made me clean up after you,” she said. “I'll let it slide this time,” he replied. At the door, he paused and looked at the rain. “Maybe we can have coffee again.” Mara watched his hand over the umbrella. “Let's not jinx it,” she said. He left without taking it. For the first time in weeks, she did not feel she had to decide what that meant.
