Driftwood Bay

by Irene Hannon

  As he pulled away from the wharf, he glanced at his passenger in the rearview mirror.

  Molly remained focused on the taco stand.

  Understandable.

  With his magic tricks and animal friends, Charley was an intriguing personality.

  He was also informative.

  Logan hung a left.

  In a handful of minutes, he’d learned more about his neighbor than he had during his two encounters with her.

  But the new information had only generated other questions.

  Like . . . why had she moved here—alone?

  Why had she tackled such a huge project—alone?

  Where had she come from—and who had she left behind?

  What did she do in the meager free time she had—and why did she prefer to have so little of it?

  He swung onto Highway 101.

  Perhaps, in the weeks ahead, he’d discover some of those answers.

  And when he did, might those answers lead to one of the unexpected blessings the taco man had said were standard fare in Hope Harbor?

  Logan gave a soft snort as he accelerated toward home.

  Entertaining such a fanciful notion was as foolish as the idea that drawing a picture could conjure up a friend.

  Yet . . . somehow both had seemed plausible while they’d been speaking with Charley.

  And for whatever reason, the tiny spark of hope that had ignited in his heart during their visit with the taco man refused to be extinguished.

  Many thanks to all who contributed to and attended the welcome party for the Shabo family last night. If you know of anyone who has experience teaching English, please contact Reverend Baker ASAP. The graduate student who had volunteered to instruct the Shabos had an unexpected offer of a summer internship in Europe and won’t be able to assist.

  Jeannette set down her mug of tea and reread the short notice in the church bulletin she’d brought home from services this morning.

  The Syrian family had no one to teach them English?

  This was a disaster.

  Without language skills, they’d have huge difficulty functioning on their own and assimilating. That, in turn, would lead to a feeling of isolation.

  A demoralizing situation for anyone, but far worse for a family already reeling from loss and trying to adjust to the shock of living in a place that was a world away—in every sense—from the home they’d left behind.

  Jeannette pulled the tea bag out of the hot water before the brew got too strong and took a sip.

  Chamomile was always comforting.

  But less than usual today, with the faces of the family she’d met at last night’s party strobing through her mind.

  Based on her short encounter with them, they all appeared to have an extremely limited grasp of the language—and they couldn’t hire a translator to shadow them day and night.

  You could tutor them, Jeannette.

  At the silent prod, her heart skipped a beat.

  Yes, she could.

  Who better to step forward than a former teacher who’d once volunteered to coach immigrants on language skills?

  She picked up her mug. Wrapped her fingers around the warmth that had seeped through the ceramic. Read the inscription on this remnant from her old life, a gift from her parents on her twenty-first birthday.

  The Best Is Yet To Come.

  Pressure built in her throat.

  That was how Mom and Dad had lived life, with optimism and hope and eager anticipation.

  It was how they’d hoped she’d live her life too.

  And she had—until the day her world changed forever.

  Jeannette ran her finger around the once-smooth rim that was now marred by a couple of chips. Eyed the faint stains inside that refused to come off no matter how hard she scrubbed. Reread the sentiment that had faded a bit—on the mug, and in her heart.

  Skimming the notice in the bulletin again, she took another sip of tea.

  “Ignoring an obvious need would be wrong.”

  As Charley’s comment replayed in her mind, guilt tugged at her conscience.

  But that was silly. The man had been talking about tacos.

  Hadn’t he?

  She sighed.

  Hard to tell with the philosophizing artist.

  Whatever his intent, though, the statement fit this situation.

  The truth was, she could spare a few hours a week to help the Shabo family learn English.

  And it wasn’t as if she had to make a personal investment. If she guarded her heart, a bit of tutoring shouldn’t be a problem.

  Still . . . there was a risk. As experience had taught her, she had a tendency to get too involved in the lives of her students.

  Cradling the mug in her hand, she leaned back in her chair.

  Maybe she should mull over the idea rather than dismiss it outright. That way, if she decided not to follow through after careful consideration, there might be less guilt. It would be a rational, rather than an emotional, choice. In fact, if she waited a day—or two—it was possible someone else would volunteer and she’d be off the hook.

  Yes.

  That was a sound plan.

  Jeannette pushed back her chair and rose. Her tearoom guests would be arriving in two hours, and several chores remained on her prep list. That would keep her hands—and her mind—occupied for most of the day.

  She pinned the church bulletin to her corkboard and detoured into her office to check her voicemail for any last-minute cancellations.

  The light was blinking, and the digital display indicated there was one message.

  She pressed play.

  “Jeannette—Logan West here. After we saw you on Friday, I explained to Molly that you ran a tearoom. I have no idea if what you do is appropriate for children her age, but if it is, I’d like to bring her next weekend, assuming a reservation is available. Either day is fine. You can call me on my cell.”

  As he recited the number, Jeannette stared at the wall.

  Logan West wanted to come to tea?

  Another unsettling surprise on this Sunday.

  She replayed the message and jotted down his number, then flipped open her reservation book.

  There was one opening on Saturday, thanks to a cancellation.

  Fate—or coincidence?

  No matter.

  Logan was simply another customer. He’d come to tea, eat her scones and savories and sweets, and disappear back behind the tall hedge after it was over.

  Yet the mere thought of the handsome doctor sitting in her tearoom released a swarm of butterflies in her stomach.

  How ridiculous was that?

  Huffing out a breath, she left his number in the office and headed for the tearoom kitchen. She’d deal with his reservation later.

  Like she’d deal with the item in the bulletin later.

  The decision on the tea, however, was a no-brainer.

  Of course she’d accept his reservation. Turning away a paying customer wasn’t smart business—even if having him on her turf made her uncomfortable for reasons she didn’t care to analyze.

  The tutoring gig was less cut-and-dried.

  She knew what she should do—but she wasn’t yet ready to commit.

  Jeannette picked up her mug to take one last sip before plunging into the final preparations for today’s guests.

  But the brew had gone tepid—unlike her life, which was heating up.

  Too bad the reverse wasn’t true. A tepid life was preferable to tepid tea any day.

  Trouble was, she had the strangest feeling that trying to control this situation was going to be a losing battle.

  And for a woman who’d vowed not to get tangled up in other people’s lives, that was flat-out unnerving.

  8

  Molly was a mess.

  As the preschool director brought her out by the hand to the reception area, the girl’s puffy red eyes, blotchy face, and quivering lower lip spelled misery in capital letters.

  Logan’s sto
mach kinked.

  What on earth had happened during her orientation day to cause a meltdown so severe the director had called him at noon on this Monday to come and pick her up?

  Laura Wilson offered him an apologetic look as she approached. “I’m sorry we had to send out an SOS. That’s a rare occurrence.”

  “No problem.” He knelt in front of Molly and brushed some wisps of hair back from her tearstained cheeks. “Hey. It’s okay, sweetie. I’ll fix whatever’s wrong.”

  She hiccupped a sob and clutched his hand with her tiny, cold fingers. “I want to g-go home.”

  “That’s where I’m taking you.”

  “And I don’t want to c-come back here. I don’t like this p-place.” Another tear trailed down her cheek.

  That didn’t make sense.

  The school had first-rate credentials. On his tour the staff had appeared to be attentive, the children happy. The facility was well-equipped and spotless.

  It had seemed ideal.

  “Mr. West . . . perhaps we could talk for a moment over there?” The director indicated a small seating area in the corner. “Or we could schedule a phone call later in the day.”

  Waiting to hear what had caused this disaster wasn’t an option.

  He stood, resting one hand on Molly’s shuddering shoulder. “We can talk now. Do you have a few picture books Molly could page through while we chat?”

  “We have a whole library. Give me two minutes.” She disappeared back through the secure door.

  He dropped to one knee again. “What happened, sweetie? Was someone mean to you this morning?”

  “No.”

  “Did you fall down or get hurt?”

  “No.”

  “Did the other children play with you?”

  “I didn’t want to play.”

  “Why not?”

  Her voice dropped so low he had to lean close to hear her answer. “I was s-scared.”

  Logan frowned. “Why were you scared?”

  “I was ’fraid m-maybe you wouldn’t c-come back.”

  The kink in his stomach tightened. “I told you I would. And I always do what I say, don’t I?”

  “Y-yes—but Nana said she’d take care of me too . . . and then she went a-away.” She clutched his hand again, her grip surprisingly strong, desperation radiating from her quivering frame. “I don’t want to stay here. I want to stay at your house. Please.”

  The door clicked behind him, signaling the director’s return.

  How to respond?

  Hard as he tried to think of a reassuring reply, nothing came to mind.

  The truth was, he had to work—and there were no preschools in Hope Harbor . . . or anywhere near the urgent care center . . . that would allow him to run over between patients and on his lunch hour until Molly was satisfied he was close at hand and could be there in minutes if she needed him.

  “I’ll tell you what. Let me talk to Ms. Wilson, and we’ll work this out on the ride home.” He shifted toward the woman, and she handed him the picture books. He led Molly to a chair where she could see them but not hear their conversation. “I’ll be right over there.” He indicated the chairs. “In a few minutes we’ll go home and have lunch. Okay?”

  She sniffled, gauged the distance between herself and the chairs, and nodded.

  He followed the director over and took a seat facing Molly, while the woman claimed one angled toward him.

  “Again, I apologize for interrupting your day. We tried everything in our repertoire to console Molly, but nothing worked. Rather than further traumatize her, I made the call to have you come and pick her up.”

  “No apology necessary. But I don’t understand what happened. Molly was in preschool in San Francisco for three months prior to our move here, and while I saw a touch of separation anxiety at the beginning, it was nothing like this.”

  Truth be told, it had been far easier than he’d expected. From the day he’d brought her back to the West Coast with him after his mother’s funeral, she’d been docile and quiet and self-contained.

  Maybe too much so, in hindsight.

  She’d always done everything he’d told her to, but none of his attempts to win her trust and affection had produced results. No matter what he tried, he hadn’t been able to bridge the distance between them.

  Even getting a dog hadn’t been the instant magic elixir he’d hoped it would be—though that, at least, was beginning to show results.

  “Children can be very upset by disruptions in their world—and the more disruptions there are, the bigger the impact. It becomes harder and harder for them to adjust. Many children become clingy when their world is shaken. Have you noticed that sort of behavior recently?”

  “No. Just the opposite.”

  The woman’s brow knitted. “You mentioned Molly was in preschool for three months in San Francisco. Where was she before that?”

  “With my mother, in a small town in Missouri. Mom died four months ago, and I brought her to live with me.”

  “I saw on the application that you’re her uncle. May I ask about her parents?”

  “Her mother was never in the picture after she was born.” There was more to that story, but why share the details? “My brother had full custody. He tried raising Molly alone for the first two years, but he was in the military, and once he was deployed, he and Mom agreed it would be better for her if she stayed in Missouri.” Logan swallowed. “He was killed in the Middle East a year ago.”

  The woman’s features softened. “I’m so sorry for your losses.”

  “Thank you. I promised him I’d take Molly if anything ever happened to him and Mom couldn’t be her guardian—but to be honest, I never thought I’d have to make good on that pledge.”

  “Had you and Molly spent much time together before she came to live with you?”

  “No.”

  The woman glanced at his niece, who was watching them, finger stuck in her mouth. “After hearing your story, I can see why she’s having some trouble. People she loved are disappearing from her life, she’s been uprooted twice in less than six months, and she’s living with a relative she barely knows. That would be stressful for anyone, let alone a five-year-old.”

  Yeah, it would.

  But how was he supposed to fix this problem? He’d already changed his whole life to try and give her a more stable existence. Taken a new job with more reasonable hours, bought a house in a small town more conducive to raising a child than a large city like San Francisco, even thrown a dog into the mix. He read her fairy princess stories, was taking her to tea, catered to her food preferences. What more could he do?

  Logan massaged his temple, where a jackhammer was revving up. “I have no idea where to go from here—and I don’t have long to resolve this.”

  Like seven days.

  At this hour next week, he’d be on the job at the urgent care center.

  “I understand.” The woman linked her fingers in her lap. “You might want to consider a more intimate daycare arrangement. Perhaps you could find someone who could come to your home, or who watches only a couple of children in her home.”

  “Can you recommend anyone? I’m new to the area and haven’t met many people yet.”

  “I wish I could, but it’s against our policy—for liability reasons.”

  Yeah, he knew all about liability. Malpractice insurance was astronomical.

  “Any other suggestions?”

  She tipped her head. “If you’re a churchgoer, that could be a resource. Pastors often know of reliable people who are interested in that kind of work. Of course you’d still want to vet anyone you plan to hire.”

  A tall order to fill in one week.

  But that wasn’t Laura Wilson’s problem.

  He stood, and she followed suit as he extended his hand. “Thank you for calling me, and for all your insights.”

  “I wish I could do more.” She returned his shake with a firm clasp. “Molly’s a sweet girl, and I know in the appropriate
environment she’ll thrive.”

  “Finding that environment will be tricky.”

  “I hear you. But remember, the best thing you can do for a child whose world has been rocked is love them. Let Molly know you’re there for her. Cuddle her. Listen to her. Keep your promises. Eventually, once life settles into a routine, she’ll respond to your attempts to win her over.”

  “I hope you’re right. This single-parent gig is more challenging than I expected.”

  She smiled. “You’ll get the hang of it. I talk to dozens of parents a week in this job, and I have positive vibes about you. Once you get the daycare situation worked out and Molly is comfortable, I think the two of you will do fine.”

  “I appreciate the encouragement.”

  But as he took Molly’s hand and they left the building, the woman’s expression of confidence wasn’t enough to quell his rising panic.

  Finding a daycare arrangement fast that met both his criteria and Molly’s needs was a daunting task.

  All he could do was pray—and hope an answer came to him sooner rather than later.

  Otherwise, he’d be reporting to his first day on the job with a child in tow.

  And while his experience and credentials had allowed him to negotiate a number of family-friendly job perks, onsite childcare hadn’t been one of them.

  Meaning the clock was ticking on finding an arrangement for Molly that didn’t add more stress to her already topsy-turvy world.

  So Molly was Logan’s niece, not his daughter.

  Jeannette sat back in her patio chair and reread Marci’s Herald interview with the new urgent care doctor, which answered some of her questions about her neighbor.

  For example—there was no wife . . . or girlfriend . . . or significant other.

  Nevertheless, he’d taken on the role of Molly’s guardian after his brother was killed in the Middle East and his mother died suddenly of a heart attack.

  She folded the paper and set it on the table, watching an optimistic bee flit from lavender plant to lavender plant—much too early in the season for the sweetness it was seeking. The plants weren’t yet ready to nurture a large population of bees.

  Kind of like Logan didn’t appear ready to nurture a young niece.