by Irene Hannon
“Sorry.” She glanced over at him.
“No. Go ahead.”
“I was going to say that in my previous life, I was an elementary school teacher.”
Aha.
That would explain her comfort level around Molly and her adept handling of the milk carton.
But it didn’t explain the reason behind her dramatic career shift.
“An unusual background for a lavender farm and tearoom business.” He kept his manner conversational. “What prompted the switch?”
She scanned the horizon, where a distant boat was silhouetted against the evening sky. “I needed a change of scene. Since I was relocating, I also decided to rethink my career. My mom and I had always talked about opening a tearoom, and years ago we visited a lavender farm together. I thought it would be fun to combine the two. Bayview Lavender Farm was the result.”
“Where was home before you came here?”
“Cincinnati.”
That was a dramatic change of scene.
“How did you end up in Hope Harbor?”
She shrugged. “After I decided to move, I did some traveling on the West Coast and stumbled onto this town. I stopped for tacos at Charley’s, immediately felt at home, discovered there were microclimates here perfect for growing lavender—and the rest is history. So how did you find Hope Harbor? There wasn’t much detail about that in Marci’s article.”
She was done sharing.
And that was okay—for now. She’d told him far more than he’d expected.
Yet questions remained.
Like . . . why had she needed a change of scene?
Who had she left behind?
Why did she keep to herself?
He wasn’t going to get those answers today, however. Best to follow her lead and switch gears.
“After I became Molly’s guardian, it didn’t take me long to realize my lifestyle wasn’t conducive to raising a family. I had a studio apartment, I worked long—and odd—hours, and after living in a small town in Missouri, Molly was bewildered and intimidated by the big city. The longer she was in San Francisco, the quieter she got.”
“It’s not unusual for children to withdraw if their world is disrupted. Either that, or they act out.”
“So I discovered after doing tons of research. I thought a smaller town, a house with a yard, and a job with more regular hours would be better for her.”
“Not to mention a dog.”
He grimaced. “A last-minute addition, the merits of which I’m still debating.”
Jeannette turned her attention to Molly and Toby. “They seem to have bonded.”
“Unlike her and me. She’s been living under my roof for four months, and she talks more to you and Elisa than she does to me.” He tried to keep his inflection neutral, but a tad of discouragement crept in.
“Talking to a peer is natural—and there’s no risk in communicating with me. If I disappeared tomorrow, it would have zero impact on her life. You’re a different story.”
That was a take he hadn’t considered.
“I see your point.”
“You didn’t tell me how you ended up here.”
He pulled up his legs and rested his forearms on his knees. “A coincidence, really. After I decided to change my lifestyle, I emailed a few classmates hoping for some leads. One of them came through. His son had fallen on some rocks and had to get stitches while they were vacationing in Oregon, and the urgent care center here was the closest place that could patch him up.”
“I assume your classmate found out they might be closing.”
“Bingo. The nurse who stitched up his son said the doctor in charge had taken the job temporarily to buy them time to find another director. He passed on the name of the clinic, I talked to them, visited the town, applied, and voila. Here I am.”
“You gave up a lot for Molly.” She cradled the damaged sand dollar in her palm as she studied him. “I’m impressed.”
Heat crept up his neck, and he busied himself gathering up the remains of their dinner. “I didn’t have much choice. I promised my brother I’d take her in if he or Mom weren’t there to raise her.”
“You did way more than that. You changed your whole life.”
“It was a healthy change for me too. I was becoming a workaholic. I needed to get some balance back.”
Silence fell between them, broken only by the boom of the surf crashing against the offshore sea stacks and the plaintive call of the two gulls circling above.
Jeannette hadn’t asked the most obvious question, but she had to be wondering where Molly’s mother was—and he’d promised to tell her the story.
As if she’d read his mind, she sent him a sidelong glance. “Since you’re Molly’s guardian, I assume her mother isn’t in the picture.”
Logan stuffed their trash with more force than necessary into one of the empty bags. “No. She never has been.” This was the ugly part of the story. The part he saw no reason to share with the world.
But Jeannette wasn’t the world.
She was . . .
Frowning, Logan crimped the bag in his fingers.
What was she exactly?
She was too new in his life to be a friend—but she felt like more than a mere acquaintance.
She felt like a woman who had potential to be—
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.” Jeannette started to rise. “It’s getting late, and—”
“Wait.” He touched her arm. “I said I’d tell you the story, and I will. It’s just that I haven’t shared this with many people.”
Like none.
She hesitated. “I won’t hold you to that promise. I understand about wanting to keep some things private.”
“I appreciate that—but I’d like you to know the history. Please stay.” He didn’t touch her hand, as Molly had when she’d made the same plea—but the temptation to do so was strong.
So strong he gripped the bag tighter to keep his hands out of trouble.
A few beats passed, but at last she settled back onto the blanket.
He exhaled . . . set the bag beside him . . . and dived in. “My brother was a good man, but being a soldier is a lonely, nomadic business. While he was doing some training at Fort Hood, he had a brief liaison with a woman he met in a bar. She ended up getting pregnant—and she did not want the baby. She told my brother she intended to get an abortion, and demanded he pay for it.”
“He obviously convinced her to rethink that decision.”
“Yes—but it cost him. She milked his bank account dry while she was pregnant. He did have the foresight early on to hire an attorney, who drew up an ironclad agreement in which she agreed to waive her parental rights in exchange for full financial support during her pregnancy and a hefty lump sum payment. Otherwise, the whole mess could have gotten even uglier.”
She shook her head. “Children too often become a pawn in a situation like that.”
“True.”
“Did your mom step in to help after Molly was born?”
“Not in the beginning. My brother wasn’t stationed anywhere near Missouri, and he didn’t expect our mom to leave the home she’d lived in all of her married life. For the first two years, he raised Molly alone and used on-base daycare. But once he got deployed, leaving Molly with Mom was the best option.”
“It’s obvious she loved her Nana.”
“Yeah.” He linked his fingers. “She would have been a better person to raise Molly through childhood and adolescence. The learning curve on this single-parenting gig is steeper than I expected—and knowing a child is relying on you for everything can be overwhelming.”
He looked over at her, and for one brief, unguarded moment he caught a touch of . . . tenderness? . . . in her eyes.
She cleared her throat and fiddled with the laces on her sport shoe. “I can’t begin to imagine what a challenge this has been for you. But from what I’ve observed, you’re doing a terrific job.”
Her praise warmed him�
�even if he wasn’t certain it was warranted.
“Thanks, but some days I—”
Molly shrieked, and he vaulted to his feet. Beside him, Jeannette scrambled up too.
False alarm.
His niece had gotten a bit too close to where the surf was breaking against a large rock, and the salt spray had rained down on her.
Nevertheless, it took a few moments for his heart to downshift.
“I think that’s our cue to exit. Those wet clothes will have to be changed.” He cupped his hands around his mouth. “Molly! Time to go.”
She swiveled toward them . . . hesitated . . . then plodded across the sand, Toby at her heels.
“You may want to have the leash ready.” Jeannette scooped it up and passed it to him surreptitiously. “If I distract your canine friend, you might be able to catch him off guard.”
“Good thinking.”
As the two approached, Jeannette got down on one knee. “Did you get wet, boy?”
Toby trotted to her, always up for an ear rub, and as she talked to him Logan snapped on the leash.
The instant it clicked, the dog realized he’d been had and let loose with an ear-splitting howl.
“Toby.” Logan fished a doggie treat out of his pocket and waited until he had the beagle’s attention. “Kunn hadyaan.”
The dog stopped mid-howl . . . sat on his haunches . . . and waited for the treat.
Jeannette stared at him. “What did you say to get him to do that?”
“I think it means be quiet in Arabic. It’s the command Thomma uses.”
“That’s amazing.”
“It’s more than that. It’s a miracle.” Logan rested his hand on Molly’s shoulder. “Ready to go?”
“Do we have to?”
“Yes. It’s getting cooler, and your shirt’s wet. Besides, Thomma will be coming soon to work with Toby on the fence.” He held the leash out to Jeannette. “Will you keep a tight grip on this while I fold up the blanket?”
“Sure.”
His hand brushed hers as he passed the strap over, and despite the chill in the early evening air, a little spurt of electricity zipped up his arm, warming him to the core.
The slight hitch in her breathing suggested she’d had a similar reaction.
That could be a positive omen for the future—once life quieted down.
If it ever quieted down.
After dismantling the remains of their picnic, he fell in behind Jeannette and Molly as they took the lead on the return trip.
The two of them chatted during the entire walk, but Molly fell silent once they arrived at the lavender farm.
“I meant to ask you while we were on the beach—were you able to make any arrangements for tomorrow?” Jeannette dipped her chin toward his niece.
“Not yet. It’s my top priority tonight. Worst case, I can take her to the Shabos.”
“Will Mariam be up to babysitting tomorrow?”
“Probably not—but I’m keeping it as a backup plan.”
“I’ll tell you what . . . why don’t you let her come over here again? I’ll be home all day. I’m not set up for a dog in the house or the workshop, but I’ll be happy to walk Toby during the day.”
“I couldn’t impose again.” Much as he’d like to take the easy way out, if he overextended his welcome he might wear it out. “I don’t want to disrupt your work.”
“I don’t mind.”
“Please, Uncle Logan.”
“Sweetie, it wouldn’t be—” He blinked.
Wait.
She’d called him Uncle Logan.
That was a first.
All these months, she’d avoided calling him anything. While she’d referred to him as her uncle to other people, she’d never addressed him with that title.
Maybe they were beginning to turn a corner.
And if they were, he wasn’t going to jinx it by refusing her request—even at the risk of wearing out his welcome with Jeannette.
“Okay.” The tiny smile she gave him was more than sufficient reward for capitulating. He refocused on Jeannette. “I really will owe you after this.”
“No. I’ll enjoy it as much as she will.”
Toby tugged on the leash, obviously eager to eat his own dinner.
“I have to feed the pup. Can I drop Molly off around eight?”
“That’ll be fine. Thanks for dinner.”
“My pleasure.” He took his niece’s hand. “Time to head home, sweetie.”
“I wish we didn’t have to go.”
That made two of them.
“You’ll be back tomorrow.” Toby strained against the leash again as Logan spoke to Jeannette. “See you soon.”
“Very.” Her lips curved up a hair. “Have a nice evening.”
He set off with his little entourage, down the hedge on Jeannette’s side.
As he rounded the corner at the end, toward his own driveway, he looked back.
She was standing where he’d left her, backlit by the golden sun that left her face in shadows—and unreadable.
Who knew what she was thinking?
But he did know one thing.
His evening would be much nicer if it included her.
Suggesting there could be serious potential ahead with his reclusive neighbor if she ever ventured out from behind the hedge around her property—and the walls around her heart.
16
“’Ami!” Thomma jolted to a stop in the kitchen doorway. “You’re not supposed to be putting weight on your foot.”
“I always fix your breakfast.”
“I don’t expect you to cook with a sprained ankle—or any day at five forty-five in the morning for that matter. I told you that when I started my job. Yogurt and bread will do today.”
“No they won’t. Breakfast is an important meal.”
He waved a hand in dismissal. “I’m not hungry anyway.”
“You will eat a meal if I prepare it.”
Yes, he would—especially if she’d gone to all this effort despite her injured ankle.
As she well knew.
“I wish you wouldn’t feel like you have to prepare food for me.” He huffed out a breath. “I’m a grown man. I can take care of myself.”
She froze for an instant, the spatula in her hand suspended above the fried egg in the pan on the stove. “I know that.” A quiver rippled through her words, and she gripped the edge of the counter. Flipped the egg.
Thomma frowned. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
But as she hobbled to the cabinet in the small kitchen to retrieve a plate, the shimmer in her eyes said otherwise.
His pulse stumbled.
“’Ami.” He closed the distance between them. “What’s going on? Does your ankle hurt? Do you want a painkiller?”
She angled away from him. “I’ll be done here in a few minutes. Once I sit, it won’t hurt.”
“Why don’t you sit now? I can finish up the breakfast.” He pulled out a chair.
“No. I have prepared breakfast for my family while feeling much worse than this. I’ll put my foot up after you’re gone.”
“But I can take over.”
“I know. You are a grown man, as you said. You don’t need me anymore.” She turned toward him, her back to the window, the sky outside not yet lightened by the sun. “But this is my life, Thomma. I cook and clean and do the laundry and keep the household running and love my family.” A tear leaked out of the corner of her eye, and she swiped it away. “The truth is, I need you more than you need me.”
Her admission was like a sucker punch to the gut.
Despite the strong front she presented to the world, his mother too had doubts and insecurities. The life she’d known had also vanished, and like him, she was searching for meaning in this new land.
Why had he never realized that?
Because you’ve been selfish, and you’ve only paid attention to your own problems.
The rebuke from his conscience
was harsh—but true.
He had to do better for this woman who’d been the glue in their family as far back as he could remember.
“You’re wrong, ’Ami.” He crossed to her and took the worn hands that had cared for him with such tenderness when he was a child. That were still caring for him—and his daughter. “I do need you. So does Elisa.”
“For now, maybe.”
“For always.”
She searched his face, straightened her shoulders, and tugged her hands free, her typical strong façade slipping back into place. “Your egg will burn. Sit. The meal is ready.”
He moved to the table, filled with as many of the breakfast foods from home as she could make from the ingredients she’d found at the local market. Like it had been in the old days, before terror and persecution and tragedy had driven them away from their native land.
His mother had always done her best for her family, no matter the cost to her.
Today was but the latest example.
Despite the pain in her ankle, she was cooking breakfast for her son because that’s what she did. Because she considered it her responsibility. Because this was what gave her life meaning.
She had to be wondering where she would find that meaning if he and Elisa had no need of her anymore.
The early hour, coupled with pain that could have disrupted her sleep, must have left her weary and disheartened—and pried open a crack in her armor, giving him a rare glimpse of the fear and vulnerability this rock of a woman usually kept under wraps.
Whatever the reason her fortitude had faltered in the pre-dawn hours of this May morning, it was an ice-water-in-the-face wake-up call. A sharp reminder that he wasn’t the only one struggling.
It was also disconcerting.
If someone as strong as ’Ami could stumble, what hope was there for him?
“Eat.” She set the egg in front of him and added a basket of pita bread to the plates of cheese, hummus, yogurt, stewed fava beans, and pickled eggplant in olive oil arrayed on the table—all breakfast favorites from their homeland.
This was a feast compared to the meager, basic rations in the refugee camp.
Yet even there, she’d done her best to create meals for her decimated family from the sparse, basic ingredients available.
And he’d taken it for granted.
