by Irene Hannon
Still took all she did for granted.
He clenched his fingers around the mug of coffee she slid toward him, and a flood of shame swept through him as another realization smacked him in the face.
Without his mother, he and Elisa wouldn’t have survived in that camp.
Nor would they be here.
She was the one who’d latched on to the invitation that had come out of the blue.
She was the one who’d worked with the person from the humanitarian aid organization to complete all the necessary paperwork.
She was the one who’d pushed and prodded him every step of the way until they’d set foot in Hope Harbor.
Vision misting, he took her hand. “’Ami . . . I’m sorry.”
“For what?” She gave him a blank look.
“For not appreciating all you’ve done for me and Elisa. All you’ve done for our family my whole life.”
“It’s what mothers do. Eat your egg or it will get cold.” She limped back to the counter, dispensed with her apron, and continued toward the hall. “I will rest now so I can return to my job tomorrow.”
“You like the work you are doing?”
She shifted back. “There is a need, and I am able to help fill it. That is good for the heart—and the soul.”
Her gaze locked with his, and then she continued down the hall, resting her fingertips against the walls for support.
Thomma broke off a bite of his egg. Surveyed the table. He would eat the food his mother had gone to the trouble to prepare.
But he hadn’t lied a few minutes ago.
He wasn’t hungry.
His appetite had died in Syria, along with the family and the life he’d loved.
Except . . . not all of his family was gone—and ’Ami’s parting message hadn’t been lost on him.
There was a need—and a responsibility—in his own backyard he alone could fill, yet he’d ignored it.
His mother had soldiered on through the pain of loss in Syria, and again this morning through the pain of a sprained ankle. Doing what had to be done. Fulfilling her obligations.
She was telling him he should do the same with Elisa.
But how could he expose himself to more hurt and heartache, when he’d already exceeded the limits of his tolerance for pain?
He set his fork down, rested his elbows on the table, and dropped his face into his hands. His desperate prayer last week hadn’t produced any results, but where else could he turn?
God, I don’t know what to do. I wake every morning hoping the darkness will be less oppressive, but each day is as bleak as the one before. Help me love my daughter as I should. As I know Raca would have wanted me to. Please give me the courage and strength to carry on as my mother does—and the grace to appreciate the second chance you’ve given the three of us.
Thomma exhaled . . . lowered his hands . . . and picked up his fork to eat the breakfast his mother had prepared for him.
As he dug into the egg, a thin ray of light from the rising sun stole through the window and slanted across the table.
He lifted his head.
Outside, the black of night was giving way to a new day. The darkness was receding, the world once again brightening.
Perhaps the same would be true of his life.
Or not.
But for today at least, he would cling to that hope.
Because if he didn’t . . . if he succumbed to the fear that the shadows encroaching on his soul would plunge it into darkness forever . . . he might not make it through another day.
“I think we better start back, Molly. Your uncle will be home soon.” Jeannette checked her watch as they strolled along the beach. She also had a lesson to prepare for tonight’s session with the Shabos. It was going to be a busy evening—but she ought to be able to squeeze in a fast dinner too.
The girl bent to pick up a small piece of driftwood. “Look, ’Nette. It’s a heart.”
Jeannette’s lips bowed at the child’s shortened version of her name. Much less of a mouthful than Jeannette or Ms. Mason.
“Let me see.” She held out her hand.
Molly passed it over, and she examined the small chunk of sea-smoothed wood. It did, indeed, resemble a heart. “This is beautiful. You were lucky to find such a pretty piece. You can keep it for always to remind you of the people you love and our walk on the beach today.” She extended it toward the girl.
“It’s for you.” Molly’s demeanor was solemn.
Jeannette’s heart contracted at the simple gesture of affection.
But Logan would appreciate such a gift too—and this was a perfect opportunity to plant that suggestion.
“That’s a lovely present—and it makes me happy. Do you think your uncle might like to have it, though?”
“No.” Molly gave her head an emphatic shake. “It’s for you.”
So much for that idea.
The topic was worth a bit more discussion, however. Hard as she’d tried all day to get a read on Molly’s feelings for Logan, the child hadn’t cooperated. Yet if she could gain a few insights that would be useful to him as he tried to connect with his niece, it was worth one more attempt.
“Don’t you think he’d like it?” She kept her inflection conversational as they continued their side-by-side walk along the beach.
She shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Most people like to get presents. Don’t you?”
“Uh-huh.”
“The Easter dress and hat you wore to tea were a nice present from your uncle.”
“Nana got me an Easter dress and hat too—and sometimes she got me a popsicle from the truck that came to our street.”
“I like ice cream trucks too.” One more shot and she was calling this interrogation attempt quits. “Should we find another piece for your uncle, since I get to keep this pretty heart?”
“Why?”
“It might make him happy.”
Molly’s forehead wrinkled. “Why?”
“Well . . . the heart made me happy. I bet he’d feel the same about a present you gave him.”
“Why?”
“Because he loves you.”
Molly sighed and kicked at a piece of flotsam in her path. “Not like Nana did.”
“How do you know?”
“Nana loved me . . . just because. She was happy I lived with her.”
“Don’t you think your uncle feels the same way?”
“No.” She lunged for an elusive mole crab, but it vanished beneath the sand in a furious burst of digging.
Jeannette dropped down beside her and examined the smooth surface. “Those guys are fast, aren’t they?”
“Yes. Toby can’t catch them either.”
“Why don’t we sit back there on the dry sand for a minute, see if he comes out again?” Not likely, but it would give her a chance to continue the conversation. “Want to do that?”
“’Kay.” The girl moved a few feet back and sat beside her, watching the spot where the crab had vanished.
“You know . . .” Jeannette sieved the sand through her fingers. “It’s kind of hard sometimes to know if someone loves you. Not everyone shows love the same way.”
“Nana hugged me and tucked me in at night and read me stories and baked cookies.”
“Your uncle doesn’t do any of that?”
Molly’s brow knotted. “Yes . . . but it’s not the same. And he burned the cookies we made. The house was stinky.”
“He tried, though—and trying should count, don’t you think?”
“I guess. But Nana loved me a lot.”
“I know she did—and I kind of thought your uncle did too. Not many uncles take their nieces to tea . . . or let them have all the chocolate cakes.” She smiled at the girl and gave her a wink.
Molly poked her finger in the sand, her lips flat. “He’s nice, but he doesn’t want me.”
Whoa!
Where had that come from?
“Why do you think that?” She
brushed back a strand of hair that had worked loose from Molly’s ponytail, her heart aching for the child whose eyes were sad beyond her years—like Elisa’s.
“’Cause.”
Not helpful.
“’Cause what?”
“’Cause I heard him talking on the phone one night.” Molly sniffed and wiped the back of her hand under her nose. When she continued, her voice was so soft Jeannette had to lean close to hear it above the crashing surf. “He said he promised my daddy and Nana he’d take care of me, but he didn’t know what to do with a little girl and wished I was still with Nana. He sounded m-mad.”
O-kay.
That kind of overheard conversation would be enough to make anyone feel unwanted, let alone a child who’d lost everyone in the world she knew and loved.
Be careful how you respond, Jeannette.
“How long ago did you hear that, honey?”
Another lift of her thin shoulders. “At the beginning. In the other place we lived.” She hung her head. “I wet the bed one night, and after he changed everything, I heard him on the phone.” She gave Jeannette a sidelong glance, expression earnest. “But I don’t wet anymore. I’m a big girl.”
Pressure built in Jeannette’s throat. “I can see that. And you’re also brave. It’s hard when everything in your life changes, and the people you love go away.” The last few words rasped, and she swallowed.
Molly scrutinized her. “Are you sad too, ’Nette?”
“Sometimes. I miss the people I loved too.”
The girl took her hand. “I’ll be your friend. And I gave you the heart I found. Maybe it will help you not be sad.”
Mercy.
Now Molly was consoling her.
How had this conversation gotten so off track?
She had to regroup and focus on Logan’s niece.
“I’m sure it will help me feel better. Thank you.” She squeezed the girl’s hand. “And you know what? I think your uncle might be sad sometimes too. Nana was his mommy, and your daddy was his brother. He must miss them.”
“He never says so.”
Another insight to pass on to her neighbor on the QT.
“Sometimes people don’t talk about what’s in their heart. And sometimes, if everything changes, people don’t know how they feel. It takes them a while to figure it all out. I bet he was trying to do that the night you heard him on the phone. What do you think?”
That earned her another shrug.
“Well, all I know is what I see since you came to Hope Harbor—and I think he loves you. Why else would he take you to tea and get you a dog and buy you ribbons for your hair?” She reached over and tweaked the yellow one Molly was wearing today.
“I s’pose.” The girl fingered the silky strands.
But all of that didn’t erase the overheard conversation—or its effects.
It might be best to try a different tack.
“Can I tell you something? I have a feeling your uncle is glad you came to live with him. Being all by yourself can get lonesome.”
Molly rose, walked over to where the crab had disappeared, and poked at the sand with a stick—but the crustacean continued to hide. “He told me that one night.”
Jeannette’s eyebrows rose.
Kudos to him—and so much for the conventional wisdom that said men didn’t share their feelings.
“There you go.”
Molly swiveled toward her. “Do you need someone to love too?”
Whoops.
That wasn’t a subject she wanted to discuss with Logan’s niece.
From up near the dunes, Toby began to bark.
Yes!
For once, the dog’s timing was impeccable.
Jeannette stood and brushed the sand off her jeans. “Toby! Here, boy!”
The dog ignored her.
Of course.
Apparently another game of chase the beagle was on her agenda.
“We’re going to have to round him up again, Molly.”
“He likes the beach.”
“I do too—but we can’t live down here. If he comes toward you, try to grab him.”
“’Kay.”
They separated as they approached the dog—but instead of watching them with the typical roguish gleam in his eye as he planned a last-second escape, his attention remained fixed on whatever had caught his interest on the beach.
Even when they were a mere six feet away, he stayed hunkered down, gaze riveted on the sand in front of him.
Highly suspect.
But Jeannette wasn’t about to question her good fortune.
She swooped in and snapped on his leash.
Only then did she check to see what had distracted him.
“Oh!” Molly breathed the word as she squatted down on the sand beside a tiny, quivering kitten.
Too tiny to be roaming about without its mother.
Jeannette tugged the dog back. “Sit, Toby—and be quiet.” Too bad she couldn’t remember that Arabic phrase Logan had used yesterday.
Didn’t matter.
The beagle plopped down and fell silent—as if he’d done his job of calling the kitten’s plight to their attention and was happy to hand off the problem to them.
But she wasn’t much better equipped to deal with an abandoned kitty than her five-year-old companion.
“I think he’s lost.” Molly touched the baby feline’s fur. “What do we do?”
Good question.
Jeannette wracked her brain, trying to call up any stray piece of dusty information filed there about how to deal with a situation like this.
Hadn’t she read somewhere once that the best plan with an abandoned kitten was to back off and see if the mother returned?
However . . . the sun was dipping, the temperature was dropping, and the kitten was already shivering.
It needed warmth, and most likely food.
Fast.
As her mind raced, she scanned the area. The mother was probably a feral cat. It was possible she had a litter nearby—though the open, unprotected expanse wouldn’t be the usual spot for that.
A tiny meow refocused her.
“I think he’s cold, ’Nette.” Molly stroked his fur again, grooves denting her forehead.
“I think you’re right.”
She couldn’t leave him here. He’d die of exposure, or be swooped up by a raptor. There were plenty of falcons and hawks and owls at the Bandon Marsh, and that wasn’t far away.
“Can we take him home with us?” Molly touched his tiny nose.
What choice did she have?
“I guess we’ll have to. I don’t see his mommy around anywhere.”
She gave the area another sweep.
Nothing.
If the mother was in the area, she was hiding.
And this kitten couldn’t wait for her to mosey back to rescue him.
Jeannette unzipped her shoulder tote and pulled out the small towel she’d brought along in case anyone got wet feet. “Can you carry my bag home, honey? I know it’s kind of big.”
“I can do it.”
Jeannette slipped the strap across the girl’s chest, created a pouch out of the towel, and scooped up the kitty, nestling it inside.
The tiny ball of fur couldn’t weigh even a pound.
Cradling the kitty in one arm, she took a firm grip on Toby’s leash. “Let’s get this little guy home and try to warm him up.”
With Molly on one side of her and Toby trotting along on the other, Jeannette set as brisk a pace as the youngster could handle.
Rescuing a kitten had not been in her plans for today—or for her life—and the sooner she could wash her hands of this, the better.
“Are you going to keep the kitty, ’Nette?”
“No.” She wanted no connections of any kinds—human or feline. “I don’t know how to take care of a baby kitten. I’m going to find someone who does.”
And who didn’t mind getting emotionally invested in an animal’s welfare.
One phone call should solve the problem. She could drop the kitty off wherever they said and continue on to the Shabos’ for their English lesson.
“Where?”
“Uh . . . at the Humane Society, I guess.” If there wasn’t one in Hope Harbor, there had to be one in a nearby town.
“Will they help him?”
“Sure.” Of course they would. Assisting abandoned animals was what they did.
Wasn’t it?
Or did they restrict their intakes to older animals that required less nurturing and attention?
“Uncle Logan is here.” Molly pointed toward the lavender farm in the distance.
Her neighbor was on the patio at the back of the house, fists propped on hips, watching their approach.
Either he was early or they’d lingered on the beach too long.
He met them at the back of the property. “Hi. I had a feeling you were down at the beach.” He smiled at her as he gave Molly a squeeze and took Toby’s leash, leaning closer to see what was tucked in her arm.
“Sorry we were delayed.” She breathed in a lungful of his subtle but potent aftershave. “We got distracted by this abandoned kitty.”
“He’s a tiny one. No sign of the mother?”
“No.”
“What are you going to do with him?”
“Turn him over to whoever tends to animals like this—the Humane Society, I guess.”
Twin furrows creased his brow. “I don’t think most places have the staff to care for a critter this small.” He assessed the cat. “A kitten that age would require frequent feedings.”
Not what she wanted to hear.
“Then what am I supposed to do with it? I have to be at the Shabos’ by seven.” Despite her attempt to remain calm, a thread of panic wove through her voice.
She did not want this kitten in her life. If she tended to it night and day, she could get attached—and that was against all her rules.
Logan must have sensed her panic, because when he spoke, his tone was calm and soothing. No doubt the same one he used with freaked-out patients.
“We’ll work it out.” He carefully lifted the tiny bundle from her arm. “You get ready for the Shabos and I’ll warm this little guy up and see what resources I can find for abandoned critters.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah. Molly will help me. Right, sweetie?”
“Uh-huh.”
