by Rula Sinara
He dropped his gaze and said nothing, then gave a curt nod and left the kitchen. Nina pressed her lips together and followed. Hope wanted to check on Maddie, too, but forced herself to stay put.
She opened the baby-food jar and scooped up a bite of mashed sweet potato and brought it near Ryan’s mouth. Half of what went in oozed back out. She caught it with the spoon and brought it to Ryan’s mouth again, trying not to listen to the conversation in the living room. If there was anything she’d learned in medicine, the one thing that tore her up, was that no matter how smart she was or how educated, she could still be powerless to help…or heal. The will to get better had to come from the person suffering and, sometimes, all they needed was a safe, open door to walk through.
Ben Corallis was anything but an open door.
*
“IF YOU DON’T want to go with Grandma to get a snack, then you need to pull out your homework and get it done. Not going to school tomorrow doesn’t mean you’re on vacation yet.”
Ben sat on the edge of the sofa next to Maddie. Her backpack leaned against the coffee table because she’d refused to leave it in the car, even though he’d told her they weren’t staying long. The entire drive over from school, she’d stared out her window, giving no indication that she was listening to his lecture on why neither throwing pencils—aka grenades, from the way it’d been put to him—nor hand-to-hand combat at school was acceptable. He kept his opinions of the situation at school otherwise to himself.
“Come on, honey,” Nina coaxed, crouching next to her. “I made your favorite brownies.”
Maddie slowly lifted her head from where she’d had it buried in a pillow and sat up, bringing her knees to her chest. She blinked her eyes to adjust from dark pillow to light room. She looked tired. Maybe he should just let her do her homework tomorrow.
“I’ll get her pad in case she wants to write down what she wants, or draw a picture.” Nina got up and went to fetch the pad from the coat closet that she’d cleared of coats and used exclusively for grandkid supplies. Ben had lined it with shelves. The writing or drawing pad had been something recommended in her first therapy sessions. Maddie actually made use of it, depending on her mood. But whenever she shut down after something happened at school, it would take forever for her to open up about it.
“How about getting your math done here, while we wait for Ryan to finish eating, so that you can watch that show you like when you get home?” Ben asked. He took the backpack and started to unzip it. Her face turned red, and she tried to yank it from him.
He pulled it away from her. “Hey, what’s the problem?”
Her pooling tears and quivering chin made him feel like scum. Why didn’t she want him looking in her backpack? Was there more going on here? Maybe the other kid hadn’t been the only one to touch something that wasn’t theirs. Had she stolen something from school? What had her principal said about strike three? Still holding the pack, he met Maddie’s eyes directly.
“Is there something in here that doesn’t belong to you? And I don’t mean your mother’s necklace.”
She frowned, and the tears in her eyes spilled onto her cheeks. She didn’t respond with either a shake or a nod.
“Did you steal?”
This time her nostrils flared, and she gave him an evil glare.
He pulled her notebook, agenda and math text out of the main pocket. The second zipped pocket hid nothing but an empty lunch box. He unzipped a small side pouch, hoping the necklace was there, safe and sound. He reached in…and pulled out a bracelet. The bracelet. The one Hope had given her right off her own wrist. He closed his eyes, then opened them and held the bracelet out to his daughter.
“Why’d you take this to school?” Why are you clinging to something that a practical stranger gave you? Why was this important enough to fight for and cry over and destroy my day? Your day?
Was thinking she’d risked losing her mother’s necklace easier to take than her attachment to Hope’s bracelet? He exhaled. “Did you think I’d take this away from you?”
Maddie nodded, wiping her cheek with her hand.
She didn’t trust him. From her point of view, he’d shown up, and then her mother was gone. Cause and effect. That was what she was clinging to. He couldn’t blame her for not trusting him.
He handed her the bracelet. She hesitated, then slipped it on her too-small wrist. Ben stood up and saw Nina watching from the end of the room, hugging the pad and pencil to her chest, her face damp. She nodded her head as if to say it would be all right and she’d finish calming Maddie down.
Nothing was all right.
He walked silently to the kitchen, stopping momentarily to look back and watch how Nina set the pad in Maddie’s lap. He was a terrible father. He didn’t have a maternal or parental bone in him. He wasn’t doing them any good. This wasn’t his territory.
He stepped into the kitchen and in a fleeting second of fatigue, he thought he saw Zoe feeding Ryan. He pinched the bridge of his nose, knowing full well that the curls and dark, slender neck were Hope’s. She faced away from him, making airplane noises as she brought a spoonful of food in for landing. Whether Ryan understood the game or not, he seemed to be enjoying himself. The playfulness in Hope’s voice tempted him to leave her be. Wasn’t he the one who had told her, during her first diaper change, that there were worse things in life…? But a clawing ache quickly reminded him that life wasn’t about playing. Life was about survival and doing your duty. Doing what you were meant to do, what you’d vested your life in. Without that direction, a person would be lost. And being lost was dangerous.
Ryan gave him away by looking in his direction. Hope turned her head, and her smile faltered.
“I don’t think Ryan will finish this jar, if you’re wanting to play with him,” she said.
Play? Ben took a deep breath. “You didn’t by any chance borrow my wife’s bike today, did you?”
The baby spoon stopped in midair. Her face paled.
“Purp—”
“Yes. That one.”
She set the spoon in the jar.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. Eric told me I should use it. I assumed it was Nina’s.”
Eric? Nina, he might have believed. She had it in for him lately. But Eric? He couldn’t have at least warned him? Checked with him?
The porch door cracked open and Eric peered in.
“Nina’s not coming right back, is she?” he whispered.
Ben folded his arms and leaned against the fridge. “I wouldn’t know,” he said.
Eric stepped in and closed the door behind him.
“When that woman gets in a mood, it’s hard to believe she’s the queen of sweets.” Eric stole a sugar cookie off the nearest plate and sat at the breakfast table just as Nina bustled in, grabbing a plate and piling brownies and cookies on it, presumably for Maddie, given the way she started back for the living room. She spotted Eric and stopped in her tracks.
“I thought I told you to go do something outside,” she said, fuming.
Eric stopped chewing and rubbed at his knee.
“My injury started acting up again. Must be the weather.”
“That’s not going to work this time,” she said, walking over and taking the cookie out of his hand. She went to the sink, opened the cabinet underneath and tossed it in the trash.
Ben stared at Nina. “So you knew Eric had given Hope Zoe’s bike?
“Only after the fact,” Nina said.
Hope turned away. She cleaned Ryan’s face with a baby wipe and gave his tray the same swift treatment, then gathered the empty jar and got up.
“You should have said something to me, Eric. You’ve made me feel very uncomfortable.”
One look at Ben and Eric stood military straight, though Ben caught him wincing.
“You listen to me, all of you,” Eric said, lowering his voice to keep it from carrying into the living room. He pointed at Ben and Nina. “You think you’re the only ones who miss her? I didn’t
plan it. I was just there, and then suddenly I wanted—needed—to see her bike going down our street again.” His last words were hoarse and strained. He rubbed his fingertips hard across his forehead. He looked at Hope. “She and I… We used to ride together. Ever since she was a kid. It was our thing. Some dads shoot hoops with their daughters. We rode.” He looked at all of them. “We rode,” he repeated, only this time his voice cracked. He pushed past them and left the kitchen.
A massive sob escaped Nina. Then another. She dropped the plate of treats onto the counter and rushed after him.
Ben couldn’t move.
Chad came zipping through the kitchen doorway with a plastic reptile.
“Chad,” Ben said. “Stop running.”
Chad kept circling Hope, every third turn plopping to the floor and rotating his eyes in silly circles, oblivious to the tension in the house.
“Chad, I said stop.” How much sugar was in those brownies? Not to mention the caffeine in the chocolate. Bedtime was going to be a blast.
“I really need to get home,” he said.
“Should we be leaving Nina and Eric like this?” Hope asked. She unbuckled Ryan and lifted him snuggly against her chest. She swayed gently. Chad got up and made the reptile eat his brother’s feet. Hope reached down and brushed the top of his head with her hand without missing her rhythm or taking her eyes off Ben. She stood there with his boys as if it was second nature to her and she’d been a part of their lives all along.
We.
“I think they need some time alone,” Ben said.
She nodded. “Should I put Ryan in the playpen I saw in the living room until we get Maddie and Chad ready?”
“I’ll put him straight into his car seat,” Ben said.
He went to take Ryan from her. For all the weapons he’d assembled blindfolded and bombs he’d dismantled, Ben paused awkwardly, his hands inches from the baby, trying to figure out how to remove him without making contact with the live wire.
“Ben.”
His eyes met Hope’s. Her skin looked as smooth as a baby’s, and her cheeks glowed the way Ryan’s did after waking from sleep.
“I’ll carry him out,” she said with a hushed calm. “You can gather up Chad and Maddie.”
Something unspoken passed between them. An understanding. An unwelcome awareness.
“Right.” He took a step back, then strode out of the kitchen.
*
HOPE TUCKED HER face against Ryan’s tiny head and breathed in his soothing—grounding—baby scent.
It was nothing. She repeated the words in her mind. It’s just the excitement and adrenaline of being on your own, in another country. You’re letting your imagination run wild.
The Harpers’ living room was empty. The coffee table was littered with paper and crayons, but Ben already had the others at the car, and she had no time to help clean up. Hope pulled Ryan’s hat and jacket out from his baby bag, opting to wait on checking his diaper till they got home, and harnessed him in his infant carrier. She took him out to the car and clicked the seat onto its base. Ben leaned into the back from the opposite side and was busy securing Chad in his navy blue safety seat. Only Maddie, clinging to whatever she’d been coloring earlier, bridged the gap between them.
Hope gently bit her bottom lip and set the baby bag under Ryan’s feet, pulled out toy keys to occupy him and closed the door. Through the window, she saw Ben reach across Maddie to double-check the slack on Ryan’s straps. To say he was careful didn’t do the man justice.
It didn’t matter how handsome, capable or protective Ben was or how her heart broke for him and his family—he was off-limits.
He climbed into the driver’s seat just as the battle in the back broke out.
First, Maddie grabbed the toy cars that Chad kept crashing into each other in repeated midair collisions. She threw them onto the floor of the car where he couldn’t reach them, so he went for the paper she was holding instead.
“Let me see!” Chad kept grabbing for Maddie’s paper, and she kept pushing his hand away.
“Chad, come on. Leave your sister alone,” Hope said, twisting in her seat.
“No,” Chad said, still grabbing. Maddie pushed harder. Then pinched. Chad shrieked.
“Stop!” Ben reached back and snatched the paper. He looked at it. Hope couldn’t decipher his expression. “It’s really nice, Mads,” he said quietly.
He handed the drawing to Hope.
At ten, Maddie could draw a million times better than Hope could at twenty-five. The drawing showed Hope with her hair held back by the orange scarf she had on when she arrived. The colorful peasant-style skirt. The bangles on her wrist. She was holding the hand of a girl wearing a single bangle. Maddie. Hope’s throat tightened.
“Maddie, you’re a beautiful artist,” she said. “I’m so impressed.”
Maddie cracked a sheepish smile. Hope started to hand the drawing back to her, but Maddie shook her head.
“You want me to keep it?” Hope asked. Maddie nodded and waited, as if Hope would decline. “Thank you,” Hope said. “It’s an honor to have an early original from someone who could be a famous artist someday. This is so special.”
She reached back and wrapped her hand around Maddie’s. The smile she got in return was warm and full of promise. Which scared her, because if Maddie grew any more attached, Hope would end up shattering that promise to pieces when she left. This was supposed to have been nothing but a few months away while helping a family friend. A working vacation. But this was different. This was becoming personal on so many levels.
She looked at Ben. He swallowed visibly and started the engine. Time to go home. She was sure he was thinking the same thing. The line, even in medicine, between helping and hurting could be so gray, so thin and fragile. She’d broken it before. She couldn’t risk that with Maddie. Drawing her out of her shell only to have her retreat even deeper.
She needed to end her trip early.
She needed to return to Kenya, for everyone’s sake.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Dear Diary,
I like Hope. She’s really nice and pretty. And I heard Daddy humming while he boiled pasta yesterday. I’ve never heard him do that before. I think we all like her. I think Mommy would have liked her, too.
BEN CLOSED THE door to Ryan’s room. Chad’s door was cracked open with nothing but the glow of his night-light coming through, which meant Hope had been successful in winding him down. He approached Maddie’s door, noting the light coming through the crack at the bottom. She needed to get to sleep already. He raised his knuckle to tap on the door and stopped at the murmur of what sounded like whispers.
Girl talk.
His nose tingled, and he rubbed it with the back of his hand. Zoe used to do that. Sit with Maddie, alone in her room, and talk about whatever it was that mothers and daughters talked about. He couldn’t fill those shoes no matter how hard he tried.
Maddie was bonding with Hope after just a few days. He’d been trying for seven months now. He’d be back at square one when she left. This wasn’t working for the long haul.
He opened the door and caught Maddie stuffing a notebook under the covers. A pink pen fell to the floor. She was alone.
Hope isn’t in here?
Maddie stared at him, scrunching the covers up to her neck, then grabbing her monkey and scrunching him, too. The bracelet sat on the nightstand next to her. He remembered how she’d acted over the backpack. She needs to trust you. He made as though he hadn’t noticed her hiding anything. The first therapist they’d seen had suggested she keep a diary, but she’d shaken her head at him. Ben hadn’t seen one. At least not under her pillow, in her nightstand or anywhere he went when it came to putting away laundry and tidying up.
“Hey, Mads. You need to get to sleep, okay?” He took two strides over and kissed the top of her head, pausing. Hoping. “Sleep,” he said. He turned off the bedside lamp, then went to the closet and turned the light on in there, the way she l
iked. She slipped down onto her pillow.
He left the room and leaned against the hallway wall as soon as he closed her door. His pulse raced and his lungs pumped as if he’d rounded his tenth mile. Hope wasn’t in there, and he’d heard whispers. He covered his face.
It was Maddie.
*
HOPE TUCKED HER fingers between her knees for warmth as she sat on Ben’s back porch steps. She wore the pink jacket Maddie had chosen, but had misplaced her gloves. It seemed that even on milder days, temperatures really plummeted after dark. But after today, she needed to be alone. She needed the blank slate of darkness to think. The air was quiet and crisp. Even the rustling of dried leaves she’d grown accustomed to hearing had been muted by the earlier rains. She untucked her fingers and drew her knees in, wrapping her arms around and resting her chin on them.
She was going to miss them.
The door behind her creaked open, and a band of kitchen light ran across the porch and down the steps at her side. Her skin thrummed, and goose bumps waved down her arms. It’s just the cold. The door closed.
“Hi,” Ben said.
“Hi,” Hope said, looking up.
He lowered himself onto the step next to her, leaving a safe couple of feet between them, and handed her a steaming mug.
“Thank you.” She took the mug and cradled it. The heat seeped through her palms and to her core. And it smelled so good.
“Hot chocolate,” he said, raising his own mug to his lips. A moment of silence passed. “Is it all right if I sit here?” he asked.
She chuckled.
“Yeah, I suppose that came out a little late,” he said. The corner of his mouth quirked, and he ran his thumb along his mug. Embarrassment looked rather cute on him.
“I don’t mind you joining me. It’s your porch after all. And you came bearing hot drinks,” she said, taking a sip. She moaned. Any form of chocolate was pure ambrosia. “Delicious. Thank you again.”
“I didn’t see you inside and I noticed this door was unlocked. I see you worked magic with Chad,” he said, smiling. She nodded.
