Finding Home

by Irene Hannon

  * * *

  “What a night!” Cindy pushed through the door to the Mercantile and tossed the remark to Lindsey, who was seated on a stool behind the counter. “Between the Friday-night traffic and the fog, the drive up from Eureka was the pits.”

  “I’ll bet. No one’s going very far in this tonight, that’s for sure.” The other woman swiveled around to peruse the swirling fog outside the window. “Not that I want to discourage business, but I hope you don’t have much shopping to do. You need to get home as fast as you can and hunker down.”

  “I’m with you. Just eggs and orange juice for tomorrow morning. Jarrod always looks forward to a big breakfast on Saturday, and I hate to disappoint him. I’ll be out of here in three minutes.”

  With a flip of her hand, she hurried toward the refrigerated case at the back of the store—and almost ran into Scott as she turned the corner of the aisle.

  “Whoa!” He grabbed her arm with one hand to steady her and juggled a deli sandwich and soft-drink can in the other.

  “Sorry.” She caught her balance, backed up a step—and tried to convince herself the sudden uptick in her pulse was because of the close call rather than the man standing in front of her.

  “No harm done.” Scott dropped his hand from her arm and moved aside for her to pass in the narrow aisle.

  Steeling herself, she squeezed past, trying to ignore his muscled chest, the five-o’clock shadow darkening his jaw, and the distinctive scent of his aftershave.

  No luck. Her pulse continued to misbehave.

  “By the way, thanks for the message you left about Gram’s paintings and the stuff in the trunks. Sounds like things are working out all around. Gram’s spirits have taken a definite upswing.”

  Cindy kept moving until she was a safe distance away. “I know. I stopped by after work tonight. She’d asked for a photocopy of Elijah’s journal, and when I dropped it off she was sitting by the window, sorting through her paints. There was a new sparkle in her eyes.”

  “Thanks to you.”

  Cindy lifted one shoulder, trying not to take his praise too personally. “Let’s give God the credit for inspiring me to show her paintings to Janice.” The old-fashioned clock in the Mercantile bonged, marking half past seven, and as the time registered she wrinkled her brow. “Aren’t you here awfully late?”

  “Tough week.”

  That explained the fine lines of weariness radiating from the corners of his eyes.

  “But you can’t drive back in the fog. Visibility is close to zero.”

  “I know. I got the last room at the Orchid. But I missed the sisters’ grilled salmon.” He hefted the items in his hand and grinned. “A poor substitute, but I’ll live.”

  The man who’d plied her and Jarrod with food and hospitality on more than one occasion was planning to eat a cold sandwich for dinner after putting in a grueling week.

  That wasn’t right.

  Yet the alternative scared her.

  As if reading her mind, he backed toward the checkout. “I don’t want to delay you. Even driving a few blocks in this stuff is dangerous. Be careful.” He started to turn away.

  “Wait.” The word came out before she could stop it.

  He pivoted back toward her.

  Too late to back out now. “Look, Jarrod and I are eating late tonight, too. We’re only having spaghetti, but you’re welcome to join us. At least it would be a hot meal.”

  Scott hesitated, and Cindy half hoped he’d refused.

  But he didn’t.

  “Spaghetti sounds a lot better than this.” He lifted the sandwich again. “Thanks.”

  “Okay. Let me grab a couple of things.”

  He joined her at the refrigerated case, and while she selected her eggs and orange juice he put his sandwich and soda back. Then he followed her to the checkout counter.

  “Long three minutes.” Lindsey grinned as she rang up Cindy’s purchases and eyed Scott.

  “My fault. I delayed her.” Scott propped a hip against the counter and folded his arms.

  “I thought you were buying some stuff for dinner.” Lindsey checked out his empty hands as she made change for Cindy.

  “No.”

  “He’s, uh, eating with us.” Cindy took the change and tucked it in her purse.

  “Mighty neighborly.” Lindsey grinned at her. “You all have a nice evening.”

  “Thanks.” Scott picked up the bag and they exited into the fog together, the bell over the door jingling as they left.

  “I only live four blocks from here.” Cindy tightened her jacket around her as the cool veil of mist enveloped them.

  “I’ll follow you.”

  At her car, he handed over the groceries after she slid in. “Don’t lose me, okay?”

  With a one-sided grin, he closed her door and disappeared in the fog toward his own car.

  And sixty seconds later, as she drove slowly toward home, his headlights no more than murky shadows behind her, she found herself wishing his parting comment applied to more than a drive through the fog.

  * * *

  “That was much better than a cold deli sandwich. Thank you.” Scott folded his napkin, placed it next to his empty plate and smiled across the table at Cindy.

  “Mom makes great spaghetti.” Jarrod sucked up the last few strands—reminding Scott of himself at that age—and turned his attention to his mother. “Are we having chocolate chip cookies for dessert? I saw the dough in the refrigerator this morning. I bet you made it last night after I went to bed.” He sent her a hopeful look.

  “Do you have any room left?” She rose, picked up her plate and reached for his.

  “I always have room for cookies.”

  “I’ll second that.” Scott stood, too, and picked up his plate.

  “You don’t have to help.” Cindy held out a hand for his plate, but he moved it out of her reach.

  “I’m used to cleaning up after myself. Besides, what’s the old saying about many hands?”

  “Make light work.” Jarrod wrinkled his nose as he finished the adage.

  “That’s the one.”

  “Dad used to say that a lot.” He got to his feet and gathered up the Parmesan cheese and empty bread basket—then stopped. “Hey...who’s going to feed Toby tonight?”

  “My neighbor. I already called. He does that for me once in a while if I have to go out of town.”

  “Do you do that a lot?” Jarrod followed him around the center island toward the sink area.

  “No. The company that’s building Inn at The Point is in San Francisco and I have to go down there for a meeting every few weeks. But I’d rather be home.”

  “Me, too.” Jarrod opened the fridge and tucked the can of cheese on a shelf. “My dad traveled a lot, but he liked it.”

  “He had to travel because of his job, honey.” Cindy began loading the dishwasher. “His favorite time of all was hiking in the redwoods with you, though.”

  “Yeah. I miss that.”

  Scott handed the plates to Cindy, intrigued. Had she mentioned the redwoods to bolster Jarrod’s memories? Or had that, indeed, been her husband’s favorite time? And if so, what did that say about their marriage?

  “We’ve been going again a lot in the past few months.”

  “I know.”

  But it’s not the same.

  Jarrod didn’t have to say the words for the unspoken caveat to resonate in the room.

  A shadow darkened Cindy’s irises, changing them to the color of the sea before a storm. He started to reach out to her. Caught himself. Dropped his hand and returned to the table.

  Time to change the subject.

  “So what’s your favorite movie, Jarrod?” He gathered up the salt, pepper and butter.

  “I like Robin Hood a lot. The old one from the ’30s.”

  “With Errol Flynn?”

  “Yeah. Have you ever seen it?”

  “Years ago.”

  “You want to watch it again? Or a different one? My dad
had a whole collection of old movies.”

  “I’m sure Mr. Walsh doesn’t want to stay that long, Jarrod. The fog’s bad and he needs to get back to the Orchid.”

  Was she booting him out? It was hard to tell, with her face hidden behind the sweep of her hair as she leaned over the dishwasher.

  But he wasn’t ready to leave yet. Even if that was the wise thing to do.

  “A movie might be pushing it, but I wouldn’t mind hanging around for those cookies. If that’s okay.”

  Cindy straightened up and pushed her hair back, her expression apologetic. “Of course. I just didn’t want you to feel obligated to hang around.”

  “Can I put on the movie while they bake, Mom?”

  “We just watched that one.”

  “I never get tired of it.”

  “A boy after my own heart.” Scott smiled at him.

  “You want to see our collection?”

  “Good idea. Show him the movies, Jarrod.” Cindy spared him a quick glance as she rinsed her hands in the sink. “It’s an impressive collection. I’ll get the cookies going.”

  Her ploy to put some distance between them was obvious. As was the reason for it. While they’d had an honest, rational conversation about their mutual attraction, that hadn’t diminished the electricity. The sparks had been flying throughout the entire meal.

  Maybe they did need a time-out.

  He followed Jarrod through the great room and down the hall of the contemporary two-level home. It was grander than he’d expected, and the furnishings were high quality, from the granite countertops in the kitchen to the Brazilian walnut floors on most of the first level. A dramatic hanging stairway led to a second-floor balcony that overlooked the great room, which boasted a soaring, vaulted ceiling.

  Cindy’s husband must have done okay with his consulting work.

  So why had she gotten a job outside the home after he died when it was obvious she wanted to spend more time with Jarrod?

  While her son showed him the extensive vintage film library and popped the DVD in, he mulled over that puzzle. And continued mulling it over until Cindy summoned them for dessert.

  Jarrod beat him back to the kitchen, and the boy was already piling cookies on his plate when he entered.

  “Can I take these into the family room, Mom? The movie’s running.”

  “Don’t you want to stay and visit with our guest?”

  At the youngster’s guilty look, Scott smiled at Cindy. “It’s hard to compete with Errol Flynn. I don’t mind if he wants to watch the movie. I’m not staying long anyway.”

  “All right.” She grabbed a napkin from a holder on the center island. “But try to keep the crumbs contained.”

  He ran off, milk, cookies and napkin in hand.

  “Help yourself.” Cindy gestured to a rack of cooling cookies. “I can make coffee if you’d like.”

  “What are you drinking?” He strolled over and put three of the warm cookies on one of the dessert plates she’d set out.

  “I’m a milk-and-cookies girl myself.”

  “Count me in.” He grinned and set his plate on the granite-topped island, then straddled a stool. “It will take me back to my childhood. One of my favorite after-school treats was milk and homemade cookies. Gram was quite a baker.”

  “Maybe she will be again.”

  “That’s what I’m praying for.”

  “For the record, I’ve added my voice, too. Where two or three are gathered and all that.” She finished pouring the milk, handed him a glass and perched on the stool beside him.

  “I appreciate that.” He bit into the crumbly cookie, closing his eyes as the soft chocolate dissolved on his tongue. “Man, this is great. Don’t tell Lindsey, but they’re even better than hers. And I should know. I buy a few every time I go to the Mercantile.”

  “That’s only because these are warm.”

  “I don’t think so.” He examined the cookie. “These have pecans, don’t they?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s what gives them the edge.” He took another bite, wondering how best he could satisfy his curiosity about the state of her finances. Subtlety was key. “Nice house, by the way.”

  Cindy perused the upscale kitchen. “Actually, I’m thinking about selling it once the market improves and life settles down.”

  “How come?”

  She broke one of her cookies in half and gathered the crumbs together with a fingertip. “It’s expensive to maintain, and I prefer smaller, cozier places. This was Steve’s dream house, and with him gone it feels...empty.”

  His dream house. Not hers.

  Another interesting insight.

  But he was still curious about the money issue.

  “So is that why you went back to work? The house expenses?”

  To his relief, she didn’t seem to resent the query. “Partly. Steve’s insurance paid off the house, but we didn’t have a lot of savings. Any extra money went into a college fund for Jarrod, and I’m not about to touch that. We figured Steve had a lot of working years left and there’d be plenty of time to worry about securing our own future. Funny how life can surprise you.”

  No kidding.

  “I can’t even imagine what a shock it must have been when you lost him.”

  “Shock doesn’t begin to capture it. And poor Jarrod...I don’t think he slept a full night through for months. Steve was gone a lot for work, but he and Jarrod were great buddies. He was a wonderful father and a good husband.”

  Wonderful father. Good husband.

  Scott finished off his third cookie. “Does Jarrod ever...” His cell phone began to vibrate, and he pulled it off his belt. “Sorry. With all of Gram’s problems, I always check caller ID.”

  “I understand.”

  He scanned the number. Devon. Just as Gram had predicted.

  With a sigh, he let it roll to voice mail and put the phone back on his belt.

  “Problem?”

  “You might say that. Also known as my sister. I’ll call her back later.”

  “Your grandmother mentioned she was an actress in New York.”

  Since she’d opened the door, he decided to step inside. “Did she tell you anything else?”

  “No. I did get the impression she wasn’t too pleased with her, though.”

  “That’s putting it mildly.” Scott swiveled sideways on the stool to face Cindy, resting one foot on the horizontal support bar. “It’s kind of a messy story.”

  She gave a soft laugh devoid of humor. “Life itself can be pretty messy. And every family has warts. I didn’t mean to pry...”

  “You didn’t.” He cut her off in a firm voice. “To be honest, I wouldn’t mind having someone besides Gram to bounce the situation off of, if you’re willing to listen.”

  “I’d be happy to. Talking things through can often bring clarity.”

  True. So who did she talk things through with?

  After brushing his hands off over his plate, he rested his forearm on the counter. “My parents were killed in a car accident when I was eight. I was out here visiting Gram and Gramp at the time. Devon was only three, and she was in the car, too. It was touch-and-go with her at first, and we all treated her with kid gloves while she recovered—and from then on. But I think our pampering has come back to bite us.”

  He gave her a quick recap of the latest dramatics in his sister’s life. “So I’m assuming she’s going to hit me up for cash again. And to be honest, with all of Gram’s expenses, there isn’t any to spare.”

  “You’re paying the bills at Seaside Gardens?”

  His neck warmed. “Only since Gram’s nest egg ran out.”

  Cindy’s eyes softened. “Another valid reason for her to sing your praises.”

  The heat crept higher. “Anyone would do the same for someone they loved.”

  Her skeptical expression told him she didn’t believe that. But she let it pass.

  “You know, we had a similar situation in our family. My brother
had a difficult time settling down, too. He had a full scholarship to college, but he threw it away halfway through his sophomore year to become a ski bum in Colorado. He was three years older than me, and I remember how he was always hitting Dad up for money. Dad sent it for several years, motivated in part by guilt, I think. We lost my mom when we were young, and Dad always thought he hadn’t spent enough time with us. I suppose supporting my brother alleviated some of his guilt. Which was misplaced anyway. He was a great father.

  “Anyway, he finally realized he wasn’t doing Jack any favors. He applied some tough love and stopped sending the money. I could see how hard it was on him to say no, but he stuck to his guns. Left to his own devices, my brother ended up straightening himself out. He enrolled in a trade school, became a carpenter in Kansas City, went back to church and met a wonderful woman. They have two children now. He’ll never be rich in the eyes of the world, but he has everything that matters. Everything Dad hoped he’d have. And Dad lived long enough to see him get his act together and for them to reconcile.”

  Scott gathered up a stray cookie crumb and deposited it on his plate with the others. “That’s what Gram thinks I should do. It’s nice to know that choice could have a happy ending. Thank you for...”

  “Hey, Mom, can I have two more cookies?” Jarrod zoomed around the corner and skidded to a stop.

  “How many have you had already?”

  He scrunched up his face. “I can’t remember. Maybe four?”

  “One more.”

  “Oh, Mom!”

  “One.” She took a sip of milk, raising her eyebrows at him over the rim of the glass.

  He huffed out a breath. “I feel like Toby. One treat at a time.”

  Scott smothered a chuckle behind his napkin, then cleared his throat and stood. “On that note, I think I’ll say good-night.”

  “Will you tell Toby hi for me?” After a thorough inspection of the remaining cookies, Jarrod selected the largest one.

  “I’ll do that.”

  “Thanks. See ya.” He raced back toward the family room.

  “Let me walk you out.” Cindy rose and started to turn toward the front of the house.

  “Wait.” Scott touched her arm, and when she twisted back toward him he dabbed at her upper lip with a napkin. “Milk mustache.”