Her Reason to Stay

by Anna Adams

  THAT LUNCH-HOUR MEETING might have saved her life. She’d been on a little vacation, but she came out of the bowels of the church feeling as if she had a grip again.

  Until she ran into Gloria Gannon, coming down the same stairs where she’d run into Raina weeks ago.

  She slammed her hand against her stomach, feeling sick. She cared what Gloria thought of her, not just because she was one of the world’s “nice” women, but because she mattered to Patrick.

  “Morning,” Gloria said. “I’ve been wondering when we’d see you again. How have you been?”

  “Fine.” She smoothed her jeans, touched her hair, plucked at the scooped collar of her tulip-printed T-shirt. Anything to distract Gloria from the hallway downstairs. Gloria was not distractible.

  “Oh,” she said after a few moments, clearly leaping to the correct conclusion.

  Somehow, she disappointed Daphne. Being considered a barely functioning alcoholic went a long way toward curing shame. The fine people of Honesty were starting to get on her nerves. Did she have to run into everyone she knew in the space of one morning?

  “You’re right in what you’re thinking,” she said. “Mostly. I’ve had a problem. I may still have a problem, but I’m aware and fighting it. I’m no danger to Raina.”

  “This is why Patrick’s avoiding you.”

  Daphne tried to pretend she didn’t care. She failed. “He thinks I’ll drink again. He thinks I won’t be able to help it and I may hurt Will.”

  “You two have covered a lot of ground,” Gloria said. “Is he in love with you?”

  Daphne shook her head, refusing to give in to stinging tears. “We’ve been over this ground because of Will. You have to talk about the important things early when a child’s involved.”

  Gloria came down another couple of steps. Empathy made her beautiful. Her smile almost gave Daphne hope. “You may be wrong about Patrick.”

  Gloria might be wise and strong, but she didn’t know her own son.

  “I’m not.”

  AT LAST CAME the day they delivered Hal safely to the county jail, where one of the local psychologists would provide a course of anger management therapy. Patrick tried to concentrate on the next cases going to court.

  Work had always been his refuge. He’d lost himself so thoroughly in work he’d managed to believe Lisa’s excuses for forgotten appointments, falls that made no sense for a young woman of sound body, even two car accidents she’d blamed on her well-treated “nerves.”

  Today, he couldn’t focus on his clients. In the back of his mind, Daphne waited. A smile, a twitch of her pale orange sundress. A series of truths she’d already told him that he’d uncovered in black and white.

  He’d give anything to make it stop mattering.

  The phone on his desk rang. It was his private line and when he answered, Sheriff Tom Drake identified himself.

  “I want to talk to you about Danny Frank,” he said.

  “My ex-wife hired him?”

  “Actually, we heard from Lisa. She has an attorney and she sent an affidavit, along with a recording from her voice mail. Frank did it for her, but she had no knowledge of his actions.”

  “What?”

  “She broke off their relationship and he wanted to win her back. He thought stealing her kid might do the trick.”

  “God. You’re positive she didn’t talk him into it?”

  “She spent most of the conversation begging me to tell her Will wasn’t going to be marked for life. I told her he seems to be coping well.”

  “What happens next?”

  “Frank goes to trial, but I thought you’d want to know about Lisa.”

  “Thanks, Tom.”

  “I guess she might be changing after all.”

  “Yeah.” It was the most frightening thing she’d done yet.

  “What will happen with Frank now?”

  “As I said, he’ll go to trial.”

  “And jail?”

  “I hope so.”

  “Thanks, Tom.”

  He called his mother to let her know. Her wary “Hey, Patrick” alarmed him.

  “Is something wrong with Will?” He went to the window where spring sunshine over the courthouse blinded him. Covering his eyes, he turned back to the sun-spotted, orderly confines of his office. He’d talked to his son while his mother had driven Will back to her house and he’d been okay.

  “He’s fine. We made Play-Doh after school. I have the biggest pretzel in the whole wide world on my kitchen table.”

  His sigh of relief was ridiculous. He had to put his life in order. “Tom Drake just called me.” He filled her in.

  “Have you called Daphne?”

  He stared at his phone. “Daphne?”

  “Don’t get all defensive. She was part of this, too, and you should let her know.”

  Why bother trying to persuade her he didn’t care about Daphne? “I’ll call her.”

  “Good. I think you need to talk.”

  “What’s going on, Mother?”

  “With me? Nothing. Talk to you later.”

  He dialed Daphne’s cell phone. She answered after several rings.

  “Patrick?”

  “I don’t blame you for being surprised. I should have called you.”

  “I guessed you’d decided what you wanted from us.”

  “I didn’t decide,” he said. “I’ve been longing for you like a schoolkid and wishing I weren’t too afraid for Will to come to you.”

  “Have you ever thought you may be using Will as a shield?”

  “He’s my son.”

  Silence went both ways over the line.

  “The Sheriff—Tom Drake—called me a few minutes ago,” Patrick finally said. “Lisa knew this Danny Frank, but she didn’t put him up to kidnapping Will. Apparently, he felt he was doing her a favor.”

  “They’re certain?”

  “She taped something off her voice mail that puts her in the clear.”

  “How are you?”

  “About that? I’m worried. It sounds as if she’s in a sober moment if she managed to get her evidence together. I’m thinking she may come back for Will.”

  “If she could sober up it might be best. He needs his mother.”

  “People say that, but they don’t know…”

  “I know,” she said.

  “That’s why I stopped. You do know how it’s been for him, or you know something similar. But I don’t want him to endure the childhood you had.”

  “He has you,” she said with generosity he didn’t deserve.

  “I love him, Daphne. More than anything.”

  “I know.” She was silent a moment. “I’ve been meaning to call you, too. I’m starting to look for work as a jury consultant again, so you’ll see me around the courthouse.”

  “Are you ready for that?”

  “I have to live again. I can’t hide forever.” Implicit was the truth. He was happy to hide, and he was if it kept Will safe.

  “Do you want to drop your résumé by here?”

  “No, thanks. I just wanted to warn you you’ll see me in the courthouse.”

  “I’d be glad to take your information, Daphne.”

  “I don’t want to work with you,” she said, “and I’m sorry to cut this short, but I’m outside the shop and Miriam is waiting for me to make a couple of deliveries.”

  She hung up. He stared at the phone. Lisa’s anger had never left him in any doubt. If Daphne was angry, she hid it well, but she’d talked to him as if she hardly knew him. Maybe she didn’t want to know him anymore.

  Maybe she’d finally taken him at his word and moved on.

  He shut the phone with a slap and stood. Familiar sights outside the window provided no relief. He turned for the door and almost passed his assistant without speaking.

  “Mr. Gannon?”

  “I’m going out.”

  “You’ll be back?”

  “Probably not. If anyone calls with an urgent problem, leave me a
voice mail. I’ll check in later.”

  He was charging down the sidewalk, apologizing right and left, when he saw Daphne driving away from Miriam’s store.

  He laughed at himself. What could he have expected? And why the hell was he chasing her down when pretending wasn’t fair to her, either? He had an early afternoon. He’d spend it with Will.

  HIS MOTHER ANSWERED the door, surprised. “Come in. We’re baking our footprints.”

  “You should have been a kindergarten teacher yourself,” he said.

  “I am creative.” She seemed to be talking without thinking. She eyed him as if she were looking for signs of smallpox.

  “Daddy, look.”

  Will ran down the hall carrying several wads of dough, jammed together to sort of resemble an airplane. A couple of pieces flopped onto his grandmother’s pristine parquet floor, and he stopped, stomping them into the wood as he tried to pick them up.

  “Uh-oh,” he said, tripping until Patrick hurried to catch him by the sticky elbows. “My nose wheels.”

  “We can put that back together,” Patrick said.

  They made bugs and dogs and cats and a Cessna out of the world’s largest pretzel and ate dinner, and then Patrick and Will bent their heads over Will’s ABCs while Gloria spooned clotted cream over warm apple crisp.

  Afterward, Patrick helped his son pack his things.

  “Kiss Grandma goodbye.”

  She bent and Will jumped and they head-butted.

  “Sorry, Grandma.” Will rubbed his head. “That smarted.”

  “For me, too.”

  Gloria kissed his boo-boo, while Patrick inspected for concussion. Single parenthood had turned him into a regular grandma himself, which was nothing a man might brag about.

  “I’ll see you both tomorrow,” his mother said as she walked them to the door.

  “Thanks for everything,” Patrick said.

  “Notice I haven’t asked for an explanation?”

  “I got so wound up in your big baked footprints I forgot to notice.”

  She mocked him with a fake “Heh heh.” Then she kissed Will again and caught Patrick’s arm. “You be careful, you hear me?”

  “Subtle, Mom. What’s up?”

  “Nothing.” She took a deep breath and ruffled Will’s hair. “See you, guys.”

  Halfway to the car, Will held up his arms. “Carry me, Daddy.”

  They waved goodbye again, and Gloria finally turned away. Patrick helped Will in and got behind the wheel.

  At the red light by the square, they hit a traffic jam. Cars inched forward, their drivers particularly harassed and quick on the horn. Traffic jams in Honesty were almost nonexistent.

  Will had begun to nod off, but the honking woke him. “What’s wrong, Daddy?”

  “Bunch of cars ahead, buddy. You can go back to sleep.”

  “I wasn’t sleeping.”

  A battered white sedan was nosed to the corner of Main and Square. With its hood propped open, it exhaled a plume of steam. Patrick recognized it before he saw Daphne, studying the engine in consternation as the warm breeze feathered her hair around her neck.

  She stepped out of a spreading pool of water in front of the grille. Her car hadn’t just run hot. She’d cracked her radiator.

  Immediately searching for a parking spot, Patrick glanced at Will, who stretched as tall as he could manage in his seat.

  “Aunt Raina?” Will pointed. “Why’s Aunt Raina stuck with that car? That’s not her car.”

  “That’s Aunt Daphne.”

  “Let’s help her, Dad.”

  Patrick’s palms began to sweat on the steering wheel. He’d pulled away. They hadn’t seen each other in almost a month. Going back, no matter how much he craved the mere scent of her skin, was wrong.

  But he stared at her, a dying man in sight of salvation. Her flushed face might be due to heat or humiliation. Another car horn bleated and she turned, so tragically apologetic he wanted nothing more than to get out and teach the other driver manners.

  Helping her wouldn’t make her a part of his family, but he didn’t want to stop at helping her. He wanted to hold her and feel her need racing with his.

  “How about we call a tow truck?” Cursing himself, he picked up his cell phone.

  “No, Daddy. I wanna help Aunt Daphne.”

  Patrick closed the phone. Even without Will’s plea, he wouldn’t have been able to drive past Daphne.

  They drew even with her. The faint pink on her skin turned deep red.

  He stopped the car and opened the doors so that Will wouldn’t overheat. “We’ll help Aunt Daphne make her deliveries.”

  Around him, the square erupted in a symphony of angry horns and shouts and a couple of colorful names he hoped Will wasn’t hearing.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “LET ME HELP YOU,” PATRICK said, coming around his car, looking about as happy as Daphne felt.

  The four words in the English language most perfectly designed to make her cut off her nose to spite her face.

  If Miriam’s afternoon deliveries weren’t wilting in the backseat, for the second time since she’d taken this job, she might have walked away and never looked at the whole mess again.

  “Move that heap out of the way.”

  Nodding, she waved her heckler on. “I’m fine, Patrick. I’ve just been trying to find a tow truck that can come now.”

  “I have a friend who charges fifty a tow. Do you want me to call him?”

  She looked down at the fluid escaping from her radiator. “I’m going to need him anyway.”

  “Okay, but I’ll help you deliver the flowers.”

  “Thanks.” She pointed toward the car. “Is Will in there?” She saw his head wobbling as he strained to see over the high backseat of his father’s car.

  “Go say hi,” Patrick said. “I’ll call Kent and move the flowers.”

  “Thanks.”

  “No problem,” he said, and his eyes roamed her face like a starving man’s.

  She ducked inside his car. Will held out his arms. “Aunt Daphne,” he said. “Your car broke.”

  “It sure did.”

  “Daddy will fix it.”

  “Daddy is fixing it. I’m lucky you guys came along.”

  “He was going to call a tow truck, but I made him stop.”

  Daphne wasn’t surprised. Naturally, he wouldn’t want to help. He’d managed to hide from his feelings for a long time. Being dragged face-to-face with a woman who could make him live again had to be a shock.

  Dolt.

  “Well, I’m glad you were looking out for me.” She kissed the top of his head. “You smell like bread.”

  “We made hands and feet.” He pointed to a small stack of wax paper-covered objects. “See?”

  “Awfully nice.”

  Orange and white lights turned onto Main Street, heading their way.

  “There’s your daddy’s friend with his truck. I’d better go. Are you okay?”

  “Sure. We’re going to help you deliver your flowers.”

  “I’m looking forward to that.”

  Standing, she shaded her eyes, but she could catch only glimpses of the orange lights between the traffic and the interested bystanders. Inch by inch, the vehicles took turns creeping past in both directions, allowing the lights to come closer and closer.

  At last. Blessed towing equipment took shape behind the lights.

  Relief made her a little dizzy.

  “That’s the last of the flowers.” Patrick came to her side.

  Nodding, she tiptoed for a glimpse of the tow truck’s driver. His face was all concentration as he inched around her car and blocked another lane and a half.

  “Will said you didn’t want to stop.”

  “I didn’t want to start anything up again,” he said.

  “You’re a coward.”

  She went toward the truck. The door opened and her fairy godfather stepped out in greasy blue overalls and a red ball cap. According to the evidence
of an embroidered white patch on his chest, he was indeed Patrick’s friend.

  “Kent, I have to declare my undying love for you.”

  His grin turned a little wary. Perhaps she’d gone too far. “Hey,” he said. “Hey, Patrick.”

  “Hi, Kent. Thanks for coming so fast.” They shook hands and then Patrick turned to her. “This is Daphne Soder.”

  “Hey, Daphne.”

  They shook hands, too, and then Patrick rested his hand on the hot metal of the fallen vehicle. “And this is her car.”

  “Yeah?” Kent arrowed his body over her engine to more closely admire her busted radiator. “This thing won’t ever move again without a tow.”

  “I was afraid of that.” She reached into the driver’s window for her purse. Her insurance card said nothing about towing. Swearing under her breath, she rifled her wallet. “How much will this cost?”

  “Usually, fifty a tow,” Kent said, “but I’m just hauling her about three blocks, so let’s say thirty.”

  “You wouldn’t want to say twenty-five?”

  Patrick moved forward, clearly about to offer monetary assistance, too. Daphne stopped him with a look that somehow made him smile in surprise.

  Someone honked again. Several drivers leaned on their horns in reply. Kent tipped the rim of his cap, sliding it back to reveal dirty-blond hair. “You seen gas prices lately?”

  “Yeah, okay.” She hated using her credit card. D-e-b-t also spelled insecurity.

  He offered his hand again. “Deal at thirty?”

  She shook it. “Deal. Do you know the folks who’ll do the work on the car?”

  “That’d also be me, ma’am.” He pointed to his name as if she might have missed it. “You won’t find a better price in town. Ask Patrick.”

  “I have plenty to ask Patrick.” She turned back to her heap. First things first. “But I’m sorry for being so cranky with you. Do you know where I can rent a car?”

  “We provide a loaner. It’s not a luxury—” He broke off, surveying her rust-bucket chariot. “I guess you won’t mind that, though.”

  Even Daphne had to laugh. “You can’t imagine how grateful I am. I need my job if I’m going to pay you.”

  “Well, ma’am, let’s get moving then.”

  IN THE END, Daphne asked Patrick to transfer the arrangements from his trunk to the loaner’s trunk and she went on her way to make her deliveries. She’d thanked him, but he’d sensed her anger. Her impatience?