by Irene Hannon
“I have a feeling you’re being too hard on yourself.”
“No. It’s true. I was too caught up with being a cop. I loved Dana—but my job always came first. And a lot of things suffered because of that.” Mitch gazed at her, his face somber. “There are a lot of regrets in my past, Tess.”
“All we can do is learn from our mistakes and move on.”
A ghost of a smile touched the corners of his lips. “You sound like my uncle.”
She smiled in return. “And have you taken his advice?”
“I’m trying.”
“Speaking of your uncle, won’t you be late…?”
Mitch glanced at his watch. There was no way he’d make it to his uncle’s farm before dark. But somehow he didn’t care. “He’ll understand. Besides, when it comes to regrets, the past hour spent with you isn’t one of them.”
Books by Irene Hannon
Steeple Hill Love Inspired
*Home for the Holidays #6
*A Groom of Her Own #16
*A Family To Call Her Own #25
It Had To Be You #58
One Special Christmas #77
The Way Home #112
Never Say Goodbye #175
Crossroads #224
IRENE HANNON
has been a writer for as long as she can remember. This prolific author of romance novels for both the inspirational and traditional markets began her career at age ten, when she won a story contest conducted by a national children’s magazine. Today, in addition to penning her heartwarming stories of love and faith, Irene keeps quite busy with her day job in corporate communications. In her “spare” time, she enjoys performing in community musical theater productions.
Irene and her husband, Tom—whom she describes as “my own romantic hero”—make their home in St. Louis, Missouri.
CROSSROADS
IRENE HANNON
You changed my mourning into dancing; you
took off my sackcloth and clothed me with gladness.
—Psalms 30:11
To my precious niece, Catherine Moira,
who has been such a blessing in our lives.
May all your tomorrows be filled with joy and love.
Dear Reader,
As I write this letter, the school year is ending—and I find myself envying the students who have a carefree summer ahead, with no worries over tasks yet to be completed or issues to be resolved. For someone who has spent many years in the corporate world, that kind of closure seems very, very appealing. As does the opportunity to make a fresh beginning each fall.
Life is filled with such endings and beginnings, many of them externally imposed and out of our control. Like moving from one grade to the next. But sometimes we have to take the initiative and recognize that it’s up to us to make the decision to move on.
In Crossroads, Mitch and Tess face that challenge. So do Bruce and Uncle Ray. Though their challenges differ, they must each choose to end one way of life before they can start another.
Such choices are not usually easy. They require us to take a long, hard look at our priorities, our fears and hopes. They also require trust—in ourselves, in others and in God. As you face such turning points in your life, may you take comfort in knowing that you are never alone. For as the Lord promised, “I am with you always, even to the end of time.”
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter One
Bruce Lockwood banged the door and stormed into the kitchen, his eyes flashing. “Mr. Jackson is a—”
“Bruce!” Tess gave her fourteen-year-old son a stern warning look. She knew exactly what he was about to say, and she didn’t allow that kind of language in the house.
“—creep!” Bruce finished more tamely, slamming his books onto the table.
Tess cringed. She hadn’t exactly had the best day herself, and she wasn’t sure she was up to another tirade about Southfield High’s principal. She took a deep breath, willing the dull ache in her temples to subside.
“Do you want to tell me what happened?”
Bruce gave her a sullen look. “He’s just a creep, that’s all.” The boy withdrew a card from his pocket and tossed it onto the table. “He wants you to call and make an appointment with him.”
Tess frowned and reached for the card, her stomach clenching. The adjustment from small-town school in Jefferson City, Missouri, to big-city school in St. Louis had been difficult for him, particularly midyear. If there had been any way to delay their move until the end of the term, she would have. But the unexpected merger of her newspaper with a larger chain had left her a victim of downsizing, and the offer from a community newspaper in suburban St. Louis had seemed the answer to a prayer. She’d been able to find a comfortable apartment near the office in a quiet suburb, and had hoped that the small-town feel of the area would ease the transition to their new environment. It had worked for her, but not for Bruce.
Tess glanced down at the card. “Mitch Jackson, principal.” Her frown deepened. Parents weren’t usually contacted unless there was a good reason. The ache in her temples began to throb, and she looked over at her son. He was watching her—his body posture defiant, but his eyes wary.
“Why does he want to meet with me?”
“I didn’t do anything wrong,” Bruce countered.
Tess folded her arms across her chest, her lips tightening into a thin line. “I didn’t say you did. I just asked why he wants to see me,” she replied, struggling to keep her temper in check.
“Because he’s a creep!”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s true! Ever since I transferred to that dumb school he’s been watching me, just waiting for me to mess up. He should still be a cop, the way he’s on me for every little thing.”
Tess held the card up. “What ‘little thing’ prompted this?”
Bruce glared at her. “You’re as bad as he is. Always asking questions, always breathing down my neck. Why can’t people just leave me alone?”
Tess stared at her son. How had her relationship with Bruce deteriorated in two short months? There was a time when they used to talk, when he shared things with her. But since coming to St. Louis he’d withdrawn, shutting her out of his life and his thoughts. She’d tried to draw him out, but the demands of her new job had left her too little time to spend with her son during this critical transition period. Whatever his problems at school, she knew she shared the blame. Slowly she sat down on the kitchen chair, drew a steadying breath and looked up at him.
“Maybe because people care.”
Bruce gave a dismissive snort. “Mr. Jackson doesn’t care. He’s just nosy.”
“I care.”
He was disarmed by her quiet tone and steady gaze, and his expression softened briefly. But a moment later the defiant mask slipped back into place. “You’re too busy to care.”
His words cut deeply, and Tess’s stomach again contracted painfully. “That’s not true, Bruce. You always come first in my heart. But I have to put in a little extra time at the beginning to learn the ropes. You know I need this job.”
He shoved his fists into the pockets of baggy slacks that hung on his too-thin hips. “Yeah. Thanks to…Dad.” His tone was bitter, the last word sarcastic. He turned away and stared out the window, his shoulders stiff with tension. “I wish we still lived in Jeff City,” he said fiercely.
Anoth
er painful tug on the heartstrings. “I do, too. But this was the best offer I had. I’m still here for you, though. You know that, Bruce. I may be your mom, but I’m also your friend.”
He shrugged. “I have other friends.”
And you aren’t one of them. The message was clear. And it hurt, even though she was glad that he’d finally connected with a group at the school, where cliques were already well established. But she was also a bit uneasy. He never talked about his friends, never brought them home, never even introduced her to any of them. “I’d like to meet them,” she replied.
“They’re my friends, Mom,” he said tersely, turning back to her. “Do I have to share everything?”
She looked at the gangly teenager across from her and wondered not for the first time where her sweet young son had gone. She missed the endearingly protective little boy with the touching sensitivity and wise-beyond-his-years perceptiveness. She’d always known Bruce would grow up. She’d just never expected him to grow away, she realized, her eyes misting.
When Bruce spoke again, his voice was gentler. Maybe the sensitivity wasn’t gone entirely, Tess thought hopefully.
“I’m okay, Mom. Really. You don’t have to worry about me.”
Tess fished in the pocket of her slacks for a tissue. “Worrying is part of the job description for motherhood,” she replied, dabbing at her eyes. “Look, Bruce, I need to know what Mr. Jackson wants to talk to me about. I don’t want to be blindsided. You’ve been avoiding the question, and I need an answer.”
He shrugged dismissively. “It was nothing to get excited about. Some of the guys had been smoking in an empty classroom, and Mr. Jackson showed up. He could smell the smoke, and he said he was going to put us on report and talk to our parents.”
Tess stared at Bruce. “You were smoking?”
He looked at her in disgust and reached for his books. “See? Even you jump to conclusions. I said some of the guys were smoking. Not me. Why does everybody always think the worst?”
Tess watched with a troubled expression as he strode down the hall and disappeared into his room. She’d heard that many adolescents developed an attitude, but somehow she’d never expected it of Bruce.
Wearily she rose and set the kettle on the stove. A soothing cup of tea would help, she decided, though what she really needed was someone with whom she could share her concerns and frustrations about single parenthood and adolescent boys. She’d tried prayer, which usually anchored her. But this time her prayers hadn’t had their usual calming effect. She still felt unsteady—and unsure. About a lot of things. Was Bruce’s behavior normal for his age—or was it indicative of more serious problems? Did all teenage boys get involved in minor infractions as they tested their wings? Did they all shut out their parents? Would it help if he had a father figure?
Tess poured the water into a mug and carried it back to the table, propping her chin in her hand as she absently dunked the tea bag. That last question had popped up over and over again during the past six years, and always she came to the same conclusion. Yes, it would help if he had a father figure. But only if it was a good father figure. And her ex-husband, Peter, certainly hadn’t been it. Not by a long shot. She’d stayed with him far too long as it was. Might still be there if she hadn’t found…
Impatiently Tess dismissed that line of thought. Peter was history. He’d done so much damage to his son’s self-esteem that Tess still spent sleepless nights wondering if it could ever be truly undone. As for her own self-esteem…he’d done a number on that, too. At least she’d been older and, with her strong faith, better equipped to deal with it. She was a survivor. Even so, years later, the scars remained with her, as well. Peter had destroyed her confidence, leaving her unsure of her intelligence, of her talents…of herself as a woman. The only things she had been sure about were her mothering skills.
Tess’s gaze fell on the principal’s card, and slowly she picked it up, her spirits nose-diving.
She had been sure. Until now.
“Have a seat. Mr. Jackson is just finishing up another meeting. He’ll be with you in a moment.”
Tess nodded at the receptionist in the small ante-room outside the principal’s office and headed toward a chair in the far corner. As she sat, she took a deep breath and nervously hitched her shoulder bag into a more secure position. Thanks to her son, she’d received the dreaded summons of her childhood. She’d been called to the principal’s office.
Memories came flooding back of stern-faced Mr. Markham, whose very presence had intimidated even the most self-assured students, let alone someone like bookish, shy Tess. She’d lived in fear of committing some transgression that would call her to his attention and result in a humiliating penalty. Strange how those childhood fears could sweep back so compellingly. In a way, she felt as if she was ten years old again. And she didn’t like it.
Suddenly the door to the inner office opened, and Tess’s heart began to hammer painfully in her chest. She took another deep breath as her fingers clenched around the strap of her shoulder bag. This is ridiculous, she admonished herself. You’re an adult. He can’t do anything to you. Calm down!
A bored-looking woman in a suit that Tess figured cost more than she made in a month crossed the threshold, followed by a slightly balding man. He glanced impatiently at his watch, then turned back to speak to someone just out of sight inside the doorway.
“We’ll consider your suggestion,” he said coldly.
“I told you all along that a private school would be better for Jerome. I never did think he’d do well in a…public…environment,” the woman said with undisguised disdain.
She swept out without a backward glance, followed by the balding man.
The receptionist watched them leave, then glanced at Tess. Her raised eyebrows and the slight shake of her head spoke more eloquently than words.
“I take it sometimes the parents are worse than the kids,” Tess commiserated with a rueful smile, hoping some levity might quell the butterflies in her stomach.
The woman rolled her eyes and rose. “That’s putting it mildly. I’ll tell Mr. Jackson you’re here.”
The woman stepped up to his door, knocked softly, then entered. As she disappeared inside and closed the door, Tess took a deep breath and braced herself.
Inside the office, the receptionist regarded the tall, broad-shouldered man who stood gazing out the window. “Tess Lockwood is here, Mitch,” she said. “Think you can handle one more parent today?”
Mitch turned, and the late-afternoon sun highlighted the glints of auburn in his dark hair. “That depends on her mood,” he said with a sigh.
The woman tilted her head consideringly. “I’d say she’s nervous. Maybe even a little scared. Actually, she doesn’t look much older than some of your students. My guess is she was one of those good kids who always went out of her way to avoid being called to the principal’s office, and is none too happy—or comfortable—about finding herself in one at this stage in her life.”
One corner of Mitch’s mouth twitched up. “You missed your calling, you know that? You should have been either a psychologist or a psychic.”
She grinned. “No ring, either. And she’s alone. Single-parent household.”
“Or a detective.”
“I’ll remind you of those many career options next time I ask for a raise. So should I send her in?”
Mitch hesitated. “Give me five minutes, okay? I want to make a few notes about that last meeting—or should I say confrontation?” he added with a grimace.
“That bad, huh?”
He reached up and massaged the back of his neck. “Karen, let me ask you something. Was I too hard on the King boy?”
She gave an unladylike snort. “I don’t think you were hard enough. I would have expelled him.”
Mitch smiled. “Thanks for the reality check.”
“You’re welcome.” Karen tilted her head and studied him for a moment. “You look tired.”
“Goes wit
h the territory.”
“Nope. Don’t buy it. You push yourself way too hard. You worry about these kids like they were your own. That’s way above and beyond the job description for principals.”
He shrugged. “Somebody has to worry about them. And parents don’t always do the best job.”
Karen shook her head. “I admire your commitment. The world could use more principals like you. Only do me a favor, okay? Try not to take their problems home—at least not every night. You need a life, too.”
“I have a life.”
“Right,” she said dryly. “You spend your days—and a lot of nights—here, then help your uncle on his farm every weekend. Some life.”
“It works for me.”
She rolled her eyes. “You’re a lost cause, Mitch Jackson.”
As she closed the door behind her, Mitch shoved his hands into his pockets and turned back to the window, his gaze troubled. Karen was right. He didn’t have much of a life. And he wasn’t sure his sacrifice was making much difference. Since switching careers from law enforcement to education, he’d run into far too many parents like those who had just exited his office. Overprotective. Unwilling to admit their offspring might be wrong. Blaming the system for their child’s problems.
There were good parents, too. But in his job he saw mostly the ones who really didn’t care. Or who were too busy to pay much attention to what their kids did. Or who were so absorbed in their own lives or careers that their priorities were screwed up. Or who abdicated their parental duties by treating their teenagers like adults instead of like the kids they were—desperate for guidance despite their facade of confidence and bravado. They were the same type of parents he’d run into as a cop. Only in his previous career, he’d usually run into them when it was too late—because that’s when the law generally got involved. He knew that firsthand—not only as a cop, but as a parent.
