Teresa Hill

by Luke’s Wish

  Richard’s voice came to her, telling her quite coldly that he understood his daughter had called her that afternoon and that he would appreciate it if she did her best to discourage such contact. It was time, after all, that they all moved on with their lives.

  Sam didn’t know whether to cry some more or throw the phone across the room. But she wasn’t a violent person, nor one given to fits of temper, and she was so tired, so hurt. She curled up into a ball in the middle of her bed and gave herself permission to feel sorry for herself—at least until morning.

  She’d do something tomorrow to make things better. To help her get on with her life—help her build a life without Richard or the girls, without Joe Morgan and his sad, lonely kids, either. Without soft sweet kisses that took her breath away, and laughter that for the moment had made her remember there were some good things left in the world. She could do that, she told herself as she lay there in her misery. She could make a life for herself here. She could be happy again. She just had to get up and do something to make herself happy, and she would. Tomorrow.

  It was harder than Samantha thought it would be. She tossed and turned all night. Despite her resolve to put all this behind her, she alternated between feeling bad about the girls and daydreaming about the Morgans.

  Groggy from lack of sleep after two nights of this, she climbed into the shower and started humming a song about cowboys, about women who shouldn’t let their babies grow up to be cowboys. She didn’t understand why not. Her cowboy seemed quite nice.

  Not that she should think of him as hers, of course.

  Still sleepy, she rinsed her hair and shut off the shower. It was Saturday, and she refused to work weekends because she thought every kid who had to go to the dentist at least deserved a few hours off from school. It was the only bright spot many of them saw in a trip to the dentist.

  Still, it made for a long empty day for her, another to follow on Sunday.

  Samantha dried off, wrapped her hair in a towel, her body in another, then padded out of the bathroom. She had to have a cup of coffee—now, before she did one more thing. She headed for the kitchen with her arms over her head and not quite able to see, because the towel on her head was slipping.

  And found herself face-to-face with a toddler, a redheaded toddler with freckles and a button nose, eating a doughnut and walking down the hall in her rented house.

  She screamed, couldn’t help it. And then the kid screamed, too, and started to cry for his mommy. The doughnut, forgotten in his haste, lay crumbling on the carpet while Samantha clutched her towel.

  She didn’t want to be naked in front of an unknown toddler.

  And when she looked up again, she decided the toddler must have found his dad, because he was hanging on to some man for dear life and pointing to her and babbling things Samantha couldn’t understand.

  She stood there speechless, clutching her towel, when June, the real-estate agent who’d rented her the house, came around the corner with a woman she bet was the hysterical toddler’s mother.

  “Oh, Samantha. You’re home?”

  “Yes,” Samantha said.

  “We knocked,” June assured her, then turned to the man and his little boy, who was finally calming down. “Mr. Blake, this is the tenant I mentioned to you. Why don’t you and your wife wait for me in the kitchen? I’ll be right there.”

  The man grinned at Samantha, then turned and left with the little boy, and still Samantha just stood there, mortified.

  “I’m sorry,” June said. “I had no idea you were here, and I normally wouldn’t show the house without notifying you first, but we were looking at a house down the street this morning and when we drove by this house, the Blakes wanted to see it, as well.”

  “Oh,” Samantha said. Normally she would have rented an apartment, but the rental market was tight, and unless she was willing to put up with institutional furnishings at a corporate apartment-type place, they all wanted a year’s lease. This was close to her office. It had been empty for months after the owner moved out, and he’d been willing to lease it month to month, provided she made a hefty deposit. Which she thought would allow her to try out the community, but still move on if she wanted to.

  “I guess I should tell you,” June said. “The owner dropped the price last week. I think we’ll be showing the house more often now.”

  “Oh.” Great, Samantha thought. She could have a whole parade of toddlers and their fathers catching her in her towel.

  “But we’ll call next time. Promise.”

  Samantha did not feel the least bit reassured. “You’re going to sell this house out from under me, aren’t you.”

  “Well…maybe.” June smiled, then remembered who she was talking to. “But I’ll help you find something else. You said you might want to buy something of your own once you had time to get to know the community.”

  “But I have a lease,” Samantha said.

  “Month to month. That’s what you wanted, but it works both ways. The owner can also terminate the arrangement if the house sells. Sorry.” June hesitated, but just for a moment. “Uh…since we’re here already, you don’t mind if I show the Blakes the rest of the house, do you?”

  “I’ll just get dressed first,” Samantha said.

  “Of course.” Ever the salesman, June added, “And I could come by this afternoon and show you some new places. We’ll find just the thing for you.”

  Joe sent Dani to her grandparents, and he and Luke had the house to themselves. He couldn’t stall any longer. He had to talk with Luke now.

  “Look, Dad!” Excited, Luke wiggled one of his bottom teeth back and forth with his tongue. “Cool, huh? It’ll be out by morning, I bet.”

  Great, Joe thought. One more tooth down. Ninety-three to go, unless Joe put a stop to this. Of course, putting a stop to this pretty much meant breaking his kid’s heart—the last thing Joe wanted to do. But he couldn’t let this go on.

  “Luke, you and I have to talk,” he said as he and his son stood in the kitchen contemplating the empty cabinets that Joe hadn’t yet filled this weekend with groceries.

  His stomach growling, Luke looked worried. “Did I do somethin’ wrong?”

  “No.” Joe picked up the cereal box and ignored the little voice in his head that said children could not live by cereal alone. Luke did, and he was growing like a weed. “Frosted? Or honey-coated?”

  Luke considered quite seriously before announcing, “Both. Is this about Cynthia Webber’s hair?”

  Joe winced as he filled the plastic bowl. “What about Cynthia Webber’s hair?”

  “’Cause I didn’t do it. Honest.”

  “Get the milk, Luke.” Joe took the bowl of cereal to the table, then made a bowl for himself. If seven-year-olds could live off sugarcoated cereal, so could he.

  Luke brought the milk and Joe poured. Luke dug into his like a pig at a trough. With milk dribbling down his chin, he said, “I never cut her hair off. Honest.”

  Joe groaned, then practically roared, “Then who did?”

  “I dunno.”

  “Luke!”

  “’Kay, I know. But I didn’t do it. Do I have to rat on Ritchie, ’cause he’s my friend.”

  “He cut off her hair? At school?”

  Luke grinned. “It was so cool. She screamed and screamed. And then she started to cry. And Miss Reynolds turned all red in the face.”

  “Luke, I don’t want to get called to school again because you’ve been misbehaving. Understood?”

  His excitement fading, the worried look back, Luke said, “Yes, Dad.”

  And then Joe felt like a heel. “Hey, buddy?”

  “Hmm?”

  “I love you.”

  “I love you, too, Dad.”

  “How ’bout we go to the park later? Maybe we can find a little pickup game of football?”

  “’Kay.”

  “But you’ve got to listen to me about something first, okay?”

  Luke nodded.

  �
�It’s about the teeth. And your mother. Luke?”

  “Yeah.” He kicked one of his shoes against the other and looked like he was getting ready to take a punch in the gut.

  Joe forced himself to go on. “Sometimes grown-ups do things that just don’t make sense, Luke. Things we don’t understand. I’m sorry your mother’s gone. I know you miss her, and if I could bring her back to you, I would. But I can’t.”

  “You could make her come back,” Luke insisted.

  Joe wished he could sink right into the floor, rather than face his son’s request. He had to face the possibility that it might be best if Luke never saw his mother again, that all she would ever do was hurt him and disappoint him. And Joe didn’t want her back under those circumstances.

  But for Luke? What did he want for Luke? He couldn’t tell his kid that his mother was a rotten person. Or that she was acting like one.

  “Luke, remember when we talked about following the rules? About how, when you’re a kid, you have to do what your parents say, because they know things you just don’t know and they’re trying to take care of you and keep you safe?”

  Luke nodded solemnly.

  “I’m not your mother’s parent. I can’t tell her she has to come back here, and even if I did, she doesn’t have to do what I tell her. Because she’s a grown-up. When you get to be a grown-up, you get to make decisions for yourself, and your mother decided to go away.”

  It was a terrible thing to say to a kid. But Joe had found out the hard way that there were no pretty lies to explain this away. Elena was gone, and there were only so many excuses he could make. He’d made them all already, anyway.

  She took a trip. She got sick. She had to help a friend. She was coming back soon. The list was endless, and the kids hadn’t bought any of it. The more excuses he made, the more his kids believed he was lying to them, and he was all they had left. He had to be straight with them.

  “Why did she go away?” Luke asked tear fully.

  “I don’t know. She didn’t tell me.”

  “Do you think she still loves us?”

  Ouch. That hurt. Honesty, Joe reminded himself. What could he honestly say?

  “Luke, I can’t imagine anyone not loving you and Dani.”

  “I don’t like Dani sometimes,” he said.

  “Well, she’s your sister. I think you’re allowed to not like her sometimes. But you still love her.”

  Luke shrugged. “I guess so.”

  “Samantha said you were mad at her.”

  “She can bring my mom back.”

  “No, Luke. She can’t.”

  “She’s magic.”

  “She pulls quarters from behind little boys’ ears. Moms aren’t quarters.”

  “Samantha’s magic. I know it. She’s the tooth fairy. I know ’cause she looks just like the one in the book, and the book is magic. And so is she.”

  “Remember what we said about grown-ups? They make their own decisions. Your mother decided to go. And until she decides she wants to come back, nothing can bring her back. Not magic. Or wishes. Or the teeth you’ve been putting in that jelly jar in your closet.”

  “She told you,” Luke said accusingly.

  “Yes, Samantha did. Because you can’t go around school pulling other kids’ teeth. We talked about this, Luke. If a bunch of teeth would bring your mother back, I’d take you into the garage, give you some pliers and let you pull every tooth I have.”

  “Do you have any that are loose?”

  “No.” Joe put his head in his hands and took a big breath, because this wasn’t going at all the way he’d hoped.

  “It would hurt a lot to pull ’em if they’re not even loose,” Luke said, all seriousness now.

  “Buddy, I would do it for you if it would work. I’d do anything. But it won’t work. Do you understand what I’m saying? Do you believe me about the teeth and the wishes?” Luke kept squirming, so Joe had to work hard to look him in the eye, to make sure Luke heard and understood. “Luke? A bunch of teeth aren’t going to bring your mother back.”

  “’Kay.” Luke hung his head, tears running down his cheeks. “Is she ever coming back?”

  “I don’t know, Luke. Honest, I just don’t know.” Joe pulled Luke to his side and held on tight. “But I know one thing.”

  “What?” Luke mumbled miserably.

  “I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere.” Joe almost choked on the words himself. “Believe me?”

  Luke nodded and buried his head against his father’s side.

  Samantha worked constantly the next week, trying to make herself so tired she didn’t have time to think or be tempted to pick up the phone and call Seattle or be disappointed when she saw nothing more of Joe or Luke. She was moving on, after all, and moving for real, it seemed.

  The previous Sunday her real-estate agent gave her official notice that the house in which she was living had been sold and that Samantha had to find another place to live.

  “We’ll find you something perfect,” June said, strolling into the living room with an armful of notebooks and making herself comfortable by spreading her things across the coffee table. “Just tell me what you want, and I’ll find it.”

  Daughters, Samantha thought, thinking of the ones she lost. She wanted daughters. And then she found that image sharing space inside her head with Luke Morgan’s impish face, with the feel of Joe’s arms wrapped around her, the sound of his voice whispering in her ear. Too bad, Samantha told herself. June didn’t have any of those things in her house books. Samantha couldn’t take out a mortgage and buy them, either.

  But she could find herself a house. She could take that one step toward what she wanted. If she was going to build a life here, she had to have a place to live, and there was no need to wait to find a man to provide one for her. She had money of her own and a good job. She was a modern woman. She could find her own house—an absolutely perfect house. And when she found a man to marry, a man she trusted to have children with, they could all live there.

  It was a very positive step. An optimistic one. Surely she could take one positive step toward the life she wanted to have. She wouldn’t get anywhere sitting here feeling sorry for herself and waiting for the world to somehow bring all the things she wanted to her.

  She and June spent twenty minutes flipping through photographs and home descriptions, looking over the maps of the community and finally heading out to look at three places that were close by.

  One was too big. One was too small. One seemed just right—the size, the neighborhood, the price, the style, and yet Samantha knew it just wasn’t her house. As June drove her back home late that afternoon, Samantha turned her head toward the side window while June rattled on about depreciation and interest rates and tax advantages.

  Gazing sadly at the passing scenery and trying not to listen to anything June said, Samantha caught sight of a For Sale sign in a yard overgrown with weeds. Curious, she thought, because all the other houses on the street had beautifully maintained yards, with little rock borders and flower beds and vines and bulbs. It was a charming neighborhood, a place full of real homes.

  “What’s this place?” Samantha said.

  Ready to latch on to the least show of interest, June jerked the car to the curb and pulled out her handy-dandy house book. “What’s the address?”

  Samantha looked to the end of the street, then to the numbers on the porch column. “Threeten Dogwood Lane.”

  She’d had dogwoods in her backyard when she was growing up. Scrawny ugly trees that seemed to have no substance at all, no backbone. But in the spring…Samantha smiled. She could see them filled with the brightest bursts of pinks and spring whites, delicate little blossoms that absolutely transformed those trees into something magical for a few short weeks.

  June started reading the listing information to her. “Seventy-five years old.”

  Seventy-five? She’d need a live-in handyman.

  “Five bedrooms, four baths.”

 
An army could sleep there.

  “Full basement.”

  Which would leak for sure.

  “A one-acre lot.”

  She’d need a tractor to mow it.

  “It’s all wrong for me,” Samantha said, gazing at the house. The real trouble was, it reminded her of her own home, the one where she’d grown up.

  It had all sorts of interesting angles to it, a wide shaded front porch, so many windows she’d pay a fortune to cover them and another fortune to heat the house.

  June named a price, then added, “That can’t be right. It’s much too small a figure for this much space. Let me see…”

  Samantha watched as June finally looked up and saw the house.

  “God, it’s a mess.”

  “No, it’s not.” Samantha felt she had to defend it for some reason.

  “Well,” said, June backpedaling, “it’s a steal for this price. And the neighborhood… You know what people say about buying a house—location, location, location. You can fix anything about a house except its location.”

  True, Samantha thought. But this house needed a tremendous amount of fixing. Still, they could just look. What was the harm in looking? “Can we go inside? Now?”

  June peered through the trees toward the front porch. “If there’s a lockbox, we can look.”

  They climbed out of the car and walked to the front door. Beneath her feet, the boards that formed the front porch creaked and sagged ominously. The white paint was flaking, giving the house a dingy and rather sad appearance. Still, Samantha was excited.

  June extracted the key from the lockbox, and they let themselves in. Dust scattered as the wind rushed in. Samantha watched as sunlight streamed through the windows and the dust floated back down to the floor, which was hardwood. Obviously it had been mistreated over the years, but it was real hardwood.

  She could sand it, polish it, make it shine.

  There was a huge fireplace in the corner, an elaborately carved wooden mantel, equally in need of attention. But it could be magnificent. She just knew it.

  In the back she saw a yard filled with trees, the ground covered by a blanket of leaves that no one had bothered to rake. The lot was wide, heavily treed, ending in what she suspected was a stream that ran across the back of the property. It was a children’s paradise, she decided. Lots of trees, grass, a stream—they could play for hours. She had, in a place just like this.