Haley darted quick glances to the pricing side of the lunch-board menu above him as he checked the nuggets and slid her sandwich into the press, prayed and locked the cover. The fryer bell signaled completion. He drained the fries and nuggets, piled them into two separate to-go containers, added dipping sauce, a pack of M&M’s and a juice box.
Haley’s eyes went round. She tripped over her words. “Um, we have drinks at home. The nuggets alone are fine, really. I, um...”
He ignored her protests, opened the panini press and smiled. No big mess, and the sandwich looked great. He flipped it onto the counter, cut it in half with a very manly carving knife, then slipped the grilled sandwich into a foam box for her, with a side of chips, her own miniature bag of M&M’s and an empty cup for a drink.
“Oh, I—”
He handed the cup to Tyler. “Can you help Aunt Haley get a drink, please?” He turned his attention back to Haley. “I’m guessing she wants a Diet Coke.”
She looked trapped and torn, but she followed Tyler to the soda bar, helped him hold the cup while she filled it, then let him assist again while they put a lid on it. She bent low and met Tyler’s eye. “Can you carry this for me, please?”
He nodded, looking less combative and more self-confident. “Yes, ma’am.”
Military manners, thought Brett. Polite. With good eye contact. Pretty impressive for a five-year-old.
Haley straightened, grabbed out a wallet and started fishing for a card. Brett raised his hands, holding her off. “No charge on that tonight, ma’am.”
She stopped. Stared. Then shook her head and extended the card anyway.
Brett stepped back, steadfast. “No charge.”
“But—”
“Just my way of welcoming the two newest citizens of Allegany County into the area.”
“But what will Charlie say?”
Brett didn’t choke. Obviously she thought Charlie and LuAnn owned the Crossroads. And her assumption was understandable because he’d kept to himself. When he wasn’t helping his mother. Or working with the fire department.
The store was his post-army investment property. The mom-and-pop mini-store had transformed into a lucrative enterprise as Allegany County’s economic woes diminished. Their recovery might be sluggish mid-winter, but the rest of the year? An upswing in business fed the cash register with a steady rise in income.
And after living on service pay minus careful investments for twenty-five years, Brett saw nothing wrong with a raise in salary.
He’d hired others to handle the store from the beginning, but being here today? Seeing the people, handling the orders, running the register for long hours? His hands-on involvement made him feel like he was part of something again. Between the Thanksgiving dinner yesterday and today’s crazy-paced business, he’d felt fully involved in life for the first time in, well... too long. And he liked the feeling. “I’ll fix it with Charlie.”
She opened her mouth to argue and he fought the urge to silence her with two broad fingers against those sweet lips, just to see if she felt as good as she looked. Something told him she would. Common sense and decorum held him back. “It’s fine. I promise.”
Her heartfelt smile said she caved and the quick sheen of tears meant he’d touched a raw spot. “Go.” He pointed toward the door. “Head home. Eat. Sleep. Tomorrow will be better.” He dropped his gaze and winked at the two little camouflage-clad boys. “I promise.”
“You have kids, Mr....?”
“Brett,” he told her. He came around the counter and swung the door wide for them. “And no, I don’t.” The old stab of pain hit him mid-section, but without the usual gut-punch force. “Not married.” He added that just in case she wondered. Maybe hoping she wondered. “But I was one, so I’ve got a pretty good take on things. Food. Play. More food. Bed.”
“Thank you, Brett.”
His heart stuttered as a seed of contentment nudged its way in. The way she said his name, kind of slow. Soft. The look of gratitude she sent him, that maybe said something more unless his skills had rusted from disuse.
“Come on, fellas. Let’s get you home.” She set the food on the passenger-side front seat, piled the boys into the car with greater ease than she’d displayed yesterday, and watched as Tyler tucked her cup into the cup holder. “Good job.”
Her approval evoked the boy’s smile, still tentative, but there.
Baby steps, Brett decided. He knew that regimen, all right.
He watched her pull away, then stared with surprise when she angled the car left, then right and pulled into the far right lot alongside the cooperative. A light blinked on in the back of the original furniture store. Then another.
She lived in the recently approved apartment behind the old furniture store. How had he missed that?
Then another thought occurred, bringing back her conversation yesterday, her concern, the money issues, the time constraints.
He let his gaze wander Bennington Station, the new “Street of Shops”-type shopping experience enjoying a grand opening month to beat the band. Realization struck hard and deep.
She was Haley Jennings, Frederick Bennington’s granddaughter, the mastermind behind the burgeoning enterprise spearheading new business opportunities and success in this corner of Allegany County.
And he was slated to do her fire safety inspection Monday morning.
The lights blinked, mocking him, as if daring him to find something wrong on Monday. Like she needed anything else on her plate right now.
But as interim inspector, the job was his while Bud Schmidt recovered from cancer surgery, and until then...
Haley Jennings would have to contend with him. He could only pray none of her merchants or subcontractors had messed up, but Brett knew the score. In the height of holiday shopping frenzy, everyone tried to use as much space as possible to promote themselves and their products. Improperly wired lighting displays, blocked exits, windows that wouldn’t open with the rain or snow...
All things that could spell disaster. People hurt. Lives lost. Too often a little caution could have provided a totally different outcome.
He ground his jaw and wondered how he’d missed her presence all these months, but the reality of that bit hard.
He’d been hiding, plain and simple. And the time for seclusion was over.
Chapter Three
Haley’s cell phone buzzed as she clicked the bedroom door shut, wondering if little boys should bathe every night.
She hoped not.
She withdrew the phone, saw LuAnn’s name and quickly answered. “LuAnn, hi. How’s everything? Is Jess okay? And Shelby Rose? Is she doing fine?”
LuAnn’s laugh held a hint of question. “Jess is fine, Michaela’s excited, the baby’s beautiful and has a healthy set of lungs just like her mother. How did you find out about her? I didn’t want to call you at work because I knew how crazy today would be.”
“Brett told me.”
“Brett told you?” Surprise hiked the older woman’s voice.
“The boys weren’t exactly cooperative today, and by the time I got Rory home, they were starving. All those nice leftovers you provided for us yesterday? They won’t touch them. And by eight o’clock at night, I was too tired to fight it and not mean enough to starve ’em.”
“So you stopped at the Crossroads for food.”
“Brett made them nuggets and fries.”
“He... What?” LuAnn’s surprise pitched higher. “We don’t have chicken nuggets at the Crossroads.”
“I know.” Haley breathed a sigh as she sank into the corner of her “new” resting place. She’d given the boys her big bed and taken the couch. She’d pretend the old cast-off sofa provided great support and she’d ignore the lumps, at least until life settled down after the holidays. Come January s
he should be able to breathe.
But she wasn’t wishing the biggest shopping season of the year away. These eight weeks of sales provided enough profit for many to stay in business over the cold, dark days of a northern winter. She’d learned that in Lewisburg when she worked at the Street of Shops throughout her college years. She’d watched, listened and learned. When opportunity came her way in the shape of her grandfather’s bequest of the somewhat-worn buildings, she was ready. She hoped.
“Well, I won’t keep you, dear. I just wanted to say that Charlie and I will take the boys tomorrow. They can play here with Michaela and you’re free to work as long as you need to.”
Gratitude clogged Haley’s throat. “LuAnn, that’s a lovely gesture, but—”
“There’ll be no buts,” LuAnn cut in firmly. “We’re two grown adults watching one little girl. Having the boys here will keep her busy. You’re actually doing us a favor. Charlie is insisting that he’s played the last game of Dora Memory in this lifetime, and because that’s Michaela’s current favorite, she wants to play it nonstop.”
That information plugged another piece of the child-puzzle into Haley’s thinking. “So that’s normal for preschoolers?”
LuAnn laughed. “Absolutely. They grab on to a thought or a game and run with it repeatedly. Then they drop that and hang on to the next thing that takes their fancy. All quite normal, dear.”
“And Todd’s stuffed cat? Panther?” She said the little stuffed cat’s name with a firm question mark attached. “It’s not weird that he won’t put it down? Ever? And gets really nervous when he does?”
“He’s lost a great deal.” LuAnn’s voice went soft and reassuring. “Sometimes when we lose what we love, we cling tighter to what’s left behind.”
Words of wisdom. And that would explain why Todd mimicked Tyler repeatedly. There was safety in continuity, in same old, same old. Haley didn’t know that from childhood experience. Her choppy upbringing held no horrid skeletons in the closet, but it didn’t hold much substance either. And her mother would never understand why Haley drove straight to New Jersey when she’d heard of the boys’ plight, grabbed the little fellows and brought them back to the Southern Tier of New York.
No. Her mother would have sent a generous check and moved on with her life, which made Haley more determined to distance herself from the money-is-everything mind-set her mother and stepfather embraced.
“Haley, are you still there?”
“Sorry, LuAnn. Just thinking. You know how dangerous that is for a blonde.”
LuAnn laughed. “Not for you. I’ve never met a sweeter, funnier, smarter or more industrious young woman and I’ve been around a long time, Haley. You’re one of a kind.”
Oh, those words of affirmation. They sparked emotion in Haley. She blinked tears back and put the emotion on hold, a skill she’d learned long ago. She didn’t know if indifference was as painful as physical trials and tribulations in childhood, but she understood the heartache of it firsthand.
An absentee father, an uncaring mother and a posh setting that pretended everything was all right. It had never been all right, but she’d moved up and out, determined to be her own person. This new enterprise achieved that, and made her proud. “LuAnn, you’re sure it’s not too much for you guys?”
“Because we’re old?” LuAnn wondered out loud, laughing.
“No, because...” Haley tripped over her words, trying to backpeddle. She failed miserably. “I—”
“It will be fine, dear. Just fine. Charlie will swing by at eight o’clock. And if they’re still in their jammies, just send clothes along. They can get dressed here.”
Another reprieve. She had no idea that getting children dressed could be such an ordeal and wasn’t sure if that was normal or not. Were they testing her?
Yes.
Were they winning?
She wrinkled her nose. So far, they were. And she couldn’t deny she’d felt a certain sense of relief when she left the boys in Rory’s capable hands that morning. Was that an understandable reaction or was she lacking the mother gene?
“Give it time, Haley.” LuAnn’s gentle wisdom uplifted her. “We live such fast-paced lives today that we forget to sit back. Be still. Breathe. Let things unfold.”
“I feel pushed to hurry,” Haley confessed, knowing LuAnn would somehow understand. “To achieve. To succeed.”
“I think that’s why the Psalms talk so much about patience.” LuAnn’s voice blanketed her. Warmed her from within. “To wait on the Lord. To stand strong and steadfast. But no one said it would be easy.”
Haley got that, but right now, with two little souls suddenly dependent on her, a fledgling business to run and rising concern over the absence of that second bank draft in her business account, letting go and letting God proved to be a difficult concept. Maybe impossible. But once things settled down...
“Get some sleep,” LuAnn advised. “Charlie will be there first thing.”
“Thank you, LuAnn.”
“You’re welcome.” LuAnn paused, but didn’t hang up the phone. In a voice that sounded a touch off, she went back to the beginning of their conversation. “Did you really say that Brett made the boys chicken nuggets?”
“Yes. He totally saved the moment because I was facing mutiny.”
“And Brett’s our go-to person to defuse mutiny, that’s for sure.” LuAnn’s tone mixed satisfaction with amusement. “Good night, dear.”
“Good night.”
Haley disconnected the call, grabbed the quilt she’d bought at Maude McGinnity’s shop last summer, snugged her head into a not-so-comfortable throw pillow and promised herself a shopping trip soon. At least for a decent pillow to avoid the sore-neck headache she contended with today.
She’d get through tomorrow. Then Sunday. On Monday she’d hand over the reins of the co-op to one of the more experienced merchants and tackle the ever-growing to-do list, slightly annoyed that none of the tasks could be accomplished on her smartphone:
Sign Tyler up for school.
Find day care for Todd.
Talk to the bank officer and trace the delay on her loan.
Shop for food as funds allowed.
The fire inspection. She’d forgotten that the co-op was scheduled for another fire inspection Monday because the new wing was near completion. And with a busy weekend facing her, she didn’t have extra time to make sure everything was perfectly spaced for the inspector.
But she’d have to because that was her job. She’d stay late Sunday and ask the merchants to check their own areas. Would they do it with her diligence?
Some would, some wouldn’t. But with time growing short, she’d have to trust them to police their own areas for fire safety rules. The old showroom area had burned once, under suspicious circumstances, twenty years ago. She had no intention of letting her grandfather’s legacy burn again.
Chapter Four
Brett’s phone buzzed him awake shortly after 2:00 a.m. on Sunday morning, which made perfect sense because the bars closed right about then. He dragged himself awake, hating to take the call, knowing he had no choice. “Hey, Mom.”
“Brett.”
His throat tightened. His heart pinched. He knew that slur, that tone. “Where are you?”
“I’m home.”
That might or might not be true. “Do you need a ride?”
“To where?”
He refused to sigh even though they’d traveled this ground often enough. “Home.”
“But I am home.”
The sound of raindrops and the movement of the occasional car said she wasn’t. She needed a ride and was ashamed to ask. But she knew if she called, he’d figure it out. He always did. “I’ll be right there. Which road are you on?”
She breathed deep, the sensitive mic tellin
g him she was moving. Turning, maybe? Finding her bearings? “I’m near the library.”
“In Wellsville?”
“Yes.” The lisped word drained energy from his meager middle-of-the-night stash. “It’s raining.”
Pouring, actually. He grabbed a heavy jacket from a hook, his keys and a blanket to warm her. “I’m on my way. Go up the library stairs and wait. The rain can’t soak you there.”
“Okay.”
She wouldn’t do it. She’d be afraid someone would come along in the shadowed overhang. Find her. Make trouble. No, she’d feel more secure out by the street, with streetlights guiding her way, despite the teeming rain and lack of cover.
She hadn’t called him in weeks. He’d hoped things were better. And he knew she’d gone to AA a couple of times, but he also knew overcoming addiction was hard work. Many a soldier under his command had fought addictive behaviors. Some succeeded. Some didn’t.
But his mother’s angst and depression made her a prime candidate, and she’d resumed old habits once his younger brother Ben had died in a military chopper training run over rugged California mountains.
Ben gone.
Joe gone.
And his mother had no one but him around to help pick up the pieces. She only called when desperate, but maybe this time he could make a difference. Maybe this time...
He headed through Jamison, the picturesque little town buttoned up for the night. The Highway Department had strung lights and affixed wreaths on old-style lampposts. The whimsical effect proffered charm and invitation, and Jamison specialized in charismatic appeal. But tonight the prettiness of the Christmas season mocked him. He’d let down his son. His brother. And his mother wanted little to do with him most days.
But that hadn’t changed much in four decades, so he wasn’t exactly looking for a miracle. More like peace of mind. Atonement.
He pulled up to the library fifteen minutes later and found no sign of Joanna Stanton anywhere.
He parked the SUV, climbed out and took the library steps at a quick clip, but no one waited under the overhang.
His Mistletoe Family Page 3
