Miracle Road es-7

by Emily March

  “Yes. So, are you okay?”

  “I think I am. It helped that this school bus is such a … school bus. I’d forgotten what a lousy ride they are, but it sure helped keep me in the present rather than losing myself in the past. You did a great job behind the wheel, Hope.”

  “Thank you. Now, let’s hope I can do okay with the coach’s clipboard.”

  She did a fine job, with the Grizzlies coming in third place in the tourney, a totally respectable showing. Wade had an excellent outing in the consolation game, and while Lucca treated the victorious team to dinner at a pizza joint, Hope managed to catch a nap on the bus so that she was fresh for the drive home.

  The sleet started a quarter mile from the summit of Sinner’s Prayer Pass.

  The ping of ice pellets sounded like bullets against the bus’s exterior, and as Hope’s alarm mounted, her grip on the steering wheel tightened. Though she focused her attention on the road, she nevertheless sensed when Lucca moved forward to sit behind her. Tension carved furrows in his brow. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  Hope needed to keep calm for Lucca, for the kids, and for the sake of her own nerves, too. “It’s been warm this week. We’ll be home before the ice starts sticking to the road.”

  “That’s good to know.”

  “Talk to me, Coach Romano. I can use the distraction.” So, too, can you, I imagine.

  “All right. What would you like me to talk about?”

  She said the first thing that popped into her mind. “Thanksgiving. When I asked your mother what I could bring, she asked me to bring sweet potatoes. So, what sort of sweet potatoes does your family like? Do you go for more simple ones or do you like the whole southern sweet potato pie thing?”

  Bless his heart, the man took her cue and offered her his unspoken support. He talked sweet potatoes to her all the way down from Sinner’s Prayer Pass, and then broadened to other Romano Thanksgiving fare for the rest of the way into town. By the time Hope pulled into the Eternity Springs Community School parking lot, her hands were shaking with stress and her mouth watered from hunger. “I’ll be dreaming about turkey until Thursday,” she told him as she shifted into park and cut the engine.

  Lucca didn’t answer. He was the first off the bus, and he disappeared into the darkness beyond the glow of the streetlight. Exhaustion overwhelmed Hope as she climbed out of the bus and watched to make sure that all her players had rides home. “Where’s Coach Romano?” she heard Wade Mitchell ask one of his teammates.

  “Guess the pizza didn’t agree with him,” another player answered. “He’s over by the Dumpster puking up his guts.”

  Oh dear, Hope thought. She saw the last of the boys off, then called, “Lucca? Are you okay?”

  “Yeah.” He walked out of the shadows, saying, “I’m fine. I’m great. Excellent job, Hope. I don’t want to ever ride on a school bus again.”

  She laughed softly, then said, “I’m beat. Walk me home, Romano?”

  “I’ll carry you home if you’d like, Montgomery. Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “For getting us home safely. For letting me on the bus in the first place.”

  “You’re welcome.” This had been a victory for him. “So have you put that particular monster to bed, do you think?”

  “Partially. I have come to one decision, though. Right after Thanksgiving, I’m going to get professional help.”

  “You’re going to see a counselor?”

  “Not that sort of professional help. I have something else in mind. Tell me, Ms. Montgomery: How do you feel about NASCAR?”

  After consulting with Gabi, Savannah, and Celeste, Hope made the decision to go with Celeste’s southern recipe for sweet potato pie. She figured that any recipe filled with butter, sugar, and nuts had to be a hit. Besides, Gabi had assured her that Maggie always had plenty of fresh vegetables to balance out the fat.

  So on Thursday morning with her sweet potatoes still warm from the oven, she knocked on the door of Aspenglow Place. Maggie answered wearing an apron with a turkey on the front and a dish towel thrown over her shoulder. “Hope, welcome. Happy Thanksgiving.”

  “Happy Thanksgiving. I came early to help. Tell me what I can do.”

  “Bless you. Come on inside. I’m so glad to have the company. I haven’t been this nervous about a Thanksgiving dinner since the first time I cooked for my in-laws.”

  They walked past the dining room, where a large table was beautifully set. “Your table is gorgeous, Maggie.”

  “Thanks. This is the first year I’ve had a room and furniture big enough to seat everybody. No kids’ table arguments this year.” She gave a nervous laugh and added, “Not that I can count on an argumentless day.”

  Hope gave her friend a comforting smile. “It’s going to be fine. Everyone will behave.”

  “I know,” Maggie replied, leading the way into the kitchen. “I’m just afraid dinner will be awkward and tense. I met Richard’s children yesterday. They’re just delightful. They seemed so happy that he is seeing me. So different from my brood. Of course, he’s the hero rather than the villain in their family drama—his wife was unfaithful and his kids knew it.”

  She handed Hope an apron, saying, “Would you like to wash and trim the green beans?”

  “I’m happy to.”

  Maggie went back to work forming bread dough into rolls. “I’m excited about having Richard’s granddaughter with us today. I’ve missed having children around at the holidays.”

  “How old is she?”

  “Ten. And she’s just a doll. A shy little thing. I made a Jell-O salad that my kids loved when they were children.” Maggie looked up from her rolls and studied Hope. “Speaking of children, we haven’t had a private time to speak since I visited your classroom. You mentioned that you’re a mother, too?”

  Caught off guard, Hope snapped a green bean in two. Her heart started to pound. Her mouth went dry. Stupid, really, since she’d suspected the question might come up. She should be able to calmly confide her secret.

  Instead, she blurted out. “My little girl was kidnapped.”

  In the process of carrying rolls to the oven, Maggie bobbled the baking sheet and almost dropped it. “Oh, my heavens, Hope. Really? What happened?”

  After taking the tray from Maggie and slipping it into the oven, Hope relayed her story, managing to share the basic facts without bursting into tears. She considered it a victory. While she spoke, Maggie abandoned all dinner prep efforts and leaned back against the counter with her arms crossed, her gaze reflecting both sympathy and horror. When Hope finally finished her story, Maggie walked over to her and gave her a hug. “I am so, so very sorry, Hope. That’s the most horrible story. My heart breaks for you. I know what it is like to give up a child. It created a hole in my heart that didn’t heal until we found Zach. But to have a child ripped away from you … to not know where she is or if she’s safe … I cannot imagine the pain. Is that why you haven’t talked about it?”

  Talking about it stirred up feelings better left ignored. “Mostly, yes. Also, I don’t want people to look at me and see a grieving mother. They treat me … tenderly … and that just makes the whole thing more difficult to bear. It’s been easier to be seen as a kindergarten teacher.”

  “Or a coach?” Maggie suggested. “Rumors are swirling around town that you and my son are bouncing something other than basketballs these days.”

  Hope felt her cheeks warm. So, Maggie had finally heard. “We have been dating.”

  Of course, they’d been doing a lot more than that, but she wasn’t about to go down that road.

  “Well, I’m glad.” Maggie beamed at her. “As far as I’m concerned, Lucca couldn’t do better. He hasn’t had someone special in his life for a very long time.”

  At the term “someone special,” Hope’s heart gave a little ka-thump. “Thank you for the compliment, Maggie, but I don’t want you to think this is more than it is. I don’t think Lucca is looking for a lo
ng-term relationship, and I’m certainly not. We’re friends.” Then, because Maggie looked like she was about to launch into a lecture, Hope attempted a distraction. “He is taking me to a high-performance driving school over the weekend.”

  Maggie gave her a baffled look. “A driving school? On Thanksgiving weekend?”

  “Because I drive the basketball team to their away games. You know he went with us to our tournament in Serenity Valley.”

  “Oh,” Maggie said. “I see. Yes, he told Richard that he went. I’m just so thrilled with the progress he’s made. But I have to ask: How does high-performance driving school have anything to do with driving a school bus?”

  “Apparently, they teach not only how to drive, but how to wreck.”

  “Ahh. That will make Lucca feel better about the away games. Oh, Hope. To know that he’s coaching again, and even riding on a team bus—it makes my heart sing. You’ve certainly had a positive impact on his life.” Giving Hope a speculative glance, she added, “You might think this is a passing fling, my dear, but I do not.”

  Hope decided to ignore that. “The owner of the school is a friend of Lucca’s, a former NASCAR driver. He’s arranged private lessons for us on Saturday. I’m looking forward to it. It sounds like fun and”—she gave Maggie a pointed look—“like a carefree, casual date between friends.”

  “You keep telling yourself that if you need to, Hope,” Maggie said. Then she glanced at the clock and changed the subject. “Before everyone else gets here, there’s something else I need to say to you. I want to apologize for spilling my guts to you in your classroom that day. I didn’t know about you and Lucca at the time. Regardless of how serious it is between you two or not, I put you in the middle of a family drama, and I’m sorry.”

  “No need for that. I’ve been your friend longer than I’ve been Lucca’s, and I’m glad you could talk to me.”

  “If it was awkward for you …”

  “It hasn’t been. To be honest, Lucca hasn’t said much about you and Richard since you had your family meeting.”

  “Really? What about Gabi?”

  Hope hesitated. “Gabi is a little more …”

  “Stubborn?” her mother suggested.

  “Expressive.”

  “I know. She’s hurt, and that hurts my heart in turn. But I feel as if I’m at a crossroads here. Even if my involvement with Richard doesn’t last, this defines my relationship with my children going forward. Gabi will just have to—”

  “Wash dishes after dinner?” the woman herself asked as she breezed into the kitchen carrying a huge bouquet of yellow roses. “It’s the twins’ year to do it. I keep track.” She handed her mother the flowers, and both her tone and her expression grew serious. “I’m sorry, Mom. I acted like a bitch and I feel horrible about it.” She laced her fingers as if in prayer and added, “I love you so much, and I want you to be happy. Will you forgive me?”

  Maggie transformed in an instant, and in the way of loving mothers, opened her arms. “Oh, baby. Of course I will.”

  The Romano women embraced, then Gabi pulled back with tears in her eyes. “I don’t have to do the dishes, do I?”

  Maggie dabbed at her eyes with the corner of her apron. “No, you’re right. It is the twins’ turn. But you do have to peel potatoes.”

  Soon easy conversation filled the air along with the appetite-stimulating aromas of roasting turkey. Celeste arrived with pies, and shortly after her, Savannah entered the kitchen carrying cornbread dressing. Maggie added her daughter-in-law’s dish to the warming drawer, saying, “We’re going downright southern with our feast this year.”

  “Honey,” Celeste said, the sound of her native South Carolina strong in her voice, “wait until you get a taste of my bourbon pecan pie. I do believe it’s the one item in my culinary repertoire that could give Sarah Murphy a run for her money. Now, tell us, Maggie. Have you enjoyed your new kitchen today?”

  Maggie launched into an enthusiastic endorsement of her new appliances, and she was showing off her dishwasher as her sons arrived. Lucca moved to Hope’s side and bent and gave her a casual kiss. “Happy Thanksgiving.”

  He introduced her to Max and Tony, who made typical ditch-this-guy-and-run-off-with-me brotherly comments that amused her. Just as the conversation turned to the day’s football games, Richard and his family knocked on the front door.

  “He looks like he’s entering the lion’s den,” Max muttered as the newcomers filed into the inn.

  “Can you blame him?” Gabi asked. Then she pasted a big, welcoming smile on her face and swept forward. “Happy Thanksgiving. I’m so glad you could join us for our Thanksgiving meal.”

  Maggie beamed a smile her daughter’s way, then made introductions. Hope shook hands with Richard’s son, Andrew, and Andrew’s wife, Ellen, then turned to their daughter, Claire. The girl had her father’s dark hair and her mother’s big green eyes and the cutest little button nose. Hope’s hand tightened around Lucca’s in a punishing grip. “Hello, Claire. I am very happy to meet you.”

  Claire smiled shyly. “Thank you for inviting us.”

  “Hope?” Lucca asked softly. “You okay?”

  She looks like Holly. Hope backed away from the crowd congregated in the B&B’s entry hall, saying, “Excuse me. I’d better go check on the sweet potatoes.”

  She retreated toward the kitchen, blinking away sudden tears and embarrassed by her reaction. This was ridiculous. She met ten-year-old girls all the time. Telling Maggie about Holly must have stirred her emotions up. That and the fact that it was Thanksgiving, and holidays were always hard.

  Holidays were a time for family. Her family was gone, taken away.

  “Hope?” Lucca called after her.

  Raw inside, Hope couldn’t prevent her tears from overflowing and rolling down her cheeks. Fiercely, she wiped them away with her fingertips as she stepped into the kitchen, Lucca at her heels. “Honey? What’s the matter?”

  “It’s Thanksgiving. My fifth one without her. I should be cooking in my own kitchen with Holly peeling the potatoes like Gabi did for Maggie. I should be teaching her how to make piecrust and watching Santa close out the Macy’s parade on TV. I should be continuing our own traditions! But that’s not happening. It may never happen. What is she doing today? Is she even having a holiday? Or is she with people who don’t celebrate Thanksgiving? Sometimes it’s just so hard. I don’t know where she is or who she’s with. Sometimes … oh, Lucca, I hate myself for this but … but … sometimes I even envy Daniel. Is that not the most horrible thing? It’s horrible and unspeakable what happened to Justin, but Daniel knows. I don’t know. I may never know.”

  Lucca reached out to her and tried to take her into his arms, but Hope didn’t want to be held; she didn’t want to be comforted. “I shouldn’t have come here. I thought this year would be okay. I thought that as long as I was with people …” Needing something to do, she walked to the range and picked up a spoon to tend to whatever Maggie had cooking in the covered sauté pan. Lifting the lid, she said, “Holidays tear me … oh.”

  The scent of cooking brussels sprouts hit her like a fist. Her stomach turned. Hope dropped the spoon, set down the lid, and clapped a hand over her mouth as bile rose in her throat.

  She made it to the bathroom off the kitchen just in time to be wretchedly ill. Afterward, she stood over the bathroom sink and rinsed her mouth, and when she slowly straightened and stared at her pale reflection in the mirror, the knowledge she’d avoided for weeks could no longer be denied.

  SIXTEEN

  Lucca wanted to put his fist through the wall. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so angry or felt so helpless. That woman who stole Holly from Hope needed to burn in hell.

  The look on Hope’s face when his mother had introduced her to Claire Steele broke his heart in two. Her big brown eyes appeared stricken, her smile forced and distraught. Every bit of color had drained from her face before her dash to the bathroom.

  She was always s
o cheery, so positive. Idiot that he was, it hadn’t occurred to him that she might be extra sensitive today. He didn’t connect Thanksgiving with children, but that was stupid. Here he was surrounded by his big, sprawling family, and he’d never once considered how alone she might feel. When he’d heard Steele was bringing his granddaughter, he’d never thought to ask the girl’s age. “You ass,” he muttered.

  When she’d remained in the bathroom for a good five minutes, his mother came up and asked, “Is she all right?”

  When Lucca hesitated, she added, “She told me about her daughter.”

  Relieved that he need not explain or dodge an explanation, Lucca exhaled a heavy breath. “She said that Richard’s granddaughter looks like her Holly. They’d be the same age. I hurt for her, Mom.”

  “I know. I do, too.”

  The ding, ding, ding of the oven timer sounded. Maggie squeezed his arm, then went off to the kitchen. He gave her a couple more minutes, then rapped on the door. “Hope? Can I help you?”

  She didn’t reply, but he heard water running again. A moment later, the door opened. Hope stepped out of the bathroom but didn’t meet his eyes. “Well, that was embarrassing.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “I … well …” She closed her eyes.

  When she wove on her feet, Lucca reached out to steady her. “Shall I take you home?”

  “No,” she was quick to say. “It’s Thanksgiving. Stay with your family. I think … I just need some fresh air.”

  “I’ll walk with you.”

  “No, Lucca. I really need to be alone.”

  “I won’t leave you alone, not today.”

  She brought her hands up and rubbed her eyes. “Okay. Okay. I won’t leave. I won’t make a scene. I’ll stay for dinner. That’s what I do, isn’t it? I soldier on. I just … please … I can’t be with you right now.”

  The words, the sentiment, hurt Lucca, and while he digested that reality, she turned and dashed for the back door. He stood staring after her, his hands fisted at his side. He wanted to comfort her, to soothe her. He’d never felt so impotent in his life. Why wouldn’t she let him help her?