by Judy Duarte
So here they were, nearing downtown Brighton Valley, with its quaint little shops and eateries, like Darla’s Cut and Curl and Caroline’s Diner.
You’d think he’d feel a sense of pride, of peace, as he neared the Lazaros’ house. Instead, the silence within the confines of the truck’s cab was using up all the oxygen.
But why should he let that happen? What did it matter if Mallory met—or even liked—Hank and Marie? Rick had already made his mark in the community. He was no longer the same surly teen she’d once known.
But what about Lucas?
Yeah. Maybe that’s why he’d really done it. He’d wanted to introduce his son to the people who meant the most to him.
Rick stole a glance at the boy who sat between him and Mallory.
Lucas had been unusually quiet on the drive, and Rick wondered why that was. He’d been so consumed by his own thoughts that he’d neglected to think about his son.
Was Lucas worried about going to a new school on Monday and not knowing anyone? He had to be.
Rick knew exactly how that felt. He’d had to do it enough times when he’d grown up.
A wave of guilt swept over him for being so self-centered. He should have been more tuned in to what the poor kid had been feeling than in stewing about old memories that were a waste of time to even think about. But since he was about to turn right onto Cottonwood Circle, he didn’t have time to deal with it now. He’d just have to make up for it later.
“I’ve always liked this part of town,” Mallory said, as she turned to Lucas. “I used to walk along this street on my way to school each day.”
“Oh, yeah? How far did you have to go?”
“Only about five blocks.”
A walk in the park. When Rick went to foster care, in order to stay at Brighton Valley High and be near Mallory, he’d had to ride a city bus from his apartment complex for almost an hour, then walk about ten blocks to the school, but he kept his mouth shut. It wasn’t the time to bring up the past.
After turning onto Cottonwood Circle, he proceeded down the street to the familiar two-story redbrick house, with white trim and black shutters. He pointed to the right. “This is it, but I’m going to make a U-turn and park on the other side of the street.”
“It’s a beautiful home,” Mallory said. “Have they lived here long?”
“About forty years. They raised their daughter, Bethany, here. She’s in her third year of medical school in California.”
“They must be very proud.”
“She’s an awesome kid—brilliant, funny and beautiful on the inside and out.”
Mallory studied the house again. “With it just being the two of them at home now, are they thinking about downsizing?”
“No, they’re pretty social. They’re always hosting get-togethers of one kind or another. I don’t think they’ll ever sell this place.”
“Well, if they ever put it on the market,” Mallory said, “I’ll bet it wouldn’t last very long.”
“I’m sure you’re right.”
The house had what Realtors would call “curb appeal,” a well-tended yard and lawn, along with colorful flowerbeds and a winding sidewalk bordered with marigolds that led to the front porch. But the most appealing thing of all, at least as far as Rick was concerned, was to be found inside the house. And that’s what drew him back time and again.
After pulling his truck behind a white SUV, Rick shut off the ignition. “Here we are.”
Mallory scanned the other vehicles parked along both sides of the curb. “I guess we’re not the first to arrive. How many people are they expecting?”
“It’s hard to say. I recognize a couple of cars, but I’m not sure if you’d know them. Tom Randall is here. And I think that white SUV belongs to Brad Welling.”
“Do they have kids?” Lucas asked from the backseat.
“No, but when I called, I asked Hank if there would be children here, and he said there would be.”
They climbed from the truck. Mallory carried the plate of brownies she’d brought.
“Are you nervous about meeting kids you don’t know?” Rick asked Lucas.
“A little. But I’m more nervous about going to a new school on Monday and not knowing anyone. So it would be better to meet someone here first.”
“I agree,” Rick said.
They headed up the walk to the front door, where a woven, heart-shaped mat and matching pots of red geraniums welcomed them and gave visitors a sense of coming home. At least, that’s the feeling Rick always got whenever he approached the house, crossed the threshold and caught a whiff of whatever Marie was baking or cooking.
He’d never experienced the like at any of the other places he’d ever lived, including the apartment behind the clinic where he now hung his hat.
“Can I ring the doorbell?” Lucas asked.
“Sure,” Rick said. “Go ahead.”
Moments later, the door swung open, and they were met by Hank, who greeted Rick with a firm handshake, followed by a manly hug. “It’s good to see you, and to welcome your friends.”
“This is Mallory Dickinson and...” Rick looked at the boy, wanting more than anything to acknowledge their actual relationship in front of the man he admired and respected most in the world. But he and Mallory had an agreement he intended to keep. “And this is her son, Lucas.”
Mallory shuffled the plate of brownies into the crook of her left arm so she could shake hands with her host.
“It’s nice to meet you,” Hank said as he greeted her with a warm and firm grip. “Marie and I are so happy you came.”
“Thanks for allowing us to tag along.”
“It’s our pleasure. We love having company. Our rule of thumb has always been the more the merrier, especially for barbecues.”
The retired detective, who appeared to be in his mid-to late sixties, wasn’t a big man—just five-eight or nine—yet he seemed to be large in every other sense of the word—a deep commanding voice, broad shoulders and a stocky stance.
“Rick said that it wasn’t necessary to bring anything,” Mallory said, glancing down at the plastic-wrapped plate of goodies in her arms. “But I was making a batch of brownies to thank my neighbor for watching Lucas for me and doubled the recipe. I didn’t want to come empty-handed.”
“They look delicious.” Hank splayed his hand over his rounded belly. “And while I’m sure we’ll have plenty to eat today, I love chocolate, so I can guarantee they won’t last long.”
As Hank stepped aside, they entered the house, and Rick closed the door behind them.
“Come with me,” Hank said, as he led them through a cozy living room with dark, distressed wood floors, leather furniture and a large LCD television mounted to the wall.
They moved through so quickly that Mallory didn’t have a chance to check out the decor, the artwork on the walls or the photographs on the fireplace mantel, but she did notice a warm, homey vibe.
On the other hand, they stopped in the kitchen, which was spacious and functional, with red walls, gray granite countertops and stainless-steel appliances. Splashes of yellow and green in the artwork, which was a chicken and barnyard decor, made the room bright and cheery.
A petite older woman was slicing tomatoes and preparing burger fixings at an island in the center of the room. She glanced up and smiled as they joined her.
“Honey,” Hank said. “Rick and Mallory are here.”
Marie Lazaro, an attractive woman, with plump rosy cheeks and her salt-and-pepper-colored hair pulled into a topknot, brightened and set the knife on the counter. After wiping her hands on a red-and-white-checkered dishtowel, she greeted Rick with a hug.
Then she turned to Mallory and Lucas, her brown eyes welcoming and expressive, her smile warm. “I’m so glad you came.”
“Thanks so much for including us,” Mallory said.
“You really didn’t need to bring anything, but it was nice that you did. Don’t those brownies look yummy.” Marie reached for the platter. “Let’s set them over here.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?” Mallory asked.
“Well...” Marie glanced at the counter, where she had a head of iceberg lettuce, a red onion and a package of American cheese slices. “If you don’t mind, I could actually use a little help. I’d meant to prepare this stuff earlier, but I received a call from a troubled friend who needed an ear. And it set me back a bit this morning.”
“Why don’t I take Lucas out in the backyard with me,” Hank said. “I’ll introduce him to Jason and Ryan, the kids who’ve been staying with Tom. I’ll bet he’d like to play catch with them, too.”
“Good idea,” Marie said.
Tom Randall was another one of Hank’s success stories. Once a teenager prone to trouble, much like Rick, Tom was now a local cattle rancher who also bred cutting horses.
As Hank led Lucas out the sliding door and into the backyard, Rick asked Marie, “Who are Tom’s houseguests?”
“Actually, I think it might be more permanent than that. Did I tell you that Tom has been involved in my church outreach program?”
Rick nodded.
“Well, a few months ago, he met the boys while we were volunteering our time in a poor area of Potter’s Junction, a small town about fifty miles from here.” Marie scanned the windows and doorways. It appeared to be clear, but she lowered her voice anyway. “They’re good kids who’d been living with various family members and moving from home to home. They never knew whose sofa they’d be sleeping on next. And as a result, they were struggling in school. It was a pretty sad situation.”
Unable to help herself, Mallory glanced at Rick, saw the furrow in his brow, the tightening of his lips.
“We were going to report them to protective services, but Tom asked us to hold off. The kids weren’t in imminent danger. They just weren’t being loved and cared for properly.”
“Why did he want you to wait?” Rick asked.
“He invited them out to his house for the weekend, and the kids had a great time. So he did it again the following week, only that time he picked them up on Friday after school and returned them to school on Monday morning. Then he asked how they’d like to move in with him. The kids were thrilled, and since none of those families really wanted to take them in—or even had a legal claim to them, anyway—Tom went to social services and became their foster parent. He’s only had them a couple of weeks, but they seem to be doing well.”
“I haven’t seen Tom in a while,” Rick said. “I think I’ll head outside and talk to him.”
Mallory wondered if he was more curious about the boys, whose lives might have been worse than his own. Or maybe he wanted to see how Lucas was relating to them. She had to admit, she was curious, too.
After Rick left the kitchen, she thanked Marie again for allowing her and Lucas to come. “It’s especially nice because we’re new to the neighborhood, and my son will be starting school on Monday. I’d hoped he’d meet some other children while we were here.”
“I can’t remember their exact ages, but I think one of Tom’s boys is in second grade, and the other is in third or fourth.”
“That’s perfect.”
“Can I get you something to drink?” Marie asked. “Water, iced tea, fruit punch? Maybe a glass of sangria? It’s Hank’s special recipe.”
Mallory smiled. “I’ll start with the iced tea and try the sangria later.”
Marie smiled, then reached into the cupboard for a glass. “Rick tells us that you’re Reverend Dickinson’s granddaughter.”
Rick had told her that he and the Lazaros were close. What else had he told Hank and Marie about her—and Lucas?
Rather than make any assumptions—or offer up any detailed information about the past, she asked a question of her own. “Yes, I am. How do you know my grandfather?”
“I have a couple of friends who go to Brighton Valley Community Church, and they’ve always spoken very highly of him. He’s very well respected in town. I heard that he’s been ill and had to retire. I hope he’s doing better.”
“He had bypass surgery a few weeks ago, but his diabetes and other health issues complicated his recovery for a while, which is why I decided to move back. Fortunately, he’s finally on the mend. He’s still at the Brighton Valley Medical Center now, but they’re talking about discharging him. He’ll need nursing assistance, but they have that available in the senior complex where he lives.”
“It’s nice that he has you here to help coordinate things for him,” Marie said.
“I just wish I would have moved home sooner. After Gram died, I suggested doing so, but he said it wasn’t necessary. The board of elders had just hired a new pastor, and he planned to cut back on his responsibilities. He also moved out of the parsonage at that time and into a small apartment. He insisted that he was happy and that his friends from church kept him busy. I believed him, but...”
“I’m sure that was true,” Marie said. “You had a life in Boston. You couldn’t very well move back to Brighton Valley just because your grandmother died.”
“No, but...”
There was so much Marie didn’t know, so much Mallory wouldn’t share. Yet Marie was sure to learn all about it soon—once Rick was free to tell the world that Lucas was actually his son. And once the entire town knew the real reason Mallory had moved to Boston.
“It’s all very complicated,” Mallory said. “My parents were missionaries and died in an accident in San Salvador when I was thirteen. So I spent my teenage years with my grandparents, and we were very close. So I feel badly about being away from Grandpa for so long. But I’m back now, hoping to make up for being away.”
Marie reached over and placed her hand on Mallory’s arm. “When we open our hearts to love and forgiveness, things have a way of working out just the way they’re supposed to—and in the proper time.”
Even when we mess up? Mallory wanted to ask the woman. But a question like that was far too heavy to discuss with a woman she’d only met minutes ago. In fact, she’d rather avoid the entire topic altogether, no matter how easy Marie Lazaro was to talk to.
Several minutes later, after preparing and refrigerating a platter of lettuce leaves and slices of tomatoes, onions, pickles and cheese, Marie helped Mallory tidy up the countertops, then the women went outside.
Carrying her glass of iced tea, Mallory made her way across the patio to the shade of a tree, where Lucas sat with the other boys, sipping on colas, a baseball and two mitts resting beside them. Jason and Ryan, who resembled each other, with wheat-colored hair, green eyes and freckled noses, were close enough in age that they could have passed for twins.
It pleased her to see Lucas making friends, especially with kids who went to the same school he’d be attending, even if they might not be in the same class.
“I hope you don’t have Mrs. Carson,” the smaller boy was saying. “She’s mean. And no one likes her.”
“Yeah,” the bigger boy added. “It’s too bad Dylan Jessup isn’t in her class. He’s always picking on everyone, and he deserves a teacher like her. Instead, he got Miss Ryan, and she’s super nice.”
Mallory wished the kids would sing the praises of Brighton Valley Elementary, rather than tell Lucas all the things they didn’t like about it.
“Hi,” she said, as she approached.
“Hey, Mom.” Lucas pointed to the boy at his right. “This is Jason. And the other guy is his brother, Ryan.”
“It’s nice to meet you.” Mallory took a sip of her tea, then offered them a friendly smile. “So tell me. What’s your favorite thing to do at school?”
“I like recess,�
� the smaller boy—Ryan—said. “We play soccer and stuff like that.”
“Art is fun, too,” Jason said. “And we get to go to the library and eat ice cream on Fridays.”
“That sounds pretty cool to me,” Mallory said, watching Lucas, hoping he agreed. His first day of school would be here before they knew it, and she didn’t want him to experience any Monday-morning jitters. “What do you play at recess?”
The boys answered, and as Lucas chimed in, she decided the kids’ conversation was back on a more positive track. So she excused herself and headed toward a couple of empty patio chairs that rested near an elm tree.
Moments later, Marie approached carrying a glass of iced tea. “Mind if I join you?”
“Not at all. Please do.”
Marie settled into the chair beside Mallory. “It looks as though the kids have hit it off.”
“Yes, they have.”
They watched the boys for a moment, saw them chuckle about something Lucas had said. Mallory was glad to know he had a sense of humor. It would come in handy when it came time to make new friends on Monday.
“Lucas is a beautiful child.”
“Thank you.”
“He must keep you busy.”
“He does, especially now that we’re trying to settle into a new house. I’m also looking for work, so I’ve had to shuffle him to the sitter a lot, but he’s a good sport about it.”
“What kind of job are you looking for?”
“Something in social services. I have a degree in social work. I’ve applied at several places, mostly in Wexler, but I’m hopeful I’ll land a position at the Brighton Valley Medical Center. I’m hoping they call me back for a second interview.”
“That sounds promising.”
“I think so, too. Working there would be my first choice, so we’ll see what happens. I hope to hear something this week.”
“I’ll say a prayer for you—and think positive thoughts.”
“I’d appreciate that. Thank you.”
A man whistled, and Mallory glanced across the lawn, realizing that the men had gathered there and were calling the boys to join them in a game of flag football. Lucas, Ryan and Jason quickly jumped up, clearly delighted to be included.
