by Susan Gable
“Mmm.” Molly hummed, eyes closed. French toast was just short of heaven in her book. Too bad her father didn’t find it nutritious enough. When she opened her eyes, she discovered Cherish’s mom giving her a knowing look. Molly silently begged her not to tell. Mrs. Driscoll sighed and shook her head. Molly grinned in response. “Thanks. Guess I’d better go and get my own food now.”
She headed off toward the buffet line, wishing for more than one bite of sweetness, but knowing she’d end up eating a gluey blob of heart-healthy oatmeal.
By the time she returned with her tray, her dad and Miss Rachel were just sitting down. Molly slowed as he whipped out a bleach towelette and scrubbed down the table in front of the space beside Cherish, making sure she arrived at the table after he’d finished his embarrassing actions. How was he supposed to impress Miss Rachel when he acted like that? She was going to think he was a nutcase—which in some ways, he was.
“Oh, good, Molly. Here, you sit next to Cherish.”
Molly slid into her place, nudging her friend in the process and rolling her eyes. Cherish tried to stifle a snicker, but ended up snorting like a pig. She quickly covered her mouth with a napkin and they both giggled.
They sat in silence for what seemed like several long minutes. With her spoon, Molly picked at the lumpy oatmeal that clung to the sides of the blue bowl. Scooping up a small portion, she turned it upside down to check the thickness. The blob didn’t move, even with a shake to encourage it. This stuff was far worse than the oatmeal her father made at home.
“You’re not eating,” her dad said softly.
She looked up, the words to defend her finicky behavior waiting on the tip of her tongue, and discovered, to her surprise, that his comment—as well as his attention—was directed at Miss Rachel.
“Oh.” The woman looked startled, as if she’d forgotten the food sitting before her. She glanced down at the plate. “Oh,” she said again, “I didn’t get a knife.” She nudged the tray forward slightly. “Or a napkin.” A deep sigh escaped her.
Dad jumped to his feet. “Not to worry. I’ll get them for you.” He brushed his hand lightly over Miss Rachel’s shoulder. “You stay here and start on that bowl of fruit. You don’t need a knife for that.”
Molly waited until he’d left before spearing the final piece of French toast off Cherish’s plate and quickly eating it. “Did you like the fireflies last night?”
Miss Rachel looked over at her. “Yes, I did. Very much. I think that was the nicest present anyone’s given me in a long time.”
A tingly feeling spread from Molly’s stomach across her chest. Miss Rachel’s pretty blue eyes held hers. “Better than the marshmallow?”
The tiniest bit of a smile started in the corner of Miss Rachel’s mouth. “Definitely better than the marshmallow.”
“Did you make some wishes?”
Miss Rachel nodded.
“Good. You don’t have to tell what they were.”
“Thank you.”
Molly’s dad returned and doled out the knife and napkins he’d gotten. Leaning over the table, he peered into her bowl. “That oatmeal looks more like wallpaper paste.” He held out a glass of milk. “Here, Molly. If you stir some in, it should make it better.”
“Tastes like paste, too.” She made a funny face at him, then accepted the glass from him as he chuckled. “I hope this helps.”
“Eat,” her dad commanded, first her, then he swung to include Miss Rachel. “You, too. Good health starts with good nutrition, and although I wouldn’t call that—” he gestured at the French toast on her plate “—good nutrition, I’m willing to settle for you to eat anything.”
“Is that what I have to do to get something good, stop eating?” Molly muttered, stirring the milk into the oatmeal.
“What was that?” Dad asked.
“Nothing.”
Cherish’s mom handed the baby to Nolan. “Here, take him so I can eat now.”
Eyes wide, Molly watched Miss Rachel drown her French toast in the sticky syrup. Her own spoon reluctantly dug into the oatmeal.
A woman in a white tank top came up behind Miss Rachel and laid a hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry about your son. I just wanted you to know that I admire your courage.” The woman patted her, then moved away quickly.
Miss Rachel pushed the plate forward on the tray and sighed.
Dad always said talking about bad things could make you feel better. “How did your son die?”
“Molly!” the other adults at the table chorused. Her father glared at her, and Cherish pinched her thigh under the table. Molly kept her attention on Miss Rachel.
Rachel locked eyes with the little girl across the table, the protests and gasps of shock from her adult tablemates ringing in her ears.
“You apologize right now, young lady!” James admonished.
“No,” Rachel said.
“No?” He cocked his head and raised one eyebrow.
“No. She doesn’t have to apologize. She asked the one question you all want the answer to.” The weight of their stares made her stomach quiver, but it was Molly’s eyes, a hazel just a shade darker than her father’s, that Rachel focused on. There was no pity in those sparkling eyes, only the natural curiosity of a child.
She inhaled deeply and folded her hands on her lap. “It was the first nice spring weekend. Daniel’s dad took him to the playground. There was a big, wooden structure shaped like a castle, and he loved going there. But he climbed somewhere he shouldn’t have, and he fell and hit his head.”
“Did it hurt? Did he cry?”
“I wasn’t…wasn’t there, but no, I don’t think he cried. And I don’t think he felt anything.” At least, that was the belief she clung to. She needed to believe there’d been no pain for him. “His brain was hurt too badly, I think.”
“And that was why he died? His brain was hurt too bad?”
Rachel’s throat tightened, and she wrung her hands beneath the table. Mist gathered, obscuring her view of the somber freckled-faced child across from her. She lowered her gaze and nodded.
Warmth tingled the skin of her left thigh as James’s fingers skimmed its surface, and then he latched on to her hand beneath the table and squeezed it hard.
She squeezed back.
The small island of silence at their table was surrounded by an ocean of happy chatter and occasional laughter. Only the baby stirred at their table, wriggling and cooing in his father’s arms.
“Wanna trade breakfasts with me?”
“What?” Rachel’s head popped back up and she looked across the table again, blinking to rid herself of the stubborn tears.
Molly’s eyes twinkled at her. “Trade. You eat my oatmeal, I get your French toast.” She darted a quick glance at her father.
Rachel pushed the tray toward her. “Go ahead, you can have it. I’m not very hungry—”
“Absolutely not!” James released her hand and retrieved her tray. “Molly’s just pulling your leg. And you are both going to eat, and I mean now.”
Rachel opened her mouth to protest, but he pressed his finger against her lips. “No excuses. Now eat.”
He dragged his fingertip across the fullness of her lower lip as he pulled his hand away, igniting a slow smolder that had nothing to do with hunger. For food, anyway. Those concern-filled eyes remained fixed on her mouth as he reached for her fork. “Open,” he ordered.
Of its own accord, her mouth obeyed, and he slipped the fork past her lips. Sweet syrup and cinnamon.
A sweet man and a spunky child.
His intense gaze on her mouth.
There was no moonlight to blame this time, but all she could think of was the last time his eyes had been on her like that, and his wish for a kiss.
Michelle coughed loudly, drawing Rachel’s attention back to the table. “Cherish, you’re finished, right?” The older girl nodded. “Okay, let’s go. Nolan, give me the baby, then you can take our trays.”
Rachel snatched her fork
from James’s hand and bent over her food, cheeks heating at the direction of her thoughts. Obviously those thoughts had been clear enough that the other woman had been able to see them.
“We’ll catch you later, Jimbo,” Nolan said, slapping James on the shoulder as he rose to pick up the trays. “You playing in the pool tournament this afternoon?”
“I am. And you’re going down.”
Nolan chuckled. “We’ll see about that.” He headed off toward the garbage cans. Cherish followed him. Michelle gathered scattered baby supplies into a diaper bag with one hand.
“Dad, can I go, too? Maybe Mrs. Driscoll will French-braid my hair for me before activities start.” Molly grinned at Rachel, then offered a saucy wink.
Rachel forced her lips together, hard. A smile now, with a mouthful of French toast, would be a messy thing.
“You have to—”
“All gone.” Molly held her bowl upside down to demonstrate.
“Go.” Her father waved. “But stay with Cherish, and I’ll check to make sure you’re at your first activity on time.”
“Yeah!” Molly bolted from the table, tray in hand, following after her friend. “Cherish, wait! I’m coming with you.”
“Good luck in getting her to hold still for the braids, Michelle. I’d advise you just to say no and leave her with a ponytail.”
“I know what I’m doing, James.” As Michelle leaned over to brush a kiss on his cheek, Rachel caught a whiff of baby powder. Her chest tightened with longing and she reached out to caress the baby’s chubby knee. Soft baby skin, like silk, met her touch, and Tyler kicked his legs.
“I know what I’m doing, too, Michelle.”
“Just checking.”
In seconds, James and Rachel were alone at the table. Again.
“Well,” Rachel said. “Looks like I’ve done it again. Cleared the table.” She watched Michelle sashay out the door. “I don’t think your friend likes me very much.”
“It’s not that she doesn’t like you…” James began.
“Then what is it?”
He leaned closer and whispered, “She’s worried about me getting involved with you.”
Oh, God. Forget food. Rachel swallowed the lump in her throat. “And…are you?”
“Am I what?” His fingers found their way back to her face, he cupped her chin with one hand, and the index finger of the other brushed at the corner of her mouth.
“Get…getting involved with me?”
He moved his head away from hers. “Well, involved is such a strong word. We’re friends, right?”
She nodded.
“Although, there is that matter of my wish last night….” He touched the edge of her lip. “You’re sticky again.”
“It’s not marshmallow this time.”
He inserted the tip of his finger into his mouth, closing his lips around it.
Rachel was sure the heat scorching through her body was going to set the wooden bench on fire, and before they knew it, the whole camp would go up in flames. That would look great in the report to Jerry, wouldn’t it?
She watched, captivated, as he removed his finger from his mouth.
“Nope. Not marshmallow. Syrup.” He quickly glanced around the room, and lowered his voice further. “And I want…”
“What?”
He hesitated. “To kiss you. God help me, I still want to kiss you.”
A whimper lodged in her throat. God help them both, because at the moment she’d like nothing more than to make his firefly wish come true.
Unbelievable.
She’d lived in the shadow of Daniel’s death for so long that she’d forgotten what it felt like…to be alive.
Maybe Camp Firefly Wishes really was a place of miracles.
Suddenly she caught sight of a flash of orange.
She backed away from James. His eyes widened in surprise as she groaned.
“What?”
“Trudy and Don are staring at us.” She smiled weakly at them. Trudy smiled in response, but Don folded his arms across his chest and squared his shoulders, reminding her very much of her father. “I don’t believe it.”
“Believe what?”
“All these kids, all these people around us, and I let you make me forget all about them. Blast!”
“So? It’s not like we actually kissed or anything. I doubt they’ll fire you or anything.”
“Fire me,” she whispered, then sighed heavily as the reality of her situation thundered back to her. At the moment, Don didn’t look like a man inclined to give her a great report. “They might not, but…”
“But?”
“Never mind.” She rose from the table. “Thanks for the breakfast company.”
“That’s what friends are for,” he called after her as she beat a hasty retreat.
Good soldiers also knew when to fall back and form a new line of defense.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“YOU’RE IN MY WAY.” Nolan nudged James with the large end of the pool cue.
“What?” James glanced at the table and discovered the cue ball resting near the rail right in front of him. “Oh, sorry.” He stepped back, swung his own cue around and set the rubber tip on the floor.
The steady tink-katink of ongoing Ping-Pong games filled the sunny rec room, and around three other pool tables were several other parents who’d entered the tournament this afternoon. Although, the so-called tournament had quickly disintegrated into individual games with no semblance of organization.
James found it hard to focus on the game. Instead, his thoughts were zipping back and forth in time with the Ping-Pong ball behind him.
What the hell had he been thinking this morning in the dining hall? The urge to kiss Rachel, to lick the sticky smears from her pink lips had been overwhelming, and he just couldn’t figure it out. Okay, so she was pretty, and sweet, and damn it to hell if she didn’t just twist his heart with her quiet, stubborn strength in the face of her loss….
But almost kissing her with all those people looking on? If he didn’t know any better, he’d claim to have lost his mind. But he did know better. People who thought they were crazy generally weren’t.
So how did he explain the whole thing?
“It was brave of you to let Molly sign up for the bungee jumping. You know, Cherish really wanted to do that, but that was where Michelle drew the line.”
Instant panic, icy hot, speared his chest, then spread. Moisture slicked his palms. “Bungee jumping? What the hell are you talking about?” James snapped his head up to glare at his friend’s grinning face. “Bastard,” he mumbled low enough for their ears only. “You are one sick bastard, you know that?”
Nolan roared with laughter. “I had to get your attention somehow. You’ve got it bad, Jimbo.”
“That obvious, huh?”
“A blind person could see it, it’s that obvious.”
James groaned. “Great.” Raising his shoulder, he wiped a bead of sweat off the side of his face. Humid air hung heavy in the room as the old wooden ceiling fans worked hard to create a small breeze.
Nolan leaned over the table, lining up his next shot. “Eight ball, side pocket.” He pulled back the stick and let fly. The cue ball kissed the edge of the eight ball, sending it neatly into the pocket. “It is great.” He laid the stick on the table. “I win. Third time in a row. You want to concede defeat, or shall I rack ’em up again?”
“I’m not a glutton for punishment.” James turned and replaced his cue into the rack on the wall. “Which is why this is a bad idea.”
“Playing pool?”
“Playing, period.”
“Oh.” Nolan nodded wisely. “You know what they say about all work and no play, Jim?”
“Yeah, it makes Jack a dull boy.”
“Wrong.” Nolan slipped alongside him, replacing his own cue and the chalk cubes, and dropped his voice. “It makes James a love-starved man. It’s about time you found a woman to light your fire again.”
“Great, be
tween you and Cord, I’ve got two cheerleaders in favor of this.”
“You talked to Cord about it? Wow, I guess it’s even more desperate than I thought.”
“Let’s get out of here. It’s stifling. Maybe there’s a breeze outside.”
“Lead on.”
James blinked against the bright sunshine as they headed out the doors. Laughter came from the soccer field across the road as a group of kids played under the watchful eyes of several counselors. James and Nolan strolled in the direction of the lake.
“Molly loves it here. She’s having a lot of fun. I’m glad you guys could be here, too. She’s missed Cherish.”
“Cherish has missed her, too, but I gotta tell you, I’m just as happy not to see your face every weekend anymore. No offense to you, but I got tired of the hospital.”
“I hear you. I love Children’s and all the doctors and nurses, but I’d just as soon never set foot in there again.”
“Which won’t happen, with their biopsies and whatnot.”
James sighed. “That’s the truth. And that’s exactly why I can’t get involved with a woman. Any woman.”
“Involved? Who said anything about getting involved?” Nolan bent to retrieve a flat rock from the sand and skipped it out across the lake, six hops before it sank beneath the surface. “Didn’t you ever have summer romances, Jim?” He grinned. “Short term, no strings, and they leave you with the sweetest memories for the rest of your life.”
Memories? The memory torch planted firmly in the sand at the beach entrance caught his attention, its flickering flame spouting black smoke into the heavy air. Memories of finding Rachel—had it been only yesterday?—lying on the floor of her cabin flooded him. “She deserves more than that, Nolan.”
Arm cocked back, Nolan paused, then lowered his hand. “Aah. Is that how it goes? Maybe you ought to let her decide what she wants.”
“And even if she does? How do I manage it with Molly?”
“Why don’t you start with that dinner you won?” Nolan chuckled. “How I wish I could have seen the race. But I was busy.” A rich timbre accented the final word and Nolan waggled his eyebrows. “And there’s your first clue. You find time when the kid is busy doing something else.”
