by Brenda Novak
Her sister spoke around her first bite. “How do you know?”
“Because he’d already graduated from college and was married when I met him.”
“Oh.” Faith wrinkled her nose as she swallowed. “He’s married? I didn’t see a ring.”
Hope managed a laugh, despite the hollowness that had engulfed her since Parker’s lackluster reception. “You haven’t even had the baby yet. Don’t tell me you’re shopping for a man already.”
“It doesn’t hurt to keep an eye out. Don’t you think he’s handsome?”
Of course Parker was handsome. A woman would have to be blind not to notice. He was a rugged, outdoorsy type who dressed casually in jeans and flannel shirts. Tall and athletic, he seemed comfortable in his own skin. And his eyes were particularly attractive. They were almost as dark as his hair, which was a rich coffee color, surrounded by long, thick lashes any woman would envy. But Hope had never considered him handsome handsome. Not in the way Faith meant it. Not as in personally appealing. And he was married, to the daughter of a congressman, no less!
Still, she thought he’d cared about her as a friend. Now she wondered if she’d meant anything to him at all. He didn’t even remember her name.
“I guess,” she admitted grudgingly, and started on her meal.
* * *
PARKER SLAMMED the door as he entered Lydia’s office, only belatedly realizing that he’d used considerably more force than necessary. The crash that reverberated through the clinic sounded especially loud against the quiet music playing over the intercom.
Lydia Kane dropped her pen and lifted her piercing gray eyes. “What’s gotten into you?”
Parker jammed his hands in his pockets and began to pace. He wasn’t sure exactly what to say. He and Lydia shared a secret, but to a certain extent, they pretended it was a secret they kept from each other, too.
“Hope’s back,” he said simply, and knew the moment he said it that despite the years, last names were unnecessary.
Lydia’s eyes narrowed as the color drained from her angular face. But she didn’t lose her poise. Lydia never lost her poise. At seventy-three, she still had the energy of a much younger woman and more drive than most men. Her razor-sharp intellect and shrewd business decisions generally reflected that. But she’d made one mistake. And Parker feared what might happen to both of them if word of that mistake ever got out.
“How do you know?” she asked.
“I just saw her. In town.”
Before Lydia could respond, there was a tap on the door and Trish Linden, the receptionist, poked her head into the room. “Is everything okay?” she asked, as though the slamming door had immediately brought her trotting down the hall.
Lydia gave a curt nod. “Everything’s fine, Trish.” Her voice remained calm, controlled, but Parker noticed the whitening of her knuckles as she clasped her hands on the desk.
It wasn’t like Trish to pry. She hesitated for only a second before retreating and closing the door.
“What’s she doing in town?” Lydia asked.
“Her sister’s pregnant. She’s bringing her to the center.”
Lydia had her shoulder-length steel-gray hair pulled back in a ponytail that suddenly seemed too tight. “That’s what brought her back? How far along is the sister?”
Parker crossed to stand in front of her, resting his knuckles on the edge of her desk and leaning into them. “She looks about ready to deliver. I think Hope even said something to that effect.”
Lydia stood and clutched the rose-colored pendant she wore like a talisman. “Fine. We’ll deliver her sister’s baby, and then all three of them will go back to wherever they came from. It’s been so long. Surely Hope has built a life somewhere else by now. She’s probably married or…or has a good job or something. She was such a beautiful girl, with so much potential. If her sister’s as close to term as you say, they could be gone within a couple of weeks, a month at most. A month’s not that long.”
Another knock sounded on the door. “Come in,” she said, her voice bearing a trace of irritation.
Dalton stepped into the room, looking a little unsure of himself. “Sorry to bother you, Aunt Lydia,” he said with a shy yet placating smile. “But I need to talk to my dad, and it can’t wait.”
“What is it?” Parker asked.
“Miguel brought his sister in for her monthly checkup. They’re just about to leave, and he said I can ride along with him in his police car for a couple of hours until you get off work, if that’s okay with you.”
Parker didn’t want Dalton to go anywhere right now, not even with a sergeant on Enchantment’s police force. But he knew his emotions were pretty scrambled. Hope’s reappearance had left him reeling.
“Let him go,” Lydia said in a low voice. “You’re worrying about nothing.”
Parker had heard those words before. From his father-in-law ten years ago. He didn’t believe them now any more than he had then. But he couldn’t regret the arrangements he’d let Congressman Barlow make. He loved Dalton, and it was too late for regret. The only thing he could do now was guard the secret. As bad as he felt about certain aspects of the situation, some things were better left in the past.
He nodded grudgingly and Dalton dashed off, leaving the door open.
* * *
THE PUNGENT SCENT of fresh-cut wood, combined with furniture polish and a hint of smoke and ashes, hit Hope the moment the leasing agent opened the door of the rental cabin—and won her over even before she had a chance to walk through the kitchen and bedrooms. Nestled in the crook of two mountains only fifteen minutes outside Enchantment, the narrow A-frame was small, but ideal for her and Faith. Here they would enjoy the warm days and cool nights of a high wilderness summer amid the shade of surrounding pines and the gentle sway of the long grasses on the slope down to the lake.
“Fortunately it’s the off-season, so this cabin is renting at a fraction of its usual price,” Peggy Jane, the leasing agent, said.
Hope turned to see Faith’s reaction and caught a hint of a smile. Her sister liked it, too. What wasn’t to like? For a rental, the place was clean and nicely decorated. Overstuffed leather couches with Western-style rivets faced a distressed-pine entertainment center and a potbellied woodstove. Thick Navajo rugs covered much of the gleaming, wood-plank floor, and pictures of cowboys in black metal frames graced the walls. The lamps, made of the same black metal twisted into interesting designs, perched on primitive, roughhewn tables, which added a great deal to the Southwestern flavor. And an assortment of baskets hung from the wall below the loft that would be Hope’s bedroom—since Faith would have too difficult a time climbing the ladder to get there.
“It’s lovely,” Hope said. “Are you sure the family who owns it won’t be needing it this summer?”
“The Loreys have three teenage boys who usually come only during ski season,” Peggy Jane replied. “The last time I talked to Mrs. Lorey, she said they were going to be spending the summer abroad.”
“Look at the bathroom,” Faith said from down the hall. “It’s bigger than I thought it would be. And my bedroom has a spectacular view of the lake.”
Hope joined her at the junction of bedroom and bath and saw a simple bathroom decorated in blue with a sand-colored tile floor, and a bedroom with the same rugs and wide-plank floor as the living room. A king-size bed sat beneath a large watercolor print of a Native American woman making pottery. An old-fashioned wardrobe was tucked into one corner, and a small dresser sat to the right of the door. The window Faith had mentioned took up almost the whole of one wall and showed the sun glistening on the water. Hope could hear the quack of ducks and the call of some other bird she couldn’t name.
She’d almost forgotten how beautiful Enchantment was.
“The kitchen’s sort of small,” she said, trying to contain her excitement.
“We can make do with that, don’t you think? To the Boxcar Children, this would be a real find,” Faith said, grinning.
Hope slip
ped her hands into the pockets of her denim Capris. “This isn’t exactly roughing it.” She felt certain she could find something cheaper. If she wanted really cheap she could rent a trailer at the Lazy H. But she and Faith needed something positive to cling to right now. They also needed a nice place for the baby. Given her desperate circumstances, it was a matter of pride that she could afford such nice accomodations for her second stay in Enchantment.
She turned to Peggy Jane, who’d followed them into the bedroom. “We’ll take it.”
“Wonderful. I just need you to fill out a rental application and give me a couple of references from past landlords. Then we’ll run a quick credit check.”
A feeling of unease swept down Hope’s spine. As soon as Peggy Jane contacted her references and identified who she was and where she was calling from, her old landlord, Orlis Deets, would know where she’d gone. He was only one person, a widower who lived alone and suffered too badly from arthritis to go out much, so her whereabouts wouldn’t become common knowledge among the folks who knew her in St. George. But she’d be linking her past to her future with at least that one thread….
She thought of Arvin and the other Brethren and how unsophisticated they seemed. Though the men had much more contact with Gentiles than the women did and sometimes, like Bonner, attended university, they shied away from the outside world whenever possible. Arvin, especially, clung to the church and the social framework it provided because it gave him a feeling of acceptance and power she doubted he’d find anywhere else. Even if he managed to figure out where they’d gone, he wouldn’t have an exact address and certainly wouldn’t take the time or trouble to search further. Would he?
When she hesitated, Faith’s eyebrows knitted together. “A credit check isn’t a problem, is it, Hope?”
Hope took a deep breath and managed to smile. “No, of course not.”
They were eight hundred miles from Superior. Surely they were safe.
CHAPTER NINE
“HOW WAS SCHOOL today?” Parker asked his son, tossing the football to him in a perfect spiral.
Across the half-acre yard, Dalton caught the ball against his chest and launched it back. “Good.”
“You and Holt getting along okay?”
Dalton shrugged, darted to the right for another catch and then returned the football.
Parker held onto the ball hoping to get more than just a shrug from his son. Body language was typically good enough; Parker didn’t think life had to be complicated with too much detail or explanation. But Holt’s mother, Melody Rider, had pulled him aside last week to tell him that Dalton was having a problem expressing his feelings, and Parker planned to correct that. He didn’t want Dalton to have any problems. He loved his son more than anyone in the world. “I asked you a question.”
“Holt’s a dork,” Dalton said.
Parker felt the scowl he wore so often lately settle back onto his face. “That’s not a very nice way to talk about your best friend.”
“But it’s true,” he said in a sulky voice.
Dalton didn’t sound very repentant, but Parker was tempted to let it go. His son had expressed himself quite effectively, and that was the whole point of this conversation, wasn’t it? Anyway, it was tough to get too angry over a sentiment that echoed what Parker had thought for years. Holt could be fun, even charismatic at times, but he was basically a mama’s boy who tended to pout at the drop of a hat, bragged about athletic ability he didn’t possess and always had to be the center of attention. Calling him a dork certainly wasn’t very nice, but said it all about someone like Holt.
“You used to really like Holt,” he said. “What’s changed?”
“He’s turning into a big—” Dalton seemed to consider his word choice more carefully “—baby.”
Parker threw the ball again, a little long this time, and it bounced into the bushes. “Can you give me an example?”
Dalton waited until he’d recovered the ball before responding. “He started crying the other day at school just because Anthony stole his homework and ran off with it.”
“What would you have done?” The ball landed in Parker’s hands with a satisfying thwump.
“I would’ve chased Anthony down.”
“What if he wouldn’t give it up?”
The ball was in flight again. Dalton’s eye homed in on it as he said with absolute certainty, “He’d give it up.”
“How do you know?” Parker asked.
Dalton made a spectacular diving catch. “What’d you say?” he asked, coming to his feet.
“How do you know he’d give it up?”
“Because he knows what I’d do to him if he didn’t.”
Parker winced. This was exactly the kind of tough talk that had him worried. Although his son didn’t fight often, he’d been involved in a couple of skirmishes at school, enough to lend credence to Melody’s assertion that Dalton might be dealing with his emotions in the wrong way. “You don’t solve problems with your fists, Dalton. We’ve talked about that before.”
His son gave him a “get real” look. “In that type of situation you do. I’m not going to tattle to the teacher. And I’m sure as heck not going to start crying, like Holt did.”
Parker knew he should probably take a stronger stance against violence. But he knew that if he was ten years old and facing the same dilemma, he wouldn’t tattle or cry. Whoever took his paper would give it back upon demand or else. And Parker wasn’t dishonest enough to pretend differently. Which was at least part of the reason he was so inclined to believe what others were telling him—that he needed to find a mellowing influence for his son. He and Dalton were too similar for him to provide any kind of counterbalance.
Briefly he thought of Hope Tanner, her medium-brown hair windblown around an oval face that harbored the most striking eyes he’d ever seen. Although hers were more hazel than green, Dalton’s eyes had a similar shape.
Would Hope have been a good mother? Would Dalton have been better off with her?
She couldn’t give Dalton any more than he’d already been given, Parker told himself, and shoved her out of his mind, promising himself that she’d soon be gone.
“It’s okay for a boy to cry over some things, don’t you think?” he asked, tossing the ball.
“Like what?”
“Like…missing his mother,” Parker said.
Dalton dove for the next ball and came up with grass stains on the knees of his jeans, which were nearly worn through. “I don’t miss my mom. I don’t even remember her.” He thought for a moment. “I guess it would be okay for a guy to cry over having his arm chopped off, though. Or if his best friend got shot or something.”
Parker’s surprise nearly made him miss Dalton’s next throw. “It doesn’t have to be that dramatic,” he said, managing to cradle the ball to his chest.
“I’m not sure what you’re trying to say, Dad,” Dalton said with a frown. “I’m not going to cry over a homework paper, even if you want me to.”
“Not over a homework paper,” Parker said. “Just…just if you ever feel like you need to get something off your chest. You probably think that’s the sort of stuff guys take to their moms, but I hope you know you can always come to me.”
Dalton’s hesitation in answering told Parker he still wasn’t sure about this conversation. “Whatever,” he said at last. He was probably hoping Parker would drop the subject, but Parker hadn’t made any real headway, and he wasn’t willing to give up yet. For some reason, it was important he compare favorably with the parent Hope might have been.
“I know you think crying is just for girls,” he persisted, “but that’s simply not true. We all feel the same things, and there’s no shame in it.”
Dalton eyed the ball Parker had tucked under his left arm as if to say, Can’t we just play ball? “Are you okay, Dad?” he asked, instead.
“I’m fine, why?”
“You’re acting funny. You don’t have any bad news for me, do you?”
“You’re not going to start crying, are you? Because I definitely wouldn’t like that. It would be too—” he made a face “—weird.”
Parker hooked a thumb in his pocket, feeling a sense of relief he hadn’t expected. Evidently his son didn’t want him to be the soft, sensitive type. “You can relax. I’m not going to start crying.”
“That’s good.” Dalton sounded relieved, but still a little unsure. “Is it Grandpa and Phoebe? Are they coming to visit again?”
Now, that really would be a tragedy, Parker thought. “No.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
Parker sighed and wiped the dirt from his hands onto his jeans. So much for helping Dalton get in touch with his feminine side. “No problem. I think there might be a golf classic on TV.”
“Good,” Dalton said. “Let’s go watch it.”
* * *
OTHER THAN A SMALL television-and-VCR combo in one corner that was playing Disney movies for the children and a large Navajo rug covering the Mexican-tile floor in front of the fireplace at the other end of the waiting area, The Birth Place looked exactly the way Hope remembered it. Even the distinctive scent of some expensive, woodsy potpourri mingled with herbal tea took her back ten years.
“This isn’t anything like the hospital-type of atmosphere I expected,” Faith said, staring wide-eyed as she and Hope stood just inside the entrance. “It’s sort of…homey.”
“It’s supposed to be homey. That’s the appeal,” Hope said, but her stomach was knotting as the sights and sounds evoked another part of her life, one she’d cast aside. The Birth Place had once symbolized safe harbor for her and her baby. Now it was connected to a loss so great Hope couldn’t determine whether she was happy to be here or not. For her, the center was probably a better place to remember than to visit. But she knew Faith would be in good hands with Lydia, and there was some small comfort in familiarity.
The woman at the reception counter looked to be about forty-five. Of average height and weight, she had short, dark hair, which she wore in a no-frills style, and an unremarkable face. She smiled as they approached, and Hope noted her name tag. Trish.
