A Mother's Strength

by Allie Pleiter

  Zack’s face told Molly he did not find that comforting. He began stretching the rubber band this way and that. “What if I hate it?”

  It had been wise to get here fifteen minutes early. Not only because Zack always worried about getting to places on time but because it gave them a window to get all of these questions out of the way.

  “If you hate it, you can stop. But you won’t know if you hate it unless you try it. You might love it. You loved garlic bread and you were sure you were going to hate that, remember?”

  Her son was unconvinced. “But you were sure I was going to love cream cheese and I hated that, remember?”

  Oh, she remembered. Cream cheese. Friendly, unassuming cream cheese. Who could hate that? “Well, Mr. Sawyer strikes me as much more of a garlic bread kind of guy than a cream cheese one.” As completely absurd as the description was, it rather fit the man. Please, Lord, she prayed as she looked toward the door. Please let this go well. I need a way to help Zack, You know that.

  At precisely five o’clock, Sawyer walked in the door. She realized, with a shock, that this was the first time she’d seen him in anything other than his work clothes. He wore a long-sleeved T-shirt in a dark green, over dark blue jeans and boots that had seen better days. He was fit—lean and long in a way the work khakis and button-down shirt hadn’t revealed. Were it not for the continually sad face and downcast eyes, he might have even been considered an attractive man. But his dark spirit, and the nonstop shadow that seemed to follow him wherever he went, outweighed any of his handsome features.

  He scanned the small pizza shop for a second, more assessing the space than picking her and Zack out among the handful of customers. Steve’s dad used to have the same reflex from his military days. It was more out of tactical habit for her former father-in-law than any fear, but Molly couldn’t help but catch the caution in Sawyer’s eyes.

  “Zack, switch seats to this one,” she said, patting the seat next to her so that it left the seat facing the door open for Sawyer. Her father-in-law had always needed to be seated facing the exit in any public space, so maybe Sawyer was the same. It made Molly realize she knew next to nothing about Sawyer’s background. Still, her instincts and her prayers told her she could trust him with Zack—and those had never led her wrong yet. Well, except for Steve, but that was a whole other can of worms.

  “Hi,” she said cheerfully. “Thanks for coming. Best pizza in town. Also, the only pizza in town, so it’s an easy win,” Molly joked.

  That almost brought a smile to the man’s face. “Town joke?”

  “I suppose you could say that.”

  Zack’s eyes hadn’t risen from his hands still fiddling with the rubber band. “Zack, this is Mr. Bradshaw. Can you say hello?”

  Begrudgingly, Zack ventured a quick look at Sawyer and mumbled, “Hi.”

  Sawyer sat down. “Hi, there, Zack.”

  Molly waited a hopeful moment for Zack to offer some other conversation. When he didn’t, she turned with a bright smile to Sawyer and said, “What do you like on your pizza?”

  To her surprise, Sawyer looked at Zack and said, “What do you like on yours?”

  “Cheese,” Zack said flatly. “Just cheese.”

  “I’m okay with just cheese,” Sawyer said.

  “Zack usually gets a mini cheese just for himself,” Molly replied. “Have you ever had Hawaiian pizza? It’s my favorite and they do a great one here.” While Molly tried never to judge people, she did divide the world into those who “got” Hawaiian pizza, and those who found it a crime against nature.

  “What’s on a Hawaiian pizza?” Sawyer looked skeptical.

  “Ham and pineapple mostly. But the other usual stuff, too.”

  “It’s gross,” Zack offered. Molly didn’t know whether to be thankful for the conversation or annoyed at the critique.

  “It sounds...unusual.” It was clear Sawyer was trying not to say he found the concept weird. She’d heard that before. “I’ve never had it.”

  Here was a good place to demonstrate that other people tried things they didn’t know if they would like. “If it’s not your thing, I’ll spring for another version.” She hoped the “work with me” look she sent him hit home.

  Sawyer’s pause was long enough for Molly to worry that Zack was about to get another view of someone refusing to try new things.

  “What if we just get one cheese and one Hawaiian? That way Zack and I can share if it’s not my thing. And if it is, then Zack will just have more pizza for himself.”

  Molly’s heart just about skipped a beat when Sawyer looked at her son and said, “Okay by you?”

  So few people ever really noticed Zack. She knew he liked it that way, that he preferred to blend into the woodwork and be unseen. Still, she yearned for him to have the courage to be in the world, to see all the wonderful things and people. To see the world as a marvelous place to be explored instead of a collection of bad things waiting to happen. Of course, she knew she was reading too much into a simple pizza dinner and a round of not-really golf lessons. I’m desperate for a foothold, Lord. Even a tiny one. Could this please be it?

  The server came by and took their order. Sawyer winced when Molly announced this would be her guest’s first taste of Hawaiian pizza.

  “Some people think it’s strange, but I like it,” the young girl commented as she set down large plastic cups of their chosen soft drinks. Molly recognized the girl from one of the ranching families in town.

  “Could you bring me an empty one of these?” Sawyer asked the server.

  The young woman gave him a quizzical look before eventually replying, “Uh...okay.” While she fetched the cup, Molly tried to remember if it was one of the ranches that had been targeted by Mountain Vista, but she couldn’t. Sawyer had to know about the friction between the resort and the town, didn’t he? Surely that was one of the reasons he always seemed to be hiding from view, much like Zack?

  “Do you know anything about golf?” Sawyer asked Zack when the empty plastic cup arrived.

  “Not really.”

  “We watched some on TV the other day,” Molly added. She didn’t find watching the sport the least bit interesting, but she pretended to for Zack’s sake. She sat with her computer tablet beside Zack on the couch, looking up golfing facts and questions while they watched. “And we’ve been to a mini-golf course in Boulder.”

  To Molly’s surprise, Sawyer reached into his pocket and produced a golf ball. “How’s your aim?”

  The question startled Zack enough to look up from his rubber band. “Huh?”

  “Could you roll this across the table so that it fell into the cup on my side?”

  Zack’s eyes grew wide. “Here?”

  Sawyer handed him the ball. “Right across the table. See the line in your mind between where the ball is and where it needs to go. Then roll it.”

  Zack looked at Molly as if he’d been asked to stand up on the table and sing “Happy Birthday” at the top of his voice. She could almost hear his thoughts, the cry of Everyone will look at me and something bad will happen that seemed to trail him every moment.

  “Would it help if I did it first?” Sawyer asked.

  When Zack nodded, Sawyer switched objects with Zack so that Zack held the cup and Sawyer held the golf ball.

  “Okay, hold the cup against the table but tilted toward me. Keep it steady.”

  Zack hesitated, looked around the room, then complied. Sawyer glanced at the cup and then back at the ball in his hands, adjusted its position once or twice then rolled it across the round table so it fell into the cup with a crisp plunk. Zack immediately glanced around, sure all the other customers would notice this wildly un-restaurant-like behavior.

  No one paid the least bit of notice.

  “You try,” Sawyer said, holding his hand out for the cup.

  Cautiously, Z
ack watched Sawyer position the cup across the table. He set the ball down, then grabbed it up again. “What if I miss?”

  “I catch it with this hand,” Sawyer said, waving his other hand.

  “What if someone sees?”

  Molly envisioned a whole cascade of Zack questions about to spew forth, but Sawyer seemed undaunted. “They’ll want their own ball, I expect.”

  “Who wouldn’t want to play pizza golf?” Molly said with perhaps a bit too much enthusiasm.

  It seemed forever until Zack lifted up the ball again, took a deep breath and rolled it across the table.

  The plink of it hitting the bottom of the cup was the sound of victory.

  There were a dozen more holes of “pizza golf”—including even one where they let her try—before their pizzas came. And when she missed and sent the ball bouncing onto the restaurant floor, Zack actually laughed instead of cringing.

  Best of all, when Sawyer took his first huge bite of Hawaiian pizza, he actually smiled. “What do you know?” he said with genuine surprise. “It’s actually good.”

  Zack rolled his eyes, but Molly felt the glow of a foothold take root. “So what do you think, Zack? Are you ready for your first golf lesson Tuesday?”

  “Second,” Sawyer corrected. “You just had your first.”

  Zack’s eyes popped. “That wasn’t a golf lesson.”

  “Sure it was. You sent a golf ball into a hole. That’s golf.”

  “No, it’s not.” Molly was delighted to find Zack’s tone more playful than challenging.

  Sawyer, to her surprise, was playing right back. “Well, you didn’t use a club, no, but the idea is the same. I have a weird way of teaching golf.”

  Weird or not, Molly thought this might actually work.

  * * *

  He should just keep walking.

  Sawyer stood across the street from Wander Canyon Community Church on Sunday, a bag of pitiful bachelor groceries in his hand. His feet pointed in the direction where he should be going—home—but they wouldn’t move.

  While a couple of days this week had brought touches of snow, today was pure spectacular Colorado April. The days were still on the short side and could flip from warm to cold in a heartbeat, but the sun could shine like nobody’s business. A bright, crisp day like today made him regret having to sleep through most of it, even if it was his day off.

  The glory of the weather had drawn him outside, walking the three blocks into town to stock up on canned soup and frozen dinners.

  Frozen dinners that would thaw if he didn’t get himself back home, but the sound coming out of the open church doors across the street from him glued him to the spot.

  Church hymns—words like love and spirit and Jesus—floated out across the morning air. What the harmonies lacked in voices, they made up for in enthusiasm. He could pick out a strong bass, an unsteady tenor, a few hearty altos, and a soprano who clearly thought she could sing higher than she actually could.

  And Molly.

  There had to be at least a dozen voices coming from the church, but Molly’s voice rang out sweet and clear above all the others. He’d heard her humming or singing softly at The Depot, but this was different. This was Molly singing full out, that bright spirit of hers shining through. He could easily picture her face. She’d have wide eyes and a smile as she sang. Her head would bob a bit to the rhythm, and one hand would float up with the notes as if she could push them toward the sky.

  Some people had musical abilities. Others had musical gifts—talent and purpose that went far beyond notes or rhythms. Sawyer did his best to ignore what the sound of a piano did to his insides—more pain than joy. Music felt a world away from the man he was now.

  Molly didn’t just sing; she sent her heart out into the air. The choir could have been a hundred voices strong—instead of the struggling dozen Molly had told him it was—and still he’d have been able to pick out her voice.

  What was a soggy Salisbury steak in the light of stealing moments inside that kind of joy?

  “God love ’em, they try, don’t they?”

  Sawyer hadn’t noticed that a man holding a whining toddler had walked up beside him.

  “I give them credit,” the man went on. “They don’t have much to work with, but they sing their hearts out every Sunday. My wife included.”

  “She in there?” Sawyer nodded toward the church steps and the wide-open door.

  “And right now we’re not. A fact everyone is thankful for. Henry here has got a set of lungs on him, but he hasn’t quite caught on to using them for singing. And I never did. Yvonne’s not a great talent, but she loves adding her voice.”

  The man held out his free hand. “Chaz Walker. This is Henry.” The toddler gave a grumpy sniffle and buried his head again in his father’s shoulder.

  Sawyer felt the familiar pull of reluctance to give his name. He avoided it at all costs anywhere near Denver, but thought it safe to say it here. “Sawyer.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Sawyer. I think I’ve seen you around town for a bit, but can’t say we’ve met before now.” The man was tall, with dark hair and features. The boots and stance led Sawyer to think he was from one of the ranches that still circled the small town. While the townspeople held little love for Mountain Vista, Sawyer knew the ranchers held no love at all.

  “I don’t get out much,” Sawyer replied. “Night shift.” Thankfully, enough people in town worked at the local medical center that people never immediately associated his night hours with the golf resort.

  “And miss days like this?” Chaz said, looking up at the glorious sun just starting to touch the peaks of the nearby mountains. “I couldn’t do it.”

  “I like the solitude,” Sawyer offered, although like was perhaps too strong a word. He required it. It was a necessity rather than a preference.

  “They let you inside, you know,” Chaz hinted. Sawyer should have known the guy might have found a way to bring the conversation around to an invitation to church. Church people were like that—always wanting to bring you into the fold whether you were ready or not. Would Chaz be so eager if he knew who Sawyer was? The reason he was trying to stay invisible here in Wander Canyon? Not likely.

  “Not my thing. I just stopped to listen for a bit.” When that sounded a bit stalker-creepy, he added, “I’ve met Molly at The Depot and I recognized her voice.”

  “Molly Kane. Yeah, she’s got a set of pipes on her. I think half the choir shows up on account of her. Either to hear her or because she twisted their arm to join.” The man offered a small smile. “Watch out, you could be next.”

  “She’s pulled a giant favor out of me already.”

  Chaz stared at him, connecting the dots. Had Molly told people what he was doing? Already? “Sawyer. Hey, you’re the golf teacher, aren’t you? The guy she’s got helping Zack.”

  Sawyer didn’t know quite what to say. “Teacher’s an overstatement. I agreed to try out her wild idea. She said she needed a bad golfer, and I qualify.” It made his skin itch that Molly had been telling people about him. His invisibility would likely slip away if she kept that up.

  Chaz laughed and shook his head. “Yep, that sounds like our Molly. Wild ideas and pulling everybody into them.”

  Sawyer shifted the grocery bag. “I should get these home.”

  The voices across the street hit a boisterous crescendo and finished off the piece. Applause and shouts of “Amen!” wafted out the door.

  “You could just come in for coffee. The stuff we serve doesn’t quite match The Depot’s, but the company’s friendly.”

  “Oh, no,” Sawyer answered quickly. He needed to get out of there before Molly caught sight of him. She’d absolutely drag him inside and introduce him around. “Hope you’re able to keep the little guy happy,” he offered, just because it seemed like the nice thing to say. After all, you could s
tand out by being too rude just as easily as you could stand out for being nice. Sawyer wanted to make sure he didn’t stand out at all.

  People were starting to come out the church door. “I gotta get this stuff home to the freezer before it melts.” Sawyer turned to go and started moving as quickly as he dared.

  “Good to meet you, Sawyer. Hope the golf thing works out,” Chaz called.

  “Thanks,” Sawyer said, waving a hand rather than turning around. The last thing he wanted was for Molly to catch sight of him hanging around near the church and talking to people. She’d jump on that and he’d never hear the end of it.

  Sawyer sat in his drab little kitchen that evening and stared at the black circle marking the date on the calendar page. The notation wasn’t really necessary. He’d been counting down to the day for a year—it wasn’t as if he could possibly miss its arrival.

  April 17. One year since his life fell apart. It was stunning, really. In the space of sixteen city blocks, with a decision made in the blink of an eye, Sawyer had sent a law enforcement career down the drain.

  He had made a single bad judgment. He’d let his view of his skills overshadow a more cautious choice. If Molly was looking for someone who knew how to fail, she’d found him.

  There was no point in trying to stop his mind from reliving that fateful night. And his terrible mistake.

  It wasn’t just a terrible choice, it was a tragic one. A deadly one. High-speed pursuits—even involving the worst of criminals—were a huge risk in the city. He’d known that. And what had he done? He’d gone after Marcus Granger anyway. He had cursed that decision every waking moment since that night.

  Granger had made a wild turn, lost control of his car and sent it hurtling toward Sawyer’s squad car. Sawyer’s desperate swerve to avoid a head-on collision had sent his own vehicle careening into the opposite lane. Right into the path of a minivan. Trying to avoid him, the driver had plowed the van into the corner of a brick building.

  A whole family had died. A mom and two little boys who weren’t doing anything but trying to get home.