A Father in the Making

by Marta Perry

  Her heart clenched. She knew something about lonely holidays. “My ideal of Christmas was always the one in Little Women, where they all sacrificed to give to others and didn’t need anything but each other to be happy.” She’d reread that story every year at Christmastime.

  “I remember it.” His eyes met hers. “I’m sorry.”

  She knew he wasn’t talking about Louisa May Alcott.

  She bent over the playpen to hand Emilie a toy. “Actually my happiest Christmases have been the last few, once I figured out what it was we were celebrating.”

  “I wanted a bike for Christmas.” Davey’s voice startled her. She’d nearly forgotten the boy was there. “I asked for one last year, but my dad didn’t have the money for it.” He sat back on his heels. “It wasn’t his fault, you know.”

  “I’m sure it wasn’t,” she said gently. Her heart hurt for him. “Maybe you’ll be able to make enough money to buy a bike yourself.”

  Davey shot a glance at Mitch, then stared at the paintbrush in his hand. “Maybe.” He didn’t sound very optimistic.

  Mitch reached over and touched the boy’s shoulder lightly. Davey let the hand stay there for a moment, then pulled back.

  Mitch looked at Anne, his smile a little crooked, and she knew he was as touched by the boy as she was. The sudden rapport, the sense of knowing what he was thinking—where had that come from? And what was she going to do about it?

  “I’ll start some lunch.” She escaped to the other end of the kitchen, pulling open the refrigerator door to cool her face.

  She’d never intended to let her guard down, never intended to see so deeply into someone’s heart. She leaned her head against the edge of the refrigerator door. She and Mitch had begun to open up to each other in a way she hadn’t expected. Now that he’d come so far into her life, how was she ever going to get him out again?

  * * *

  Anne pulled the mail from the box and checked it quickly. All for Kate. There was nothing that could be a response to the letter she’d sent to Marcy Brown’s last known address.

  Shivering a little in the cold wind, she closed the mailbox and hurried back inside. Emilie was napping, and the house was too quiet. She stacked the mail on Kate’s hall table. Something to do, she thought. She desperately needed something constructive to do.

  Maybe Mitch’s inquiries had gotten somewhere. But then, he’d have been in touch immediately.

  She’d avoided him for the last few days. Maybe he’d been avoiding her, too, and for pretty much the same reason. After all, they both knew there couldn’t be anything between them. The kind of closeness they’d experienced on Saturday could only be bittersweet in light of that. It was safer not to see much of each other, safer not to take the chance of wanting something she couldn’t have.

  She glanced at the phone. She’d called Helen in Philadelphia yesterday. Helen was the only one of her friends who knew the whole story, and so the only one she could talk to about it.

  But Helen had been involved in dealing with a runaway in crisis, and Anne hadn’t wanted to tie her up with her worries. So she’d just asked Helen to keep on praying about the situation.

  “Always, child.” Helen’s voice was as warm as her heart. “You know I’m always praying for you and that dear baby God has given you. Trust Him.”

  Anne was trying so hard to trust.

  If only she could think of something useful she could do. She’d tried Cassie again, but the woman hadn’t remembered anything more. Then Anne had gotten a list from the pastor of everyone in the singles group. But no one seemed able to help. It was as if poor Tina hadn’t made any impression at all in Bedford Creek. And Marcy Brown had disappeared, leaving no trace but a single Christmas card.

  She walked restlessly back through the house to the kitchen and picked up the teakettle—

  She stood still, kettle in hand, staring out the back window. Why was the shed door standing ajar?

  She blinked, leaning a little closer to the window. Mitch had put the stepladder away in there on Saturday; she’d watched him do it. She’d seen him close and latch the door. Now it stood partially open.

  Her heart began to thump. She should call the police, she should—

  Now, wait a minute. The rational side of her brain kicked in. It was the middle of the afternoon. She was in Bedford Creek, not the big city. Why was she letting her imagination run away with her?

  She grabbed her jacket from the hall closet and slipped out the back door. It would only take a moment to check. Probably the wind had blown the door open. Or maybe the latch had broken.

  She crossed the wet grass, caught the door and pulled it wide, letting light flood the interior. It showed her the ladder, the lawn mower, the folding chair, an old croquet set.

  And Davey Flagler, curled up under a wicker table, sound asleep.

  “Davey?”

  He woke instantly at the sound of her voice, and sat up so fast that his head brushed the table.

  “Are you all right? What are you doing here?”

  He slid out from under the table, face sullen. “Just sleeping, okay with you?”

  “Seems like a cold place to sleep.” Carefully, she thought. She had to handle him carefully. Whatever was wrong, she wouldn’t get it by pushing. “Why don’t you come in the house where it’s warm?”

  “Nah.” He grabbed a small backpack he’d been using as a pillow. “Guess I’ll get going now.”

  Anne didn’t move from the doorway when he approached, and he glared up at her. “You going to let me out, or what?”

  “Tell me what’s going on, Davey.” She gave him a level look. “You obviously should be in class, and here you are sleeping in Kate’s shed. Is something wrong at school?”

  He stared another moment, then his gaze slid away. His thin shoulders shrugged. “School’s okay.”

  “Something wrong at home, then?” The little she knew about his family situation flashed through her mind.

  “Look, I don’t have to tell you anything. You’re not my boss.”

  “No, but I’d like to be your friend. Come on, Davey. Tell me what’s wrong. I won’t tell anyone else, unless you say it’s okay.”

  “Promise?” His tone was skeptical.

  “I promise.”

  He stared down at the ground, his face troubled as he tried to put on a brave front. “We got evicted, that’s what. Guess my dad was late with the rent again. Landlord threw us out.”

  His father must have been very late, if the landlord had gotten far enough in the legal process to evict them. She longed to touch the boy, but he was like a porcupine with all its quills standing on end.

  “Is your dad out looking for another place?”

  He shook his head.

  “Then where is he?”

  Davey didn’t say anything, and a suspicion grew in her mind.

  “Davey, you can trust me. Where’s your father?”

  He hesitated a moment longer. Then he looked up, and she thought she read fear behind the defiance in his eyes.

  “He’s gone, all right? He’s gone, but he’ll be back. I know he’ll come back for me.”

  Oh, Lord, tell me what to do. My heart is breaking for this poor child, and I don’t know how to help him.

  Slowly, very slowly, she reached out to touch his shoulder. “Davey, I think you need some help with this one. You can’t hide out in Kate’s shed forever, you know.”

  “I don’t want help!” He jerked away, fear leaping in his eyes. “You tell anyone, they’ll maybe put me away.”

  “Nobody’s going to put you away. I’m a lawyer, remember? I won’t let them, okay?”

  He studied her face for a moment, as if assessing the chance she was telling him the truth. Finally he nodded.

  “Okay.”

  She let out the breath she’d been hold
ing. “Maybe we ought to go down to the police station and—”

  He went back a step, shaking his head. “No! I don’t want to go there.”

  “What if Mitch comes here to talk to you? That’s all—just talk.”

  His mouth set, and he stared down at his shoes. “All right,” he said finally. “Long as all he wants to do is talk. He starts thinking about anything else, I’m outta here.”

  Luckily, Emilie was awake when they got into the house. Davey, fascinated, played with her, while Anne called Mitch and explained quickly.

  He didn’t bother asking for details or second-guessing her actions. “I’ll be right there.”

  By the time Mitch arrived, they were all in the kitchen having a snack. Emilie gnawed on a biscuit while Davey wolfed down one sandwich after another.

  “Hey, Davey.” Mitch moved into the room easily, his voice low. He seemed to know without asking how skittish the boy was.

  Davey eyed him suspiciously over the top of his grilled-cheese sandwich. “You can’t put me away. Anne already told me, and she’s a lawyer. You can’t put me away.”

  Mitch sank into a chair, reaching out to filch a quarter of a sandwich from Davey’s plate. “Who said anything about putting you away?”

  “Well, I’m just telling you.” Some of the tension seemed to go out of him.

  “You do need a place to stay, Davey,” she pointed out. “You can’t live in the shed.”

  “I can take care of myself. I’m almost eleven. I don’t need anybody.”

  “You’re not going to be put away, and you’re not going to live in the shed.” Mitch’s voice was firm. “Way I see it, you just need a place to stay until your dad comes back. So, I figure the best thing is for you to move in with me.”

  Chapter 11

  For an instant after the words were out of his mouth, Mitch couldn’t believe he’d said them. What did he know about taking care of a kid, especially one with Davey’s problems?

  “Do you mean that?” Anne’s gaze held his, warning him, maybe, that it was a bad thing to say if he didn’t.

  “I mean it.” It felt right to him. The problem would probably be convincing the kid that it was right.

  He glanced at Davey, who was looking at him with a startled, disbelieving expression. Was there a little hope in that look? He wasn’t sure.

  But he was sure of one thing. He’d begun to take some pride in the way the boy was shaping up, and he didn’t intend to give up on him now.

  Anne rested her hand lightly on Davey’s shoulder. “Seems like a really good idea to me.”

  It was nice to see the approval in her eyes, but he wasn’t doing it for that. He just couldn’t let the kid slip through the cracks the way he almost had.

  “What do you say, Davey? You willing to stay with me for a while?”

  Davey stared at the tabletop, as if fascinated by it. “You don’t need to. I’ll be okay.”

  “Davey...” Carefully, now. He didn’t want to scare the kid. “I know you’re used to being pretty independent. But the law says you can’t live on your own yet. So you’ve got to stay with someone. You have any relatives you’d rather be with?”

  The boy shrugged. “Just my dad.”

  It had a familiar, lonely sound that reverberated in Mitch’s heart. He didn’t want to have to call Child Services on the kid. He wanted to work this out, somehow.

  “Well, then, what do you say? I’m not that hard to get along with.”

  Davey stared at his hands. “Okay. I guess so.” He looked up. “Just ’til my dad gets back. He’ll come back for me.”

  “Sure he will.” Mitch wouldn’t dream of challenging the defiant note in the kid’s voice. He’d have a look for Davey’s father himself, but from what he’d seen, maybe the kid would be better off without him.

  He wasn’t about to sign on for the long haul, but he could do this much.

  He could practically hear Anne’s sigh of relief.

  “You’ll need to get approval as an emergency foster home from Child Services,” she said. She was thinking like an attorney again. “I’ve been through that with Emilie, so I can help you out.”

  “Sounds good. I know the caseworkers. I don’t think they’ll raise any objections to Davey staying with me for the time being.”

  He’d always believed God had pulled him out of that quarry all those years ago for a reason. Maybe this was it.

  * * *

  Anne stood at the front window the next morning, watching as Davey, schoolbooks in hand, trudged down the street toward the school. She’d found it surprising how quickly and smoothly the question of Davey’s custody had been settled. Maybe it was because Bedford Creek was a small town, or maybe because Mitch was the police chief. Nobody made waves about the situation.

  He was now waiting in the doorway, maybe to be sure Davey headed in the right direction. Then Mitch went back inside, and the door closed. Apparently, he wasn’t headed to work yet.

  Anne stared thoughtfully at the house. If Mitch weren’t at the office, he wouldn’t see her heading into Ellie’s gift shop. She bit her lip, torn by conflicting arguments.

  So far she had nothing, absolutely nothing, to present at the adoption hearing about Emilie’s father. Mitch’s search had come up empty; everything Anne tried was a dead end.

  But Ellie—Ellie might have had more to say if Mitch hadn’t walked in on them. Anne could go back to see her. She could even bring up Tina’s name and see if the woman remembered anything about her that might be a lead.

  Ellie was too bright to interpret a second visit as something casual. She’d know this was important to Anne. She’d be curious; she might talk about it.

  But the clock was ticking. Maybe the time had passed for the caution she’d agreed to when she’d come to Bedford Creek. If there was the faintest possibility Ellie had answers, Anne had to go after them.

  Kate, who’d returned the previous evening, leaped at the chance to watch Emilie when Anne said she wanted to go out. Anne hurried to the car. It would be faster to drive, with less chance of running into Mitch coming or going and forcing her to explain why she was talking to Ellie again.

  A parking space in front of the shop, no other customers... She couldn’t imagine why Ellie bothered to open until tourist season, but she was grateful for it.

  Ellie raised her eyebrows when she walked up to the counter. “Are you interested in another wreath?”

  “Not exactly.” How much did Ellie guess of her motives? “We didn’t really have a chance to finish our conversation the other day.”

  Ellie shrugged, dark eyes wary. “We were interrupted, remember?”

  “Yes, well, I thought we might talk about it a little more.” The woman was so cautious, it was difficult to read her.

  Ellie stared at her for a long moment, then leaned against the counter. “Did you have any luck with the address I gave you?”

  “Marcy had moved, and there wasn’t a phone listing for her. I sent a letter, hoping it would be forwarded, but I haven’t heard anything yet.” And maybe she never would.

  “What else do you want? I don’t know any other way to find Marcy. She’s not good about keeping in touch, and we weren’t best friends or anything.”

  “I wondered...” This was the tricky part, and there didn’t seem to be any casual way to bring it up. “I wondered if you remembered another friend of hers—Tina Mallory.”

  Ellie stared at her, eyes unreadable. Then she shrugged again. “I remember her. I never knew her very well, though. Are you trying to find her, too?”

  Obviously she found Anne’s interest suspicious, to say the least. “No. Tina was the mutual friend I mentioned. The one who died a few months ago.”

  “That young girl?” Ellie’s reaction was much the same as Cassie’s had been. “That’s hard to believe. What happened to her?”
/>
  “She had a heart problem that had never been diagnosed.” Anne felt as if she were using Tina’s death to gain the woman’s cooperation. “I know she and Marcy were good friends, and I thought Marcy ought to be told, but I haven’t been able to locate her.”

  Ellie shook her head. “Wish I could help, but I don’t know any other way to find her.”

  “Maybe you remember other friends Tina made when she lived here.” Surely she remembered something helpful. “I’d like to get in touch with them, too.”

  “I can’t think of any.” Ellie frowned. “She was a dreamy kid, kept pretty much to herself. I never got to know her very well.”

  “What about boyfriends?” The opportunity was slipping through her fingers, dissolving away into mist like every other lead to Emilie’s father.

  “Boyfriends?” Ellie looked at her with an expression Anne couldn’t interpret.

  “Yes, boyfriends.” Maybe she didn’t sound as pushy as she feared she did. “She was a young girl. She must have gone out with someone while she was here.”

  “Funny you should ask me about that.” Ellie picked up one of the dried-flower arrangements on the counter, tweaking it as if to keep her hands busy.

  “What’s funny about it?”

  “Funny because you’re such good friends with Mitch Donovan.”

  “What do you mean?” A heavy weight seemed to press down on her, as if she knew the answer before the woman spoke.

  Ellie twisted a flower into place, then looked at her. “I thought he was the man Tina dated.”

  Pain ricocheted through her. It carried a clear message. She’d gotten far too involved with Mitch Donovan—been far too willing to believe him.

  She cleared her throat, trying not to let her voice or her face express any emotion at all. “What makes you think that?”

  Ellie frowned, dark braids flapping as she shook her head. “Not sure, really.”