by Irene Hannon
Jeannette did her best to entertain them—and to give Elisa an extra language lesson in the guise of fun—but it was obvious the girl was worried and having difficulty concentrating.
Yet when her father pushed through the door, she didn’t rush to him for reassurance as he strode toward the reception desk. She simply sat and watched, waiting to be noticed.
Hoping to be noticed.
Jeannette wasn’t surprised.
Based on what she’d observed during her tutoring sessions, Thomma was so mired in grief over the family he’d lost that he was oblivious to the needs of the loved ones he still had.
“Can I help you, sir?” The thirtyish guy now behind the desk—Chuck, according to the nameplate—rotated his chair away from the computer.
“Mariam Shabo.”
“Are you related?”
It was obvious Thomma had no idea what the man had asked.
Jeannette rose. “Thomma.”
He swung around, and the lines of tension in his face smoothed as he joined her. “Mother . . . here?”
“Yes. Sit.” She motioned to the chair beside Elisa.
He sat, gave his daughter’s shoulder a distracted pat, and said a few words in Arabic.
Not the kind of comfort the child hungered for—a hug would have been far better—but Jeannette couldn’t tell this man how to love his lost little daughter. That had to come from within.
She could only pray he realized how much Elisa needed him before it was too late.
Jeannette crossed to the desk. “This is Mariam’s son. Would you let Logan . . . Dr. West . . . know he’s here?”
“Sure thing.” He disappeared into the back.
Jeannette rejoined the small group in the corner.
“Is Mrs. Shabo better?” Molly sidled up to her.
“Your uncle will tell us that in a few minutes.” The girl’s ponytail had slipped sideways, and she retied the purple ribbon.
Molly leaned close to her ear. “Elisa’s scared.”
Remarkable how children could pick up nuances, even if they didn’t speak the same language.
“I know. It’s always scary if someone we love gets hurt.”
“My daddy got hurt—and my Nana got sick. They both went to heaven.” Her voice quavered. “Is Mrs. Shabo going to heaven?”
“No. She just hurt her ankle.” Jeannette put her arm around the girl and gave her a squeeze. “Your uncle will fix her all up.”
As if on cue, the door opened and Logan pushed Mariam into the waiting area. The woman’s ankle was wrapped in a compression bandage and elevated, but her color had returned. Logan handed Thomma a cell phone as he joined them, and Elisa slipped out of her chair to stand beside Mariam, leaving her father sitting alone.
“How is she?” Jeannette stood.
“She’ll be fine. It’s a Grade 1 sprain, which is the least serious. I wrapped it to help control the swelling and decrease the pain. The treatment is simple—rest, ice, compression, and elevation. The swelling should go down within a few days. Susan’s explaining that to the Shabos.” He motioned toward Thomma, who was talking on the cell in low tones.
“Will she be able to watch the girls at your house?”
“I’d rather she stick close to home tomorrow. After that . . . as long as she stays off her feet as much as possible, she should be able to come. I may take Molly to their apartment tomorrow, if Mariam’s up to it. Or I could see if the woman Reverend Baker found for me would be willing to come to our house for one day. In the meantime, thank you for filling in for the rest of today. You’re a lifesaver.”
“It’s no big deal.”
“It is to me.” His gaze locked with hers.
She swallowed and fumbled for Molly’s hand. “I, uh, guess we’ll go on home. Will Toby be all right in his cage for another hour or two, while I finish up in my workshop?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll go over and get him after that for a walk on the beach.”
“He’ll love that—but be warned. If you let him off the leash, roundup can be a challenge.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Thank you again for the offer of beach access, by the way. We’ve used it twice. It’s much more convenient than piling into the car and driving down 101 to take a walk.”
“My pleasure.”
Sort of.
As Logan took the phone from Thomma and spoke with Susan, Jeannette busied herself collecting her purse.
In truth, it had been kind of bittersweet to watch through the kitchen window as the three occupants of the house next door had traipsed through her garden to the beach access.
And it had set off a powerful longing deep inside her.
One so strong it had tempted her to emerge from the shadows inside her house and see if she could finagle another invitation to join them.
But she’d resisted.
Mightily.
Her life in Hope Harbor was perfect just as it was. She’d planned every detail, built a business that suited her to a T, kept herself too busy to reminisce . . . or mourn . . . or be lonely.
So what if every day was 100 percent predictable? Consistency was good. Routine didn’t have to be stale or boring. It could be comforting.
And after three years, she saw no reason to change a single thing.
Trouble was . . . things were changing around her.
In fact—some days it kind of felt like she was losing control.
And that was not comforting.
“I think we’re all set.” Logan pocketed the cell phone Thomma handed him and dropped to the balls of his feet in front of Molly. “Ms. Mason’s going to take you home with her until I get off work, sweetie. You can call me on the phone if you want to, though. She’ll help you if you ask.”
Molly looked past him to the Shabos. “Is Elisa coming?”
“Not today. Her daddy’s going to take her and her grandma home. But she’ll be back the day after tomorrow, after Mrs. Shabo’s ankle isn’t as swollen.” He gave her a quick hug, but the girl didn’t reciprocate.
Apparently there’d been no progress on the bonding front.
Logan stood and pulled out his keys again. “Unless you have a car seat, you’ll have to transfer mine to your car.” He held out the ring as a new patient arrived with a blood-soaked towel wrapped around his arm. “You can just leave them at the desk.”
“Thanks.” She took the fob.
As Logan said a fast good-bye and disappeared into the treatment area, Mariam looked up at her. “English?”
Oh yeah.
They were scheduled for a lesson tonight.
That wasn’t going to happen.
“Tomorrow? Tuesday?” This week’s three lessons would be back-to-back, but that was better than skipping one.
Mariam tipped her head up toward Thomma and spoke in Arabic. He nodded.
“Okay.” The woman smiled at her. “Thank you. Seven?”
“Yes.” Meeting at a later time now that Mariam was working had ended up being far less disruptive to her day.
Jeannette took Molly’s hand and followed the family out of the urgent care center, Thomma wheeling his mother.
After they waved good-bye to the family, she switched the car seat, buckled her charge into the restraint, dropped Logan’s keys at the desk, and took the wheel. In the rearview mirror, she watched the girl tracking the progress of her friend, who was being secured into her car seat a few vehicles away.
Those two had really connected.
And despite the language barrier, they didn’t seem to have any difficulty communicating.
That was a blessing for both of them.
Especially since Thomma appeared to have distanced himself from his daughter, and Molly was resisting Logan’s attempts to connect.
It was also a blessing for her.
If the girls didn’t have each other, she’d have been tempted to step in, see if she could ease the deep sadness in Molly’s eyes and try to help her connect
with her uncle.
Jeannette put the car in gear and backed out of the parking spot.
As it was, she could entertain Molly for a few hours this afternoon, maybe offer to watch her tomorrow if Logan couldn’t find anyone else, then slip back to her side of the hedge—and the life she’d had before her new neighbors and a traumatized family had disrupted her orderly existence.
And reminded her how much she missed the loving relationships that had once brightened her world.
15
Logan crested the dune at the end of the access trail behind Jeannette’s house and paused to survey Driftwood Beach.
As had been the case on his two previous visits, the vast expanse was almost deserted.
Only three figures were visible today—a little girl with a strawberry-blonde ponytail, a cavorting beagle, and a dark-haired woman trying in vain to coax the dog close enough to snap on a leash.
“Come on, Toby. Cooperate. We have to go home.”
Her frustration-laced plea floated up to him as she approached the dog.
Toby hunkered down on his front paws, waited until she got within inches of reaching distance—then dashed off with a happy, catch-me-if-you-can yip to hide behind one of the large, sculpture-like pieces of driftwood arrayed behind the high-water line.
Typical.
Grinning, Logan adjusted the blanket draped over his shoulder, tightened his grip on the bags in his hands, and started down to the beach. “It might be easier to round him up if we tag team this.”
As he parroted back the words she’d said to him when the situation had been reversed, Jeannette whipped around, cheeks flushed. “You weren’t kidding about trying to corral him.”
“Nope. But let’s give him a reprieve while we eat dinner. Hi, sweetie.” He bent to kiss the top of Molly’s head.
Jeannette’s gaze moved from the blanket to the bags in his hands, brow crinkling. “Dinner?”
“Yes.” He set the sacks on the sand and spread out the blanket. He wasn’t taking no for an answer tonight—if he could help it. “I brought Charley’s tacos and picked up some brownies from Sweet Dreams. It was the least I could do after you bailed me out with Molly today.”
“I was happy to help.”
“I appreciate that—but it had to be an inconvenience.” He opened the bag of tacos, waved it under her nose, and motioned to the blanket. “Join us?”
She narrowed her eyes. “Not fair. That smell is hard to resist.”
“Please stay.” Molly edged closer to Jeannette and touched his neighbor’s hand.
The brief flash of dismay on Jeannette’s face was telling.
She might be able to say no to him, but she had a soft spot for his niece.
Too bad it didn’t extend to him—but hey. Whatever worked to keep her here.
“I guess I can stay for a couple of tacos.” She lowered herself to a corner of the blanket and gave Toby a disgruntled look as he trotted over. “Oh, sure, now that we’re staying you want to get up close and personal.” She scratched behind his ear.
“With us . . . and the food.” Logan claimed the other side of the blanket and patted the spot between them. “Come sit, Molly.”
She dropped down beside Jeannette instead.
He tried not to let her rebuff bother him as he set the food bags in the center of the blanket and dispensed the tacos.
But it hurt.
“Milk for you”—he handed his niece a small carton with a straw attached—“and a selection for us.” He lined up four soft drink cans on the blanket along with two bottles of water.
Jeannette chose a diet Sprite. “It took some effort to put this all together.” The carbonation hissed out as she released the tab.
“Easier than cooking.” He claimed a full-octane Coke.
“I can’t argue with that—and Charley’s tacos are much better than the tuna salad in my fridge that was slated to be my dinner. Let me help you with that, honey.” She took the milk carton from Molly, detached the straw with one deft twist, and fitted it through the opening.
Like she’d been through that drill a million times.
Curious.
He hadn’t even noticed Molly was having difficulty with the carton, and it would have taken him a moment to determine how to release the straw. Jeannette had done it on autopilot.
How did she know so much about kids? Could it be an instinctive female skill—or was there more to her story?
Molly dived into her taco. “Charley cooks good.”
“Yes, he does.” Jeannette took a big bite.
“I drawed a picture for him.” Molly angled toward their neighbor—a clear signal she didn’t intend to include him in the conversation.
Logan tried to ignore the tiny twist in his gut.
“Tell me about it.” Jeannette gave the child her full attention.
Molly described her rendering in detail. “He put it on his wall and said it might help me find a friend. And it did! Do you think Charley is magic?”
Jeannette smiled. “I don’t know about that—but he does have a magic touch with tacos. Don’t you think so, Logan?”
“Yep.” He left it at that. While he appreciated her effort to include him in the conversation, his participation could shut Molly down—and he’d rather watch her interact with his neighbor. It gave him a glimpse of the kind of relationship they could have if she ever let him into her life.
If being the operative word.
So far it had been a long, slow slog—and some days, for every step forward they took, it felt as if they slipped two steps back.
Yet as he sat here in what any third-party onlooker would assume was a family group, he didn’t feel quite as dejected as usual—thanks to Jeannette.
And as the meal wound down, he wasn’t ready for this interlude to end.
“Molly, would you like to play with Toby for a few minutes before we go home?” He kept his tone casual.
The dog’s ears perked up, and he popped to his feet, abandoning his fruitless food-scrap vigil at the edge of the blanket.
“By myself?” Her last bite of brownie froze halfway to her mouth.
“Jeannette and I will be right here. Just stay back from the edge of the water.”
She shoved the fudgy confection into her mouth and jumped up, as if she was afraid he’d change his mind.
“Come on, Toby.” She raced down the beach, the dog barking happily at her heels.
Once she was out of earshot, Logan shifted his attention to Jeannette. “Any problems with her today?”
“No. She’s a delightful child. But she misses her Nana.”
“She talked to you about that?” In his presence, Molly was as taciturn about personal subjects as the woman sitting across from him.
“Indirectly. While we were making sachets, she mentioned that her grandmother liked to knit—and she told me how she used to help her wind yarn into balls. She also talked about them baking chocolate chip cookies together. It’s obvious your mom’s death left a huge hole in her life.”
“Yeah.” He sighed and sifted some sand through his fingers. “One I haven’t been able to fill.”
“You’ve only had her four months—and she’s dealing with a ton of heavy stuff. If you keep loving her, she’ll come around.”
“I don’t know. I used to think that was true, but I’m beginning to wonder if love is enough. She should be talking to someone—but she clams up around me. I’ve been considering professional help.”
“Like a counselor?”
“Yeah.”
“Mmm.” Jeannette watched the two small figures romping on the beach. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt—but she and Elisa seem to have become fast friends. That could make a difference.”
“Maybe.” He ran his palm over the sand, until the surface was smooth and unblemished again. “She likes you too. I’m the one she’s having an issue warming up to.”
“You took the place of her Nana. That’s a challenging role to fill.” Jeannette fold
ed her napkin into a precise square, giving the task more attention than it deserved. “I got the impression it was just the two of them after her father died.”
“It was.”
She didn’t ask any more questions—but they hung in the air nonetheless.
Logan brushed off his hands and filled his lungs with the tangy air. Why not tell Jeannette the whole story? Maybe if he shared some of his family history with her, she’d reciprocate down the road. It wasn’t as if Molly’s background was a state secret, after all.
He stretched out his legs and leaned back on his palms. “If you have a few minutes, I could tell you why there haven’t been many people in Molly’s life.”
“I have to admit I’ve been curious about that.”
“You’re not alone. The local newspaper editor almost sweet-talked me into divulging details I’d decided weren’t for general consumption.”
Jeannette’s lips flexed. “Marci is very likeable—and she manages to wheedle an incredible amount of information out of people . . . as I learned from experience.”
“She did a story on you?”
“A small one, not long after I arrived.”
He’d have to dig through some back issues of the Herald and see what he could discover about the reticent woman who’d shared dinner with him on the beach.
“I think she missed her calling. She’d have been an ace investigative reporter.”
“I won’t argue with that—but she loves what’s she doing . . . and that’s what counts.”
“Agreed. And you do too. Have you always been in the hospitality or restaurant business?”
“No.” She folded her legs and picked up a broken sand dollar from the beach beside her. Fingered the jagged, battered edge.
Two seagulls swooped low overhead, but she was oblivious to them.
Logan waited a few more seconds in case she decided to offer more.
She didn’t.
And she might bolt if he pushed.
Better move on, much as he’d like to delve deeper into what made his companion tick.
“So in terms of—”
“In my previous—”
As their words overlapped, he closed his mouth.