by Irene Hannon
As Logan stepped back to let Thomma enter first, Mariam held out her arms for Elisa. “Oh, tafalay alhulu.” And that was more than a generic endearment. Elisa was her sweet child, always obedient and loveable. Running away had been a cry for help—and attention.
She hugged her tight, fingered her shirt, and inspected both girls.
“Clothes wet. Need change.”
“Yes.” Logan walked toward the bedroom. “Come.”
She followed.
In Molly’s bedroom, he pulled out tops and pants for both girls. “Bath first.”
He led them to the bathroom. “You help?” He arched an eyebrow at her.
“Yes. I be quick.”
Moving at top speed, Mariam filled the tub and got both girls cleaned up fast. Though she tried to talk with them, neither had much to say.
Perhaps Elisa would open up to her later, at home—or better yet, talk to her father.
Once both girls were warm and dry and dressed, she led them back to the kitchen, where Logan and Thomma were drinking coffee.
Thomma stood as soon as they entered. “We go home now.”
“Yes.” She retrieved their food, and motioned toward the covered dishes in the oven as she looked at Logan. “For you.”
For once, he didn’t refuse.
“Thank you.”
“I come tomorrow?”
Logan hesitated.
“Better keep . . .” Mariam searched her vocabulary but came up with no word for routine. “Keep same.” After today’s excitement, it would be best if the girls got back to normal as soon as possible.
Based on Logan’s nod, he seemed to get her gist. “Yes.”
She picked up their dinner and motioned for Thomma to take Elisa’s hand.
He did better than that.
After crossing the room in two long strides, he bent and swung her up into his arms.
Mariam’s spirits rose.
Perhaps her prayers were about to be answered.
Logan followed them to the door, and as Mariam turned to say good-bye, Molly sidled close to her uncle and tucked her hand in his. As he bent to pick her up, she lifted her arms and smiled. A real, no-holds-barred smile that banished the hurt and grief that had always darkened her eyes.
It appeared those two had mended their fences.
Now if only Thomma could win back the little girl in his arms.
Logan closed the door behind the Syrian family and shifted Molly in his arms. “What do you say we eat some of the dinner Mrs. Shabo left for us?”
“Can you hold me first?” She tightened her grip around his neck—like she never wanted to let go.
Fine with him.
“Sure.” He carried her into the living room and sat in the overstuffed chair he’d brought from his apartment in San Francisco. It was large enough to accommodate both of them—though Molly had never initiated a lap-sitting session.
Toby trotted in and plopped down at his feet.
For several minutes they sat in silence, Molly cuddled up against his chest as he stroked her back and waged a mental debate about how to proceed.
Should he introduce the subject of her afternoon adventure—or hope she’d tell him about it on her own?
But what if she never brought it up? Should he let it go?
Maybe.
After all, it wasn’t as if there was any secret about why she’d left. She and Elisa were both unhappy and grieving.
Thomma’s daughter had Mariam, of course. But while the woman loved her deeply, it wasn’t the same as a father’s love—and Thomma, for whatever reason, had closed himself off emotionally. Rejection by your own father would be devastating . . . and nothing could make up for that—even the love of a doting grandmother.
As for Molly—she’d lost everyone she loved, and the conversation she’d overheard in San Francisco had convinced her she was an unwanted intruder in her uncle’s life.
It was no wonder the two girls had run away.
In hindsight, the bigger surprise was why they’d waited so long.
His niece burrowed closer, emitting a contented sigh, and he swallowed past the lump in his throat.
Running away hadn’t been the latest transgression in a litany of stunts from two ill-behaved children.
It had been an act of desperation—and despair.
But based on Molly’s behavior since the rescue—and since he’d verbalized his love for her—the two of them might finally be on the road to the kind of relationship he’d envisioned for them.
Perhaps they didn’t have to talk about her running away or—
“We were going to Missouri.”
Molly’s soft comment pulled him back to the moment.
Apparently they did need to talk about this.
“That’s far away.”
“It didn’t take very long to get here.”
“But we were on an airplane.” Not that the different speeds between modes of transportation would mean much to a child. Better to ferret out her reason for that destination. His mom was gone, and they had no other relatives in the town. “Why did you want to go back there?”
“It was my happy place.”
A simple answer that summed up everything.
Everyone wanted to find their happy place—and his mom would have created that for Molly.
“It was my happy place once too.” He finger-combed a few tangled strands of her hair. “Thinking about it makes me smile.”
“Me too. That’s why I wanted to go back. I told Elisa about it, and she wanted to go too.”
Careful how you phrase your response, West.
“Sometimes I wish I could go back there too. But it wouldn’t be the same as I remember. What usually makes a place happy is the people who are there.”
Her shoulders drooped. “I know. And Nana isn’t in Missouri anymore. She’s in heaven.”
“And in your heart. No matter where you go, she’ll always be there.”
“But I can’t sit on her lap anymore.”
“No.” That was reality, and trying to sugarcoat it wasn’t going to help. “But sometimes, after people we love go to heaven, God gives us new people to love—and new laps to sit on.”
Several beats of silence ticked by.
“I like sitting on your lap.”
At the shy admission, pressure built behind his eyes. “I like holding you on my lap.”
She played with a button on his shirt. “Maybe . . . maybe you and me can stay together so we don’t get lonesome anymore.”
“I’d like that.”
“If you get sad at night again, it’s okay if you come sleep with me.”
“Thank you. I’ll remember that.”
She twisted in his arms to search his face, tiny creases denting her smooth brow. “Do you really love me?”
“With all my heart.”
“You didn’t at first.”
“Yes, I did—but I never had a little girl live with me before, and I was scared I wouldn’t know what to do or how to make you happy. I had to figure it out.”
“That’s what ’Nette said.”
God bless his neighbor!
“She was right.”
“I like her.”
“Me too.”
“I think she’s lonesome, like us.” Molly continued to watch him.
“She might be.”
“Do you think she could live with us? At night, we could all sleep together.”
Logan snuffed out the mental image of Jeannette in his bed and cleared his throat. “I don’t know if that would work. She has her own house. And usually people who live together are married.”
Her eyes lit up. “If you married ’Nette, would she be my mommy?”
“Yes.” Change the subject. Now. “Aren’t you getting hungry? I hear some growls. Unless you’re hiding a bear inside there.” He tickled her tummy.
She giggled . . . and his lungs locked.
That was the sound he’d been waiting to hear for months.
<
br /> “Yes. Mrs. Shabo cooks good. Better than you.”
“That wouldn’t be hard.” He stood, balancing her on his hip as he smothered a yawn. The long, traumatic day was catching up with him.
“Are you sleepy?” She held on tight as he bent to scratch behind Toby’s ear.
“Getting there. After we eat, I think we both should go to bed.”
“Do you want to stay with me tonight, so you won’t be lonesome?”
The two of them in her twin bed? Until morning?
It wouldn’t be the most comfortable night of his life.
But it might be one of the best.
“I think that would be perfect.”
She smiled at him, no trace of worry or sadness in her eyes. “I love you, Uncle Logan.”
“I love you back.” Somehow he managed to choke out the words.
And as he carried her into the kitchen, the beagle at his heels, Logan’s heart overflowed.
After months of effort, he and Molly were finally on the road to their happy place.
One down—one to go.
“I’ll do the dishes while you put Elisa to bed.” Mariam rose as the family finished their late dinner and looked at him across the table.
Thomma didn’t need his mother’s prompt. He’d planned to take on that duty tonight, had been thinking about what he’d say to Elisa once the two of them were alone.
The words still hadn’t coalesced in his mind, though.
He’d been hoping for some guidance based on Elisa’s conversation during dinner, but despite his diligent efforts, his daughter hadn’t cooperated. Even his mother hadn’t managed to elicit more than a sentence or two.
Elisa had eaten her dinner mostly in silence, casting him frequent surreptitious glances.
Like she sensed something was different but didn’t quite know what.
He intended to clear up her confusion now.
Setting his napkin on the table, he rose. “Are you finished, my little one?”
Elisa stared at him, and in his peripheral vision he saw his mother freeze.
No wonder.
He hadn’t used that term of endearment for his daughter since the day his world had exploded in Syria.
Elisa sent his mother an uncertain look.
“Go with your father. I’ll give you a good night hug here.” She did so, offered him a nod of approval, and busied herself clearing the table.
Thomma held out his hand to Elisa.
After regarding him for a moment, she slid off her chair and slipped her fingers into his. “I have to brush my teeth.”
“You can do that while I get your pajamas out.”
She followed along beside him to the bathroom and disappeared inside.
It took him a few tries to find the drawer where his mother kept her pajamas—yet more evidence of his lack of interest in his daughter.
But perhaps he could lay the groundwork for a new start tonight.
He was waiting when she returned, her nightclothes in hand. “Want me to help you put these on?”
She shook her head. “I can do it myself.”
And she did, with quick efficiency, turning her back on him as she changed.
Like he was a stranger.
A twinge echoed in his heart, but her treatment of him was no more than he deserved. After all the months he’d pushed her aside, he was in many respects a stranger to her.
She tugged the top into position, folded up the clothes Logan had loaned them, placed them in a neat pile on the chair in the room, and climbed into bed.
Thomma tucked her in, dimmed the light, and sat on the edge of the mattress, heart hammering.
God, please help me as I try to mend the damage I’ve done.
Summoning up his courage, he took Elisa’s hand. “I’m glad you and Molly decided to come back today.”
The conclusion that the girls had changed their mind about running away was a supposition—but they had been retracing their steps when Sherlock found them.
“Why?”
So his assumption had been accurate.
That was a positive sign—unless Molly was the one who’d decided to return and had convinced his reluctant daughter to go with her.
“Because it wouldn’t be the same here without you.”
She hugged her Raggedy Ann doll tighter, watching him. “You wouldn’t miss me.”
His stomach knotted.
What else could she conclude after his behavior these past few months?
But hearing it verbalized gave her despair a stark harshness that ate at his gut.
“Yes, I would.” He stroked his fingers down her cheek and met her gaze. “I know I haven’t been a good papa for a long time, and I’m sorry for that. I’ve been very sad about all the people we love who went to heaven, and about leaving our home in Syria. Sometimes, when you’re that sad, it’s hard to think right. You forget about what you have now because you’re thinking so hard about everything that’s gone. That’s what happened to me.”
A few seconds passed.
“I miss Mama a lot too.” Her voice was a mere whisper.
Curious that she knew he’d been fixated on Raca in particular, given all the family they’d lost.
“I know you do, little one.”
“Sometimes I look at the picture Teta gave me and pretend she’s here.”
His mother had given Elisa a photo of Raca?
Which one?
“Will you show it to me?”
She hesitated. “You won’t keep it, will you?”
He frowned. “No. Why would I do that?”
“Teta said it might make you sad and you might take it away.”
Would he have deprived his daughter of a photo that gave her comfort?
He’d like to think the answer was no . . . but it was hard to say, considering his mental state since the tragedy.
“I promise I won’t take it away. Maybe we can look at it—and remember her—together.”
She studied him, kneading the edge of the blanket between her fingers . . . then rolled over, opened the drawer in the bedside table, and pulled out the photo. She tilted it toward him, keeping a tight grip on the image. As if she didn’t trust him.
Another punch in the stomach.
Taking a fortifying breath, Thomma leaned close to examine the dog-eared photo. It wasn’t one he’d ever seen, but the setting was familiar. The shot had been snapped at the wedding of some friends of theirs, less than a year before the bombing. Raca was holding Elisa on her lap, her eyes bright with laughter as if someone had just made a humorous remark, her whole being radiating life and joy and optimism.
It captured her perfectly.
He blinked to clear his vision.
Someone must have given this to Mariam—and if that was how she’d acquired it, there wasn’t much chance she had anything but the print she’d passed on to his daughter.
But it could be scanned. Should be scanned before the edges got any more ragged from handling.
“I would love to have a copy of this picture, Elisa. It’s exactly how I remember your mama.”
“You could ask Teta if she has another one.”
“I will—but if she doesn’t, I could make a copy of yours.”
She tucked it close to her chest. “I like to keep this here.”
“You could come with me while I get the copy made. You don’t have to give it to me.”
“I guess so.” She traced a finger over the image in the photo. “Mama was pretty.”
“Yes, she was.” He managed to keep his voice from cracking.
“Can she see us from heaven?”
“I don’t know—but I’m sure she can feel how much we love her.”
“She loved me this much.” Elisa spread her arms wide . . . then let them droop. “Like you used to.”
Past tense.
As if he too was dead.
And in truth he had been—in every way that counted.
“I still love you, Elisa.” T
he sentiment sounded empty even to him. Words without action meant nothing.
But going forward, there would be plenty of action to back them up.
“Are you mad at me for running away?”
“I’m more mad at myself.”
Her brow knitted. “Why?”
“Because if I’d been a better papa, you wouldn’t have wanted to leave.” He brushed her hair back with trembling fingers. “I’m sorry I haven’t told you every single day that I love you, and given you hugs, and read you bedtime stories, and kissed you good night. From now on, I’m going to do all those things—if that’s okay with you.”
She emitted a tiny, shuddering puff of air. “It’s okay.”
Her expression didn’t change. No smile chased away the somber demeanor he’d come to expect from her. But God willing, that would come in time—after she was certain her papa was really back.
He leaned toward her and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. “Good night, my little one.”
Rising, he smoothed out the blankets and reached over to flip off the lamp.
“Papa?”
“Yes?” He paused, his fingers on the switch.
She slowly held out her precious photo. “You can make a copy.”
As the significance of her simple gesture registered, the room blurred—and hope filled his heart.
Despite all he’d done to hurt this child, she’d accepted his apology, trusted him to honor his promise, and was willing to give him a second chance.
And as he took the photo, thanked her, and bent to give her another kiss, he sent a silent prayer of gratitude toward the heavens.
While his life hadn’t played out as he’d hoped, and there would be many challenges ahead, he had much to be thankful for.
And here in Hope Harbor, with the love of his daughter and mother to sustain him, he would remember each and every day to count his blessings and to focus on what could be rather than on what might have been.
27
Logan hadn’t contacted her all day.
And why should he, after her vague response when he’d called last night to tell her the girls had been found and invite her over?
The man wasn’t going to come begging for her attention. If she wanted to explore where their memorable kiss might lead, the next move was up to her.
Jeannette settled the last lavender wreath into its box, added it to the other two that hadn’t sold at the Friday farmer’s market, and gave the empty booth one last scan.