by Diana Palmer
The calm expression was gone from Carlo’s face now. He’d gone white, and now he took a step back, his fists clenching at his sides.
“What?” she taunted. “Nothing to say now? Why don’t you try sweet-talking me? It worked to distract me from the truth before.”
“I’ve got plenty to say.” His voice sounded stiff, guarded. “But I’d better not say it.”
“Go ahead,” she challenged. This anger felt way better than despair.
“Fern, you’re not thinking of that little girl in there. You’re thinking of yourself and your own hurt feelings.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “You have no idea what’s going on in my head.”
“All I know,” he said, “is that Mercedes wants a daddy. And now that I know about her, I’m here to be one. I think you’re mad because it interferes with your neat little plan to have complete control of her.”
“Oh, that’s nice.” She put her hands on her hips. “Start accusing me, will you? Take the spotlight off yourself. Maybe I am mad that you lied to me. That you...that you kissed me, just to get close to me so you could take Mercedes!” Was that true? Had his advances toward her been just about trying to get his daughter back?
She’d thought it was weird that a big, handsome, charismatic man like him was attracted to a mousy little librarian like her, but somehow, this morning, he’d made it seem believable. She’d gotten all happy. She’d even started imagining a future with him. But it was a big lie. “I need a moment,” she said, and went into the pantry and slammed the door behind her, taking deep, gulping breaths, trying to regain control. Because if she didn’t, if she really let go, she might never pull herself together again.
* * *
AS SOON AS Fern left the room, Carlo sank down at the kitchen table and let his head fall into his hands.
How had everything gone so terribly wrong?
The pain on Fern’s face was the worst thing. He’d gotten past some of those walls she’d built around her heart, he’d started to connect with her and then he’d caused her pain. He’d never regain her trust.
And maybe he’d never be able to have access to his daughter.
Lord, help. It was his simplest prayer, the one he used when he was too weary and discouraged for words. The one he’d used in the POW camp. The one he’d used when his best buddy had died in his arms.
He counted on the fact that God could fill in the blanks. But how God could help with or fix this, he honestly didn’t know.
Fern came out of the pantry, grabbed a paper towel and blew her nose. Then she turned to face him. “It’s best that you go now.” Her voice was completely, dangerously calm.
But Carlo didn’t want to go. Didn’t want to leave this place that had held such happiness, however brief. “We need to set up a time to talk, figure some things out,” he said. “Obviously, this was a shock, and I’m sorry—”
“Stop. Now.”
The abrupt words surprised him into silence.
“I don’t want to meet with you. I don’t ever want to see you again. You betrayed me, which I obviously don’t like, but you also betrayed Mercedes, and that’s unforgivable.”
The words dug at his shaky self-confidence. She was right. What had he been thinking, coming back here?
“What kind of person does that? What kind of person are you?” She shook her head, raising her hands like barriers. “Never mind. Just go.”
Inside, the part of him that had been a bad kid, the talk of the town for it, came kicking and screaming to life. The way that hurt boy had reacted followed close behind the feelings, but Carlo was older now, wiser, could stifle the automatic flash of defensive rage. “You’re angry. With good reason. But we still have to talk.”
“I’m not talking to you!” Her voice was loud, sharp and a little scratchy, as though she wasn’t used to yelling. Well, of course she wasn’t. Fern was a quiet librarian.
Except when she wasn’t.
The door to the kitchen burst open. “Hey, did you get things worked out?” The fire chief, whom Carlo couldn’t like, not when he’d accidentally shoved Carlo under a bus, sounded booming and jovial.
Fern swallowed, the muscles working in her neck, and her fingers gripping the countertop turned white. “Carlo had just decided to leave.”
“Not exactly right,” Carlo said. “You’d decided I should leave. Which I’ll do, as soon as we set up another time to talk.”
“Hey, hey, I feel responsible,” Chief Kenny said. “I... I maybe shouldn’t have said anything.”
“You were right to speak up,” Fern said, her voice dripping icicles. “Otherwise, I don’t know when the truth would have come out.”
“Hey.” Chief Kenny came up and put an arm around Fern, who cringed a little. “I’d like to help.”
“I’d like some time alone,” she said firmly.
The man looked startled, then nodded. “Yes, of course, I understand. Would you like someone from the congregation come to visit you? Maybe a woman.”
“Who’d tell the world our troubles? I don’t think so.”
He patted her shoulder. “Not everyone’s a gossip. I’ll see if Lou Ann Miller can come over here. Won’t tell her anything except that you could use the company, and you can talk or not, as you like. Okay?”
Carlo saw Fern fight the urge to wither the jovial, clueless fire chief with a choice putdown, saw the muscles in her throat move as she swallowed. “All right,” she said in a resigned voice.
“And as for you,” Kenny said, turning to Carlo, “I’d be glad to get together, talk over old times. Do you have a church home?”
“Oh, he’s super religious,” Fern interjected sarcastically. “He’s a missionary. A real hero!”
“Is that so?” Kenny smiled hesitantly. He seemed to realize he was out of his element.
“I’ve been working as a missionary, yes,” Carlo said. “And I’d be happy to get together sometime, but right now we need to set up a joint appointment with the social worker. Daisy Hinton?”
“Fine,” Fern said. “Now get out.” She waved a hand at Carlo and then turned to the fire chief. “I mean him, not you. Although—”
“Mama!” Mercedes stepped through the doorway, eyes wide, one finger in her mouth. “Why did you tell Mr. Carlo to leave? Stop fighting!”
Fern squatted down and held out her arms, and the little girl ran to her. Fern hugged her tight, tears running down her face like a stream over stone.
After a minute, Mercedes struggled free. “You’re crying, Mama,” she said, reaching out to touch Fern’s face. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing you need to worry about, sweets.” Fern’s voice broke on the pet name.
Mercedes turned to Carlo and put her hands on her hips. “Were you mean to Mama Fern?” she asked him reproachfully.
“Not on purpose, but yeah. I hurt her feelings.” Carlo was starting to think it was definitely a good idea to leave now. He’d gotten what he needed, a plan to meet with Fern and the social worker. Now he needed to get out before he blurted the whole truth to a four-year-old.
The trouble was, if he left, he wasn’t sure when he’d ever see his child again.
He squatted down to Mercedes’s level. “I’m going to go,” he said, his throat tight. “Give me a hug?”
“Don’t you dare.” Fern moved to put herself between Mercedes and him. “Mercedes, go in the other room.”
Mercedes started to cry. “Mama, he just wants a hug!”
“He wants a lot more than that,” she said, her voice low and furious. “But he’s not going to get it.”
“Come on, my man,” Chief Kenny said, clapping an arm around his shoulders. “Probably best to leave.”
Carlo could tell from the fire chief’s watchful expression that the man thought he was going to do something dangerous. Carlo was the bad
kid by reputation, and maybe that wasn’t just in the past. No one trusted him, and why should they? He hadn’t exactly earned anyone’s trust.
* * *
TWO HOURS LATER, Carlo had gotten a room at the cheap hotel at the edge of Rescue River and was kicking himself for not doing that in the first place. Better to have braved an accident than to have ruined everything with his daughter.
But the roads were closed. And they needed your help.
When he thought of Fern and Mercedes out there alone at the rescue, what it would have been like for them to take care of the dogs and deal with the electricity going out, he had to be glad he’d been there.
He should have told the truth as soon as he’d realized it, that was all. He’d been an idiot.
After an hour of beating himself up, he pulled himself together, as he’d done so many times before. He called the social worker, Daisy Hinton—Sam Hinton’s little sister, whom he remembered vaguely from his school years, and had seen most recently at his sister’s wedding—and made an appointment to see her the next Monday. And then he took a shower and shaved and put on clean clothes. He had to get out of his miserable state of mind so that he could function, could get on his game and figure out how to play this right.
Somehow he’d envisioned returning to Rescue River a little differently. He’d thought he would come stay with Angelica and Troy, get his feet under him and get their take on the situation. When he was ready, he’d go to work on getting his daughter back.
His illness and the snowstorm and Angelica’s absence had wrecked his plans. Not to mention that he’d met a woman who’d softened his jaded heart, who touched him in a way no one ever had...and then hurt her terribly. Now he had total chaos on his hands.
He tried to pray, but his thoughts kept circling back to all the ways he’d screwed up. He kept picturing Fern’s hurt eyes and Mercedes’s worried expression. He had a whole weekend to get through before he could move on this and fix things, and if he spent it in this tiny motel room, he was going to be in no shape to stand up and fight for his child.
Air, he needed air. He pulled on the down coat he’d picked up at the discount store on the way into town and headed out on foot into the little town where he’d grown up.
It wasn’t five minutes until he ran into someone who knew him.
“Well, as I live and breathe, it’s Carlo Camden,” said a woman with gray hair peeking out from a furry hat. She wore a fur coat that reached to the top of her boots and she walked with one of those rolling walkers.
He squinted at her. “Miss Minnie Falcon?” Automatically, he straightened his shoulders and stuck out a hand to his old Sunday-school teacher. “How are you, ma’am?”
“Doing well for eighty-nine. What are you doing back in town?”
Of course she’d ask that, and of course he didn’t have a ready answer and couldn’t find one, not in the sharp light of those piercing blue eyes.
“I’m, uh, just visiting.” He stuck his hands into his pockets, feeling as if he were fourteen.
“Visiting whom?” Her eyes were sharp with curiosity.
Did he have to answer her out of respect for her age? “A few people,” he said vaguely, and turned the tables. “How about you? Are you still living in the same big place on Maple Street?” He remembered being invited to Miss Minnie’s home as a Sunday-school kid, dragging Angelica along because there was no one else to care for her, and being petrified with fear that she’d put a dirty hand on the wallpaper or break a china figurine. But to his surprise, tart Miss Minnie, who’d seemed ancient even back then, had been kind. She’d taken one look at the rapid pace with which Carlo and Angelica were eating her cookies and made them sit down in her kitchen for a full lunch—sandwiches and fruit and milk.
“I sold my home to Lacey Armstrong two years ago. She’s making a guesthouse out of it, although why she would do that, I don’t know. She wants to redecorate it in all kinds of modern styles, make it artsy, whatever that means.”
In his old teacher’s voice Carlo heard sadness and loss. “Where are you living now?” he asked gently.
Her mouth twisted a little. “I’m in prison over at the Senior Towers. My nieces and nephews insisted.”
“Accepting visitors?”
She looked surprised. “Why would you want to visit an old lady like me?”
“Because,” he said, “I learned about missionaries in your Sunday-school class, and now I’ve become one. I remember how you made missionary life sound so exciting. Thought you might want to hear a bit about mine, see a few pictures.”
“Are you trying to raise money?” she asked, her eyes narrowing.
He laughed outright. “No. I’m not sure what’s next for me.”
“All right, then. You come and see me, and we’ll talk.”
She turned toward the Chatterbox Café, and when Carlo saw the table of gray-haired ladies waving, he figured the place was aptly named. The story of his being back in town, a missionary and planning to visit her, would give his old teacher a little bit of news to share.
He continued on down the street with a marginally better attitude toward the town of his youth.
He passed the bar where his parents had spent a fair amount of time. He was familiar with the place, having gone in to find his folks multiple times, especially when they were neglecting Angelica. On occasional visits back to town, he’d stopped in and seen some of his old high school cronies. But he’d given up drinking, not liking what it did to him or to others.
Across the street was his brother-in-law’s veterinarian’s office, and he wondered who was staffing it while Troy was traveling. An answer came when a man in scrubs walked out, helping an older woman carry a large dog crate. It looked like Buck Armstrong, a guy Carlo vaguely remembered as being in Angelica’s class at school. He stopped and watched the pair walking toward the lone SUV parked in front of the clinic as he remembered what Angelica had said about Buck’s struggles with alcoholism.
Apparently, before Troy and Angelica had gotten back together, Buck had asked Angelica out and then showed up too drunk to drive. He was a veteran, so Angelica said, and as he watched the man hoist the crate into an SUV, speak briefly to the owner and then stride back into the vet clinic, Carlo figured he might like to get to know him. Nobody understood a vet like a vet, and if the guy was drying out, he might welcome a friend who didn’t socialize exclusively at bars.
Up ahead was the church. Carlo noted it for future reference and then turned down Maple Avenue.
Inside a building that he remembered as a dress shop, he saw decorations and renovations going on for what looked like a restaurant. Past that, he could see the Senior Towers, so named because, at six stories, they were the tallest buildings in town. Just visible was Miss Minnie’s massive old Victorian, which apparently was being renovated, as well. What must that be like, for the old woman to look out the windows of her Senior Towers apartment and watch the innards of her old home being ripped out?
Yes, he’d visit her soon.
He turned the corner and there was the library, a squat brick building that had been something of a haven for him and Angelica growing up. Fern’s workplace now.
Fern. He drew in a breath and let it out in a sigh, wondering how she was doing, whether she and Mercedes were enjoying some solitude or had gotten out for shopping or visiting.
Funny how a few days together had let him in on their routine. It was late afternoon, so Fern was probably fixing dinner, letting Mercedes help her, talking to the child in her serious way about measurements and kitchen safety.
He missed them with an awful, achy, scraped-raw feeling. Before he could sink into more sadness, he hurried past the library and came upon the park.
Every kid in town was there, it seemed, sledding on the small hill, enjoying what was left of a Friday’s daylight. Whoops and shouts came from bigger boys on saucer sle
ds. He looked more closely when he noticed that several kids were sliding on cardboard, just as he and Angelica had done. Worked almost as well as a sled, maybe a little more adventurous.
He walked closer and noticed a couple of parents watching the sledding hill, calling out cautions to their kids in Spanish. On impulse, he greeted them in their native tongue, asking about their kids. It turned into a conversation, and Carlo learned that they were new in town, living on the same so-called Rental Row where Carlo had lived as a kid. They were from Guatemala, where he’d spent some time, and they shared a few stories. By the time he left, he had an invitation to their home for enchiladas—real ones, not the taco-joint kind.
He headed back toward the motel in a thoughtful frame of mind. There’d been a time when he wanted to run as far as possible away from Rescue River. The place held too many bad memories.
What he hadn’t counted on was that he himself had changed. He’d grown up. And the town was changing, too, getting some new business, opening to some new kinds of people. Given its background on the Underground Railroad, it had always been a little more diverse than the average midwestern farm town, but it looked as though that diversity was increasing. The family he’d just met had said there were a number of people from Mexico and Central America in their neighborhood.
All of a sudden, Rescue River didn’t look half bad. The problem was that his own ineptness had probably ruined his chances of building a home here.
CHAPTER TEN
ON SUNDAY MORNING, Fern was dishing scrambled eggs onto Mercedes’s plate when the farmhouse doorbell rang.
Her whole body tensed. Was he back?
Friday had been a rough day, with her own emotions so raw and Mercedes upset about how she’d kicked Carlo out. Yesterday, she’d managed to cocoon with Mercedes all day, reading stories, watching movies and playing in the snowy yard. Through it all, she’d tried to convey all the love and caring she felt for the little girl, sick at heart that their time together might come to an end soon.