He glared at her from the step. He knew not to touch the hose. That was the rule at home, and it applied here.
She would not shout. She had to keep her cool, because Cody would learn from her, and she was the only parent he had. “You know the rule about hoses.”
“Yeah.”
She lowered her chin. “What kind of answer is yeah?”
He smirked, then looked over his shoulder into the house. MJ saw her mother—Grammie—come through the door, holding the truck, now clean from a rinse in the sink.
Grammie scanned the flooded yard from one corner to the other. “Oh, dear.”
“Mom, I’m sorry.” MJ turned her attention back to her son. “Cody, what do you say?”
With his mouth in a pout, he looked at Grammie. MJ knew that expression well. When it was sincere, the puppy-dog innocence melted her heart. Today it smacked of manipulation. She expected his tone to match the pose. When he apologized to her mother, it did.
“Cody,” MJ said, drawing out his name. “You need to change your tone. Say it again. And say it nice.”
Glaring at her, he looked ready to stick out his tongue. If he didn’t obey, the truck would be off-limits for the rest of the day, maybe a week. MJ started to count. “One—”
Cody smirked at her.
“Two—”
Grammie strode forward, the dripping truck in hand. “Oh, it’s all right.” She handed the toy to Cody, patting his head and smiling down at him.
MJ’s jaw dropped. When she was a child, punishment had been swift, fair, and effective. With Cody, Olivia Townsend turned into a marshmallow as white as her living room.
Cody faced her with his nose in the air. “Grammie says I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“No,” MJ countered. “That’s not what Grammie said. She forgave you for making a mess. There’s a difference.”
“But Grammie said—”
“Cody!” MJ’s hands flew to her hips. “That is enough.”
Behind him, her mother fought a grin, lost the battle, and cupped her hand over her mouth while her eyes twinkled. MJ saw the humor, but her mother’s reaction rubbed her the wrong way. Their eyes met and locked. Silently she willed her mother to go back in the house.
Instead Grammie lowered her hand and laughed. “Oh, Melissa. He’s just like you.”
That tone! It grated on MJ’s last nerve. Neither did she like being called Melissa as if she were twelve years old again.
“Mom?”
“Yes?”
“Would you please call me MJ? Everyone else does.”
Olivia fluttered her hand as if brushing off lint. “You know me . . . I don’t use nicknames.”
But it’s my name. It’s my choice. The cry echoed words spoken six years ago about the pregnancy.
The condo suddenly felt like a dollhouse, a perfect place where little girls bossed around pretend people. MJ wasn’t a doll. A mother herself, she had a duty to give Cody a loving, stable home. She couldn’t stand the thought of bickering with her mother over her son, and the conflicts were certain to occur. Before she made a decision about her mother’s offer, as generous as it was, she needed to pray.
She also needed to clean the mud off the carpet. Balancing on one leg at a time, she took off her wet socks. “Is the rug cleaner still in the laundry room?”
Olivia dismissed the offer with a wave. “I’ll do it.”
Cody looked up at Grammie. “I knew the car was muddy. That’s why I washed it before I drove it in the house.”
“That was smart.” Grammie smoothed his hair, smiling down as if he were the most perfect child on the planet. “Why don’t you take off those wet shoes, then go inside and have some more cookies?”
Cody gave MJ an I-told-you-so look, left his shoes on the step, and headed inside with the truck in hand.
She spoke to his back. “Stay at the table.” She didn’t want crumbs in the living room on top of the mud.
Both women watched Cody through the window. When he was settled at the table, Olivia turned to MJ and smiled. “Don’t worry about the yard. It’ll dry.”
“How’s the carpet?”
“Muddy, but I’ll use the Bissell on it. So—” Her mother clasped her hands at her waist. “How soon can you move in?”
“It’s not that simple.” MJ held the wet socks away from her faded jeans. “I need to think about it.”
“What’s there to think about?” Her mother’s brows skidded together and locked. “It makes sense, especially for Cody.”
“It’s very kind of you, Mom. I’m grateful, but I have some things to sort out.”
“Like what?”
“It’s been a long time since we lived together. With Cody in the mix, it might not be easy.”
“That’s true. But I’d like to try.”
“Me too, Mom. But I have to be sure.”
“Of course.”
Relieved, MJ scanned the yard, decided no real damage had been done, and took two steps toward the house. At the sight of her mother in the doorway, unmoving and stern, she stopped. “What is it?”
“I’m just . . . surprised.”
MJ waited for more.
“I thought you’d jump at the chance to go back to school. What could be stopping you?”
MJ did not want to argue. Not with Cody nearby and her feet cold and wet. “Could we talk later?”
“You know I don’t like loose ends.”
“I know, but this is a big decision. I need time to pray—”
“Pray?”
“Yes.” She didn’t expect her mother to understand. Olivia Townsend went to church occasionally, a different one from Grandpa Jake’s, but she had more faith in herself than in God. Rather than get into a debate, MJ kept her answer simple. “I’ve been going to church with a friend in Los Angeles. Her name’s Lyn. She’s helped me a lot.”
“Helped you do what?”
“Survive, mostly.” MJ thought of Lyn and her teapot. Their conversations had given MJ strength, and she needed it now. “Could we talk another time? Cody’s in the kitchen, and some of this is personal.”
“How personal?”
“Mom, please. It’s not a good time.” Were they really going to argue about this?
Olivia didn’t move from the doorway. Silent and stiff, she drilled MJ with her eyes. “You’re going to do it again, aren’t you?”
“Do what?”
“You’re going to squander this opportunity.”
“Squander?” The word hurt, because she had squandered the chance to go to college. Instead of becoming a doctor, she had ended up as a patient, someone Dr. Hong called a “frequent flyer” because of her numerous appointments. Humor helped MJ cope, but the truth hurt. So did the disappointment in her mother’s eyes.
Olivia crossed her arms. “You could have gotten an education. Instead you got pregnant—”
“Mom, stop! Cody will hear you.”
“You’re right. This isn’t the time.” She spat the words. “I’m just so . . . so surprised.”
“I haven’t said no. I just need to think about it.” How could she live with her mother, when her simplest wishes were disrespected?
Her mother studied her expression for several seconds, sizing her up, searching for the information MJ didn’t want to share. Knowing what was coming, MJ braced herself for an inquisition—and wasn’t disappointed.
“Something’s going on. What is it?”
Irked, MJ rolled her eyes. “Would you please stop?”
“What aren’t you telling me?”
I have HPV. I might need a hysterectomy. I’m scared and I can’t tell you, because you’ll badger me with questions I can’t answer—and advice I don’t want. There’s more, Mom. I love you, but please butt out of my life.
MJ swallowed hard. “Let it go. Okay?”
“I can’t. I’m your mother.”
“It’s nothing,” MJ insisted. “You know as well as I do—we don’t always get along.”
&n
bsp; “We could if you’d try!”
“If I’d try?” MJ’s arms flew out to her sides, a helpless plea for understanding, even respect. “You won’t even call me MJ.”
“It’s not your name,” her mother said logically. “And besides, you’re too smart to throw away this chance over a nickname. It has to be something else.”
MJ sealed her lips. Saying nothing was the only way to end the tirade. Or so she hoped.
But she was wrong. Her mother lowered her chin, crossed her arms, and glared down her nose. “Tell me the truth, Melissa. Are you involved with Shane Riley?”
Chapter 13
“What?” MJ could hardly believe her ears.
“Are you involved with that baseball player? Don’t be coy. I saw you with him at the café.”
“I have no intention of being coy.” She didn’t deserve this accusing tone. Neither did Shane. “I told you. I’m his landlord.”
“Is that all?”
“Of course it is.” MJ described the rental mix-up and the agreement they reached. Never mind muffins and teapots, Yogi Bear pancakes, and kissing in the kitchen. She and Shane were just friends.
Her mother’s lips pinched into a frown. “You took a terrible chance renting to a single man you didn’t know.”
“You hired him.”
Olivia sighed. “I suppose I did.”
“It’s all right.” A mother herself, MJ understood the bone-rattling need to protect a child. She also knew how her mother felt about men. The divorce had left her bruised and wary. Instead of dating, Olivia Townsend poured all her love into her daughter, who had just disappointed her yet again.
MJ snagged Cody’s shoes off the back step. Her mother opened the door, and they went inside. Seated at the table, Cody lifted a cookie from the serving plate, dropping crumbs as he took a bite. More than a few cookies were gone, a sign he had disobeyed yet again. Sighing, MJ prepared herself for the sugar high of the century.
“It’s time to go.” She handed him a napkin from the brass holder. “We’ll put your shoes on at the front door.”
Cody scrambled to his feet, the hose incident forgotten. MJ’s own wet socks dangled from her cold fingers, so she asked her mom for a plastic bag.
A minute later she was holding a grocery sack much like the one she had carried into the Laundromat. The women followed Cody into the entry hall. When he plopped down on the tile floor, MJ gave him his shoes and socks. He wiggled his feet into them, she tied the laces, and he jumped upright.
Grammie tousled his hair. “I like your shoes.”
He did a karate kick. “Shane got ’em for me. I have cleats, too. I wear them for sports. Shane says—”
“He’s a good neighbor.” MJ did not want her son singing Shane’s praises. “Do you need to use the bathroom before we go?”
Cody looked up at the ceiling, considering. “I guess I do.”
While Grammie showed him the way, MJ pulled her sneakers on her sockless feet. Just as she expected, her mother returned with her brows arched into question marks. “Cody likes Mr. Riley quite a bit.”
“Yes, he does.”
“Buying the boy shoes seems rather . . . friendly.”
MJ’s toes curled in her own new shoes. Eyes down, she tied the second lace and stood, hoping the hot blush on her cheeks didn’t show. “Cody’s shoes were falling apart. Shane saw them and surprised him with new ones. That’s all.”
“He likes Cody.”
“Yes, he does.”
“And he likes you.”
MJ shrugged. “Like I said, I’m his landlord.”
“Oh, honey—”
“What?”
“Please be careful. Not all men are trustworthy.”
But Shane was. He deserved a defense, especially to his boss, but MJ couldn’t protest without giving her mom more ammunition. Cody returned to the entry hall. Oblivious to the tension, he hugged Grammie good-bye, picked up the truck, and went out the door.
MJ hugged her mother, a stick figure as usual, then stood back. “I do appreciate your offer. I’ll call you soon.”
Not waiting for an answer, she followed Cody to the Bonneville. They buckled up, drove past the gated entrance, and cruised down the road to Refuge.
Cody held the monster truck in his lap, hugging it as if it were a pet. “Mommy?”
“Yes?”
“Do we have to go back to Los Angeles?”
An hour ago, she would have said yes. Now she didn’t know. Cody needed stability, not indecision. But she didn’t have a clear answer. Living with her mom would be difficult, but having a career would be wonderful. If she sold her grandfather’s house, she’d lose a piece of her heritage, but she could maintain her independence.
MJ considered her son’s question and sighed. “I don’t know yet. I have a grown-up decision to make.”
“I want to stay here.” Staring straight ahead, he hugged the truck with both arms. “I want to live close to Grammie and Shane.”
MJ’s fingers tightened on the steering wheel. “God knows what’s best. Let’s pray.”
Cody folded his hands and closed his eyes, scrunching them so tight she hurt for him. The sun pressed through the windshield, making her squint as she navigated the ribbon of black asphalt. Blue sky touched the golden hills, and evergreens lined the two-lane road, defying autumn and inevitable change.
The Bonneville took the curves like the sports sedan it still was, and MJ prayed. “Father God, you know what’s best for us—Cody, Grammie, and me, too.”
Bible verses from thrift store plaques drifted into her thoughts. I know the plans I have for you, plans for a future and a hope.
“You know everything about us.” The hairs on your head are numbered.
“You love us more than we can understand.” For God so loved the world he gave his only begotten son.
Tears filled her eyes. “We trust you, Lord. Thank you that Cody and I have each other, and thank you for Grammie.”
Cody murmured, “And thank you for Shane.”
Shane . . . The man whose kiss had awoken her body, her heart. A man with a wounded soul and a heart of gold. How did she pray for this good man who claimed he used to be a Christian?
Silently she implored God to be a father to him, to heal his knee and his broken trust, to wrap him in strong arms of love and carry him where he needed to go. She didn’t understand the prayer fully, not intellectually, but the power of it gave her goosebumps. As she steered the Bonneville into the driveway, she murmured, “Amen.”
“Amen,” Cody repeated.
They climbed out of the car at the same time. As she looked up at Shane’s apartment, he stepped onto the landing and called down to them. “Hey, Cody.”
The boy held up the monster truck. “Look what I got!”
“Wow! Cool.”
“Want to see how fast it goes?” Cody asked.
“How about later?” Shane indicated the open door. “The Cougars play in about five minutes. How would you like to watch it with me?”
“Yeah!”
“What kind of pizza do you like?”
“Cheese.”
Shane focused on her but spoke to Cody. “How about your mom? What does she like?”
MJ couldn’t think of anything better than watching baseball with Cody and Shane, listening to them banter, and laughing at Cody’s antics. Her son needed Shane’s masculine influence as much as he needed her tenderness. On the other hand, Cody didn’t need to see them together, acting like a couple.
She inhaled deeply, exhaled her dreams, then answered Shane. “Is it okay if Cody goes alone?”
“Sure.” But he sounded disappointed.
MJ took the truck from Cody, then spoke in a low, firm tone. “Have fun and be good.”
“I will.”
“And don’t forget to say thank you.”
“I won’t.”
He flung his arms around her waist and hugged her. She savored the feel of his thin arms, the tremble of his
excitement, but she also ached with guilt for not giving him a father, and for wanting oh-so-badly to tell Shane she liked thick-crust pizza with sausage, mushrooms, and sun-dried tomatoes.
As Cody ran up the stairs, MJ raised her focus to Shane on the landing. Worn denim hugged his long legs, and she recognized the blue plaid shirt from his laundry. It seemed to be a favorite.
He matched her gaze but didn’t smile. Instead she saw a challenge, a dare to follow Cody. Would he invite her again? Mentally she weighed her reply. Yes . . . No . . . Yes!
But he didn’t ask. Instead he said, “I’ll send Cody home after the game.”
“Thanks.”
Her son vanished into the apartment. Shane closed the door, leaving MJ to go into her house alone. She didn’t have cable, or else she would have watched the game. Instead she went upstairs to sort through more boxes from the attic.
Shane had been headed to Cowboy’s Bar and Grill when the Bonneville chugged into the driveway. He didn’t like sports bars, but watching the Cougars game alone appealed to him even less, especially today. A win over the Minneapolis Meteors would clinch a trip to the playoffs, a dream come true for the men on the field, and yet another dream denied for Shane.
He wanted to punch a wall. He should have been playing third base today, fighting butterflies, and listening to the Star-Spangled Banner. Instead he was sitting on the couch with Cody, worrying about Daisy, and watching his team beat the pants off their rivals.
Every time a Cougar got on base, Cody high-fived him. With the team leading 12-3 in the bottom of the eighth, Shane lost count of the high-fives but not the plays at third. There had been seven—three grounders, a bunt, two line drives, and a pop-up. Could he have made the plays? Six months ago, yes. Today? Maybe.
A commercial for razor blades came on the flat-screen. Cody turned to Shane, started to say something, then stopped.
“More pizza?” Shane asked.
“No, thank you.”
The formal tone didn’t fit the mood. Shane playfully punched his arm. “What’s the matter?”
“I don’t want to go back.”
“Back where?”
“Our old apartment in California.”
Shane didn’t like the idea at all. “Is your mom talking about leaving?”
When He Found Me (Road to Refuge Book 1) Page 12