“I hope I’m not interrupting,” Paul said in the deep voice that several women in town gossiped about. “I—uh—Mildred Price said it was no trouble if I picked Tyson up late today, so I thought I’d take the opportunity to...” For a split second Charlotte saw weariness and uncertainty wash across Paul’s strong-boned face. Then he cleared his throat again and said in a forthright way, “I want to talk to you about how Tyson is doing and I want you to be honest with me.”
“Yes, of course, Mr. Belvedere,” Charlotte said. “Please come in and have a seat.”
She couldn’t help noting that the chair she kept by her desk for this purpose was dwarfed by his size. Yet what should have been a comical picture only served to emphasize his physique.
Stop it, Charlotte, she scolded herself.
She knew that Paul’s question wasn’t a casual one. Even if she hadn’t been Tyson’s teacher, it would have been impossible in a town the size of Green Valley to avoid knowledge of the tragedy.
Tyson and his parents, Ross and Erica Francis, had only been living in town for a couple of years, yet they’d readily fit in. One fateful night, about seven months ago, Ross and Erica left Tyson with a babysitter and drove into Regina for dinner and a movie. They never made it to the movie. As they were crossing the street after dinner, they were struck down by a drunk driver and killed instantly.
Tyson had woken up to the news that he would never see his parents again.
Charlotte swallowed hard and reminded herself that Paul had come to get her opinion on his nephew, not to watch her dissolve in a puddle of sympathy, even if she did understand all too well what it was like to lose a sister. But that was something she never talked about.
He shifted in the small chair, and she realized that he was waiting for her to answer his question. There was something edgy about him, not dangerous, but as if he didn’t have time to waste.
“I’m glad that you came to talk to me,” Charlotte said. “I’ve actually been thinking about whether I should contact you, but I wanted to give it some time. In some ways Tyson is doing as well as can be expected. All children experience an adjustment period between kindergarten and grade one because of the full days and higher expectations, and, of course with Tyson...”
A shadow passed through Paul’s eyes, and his jaw tightened, so she rapidly stepped around the emotional land mine.
“We’ll just say that Tyson has some additional challenges.”
Paul gave a grim nod. “So he’s having problems? I was afraid of that.”
Charlotte thought about Tyson and pictured his unruly mop of reddish hair, the dash of freckles across his nose and his smile, which, though infrequent, was gap-toothed and endearing.
“Tyson is a sweet boy,” she said with sincerity. “He’s kindhearted and smart and, given time, I know he’ll be fine.”
She silently prayed that her confident prediction would come true.
“But...” Paul prompted.
“But in the meantime I do think he could use some extra assistance and attention.”
“What are you suggesting?” Paul asked.
“I’m saying that we have to work as a team. We both care about Tyson and are committed to helping him through this. We can’t bring back his parents.” Charlotte swallowed briefly then braced herself. She couldn’t give in to emotion now. “But if we work together, I know we can make a difference for him.”
Paul appeared to be considering her words, then he asked, “What about the other kids? How is Tyson getting along with them?”
“Social interactions are an adjustment for all of the children,” she said cautiously. “It’s really not that long since their only social interactions were with their parents.”
She stopped herself. But it was Paul who pushed past the hard moment in the conversation.
“Is Tyson not getting along with the other children?” he asked.
“He’s a friendly and kind little boy,” Charlotte reiterated. “But again, there are struggles, for obvious reasons. He has one or two friends that he seems to be comfortable with, but he still likes to be alone much of the time.”
“And you think we should be concerned?” Paul asked sharply.
Charlotte was momentarily flustered by his tone, then regained her composure. It was only natural that Paul would be uptight. Not only was he new to town, but she’d heard that he was also a confirmed bachelor. Parenting was new to him. Plus he’d also be dealing with his own grief over his sister.
“I think it’s all part of the struggle he’s going through,” Charlotte said. “I do want to say again that I think Tyson is doing quite well, but it’s going to take both of us, as well as the support of the community, to keep him on the path to healing.”
Again Paul scrutinized her in a way that made Charlotte feel like he could see right through her. Then his face relaxed and he said. “Okay, thank you for answering all of my questions, Ms. Connelly.”
“That’s what I’m here for,” Charlotte said. “I’ll keep in close touch with you about Tyson’s progress and trust you’ll do the same for me. Also, Mr. Belvedere, I know that you’ve had a loss, too. Green Valley is a supportive community—don’t be afraid to reach out.”
“Thanks, I appreciate it.” But Paul’s face had gone stony, discouraging further discussion on the matter. He glanced at his watch and unfolded himself out of the chair. Charlotte stood up to walk out of the room with him, noticing that, although she was five feet seven inches, she felt tiny beside him. She tried not to feel like a little girl as she scrambled to match his long stride.
Although Paul had indicated that he was satisfied with her answers, Charlotte felt like there was something he wasn’t saying, and she wanted to offer more reassurance, but she didn’t know how.
Dear Lord, help me to help Tyson and his uncle. Show me what I can do.
Almost immediately, the community activities that took place at Green Valley Community Church on Wednesday nights came to mind.
“Listen, Paul,” she said, tilting her face up to catch his eye.
He stopped walking and looked down at her, waiting.
“You may already know this, but there are a variety of activities that take place at the Green Valley church on Wednesday nights. It would be a great way for Tyson to have more bonding time with his classmates and a chance for you to get to know more people, too. I’m usually with the literacy volunteer group and—”
“Thank you,” Paul said. “Sorry to interrupt, but I do need to get going. I promised Mildred and Tyson that I wouldn’t be too late. Maybe we’ll drop by the church—we’ll see.”
But Charlotte didn’t have confidence that they would. She had never seen them there on a Sunday morning.
As they reached the exit, they almost ran into Rena Acoose, who was heading back into the school with a fretful look in her beautiful dark eyes.
“Rena, what’s the matter?” Charlotte asked. Her First Nations friend was the grade-four teacher at Parkside Elementary School. “I thought you were long gone.”
“That was the plan,” Rena said rather breathlessly. “I have the car today because I’m supposed to be getting a few groceries after work, but it won’t start. I left my cell phone in my desk and I need to get hold of Seth.”
Her husband owned and managed the local coffee and bakeshop, Seth’s Café, a popular hangout on Main Street.
“It’s just been one thing after another,” Rena said, shaking her head. “I know we’ll have to get a mechanic to look at it, but we just found out that we have to get a new furnace installed before winter, too.”
“I could take a look,” Paul said, and Charlotte remembered that he’d been hired as a mechanic by Mildred’s brother, Harold. Harold said Paul did high-quality work.
“I have to pick up Ty right now, but I could stop by Harold’s Garage and grab my tools and come back to hav
e a look.”
Rena shook her head. “That’s so nice of you,” she said. “But I really can’t afford it right now.”
“Oh, I’m sure we can work something out,” Paul said. “Maybe just mention to Seth that Tyson and I are pretty fond of that bannock he makes.”
Paul’s half smile caused Charlotte’s cheeks to flush. More than his obvious good looks, she was attracted to his willingness to help. Her curiosity was piqued.
A moment later, though, she tamped down on the curiosity. Her only goal with him was to help his nephew, although it did no harm to notice how handsome he was.
Paul departed with a promise to return to look at Rena’s car. As soon as he was out of earshot, Charlotte felt her friend’s fingers eagerly gripping her forearm.
“He’s cute!” Rena whispered dramatically. “A nice guy, too. And don’t even try to pretend you haven’t noticed.”
Wanting to steer Rena away from any matchmaking thoughts, Charlotte said, “I’ve been looking online at sites about overseas missionary work.”
“Do you think you’ll do it?” Rena asked.
“I’m not sure. I mean, I’d really like to, but...there’s a lot to think about.”
Rena nodded.
One of the best things about longtime friends, Charlotte thought, was that you didn’t have to spell everything out for them.
“You headed to your parents’ tonight,” Rena said. It wasn’t a question. Everyone who knew Charlotte knew that she went to her parents’ on Friday evenings for tea and shortbread and a game of cribbage with her father.
“Yes, I keep telling Mom that they can come to my place if she’s not up to it,” Charlotte said. “Or we can take a night off, but she says she likes doing it. I guess...well, I guess she likes knowing that some things won’t change.”
But, as she left Rena at the school to wait for Paul to look at her car, Charlotte wondered what Paul Belvedere did on a Friday night.
* * *
Could he trust Ms. Connelly to do everything she could for Tyson? Paul wondered if she would truly pay enough attention, because he was all too aware of what could happen when teachers—and parents—let things slip through the cracks.
Despite himself, he was also trying to decide if she was pretty. His first reaction was that she was plain, until he caught a glimpse of her eyes. They were quite extraordinary, violet with long thick lashes, and they brought an unexpected beauty to her face. She was tall and slim and her straight-line gray skirt and pink blouse made him think of a prim librarian. She had light brown hair that she wore pulled back in a low ponytail, her nose was small and straight, her mouth was on the wide side and she didn’t wear lipstick.
Not that any of that mattered. The important thing was how Tyson felt about her and, so far, he said he liked her. Plus Paul had heard nothing but good things around town about Ms. Connelly.
Mildred Price lived one block over from Main Street, and as Paul headed toward her house, he passed the few businesses in town—Seth’s Café, Fran’s Women’s Wear and Dudley’s Pharmacy. It still bemused him that he could walk from one end of Main Street to the other in less time than it took him to pick up one of Seth’s renowned cups of coffee. It was a real change from Toronto, which was the last place he’d lived.
His sister, Erica, had emailed him about Green Valley, and he’d teased her, unable to believe they would last for long there. She and her husband, Ross, were city people through and through, or so he had thought. But they’d wanted to raise Tyson in a place where he could play outdoors and where they would actually know their neighbors’ names. Despite how much he’d enjoyed giving his older sister a hard time, Paul had been happy to be proven wrong, because Erica and her family had thrived in Green Valley.
He still had a hard time believing they were gone. Somehow, he would get through it, one step at a time. He would pick up Tyson. He would stop by the garage and grab his tools. He would look at Rena’s car. Tyson liked Rena and wouldn’t mind hanging out while Paul did his work. One step at a time, he could do this.
Paul always felt reassured at Mildred’s home. Everything about her freshly painted house and immaculately tended yard spelled comfort and order to him. He regretted the time that Tyson had to spend with a caregiver, but since it was necessary, he was glad that Ty was happy there.
Mildred had never married and had no children of her own, but she was an honorary grandmother to the entire town. In contrast with her house and yard that conjured images of a storybook grandmother, Mildred was six feet tall, broad-shouldered and wore overalls and her white hair was always in two long braids.
The front door of her house swung open as Paul neared it. Clearly, they were watching for him.
“How did Tyson get along today?” Paul asked Mildred as his nephew was getting his backpack.
“Oh, he’s always a good boy,” Mildred said in her soft, sweet voice. “How was your meeting with his teacher? Charlotte Connelly is a fine young woman.”
Was it his imagination, or did the older woman put extra emphasis on her statement about Charlotte?
“She seems like a good teacher,” Paul said cautiously. He had no desire to delve any deeper into the topic. Charlotte Connelly was not his type. Not that he’d ever really had a type. Dating had never been a priority for him.
Survival had.
Now he had one goal, and that was to be the best guardian possible for Tyson. Even though he was sure Erica would never have named him guardian if she’d known how unstable his faith was now.
“Thanks for letting Tyson stay late,” Paul said.
“My pleasure,” Mildred said.
“We have to stop by Harold’s for a couple of minutes,” Paul explained to Tyson as they went down the sidewalk together. “Then I’m going to have a quick look at Ms. Acoose’s car.”
“I like her,” Tyson declared.
“I thought you did,” Paul nodded. “You like your teacher, Ms. Connelly, too, don’t you?”
Tyson nodded. “Yup.” Paul waited to hear more, but Tyson had already moved on to the subject of his after-school snack. It amused Paul, the way the boy’s thoughts could drift from one topic to another like scattered fluff from a dandelion wish.
“We had oatmeal and raisin cookies,” Tyson said. “Except not raisins, because Mildred knows I don’t like raisins.”
“I don’t like raisins, either,” Paul said. Tyson looked up at him with those large blue eyes of his and nodded with a satisfied sigh. The expression on his freckled face clearly said that they were two men bonding over a shared dislike of wrinkled fruit.
It was these moments that gave Paul hope that he could do this. He could do this whole guardian, raise-a-child-into-a-responsible-adult thing.
“Did my mom and dad like raisins?” Tyson asked. “Is there snacks in Heaven? Do you haveta have raisins?”
And, just like that, the cautiously emerging confidence was gone, like a rabbit being chased away by hounds.
Paul didn’t know how he felt about the God and Heaven questions these days. In Paul’s opinion, He had been pretty much MIA during Paul’s school days, and then after losing Erica... Well, how was he supposed to feel about a God who would allow all of that?
But there was a little boy, wide eyes fixed on him, waiting for an answer, and he couldn’t confess his raging doubts to anyone, let alone a six-year-old who counted on him.
“I’m sure you only eat what you like in Heaven,” he finally answered. To Paul’s great relief, there were no more questions. As they walked to Harold’s Garage, Tyson chatted about the things he had learned in Ms. Connelly’s class that week. Each time he said her name, Paul was unwittingly struck by a vision of her violet eyes.
They reached the garage, and Harold greeted Tyson in the booming voice that the little boy loved.
“Why, hello, good sir! And what brings you my way? Do you
need a part for your car? Or have you come to help me organize my wrenches?”
Tyson giggled, then suppressed it because that was part of the game.
“I’ve come to buy a racing car, good sir.” He did his best to imitate the low boom in Harold’s voice, and Paul broke into a grin.
Harold Price was five years younger and a good six inches shorter than his sister, Mildred, but his warm blue eyes matched hers and, although he was married and had a family of his own, he cared equally about Green Valley and the people who lived there.
“I’m actually here to get my tools,” Paul said. “I promised someone a favor.”
Harold considered that briefly, then nodded. Paul knew the older man was an astute businessman but that he would also understand that being a Good Samaritan was beneficial to everyone in the long run.
“Since you’re here,” Harold said. “There is something I’d like to talk to you about.”
He reached down and lifted Tyson up, swinging him onto a high stool behind a workbench.
“Mind the shop, good sir?” he asked. “I’m just going to have a quick chat with your uncle.”
Tyson sat up straight and proud. “You got it, good sir,” he replied.
Paul felt the relaxed, enjoyable feeling of the moment slip away into apprehension. But he quickly reasoned that he was a good mechanic and he knew he worked hard.
Back in Harold’s office, a small room crammed with a desk, one chair and shelves filled top to bottom with binders and stacks of paper, Harold indicated that Paul should sit.
“This won’t take long,” Harold promised. “First off, you’re a fine mechanic, Paul. I don’t know if I’ve worked with a better one.”
“Thank you,” Paul said, feeling the thread of tension in his shoulders begin to unravel.
“However...”
The thread pulled taut again.
“Competition in this business is fierce,” Harold continued. “Sure, folks will come here because they know us and it’s convenient. But there are garages being set up all over the place, so it’s very important that we offer excellent customer service.”
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