by Lyn Cote
Jake picked up the phone. “Ms. Broussard is here but would rather I hear what this is about.” Jake listened and nodded. “Amy, just tell the officer that you’d like him to tell me what this is about.” He held the phone to her mouth.
She hated this sudden weakness, the descent into the suffering of the past. But previous phone calls from police had caused her too much emotional agony to be taken lightly ever again. She dragged up her courage, her faith that God remained, as always, with her. “Ask him if it’s about my sister, Carrie?”
Jake repeated the question to the officer. “No, it’s about your house,” he told her. He offered her the phone again.
Now her hands worked; she grasped it. “Hello, this is Amy Broussard.”
“Amy, I’m sorry to bother you. But I’m afraid there has been an incident at your home being built at 303 New Neighbor Lane. Can you come to the house? We don’t want to break in. We need a key.”
“An incident?” she repeated, confused because her unsettling reaction had taken her far from any thought of her unfinished house.
“Yes, we think someone may have entered the premises unlawfully.”
She hated police talk, lawyer talk. But this man was just giving her information in the way he had been taught. She couldn’t fault him. Except didn’t she recognize this voice?
“I have a key and I’ll come right away.” She hung up as he finished thanking her.
She glanced up at Jake, hovering close in obvious concern. “We need to go to my Habitat house. The police think someone might have gotten in…unlawfully.”
“Trespassers?”
She shrugged. She stumbled a bit as she rose. Jake steadied her, cupping her forearms. She looked away. “I thought they might have found my missing sister,” she murmured, not meeting his gaze.
He squeezed her arms. “I’ll come with you.”
She almost accepted. “I shouldn’t leave the girls alone. Would you stay with them?”
“I’ll call Mike.”
“Oh, no, I don’t want to bother—”
Jake ignored her protest and dialed his home number. “Hi, Dad. I need to speak to Mike.”
Amy tried to focus on the reality of what was happening now, not the tide of remembered anguish. This isn’t about Carrie.
Jake listened for a moment, then said, “Dad, this is an emergency. I need you to come to Mike’s house now.” Jake hung up and turned to Amy. “Mike’s out, seeing some pals at the bowling alley. My dad is on his way.”
Amy wanted to refuse his offer, but she couldn’t face this without another human at her side. Though God never left her side, right now she might need a flesh-and-blood shoulder to lean on. She longed to reach for Jake’s. She walked to the door instead.
Jake helped Amy on with her coat and called the girls to come out with Bummer. “Girls, your mom and I have to go take care of something—”
A knock rapped the door and Amy opened it immediately. Dan came inside, his muffler over his mouth. “What’s the emergency?”
“Someone may have gotten into my house,” Amy replied, distinctly uncertain about asking Dan to watch the girls. He’d made it clear that he didn’t think much of her and her twins. But tonight, one unexpected wave after another was trying to sweep her feet from under her, carry her away on the overwhelming current. She struggled against it.
“We need you to stay with the girls while we go let the police in to check it out,” Jake explained.
“I’m sorry to bother you,” Amy began.
“No problem. You two go. I’ll watch the girls.” Dan smiled tentatively. “You go ahead.”
Jake ushered Amy out to his pickup. Soon they were driving onto New Neighbor Lane. Amy wanted to but could not make any attempt at conversation during the drive. Jake cast glances from the corner of his eye toward her. She couldn’t reassure him. Rigid horizontal lines, too brittle for idle conversation, immobilized her face.
When he parked behind a police car, she got out and the two of them hurried over the hard snow-packed path to the house. In the scant light cast from the street lamp, a young police officer waited for them at the side door.
When she arrived at the bottom of the stoop, the policeman greeted her. “Is that you, Amy?”
Recognizing Brad’s voice swept Amy farther into the overwhelming tide. Her strength was being swept away. She fumbled for her key. Brad hadn’t changed, still solid, good-looking, with dark curly hair.
“Yes, it’s Amy.” She struggled to act as if seeing him hadn’t brought up unhappy memories. “How are you, Brad?”
“Cold, but that’s nothing new this winter. I’d heard you were getting one of the Habitat houses. I was glad.”
“Thanks.” She offered him the key.
“You go ahead and unlock it,” Brad murmured.
Amy did. Her hands shook and she hoped neither Jake nor Brad noticed. How had the evening changed from a quiet, happy supper with Jake and the girls to this grueling series of attacks on her peace of mind? The police calling her wasn’t bad enough? It had to be Brad?
Jake followed Amy up the steps. He’d heard Amy call the policeman—what? Brad? Why was Amy on a first-name basis with this cop?
The door open, the policeman, this Brad, stepped inside and flipped the light switch by the door. Amy stepped farther in, making room for Jake just inside the door. Jake looked around the unfinished house. Nothing looked suspicious.
Amy looked to Brad. “What are we looking for?”
“I’m going to take a walk-through,” he said. “I want you two to stay here by the door.”
A knock came at the door. Jake took a step closer to Amy to protect her. Had the officer called for backup? Should he have kept Amy outside?
Brad opened the door. “Hi, are you the neighbor who called the disturbance in?”
“Yes.” A tall silver-haired man stepped inside. “I live across the street.”
Amy studied him and then said, “I’ve seen you. You’re my neighbor, or you will be in the spring.”
“Yes, my wife and I thought we saw a light over here last night. But we couldn’t see any cars parked nearby and we didn’t hear anything.”
Brad cleared his throat. “This neighbor called us this evening, prompting me to come out. He said he heard noise tonight like someone fighting.”
“Yeah, I heard voices again so I came over. A bunch of kids were hanging around in the back.” The man motioned toward the rear of the house. “When they saw me, they scattered. That’s when I called the police. Thought it should be checked out.”
“Thank you,” Amy said.
The neighbor said his farewells and left.
“Yeah,” Jake agreed, resting a hand on her shoulder and noticing that her gaze still avoided Brad’s. His protective instincts went on high alert. He’d bet anything that Amy was not happy to see this guy Brad here. Why?
The cop cleared his throat as if uncomfortable being here with Amy, too. “I’ll do the quick walk-through,” Brad repeated. “I don’t think anybody is here, but just in case, wait here.”
The two of them hovered by the door as Brad strode down the hall. They didn’t speak, a weird unease held them all in a kind of limbo. After a quick survey of the main floor and then the basement, Brad motioned them to follow him down the hall. “Somebody’s been here all right.”
On the drive over, Jake had feared vandalism or at the very least, graffiti. But as they walked down the hall, nothing looked different. Still, he couldn’t relax. And the tension between Brad and Amy remained constant. Their pointed attempts not to look at each other niggled at Jake. Did they have a history? Or was it just his overactive imagination?
When they reached the back bedroom, they found the evidence of someone other than the volunteers being inside. Empty beer cans and crumpled potato-chip bags lay scattered on the floor. And many footprints and large areas where people must have sat against the walls were plainly visible in the white dry-wall dust on the subfloor.
Brad made a sound of irritation. “That’s what I was afraid of. Unoccupied houses attract teen drinking parties.” He propped his hands on his belt. “At least they didn’t get drunk and wreck anything.”
“How did they get in?” Jake asked.
Brad pointed to the window. “I bet we’ll find one of these wasn’t locked. They probably just slid it open late at night.”
Jake glanced at Amy. She had a fixed, frozen expression. No doubt strangers trespassing in her home must be unnerving her. On top of whatever lay between her and Brad. And she’d mentioned her missing sister.
Jake pulled Amy under his arm. Her shoulders were tight as telephone wire. “This isn’t too bad. Just a little mess.”
She tried to smile and failed.
“I’m going to notify my department,” Brad said. “For the next few weeks, we’ll do a walk-around of this property, not just drive by. When are you supposed to be moving in, Amy?”
She shrugged. “Sometime in the spring.”
Jake squeezed her shoulder, wishing she didn’t sound so deadened. Being here with this guy Brad, she was withdrawing, succumbing to something, maybe more than one something. He could feel it. Suddenly Jake realized why he recognized the ill-ease between Amy and Brad. It reminded him of the one time he’d run into his ex unexpectedly. On that occasion, though he’d tried to hide it, he’d felt physically ill. Had Brad and Amy been involved and then broken up? He didn’t like that guess at all.
Sticking to Amy’s side, Jake followed Brad back to the empty kitchen. Brad called his department to report what he’d found.
As Jake listened, the reality finally sank in—all this fuss, all due to a few kids sneaking away to drink illegally. Nothing bad had happened—it was just unsettling. Yet Amy was suffering. Just about seeing Brad? No, this innocent incident dredged up her lost sister. “How much longer will we be here, Officer?” Jake asked, a hand on Amy’s back.
Brad glanced at him and hung up the cell. “Not long. I’m just going to make sure all the windows are locked. That’s all.”
Jake joined him and checked windows throughout the house. Then Jake and Brad returned to the side door. Amy, still not making eye contact with the cop, said, “Thanks, Brad.”
“Good to see you again.”
Amy said nothing, just gave the man a brief, tight, fake smile. Walking behind Amy, with a protective hand on her shoulder, Jake headed for the truck and then drove them home. Should he ask her about Brad?
When they pulled up to Mike’s, now Amy’s house, a strange vehicle was parked there alongside Dan’s SUV. “I wonder whose car that is,” Jake said. What now? All we wanted was a quiet supper with the girls.
“I hope your dad didn’t need help with the girls,” Amy said, climbing out and heading for the back door.
Jake hustled to catch up with her. He pushed in right after Amy, who’d stopped just inside the door. He nudged her forward gently so he could shut the door behind them.
Dan, Cassie, Rachel—and Brooke—sat in the living room around the coffee table where the Candy Land game had been set out. Bummer woofed in greeting but remained beside Rachel. The kittens were batting around the game markers.
Jake covered his surprise by helping Amy off with her coat. Then he turned and said, “Hi, Dad. I see you called for help.”
Brooke drew a card and moved her red marker forward. “I just happened to call Dan on his cell phone and he sounded like he was having more fun than I was having at home alone.”
Jake surreptitiously studied his dad, trying to discern anything about his “relationship” with Brooke. Dan looked calm and relaxed. Very different from his customary irritable mood at home. Jake began to breathe easier.
“I appreciate your coming over to help, Dan and Brooke. And I’m expecting you two to stay and eat with us,” Amy said, looking strained but sounding cordial. “I’m going to check on the oven.”
“You don’t need to invite us,” Brooke said.
“Yes, we can go out for a bite,” Dan added.
“No, really, I made enough for an army, just a simple chicken and rice casserole and a salad. Won’t be but a few minutes to get it all on the table. Please stay.”
Again, she sounded as if she were speaking politely to clients at the clinic instead of guests in her home. But Jake heard the underlying emotional upheaval in Amy’s tone. Or should he say the dampening of her usual liveliness. He tried to look encouraging and followed Amy into the kitchen in the rear.
In the small kitchen he stood in the doorway, unsure of what to say or do. After washing her hands, Amy donned oven mitts and lifted a large glass oval dish bubbling with a casserole out of the oven. She gazed down at it. Then she inhaled deeply and began pulling everything together—casserole, hot rolls and the salad. Jake pitched in and helped wherever he could.
As he carried the carafe of decaf coffee to the table, he recalled over the past two years all the too-quiet suppers with just him and Mike. Recently, his dad had joined their exclusive twosome, and then Amy and the girls, and now Brooke. This winter had certainly changed a lot in his life, too, and for the better—except for one area, his dad’s HCM.
The possibility his dad might have more to face nagged at the back of his mind. He shoved this aside. Amy needed his full attention and support now. His dad and Brooke had helped them by taking care of the girls. And both Dan and Brooke were behaving in a friendly fashion. However, his dad could change that with one scathing comment.
Fortunately the simple dining set here had six chairs, so they all fit around the table. Bummer made himself comfortable beside Jake’s chair. The kittens rolled and tumbled on the floor nearby. After grace, Amy asked everyone to pass her their plate so she could serve the casserole family style. “The dish is too hot to pass,” she explained.
“This is a charming bungalow,” Brooke murmured. “I was sorry to hear about your pipes freezing.”
“It was a blessing in disguise,” Rachel chirped.
“That’s what Mike told Ginnie,” Cassie explained. “He likes us living closer and he likes—”
“He likes—” Rachel interrupted, her eyes brimming with excitement “—Ginnie!”
Cassie nodded vigorously. “They’re going to supper tonight at the bowling alley to watch the bowlers.”
“That sounds like fun,” Dan said. “I used to bowl when I was in high school.”
“I never knew that,” Jake said.
“There’s a lot about me that you don’t know,” his father replied.
“I think that’s true of all families,” Brooke said, accepting her plate from Amy. “Children only know their parents as parents, not people.”
Rachel and Cassie looked puzzled by this comment.
“This chicken and rice is delicious,” Brooke said, turning the conversation to milder matters. “You must give me the recipe.”
The casual dinner proceeded with friendly relaxing conversation, interspersed with sudden outbursts of exuberance from the twins. Bummer carried the kittens closer to Jake, one by one. And then the three of them, “Daddy” Bummer, Twinkie and Peanut-Butter watched the people eat.
Jake noticed how Brooke’s presence soothed his dad. She managed to sand down the sharp corners of his resentment, the resentment that probably resulted from his diagnosis and enforced early retirement. Jake could have relaxed now except for the fact that he sensed Amy was suffering from the aftermath of the call from the police. And that mattered more to him than who Brad might have been to her.
Brooke stood beside Amy, drying the dishes. The men had offered to do them, but the twins had asked Dan and Jake to read them their two favorite bedtime stories, “The Three Little Pigs” and “Little Red Riding Hood.” The girls insisted that the stories sounded better when a man read the wolf parts. So while Amy and Brooke worked side by side in the small kitchen, the girls got into their pajamas and sat in the living room, one on Jake’s lap and one on Dan’s, listening to the stories.
The evening had
drawn to an early close. Amy could only be thankful for that. Receiving a police call and facing Brad with Jake beside her had already pushed her nerves over the edge. Dan and Brooke joining them for supper had unexpectedly given her time to collect herself. What a roller-coaster evening. I’m exhausted.
Brooke finished drying the final spoon. “Thanks for having us. Your girls are delightful.”
Amy scrutinized Brooke’s face for any hint of irony and found none. “They are unpredictable all right.”
Brooke chuckled, then grew somber. “I wish I’d had children. But my ex didn’t want us to start a family early. I didn’t realize that he intended that I would be his starter wife, not the one he’d have a family with.”
Amy listened to the bitterness that infused each of Brooke’s words. She wondered how old Brooke could be.
As if hearing the unspoken question, Brooke said, “I’m getting to the age where my chances of having a child are dwindling.”
So that meant Brooke must be nearing forty. “I wouldn’t give up hope,” Amy said.
Brooke then shook her head and smiled. “I doubt I’d have the energy to be a forty-something with a toddler. A fifty-year-old with a teenager. I see how hard even a young mom has to work to keep up with kids.”
“They do push a woman to her limits,” Amy admitted.
“I heard that your girls are really your nieces. Do you ever hear from your sister?”
A hard ball of grief lodged in Amy’s throat. Would she ever see Carrie again? Unable to speak, Amy shook her head.
“I’m so sorry to bring up something obviously painful. But it’s plain that you’re a great mom.”
“My girls are my treasures here on earth.” Amy blinked back moisture in her eyes. What an evening—so straightforward at the start, so jumbled now.
Soon the fairy tales were read and the girls had hugged everyone good-night and carried their kittens to bed, followed by Bummer. Dan stood at the front door, helping Brooke with her long white down coat. Amy wished she had Brooke’s flair for fashion. Her own denim and fleece was comfortable, but every woman wanted to look nice, didn’t she?