She hugged him, a quick catch and release.
He wrestled a large suitcase out of her small trunk and lugged it into the house, aware that his friends and business partners had overheard all the drama. He was grateful Grandpa Ed couldn’t hear as well as he used to.
“Baby, come say goodbye to Mama.” Kathy ran up the steps after Flynn.
Truman stood in the hallway, a resigned expression on his face, as if he’d known his mother was going to leave him, as if he’d known it since the day he was born.
Why wouldn’t he? It ran in the Harris genes.
* * *
FLYNN’S SISTER HAD no idea how lucky she was to have a child, much less the adorable little boy that had won over Becca’s heart in less than five minutes. Children were a blessing. And blessings were hard to come by when you were a woman alone.
Becca introduced herself, trying to smooth the awkward moment. “Kathy, your son is one smart cookie. Truman just taught Abby how to jump through a hula hoop. Show your mom, Truman.”
The boy edged forward, dragging a pink hula hoop that was almost as tall as he. His posture whispered of low expectations, of disappointment and dismay. He should have been bouncing with enthusiasm, energy and laughter.
A familiar ache coated Becca’s throat.
She glanced at Flynn for answers, but he leaned against the doorjamb, as if he needed it to hold him up.
Edwin only had eyes for his great-grandson.
Kathy stood in the middle of the living room where the coffee table used to be, her hands limp at her sides, her face wavering between determination and tears.
Truman stood staring at his mom, as if imprinting her on his heart.
“Tell Abby what you want her to do,” Becca urged. “You can do it.”
“Mama.” His voice so timid, so tentative, that Becca nearly rushed forward and swept him into her arms. And then Truman thrust his thin shoulders back, just like Becca had seen Edwin do. His voice strengthened, challenging his mother to leave. “Mama, watch.”
Truman turned to Abby, holding out the hot-pink hula hoop. The marble racing through the pink plastic was the only sound in the room. “Jump, Abby. Jump.”
Abby looked up at the little boy with her doggy smile, mouth open and delicate pink tongue hanging out.
“Jump, Abby,” Truman repeated.
Without enough warning, Abby jumped through the hoop, almost landing on Kathy’s toes before bounding back to Becca.
Truman giggled. “Did you see, Mama? She jumped for me.” There was a breathless urgency in Truman’s voice, a desperate plea for his mother’s approval. Becca’s heart ached for him.
“I did, baby.” Kathy knelt and opened her arms. “You’re so talented. I don’t deserve you. Give me a hug.”
“Good girl,” Becca whispered to Abby. The dog sat primly at Becca’s feet, surveying the crowd as if awaiting her due.
Truman submitted to Kathy’s embrace. Despite Kathy’s desire to leave her son, there was love on Kathy’s face, and the pain of separation all mothers with hearts were supposed to feel. It was apparent in the almost tearful downturn of her eyes, the pinch of her nose and mouth.
Kathy ran a hand over the crown of Truman’s ginger hair, kissed his cheek, stood and turned, her face a mask of determination.
“When are you coming back, Mama?” The timid, tentative character was back in his voice.
“I’d like to know that, too,” Edwin said gruffly.
Kathy grabbed onto the screen’s handle without turning. “Soon, baby, soon.”
And then she left.
Flynn followed her out.
Edwin stared at the ceiling.
Truman trudged to the front window. He propped his elbows on the window sill and his chin on his fists.
“Well,” Becca said as cheerfully as she could past the lump in her throat. “There’s a big suitcase that needs a bedroom. How about the room your mom slept in when she lived here?”
Truman blew out a breath. “It’s pink.”
“But it has toys,” Becca said.
“I don’t need toys.” He watched Kathy get in the car. “I’m going to help Grandpa Ed get better.”
Becca’s heart melted. “How about this? You can sleep in your mom’s bedroom and help me care for your grandfather, but you have to take breaks. It’s a law. And on your breaks you can play with toys and Abby.”
“Truman likes checkers.” Edwin plucked at the fabric on the arm of his chair. “The checkers set is in the hall closet.”
“Grandpa always beats me,” Truman said glumly.
“That will change,” Becca predicted. “I think you should challenge your grandfather to a game of checkers. He needs to keep his brain sharp.”
Edwin made a grumbling sound of protest. “My brain is sharper than the butcher knife in the kitchen.”
“We’ll see,” Becca injected her voice with enthusiasm.
Kathy drove away, gravel spitting a sad protest beneath her wheels.
Truman stood watching her long after she’d disappeared down the driveway, the same as his uncle.
Who stood on the front walk. Alone.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” Flynn leaned against the door frame to Kathy’s old room, watching Becca poke around in the closet. The room was girly pink, princess pink, too cheerfully pink for Flynn’s dark mood.
It was damage control time. He’d seen Becca’s slightly horrified look when Kathy left, as if she was judging his sister.
“I’m trying to figure out how to make Truman feel at home here without making him feel—” Becca lowered her voice, fingering the sequins on a black prom dress “—abandoned.”
Flynn glanced down the hall to make sure Truman was still occupied playing checkers with Grandpa Ed before stepping in and closing the door. Will and Slade had left, deciding that family drama was a good enough reason to table reviewing résumés for a day or so. “Kathy isn’t abandoning him.”
There was a small picture on top of Kathy’s dresser, a photo of Flynn and Kathy as small children, their red hair gleaming in the sunlight. His mother knelt behind them with the same red hair. Joey, his high-cut cheekbones prominent over his smile, wrapped his arms around them all.
Flynn rubbed at his carbon copy cheekbones, then pulled his baseball cap lower. “We didn’t have an easy childhood.”
“Nobody does. If people knew what they were signing up for when they got married or had sex, there’d be fewer marriages, fewer divorces and fewer babies.” She rifled through the hangers. “I have a lot of respect for people who stick around. It’s so much easier to disappear.”
Flynn wrestled with how to answer that. “It’s easy to hate someone when they bail. But no one should be penalized for needing a little breathing room.” His father’s face, old and wrung out, came to mind. Flynn dismissed it. “Kathy will be back soon. Next weekend at the latest.”
“You’re sure that’s what this is?” Becca stopped inventorying the contents of Kathy’s closet. Her hand clung to black chiffon. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “The last words my dad said to me were a promise to see me soon.”
Flynn’s heart twisted. “How old were you?”
“I was ten. My mother had just been diagnosed with fatal lung cancer.” She let her hand drift along the delicate fabric to the hem. “My dad could have stayed. It wasn’t easy to stay until the end.”
Without realizing it, Flynn stepped forward. He put a hand on each of her shoulders.
“He could have taken me with him.” Becca’s voice was a mere whisper now. “Or come back to get me. I would have forgiven him if he’d come back.”
“I know,” Flynn said, turning her and pulling her into his arms, because he did know. He knew all too well. The wi
shes for a parent’s return, the pep talks about how their leaving didn’t matter, looking for a familiar face in the crowd at every milestone, never finding the one you both longed for and dreaded seeing.
Becca stood stiffly in his arms.
He rubbed her back. “But they don’t come back, not unless they want something.” Like Flynn’s mother. Like Joey. “And by that time, they don’t deserve anything.”
Her muscles loosened, relaxed. Her hands crept around his waist.
Flynn rested his chin on top of her head. He could feel when she’d gathered herself, sense when she realized her employer was holding her.
“Flynn.” She tried to pull out of his arms, but it was a token struggle, an I-shouldn’t-be-hugging-my-employer moment.
“Give me a minute. Her leaving was a bad episode of déjà vu.” He held on, making gentle circles on her back. Because she needed to be held as much as he did. It was a rare thing to find someone who’d been left behind. “Do you have any family left? Brothers? Sisters? Grandparents?”
She shook her head.
And her husband was gone, as well.
Her behavior with her elderly clients made sense. She was so easy to get along with. Everyone in Harmony Valley loved her right away. And she probably ate acceptance up like soft ice cream, slid into her client’s family seamlessly as if she’d been born there, taking on the tough jobs of elderly care the family appreciated, with a cheerfulness they were grateful for. Yep, she’d fit right in, until accepting gifts would seem natural, although it went against professional standards. Because her clients were all the family she had. Short term.
He didn’t envy her.
“House rule number two.” Becca stepped back, succeeding in gaining her release. “No hugging the help, especially behind a closed door.” She crossed the small room to open it.
Flynn’s arms felt oddly empty.
Silence settled between them as uncomfortable as a thin blanket on a cold night.
She heaved a great sigh. “I apologize. That was unprofessional.”
“I hugged you.”
“You were unprofessional,” she amended with a wry grin. “What are you going to do with Truman every day?”
He removed his baseball cap and ran his fingers through his hair. “I thought I’d drive Truman into Santa Rosa for summer camp every morning.” An hour’s drive in good traffic.
“Oh, don’t do that.” Becca shook her head. “He wants to help care for Edwin. He’s already been cast aside by his mother—don’t you send him off, as well.”
Flynn settled his cap back on his head, his gaze caught by the family photo on the bureau. It was slightly comforting to think that Dane hadn’t seen the resemblance between Joey and himself. “I can watch him, but not all day. Maybe Agnes can help.”
“I don’t mind watching him.”
He should have known she’d offer to help. Becca probably stepped in wherever she was needed, regardless of her job description. Containing a smile, Flynn leaned against the door and made her an offer that was double her hourly wage.
“OMG! My lawyer would drop my case. I’m not doing this to get a raise. I’m offering to help. Don’t you dare make things worse for me than they already are!”
“I hired you to take care of my grandfather, not cook and clean and babysit. I’m adding to your responsibilities. You should get a raise.”
“Money won’t solve your problems or mine.”
He shrugged. His grandfather had said much the same thing, refusing to allow Flynn to upgrade anything in the house. “Fine. So I’ll go back to cooking and cleaning.”
“Like you cook.” Becca crossed her arms over her chest. “I carried out the kitchen trash today and it was filled with take-out containers.”
“I didn’t cook when my grandfather was in the hospital. I’m a guy.”
Her eyes widened and blinked, as if she was fighting an eye-roll. “And the dust in the living room was so thick I could have written you a message on the mantel.”
He thumbed his chest. “Again, guy.”
Becca did roll her eyes then. “I will not accept a raise. I’ll quit if you give me one.”
“You won’t quit. You need the references.”
She scowled at him, knowing he spoke the truth.
“We’ll compromise. No raises. But I can pay you overtime.”
She didn’t like that, either. She clomped around the room a bit, muttering and refusing his offer, for all kinds of reasons. He rather enjoyed watching her.
But after a few minutes, he’d had enough. “Come on. It could be worse. I was considering demanding you park your motorhome here.”
“No!” She held up a hand as if warding him off.
He laughed. “So we have a deal? Can we shake on it?” He had a sudden theory about Becca. Every time they touched, awareness grew. Awareness of her smile and how that smile made something warm spread in his chest. A warmth he hadn’t felt in an oppressively long time.
She accepted his terms with a firm handshake that sent a buzz of electricity up his arm.
She felt it, too.
From her scowl, he’d guess she didn’t like it. Not at all.
But he did. And he smiled all the way down the hallway.
* * *
“YOU DON’T NEED to walk me home,” Becca said as she, Slade and Flynn crossed the Harmony River bridge after dinner. Abby led the pack, pausing to listen to the frogs serenading them beneath the bridge. “Either one of you.”
“I’m not walking you home.” Slade chuckled. “I’m walking home in the same direction as you after having mooched a home-cooked meal.”
“I’m going over to Agnes’s because her toilet is running.” Flynn carried a small toolbox. “I’m not walking you home, either.” But there was a lightness to his words that threatened Becca’s composure.
She’d let Flynn hold her. She’d caught him smiling at her as if he’d found something dear he’d misplaced years ago. Then there’d been that innocent handshake that had shaken something deeper inside of her. Something that reminded her of whispered endearments and soft touches.
Flynn seemed to find the attraction between them amusing.
Becca was not amused.
“You’re always getting called somewhere to help someone fix something.” Slade laughed. “Usually toilets.”
“I like taking things apart and fixing them. But I need to fix this toilet quickly, because I don’t want Truman alone with Grandpa Ed for long.” He’d given Truman the responsibility of watching Edwin, as well as schooling him on how to dial 911, and providing him with Agnes’s phone number in case there was an emergency.
“I could have stayed with him,” Becca pointed out.
“And hurt their manly pride? I had no choice.” Flynn chuckled, but Becca noticed he picked up his pace.
Abby glanced over her shoulder as Flynn gained on her, prancing a bit to catch his attention.
Slade walked backward, gesturing to a row of houses on a side street. “You could work full-time fixing everything in Harmony Valley. No one except Rose keeps their house in good repair.”
“Including you. I don’t see you working on your house or asking me to help.” They walked down the alley behind Main Street toward town square. “Afraid of my mad fix-it skills?”
“No.” The humor drained out of Slade like air out of an anchored helium balloon. He turned back around. “I’m afraid you’ll make the house livable again.”
“Say what?” Becca was confused. “Do you live in a shack?”
“The bridge club calls it the Death and Divorce House.” Slade’s voice was raw and hard. He tightened the knot of his tie.
Becca didn’t know what to say.
They rounded the corner of the alley behind Main Street and st
epped onto town square near Harmony Valley’s only restaurant, El Rosal. Pop Latin music came out of speakers on the patio of the Mexican restaurant.
Slade bid them good-night, crossing north beneath the square’s enormous oak tree toward his ill-fated house. Abby paused, sniffing and watching him leave. Then she glanced at Becca and pranced toward Agnes’s house.
Becca and Flynn walked east in the middle of the street because there was no traffic.
“Flynn! Flynn!” A gangly old man waved to them from in front of a shop with a barber pole. “It’s my sink. It’s leaking.”
Flynn sighed. “I was afraid I wouldn’t make it to Agnes’s without an interruption.”
“It’s good to be loved. I’ll see you in the morning.” Becca turned to go.
“Hold up.” Flynn grabbed her hand with gentle urgency. It had been a long time since anyone had touched her that way. “You’re leaving me?”
“I can’t help you.”
He hesitated only a moment before coming up with a counter argument. “If Phil’s sink is fixable and an emergency, I’ll need you to go back to the house. I can’t leave Truman that long.”
He had a point. Becca reclaimed her hand and followed him toward the old barber shop. Abby ran past so she could once more be in the lead.
Main Street was a beautiful example of old town Americana. Gas streetlamps, brick buildings, benches beneath established trees. The only thing missing was commerce. There were only two businesses open on the block—the barber shop and the Mexican restaurant.
Flynn introduced Becca to Phil. Abby sniffed out all of Phil’s secrets before he brought them inside and pointed toward his shampoo bowl with a hand that shook. There was a large water stain on the wall beneath it. Not to mention, the odor of wet mold was hard to miss.
“Phil, how long has this been leaking?” Flynn asked.
“I noticed it today.”
Becca suspected by Flynn’s frown that it had been leaking long before that. But Flynn didn’t make a smart remark or criticize. He took out a hammer, knelt next to the wall and poked it through, pulling down all the drywall until the pipes were exposed in a two by three hole.
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