He turned the car around, headed west, parked and strode up the Fitzgeralds’ front walk and rang the bell a second time that night, but this time he didn’t wait for someone to answer the door. No, this time he walked in as if he belonged there and he knew exactly what conclusion the gathered ladies would draw from that maneuver.
And he refused to care.
They turned his way as he aimed for the centered coffee table. He opened the paper bag and poured a pound-and-a-half of breast-cancer-awareness-wrapped candies onto the table. “I figured if Lisa could support two causes at once—” he smiled and hooked a thumb her way “—so could I. When it comes to fighting cancer, folks have to stick together. Right?”
“Right!” Viola fist-pumped the air, grinning.
“I like how you think, Lieutenant.” The middle-aged woman who’d asked about Jenny reached over, grasped a candy bar and held it aloft. “This isn’t on my diet, but I’ll rob from tomorrow’s points.”
“You do what you’ve got to do in this life.” Alex flashed her a grin, then turned Lisa’s way.
He’d shell-shocked her. He knew it, and liked the feeling. Getting to know her, he was pretty sure not too many men could keep pace with Lisa Fitzgerald comfortably.
He could.
He moved her way, pushed a lock of hair behind her cheek and held her gaze for long, pointed seconds. “I’ll call you later. Okay?”
“Of course.” She blushed, clearly unaccustomed to this kind of attention in front of a group of people. Which only made the situation more fun. Should he kiss her and put the ladies over the top?
No, he decided. He was pretty sure these women figured out why a guy would ride to the candy store and drive back, just to add to their table of treats.
And it wasn’t simply to support the cure. It was to support a vibrant, beautiful woman who seemed to be capturing more of his heart every day.
He turned, gave the ladies a little salute that made them sigh out loud and smiled. “Ladies. Good night.”
“Good night, Alex.”
“Thank you!”
“God bless you, Lieutenant.”
He turned at that last and exchanged a soft smile with the middle-aged woman. “Right back at you.”
As the door shut behind him, twelve pairs of eyes focused on Lisa, because Caro had come in from the kitchen, and all twelve women were looking for answers.
Well...
“Isn’t he just the hottest thing since Chinese mustard?” she asked out loud.
A chorus of laughter and agreement mixed in reply, and Lisa knew the outcome of Alex’s bold move. Speculation would abound by tomorrow. In small-town U.S.A., everyone knew everything at rapid-fire pace.
Chagrin vied with joy inside her. He’d staked a claim of interest tonight, publicly. But hearing how Becky and Josh were handling their new situations was a wake-up call. They were pretending resilience, much like she saw in Emma. And in yourself, her conscience scolded.
True enough.
But kids’ needs should always come first. And if Alex was unaware of Becky’s pretense and Josh’s reasoning, someone should set him straight.
* * *
A sheet of pink floral paper fluttered to the floor as Alex grabbed laundry from the girls’ room late the next morning. Emma’s childish script covered the paper, front and back. He reached out to set the note on her desk, but his actions were hard-stopped by two little words: Dear Mom...
His heart paused. His hand wavered. The words blurred and he wasn’t sure if it was his shaking hand or moist eyes that caused the words to go indistinct, but it didn’t matter. He sank to the edge of Emma’s bed, let the laundry slide to the floor and read the letter.
I’m starting to get used to the school here. Kind of. Mr. Henery isn’t like Miss Dougall, but he’s nice. He doesn’t know about a lot of the books I like to read, but he knows a lot about science and he lets us do experiments in the creek. I think that’s my favorite thing so far.
I made a friend, too. Her name is Sophie. Her mom died when she was little and she came to our house to help us plant gardens. The other kids look at me weird because I don’t have a mom, but not Sophie. She likes me with or without a mom.
Alex’s heart constricted and he had to read that simple sentence one more time. “She likes me with or without a mom.” Was it really like that for Emma? Were kids that cruel or clueless?
Sometimes. And he should have thought of that before now. Why was he so much better at hearing criminals than his own children?
Becky is still a brat. She makes Josh cry on purpose. We planted a garden around the house and I’m taking a class soon, all about growing stuff. Becky’s coming, too, even though I didn’t want her to. Dad said she could. I don’t know why.
Do you miss us? Is heaven nice? I think it is. I miss our puppy so much. I bet she misses us, too. Especially on Saturdays.
I’m sending you hugs and butterfly kisses, just like you used to do to me. When you were alive.
Love,
Your daughter,
Emma
Alex had no idea how long he sat there, holding the paper, eyes wet. His thoughts jumbled, pondering her words.
She was writing to her mother. Her deceased mother. Was that normal? Good? Bad? He had no idea.
The poignant prose revealed things she’d never said out loud. Like the teacher. And still adjusting to the changes he’d instigated.
Reality speared him. Emma was giving him her game face, much like he did on a regular basis. Her pretense that everything was all right covered the reality of a ten-year-old with a lot to handle.
By your choice.
Guilt mounted as he stared at the letter. He’d given away their dog. He’d picked up and moved them away from everything familiar, not realizing the possible emotional consequences of the action. In his grown-up head, starting fresh and new made sense. Grief had worn him to a nub, and the dark side of his city assignment wore on him. He’d been drowning, plain and simple, in a pool of darkness. How foolish of him not to understand that children thrived on continuity, that removing them from everyone and everything they held dear might sucker punch them.
And dear, sweet Emma couldn’t talk to him about it, so she wrote unseen letters to her late mother.
He stood and paced the room, mentally sorting options, but there were none at this point. He couldn’t exactly pick up the family and move them back to Fairport again. His job in Troop E had been filled, he had a responsibility here and he’d made promises he needed to keep. And he’d bought a big, old, rambling house. No, he had transplanted them fully.
But there had to be a way to make this easier.
He set the letter back on the floor, peeking from the edge of the bed skirt where he’d found it, tossed the laundry into a white wicker basket and carted it to the first-floor laundry room.
“Let not your hearts be troubled...”
The simple words of St. John’s Gospel pinched Alex’s soul. How could he be so blind? Was he truly a man who refused to see what was right before him? His children’s anxiety? Their inner thoughts and dreams? Was he so blinded by his desires that he negated their stress and emotions?
Yes.
The admission saddened him. He could do better. Would do better. These children were his heart now, God-given gifts linking him to Jenny. How could he have minimized the effect his choices had on them? More than anything else, he should be uplifting them. Helping them. Protecting them at all costs. Not the other way around. And here he was, thrusting them into a new home, new schools, new church, new friends—
And he’d kissed Lisa, knowing he shouldn’t rush into anything because he’d already transplanted his kids into a shaky new normal.
He threw a load of laundry into the machine, started it and decided he needed to
implement a plan. He wasn’t sure what or how, but clearly it needed to be done. The sooner the better. And for the moment, that plan couldn’t include his growing feelings for Lisa.
Chapter Nine
Lisa couldn’t ignore the early morning abdominal ache that gripped her, but that’s precisely what she wanted to do. Pretend away the soreness, swallow a pain reliever and will the discomfort away.
And then hope it wouldn’t come back. Ever. Except she’d felt it repeatedly the past few weeks.
Cancer treatments could mess things up. She knew that. Hormones got jumbled and body enzymes were bumped and jostled to thwart a recurrence.
The centered pelvic pain pushed her mentally back to the warning of uterine cancer, a caution the pharmacist reprinted each time she filled the prescription for her ongoing chemo drug. She’d shrugged it off then. She didn’t dare shrug it off now.
“Are you okay?” Ozzie walked into the kitchen as Lisa downed two ibuprofen with a glass of sweet tea a few minutes later. “Headache?”
“Yes.” The falsehood made her cringe inside. Her head felt fine, but if she told him she’d been experiencing repetitive pain for no good reason, he’d worry. And that was the last thing her grieving father needed to do with everything he had on his plate.
Besides, she recognized the foolishness of being overly concerned. A few cramps were nothing to get riled about. Except when one shoe fell on a cancer diagnosis, patients waited for the other shoe to drop. But it couldn’t be anything serious. Not now, when she was facing her five-year mark?
Cancer doesn’t read calendars, it is what it is. But wouldn’t it make more sense to find out for sure and stop worrying? You’re being absurd. You know that, right?
Lisa hushed the voice that sounded like one of her mother’s common-sense edicts. She’d wait a few more days, see if the pain increased. Right now, the ache was dull. Slightly above a three on the one-to-ten scale, constant enough to instigate a fear she’d tabled nearly three years ago. What if the cancer had spread?
She pushed the worry aside, kissed her father’s cheek and pocketed her cell phone. “I’ve got the grocery list here—call me if you think of anything else, okay?”
“Will do.” He moved toward the garden store while Lisa aimed for her SUV. Determination marked each step. She’d navigated that first year post-cancer, where every little thing seemed like an imminent threat. Weird moles? She had them removed. Twinges? She’d pause, wondering if they were a sign. Headaches? She’d spent a few weeks sure the disease had moved to her brain only to find out she had a mild sinus infection exacerbated by mental stress.
She’d put the brakes on in year two, shoved off concern and readjusted her attitude, but this pelvic tension stirred up those early anxieties. The warning on her chemo had advised a multi-year window for the uterine involvement. Back then she’d decided to fight one beast at a time. The off-chance of a later problem dimmed in the harsh light of a current spreading cancer.
But the thought of facing life-threatening illness again dismayed her. She needed to wrap her head around that on a personal level before sharing her fears. She’d give it a few days. If the discomfort abated, she’d forget about it. If not, she’d call the doctor. Everything had been fine at her last checkup, and her sensibilities scoffed at the idea of a new cancer spot. But she knew the travesty of dealing with treatments once, and recoiled at the thought of a repeat performance. So she’d give herself a little time, and swallow painkillers to calm the reminder that something was amiss internally.
* * *
She called Alex’s home early the following week, determined to keep things simple while she finished her project with his delightful daughter. Emma answered on the second ring.
“Emma, it’s Lisa.”
“Lisa!” Childish enthusiasm pitched her voice higher. “Are you coming over today?”
No. Not until she gained a better grasp on her emotions around Alex and his family. Maybe her physical discomfort was God’s way of warning her off, nudging her away from those sweet children. If so, mission accomplished. “I’d love to, but I’ve got Rosie tonight. I’m afraid we won’t accomplish much with a toddler around.”
“Tell me about it.” Emma’s voice adopted a big-sister tone. “Between Becky and Josh, I can’t get a thing done. They’re so pesky.”
Lisa laughed. “Well, they’re younger. It’s kind of how that goes. I needed to ask you about that little front garden, the crescent-shaped one that’s visible from the road. We should plant it soon, and I don’t have anything indicating what you wanted to do. Did we miss it?”
Long seconds ticked by. “I, umm...have a plan for it.”
“Yes?”
Another space of time made Lisa arch a brow. “Kid, I’m getting older as we speak. Out with it. It is legal, right?”
Emma laughed, but Lisa heard the reluctance in her voice. “Can I email you the ideas?”
Whoa. Lisa might not be a mother, but she’d been a kid and she knew a slide-by when she saw one. “Is your father right there?”
“Uh-huh.”
“And you want to run this by me privately?”
“Yes.” The single word gushed out on a breath of relief. “Then if you don’t like it, we’ll do something else.”
“Send it over.” Lisa headed for the office area as she spoke. “If I have questions or concerns, I’ll call you back.”
“Okay.” Her voice faltered again, but not as long. “I’ll send it soon.”
* * *
Nearly an hour had passed by the time Lisa made it into her office. She pulled up her email, saw Emma’s name and clicked to download and print the girl’s ideas. As the picture rolled out of the wireless printer, Lisa realized why Emma had held back.
She’d created a pink garden to honor her mother. Staring at the blotches of shaded rose, Lisa saw beyond the gesture of respect. She glimpsed the heart of a motherless child, a girl who’d been wrenched from everything she knew and loved and brought to a new place. Emma’s loss was palpable in the comma-shaped garden, where mauve and rose “wave” petunias were backdropped by taller pink flowers.
Emma missed her mother.
Lisa missed her mother, too. Her life had been so busy since Christmas, trying to do all and be all so her father could grieve, that Lisa hadn’t taken time to fall apart.
She did that now, at her desk, with Emma’s garden print catching her tears, wishing little girls could always have their mamas. And big girls, too, because saying goodbye to your mother always came too soon.
She understood Emma’s calm, press-forward attitude because it mirrored Lisa’s. But should a kid have to be stoic?
At thirty-three, maybe.
At ten?
No way.
Determined to whack sense into Alex Steele’s thick head, she called him. He answered on the first ring. “Lisa. Hey. I’ve been meaning to get in touch with you.”
Meaning to get in touch meant he’d been putting it off, but she refused to let that bother her. Right now, this was all about Emma. “Can I see you to discuss something?”
“The case?”
“No. I figured if there was an update on the equipment, you’d have called me or Dad. About Emma.”
“Sure.” He sounded relieved. His relief painted a sharp picture for Lisa. He didn’t want to revisit the kiss, no matter how nice it was. And it had gone way beyond nice, on her end anyway.
Nor did he want to move forward from there, because he’d have called. Why did that insult her when she’d made a personal decision to back away from this attraction on her own?
“How soon can we meet?” She tried to keep her voice detached while every muscle in her body wanted to thrash common sense into Alex’s head.
“I’m free for an hour at twelve-thirty.”
“I’ll meet you at Connealy Park, just below the shaky bridge.”
“You’re coming unarmed, right?”
He was being funny, but she had a reason for wanting an open venue. They both worked in busy places with lots of ears. She didn’t want anyone to overhear what she had to say to Alex. Between Emma’s reticence, Becky’s imaginary mother and Josh’s willingness to hunt for a new mother among the preschool moms, someone needed to put the children’s needs first. That someone was their father.
And he’d most likely hate her for saying so, which only made this day worse.
* * *
She wanted to talk, but didn’t sound too friendly.
Well, why would she? He’d seesawed over this relationship for weeks, drawing close, then backing off. Why wouldn’t she throw her hands in the air and be done with him?
She probably had. So had he. But something kept drawing them together, tempting them. If only—
“Here’s a lead on your girlfriend’s case.” A slim folder smacked down on Alex’s desk. “I expect you’ll find her equipment parked behind a small rental house a mile east of Kirkwood Lake.”
Iuppa didn’t try to veil his dislike. Therefore Alex did. “What makes you say that, Sal?”
“This guy answered an online ad for farm equipment. He thinks the farmer is over in Erie. Even offered to deliver a gently used T190 for a reasonable price.”
“You placed an ad?” Alex stood and gave credit where due. “That’s excellent. I didn’t think of that.”
The admission made him vulnerable in the detective’s eyes. Alex knew it would. But honesty and hard work had gotten him here. He wasn’t about to change that now, regardless of how much the investigator resented him.
“I know these towns, Lieutenant.” Iuppa faced Alex. “This is my territory. I was born here and I’ll most likely die here. If you need to know something, you go to the people who know the towns.” He slapped his chest. The gesture took Alex back to the Tarzan movies his father loved and his mother hated. “Me. And the others like me.”
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