Shelter of Hope

by Lyn Cote

  That evening Rosa stood at her son’s bedroom door. Marc sat on Johnny’s bed, talking to him about soccer. She wanted to stand here, watching her son so happy, and savor the moment and then tuck away the memory.

  The reality that this was her house, hers and Johnny’s and her grandmother’s lapped over her wave after wave. Still she couldn’t take it all in. This is my home. This is our home. And nothing that Trent did or didn’t do could spoil this moment for her.

  She’d finally told Eleanor today that Trent’s monthly child support check was over a week late. Eleanor had said that she’d take care of that in a tone that meant business. Well, Trent had asked for whatever he got over this last slight. Another, more poignant thought, however, tugged at her. She pushed it to the back of her mind.

  “It’s way past your bedtime, Johnny.” Marc rose and pulled back the covers. “Climb in and your mom will tuck you in.”

  “You can tuck me in,” Johnny said.

  Rosa walked to Marc’s side. Her concern over letting Johnny trust Marc tried to ring a warning bell, but not even a distant jingling sounded. She could trust Marc with her son. Why did I ever think I could trust Trent? All the signs were there if I’d only paid attention. His bad reputation with other girls had already been established in high school and she’d ignored it.

  Thinking of Trent brought back the thought that had plagued her all day. I shouldn’t be thinking of this now. “We’ll both tuck you in, Johnny,” she said, making herself smile. She booted Trent out of her mind.

  Marc and she pulled up the covers together. She kissed her son’s forehead and Marc patted Johnny’s shoulder. “Remember to say your prayers,” she reminded him.

  “I will. I want to thank God for this great house. I love having my own room,” Johnny replied, folding his hands and closing his eyes.

  Rosa led Marc from the room, switching off the light. Waves of joy and some other emotion she wouldn’t identify rushed through. She refused to make a big deal. She paused at her grandmother’s door. Consuela was sitting up in bed, reading her Spanish Holy Bible. All three exchanged cheery, “Buenas noches.”

  “Let’s get those dishes washed,” Marc said, motioning toward the kitchen.

  She covered the few steps with Marc at her heels. “You’ve done so much already—”

  He reached for a new dishcloth lying beside the sink. “I learned how to dry dishes at an early age. Come on.”

  She gave in and began washing and rinsing the few dishes left over from the potluck. They were soon put away neatly in the new walnut cabinets. Rosa paused to stroke the lovely dark wood and thought of how her mother would have liked them.

  Rosa drained the sink and wiped the counter. The mundane chore was wonderful and new. This is my countertop, my kitchen. She rested her back against the counter and gazed at the large open concept living/dining room, letting it all sink in. Marc stood beside her, his back against the counter, too.

  “I really like the way this all comes together,” Marc commented. “In my mom’s house, we rarely use the living room even when we have company. She has that big country kitchen and family room at the back. It reminds me of your place. You know a fireplace wouldn’t be hard to add to that wall.”

  His simple kind words pushed her past her point of no return. Rosa turned away to hide the sudden rush of tears.

  “Hey,” Marc said, turning her toward him, “hey, you don’t need to have a fireplace. I just thought it would be nice.”

  This made her chuckle in the midst of tears. “It’s not that, Marc.”

  “What is it then?” When she didn’t answer right away, he tugged her closer. “You can tell me,” he whispered.

  At these words, her decision not to involve Marc in her regret eased. She took Marc’s hand and drew him toward the loveseat one of the volunteers had given her. “I just wish—” she sat and drew him down to sit beside her “—all day I’ve thought of my mother and wished she could have lived to be in this house. She deserved this, too.” Rosa kept his work-roughened hand in hers.

  Marc drew her closer and put his arm around her. “When Johnny stayed with me that first night Consuela was in the hospital, he said that his other grandmother had not come home from that hospital.”

  Rosa gazed into his clear straightforward eyes. “Yes, he was only four when she passed away, but he does remember her.” She looked down.

  “That must have been rough,” he murmured. “I…” His voice faded away.

  “What is it, Marc?” She looked up at him, concern for him crowding out her own pain.

  “You never speak of your father.”

  She looked away, but told the unhappy truth. “My father left as soon as he knew I was on the way.”

  Instead of asking more unwelcome questions, Marc drew her closer and kissed her forehead.

  He was a man more sensitive than most. Perhaps the accident had given him more understanding of deep sorrow. This drew her to him even more. She knew she shouldn’t but she tucked up her feet and nestled into Marc’s arms. “I miss my mom, you know?”

  “I know. I was really close to my grandfather.” He stroked her cheek with his thumb. “I was in high school when he died. In my whole childhood, he never missed a game I played in. Not one.”

  She rested her head on his shoulder and gazed up into his blue eyes. All the objections to becoming close to Marc, which she had come up with over the past few months, dissolved in this tender moment. She cupped his stubbled cheek. “I’m sorry. Was that Naomi’s husband?”

  “Yes, my other grandparents died young in an accident. My parents inherited the farm they live on from them. My mom and dad were childhood sweethearts. My dad always says he didn’t have to go farther than the next farm to find his true love.”

  “How sweet.” Rosa’s throat was closing up.

  “I don’t get why it’s so easy for some to find the one they love and want to marry and others…” He shrugged.

  “That’s what I was just thinking.” She moved her hand along his jaw and then let it rest on his shoulder.

  His face began to lower. The exquisite anticipation of his coming kiss crinkled through her, a delightful jittery sensation.

  Lower, lower and then his mouth hovered over hers. The last half inch filled her with a tenderness and eagerness she’d never known.

  “May I kiss you, Rosa?” he asked.

  “Si.” That was all she could force from her throat.

  His lips claimed hers, his kiss was all she had anticipated. A gentle but insistent caressing. She clung to him, letting this special kiss from this special man form a memory she would never let go.

  “Rosa,” he breathed, finally lifting his lips from hers.

  She blushed and hid her face in the space between his chin and chest.

  He lightly kissed her forehead then. “Rosa, you have become very special to me. You and Johnny.”

  She gazed into his honest eyes then. “It’s all too much to take in. This house and you. It’s too wonderful.”

  He kissed her again. “We’ve both had hard times, but maybe we’ve turned the corner.” He ran a finger around her ear, smoothing back her hair. His touch made her tremble. “Be my girl?”

  Her cup had been filled and was overflowing. She nodded. “Be my guy?”

  He grinned and nodded. And she knew he was going to kiss her again. And she knew she could trust him not to ask for more. Far back in her brain, a persistent voice scolded her, You don’t deserve this house, much less this man. This won’t last.

  She ignored the voice. God has never let me down. Marc has never let me down. I will trust them.

  On the next Saturday afternoon, Rosa sat in Marc’s truck with Johnny between her and Marc. Her heart hummed with happiness, an inviting golden happiness that fit this beautiful golden autumn day.

  Marc pulled into the gravel pumpkin farm parking lot and found a place. Switching off the motor, he turned to Johnny and Rosa with a huge grin. “So how big a pumpkin did you
say you wanted?”

  Johnny rounded his arms and barely touched his fingertips together. “This big.”

  “I don’t know,” Marc said, getting out. “If you get one that big, you might fall into it and—plop, you’ll be like Peter’s wife.”

  Rosa laughed.

  “Who’s Peter?” Johnny scrambled down after Marc.

  “You’ll see.” Marc came around and opened her door. He clasped his hands at her waist and swung her down to the gravel lot. She laughed out loud with the joy at his gesture of affection. Her face lifted into a broad smile. She and Marc each took one of Johnny’s hands and walked toward the seasonal attraction, Petrie’s Pumpkins and Storybook Land. The Petrie Family used cornstalks, pumpkins and tempera paints to depict various fairy tales and nursery rhymes. Marc, Johnny and Rosa walked past several groups of painted pumpkins. Then they paused at “Peter, Peter, Pumpkin Eater.”

  Reciting the nursery rhyme, Marc pointed to the pumpkin head with a woman’s wig protruding from a larger pumpkin. “See that’s what will happen to you if you get a pumpkin that’s too big.”

  “Oh, that’s just an old nursery rhyme,” Johnny replied, entering into the extended joke.

  “It looks real to me,” Rosa joined in, her heart warm and bursting with gladness. She glanced to her right.

  And all her delight disintegrated.

  Why did they have to be here?

  She turned her back to Trent’s parents, hoping they wouldn’t see her and Johnny. Trent’s mother had a sharp tongue as Rosa recalled painfully. She pointed in the opposite direction. “Let’s go see Little Jack Horner.” Let’s get away from her.

  Marc and Johnny went along with her suggestion. Out of the corner of her eye, Rosa kept track of the people she most wanted to avoid. She hoped that they hadn’t planned to come just when Johnny and she were here. Of course, they couldn’t have. They wouldn’t have known when we were coming. Stop being paranoid.

  Marc, Johnny and she worked their way through the many displays of decorated pumpkins—Mary with her lamb, Little Bo-Peep, Jack and the Beanstalk. She began to relax. The pumpkin farm was crowded with people. No doubt the ones she wanted to avoid would avoid her by choice, too.

  She, Marc and Johnny had finally worked their way through all the displays and moved on to the acres of pumpkins to choose Johnny’s.

  “I want the biggest pumpkin we can carry!” Johnny announced, again opening his arms wide to show how big the pumpkin should be. They walked through the ranks of pumpkins. Finally they found one that Johnny thought was big enough.

  “You think I can lift that monster?” Marc teased, bracing his low back with both hands. “Oh, Rosa, your son’s trying to break my back.”

  “You.” The word was spoken as an accusation.

  Rosa recognized that voice, had learned to dread that voice. So she didn’t show any reaction, acting as if she’d not heard the woman. “I don’t know, Johnny,” Rosa said, hoping the woman would go away. “We don’t want to hurt Marc’s back. That’s an awful big pumpkin.”

  The hostile voice came again. “Don’t you dare ignore me.”

  That did it. Seething, Rosa turned to face Trent’s mother. The woman was as trim and platinum blond and self-important as ever. “I don’t have anything I wish to say to you or hear from you.” Rosa turned back to Marc. “Let’s pick up the pumpkin and go.”

  The woman got in Rosa’s face. “I rue the day Trent ever met you.”

  It was on the tip of her tongue to say that was how she felt, too. But that would hurt her son. The words scorched her tongue but she kept her mouth shut. Instead, Rosa gave Marc an urgent look. “Marc, please pick up the pumpkin. We need to go.”

  “Did that woman say my father’s name?” Johnny asked, looking puzzled.

  Trent’s mother started to say more, but Marc interrupted the woman with a forceful few words. “That’s enough. Don’t you dare say another word.”

  As heads turned toward the ruckus, Rosa’s face burned with embarrassment.

  Marc’s tone had been more than decisive. It had brooked no argument. The woman, Trent’s mother, fell silent.

  Still, she glared at him yet said no more. Then she looked around and must have awakened to the fact that others were taking note of the clash. Her husband, who was holding the hand of their granddaughter by their older son, drew Trent’s mother away. He looked apologetic.

  “Why were they talking about my dad?” Johnny asked, wrinkling his forehead.

  “They are people who know your father,” Rosa said, her face flaming. “And unfortunately they aren’t very nice people.”

  “Oh,” Johnny said, gazing after them.

  “Well,” Marc said bravely in a cheery tone, breaching the strained atmosphere, “let’s see if I can lift this monster pumpkin now.” He bent his knees. With a great show of make-believe effort plus a lot of groaning and huffing, he lifted the pumpkin. Despite all the theatrics, it fit easily within Marc’s arms. He led them away from Trent’s relatives and insisted on paying for the pumpkin. Then they headed toward the truck. Rosa’s heart still raced but she smiled anyway.

  “Why doesn’t my dad ever come to visit me?” Johnny asked.

  The words sliced Rosa’s heart into two. She looked away. How could I know, Johnny, that Trent was just using me to rebel against his family?

  “You said he lives far away,” Marc said. With this, he handed Rosa the pumpkin and swung Johnny up to ride on his shoulders. This special treat, however, didn’t distract her son.

  “Yeah, but he’s visited me before,” Johnny said. “I remember him. He had yellow hair like that lady.”

  Each word seared Rosa’s heart. Father, when will this all stop hurting my son? Will it ever?

  “Johnny, people are the way they are.” Marc let Johnny down. He put the pumpkin in a box in the rear of his pickup. Then he stooped to look Johnny in the eye. “Only God can change a heart and only when the person wants their heart to change.”

  “You think my daddy’s heart needs changing?” Johnny asked. “Is it a bad heart?”

  “Not bad, Johnny. He just needs to understand more about loving others. That’s all I meant,” Marc said.

  Rosa leaned against the tailgate of the pickup, trying not to reveal how each word Johnny said branded itself on her heart. What could she say? There was nothing she could do. I’m not God. I can’t change Trent.

  “If you were my son,” Marc said, “I wouldn’t let you out of my life. I wouldn’t want to live far away from you.”

  Rosa experienced the truth of these words. They coiled around her heart, healing the wounds left by a careless father and his snooty mother.

  Johnny wrapped his arms around Marc’s neck. “I want to be your son. Couldn’t you marry us?”

  Rosa gasped.

  Marc squeezed Johnny close. The boy’s question moved him; nonetheless, he needed to proceed with caution. “I care very much about you, Johnny. But marriage is something you have to leave to your mom and me to work out.”

  “Does that mean you will work it out?” Johnny asked, hope brimming in his eyes.

  Marc stood up, lifting the boy with him. “You, mister, ask too many questions. Now let’s go. Consuela said she’d have hot cocoa ready for us when we got home. I’m glad pumpkins don’t mind chilly weather. But I’m ready to go inside.”

  Marc swung Johnny in the truck and then helped Rosa onto the high seat. He held her hand a moment longer than necessary. She gazed into his eyes and he read her thank-you there. And something more, something left over from the evening he’d held her in his arms and kissed her.

  As he walked around to the driver’s side, he thought about all that he’d seen today. Why did people act rudely like Trent’s mother? How could any woman turn her back on her own blood, her own grandchild?

  Later with her arms folded around herself to keep warm, Rosa walked Marc out to his truck. She wanted a private moment to thank him for this special day and to apologize. The wind was
blowing harder; she shivered. “I’m so sorry about that scene at the pumpkin farm—”

  Marc put a finger to her lips, stopping her words. “I’m sorry it happened. I think Trent is a jerk and his parents must have taught him how.”

  She leaned back against the truck. His arms went around her and that was what she’d longed for all day. “I didn’t realize at the time that Trent was just using me to rebel against his parents. At least, that’s what I’ve been able to figure out. I thought he meant what he said—”

  Marc stopped her words by drawing her close and wrapping his arms around her. “But he proved not to be a man of his word.”

  “We were both too young,” she murmured into his jacket.

  “I don’t want to mislead you,” Marc said. “But—”

  Chapter Ten

  Rosa held her breath.

  “But I care for you, Rosa. And I am a man of my word.”

  His words fluttered around her heart like summer breezes. “I know that.” Now.

  “You know what happened to me this past January,” he said simply.

  She nodded, unable to speak.

  “It took its toll and I’ve been off-kilter since. I don’t want to lose you.” He brushed her cheek with his fingertips. “But I can’t rush into anything till I know I’m going to be okay and stay that way.”

  She stared up into his solemn eyes, savoring his touch. She swallowed, her mouth dry. “I can’t afford to rush into anything, either.”

  “Not like Luke and Jill?” He grinned, sudden sunshine.

  She gave him a lopsided grin in reply. “Not like Luke and Jill. They are starting with a clean slate. You and I…”

  “We are older and have been through more.” He pulled her closer. “I want it to work out between us, but I promise you if it doesn’t, I won’t leave Johnny hanging. I’ll stay his pal, okay?”

  Rosa leaned against him, feeling his strength, his solid reliability. “I trust you with my son. In fact, I have trusted you with him for over a month now.”