The Dad Next Door

by Stephanie Dees

  But that was the pessimistic side of her, the side she didn’t indulge. She pulled her gloves off and tucked them into her back pocket, climbing through the fence to cross the driveway.

  “Hey, folks, what’s up?”

  Joe’s friend from high school, Ellen, stepped forward. “Well, Mrs. Bertie told us you had some damage and you wouldn’t be able to have your inspection next week. We want to help.”

  She gestured to one of the men behind her. “Kevin here is a carpenter. He usually makes cabinets, but he’s good with a saw. The rest of us aren’t so handy, except maybe Ernest over there, but we figured we could use a paintbrush and a broom as well as anyone.”

  Claire didn’t move. Her feet felt frozen in this spot. She was floored, absolutely floored, that they would come to help.

  “Why?” The word strangled out over the lump in her throat. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Why would you do this?”

  Mayor Campbell stepped out of the crowd. “You helped Harvey and you didn’t have to. That’s what neighbors do. We’re your neighbors, Claire, even if we didn’t act like it when you first got here. We’re sorry about that and really just want to help.”

  A few people in the crowd nodded. She recognized so many of them, people she’d talked to or eaten with at the Hilltop. Some, like the young mom with the autistic son, had a vested interest in the place, but most were just being neighborly.

  “So where do you want us to start?” Joe’s sister Jules held a bucket with paint supplies and Claire wanted to cry all over again.

  Joe’s voice from behind her startled her. “Where’s your list, Claire? I know you have one or two or ten.”

  She grinned. “I don’t know how to thank you, but I sure will put you to work. You may regret being so neighborly in the morning. The third floor needs to be cleaned and painted. The second floor is ready to be painted. The kitchen window was the worst damage.”

  The mayor sent a group of teenagers off with instructions to pick up limbs and pile them up. Ellen and a group of ladies went to the second floor to paint and Joe and Kevin were already deep in conversation about what to do about the window. Her phone buzzed in her back pocket. “Hello?”

  “Claire, it’s Bertie. I’m sending Ash out with some hot chocolate and coffee in a few minutes and I’ll be out around lunchtime with some boxed lunches. Can you count up everyone for me?”

  “I will. Bertie, was this your idea?”

  “Honey, I don’t know. Coulda been. But one thing I know, people jumped at the chance to help. And don’t you worry about it. In Red Hill Springs, we might take our time coming around, but you’re family now and family takes care of each other.”

  Claire had been searching for her family, like the biological kind, but she’d found a family in a whole different way.

  “I’ve gotta run. I’ll see you in a little while. Don’t forget to text the number of lunches I need to make.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Claire sniffed back the tears, settled her hat and strode into the house. Her neighbors were inside working.

  She had an inspection to get ready for.

  * * *

  As the sun dropped below the trees, the temperature dropped like a rock. Joe lit the wood that the kids had stacked up from underneath, a nest of newspaper the fire-starter. He stepped a few feet away and streamed some lighter fluid onto it. The limbs caught with a whoosh.

  All afternoon, the ladies from the bereavement committee at church had been bringing casseroles, salads, plates of fried chicken and pans of lasagna. The older ladies set out the food, rapping hands as the teenagers nipped little tastes. Laughter rang in the air and Joe stepped back from the fire and just took it in for a moment.

  Children careened around the back of the house, playing tag or horse race or whatever little kids played, their laughter and squeals echoing off the building. A more strident mom’s voice cut through, warning them they better stay out of that pond. Amusement tugged the corner of his mouth up. Kids.

  Jules and Amelia, with a little help from some of Amelia’s school friends, hauled hay bales out around the fire in a big circle. When his sister put her arm around her niece and squeezed, his throat ached. He was just so grateful.

  Disheveled and tired, paint-stained and dusty, the various workers trickled out of the antebellum plantation house and made their way through the food line, settling on the hay bales around the fire. He looked around for Claire but didn’t see her, yet. And with a start, he realized his sunglasses weren’t on his face. He patted his shirt pocket, but they weren’t there, either.

  He couldn’t remember a time since his injury when he hadn’t been completely conscious of where those glasses were at all times. His eyes were bothered by the light, yes, but his injured eye was a scarred mess and it bothered him that other people might be turned off by it.

  Surprisingly, no one had run screaming. No one had even seemed to notice. Maybe the people who had seemed so judgmental weren’t as judgmental as he thought. Maybe he was allowing his childhood insecurities to influence what he thought today.

  He had no idea, but he should take some time to consider that since he had grown up and changed, maybe other people had done the same. Seemed like a no-brainer, but his insecurities had stalled him out somewhere around the age of fourteen, at least where it came to this town and its inhabitants.

  As the crowd around the food thinned, he made his way to the back of the line. A voice behind him said, “Better not eat all that chicken.”

  He turned to find Mayor Campbell filling his own plate. “Mr. Mayor, I wouldn’t think of it.

  “Call me Chap, please. And if I may?”

  “Of course. You’ve known me as Joe for a long time, sir.” Joe handed the serving spoon for the corn-bread dressing to the mayor.

  “Listen, Joe, this isn’t really the time and place, but I’d like to talk to you sometime about applying for the job as chief of police. I did some checking into your record as a police officer and I believe we could use your kind of talent here in Red Hill Springs.”

  Joe blinked. Of all the things he might have imagined coming out of the mayor’s mouth, that one never crossed his mind. “I...don’t really know what to say. It’s honestly something I never considered.”

  “Well, don’t say no before we have a chance to talk. I just wanted to put a bug in your ear.” Heaping a spoonful of green bean casserole onto his plate, Chap acted like he hadn’t just dropped a bomb on the conversation.

  Joe’s hand still hovered over a dish of hash-brown casserole. The mayor nudged him. “Go on now. If you don’t hurry, all those kids are going to eat Mabel’s banana pudding before I get down there to get some.”

  “That would be a shame.” Joe forced a smile. “Listen, sir, thank you for thinking of me, but...”

  “You’re planning to go back to your team. I understand. I just want a chance to sell you on staying here in Red Hill Springs.”

  As the mayor continued down the line, Joe remained riveted in his spot. Chief of police. Was he even interested in being the head cop in this little town, the town where he grew up? Maybe if he were, he could be more like his dad and less like Roy Willis. He could be good for the town.

  His brother, Ash, had brought his guitar and was about halfway through a silly song about a hole in the bottom of the sea, sending the children, most of whom were his patients, into fits of laughter. Joe settled on a hay bale and had a mouthful of fried chicken when Claire settled beside him, her eyes glossy with tears.

  She blinked away the wetness and a trembling smile spread across her face. “When I pictured what life could be like here, this is what I imagined. Bonfires and people everywhere, kids laughing, someone playing music. So much food. I keep wanting to pinch myself to make sure it’s real.”

  “I didn’t know that this kind of thing happe
ned in real life. I thought it was just on television.” He looked down at her sweet face lit by the firelight and wondered why he didn’t just jump on the mayor’s offer to apply for the chief of police job. He cared about her. His daughter was happy and settling in. His family was here, in more ways than one. But...

  It always came down to the but. He loved his job. He was good at it in a way he had never been good at anything before. He made a difference. He loved the adrenaline rush. Thrived on it.

  “Yesterday I thought my dreams for this place were through. But we’re still here. We still go on. And we can trust that God is still in charge even when we don’t understand it.”

  His brother, Ash, had switched from silly kid songs to worship music.

  You make Beautiful Things out of the dust. Even the children were quiet when Jules joined in to harmonize on the chorus. You make me new, you are making me new.

  Claire was openly weeping beside him. He put his arm around her and pulled her closer to him, whispering against her hair that it was all going to be okay.

  His heart felt two sizes too big for his chest. How could he leave this? But how could he choose to stay knowing that his calling lay with his team in Florida?

  Could God really take the chaos of his life lately and make something new out of it? Believing that, trusting that, would take faith that he wasn’t sure he possessed. He glanced at the sky, stars scattered like a million tiny diamonds.

  But maybe, it wasn’t his faith that mattered.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The bells on the door jangled as Claire walked into Joe’s sister Jules’s bakery. She was instantly assaulted by the fragrance of bread baking, cinnamon and sugar and everything yummy.

  “I’ve got your order right here, Claire. A dozen chocolate chip and a dozen of the thumbprint cookies. Those are my favorite.” As she talked, Jules tucked two tiny cakes, each with a perfect pink rose on top, into a box and slid them into a bag. “My treat for when you rock your home study.”

  Claire grinned. “I wouldn’t even be able to go through with it if everyone hadn’t helped clean the place up.”

  “Mom said to tell you she’s praying for you when she came in for her order for the diner this morning. Ellen and a couple of her friends came in for coffee and asked if we’d heard anything, too.” Jules passed the box and small white bakery bag with her pink Take The Cake monogram over the glass case. “You should know by now that everything counts as news in Red Hill Springs.”

  “I’m starting to figure that out. But after the other night, I’m so grateful that it doesn’t even bother me.”

  “I hadn’t been in the plantation house since I was a teenager and sneaked in on a dare. It’s a big old place, just crying out for a family. The former mayor and his wife never had kids.” Jules paused midmotion. “Oh, Claire. I’m so sorry. I didn’t even think before I said that.”

  “It’s okay. He didn’t have children that anyone knew about. Anyway, I hope there are lots more get-togethers at the farm. The other night was pretty special. You’re invited to all of them, as long as you bring that carrot cake, like you did the other night.” Claire pointed to the cooler and a magnificent five-layer monstrosity, defusing the awkward moment. It wasn’t the first and surely wouldn’t be the last.

  “Deal. Now go, so you have time to put those cookies on a plate before your caseworker gets there.” At Claire’s blank look, Jules winked. “Never tell a guest you didn’t make the treats. Southern-girl secret.”

  Ten minutes later, Claire was placing the last cookie on the plate when she heard a car in the drive. She started toward the front of the house, where no one but guests came to the door, stopping to adjust one of the daisies she’d picked up at the market yesterday. In a galvanized steel teapot, they were fresh and funky, traits she hoped this licensing worker could appreciate.

  When the doorbell rang, she said another quick prayer, as if the never-ending litany of prayers she’d been saying for months wasn’t enough. She nearly ran the length of the hall to the front door, stopped and smoothed her skirt down in the front. Taking a deep breath, she pulled the door open, a big smile on her face. “Hi, you must be Mrs. Rabun. I’m Claire Conley. It’s so nice to meet you.”

  “Nice to meet you, too. Please call me Livvie.” Mrs. Rabun—Livvie—stuck her quite large file under her arm and stepped into the house, her vision, like everyone’s, drawn to the sweeping staircase. “What a beautiful old place.”

  “Thanks. We’ve been working hard to get it livable.” Claire stepped aside for the caseworker, who didn’t look anything like the matronly woman Claire had envisaged. Instead of a plump, grandmotherly figure with gray hair, Livvie had on a long skirt and a peasant top accented with a variety of gold chains, charms and bracelets. Curly red hair formed a flyaway halo around her head.

  “It’s more than livable, it’s lovely.” She ran a finger down the glossy banister, her bangles jingling at the movement. “And you want to bring children in here? To scratch the floors and slide down this gorgeous banister?”

  Claire grinned. “Yes. It’s actually perfect for kids. Can I show you?”

  “Yes, please.”

  She started on the third floor, with rooms she’d been able to prepare for kids yesterday because the volunteers had painted and cleaned and polished. The wide-open study area at the top of the stairs was perfect for teens.

  On the second floor was Jordan’s suite of rooms. Claire mentioned the plan for hippotherapy and showed off more bedrooms. No furniture yet in these rooms, but the walls had been painted vibrant kid-friendly colors. She showed the worker the ballroom and her suite of rooms, with the small attached office. The kitchen was last, with its enormous island and many stools, just waiting to be filled.

  A cozy fire at one end, a brand-new window filtering golden light at the other, the room was once again perfect. Claire turned to Livvie with a smile. “That’s it for the tour. There will be more furniture, of course. And outside, the animals and a garden, which the children who live here will hopefully learn to be responsible for. I want to give them a sense of belonging and pride.”

  Livvie scooched onto a stool and reached for a cookie. “May I?”

  “Of course.” Claire poured a couple cups of coffee and sat around the corner of the island from her caseworker.

  “Claire, I don’t have anything to argue with at all about the property and the job you’ve done renovating it. It’s amazing.” She opened her file and ran her finger down a list. “Your training will transfer and I have most of your forms on file now, but I’ll need your new proof of insurance and notes from your veterinarian on the animals and whether they are fully vaccinated. Do you vaccinate horses?” She wondered out loud.

  “Yes,” Claire put in.

  “Of course, that makes sense.” Livvie, bracelets jangling, slid a form across the stainless-steel top of the island. “Here’s a checklist. When I come next time, I’ll check water temperature—under 120 degrees—and smoke alarms, one within three feet of each bedroom. You’ll need to have childproof locks on any cleaning supplies and a locked cabinet for medications.” She paused, looking over her notes.

  Claire pulled out her own notebook. “I’m taking care of the last things on the checklist tomorrow. I want everything in order as soon as possible. Oh, and I should mention that I have a tenant in a small cabin on the property. He’s a police officer recovering from an injury. His twelve-year-old daughter lives with him.”

  The resource worker glanced up. “And y’all are just friends? Romantic? Landlord and tenant?”

  “Friends,” Claire said firmly. And then wondered at the pang she felt in her chest. Were they friends? More? He meant something to her, something special. The image of the kiss they’d shared in the cabin popped into her mind. Her face flushed with heat.

  Livvie gave her a speculativ
e look over the top of her hot-pink reading glasses. “Well, if you become more than friends, update it with us, and he’ll have to get background-checked, regardless. It may seem silly since he’s a police officer, but it’s policy.”

  “Got it. Thanks.” Claire picked up the very long list of things the department needed in order to license her home. She’d made a lot of progress. She was so close.

  The thought thrilled and terrified her. She knew a lot about being a foster parent because of her job as a caseworker, but she’d never had the sole responsibility of caring for them before, especially while owning a property and maintaining it.

  Livvie closed her notebook. “There’s one more thing I need to talk about with you. I got a call yesterday from the chief of police here in Red Hill Springs. He said he had some concerns about you being licensed for foster care.”

  Claire went still, her heart beating so loud she was sure that Livvie could hear it. Because it seemed that the town was more supportive of her, apparently Roy had turned to a more underhanded way of stalling out her plans. She cleared her throat. “What exactly were his concerns?”

  “There were a couple of things that were also very concerning to me. The first was that you were arrested in your former hometown? He suggested that you moved here because of that arrest.”

  Claire’s heart sank. “That’s not true at all. When I was fourteen, I was picked up with a friend who was shoplifting and taken to the police station. I was questioned and released to my mom a few hours later. There was no arrest, but I was grounded for what seemed like forever.”

  “What did spur you into moving here?” Livvie’s pencil was poised above her writing pad.

  Claire took a deep breath. “There was no single driving force. My sister and I spent some time in foster care before we were adopted after our first adoptive placement fell through. I was a caseworker for children’s services in Charlotte. The real catalyst for change, though, was that my mom died. I didn’t really have anything holding me there. When my biological father left my sister and me this house, it seemed like the right time to take it on.”