Finding His Way Home

by Mia Ross

  “So you work for him, or he works for you?”

  “We work together,” Jenna clarified. “Does that matter?”

  “Someone’s always in charge,” Gretchen replied in a way that made it sound as if she had some negative personal experience in that department. Tilting her head, she chose another shade of green pencil and continued drawing. “One person gives the orders, and everyone else follows along. That’s how the world works.”

  To Jenna, that sounded like far too cynical an attitude for a sixteen-year-old, but that didn’t mean she had it wrong. “I guess you’ve got a point. I like running my own business because that way I decide which projects I want to take on, how long to work and what to charge people.”

  “I wish I could do that,” she confided with a sigh. “I hate having people tell me what to do all the time.”

  Jenna sensed she was starting to bend and decided to nudge a little. “Is that why you like coming here?”

  “Yeah. That and the cookies,” she added with a grin that hinted at a pretty good sense of humor.

  “I know the lady who makes those cookies. Her name is Olivia, and I can introduce you to her sometime if you want.”

  Suddenly, Gretchen pulled into herself, and that protective gate slammed back into place with an almost audible clang. “That’s okay. I wouldn’t want to bother anyone.”

  This was just what Olivia needed, Jenna realized with a suddenness that startled her. So generous, with a heart full of love to share, she’d be the ideal person to encourage Gretchen without threatening her in any way. After all, who could resist a warm, loving grandmother with a plate full of cookies?

  Leaning closer, she said, “Can I tell you something?”

  Gretchen’s eyes narrowed and she nodded hesitantly. “Okay.”

  “The woman I’m talking about, she lost her husband recently. She tries to pretend everything’s fine, but I know she’s really lonely without him. She has a great eye for art, and I know she’d really appreciate your work. If you wouldn’t mind letting her hang out with you here once in a while, I think it would do her a world of good.”

  Folding her hands on the table, Gretchen stared at them as if debating whether to respond or not. When she finally looked up, the compassion in her eyes made Jenna want to cry. “Being lonely is hard. That’s why I come to the center, ’cause the house is empty until my dad gets home at seven. I tried leaving the TV or the radio on, but it’s not the same as—”

  “As having your mom there?” Jenna asked gently. When the girl gulped and nodded, Jenna wanted nothing more than to fold her into a hug and tell her everything would be all right. Maybe not now, but someday. Recognizing her advice wouldn’t be comforting to someone so young, she went with something more concrete. “Do you know why Diane wanted you to meet me?”

  “Because you’re an artist like me.”

  “We have more in common than that.” Dredging up all this was tough for her, but she got a firm grip on her emotions and went on. “My mom left when I was your age, so I kinda get what you’re going through.”

  Gretchen’s eyes widened with the shock of finding she wasn’t the only one who’d been abandoned by the woman she’d counted on to be there for her. “Didn’t your dad try to find her?”

  “My dad was out of the picture,” she hedged, skirting the sordid truth without blatantly lying. She didn’t think it was appropriate for this impressionable girl to hear the lurid details of how Jenna came to be.

  “My dad’s the best,” Gretchen told her in a more confident tone. “He’s really tired when he gets home, but he makes dinner and helps me with my homework. I do the laundry and clean the house so he doesn’t have to,” she added proudly.

  “Good for you.” Inspiration struck, and Jenna added, “Olivia’s a fabulous cook. Maybe she could teach you some of her recipes so you can surprise your father with dinner sometime.”

  “That would be awesome. His favorite is lemon chicken. Do you think she knows how to make that?”

  “When she comes in, you can ask her. Does tomorrow work for you?”

  “Sure.” With a sly smile, she added, “As long as she brings some more of those chocolate-chunk cookies.”

  Feeling as if she’d scored the winning goal in a game that could have gone either way, Jenna laughed. “I think that can be arranged.”

  They sealed their deal with a high five, and Gretchen said, “That church window’s probably mentioned in some dusty old book at the historical society. We could go look.”

  “You mean you want to help me put it back together?” Jenna asked, stunned by the quick turnaround from brooding to generous.

  “Yeah. Unless you don’t want me to.”

  “I’d love it,” Jenna assured her before she could change her mind. “Maybe we can work on the actual piece together. I have a friend who makes the glass, but getting it set in place without breaking anything is tricky. I could really use an extra set of hands.”

  “Cool.”

  Very cool, Jenna thought, catching Diane’s eye as Gretchen loaded up her backpack and Jenna signed them out in the logbook.

  “Where are you ladies headed?” the director asked with a delighted smile.

  “Over to the historical society for research,” Jenna replied. “We shouldn’t be more than an hour.”

  “Take your time,” she told them. “And have fun.”

  “We will,” Gretchen responded in an upbeat voice that would have been totally at odds with her mood only an hour ago. “Thanks, Mrs. B.”

  “Oh, you’re welcome, sweet pea. I have to leave early today, but I hope I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Grinning at Jenna, the girl nodded. “I’ll be here.”

  While the girl headed for the door, Diane grasped Jenna’s shoulders with both hands. “Bless you, Jenna. I was at my wit’s end with that girl, and here you are, best friends already.”

  “We artistic types have to stick together,” Jenna told her with a wink. “But thanks for the blessing. I’ll take all of those I can get.”

  Feeling as if she was floating on the warm spring air, Jenna joined up with her new assistant and pointed across the street to the brick building that housed the Barrett’s Mill Historical Society. Even if they found nothing in the archives about the old chapel and its mysterious window, you could always depend on Lila Donaldson for some lively company.

  It would be a pleasant ending to what had turned into a very unusual day.

  * * *

  It had been years since Scott had been treated to a full-on Barrett family gathering.

  Friday night, he met his oldest two brothers’ kids for the first time and did his best to keep their names straight. Connor’s boys had inherited his quick smile, while Greg’s princesses doted on their toddling brother with a devotion even a curmudgeon like him could appreciate. Being referred to as “Uncle Scott” was slightly bizarre, and more than once he forgot to answer a child who called him by his new name.

  Paul and Chelsea arrived on the heels of youngest brother Jason and his wife, Amy, who floated in on the bliss of a newly married couple. Their obvious happiness twanged an old nerve inside Scott, but he did his best to ignore it. Having grown up in a large, chaotic family, he’d always planned to have the same for himself one day. Going after it hadn’t turned out quite the way he’d anticipated, he acknowledged for the hundredth time. Maybe, despite his longing for roots and stability, he just wasn’t cut out for marriage.

  Which left him on his own, at least for the foreseeable future. Being the odd one out among his brothers didn’t sit well with him, but he couldn’t imagine changing his bachelor status with anyone living in Barrett’s Mill. And since he was stranded here until his parole played out, it wasn’t looking good.

  Being surrounded by all this family love only made it worse, and he
felt his spirits sinking lower by the moment. It didn’t help that he felt like an outsider in his own family. Being introduced to new members he already should have met was bad enough. Add to it the fact that everyone was going out of their way to include him in conversations he couldn’t follow, and he finally reached his choking point.

  Before someone had a chance to pick up on his morose train of thought, he made his escape to the front porch for some air. When he rested his hands on the railing, its wobbling reminded him of the first job on his list for Gram.

  A little prodding revealed that the bolts holding the side rail to the column were loose. He fetched a socket wrench and pair of pliers from his truck and used them to tighten the offending bolt. While he was at it, he checked the rest and made sure they were ratcheted down nice and tight.

  “You do good work. What’s your hourly rate?”

  He glanced up to find Jenna grinning at him and stood to greet her. Her slim white jeans and flowing top were a far cry from the paint-spattered clothes she’d been wearing the other day, and he couldn’t help staring. The pale yellow blouse accentuated her eyes, deepening their icy color to a more vivid blue. As the seconds ticked by, he realized he hadn’t said anything yet and managed to stammer, “Wow. You look amazing.”

  “Thank you.”

  She added a stunning smile, and crazy as it seemed, he actually felt warmer for a moment. Fortunately, it faded quickly and his brain kicked back into gear. “Glad you could make it. How was your afternoon at the center?”

  “Interesting. Gretchen’s a sweet girl with some big problems, but I think we made a good start toward being friends. We went over to the historical society to see if we could find the chapel window in the archives somewhere, but no luck. She seemed interested in helping me find out more about it, so we’ll see how it goes.”

  The voice of experience, Scott mused with a frown. Things didn’t always work out the way you wanted them to, and you could save yourself a lot of trouble if you kept that in mind. Since he’d exhausted his limited stock of small talk, he said, “Everyone’s inside.”

  “Everyone but you,” she noted with a smile. “Let me guess—too much commotion for a hermit like you.”

  “I’m not a hermit.” She tilted her head with a give-me-a-break look, and he had to laugh. “Okay, maybe a little. I’m working on it, though.”

  She took a step closer, and he caught a whiff of some kind of floral perfume mixed with paint thinner. It was an unusual combination, but he had to admit it suited her perfectly. When her expression sobered, he braced himself for a lecture. What he got instead was understanding.

  “It must be hard to get reacquainted with your own family,” she murmured. “How’s it going?”

  “Fine.” Again he got the look, and he relented with a sigh. “Slow. I mean, I’ve got four sisters-in-law now. I should’ve danced with them at their weddings, warning them about the men they just married, y’know?”

  Jenna grinned. “You strike me as the type for a good, embarrassing toast at the reception.”

  “Got that right. Guess I missed my chance, though.”

  “You can make up for it at your own wedding,” she suggested cheerily. “Everyone will love it.”

  “Except my wife,” he pointed out, even though the words sounded weird coming from his mouth. Considering his wedding day, even in theory, just wasn’t like him. Jenna had a knack for making him think about dreams he’d shut away long ago, but this time he found he didn’t mind playing along. “It’s probably best to behave myself and stay outta the doghouse.”

  “Smart man. Now, be a good host and walk me in.” Taking his arm, she waited for him to open the door.

  “I’m not—” He stopped short when she rolled her eyes and decided it was best to follow her lead. “Yes, ma’am.”

  She didn’t gloat or tease him, but she rewarded him with a bright smile that made quite an impression on his battered ego. It had been beaten so far down into the muck of his life he’d begun to fear it would never recover. But as he escorted Jenna into Gram’s house, he felt himself leaning toward this talented, compassionate woman who’d done more for him in a few days than most folks could have in months of trying.

  It was a good thing she wasn’t planning to stay in Barrett’s Mill. He might have started to rely on her in a more personal way, and that kind of thing never ended well for him.

  After his earlier reaction to the crowd, he was relieved to discover he was much more comfortable with Jenna there. Probably because he actually knew her, he reasoned, and then realized that made no sense. For him, getting to know someone took a long time, and even then he was more reserved than most. Whatever the explanation, he felt better with her beside him, taking up the slack whenever he ran out of things to say.

  “Jenna, none of us have seen the old homestead in years,” Dad commented at one point. “How’s it looking these days?”

  “It’s in good hands, that’s for sure,” she replied with a smile of approval for Scott. “Your son’s got great plans for the house and the chapel. I can see why the original Barretts chose to build there. It’s such a beautiful spot, set in the woods next to the creek.”

  “It was one of Dad’s favorite places,” he told her with a sad smile. “He’d be glad to know it’ll be around awhile longer.”

  “When Scott’s done with it, it’ll be a great place to live again.”

  They both looked at him, and Scott fought down the urge to squirm like a shy kid caught in the spotlight. He didn’t used to be that way, he recalled with more than a little regret. Maybe someday he’d regain the confidence that had been wired into every Barrett ever born. For now, though, it took everything he had just to keep putting one foot in front of the other.

  “Thanks,” he managed to say, consciously reminding himself to keep his head up when he spoke. “There’s a lot still to do, but I think it’s coming along.”

  Jenna’s eyes lit with enthusiasm, and she pulled her phone from the pocket of her jeans. “Tom, I’ve got some pictures if you want to see them.”

  Dad sent a questioning look at Scott, making him stand up a bit straighter. Unaccustomed to being consulted for his opinion on things, he valued the respect his father was showing him. “There’s not much to see at this point, but go ahead.”

  While Jenna flipped through the screens, he was surprised to see how many shots she’d taken when he hadn’t been looking. One in particular caught him off guard, and he stopped her with a hand on her arm.

  It showed him on the rear porch steps, turning back to say something to her before going into the house. With the lush forest and sparkling creek behind him, his hair mussed by the breeze, the man in that picture was a stranger to Scott. He looked confident and carefree, completely at home right where he was. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d felt that way.

  Apparently sensing his reaction, Dad rested a strong hand on his shoulder. “It’s been a long time since anyone lived out at the old place, making sure things are being taken care of. I’m glad it’s you.”

  Scott looked over at him and nearly choked on the pride shining in his father’s eyes. “Thanks. That means a lot to me.”

  The moment gave way to a toddler tugging on Dad’s hand. “Grampa, come see.”

  “See what, honey?”

  In answer, she continued pulling, and he patted Scott’s shoulder before letting her drag him to the bay window in the living room. Watching them go, Scott knew he’d let his father down—let them all down, in truth. He’d apologized more times than he could count, in emails and phone calls, but it had never felt like enough. Now, face-to-face with everyone again, the guilty burden he’d carried for so long began to lift from his heart. In its place he felt something that didn’t weigh him down, but lifted him up.

  Forgiveness.

  The realization hit him
with the force of an 18-wheeler, and he nearly staggered from the impact of it. While he’d been leery of attending this gathering, he’d agreed to come because Gram had gone to so much trouble for him and he’d wanted to return the favor. Instead, he’d gotten more than he possibly could’ve hoped for, regaining his place in his family. Knowing Dad had faith in him made him believe that in time, he would even feel as if he belonged here.

  All because of Jenna and her camera, he mused with a grin. Go figure.

  “That’s a troublemaker look if ever I saw one,” Jenna teased, lightly tapping his chin. “They seem to be a Barrett-boy trait.”

  “Yeah, we’ve all got ’em, but mine’s the best.”

  “The wickedest, anyway,” she corrected with a knowing smile. “Anything you want to share with the class?”

  “Just thinking you’re a sneaky photographer, snapping those pictures without me noticing.”

  “Candids are the best,” she agreed. “They show someone’s personality, not just what they look like.”

  “Like a painting?”

  That got him the most incredible smile he’d ever seen. “You were listening! Most people tune out the minute I start talking about art.”

  “I thought it was interesting,” he told her honestly. “I’m more a hammer-and-nails kinda guy, but your stuff is pretty cool, too.”

  “Oh, stop,” she retorted in a terrible Southern-peach accent, melodramatically fanning herself with her hand. “You’re gonna turn my head.”

  Her antics made him laugh, and it occurred to him that he’d done that more this week than he had in ages. Bright and upbeat, this quirky artist had connected with something inside him he’d assumed was dead and gone long ago. More than anything, she’d made him believe he could stop trudging through his personal quicksand and begin enjoying life again. He had no clue how she’d accomplished that so quickly, but he hoped that before she left he’d get the chance to repay her.