by Michele Hauf
She turned to look at her son. The forty-year-old man occupying his soul wagged a finger at her and shook his head in the most astonishing, and knowing, reprimand. “He’s upset, Maxwell.”
“I know, but do you think he was taking care of his brother all alone? Without any parents? He’s never mentioned his parents, so they could be dead, too. You should go talk to him.”
Right now that’s what she wanted more than anything. Sam had clearly been out of sorts. She hated to see anyone so torn. Her heart wept to know how awful he could be feeling.
“Are you sure?”
The credits for a children’s cartoon began to roll, and Maxwell’s attention switched to the television. “Go,” he muttered. “I can go into the doctor’s office on my own.”
“No, you need a parent with you.”
“Yeah, but it’s another twenty minutes for sure. And I know Lisa.”
The receptionist smiled at them. She’d babysat Maxwell for two summers, and Rachel trusted her.
“The parking lot is right outside the window,” Maxwell said. “I can see Sam’s truck. He hasn’t left yet. Go, Mom! I can wave to you when the doctor is ready.”
She leaned in and kissed his forehead. “I love you, Maxwell McHenry.”
He gave her a little push. “Hurry up, or you might miss him.”
Chapter Seven
Rachel spied Sam’s truck at the back of the parking lot. She had to smile. It was a wonder the vehicle even stayed together with all the rust patching over what she guessed had once been a forest-green body. Two sets of ladders were strapped across a side rack and Sam’s back was to her. He leaned his elbows on the truck bed.
She swallowed, sensing this was not going to be easy for either of them. Rachel McHenry was the queen of keeping her emotions bottled up inside, so who was she to think she could understand another person’s pain? But an irresistible force deep within nudged her forward, if only to make contact with him, to touch him and let him know she did care.
“Sam?”
He lifted his head, but didn’t turn to acknowledge her. Rachel could feel his sadness float through the air in tangible waves.
“You leave Maxwell alone inside?” he muttered.
“He can see us from the waiting room window. The receptionist is a former babysitter, so he’s in good hands. He’s the one who said I shouldn’t ignore my urge to follow you out here.”
Sam chuffed out an abbreviated, but lackluster, chuckle.
She put her hands on his shoulders and gave them a squeeze. He tried to shrug her off, but it was a futile attempt, so she maintained contact.
“Can we talk?” she asked. “Have you spoken to anyone about your brother?”
He shook his head, and she wasn’t sure what else to say or do.
How many times, when she was a young, new mother, had she wished that people would ask if she needed help or wanted to talk about her struggles? Raising a child as a single mom in a small town was not easy, thanks to ignorance and gossip, but acceptance had finally come. Rachel didn’t know what to do for Sam, but at least she could offer.
“I want to be here for you,” she said gently. “Whatever you need, just ask.”
Sam turned and, before she could say another word, pulled her into his arms and nuzzled his head against her shoulder. It wasn’t so much a hug as an entreaty for understanding, for kindness, for a quiet connection. And she gave it willingly.
He sniffed, and she wondered if he was crying. Didn’t matter. He was safe in her arms. Because she understood about needing to talk about something, yet not being able to put it into words. And she was pretty sure guys didn’t sit around talking about their feelings. Sam might never have had an opportunity to share his pain, his loss.
“He was just a kid,” Sam said. She felt him tremble, and hugged him closer, clinging to the soft plaid shirt on his back. “Jeff had leukemia. The doctors tried everything, but it was too aggressive. We weren’t able to find a bone marrow donor. He died four months after being diagnosed.”
Rachel held Sam silently, sensing he would tell her what he wanted to, his own time. But meanwhile she felt warm tears spilling down her cheeks. They belonged to both Sam and her.
“Our parents died in a car accident when Jeff was eight, so I was all he had. I tried, Rachel. I tried so hard, but I couldn’t save him. I should have been able to save him. Why couldn’t I?”
“I don’t know,” she said. It was always sad when a young person died, and there was never an acceptable reason for it. “Sam, it’s okay. I just want you to know it’s okay.”
He nodded against her shoulder, then abruptly straightened and turned aside to wipe his eyes. “I’m acting like a nut here. I don’t know what came over me. I don’t think I’ve cried since the funeral.”
Rachel’s heart tumbled at that confession. This man needed to grieve. “You can cry on my shoulder anytime.”
He chuckled and shot her a hopeful look. “Anytime? I just may take you up on that offer.”
He quickly looked away, and she sensed he needed some time alone.
“I should be getting back inside. You going to be okay?”
“Right now? No. I think I’m going to blast out some more tears after you walk away.”
“Tears are good.”
“Is that so? Kinda sissy, don’t you think?”
“Not at all.” She touched his cheek, tracing a wet trail. “Tears are for healing. We women have known that for ages. Gets out the complicated stuff we’re not always able to verbalize. It works for guys, too, I promise.” He shrugged and gave an accepting nod.
“Give me a call later,” she said. “Maxwell and I will probably pick up pizza on the way home. We may need you to help us, because we always order too many breadsticks.”
“Sounds great. Thanks, Rachel. It means a lot that you came out here looking for me. You could have just let me walk away.”
“I could never let you go, Sam.” She sucked in a breath, then leaned in to kiss his cheek. “See you soon.”
Giving his hand a reassuring squeeze, she turned and walked back inside, breathing in deeply to absorb the overwhelming feeling of rightness she got from being near Sam Jones. Even when his world was closing in around him, there was something about that man she couldn’t stay away from. Perhaps it was his willingness to be open and honest with her. And his easy acceptance of Maxwell.
And because she had opened her heart to receive.
“Quite a guy,” she whispered, and entered the waiting room with a smile for her son.
Chapter Eight
After a delicious meal of pepperoni pizza and far too many breadsticks, Sam helped Rachel do the few dishes. It wasn’t like he was trying to impress her. Washing dishes was something he enjoyed, and it reminded him of his mother. And heck, if a guy couldn’t dry the occasional dish or two, then what good was he? Besides, he’d suggested they see the newest romance at the theater later and she agreed to the date.
“You brought over more DVDs?” Maxwell tromped into the kitchen after taking the pizza box out to the trash.
Sam had left the bag near the door. “Yep. Some of my neighbors saw your posters and I told them about the charity drive you planned all by yourself, and they dug into their stacks of movies. There’s some great Disney movies in there. Tarzan is my favorite.” He noticed Maxwell’s perplexed look. “You seriously haven’t watched a lot of movies, have you, buddy?”
“I like documentaries,” Maxwell said.
“Well, there you go. They’ve got some great documentaries on the big screen. One about wildlife in the Arctic is playing right now at the theater.” He exchanged looks with Rachel and got an approving nod. “You want to go, buddy?”
Maxwell glanced at his mom, and she nodded again. “Yes!”
“All right then. I promised your mom a movie tonight, so how about tomorrow night after she and I get back from looking at the property she has to show me?”
“Deal.” Maxwell high-fived Sam. “I’m going to go so
rt these.” He grabbed the bag of DVDs and scrambled upstairs.
“We’re heading out back, Maxwell,” Rachel called. “Come join us when you’re finished.” She grabbed a folded blanket from the stool by the back door and tilted her head toward the patio. “Want to go sit under the stars until the babysitter arrives?”
Sam tossed the drying towel onto the table. “I keep getting the best offers from you. You spoil me, Rachel McHenry.”
Her smile was the best reward a guy could get just for drying a few dishes. But more important, she’d given him permission to cry this afternoon. He’d felt weird about it at the time, but after he’d had a long bawl in the rust bucket he’d actually felt…lighter. Nowhere near ready to give up his grief over losing his brother, but closer to climbing toward an acceptance he hoped would soon be his.
And it was all because Rachel had cared enough to follow him outside and touch him. Her aim was so on the mark, he wondered if she was aware of her accuracy. And then it didn’t matter, because he’d felt her sincerity and knew she was real.
“Let’s go look at some stars.”
* * *
Rachel laid the plaid blanket on the grass in the middle of the yard, next to a bush of blooming peonies that wafted a heady fragrance through the warm air. Twilight had slipped away, but the streetlight out front emitted ambient light across the yard, so they weren’t sitting in the dark. She stretched out on her stomach.
Sam joined her, raising an eyebrow as she ran her fingers over the lawn.
“I love the smell of grass,” she explained. “I think it’s in the running for my top three favorite things in life.”
“Wow. That must be some damn good grass,” he said with his patented wink. He shifted to his side, propping his head against his palm. “What are numbers two and one?”
Rachel rolled to her back, blissfully comfortable alongside the man, and closed her eyes as she imagined the sound she loved most. It made her smile.
“Number two is the sound of a child’s laughter. It’s like nothing else out there. I’m blessed to hear it every day.” She opened her eyes to find Sam looking a bit skeptical. “Maxwell laughs at things, like accomplishing a time test or the perfect layout of his toys. I know he’s a little odd, but I wouldn’t have him any other way.”
“Neither would I,” Sam agreed. “He’s taught me a thing or two in the little time I’ve known you both. Who have a thought he could organize an entire drive with just a little help from adults?”
“Yes. It doesn’t sound like such a big thing to put movies in children’s hospital rooms. I can’t believe Kid Flicks was founded by four young sisters. It’s amazing what children can do when they don’t know boundaries and fearlessly forge ahead. When we adults have been told too many times we can’t do something, we stop attempting it. But today’s youth? They can accomplish so much.”
“I predict Maxwell will. He’s already done a heck of a lot for me. The kid has touched my heart in ways I couldn’t even imagine.”
Rachel’s own heart warmed at Sam’s praise.
“So what’s number one?” he asked.
“Of my favorite things? Lingering,” she said in a dreamy tone. “Taking a few moments to relax, enjoy my surroundings, really be in the moment and feel my breaths as they go in and out.”
Sam took her hand and kissed the back of it. “Lingering does have some advantages.” He traced a finger along her forehead, tucking her hair behind her ear, as if he was mapping her out, and finding that moment she had just talked about.
His face was shadowed and she couldn’t see his expression, so she closed her eyes and fell into a blissful moment of lingering. His breath fanned over her hair and ear. He smelled like fresh-cut wood and spicy aftershave. The touch of him was slow and sure, knowing, or rather, learning. A soft breeze tickled her wrist as grass blades swept her skin. Somewhere from the depths of a nearby flower bed a cricket’s chirp punctuated the air.
Rachel sensed the kiss before his lips touched hers, and her heart opened wide to clasp the lingering moment with Sam Jones.
Suddenly Sam’s attention was diverted. “Well, look at that. Do you see?”
She turned onto her side and spied the bobbling light he pointed out.
“Maxwell!” Sam called toward the upstairs window. “He’s got to see this.”
“What?” The reply floated down to them.
“Get your new bug stuff and come out here,” Sam said. “There’s something magical you need to see.”
“Be right there!”
“Thank you.” Rachel traced her finger along Sam’s jaw, then kissed him quickly. “You’re so kind to him. He looks up to you.”
“He’s an easy kid to fall in love with. And his mom is pretty.” Sam gave her a kiss back, a longer one, until Maxwell exploded out the patio door, equipment in hand.
“Quiet.” Sam raised a finger to his lips. “Stealth is required.”
Maxwell instantly stilled, then crept in a comical crouch toward the blanket. “You two were kissing, weren’t you?”
Sam and Rachel exchanged stunned looks, but before either could formulate a response, Maxwell’s laughter bubbled through the air.
“You see?” she said.
Sam nodded. “Definitely number two. And I have to agree with lingering as number one.”
Rachel tugged her son between them and then pointed out the lights near the shrubs.
“Fireflies?” Maxwell asked.
“Yep,” Sam replied. “And if you’re sneaky, you can nab one in your bug catcher and have a good look at it. You sneaky, buddy?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Oh, you are,” Rachel said, with a tickle to Maxwell’s ribs. “I’m pretty sure the cookies in the jar on top of the fridge aren’t disappearing into the ether.”
He shrugged. “I take only one a day.”
“I know, sweetie. That’s why I keep refilling it for you.” She kissed him on the head, then patted him on the behind to launch his stealth attack.
As they watched Maxwell creep toward the fireflies, Sam threaded his fingers through Rachel’s.
“I did it!”
The firefly inside the plastic bug catcher lit up the container like a lantern. Maxwell insinuated himself between Sam and Rachel, and the threesome peered in wonder at the insect and laughed until their bellies ached.
Chapter Nine
Rachel drove the VW toward the church. It was early Saturday morning, and both she and Maxwell were jittery with excitement. He clutched his signs on the passenger seat and babbled on about how he couldn’t wait to send boxes of DVDs to Kid Flicks. And then he wanted to bring a box straight to the hospital, on behalf of the charity, so he could talk to some of the kids.
“What do you think about this, Mom?” He pulled out a poster and showed it to her as they stopped for a light. “Think Sam will be okay with it?”
The sign declared that the drive was dedicated to Jeff Jones, who’d passed from leukemia a year ago. Rachel felt her lip quiver and tears well in her eyes. “Oh, Maxwell, I think…” she hoped “…Sam will be honored by your thoughtfulness.”
* * *
Five minutes before the event was scheduled to open, Rachel received a phone call from Sam. He said he was sorry for being late, but had decided at the last minute to stop by a store and pick up bottled water to give away along with the cookies she’d baked and the lemonade Maxwell had convinced the church volunteers to provide. Sam was worried Maxwell would be disappointed he was late, but she reassured him her son was too busy organizing to notice.
An hour into the drive, they’d already filled three boxes with DVDs and handed out all the cookies. When Rachel saw the rust bucket pull into the parking lot, she ran toward it, hoping to catch Sam before he got out.
“We need more cookies,” she said, gasping. “Sorry to ask you this, but would you mind? Here’s some cash.”
He shooed away her offer. “I’ll get this one. Part of my contribution to the drive. Ho
w’s it going?”
“Great. I’ll tell Maxwell you’ll be right back.”
“Sure. What kind of cookies?”
“Chocolate chip!” She leaned in and kissed him, and Sam slid his hand through her hair. “Thank you. For everything.”
“It’s easy to give everything to the dynamic McHenry duo. Be back in half an hour.” Rachel hugged herself as she wandered back to the collections table. The movie the other night had been followed by a stroll in the park, hands clasped, with them stealing kisses in the shadows. It felt real. Could it be real?
A niggling of doubt stabbed her heart, but she quickly shook it off. Sam Jones was real, and she and Maxwell were blessed to have him in their lives. That was enough for the moment.
At the table, neighborhood gossip Lucy Hogan handed over a box of DVDs to Maxwell.
“Oh, Rachel, your boy is so clever,” the woman said to her. She pushed up her expensive Dior sunglasses and gestured with her leopard-print fingernails. “I can’t tell you how much this event means to me.”
“Really?” Rachel didn’t want to question, but this could shine light on a new side to the woman who would gossip with the Pope if she ever met him.
“Yes. I’ll just tell you. You listen, too, Maxwell. Then you’ll understand how much good you’re doing.” She propped a hip on the table and lowered her head. “My niece was sick a few years ago.”
“Oh, Lucy, I’m so sorry.”
“She was in the hospital for almost nine months, poor thing. Her mommy and daddy lived in North Dakota, so they couldn’t afford to stay down here with her all the time. I went in and visited her three times a week. She had a debilitating disease that left her muscles so weak, she couldn’t even lift her arms to drink or feed herself. And the IV she had to wear in the back of her hand bruised her skin and was very painful. But she never cried. She was so brave.
“Anyway, Maxwell, you have to know that Maria loved to read, but like I said, couldn’t lift a book because of her weak muscles. So instead she’d get a nurse to turn on the television for her, because all she could do was sit and look ahead. But the nurses can’t be there all the time to switch the channels, so she ended up watching a lot of news, which never interests an eight-year-old, let me tell you. It would have been so wonderful if the hospital had had a library of DVDs specifically selected for children.”