Seaside Romance. Mia Ross
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Lauren.”
With a firm shake, the girl said, “I’m Hannah Martin. Julia’s going to be my aunt soon.”
Julia gushed about the Martin family, so Lauren felt as if she knew them already. “I hear you’re going to be the flower girl at their wedding. Are you excited?”
“Very. It’s an important job, and I have to do it right. Mommy and Julia took me shopping in Portland to buy me a special dress and fancy white shoes. They’re beautiful,” she added with a dreamy sigh.
Lauren smiled as her memory flipped back to her own childhood, playing princesses with her sisters. What little girl didn’t like dressing up for make-believe? “Are you carrying a basket or a bouquet?”
“Both,” Hannah informed her proudly. “I have to toss rose petals out of the basket, but I get to hold on to my flowers. I’m gonna keep them for-ever.”
“Forever, huh? How long is that?”
Hannah squinted her eyes, scrunching her nose in concentration. “Well, I’m five now, but some people live to be a hundred. Maybe when I’m in kindergarten I can figure it out.”
“No doubt,” Lauren agreed with a laugh. “When you do, let me know.”
“Okay.”
Another girl at the front door squealed her name, and Hannah skipped off to meet her. When Julia had first suggested she help out at Toyland, Lauren hadn’t been sure about the idea. It wasn’t that she disliked children, she mused while she circled the table arranging chairs and supplies for Easter eggs and the coloring contest. She just didn’t have any experience with anything other than rocking her infant nephew.
Apparently, Hannah noticed her apprehension and went out of her way to make Lauren feel welcome. Their lighthearted exchange was a success, and she was warming up to the idea of working here, at least for a while. Hopefully, this was the beginning of good things to come.
“All right, everyone!” Julia announced. “Welcome to Toyland’s very first Easter Egg-stravaganza.”
The parents laughed, but most of the kids looked blankly at each other. Hannah caught on first, and she burst out laughing. “I get it—eggs. That’s funny.”
Julia rewarded her with a bright smile and a slight bow. “We’ve got eggs to color and an art contest to judge. Are you ready to get started?”
They all cheered, and Lauren wisely stepped back while they raced toward the paper-covered tables.
After that, the day flew by in a blur of boiled eggs, crayons, trips to the bathroom and tons of cookies. By her estimate, the kids ranged in age from three to nine, and their artistic ability varied widely. Some preferred pastels, others left their eggs in the dye to take on rich, jewel tones.
Crouching down beside one very intent boy later that afternoon, Lauren caught his name from the tag on his shirt. “How’s it going, Adam?”
“Fine.” Shoving wire-rimmed glasses up on his pug nose, he dipped his egg into a fresh color. “Black is all the colors mixed together, so I’m trying to make a black egg.”
Lauren was stunned by the scientific spin to what she’d always considered a childish task. “Really? I didn’t know that.”
He nodded earnestly. “It was on the science show yesterday. I thought it was cool.”
“So do I.” Smiling, she stood to move around the table. “Let me know how it turns out.”
“Will do.”
He sounded so grown-up, she had to ask, “How old are you?”
“Seven, but Mom says I’m going on thirty. I’m not sure why, but that’s what she says.”
Glancing back, Lauren noticed one of the moms watching them with curiosity. Grinning at her, Lauren said, “Moms are pretty smart, so she must be right.”
The woman responded with an approving smile of her own, and Adam nodded. “She usually is. Except when it comes to broccoli. I really hate broccoli.”
Lauren laughed for about the tenth time in an hour, and it felt amazing. Her life had lurched down a dark, somber road, and it was wonderful to feel some of the clouds lifting from over her head.
No doubt about it—this was the best day she’d had in a long, long time.
* * *
Tuesday morning, Ben stood at the kitchen counter wolfing down a bowl of cereal. He had a packed schedule of jobs today, and he checked the microwave clock to see it was almost seven. Slurping down the last of his milk, he quickly rinsed his dishes and put them in the dishwasher. His coffee wasn’t quite done dripping, but he interrupted the cycle and grabbed the stainless-steel travel mug on his way out the door.
Outside, he jumped in his truck and headed to the other side of town. When he pulled in at his father’s place, it was quiet as a tomb. It was time to be up getting ready for work, so he interpreted the lack of movement as a bad sign. Ben used his key to let himself in, bracing himself for what he knew he’d find.
Sprawled out on the living room sofa, his father was sound asleep, cradling an old wedding picture in his arms. Empty whiskey bottles were toppled on the coffee table, where Ben found a very official-looking gray envelope and duplicate sets of legal papers stapled into covers. A quick glance showed him they were final divorce papers, and a flash of anger shot through him.
Mom had been gone nearly a year now, but he still couldn’t understand how thirty-five years of marriage ended up printed out in triplicate and neatly bound for filing. It was enough to make even the most optimistic soul doubt the possibility of happily ever after.
His stomach turned at the realization that his disconnected family would never be whole again. He could only imagine what yesterday’s mail delivery had done to his brokenhearted father. How could his own wife hurt him this way? Like any family, they had their problems, but Ben couldn’t recall anything truly awful. When had things gotten so bad that his mother had decided her only option was to run away?
He’d asked himself those questions a million times. Since he was no closer to an answer now than before, he focused on what he could do something about. Tucking the papers in their envelope, he shoved them in a nearby drawer to get them out of sight. Then he cleared a spot on the table and sat facing his father.
“Dad?” When he got no response, he repeated it a little louder. There was a shudder, followed by a general ripple of movement. “Dad, it’s Ben. Wake up.”
Squinting against the weak sunlight, he focused bleary eyes on Ben. “Morning.”
It was a start. The lecture he’d been set to give went straight out of his head, and he went with sympathy. “I see you had a bad night. Why didn’t you call me?”
“I—” He seemed to realize he was still holding the picture, and he set it on the table before pulling himself into a sitting position. “I wanted some time alone.”
“With your old friends.” Ben nodded at the collection of empties and was pleased to see his father grimace.
“I bought ’em in Oakbridge and came straight back here. I passed half a dozen bars on my way, but I didn’t stop. I was sober when I was driving, and that’s the truth.”
The vow got Ben’s attention, and he changed tracks. “I believe you, but this has been going on long enough, and I’m thinking maybe it’s time you talk to someone about it. You’re not doing so well on your own.”
He chewed on that for a minute then frowned. “You’re probably right, but shrinks cost money I don’t have.”
“Pastor McHenry is real easy to talk to. You could go see him.” When that got him nowhere, Ben made one more desperate attempt. “You’ve always enjoyed going to church, but you haven’t been there since Christmas Eve. Why don’t we go together on Sunday? I’ll even