Family in His Heart. Gail Martin Gaymer
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Mrs. Bailey leaned closer. “Where are you staying?”
“Up the road. Some small cabins.”
She nodded.
Rona wondered if she had heard her. “Just up the road,” she said, raising her volume.
“Those small cabins?”
“That’s right.” She’d wondered why sometimes the woman had given her a blank look. Now she knew.
“How long are you visiting?”
She’d told her earlier. Rona cranked up her volume. “I’m planning to stay for a while. Settle down here, I think.”
Her eyes brightened. “Really?” She cocked her head as if thinking. “You’ll have to drop by now and again. I don’t have lots of visitors nowadays since Sam’s gone.”
“I was sorry to hear about his passing.”
Greeted by another blank stare, Rona repeated herself, this time, louder.
“Yes, it’s been a little over a year since Sam died.” She looked across the room a moment and Rona followed her gaze but didn’t see anything particular that had drawn her attention. “Hard to believe he’s gone, except it’s lonely.”
Lonely. Rona knew that word well. “I’m sure it is. I’d be happy to stop by when I can.”
Mrs. Bailey perked up. “Good. I’ll make cookies.”
Sadness swept over Rona. She’d felt lonely when her mother died, but she’d built up a wall to protect herself. But recently that protection had failed and the same hollow feeling seemed to overwhelm her again at times.
“Are you retired?” She leaned back, her mind seeming to drift.
Don’t I wish. But when the question struck Rona, she closed her jaw and wondered if she looked that old. “I’m too young to retire. I found—”
The elderly woman’s eyes widened. “What was I thinking?” She shook her head. “I know you’re a young woman. Sometimes my mouth doesn’t check in with my brain.”
This time Rona laughed out loud. “That’s okay. Mine doesn’t either. I found a job in Hessel this afternoon at the Harbor Inn.” She told the woman what had happened.
“Doesn’t the Lord provide when we need Him?”
The Lord? Rona figured it had been her quick decision and downright luck.
“Do you have friends here?”
Friends. Rona’s shoulders lifted in a sigh. “Not really. I met another waitress today named Mandy, but she’s rather young.” Nick’s image sprang to her mind. “And I talked with a man named Nick.”
“Nick? The only Nick I know around here is Nick Thornton.”
Rona’s pulse tripped. “You know him?”
“Everyone knows Nick Thornton. He owns some big businesses around here. Even ran for city council before his wife died. Such a tragedy.”
Relief washed over her, then backlashed and the sensation rocked her. What did she have to be relieved about?
“He’s a good Christian man. If you get tired of working at Harbor Inn, you might ask him about a job. I’m sure he knows what’s happening in town.”
Her mind flew back to the restaurant. She could see Nick’s deep scowl when he said there was work if you knew where to look. They’d become silent while she waited for him to say more, but he hadn’t. “Where should I look?” she’d asked, and his answer had set her back. “At me.”
At him? Had that been what he meant, only that he knew where there were jobs? She’d hoped he’d been referring to his housekeeper position. She eyed her watch. “I suppose I should get back to the motel before I can’t find my way home in the dark.”
“Too late.” Mrs. Bailey swung her arm toward the window. “It’s already dark. You’re welcome to spend the night.”
“Thanks, but I need to get back. Anyway, I’ve been in the dark before.” Rona heard the unintentional irony of her statement.
She’d been in the dark too long, but not anymore. Never again.
Chapter Three
“Gary. You’ll be late for school.”
Nick listened and heard nothing.
“Gary!”
He stood at the bottom of the stairs, waiting. He didn’t want to play the silent game with his son. That’s what he’d received this past year. He’d tried everything to no avail and his frustration had grown to bitterness.
“Gary!” His voice boomed up the staircase.
No sound.
Gary hadn’t awakened him last night when he arrived home. The recliner had been Nick’s downfall. He’d fallen so sound asleep he hadn’t heard Gary come in. When he woke, he’d checked his watch—midnight—turned off the TV and hurried upstairs to check on Gary.
When he peeked in his room, it was dark, but he’d seen Gary’s bumpy form and felt relieved. He’d actually gotten home. Still he’d been tempted to wake Gary and find out what time he’d come in, but doing so would have been antagonistic. The situation had taught him a lesson. Nick realized he needed to stay awake if wanted to be a good father—his definition, not Gary’s. To Gary a good father was one who doled out money, said yes to everything and never asked anything of him.
Nick gave another yell up the staircase, then shook his head, grabbed the banister and took the steps two at a time to the top. He charged down the hallway and blasted his fist against his son’s bedroom door. “Gary!”
When he heard no sound, his pulse lurched. What was wrong? Tragedy happened in the blink of an eye. He’d experience it with Jill. The memory flooded him. God wouldn’t let something happen to his son. Please, he whispered. He pushed the door open, his pulse throbbing in his temple.
In the muted light, Nick saw the tangled blankets and same lump. His pulse escalated and he felt weak.
“Gary.” He stepped over shoes and clothing in clumps on the floor and grasped the blanket. He pulled it back. Empty. A pillow and twisted blankets created the form he’d seen. Intentional? He had no idea, but the possibility stabbed him and he prayed the lump had only been caused by Gary’s usual messy treatment of his room.
Nick’s stomach churned, but as he stepped back, he gathered his wits and strained to listen for the shower. Gary always took a shower in the morning. He darted to the bathroom farther down the hall. The door stood open. Struck by reality, Nick knew Gary hadn’t come home last night.
He slammed his fist against the bathroom door-jamb. He felt as if he and Gary lived in two different worlds and nothing could unlock the door. At the same time, fear spiked his anger and his pulse kicked in again. A boating accident? Car accident?
Nick charged to the staircase and at the bottom of the stairs, he stopped and got a grip on himself. Yesterday Gary had mentioned Phil. Nick knew Phil. He even knew the boy’s dad. He released a ragged breath, pulled up his shoulders and headed for the phone.
After finding the number in the phonebook, he punched it in, then waited as the telephone rang. No answer. His hope faded until he eyed his watch again. Phil’s dad had probably left for work and his wife had perhaps driven the boys to school. When the answering machine clicked on, he started to hang up, then heard a hello.
“This is Gary Thornton’s father. I—”
“The boys left for school already, Mr. Thornton.”
“Then Gary did—” He stopped himself, ashamed to admit he hadn’t known that his son had spent the night.