Home for the Holidays. Sarah Mayberry
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school.
Elsternwick Primary School invites entries for its annual Mother and Daughter Fashion Parade. All funds raised will go toward the new gymnasium …
Joe swore under his breath and let his hand drop to his side. No wonder she’d been crying.
“Damn.”
Life was going to be full of moments like these for his children. Casually delivered school notices, other children’s birthday parties, a myriad of other social and community events centered around families. He couldn’t protect Ben and Ruby from them all, no matter how much he wanted to. But God, how he wanted to.
He walked slowly to the kitchen and placed the flyer on the counter. He stared at it, trying to work out how to handle the situation. Wait until Ruby brought it up? Mention it himself? Did the fact that Ruby hadn’t said anything to his mother tonight and instead chose to cry alone in her room mean he should tackle this more vigorously or give her more space?
He was truly clueless. He rubbed a hand over his face. Then he folded the notice in half and slid it into the junk drawer. He would talk to Ruby in the morning, see if she mentioned the fashion parade. If she didn’t … He would cross that bridge when he came to it. If she did, he would offer what comfort he could. Maybe his mother would be an adequate substitute. Or maybe he could offer to do something special with her the night of the parade and turn it into a father-daughter event instead of an occasion of sadness and grief.
Maybe. It was becoming the most overused word in his vocabulary.
THE NEXT DAY, HANNAH exited the workshop and waited for a pause in the traffic before crossing to the small group of shops opposite. She could see there was already a queue forming in the bakery, but she knew Ian would bitch and moan all day if she didn’t bring him back the doughnut he’d requested for morning break.
Resigning herself to a long wait, she joined the line and dug her hands into the pockets of her coveralls, jingling her change in the palm of her hand. She was glancing idly out the front window when she saw a dark-haired boy walk past with a couple of taller, older kids. She’d have to be blind not to recognize the younger boy as Joe’s son—she’d seen him coming and going from the house often enough.
She checked her watch. It wasn’t even close to lunchtime, which meant Joe’s kid had no legitimate reason for being on the street during school hours.
Unless he was ditching, of course.
She turned her attention to the menu board behind the bakery counter and concentrated on choosing between a Danish and a vanilla slice for herself. So what if Joe’s kid was sneaking off from school with what looked like older, meaner kids? It was none of her business.
It was harder to stick to her decision when she exited the bakery and spotted Joe’s son emptying his pockets near the corner while the older kids inspected his haul. It had been a while, but Hannah recognized the classic signs of shoplifting when she saw them. The furtiveness, the repressed excitement and fear. She could imagine how it had worked, too—the older kids distracting the shopkeeper while the younger, more innocent-looking kid played mule and stuffed his pockets.
She hesitated on the curb, watching the smaller boy shake his head in response to something one of the older kids said. Joe Junior or whatever his name was looked a lot like his old man—same dark hair, same blue eyes. No doubt he’d grow up to be as big and strong, too. As though he felt her regard, Joe Junior looked up and for a moment they locked gazes. He looked away first, but not before she saw the sadness in him. Another thing in common with his father.
She crossed the street and reentered the workshop, tossing Ian the bag with his doughnut in it.
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