Small-Town Homecoming. Lissa Manley
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way, way down the road. His goal now was to mend fences and put order into his life.
He picked up the bottle of model glue and handed it to Sam. “Now, I’m gonna hold these two pieces, and you’re gonna put some glue where they meet, all right?”
“’Kay.” Sam took the glue and waited for Curt to get the two pieces into place. “Why don’t you have kids?”
Curt picked up the pieces and held them out, touching. “’Cause I’m not married,” he said, going with the easy answer rather than the one that would require any explaining.
Sam cocked his head to the side. “Why not?”
Curt frowned and then looked over at an apron-clad Jenna as she pulled the remade pies out of the oven, noting the delicate curve of her chin, rosy cheeks and the lovely shade of her large green eyes. Boy, she was pretty.
She set the pies on the counter and then shrugged and gave him a lopsided smile, as if to say, “Yeah, he’s curious. Deal with it.”
“Put the glue right there,” Curt said, stalling while he tried to figure out what to say.
Sam bent over and very carefully applied some glue where Curt had indicated, his brow creased. When he was done, he sat back. “So?”
“So, what?” Curt said, very carefully setting the glued pieces down. Maybe Sam would forget the question.
Sam sighed. “So, why aren’t you married?”
No such luck. Curt looked back at Jenna with a “rescue me” look. She pressed her lips together, shot him a quick, furtive glance, and then in what seemed like a very deliberate manner, set about running water into the sink without looking his way again. No help there. Was she enjoying seeing him on the spot? Or...waiting for his answer?
“Um...well, I haven’t met the right person,” Curt said. True enough—the wild crowd he’d hung out with in L.A. hadn’t been into much beyond scoring their next hit. Committed relationships had been few and far between. But he wasn’t sharing those details with the kid.
“What about Miss Jenna?” Sam asked. “She’s not married, either.”
Curt raised a brow and looked at Jenna. She was washing a mixing bowl with such intense care it seemed as if it were made of spun glass rather than stainless steel. “Really? Well, then, maybe I’ll ask her out.”
The bowl fell into the sink with a clank and her wide-eyed gaze flew his way. “What?”
He just smiled innocently. “Turnabout is fair play.”
“What’s turbinout?” Sam asked.
Curt leaned back against the ladder-back of his chair. “It’s when someone returns what they’ve been given.”
Sam scowled. “Like if I gave a Christmas present back to Santa?”
“Yup, kinda like that,” Curt said.
“Oh. That’s bad,” Sam said. “But what does that have to do with you and Miss Jenna going out on a date?”
Jenna sputtered, glaring at Curt. “Sam, he’s just joking. He and I aren’t going to go out on a date.”
“Oh.” Sam’s shoulders hunched as he fiddled with the tube of glue. “My mom goes out a lot. Maybe you can go out with her, Mr. Graham.”
“Well, thanks, Sam, but I’m not going to have time to go out while I’m here. I’m going to be working for my brother.”
“Who’s he?” Sam asked.
Curt picked up the model’s directions. “His name is Seth and he owns the Sports Shack.”
“Oh, yeah. I know him. I went there to get my stuff for baseball.” Sam smiled. “He’s nice.”
“He has a little boy just about your age.”
“What’s his name?”
“Dylan,” Curt said, looking for the car’s hood piece.
Sam put the tube of glue down. “Dylan’s lucky he has a dad. My dad’s in jail, but my mama says he’s getting out soon.”
Curt’s heart lurched and he looked to Jenna.
She nodded solemnly.
“Oh, wow, Sam. I’m sorry.” Curt knew how rough it could be for a kid to grow up with bad parents. Emotional neglect had been part and parcel of his childhood, and had left profound scars. He wouldn’t wish that on anyone.
“Hey, lookee, Mr. Graham,” Sam said, holding his fingers up. “I glued my fingers together!”
“What?” Jenna came running. “Let me see.”
Sam held up both hands. Curt bent closer to look at the same time Jenna did and they almost bumped heads. Curt backed off a bit, but her flowery-smelling hair hung down in front of him, surrounding him in a soft shampoo cloud.
Sure enough, Sam had glued his two forefingers together. “Er...yep, you sure did,” Curt remarked.
“Oh, no, Sam.” Jenna put her hands on her hips. “This stuff is permanent.”
Sam’s eyes went huge.
Curt squeezed his shoulder. “Don’t worry, bud. I can unstick them.”
“You can?” Jenna asked.
“Sure. Do you have any nail polish remover?” Curt asked Jenna.
“Yes, I do. I’ll go get it. Sam, stay put,” she said with a pointed finger. She turned and left the room.
“Are you sure you can unstick me?” Sam asked, looking worried that he was going to walk around with his fingers stuck together. “I’m a tree in the play tonight, and I have to be able to wave my arms.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll fix it right up.”
Jenna returned, a small bottle in her hand. “Here we go.” She handed it to Curt and then went over and got a paper towel. “You sure this will work?”
“I’m sure. I stuck my fingers together all the time when I was a kid, and so did my brothers. We figured out soon enough how to take care of it.” He unscrewed the lid of the remover. “A bit of this and you’ll be good as new.”
It took a few minutes of gentle work, but soon enough Sam’s fingers separated. “See?” Curt said. “Unstuck.”
“Thanks, Mr. Graham,” Sam said, examining his fingers. “That stuff is strong.”
“Yeah, it is. My brother Seth and I once glued the toilet seat down with this stuff. My dad had a fit over it, too.” Dad had stomped around for days after that prank, and had picked a fight with Mom over the whole thing. Somehow that had turned into a battle of epic proportions, with Dad sleeping on the couch for weeks and Mom sobbing behind closed doors.
That was the way things usually went in the Graham household during Curt’s childhood. Fight. Make up. Fight again. Until Curt spent some time in his friends’ houses, he’d thought all parents were in a constant war. Turned out it was just his.
That had been a significant turning point in his life. Unfortunately, he’d turned the wrong way.
And now, not surprisingly, his parents were divorced. Mom had done well. Dad? Curt wasn’t exactly sure.
“Don’t get any ideas,” Jenna said to Sam. “This glue is for car models only.”
“Right,” Curt said, trying to sound stern, hoping he hadn’t inadvertently given Sam any ideas. “Models only.”
“Yoo-hoo, I’m back,” a female voice called.
Curt turned and saw a little gray-haired woman toddling into the kitchen, a huge pink purse slung over her shoulder. She wore a powder blue pantsuit with