Sugarplum Homecoming. Linda Goodnight
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imagined. Harder than the sixth graders said. Maybe none of them had really climbed the falls at all.
“We’re almost there,” she huffed.
Paige glanced down and wished she hadn’t. Daddy looked tiny, like a Ken doll, and the pool looked huge and bubbly. Spray dampened her skin. The smells of trees and leaves and water swirled like the pool below. One of the teenagers saw her and pointed.
Please, please, don’t let him tell.
She gave a casual nod, hoping the teen believed she wasn’t nearly as scared as she was. When she turned back toward the climb, Nathan was gone!
Panic seized her. Her hands were cold and wet, but she climbed faster, praying that the stories were true, that a secret room existed behind the waterfall, that Nathan hadn’t fallen to his death.
She stretched her leg as far as her muscles would go, felt a foothold with the toe of her tennis shoe and lunged...and found herself standing on a wide ledge behind a terrifying rush of water. There was Nathan grinning at her.
“This is way cool.”
Paige heaved a shaky sigh. “Let’s pray and get out of here fast.”
“I like it up here.” He stuck his fingers into the violent spray of water whooshing in front of them.
Paige grabbed his hand and pushed him back. She had to get him out of here before he did something childish. Like fall off the mountain. “Never mind about that. Close your eyes and think about Jesus and a new mom.”
“But—”
“Do it, Nathan. Dad might wake up any minute.”
This was enough to get his attention. He nodded and clasped his hands beneath his chin. “Okay. Do we want a mom with blond hair or brown hair?”
“Silly, I don’t care about that kind of stuff. I want a mom who reads to us and tucks us in and bakes cupcakes for school parties.”
“Daddy does that. Well, except for the cupcakes. He gets those at the bakery.”
“That’s not the point. We need a mom. Dad can’t even fix my hair.” She slapped at the side of her super short cut, the only kind of hairstyle Daddy could manage. She was nearly ten, for goodness’ sake. Most of all she longed for a mother to love. Sometimes her heart hurt so bad at night when she prayed that she thought it might burst right out of her chest.
“I want a mom with brown hair,” Nathan said stubbornly. “Our other mom had brown hair.”
Paige smothered a sigh. She loved her brother a great big lot but sometimes he didn’t understand what was really important. Not the way she did. “Then pray for a mom with brown hair. I don’t care. Just pray.”
With all the reverence she’d been taught in Sunday school and children’s church since the day she was born, Paige folded her hands beneath her chin.
“Dear God, we need a mom. Daddy needs a wife. He’s been sad long enough and Aunt Jenny says it’s time for him to move on. Please send us a mother. Before Christmas would be nice.”
“With brown hair.”
Paige opened one eye. Nathan didn’t even remember their mother. He’d only seen pictures. Like the one at Daddy’s bedside. A piece of her heart felt really sad for him about that. “Yes, God, if it’s not too much to ask, send a great mom with brown hair. And make her pretty so Daddy will like her, too. Amen.”
“Amen.”
“Now, let’s get out of here before Daddy wakes up.”
“How do we get down?”
Oh, boy, she’d not considered that part.
“Nathan! Paige! Where are you?” Daddy’s voice came as a faint but worried echo through the silver curtain of water.
Nathan turned accusing eyes on his sister. “We are in so much trouble.”
Chapter One
Bad pennies always return. But what about bad people?
Lana Ross stepped up on the wooden porch of the weathered old two-story house. Her heart hammered painfully against her ribs. She’d not wanted to come to this place of bad memories. She’d had to.
A stern inner voice, the voice of hard-won peace, moved her forward, toward the door, toward the interior. A house couldn’t hurt her. If she’d been alone perhaps she would have given in to the shaky knees and returned to the car. But she wasn’t alone.
Lana aimed a wink at the child at her side. Sydney was her everything now and no memories were allowed to keep this nine-year-old darling from having her very first permanent home.
“Is this where you lived when you were my age?” Sydney asked, her vivid turquoise eyes alive with interest.
“Uh-huh, Tess and I grew up here.” Grew up. Yanked up. Kicked out.
A tangle of a vanilla-scented vine, overgrown and climbing upon the porch and around the paint-peeled pillar at one end, gave off a powerfully sweet smell. She didn’t remember the bush being there before, especially this late in the fall. But then, she’d not seen this place in thirteen years. Not since she was eighteen and free to leave without looking over her shoulder for the long arm of the law.
With the sour taste of yesterday in her throat, Lana inserted the tarnished key into the front door, an old-time lock a person could peer through, and after a few tries felt the tumbler click. Breath held, she pushed the door open on its creaky hinges, but didn’t step inside. Not yet. She needed a minute to be certain the house was empty, though she had the death certificate in her bag. Mama was dead. Had been for a couple of years. As far as she knew her entire family was dead. All except Lana and Tess and precious Sydney.
She couldn’t make herself go inside. Everything was still and quiet in the dim living room, but inside her head Lana heard the yells, the fights, the horrible names she’d believed and mostly earned.
She and her twin sister, Tess, were no more and no less than what their mother had made them. Now, all these years later, Lana was determined to be more for Sydney’s sake.
“We’ll be happy here,” Sydney declared with childlike confidence.
“Yes, we will.” If I have to fight the universe, you will have what you need and you will never, ever again live on the streets or inside a broken-down car.
“Can we go in now? I want to see my room. You said I could have my own room, remember? And we’d fix it up fit for a princess? Remember?”
“I remember.” The child’s enthusiasm stirred Lana to action. Sydney had never had a room of her own. She’d never had a house. They’d lived here and there, in tiny one-room apartments and cheap hotels, all in pursuit of Lana’s impossible dream. Most important of all, Sydney would be safe here. No one would ever expect Lana to return to the one place she’d tried so hard to escape. Especially Sydney’s mother.
“Who’s that?” Sydney asked from her spot half in and half out of what had once been the front parlor.
Across the street a man and two children stood in a neatly mowed yard watching them. Lana’s stomach dropped into her resoled cowboy boots. It couldn’t be. Surely not.
The thought had no more than crossed her mind than the sandy-brown haired man with the all-American good looks lifted a hand to wave and then started toward them. Two young children, close to Sydney’s age, skipped along as if on an adventure.
Lana froze, one hand on the doorknob and the other gripping Sydney’s as if Davis Turner would snatch her up and carry her away.
“Hello,” he said when he reached the end of the cracked sidewalk leading to the two-story.
Yep. He was Davis Turner all right. Mr. Clean-cut and Righteous. He’d been a year ahead of