Reuniting His Family. Jean C. Gordon
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your dad is pulling in the driveway.”
Owen reached the door at the same time Rhys knocked.
“You’re supposed to ask before you open the door, Owen,” Dylan said. “Mrs. Hill said so. It could be a stranger.”
“It’s Dad. Ms. Delacroix said so.” Owen looked over his shoulder at Renee.
“Go ahead.”
Owen swung the door open. “You’re here.”
A broad smile spread across Rhys’s face, softening the angular, almost harsh edges of his features.
“Of course I’m here. I told you at church this morning I would be.”
“I know, but I’m just so glad.”
“Me, too.” Rhys moved his gaze from Owen to Dylan, who stood next to Renee but edged closer. Rhys’s smile faltered a bit. “Hi, Dylan.”
“Hi, Daddy,” Dylan said before turning his face into the side of her leg.
“Ms. Delacroix.”
“Hi. The boys have been checking every few minutes to see if you were here yet.” She was only slightly exaggerating. Owen had been checking enough for both of them.
“Yeah, we have a bunch of stuff to show you,” Owen said.
“And I want to see it all. Give me a minute with Ms. Delacroix and to check in with the Hills.” He glanced around the living room as if he’d just noticed they weren’t there.
“Boys,” she said. “Why don’t you go into the kitchen and get those cookies you made for your dad, and the milk and paper cups?”
Owen looked from her to his father. “So you can tell Dad about the Hills?”
Something flickered in his father’s eyes. If it was anyone else, she would call it fear, but she couldn’t imagine him being afraid of anything or anyone.
“Can I carry the milk?” Dylan asked into her skirt.
She said yes and Dylan loosened his clutch. The boys ran off into the next room.
“I didn’t expect to see you here,” Rhys said. “I mean, the other day when you called, you said dinner at the Hills with the boys.” He straightened, looming over her. “Where are the Hills?”
“It’s nothing bad.”
He knitted his eyebrows.
Great. Now she had him on edge. Not what she wanted. Her job should have been simple enough—be there in the background with him and the boys until Jack got back.
“On their way home from church, Suzi got a call from her grandmother’s neighbor in Saranac Lake. Her grandmother took a fall this morning. She’s all right. Nothing broken, but she’s shaken up. Suzi drove up there and is staying with her for the afternoon.”
“And Jack?”
“He got a towing call about an hour ago. He should be back any time now.”
Rhys scrutinized her. “So you had to come and cover for them.”
“I volunteered.” Her internship wasn’t just a job. She cared about the children. The people she worked with did, too. “The Hills didn’t want to cancel and disappoint you and the boys.”
“Ms. Delacroix, look at how strong I am.” Dylan entered the room, lifting the gallon jug of milk for her to see and filling the silence that had stretched between her and his father.
She felt the pain that flickered across the man’s face at his younger son turning to her, not him, for approval.
Owen followed with a plate of four cookies and cups. “Dylan, put the milk on the table before you drop it.” He placed the cookies on the coffee table next to the jug. “Ms. Delacroix said we could only have one each so we don’t spoil our appetite for dinner. We’re having lasagna with meatballs.”
“We certainly wouldn’t want to spoil our appetites for that,” Rhys said.
“I told Mrs. Hill that it’s your favorite,” Owen said.
“Me, too,” Dylan said, grabbing his cookie and jumping up on the couch.
Rhys gave the boys a thumbs-up, sat on the couch next to, but not touching, his youngest son and poured him a cup of milk.
It was good to see Dylan interacting with his father. Maybe she’d imagined Rhys’s resentment earlier. It might have been nerves. As stoic as he seemed, Rhys Maddox was human.
“Come on, Ms. Delacroix,” Owen said, sidling up next to his father to make room for her on the couch. “There’s space for you, too.”
“In a minute. I need to check the lasagna.” And give your father a moment with you. “I’d better stir the sauce and meatballs, too. I told Mr. Hill I wouldn’t let it burn.”
“We wouldn’t want burned sauce, would we, guys?” Rhys asked.
“No!” the boys shouted.
From the stove, she could see directly across the kitchen and dining room to where they were in the living room. “I’ll be right back.”
Rhys nodded in her direction as he listened to Owen give a play-by-play of baking the cookies with Mrs. Hill.
In the kitchen, Renee lifted the lid of the saucepan and breathed in the spicy tomato smell. After giving the sauce a stir, she looked over her shoulder into the living room. Owen was still talking. She opened the oven and checked the lasagna. Silence from the other room made her spin around, heart pounding. The oven door snapped shut. They were still there. Relief flooded her. Of course they were. Rhys Maddox wouldn’t do anything stupid to jeopardize his regaining custody.
“Everything looks good,” she said as she reentered the living room. “The timer’s set for the lasagna. Mr. Hill should be back by the time it’s done.”
“Eat your cookie, Ms. Delacroix,” Owen said. “We want to show Dad our room and stuff.”
“Yeah,” Dylan said. “Mrs. Hill said you’d stay right with us.”
His father stiffened against the back of the couch.
“I can wait on the cookie. I know you’re anxious to show your dad your things.”
Owen leaped off the couch and grabbed his father’s hand, pulling him toward the stairway. “Our room is upstairs.”
“Wait for your brother,” Rhys said.
Dylan slid off the couch. “I’ll show you, Ms. Delacroix.” He slipped his hand in hers.
Rhys’s shoulders slumped for a moment. Straightening, he said, “Lead the way Owen.”
Upstairs in the boys’ room, Renee relaxed as they caught their father up on what they were doing in their lives. Their exuberant—and their father’s more restrained—joy flowed over her, drawing her in.
“And this is my shirt drawer,” Owen said once he ran out of other things to show his father.
The sound of the stove timer startled Renee away from the adoring grin on Rhys’s face that had captivated her. He was a different person around Owen and Dylan.
“Hello? Where is everyone?” came a voice from below before she could excuse herself to check the pasta.
“That’s Mr. Hill. I’ll tell him you’re here, Dad.” Owen raced down the stairs with Dylan shadowing him.
Their father stopped halfway down. “Before we have dinner, I have a question.”
“Certainly, Mr. Maddox.” She reassumed her professional demeanor that she’d let slip watching him and the boys.
“If we’re going to be doing this visitation stuff...” He