Читать книгу Instant Father - Donna Gartshore - Страница 14

Late Saturday morning, Charlotte was sitting with her cousin Bridget at Seth’s Café. As always, the place was busy, and Seth was cooking, calling out orders and chatting with the customers. His black hair spiked out in all directions, regardless of what he was doing but, inevitably, one of the regulars was bound to call out, “Look at Seth, he’s working so hard his hair’s standing on end!”

The familiar joke, as well as the coffee, lightly flavored with nutmeg, and an order of pancakes usually soothed Charlotte, but she had a restlessness that she couldn’t quell.

Sometimes she liked to imagine different directions her life could take. She loved music and poetry and she’d always been fascinated by history. Of course she could teach about those things, but that wasn’t the same thing as actually experiencing them. Maybe one day she would travel more, go to concerts and shows and see first-hand some of the things she’d only read about.

But she had also made a promise to the uncle of a grieving little boy...

Charlotte’s father and Bridget’s father were brothers, both businessmen who commuted daily to Regina. Less than a year apart—Charlotte ten months older, almost to the day—she and Bridget had always been close. They were more like sisters than cousins. People always told them they looked like sisters, too, although Bridget’s eyes were more denim than violet blue, and her hair was a shade lighter.

“So, what do you think?” Charlotte asked Bridget, having filled her in on her possible mission work. Bridget hadn’t been at church on Wednesday night because she was on a date. Since they’d been teenagers, she and Bridget had shared their ideas of what their perfect lives would look like. Marriage and family were definitely part of the plan.

“I don’t know, Char,” Bridget said, twirling a piece of toast through an egg yolk. “I can’t imagine you going so far away. You’ve never even left Saskatchewan. How are you going to handle living thousands of miles away?”

“Maybe it’s time to change all that,” Charlotte said quietly.

Bridget shrugged. “Maybe,” she said. She finished the rest of the food on her plate and sighed. “That was so good, but I am not going to eat anything else until supper time.” She looked around the café. “It’s busy this morning.”

“It always is,” Charlotte said. She accepted that the conversation about missionary work was over for now. She knew that Bridget would miss her terribly if she went away, even if she had a hard time saying it.

“Who’s sitting in the back corner?” Bridget asked in a lowered voice. “Don’t make it obvious that you’re looking.”

Charlotte laughed and turned around to look. “If they’re strangers here,” she said to Bridget, “I won’t be the first person to stare.”

She briefly took in the sight of a woman who looked like she was in her early to mid-thirties, with a tired face and a distant gaze, and a boy, who looked to be about six or seven, listlessly pushing a toy car back and forth across the table.

Charlotte turned back to Bridget. “I’ve seen them on Wednesday nights at church, so they must live somewhere close by, but I haven’t seen them Sunday and the little boy isn’t at our school.”

“They don’t look like they feel at home here,” Bridget observed.

“Maybe we should do something to make them feel welcome, then,” Charlotte suggested. But she had no idea how to do that.

She felt a bit ashamed at her relief when the strangers got up to leave.

Seth sped around the café, refilling coffee mugs and water glasses. He had hired Eugenie Tyler, a high school senior, to help out in the café, but Seth still liked to mingle with his customers.

Charlotte thought with amusement that when Eugenie tried to keep up with Seth, she looked like a fledging bird in a nest watching an eagle swoop around her. But she was always pleasant and worked hard.

She also thought that it was a good thing that Seth’s wife, Rena, was quiet and generally unflappable. It not only made her an effective teacher, it also provided the perfect balance for Seth’s boundless energy.

Charlotte believed that there was a perfect match for everyone, at least in theory. Unfortunately, she hadn’t yet met her perfect match.

Inexplicably, she pictured Paul Belvedere’s deep brown eyes and the way he had studied her face as if he was trying to make a decision about her.

She brought her attention back to Bridget.

“Speaking of being a homebody,” she said, “I need to get handier with repairs and stuff. There are so many things around the house that need fixing up, but I’m afraid of ruining it if I tackle anything.”

“I wish I could help,” Bridget said. “But you know I’m no better.”

A melodic chime sounded in the café, signaling that someone else had entered. As usual, almost everyone looked to see who the new arrival was. Charlotte followed suit and saw Paul and Tyson coming in.

She had no explanation for the way her heart suddenly sped up.

Tyson had his hands jammed in the pockets of his jeans, and his reddish mop of hair looked like it could use a cut. Beside him, in a black T-shirt that emphasized his broad shoulders and a pair of blue jeans, his uncle looked strong, and like he could handle any situation that life threw his way.

Except Charlotte could still see the shadow of a deep weariness in his eyes. She wanted to know more about him, about what put those shadows in his eyes.

Tyson had spotted her and was sidling up to their table, looking awestruck to see her. It always entertained Charlotte the way her students acted like they had run into a celebrity—or an alien—if they saw her outside the classroom.

Tyson grinned shyly. “Hi, Ms. Connelly! Did you have breakfast?” he asked.

“I did,” Charlotte told him. “The pancakes were delicious.”

He nodded as if pondering the secrets of the universe. Paul came over to their table. “Hi,” he said glancing at Charlotte, then at Bridget.

“Hi!” Bridget chirped. “And what brings you two handsome gentlemen out this morning?”

“Who’s she talking about?” Tyson said in an audible whisper, and Charlotte fought the urge to giggle.

“We’ve come out for some breakfast, too,” Paul answered Bridget. “For a special treat.”

“And we forgot to buy eggs,” Tyson added.

“I sometimes forget to buy things, too,” Charlotte said to Tyson, hoping Paul knew he shouldn’t be too hard on himself.

Their gazes met, and his eyes had a glimmer of thanks in them.

“Hey, Paul,” Bridget piped up, “I’ve heard you’re good at repairs and things. Char here was just telling me that she could use some help with her house.”

Charlotte shot her cousin a warning look.

“Really?” Paul said. “I’d be happy to come over and give you a hand.”

“Oh, that’s okay, you don’t have to,” Charlotte said, flustered.

“No, I’d like to,” Paul said. “It would mean a lot to me if I could contribute in some way.”

Charlotte understood the feeling of wanting to make a contribution.

“Okay, then,” she said. “I’d be happy to accept your assistance.”

Tyson wandered over to select a coloring book and crayons from the basket Seth kept for the children at the front.

“Did you see those reading sheets I sent home with Tyson?” Charlotte asked. “He’s doing quite well, but I think just a bit more practice would really make a difference. I can go over them in more detail with you, if you like?”

For a moment she thought she saw a panicked expression flash across Paul’s face, but then it was gone. He gave a tight smile and said, “That’s fine, we’ll get to them. It’s just been a busy week.”

Charlotte nodded. “I understand,” she said. She would make sure that she encouraged and supported them both.

“Just know I’m here to help if you need it,” she added.

Paul nodded. “I appreciate that,” he said. “Got your coloring book?” he called over to Tyson.

“Yup, and crayons, too.” The little boy came back to stand beside his uncle.

“Hey, Paul!” Seth hurried over. “Have a seat, and whatever you want, it’s on the house. Thanks a lot for looking at the car. We really appreciate it.”

“My pleasure.”

Paul said the right words, but Charlotte saw from his face that he wasn’t comfortable being praised.

“Let’s go find a table, Ty,” he said to his nephew. “Say goodbye to the ladies.”

“Goodbye, ladies,” Tyson intoned obediently.

Charlotte grinned. “Enjoy your weekend, Tyson. See you at school on Monday.”

Just as they were about to walk away, Paul turned back and asked, “When did you say those community activities were?”

“Wednesday nights,” Charlotte said. Paul nodded as he made his way to a table on the other side of the café, where Tyson was sitting.

“What was that all about?” Bridget asked in a hushed tone. “Are you guys friends?”

“His nephew is a student in my class,” Charlotte replied, deliberately not answering the question she knew Bridget was really asking.

Especially since there was no other answer to give, was there?

* * *

After breakfast at the café, Charlotte went home to do her Saturday chores around the house. As she dusted and swept, her thoughts kept returning to Paul Belvedere. She couldn’t escape the nagging feeling that there was something he wasn’t telling her. On the other hand, he was trying to connect.

Lord, please be with Paul and Tyson and please help me to help them in the best way I can.

Charlotte picked up the dishcloth and wiped the counter and around the burners of the stove. The motion helped soothe her racing thoughts.

She knew her home would never be as pristinely immaculate as the one she grew up in, but that suited her just fine. She loved the earthy tones, the fact that not everything matched perfectly, her collection of knickknacks that ranged from lovely to humorous and the fact that her bookshelves bulged from floor to ceiling and still couldn’t contain everything she wanted to read.

Her home was her haven, and she was content there. Or at least she had been. Why was it that lately she felt like she wanted to go somewhere where no one knew her? She looked at the computer that sat on her kitchen table and promised herself that she would make time for more missionary-work research later.

She was scrubbing especially hard at a remnant of spaghetti sauce on the stove top when the phone rang, causing her to jump.

“Charlotte, dear, it’s Mom.” Her mother sounded weary. “How are you? I just wanted to touch base with you.”

“I’m fine, Mom,” she said. “How was your day? How’s your head feeling today? Did you and Dad get to the farmer’s market?” Her mother launched into a description of carrots, cucumbers, beets and bartering.

Try as she might to focus, Charlotte’s thoughts kept drifting to missionary work. She felt like she was keeping a secret from her parents by not telling them that she was even thinking about it, but she couldn’t bring herself to mention it, because it seemed like ever since Anna had died, her parents got through their days by keeping things as much the same as they could. To them, change often signaled something negative.

* * *

On Wednesday night, Paul watched Tyson eat his last bite of spaghetti, then immediately leaned in with a washcloth to tackle the orange beard. Tyson yowled and wriggled.

“Quite the performance,” Paul observed dryly. The first time Tyson had reacted that way to getting his face cleaned, he had thought he was hurting him and had felt guilty. Now, he realized it was par for the course for a six-year-old and that Ty would be fine in thirty seconds.

Sure enough, his face clean, Tyson asked nonchalantly, “Where are we going again, Uncle Paul?”

“We’re going to the church. There are some activities there on Wednesday nights that might be fun.”

“What’s activities?”

“Games, I think. Maybe some stories and snacks. There’s a basketball hoop outside.” Paul tried to think of how else to sell the idea to Tyson...or maybe he was trying to sell it to himself. “Your teacher will be there, too, I think.”

“Ms. Connelly?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“I like stories,” Tyson mused, “and games, and maybe basketball.”

“See, it will be great!” The enthusiastic tone in Paul’s voice sounded slightly false to his own ears. “Put your plate in the sink, please,” he told Tyson. “And go brush your teeth. We’ll be leaving in five minutes.”

Tyson obliged, but then stopped at the bottom of the stairs. “My mom and my dad used to read stories to me. Will you read me stories, Uncle Paul?”

Oh, please, not now...

“What!” Paul feigned exaggerated offense. “What about the continuing saga of ‘Ty the Adventure Boy’? You can’t tell me that there’s a story out there more exciting than that!”

Every night at bedtime, he’d been spinning out tales of a little boy just like Tyson who went on a variety of adventures. So far, Tyson had seemed to love it, but Paul worried that his reprieve was over.

But Tyson didn’t say anything else for the moment. He just turned and ran up the rest of the stairs.

He took the few minutes that Tyson would be gone to rinse off their supper dishes. He still wasn’t quite used to Tyson’s toys and articles of clothing strewn here and there. He preferred his living accommodations to be clean, stark and impersonal. That way nothing felt like home and it was easy to leave when the urge took him.

But you can’t do that anymore, he thought. It was different when he had only himself to worry about, but now he had Tyson to consider, and he would for many years to come. It wasn’t just that Erica had granted him guardianship of Ty. He knew all too well what it felt like to think no one was on your side, and he was determined that Tyson would never have to feel that way. Thankfully, Ty’s teacher felt the same way. He had the primary role in Tyson’s life, but the more people the little boy could count on, the better.

Tyson came back down the stairs with his face pink from what looked to be another scrubbing and his hair slicked back and smelling suspiciously like Paul’s aftershave.

“Got yourself a little spiffed up there, did you, bud?”

Tyson nodded and beamed, while Paul fervently hoped the walk over would help ease some of the overpowering scent.

The church was about a ten-minute walk from his house, and he knew that there was really no good reason why attending on Sundays couldn’t become a regular habit for them. Well, other than the fact that he had lost his desire to attend years ago.

“Will there be kids there that I know?” Tyson asked, and Paul tried to gauge whether there was any apprehension in the question.

“I expect so,” he said. “Ms. Connelly said there usually are. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Tyson considered and nodded.

“Tyson?”

“Yeah, Uncle Paul?”

“The other kids in your class...they’re nice to you, aren’t they?”

“Yup. Except...they all have moms and dads.” Paul watched his nephew struggle to articulate something that no six-year-old should have to. It was difficult enough for an adult to cope with the impact of such a loss.

“It’s okay, Ty,” he said softly, giving the boy’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. “I totally get it.

“And Ms. Connelly is a good teacher?” he asked, after they continued walking. He thought that she was, but he needed to hear Tyson say it.

“Yeah, she’s nice and she’s pretty. Do you think she’s pretty, Uncle Paul?”

He pictured her caring smile and violet eyes. “Yes, she’s pretty.” It caught him off guard how much he meant it.

“She’s not even married,” Tyson added, conversationally. “Hey! Neither are you, Uncle Paul.”

Okay, he had to put a rapid stop to wherever Tyson was going with this.

“As long as she’s a good teacher and you’re happy, that’s all that matters to me.”

At the front door of the church, Tyson hesitated. “If I don’t have fun, we don’t have to stay, right?”

“No, we don’t,” Paul said. “But I hope that you do have fun.” He suddenly felt pressured, like he desperately needed this to work out—for both of them. He had to find his place here in town and get along with people as well as he could, even though he always kept his guard up.

He was growing used to the way Tyson’s bravado ebbed and flowed. But he wished he knew if that was typical of the age or something specific to Tyson’s personality.

There were so many things that he didn’t know.

The first person Paul spotted when they stepped inside was Charlotte. Her appearance surprised him. She looked much less rigid dressed in blue jeans and a navy-blue-and-turquoise plaid shirt, with her hair pulled up in a ponytail. She was smiling at someone, and he suddenly wished that he was the recipient of the smile that brought life and beauty to her face. She didn’t have the kind of beauty that he had noticed right away. But now he wanted to keep looking.

He found himself drawn in her direction, not even sure what he planned to say to her, only knowing he wanted to be within her reassuring orbit. “There’s your teacher,” he murmured to Tyson. “Let’s go say hello.”

They drew closer but just as he was about to get her attention, she called out, “Literacy volunteers for tonight, raise your hands, please!”

Paul stopped and gripped Tyson’s hand.

Charlotte summoned the volunteers forward and began to give them instructions.

“Char, I’m so happy to hear you’re going to apply for overseas missionary work,” Paul heard one of the volunteers say. “I think you’ll be absolutely perfect for it.”

He couldn’t hear Charlotte’s response, and he was only vaguely aware of Tyson tugging at his hand and saying, “C’mon, Uncle Paul, I wanna say hi to Ms. Connelly.”

“She’s busy,” he answered automatically. “Let’s go find something to do.”

While his thoughts whirled around in his head, he stopped Tyson’s protests by steering him toward a table that held juice and cookies.

Why had Charlotte promised that they would work as a team to help Tyson when her plan was to leave town?

He hoped he hadn’t made a huge mistake in coming here...or in trusting her.