A House Full of Hope. Missy Tippens

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       “Can I play outside?” Emily begged.

       “Me, too?” Eric added as he unbuckled and tried to climb over Emily to get out first. He could never let Emily do something before he did.

       “For about a half hour.” Hannah pointed to the left side of the house toward the garage apartment where Redd lived. “Y’all play in the side yard or out back in case Mr. Redd drives up. Be sure to stay out of the way.”

       “Okay, Mommy!” Emily yelled as the four escaped from the van to play under the huge live oak tree towering over the freestanding two-story garage. Hannah unlocked the front door, stepped inside and nearly tripped over boxes that still needed unpacking.

       Two weeks since they moved, and she’d barely made a dent in the number of boxes. But with her job and the kids home for the summer, she could hardly find time to cook and do the laundry. Unpacking had to be done in bits and snatches.

       She went to turn on the oven to preheat, then plopped down on a box marked Hughes—kitchen.

       Though she was thrilled to have the house, disappointment nibbled at her joy. She had hoped to build her dream home, a haven for her and the kids, and to finally experience the security of owning a home. But once the medical bills and funeral expenses had been paid, the insurance money was nearly gone. Anthony had made the mistake of procrastinating on increasing his policy once the children were born.

      We’re young and healthy, he’d said. We need the money for groceries.

       And, foolishly, she hadn’t insisted he rectify the situation. Now, all she’d been able to afford was a larger rental property. Home ownership would have to come later.

       She opened the box she’d been sitting on and dug to find the round baking sheet. After washing it, she pulled the pizza out of the freezer and popped it into the oven.

       The kitchen was slowly looking homier. At least now they didn’t have to squeeze into a three-bedroom apartment, and once school started in the fall, they wouldn’t be stepping all over each other as they got ready for work and school in the mornings. Even if the Ryker house didn’t belong to them, it was still theirs for the time being.

       As long as Mark didn’t cause a problem.

       The front door banged open, and Becca barreled into the room, winded. “Can we let Blue out of his pen?”

       She smiled at her precious daughter, who’d begged for a pet for the past three years. Redd’s dog, a sweet and endlessly patient black Labrador retriever, had been almost as big a draw as the house. “You sure can.”

       As Becca zipped back outside with an echoing whoop of joy, worry crept over Hannah. What if Mark had come home to stake a claim? She looked around a room where Mark and his brother, Matt, would have eaten their meals with friends and family.

       What if Mark suddenly had an interest in the family home?

       Hannah knew she would do whatever she had to do to keep her kids happy.

       Since Hannah had thwarted Mark’s plan to check into his dad’s financial state, on Saturday morning he decided to return to the house and do a closer inspection. To estimate the cost of needed repairs.

       He’d assumed Redd would be at the hardware store, but an unfamiliar green minivan sat parked out front. The truck he’d seen the day before was gone. He should probably knock before walking the property. In case his dad was there. And if he was…

       Well, Mark would try once again to apologize.

       This time, he looked more closely as he inspected the dirty front porch that fronted three sides of the old home. When he reached the far corner, he caught himself grabbing for the cobweb-covered broom as if he were still ten years old. Sweeping the porch had been his and Matt’s job—a chore they’d deemed too girly.

       He smiled at the memory, yet being on their old stomping grounds intensified the emptiness that never quite left him.

       Matt, who’d suffered mild brain damage at their birth, hadn’t been as strong and healthy as Mark. Mark had always tried to include him, though. But one day when they were fifteen, and their dad shooed them from the hardware store, Mark talked Matt into going fishing on the lake. Into taking out their dad’s boat, knowing good and well they weren’t supposed to go alone…knowing Matt couldn’t swim.

       As he turned away from the broom and faced the front door, he doubted his sanity. Only a glutton for punishment would return to this house again. We are more than conquerors through Him who loved us, he reminded himself, a Bible verse he had clung to for years.

       He raised his fist to knock, but something tugged on his pant leg.

       “Hi, Mister.” A little boy about five or six years old stared up at him with big brown eyes. “Are you looking for Mommy?”

       After a glance around the porch and yard, he squatted down to the child’s level. “No. I’m looking for my, uh…” daddy? “…father.”

       All business, the boy crossed his arms and seemed to ponder the situation. “You look kinda old to be lost.”

       Trying to match the boy’s expression, Mark stifled a laugh. But then sobered when he realized how close to home the boy had hit. “Actually, this is my house. My dad lives here.”

       The kid shook his head. “You really are lost. ’Cause this is my new house.”

       Laughter sounded somewhere off to the side of the house. Then three children appeared around the corner, chattering. One by one, they stopped talking when they saw Mark.

       Only the youngest girl approached and tromped up the steps. “Who are you?”

       “He’s lost,” the first boy said, as if imparting the juiciest of secrets.

       “Lost?” The oldest girl hurried up the steps and scrutinized Mark. “How exciting.” Large brown eyes that matched the youngest boy’s widened. She peered at him from behind pink, sparkly plastic-rimmed glasses. “I can help. I’m good at solving mysteries.”

       A bush swished as the last child—a boy somewhere between the oldest and younger two in age—kicked around the overgrown shrubbery, ignoring the investigation on the porch.

       Mark turned back to the others. “Actually, I’m looking for my dad, Redd Ryker. He lives here. And you are…?”

       “My children.”

       Mark turned and found Hannah Hughes behind the screen door. Inside his family home. She looked even less friendly than yesterday.

       “See, I told you this was my house,” the youngest boy said.

       Hannah stepped outside, and as the door swung open, Mark caught a glimpse of boxes in the entryway. As if someone was moving.

       He pointed to the boxes. “What’s going on?”

       “Kids, go wash up. There’s a snack on the table.”

       Once they’d scampered into the house, Hannah turned back to him. “We’re renting from your father.”

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