Mulberry Park. Judy Duarte

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СКАЧАТЬ Trevor stooped to tie his shoe, she picked up Lucita from the bench.

      “Do you believe me now?” she asked.

      He shrugged, then got to his feet. “It’s going to take more than one little letter for me to believe God can do things like that.”

      Analisa laughed. “Then I’ll meet you back here tomorrow and the day after that.”

      “Why?”

      “I’m going to write another letter to God tonight.”

      “How come?”

      “To thank Him.” She hugged the letter and Lucita close to her heart. Then she looked at Trevor. “Want me to find out if you have a guardian angel?”

      “Nah. Don’t bother. There isn’t anyone looking out for me.”

      After her usual five-mile run, Claire made her way across the lawn at Mulberry Park, her body cooling down from another heart-pounding workout.

      Yesterday, while catching her breath and resting, she’d sat beneath the mulberry, looked up and scanned the foliage for the neon pink envelope. But she’d seen only leaves fluttering in the afternoon sun and a torn, wind-battered kite dangling by its tail.

      She had no way of knowing what had happened to the letter she’d left for Analisa. The little girl could have taken it, of course. Or it could have blown onto the ground, where a park maintenance worker might have found it and tossed it into the trash.

      There were a hundred different scenarios, and she decided it was ridiculous to give the unconventional correspondence more than a passing thought.

      Still, as she neared the stone bench that rested in the shade of the tree, she couldn’t help but search the vast array of leaves and branches again. This time something small and blue caught her eye.

      Another letter?

      Whatever it was rested too high to reach unless she climbed the tree, which Claire wasn’t about to do. Talk about unconventional. Climbing a tree to retrieve a letter to God bordered on crazy.

      Yet she continued to study the blue scrap of paper overhead, the message to her.

      Well, not exactly to her, but since she’d answered Analisa’s last letter, this was a response to what she’d written.

      Claire scanned the park and found herself alone. A vacant red pickup sat in the parking lot, but there was no sign of the driver. It looked as though everyone who’d visited the park today had already gone home.

      But Claire had no one to rush home to, no one to smile at her from across the table.

      For reasons she didn’t want to contemplate, that scrap of blue paper continued to call to her, and a strange compulsion settled over her, a growing urge to do something she wouldn’t normally do.

      Without any further consideration, she stepped onto the bench and reached for the lowest branch, then she placed a sneaker on the concrete backrest and pulled herself into the tree.

      The bark scraped against her knee, and she grumbled under her breath. Still, she pressed on.

      Claire hadn’t done anything remotely unladylike in ages, not since she’d been a kid. This was so not like her.

      What would her coworkers at the savings and loan think if they could see her now?

      She braced her feet on the sturdy bough and rested her fanny against a slanting branch. Then, even though she felt like a nosy neighbor opening someone else’s mail, she reached for the card-shaped envelope, withdrew the letter, and read the child’s words.

      Dear God.

      Thank you for Erik. I tried to see him but he hides good. Is Erik sopose to be a seekret? I dint tell any one abowt it. But Trever nos cuz I cant read cursev. Trever is nice, but Mrs. Richerdz doznt want me to play with him cuz he is old. Can you give him a angel to? No one looks out for him.

      Love Analisa

      Claire studied the rudimentary handwriting of a stranger, a little girl seeking God and finding Claire instead.

      The first letter had gripped her heart, had made her want to protect the child from grief, but now she feared for Analisa’s safety.

      Who was Trever? A dirty old man who’d set his sights on an orphaned child?

      Claire shuddered at the thought. Good Lord. Little Analisa was worried about Mr. Trever, but who was looking after the trusting child?

      Before she could ponder her growing concern, a graveled voice sounded from below. “Lose something?”

      Claire’s heart thumped, and she jerked back, nearly losing her balance. She grabbed a branch to steady herself, inadvertently crushing the letter in her hand.

      On the ground, an elderly man stood, one hand on his hip, the other holding the leather handle of a worn brown satchel. His hair was white and thick, and he needed a shave.

      Her embarrassment ran amok.

      “Crazy fool woman. What are you doing up there?” A sparkle in his eyes suggested he was teasing, although she couldn’t be sure.

      “I’m…” She glanced at the blue letter and envelope she’d crumpled in her hand. “Just reading.”

      He humphed, then shook his woolly head. “There’s probably a law against climbing trees in the park. And if there isn’t, there ought to be. You could fall and break your neck.”

      The man looked as old as creation, and an aura of bright light lit his head like a halo or some kind of heavenly crown. She could almost imagine that God had taken human form and come down to earth to punish her for reading His mail, for pretending to be Him.

      When the man shifted his weight to one hip, eliminating the reflected glare from the sun and revealing a pair of wire-rim glasses perched on his head, the pseudo-divine aura completely disappeared.

      “I don’t suppose you have a ladder?” she quipped.

      “Not with me.”

      She watched him for a while, expecting him to move on and go about his way, but he continued to study her. “You’re watching me as if you haven’t been entertained in years. Don’t you have a television at home?”

      “Nope. Got tired of all the dang reruns.” A teasing glimmer lit his eyes, and humor tugged at his lips. He nodded toward the case he carried. “I don’t suppose you play chess.”

      “Afraid not. I never could figure out how to balance the game board in a tree.”

      “Too bad.” His grin broadened to an outright smile. “If you ever get it figured out, just give me a holler. My name’s Walter.”

      “Mine’s Claire. And I’ll do that.”

      He nodded, then turned toward the parking lot, heading for the red pickup with the American flag decal displayed on the rear window. She’d seen it СКАЧАТЬ