His Mistletoe Family. Ruth Herne Logan

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СКАЧАТЬ was all right. It had never been all right, but she’d moved up and out, determined to be her own person. This new enterprise achieved that, and made her proud. “LuAnn, you’re sure it’s not too much for you guys?”

      “Because we’re old?” LuAnn wondered out loud, laughing.

      “No, because...” Haley tripped over her words, trying to backpeddle. She failed miserably. “I—”

      “It will be fine, dear. Just fine. Charlie will swing by at eight o’clock. And if they’re still in their jammies, just send clothes along. They can get dressed here.”

      Another reprieve. She had no idea that getting children dressed could be such an ordeal and wasn’t sure if that was normal or not. Were they testing her?

      Yes.

      Were they winning?

      She wrinkled her nose. So far, they were. And she couldn’t deny she’d felt a certain sense of relief when she left the boys in Rory’s capable hands that morning. Was that an understandable reaction or was she lacking the mother gene?

      “Give it time, Haley.” LuAnn’s gentle wisdom uplifted her. “We live such fast-paced lives today that we forget to sit back. Be still. Breathe. Let things unfold.”

      “I feel pushed to hurry,” Haley confessed, knowing LuAnn would somehow understand. “To achieve. To succeed.”

      “I think that’s why the Psalms talk so much about patience.” LuAnn’s voice blanketed her. Warmed her from within. “To wait on the Lord. To stand strong and steadfast. But no one said it would be easy.”

      Haley got that, but right now, with two little souls suddenly dependent on her, a fledgling business to run and rising concern over the absence of that second bank draft in her business account, letting go and letting God proved to be a difficult concept. Maybe impossible. But once things settled down...

      “Get some sleep,” LuAnn advised. “Charlie will be there first thing.”

      “Thank you, LuAnn.”

      “You’re welcome.” LuAnn paused, but didn’t hang up the phone. In a voice that sounded a touch off, she went back to the beginning of their conversation. “Did you really say that Brett made the boys chicken nuggets?”

      “Yes. He totally saved the moment because I was facing mutiny.”

      “And Brett’s our go-to person to defuse mutiny, that’s for sure.” LuAnn’s tone mixed satisfaction with amusement. “Good night, dear.”

      “Good night.”

      Haley disconnected the call, grabbed the quilt she’d bought at Maude McGinnity’s shop last summer, snugged her head into a not-so-comfortable throw pillow and promised herself a shopping trip soon. At least for a decent pillow to avoid the sore-neck headache she contended with today.

      She’d get through tomorrow. Then Sunday. On Monday she’d hand over the reins of the co-op to one of the more experienced merchants and tackle the ever-growing to-do list, slightly annoyed that none of the tasks could be accomplished on her smartphone:

      Sign Tyler up for school.

      Find day care for Todd.

      Talk to the bank officer and trace the delay on her loan.

      Shop for food as funds allowed.

      The fire inspection. She’d forgotten that the co-op was scheduled for another fire inspection Monday because the new wing was near completion. And with a busy weekend facing her, she didn’t have extra time to make sure everything was perfectly spaced for the inspector.

      But she’d have to because that was her job. She’d stay late Sunday and ask the merchants to check their own areas. Would they do it with her diligence?

      Some would, some wouldn’t. But with time growing short, she’d have to trust them to police their own areas for fire safety rules. The old showroom area had burned once, under suspicious circumstances, twenty years ago. She had no intention of letting her grandfather’s legacy burn again.

      Chapter Four

      Brett’s phone buzzed him awake shortly after 2:00 a.m. on Sunday morning, which made perfect sense because the bars closed right about then. He dragged himself awake, hating to take the call, knowing he had no choice. “Hey, Mom.”

      “Brett.”

      His throat tightened. His heart pinched. He knew that slur, that tone. “Where are you?”

      “I’m home.”

      That might or might not be true. “Do you need a ride?”

      “To where?”

      He refused to sigh even though they’d traveled this ground often enough. “Home.”

      “But I am home.”

      The sound of raindrops and the movement of the occasional car said she wasn’t. She needed a ride and was ashamed to ask. But she knew if she called, he’d figure it out. He always did. “I’ll be right there. Which road are you on?”

      She breathed deep, the sensitive mic telling him she was moving. Turning, maybe? Finding her bearings? “I’m near the library.”

      “In Wellsville?”

      “Yes.” The lisped word drained energy from his meager middle-of-the-night stash. “It’s raining.”

      Pouring, actually. He grabbed a heavy jacket from a hook, his keys and a blanket to warm her. “I’m on my way. Go up the library stairs and wait. The rain can’t soak you there.”

      “Okay.”

      She wouldn’t do it. She’d be afraid someone would come along in the shadowed overhang. Find her. Make trouble. No, she’d feel more secure out by the street, with streetlights guiding her way, despite the teeming rain and lack of cover.

      She hadn’t called him in weeks. He’d hoped things were better. And he knew she’d gone to AA a couple of times, but he also knew overcoming addiction was hard work. Many a soldier under his command had fought addictive behaviors. Some succeeded. Some didn’t.

      But his mother’s angst and depression made her a prime candidate, and she’d resumed old habits once his younger brother Ben had died in a military chopper training run over rugged California mountains.

      Ben gone.

      Joe gone.

      And his mother had no one but him around to help pick up the pieces. She only called when desperate, but maybe this time he could make a difference. Maybe this time...

      He headed through Jamison, the picturesque little town buttoned up for the night. The Highway Department had strung lights and affixed wreaths on old-style lampposts. The whimsical effect proffered charm and invitation, and Jamison specialized in charismatic appeal. But tonight the prettiness of the Christmas season mocked him. He’d let down his son. His brother. СКАЧАТЬ