Wanted: The Perfect Mom. T. R. McClure

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      Across the street the bank president exited the building. With a wave at Mac, he walked to the adjacent parking lot and got into a late model sedan parked under a cherry tree. Pink petals flew into the air as the dark blue car pulled out of the lot and roared down the street.

      Next to the bank, Joe Miller, a bag of mulch slung over his shoulder, left the hardware store, followed by his hugely pregnant wife and a toddler. He tossed the bag into the trunk of a car parked at the curb as his wife settled the toddler into his car seat. Joe helped his wife into the car, trotted around to the driver’s side, got in and drove away.

      Mac sighed. The Millers were the picture-perfect American family. They probably had a dog at home, too. At one time, he’d had that life.

      Three years later and he was back where he’d started and life was all about work. As he stared at the cherry tree across the street, the thought struck him that he would have been married nine years this month, nine years May 15. Where had the time gone? Mac rubbed his hand over his face and sipped his coffee. So many changes...

      He turned as a brand-new four-wheel drive truck roared into one of the slanted parking spots next to the strip mall and jerked to a stop. A group of teenagers spilled out of the pickup and jumped onto the boardwalk. Chattering excitedly, the two boys and two girls didn’t even notice Mac sitting in the chair. They sauntered down the walk and disappeared into the coffee shop.

      School was out for the day.

      Mac heaved himself out of the chair and crossed the street to his police car. Setting his cup on the roof, he paused, taking in the vacant lot between the hardware store and the old library, now empty. Holly’s shop was one of five occupied storefronts—a beauty salon, a computer store, a used clothing store and a bakery. The boardwalk, with scattered benches, rocking chairs and potted plants, invited customers to stroll and shop. Across the street were the bank and the hardware store.

      He studied the vacant lot again. Although a trash can stood not fifty feet away, the ground was littered with candy wrappers and cigarette butts. At the squawking of the police radio, he shook his head, grabbed his coffee and settled behind the wheel. He had other fish to fry. The vacant lot was someone else’s problem. Just like the cat.

      * * *

      HOLLY WAS SAVED from her brother’s wrath, at least temporarily, by the noisy arrival of four teenagers. Two girls entered first and the tallest, a blonde, headed for the couch. She collapsed, propped her flip-flop-clad feet on the coffee table and waved at the boy leaning on the counter. “I want a nonfat mocha.”

      “Just get me anything with caffeine.” The second girl, short and slight but with pretty light brown hair, whispered in the other boy’s ear and followed her friend to the couch.

      Holly was about to ask the blonde to take her feet off the table when she noticed her mother heading toward the pair.

      “You’re Edie Black’s granddaughter, aren’t you?” Rose perched on the edge of the coffee table, causing the girl to drop her feet to the floor. “I haven’t seen your grandmother in ages. How is she?”

      Holly grinned as she turned her attention to the two boys. After raising four children, her mother was skilled in getting people of all ages to do as she wanted without causing a confrontation.

      “What can I get for you boys?” Holly asked.

      The first one, tall and lanky, grinned at her. “Two mocha lattes, one nonfat and one—” His green eyes flicked up to the menu board and then back at Holly “—fat.”

      Holly bit back a smile as she glanced at Carolyn, already pulling milk from the refrigerator underneath the espresso machine. “One skinny mocha latte and one fat mocha latte, Carolyn.”

      She didn’t miss a beat as she poured whole milk into one pitcher and nonfat milk into the other. “Coming right up.” Carolyn slipped the first pitcher under the wand and the burble of milk steaming filled the room.

      After paying with a polite “Thank you, ma’am,” the tall teenager moved to the end of the counter. The second teen stared at the board, his gaze flicking back and forth from the board to the wallet in his hand. “Two black coffees.”

      “Would you like our special house blend, the Colombian, or the Kenyan?”

      The boy continued to stare at the menu board.

      “I recommend the Wildflower Blend. If you like you can add some cream and sugar at the condiment table.”

      The teen nodded and laid a five-dollar bill on the counter. “Thanks.”

      “Thank you.”

      Holly poured the coffee into ceramic mugs just as Carolyn handed the lattes to the tall teen. Holly came up behind her sister-in-law. “Do you know them?”

      Carolyn crossed her arms and studied the four teens surrounding the coffee table. “The tall one is Tom Johnson’s son.” She leaned back, her lips inches from Holly’s ear. “You know, the bank president.”

      Of course, Holly thought, that explained the expensive jeans and the confident attitude. Money did that for a person. “What about the other one?”

      Carolyn thought a moment and then waved a finger in the air. “Matt McClain’s boy.”

      Holly watched the muscular boy sitting quietly while the Johnson boy and the Black girl talked animatedly. Not as tall as the bank president’s son, the McClain boy was dressed in a T-shirt and jeans.

      “Matt works at the electronics factory, right?”

      “Not anymore. The plant shut down just before Christmas and he got laid off. They have four kids. I think this one’s the oldest.”

      “Huh. Good-looking kid. He’s built like a wrestler.” Holly grabbed a bar towel and wiped up a spill. She noticed a ceramic bowl by the cash register. Bright yellow letters spelled out Tip Jar. A yellow slipper-shaped flower grew between the two words. “Where did this come from?”

      Carolyn tilted her head. “I made it in my kiln.”

      Holly raised her eyebrows and gave her sister-in-law an appraising glance. “Aren’t you the creative one?”

      Carolyn smoothed the front of the chocolate-brown apron with the Wildflower logo on the front. “I’m an art teacher. I hope I’m creative.”

      A memory of Carolyn, eight months pregnant with the twins and accepting her college diploma, flashed into Holly’s mind. How did she do it? “Well, if we ever get any tips, you three should divide them. Bad enough you’re working for free.”

      “Just for a couple months till you get on your feet. No worries, sis-in-law. But I should go pick up the twins. They had a scout meeting after school and if I leave now, I should get there just in time.” She untied her apron and pulled it over her head, dislodging a clip. Curly chestnut hair spilled over her shoulders.

      Sonny came around the end of the counter and clasped his wife around the waist. “Oh, I like it when you let your hair down, baby.” Fourteen years of marriage and three children had done nothing to cool their obvious affection. High school sweethearts, Sonny had waited for Carolyn to graduate СКАЧАТЬ