Faith, Hope and Family. GINA WILKINS

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      Was it any wonder Deborah hadn’t been enthused about having Isabelle become an integral part of her life? She didn’t blame the child for their father’s sins, but she couldn’t help being reminded of them every time she saw a reflection of her own childhood innocence in the little girl’s uncomfortably familiar face.

      She glanced at the kitchen clock, wondering how much longer it would be before Lenore returned home. She couldn’t take much more of this salt-in-old-wounds conversation with Isabelle. “Aren’t there any TV cartoons you like on Saturday mornings?” she asked, seizing on the first distraction that popped into her head.

      Isabelle shrugged. “We’re usually too busy on Saturdays to watch TV.”

      “Oh. Well, since we’re not particularly busy today, why don’t you go see what’s on? Mother should be home soon, and maybe she’ll have something planned for you this afternoon.”

      “Okay.” Isabelle stood obligingly. “You want to come watch TV with me?”

      “No, thanks. I have some things to do. Just, uh, don’t watch anything inappropriate.”

      When Isabelle gave her a puzzled look, Deborah added, “Watch kid shows, okay? Cartoons or ‘Sesame Street’ or something like that.”

      As if she knew what kid shows were on TV these days, she thought as Isabelle left the room. None of her friends had children. Isabelle was the only child Deborah actually knew personally and theirs could hardly be described as a close relationship.

      She stood to set her coffee cup in the dishwasher and throw away the peel from Isabelle’s orange. She hoped her mother would be home soon.

      Fate had not been very kind lately about granting Deborah’s wishes. Lenore was detained by a crisis in her club that kept her busy for hours, leaving Deborah responsible for Isabelle for the entire afternoon.

      Faced with trying to entertain the child herself for several hours or to let someone else do the entertaining, Deborah opted for the latter. “Why don’t we eat a quick sandwich for lunch and then catch the Saturday matinee at the movie theater?” she suggested.

      She wouldn’t have to try to carry on a conversation with a four-year-old in a movie theater. Even if the film was completely inane, it seemed preferable to an entire afternoon of being studied by Isabelle’s curious blue eyes. A couple of hours in a quiet, dark theater seemed very appealing to her just then; she could use the time to consider her options for her future.

      It had been a very long time since she had attended a children’s movie matinee.

      A handful of popcorn hit her in the side of the head before the film even started. What seemed to be a full battalion of ear-splittingly noisy preadolescents dashed up and down the aisles, squealing and spilling sodas and snacks. Someone’s cell phone played the “William Tell Overture” in lieu of a ring, and a couple of babies wailed. Deborah shook her head in disbelief, wondering who’d bring either to a movie theater.

      Seemingly accustomed to the chaos, Isabelle sat quietly in her seat beside Deborah, sipping orange soda and delicately munching her popcorn. Okay, Deborah thought, so the child was as well-behaved as Lenore boasted. That didn’t mean Deborah wanted to spend any more afternoons baby-sitting.

      The audience settled down—though only slightly—when the lights dimmed and the feature began. Just as Deborah resigned herself to watching animated animals singing and dancing for the next couple of hours, a few stragglers entered the theater, taking the empty seats in front of Deborah and Isabelle. The woman directly in front of Deborah was of average size, but the one who planted herself in front of Isabelle was very large and wore her hair in a high-teased bouffant that would have been stylish several decades earlier. Isabelle might as well have been staring at a blank wall.

      “I can’t see,” she complained to Deborah, straining upward in her seat.

      The rest of the theater was full; apparently, this was the premier of a highly anticipated family feature. “Switch seats with me,” Deborah suggested in a stage whisper. “Maybe you can see better here.”

      The swap was accomplished easily enough, but it didn’t make a difference. “I still can’t see,” Isabelle informed her, and this time her tone edged close to a whine. “Can I sit on your lap? Please? Nate lets me when I can’t see.”

      The large woman with the big hair threw them a stern look over her shoulder, accompanied by a hiss that let them know she wanted them to be quiet. Deborah bit her lip to hold in a remark that would have accomplished nothing but ill will.

      “Stand up,” she instructed Isabelle quietly. “We’ll sit in that chair, since the view is less obstructed there.”

      She didn’t bother to whisper the latter words. She was forced to find her small satisfactions where she could, she told herself as she returned to her former seat and helped Isabelle climb onto her knees.

      “That’s better,” Isabelle whispered. “Thank you.”

      “Glad to oblige,” Deborah muttered. And prepared herself for an uncomfortable couple of hours rather than the peaceful interlude she had envisioned at the start of this outing.

      Dylan figured that everyone deserved a small vice or two. His was ice cream. His favorite flavor was butter pecan, but he occasionally indulged a craving for rocky road or strawberry. Most folks who knew him well were aware that he could often be found at the popular ice-cream parlor next to the mall Cineplex when he was on a break from duty.

      The mall was predictably crowded on this nice Saturday afternoon in late May. Dylan was lucky to claim a small table in one corner of the ice-cream parlor just as a group of giggly teenagers abandoned it.

      He had lived in this area for most of his life and had a highly visible job, so he knew quite a few of the other patrons. He greeted them with nods and waves before diving into his treat—a double scoop of butter pecan.

      As he spooned a second bite of ice cream into his mouth, he thought of the only lawbreaker he had apprehended the night before. Deborah McCloud. He hadn’t been prepared for that late-night encounter or for the flood of memories of other, more intimate midnight meetings between them.

      Those memories had been haunting him ever since. It had been seven years, damn it. They’d been little more than kids when they broke up; he’d been barely twenty-three and Deborah had just turned twenty. You’d think he’d have put it behind him by now. God knew he had tried.

      Yet all it took was one brief encounter with her to have him wanting her again.

      He might have come a long way in the past seven years in a lot of respects, but when it came to Deborah McCloud, he was still an idiot.

      A girlish shriek somewhere behind him drew his attention away from his ice cream. He turned just in time to catch the little blond rocket who launched herself into his arms.

      “Hi, Officer Smith,” she said, hugging him fiercely. “Where have you been?”

      He chuckled as he returned the hug, then set the little girl on her feet in front of him. “Princess Isabelle. Aren’t you looking pretty today in your royal purple?”

      She patted her hair and preened a bit, showing off the purple knit T-shirt dress she wore with СКАЧАТЬ