Finding A Family. Judy Christenberry

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      As soon as Maggie saw him standing at the door, she jumped to her feet. “Good morning, Hank. Come have a seat.”

      Before he could move, she’d filled a mug of fragrant coffee and put it at his place. With a scowl he moved to his chair and pulled it out. He hadn’t looked at his father.

      Maggie didn’t return to the table. Instead, she began cooking pancakes. Once she had the batter on the grill, she moved to the microwave oven and turned it on. In no time, he had a plateful of pancakes and bacon.

      His father passed the butter and syrup. “Here you go, son. You haven’t lived until you’ve tasted Maggie’s pancakes.”

      Before Hank could taste the pancakes, which he was sure would be run-of-the-mill, he had to clear up last night’s fracas.

      “Dad, I’m sorry about last night, but—”

      “Don’t worry about it, son. You were overtired from the round-up. Many a time your mother would say she didn’t want to see me after a round-up until I’d showered and slept for a day or two.”

      Hank couldn’t believe how casually his father had spoken of his mother. They’d avoided talking about her ever since she’d died. His father had turned into a zombie and he’d held back his own grief so as not to burden his father.

      “Go ahead, boy, eat your pancakes before they get cold.”

      Hank gave his dad a nod, not sure he could speak without letting everyone know how upset he was. But even though it was painful to talk about his mother’s death, it made him feel good to know his father hadn’t forgotten his mother.

      When he put the first bite of pancake in his mouth, he realized there was nothing run-of-the-mill about these pancakes. They tasted as good as a regular cake.

      “Are you sure these aren’t dessert?” he asked without thinking.

      “Told you they were good,” Carl said with great glee.

      Hank continued to eat, refusing to look at Maggie or his father. When he’d gobbled down the stack of pancakes on his plate, Maggie calmly asked him, “Do you want some more?”

      “No! I mean, no thank you.”

      “Are you sure? I have leftover batter that will just go to waste.”

      “Fine. I can eat some more if you have the batter,” Hank agreed. He kept his head down until Tim slid out of his chair and patted Hank on the knee.

      “Yes, Timmy? What is it?”

      “Do you have a headache? That’s what Mommy has when she won’t talk.”

      Hank looked at Maggie before he answered the little boy. “Uh, yeah, maybe I do have a headache. Which, uh, reminds me. I couldn’t find the clothes that I took off last night.”

      His father started to answer, but Maggie beat him to it. “Your father was concerned about you. When he checked on you, he picked up your dirty clothes and took them to the laundry room to save me a trip,” she said and smiled.

      “I don’t need you to do my laundry or clean my room or…whatever else you do. I can take care of myself. I hired you to take care of my dad.”

      “But—” Maggie began.

      “There’s no need for discussion! I have to get to the barn and see about my men.”

      “Uh, boy, I gave them the day off,” Carl said, knowing this would further upset his already agitated son.

      Hank stared at his father. “You did what? Damn it to hell! Dad, you turned the ranch over to me a year ago. I thought I was supposed to be in charge!”

      “I was trying to help. They’re all exhausted, just like you. I thought they deserved the day off.”

      Hank didn’t speak. He got up and strode out of the kitchen as if he were being chased.

      Maggie watched him go, grateful that he’d eaten a good breakfast. She’d noticed when he’d cataloged what she shouldn’t do for him that he hadn’t mentioned her cooking. She’d thought his dad had been a hard case! Carl was a walk in the park compared to Hank.

      “Maggie, I hope Hank didn’t offend you. I don’t know what’s got into that boy.”

      “I think he’s working through his grief, Carl. He’s glad that you’ve overcome yours, but he needs the chance to work through his feelings.”

      Carl frowned. “Do you think so? He sure gave me a funny look when I talked about Linda this morning.”

      “Yes, but I still think you should continue. He’s buried his grief for too long. At least he didn’t object to eating my cooking.”

      Carl laughed. “He’d have to be dead to refuse your cooking.”

      “Mommy, is Hank mad at me?” Timmy asked.

      “No, sweetie. He’s upset that his mother died, that’s all. You know, we felt really sad when your dad died.”

      “Yeah,” Timmy said slowly, his little face screwed up, as if he were thinking very hard. “I could give him one of my cars. That would make him happy.”

      Carl held his arms out to Timmy. “Come give me a hug, Timmy.”

      With a nod from his mother, Timmy did as Carl suggested. Afterwards, Carl said, “That’s a real generous offer, giving Hank one of your cars, but adults are different. We will have to be really patient with him.”

      “Okay,” Timmy said, but he didn’t look particularly enlightened.

      “It’s all right, Timmy,” Maggie said softly. “Why don’t you take Carl outside while I clean the table.”

      After the duo had disappeared to the back porch, Maggie cleared the table and thought about Hank. Not that she was interested in him. No, she didn’t intend to remarry. The pain was too great when the marriage ended, whatever the reason. She wasn’t willing to risk that again.

      But Hank, like his father, was suffering from burying pain deep inside him. She would’ve done the same when her husband died if she hadn’t had Kate to prod her out of her depression, reminding her that Timmy needed her.

      If she could do the same for Hank, it would be like passing on the serenity Kate had helped her find.

      After she’d loaded the dishwasher, Maggie thought about what she could do. Almost as if she were guided by Linda’s hand, she reached for the cookbook Carl had loaned her. Slowly turning the pages, she came upon a well-worn recipe. Somehow she just knew that it was the recipe for Hank’s favorite cookies.

      With a smile, she took down a mixing bowl. Soon she put a batch of cookies into the oven. Oatmeal raisin were Timmy’s favorite, too.

      Hank didn’t come in for lunch. But he wanted to. It seemed СКАЧАТЬ