Hometown Reunion. Lisa Carter

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СКАЧАТЬ caught his son underneath his arms. “Whoa, there, Brody Pruitt. What’s the rush?”

      His mouth and chin were covered in red sauce. “Me Bwody Pwoo-it, Dawcy.” He raised his sauce-encrusted hands.

      She kissed a clean spot on the top of his head. “Yes, you are. And what you are is a big mess.”

      Brody threw back his head and belly-laughed.

      “You know, Jaxon Pruitt, you have an irresistible son.”

      He polished his knuckles on his shirt. “Like father, like son.”

      “You wish.”

      Smiling, he cut Brody a sliver of pie while Darcy made a valiant attempt to restore a semblance of cleanliness to his son.

      After dessert, she took out a small plastic bottle from the shopping bag. “Bubbles, Brody. Let’s go out back.”

      She guided him down the deck stairs to the tree-studded, sloping lawn. The meandering tidal creek glistened like multicolored jewels in the rainbow hue of the fiery sunset.

      Darcy handed Jax a large bubble wand. “This one’s for you.”

      Brody quivered with excitement. She dabbed the tiny stick in the solution. And pursing her lips, she blew across the wand.

      A single bubble hung suspended before a soft breeze off the salt marsh lifted it into the air. They watched as the bubble rose higher and higher until it disappeared over the trees.

      “Oh, Dawcy...” For the first time since Adrienne’s death, Brody smiled.

      Darcy’s eyes welled and cut to Jax. His eyelids burned. She understood what this moment meant.

      “Thank you, Darce.”

      As soon as he said the old nickname, he remembered how she hated it. Yet old habits died hard. Like old loves?

      But this time, a smile flitted across her lips. “You’re welcome, Jax.”

      His son bounced, a human pogo stick. “Mow, Dawcy. Mow.”

      “Sure thing.” She blew another bubble.

      Brody’s arms reached above his head.

      She motioned. “Go get it, Brody.”

      He raced after the bubble. Buoyant on the wind, it eluded his grasp. She blew bubble after bubble as Brody gave chase. His son laughed and laughed. As if making up for lost time.

      Happiness. Peace. Contentment. Always just out of Jax’s grasp, too. Eluding him all these years.

      “Watch this, Brody,” she called.

      Brody wheeled.

      She nudged Jax. “Bend a little and close your eyes.”

      He obliged, and she leaned closer. Close enough for him to feel her breath on his face as she blew gently across the small wand.

      A bubble tickled his eyelids and danced like a frolicking ladybug across his skin. A caress. A whisper. A promise?

      Brody clapped his hands. “Me, Dawcy. Me.”

      “You can open your eyes, Jax.”

      So he did. Her own eyes hooded, she touched her finger to the cleft in his chin. Just for a second before she moved to his son.

      Brody chuckled when the bubbles brushed his shuttered eyelids. “Me do you, Dawcy.”

      Keeping hold of the bottle, she let Brody dip the stick into the liquid.

      “Cwoser, Dawcy. Cwoser.”

      Jax rubbed his forehead. “He has trouble with l’s, too.”

      Crouching to Brody’s height, she clamped her eyes shut. And flinched when what she got from him was more spit than bubble.

      “Way to take one for the team, Darce.”

      She shoulder-butted him. “Your turn, soldier.”

      “At your peril, Darcy Parks.” He stepped back, yanking the large bubble wand from its sheath.

      “Ooh...” Brody’s eyes rounded.

      Brandishing it like a saber, Jax smiled, slashing the air between them. She smiled back at him.

      And he knew she remembered childhood escapades involving pretend pirates in the tree house. Zorro and intergalactic warfare, too. They’d made it up as they went along. Like now?

      He whirled, loosing a giant bubble blob. Brody cackled with sheer delight.

      Darcy ran toward the creek. “Catch it, Brody!”

      The toddler raced after her as fast as his small legs allowed. He stumbled, but she was there, sweeping him into her arms.

      Jax’s heart caught in his throat.

      For the first time, he thought he might’ve found a way to bridge the gap. The answer to a prayer he’d been too afraid to voice. Could it be that with Darcy’s help, he might’ve found the way home for both of them?

       Chapter Four

      On Mondays, the shop was closed. A well-earned rest for employees who spent the weekend guiding kayaking tours. Usually Darcy slept in on her day off. Mondays—not Sundays, though she’d never tell her minister father—were her favorite day of the week.

      She hadn’t seen Jax since Saturday night, nor did he appear at church. But Monday morning, despite sleeping fitfully, she came fully awake at 6:00 a.m. Wired, restless, vaguely uneasy.

      Darcy lay in bed, watching the first beams of light filter through the dormer window. She’d lived in this house as long as she’d been alive.

      Mondays were also her father’s well-earned day off. The day he chose her and her mom over the rest of his congregation. In the summers when she was out of school, they’d spent the day as a family doing fun stuff.

      During the school year, she still remembered the special thrill of getting off the bus at the square and walking the last few blocks home with the Pruitt clan.

      Her steps quick with anticipation, she knew her father would be waiting for her at the base of the tree house. He’d push her on the swing, and they’d spend a blissful hour together. She loved to swing, trying to touch the sky.

      “I’m a swing kind of girl!” she’d call, pumping her legs as hard as she could go.

      “And I’m a swing kind of dad,” her father would say back.

      On the swing, she could fly. Feeling free and light, she broke the bonds of gravity and soared into the wild blue yonder.

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