An Accidental Mom. Loree Lough

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СКАЧАТЬ way of coaxing their kids to brush and floss. Far better to extinguish his son’s belief in fantasies like that than to let him grow up and find out how painful and unrelenting the real world could be.

      Strangely, though, he was less rigid when it came to matters of religion, spirituality and faith. If Nate wanted to attend Sunday school with his school chums, fine. If he wanted to tag along when the neighbors attended services, so be it. Nate got so much out of the whole “church thing” that Max couldn’t bring himself to put an end to it. Something, though, told him that the longer he waited to teach the boy the truth as he saw it, the more difficult it would be.

      “Is Gramma full of beans?”

      Laughing, Max took Nate’s hand. Where did the kid come up with this stuff? “’Course not, son.”

      Nate’s face crinkled with confusion. “But, Dad, you said so yourself, just last night, ’member?”

      Yes, he remembered, only too well. He’d been on the phone with his mother, discussing the trip to Amarillo, when she started with her usual “bless this” and “pray for that” nonsense. Max’s day had been bad enough to that point; being forced to listen to her spiritual malarkey was the proverbial straw on the camel’s already overloaded back. “If your precious Lord is so merciful,” he’d demanded, “why’d He allow Melissa to take her own life? Why’d He let you—a woman who devoted her whole life to Him—break your leg?”

      “I didn’t raise you to talk like that!” Georgia had scolded. And when she started praying for his salvation, he’d put a hand over the phone and closed his eyes. “Mom,” he’d muttered, “you’re full of beans.”

      And that’s when he’d noticed Nate, standing in the doorway.

      “I was only teasing,” Max had whispered past the phone’s mouthpiece. “Besides, Gramma didn’t hear me.”

      But Nate’s doubting expression said he believed otherwise.

      Now, Nate stood and brushed freshly mowed grass clippings from the knees of his jeans. “You gonna say goodbye to Mommy, Dad?”

      Closing his eyes, Max held his breath and summoned the strength to go through the motions…for Nate. He’d tried to say goodbye to Melissa, for even as the EMTs struggled to save her, they’d known she was dying. Instead, he’d struggled to keep a lid on his temper. Max couldn’t remember being more angry with her. He hadn’t understood why she left Nate then, and he didn’t understand it now…nearly three years later.

      The very people who, when he was a boy, taught him that suicide was one of the most grievous sins a human could commit, also believed that God in His heaven had total control over things on earth, that He loved every last person. If that was true, why did some of His “children” die of starvation, while others became victims of genocide and war? Why did good people get cancer, while bad people robbed and raped and pillaged?

      Despite all that, their simple faith seemed to bring them such joy, such solace. Nate—more than any of them, Max believed—deserved to grow up feeling that way. At least until life stepped in and taught him otherwise in its usual fist-to-jaw way.

      “You gonna say a prayer for Mommy?”

      Prayer. Of all the— Groaning inwardly, Max shaded his eyes. “Tell you what,” he said from behind his hand, “why don’t you say the prayer this time.”

      “Me?” Nate’s brown eyes widened. “Thanks, Dad! I’ll do a good job. I promise.” He got down on his knees and bowed his head, then he closed his eyes and pressed both palms together, fingers pointing skyward. “God? It’s me, Nathan Maxwell Sheridan. Um, me an’ my dad won’t be comin’ to visit my mom here at the simmy-terry for a while, on accounta my gramma busted her leg an’—”

      “Broke her leg,” Max corrected gently. He didn’t see much sense in correcting the “for a while” part.

      “…on accounta Gramma broke her leg, an’ we’re going to Texas to take care of her ’til she can walk again. So, God? Could You do me a favor? I know my mom’s soul is up there in heaven with You, so maybe You could tell her not to worry ’bout her bones an’ her wedding ring an’ stuff while we’re gone, ’cause the men who work here take real good care of the place. Thanks.” Nate started to get up, then changed his mind. Eyes squinted tight-shut again, he added, “And, God? Please send another wife for my dad…and a mom for me. We really, really need one. Amen.”

      On his feet again, Nate put his hand into Max’s. “How was that, Dad? Did I do good?”

      Max swallowed the hard lump that always formed in his throat when Nate prayed for a new mom. It was only natural, he supposed, that even though Nate didn’t remember Melissa, he’d yearn for a mother’s love. But he was doing okay by the boy, wasn’t he? Hadn’t he learned to cook—a little? Hadn’t he taught himself to do laundry—sort of? He’d figured out every gizmo on that fancy vacuum cleaner of Melissa’s—hadn’t he? And tough as it had been to go it alone, he hadn’t missed a single Parents’ Night at Nate’s school. What did they need a woman for!

      Max hoisted his son, held him close. “You did great with that prayer, kiddo, just great. Now what-say you and I head over to the burger joint. We have enough time for chicken fingers and curly fries before we head out.”

      Nate kissed Max’s cheek. “You’re the best, Dad. Almost as good as havin’ a mom and a dad!”

      Almost as good, Max thought, but not quite. Sad fact was, Nate would never have it “as good”—at least, not in the mom department, because Max had made a promise to himself when Melissa died.

      And he aimed to keep it.

      “Well, as I live and breathe,” Georgia said, slapping the arm of her wheelchair. “If it isn’t Lily London!”

      “Oh, my!” Lily said, pointing at the woman’s cast. “What have you done to yourself?”

      The redhead smiled. “One leg too few in a three-legged race?”

      “Don’t let her pull your leg, Lily,” the fry cook called over the counter. “Genius Georgia was changing lightbulbs…on a stool with wheels.” He raised floured hands and shook his head. “Again!”

      Georgia waved his comment away. “Oh, put a lid on it, Andy.” As an aside to Lily, she added in a loud whisper, “That man doesn’t know what he’s talkin’ about.”

      “I know what I saw,” Andy argued.

      Lily scooted a chrome and vinyl-padded chair nearer to Georgia’s wheelchair. “Is that cast as uncomfortable as it looks?”

      “Nah. Hardest part about wearin’ this thing,” she said, knocking on the toes-to-thigh plaster, “is not being able to get around like I’d like to.”

      “How long ’til you’re back on your feet?”

      “Ten weeks. Eight, if I’m very, very good.” Georgia tucked a red curl behind her ear. “One good thing came of it, though.”

      “In other words,” Andy tossed in, “ten weeks. Probably more!”

      Georgia feigned a frown. “Funny man. Maybe we oughta get you a gig at the local comedy club.”

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