Finding His Way Home. Mia Ross

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СКАЧАТЬ a hand in the air, “take some time to think it over. It might not seem like much to you, but it could mean everything to someone else.”

      “Someone young and in trouble, you mean.” When Mom nodded, Jenna’s eyes softened with compassion. “Fill me in.”

      “Gretchen Lewis came to the Barrett’s Mill center yesterday after school. She and her father just moved here. He works at the power plant and also in one of those quick-stop marts out on the highway, trying to keep his head above water. From what I gather, his wife cleaned out their bank account before she took off for who-knows-where.”

      Her tone made it plain what she thought of that, and Scott had to chuckle. “Don’t sugarcoat it, Mom. Tell us how you really feel about it.”

      “I’m not one to judge,” she said, looking from one to the other with a determined expression. “But I was raised to believe that when things get tough, family pulls together, not away. That’s never more important than when you have children to consider.”

      Glancing over at Jenna, Scott noticed her frown seemed deeper than it should have been for a teenage girl she’d never even met. His suspicion was confirmed when she quietly asked, “How old is Gretchen?”

      “Sixteen,” Mom replied in the sympathetic tone that had guided Scott and his brothers through so many of their own problems. “She’s adorable and whip smart, but also timid as a mouse. She mostly keeps to herself, but I noticed her drawing and went over to see what she was working on.”

      Reaching into her oversize canvas bag, she pulled out a piece of paper folded in half and handed it to Jenna. When the artist opened it, Scott worried that her eyes might pop right out of her head.

      “Wow.”

      Holding it at arm’s length, she stared at it for several seconds and then passed it to him. He didn’t have much of an eye for art, but he instantly recognized the Crossroads Church, complete with its modest bell tower and open entry doors. She’d drawn it looking through town toward the old chapel, and he easily recognized the trees and charming old homes that stood on either side of Main Street.

      The Whistlestop Diner appeared open for business, and further up was his sister-in-law Amy’s dance studio, Arabesque, complete with the unfinished section Jason was adding to the old building’s living quarters. There was the Donaldson house, the Morgan place and the town square with its old-fashioned gazebo. The detail was stunning, to say the least.

      “If she can do this with a pencil and paper, imagine what she could manage with some real supplies,” he commented.

      “My thought exactly,” his mother confirmed, giving Jenna a hopeful look. “I know you’re planning to leave soon, but I was hoping you might come into the center and give her some encouragement. When I complimented her, she brushed it off like she didn’t believe me. If that praise came from someone who makes her living as an artist, she might take it more seriously.”

      Jenna hesitated, but something told him it wasn’t because she was reluctant to help. She’d put a lot of time and effort into Granddad’s painting, and that combined with her volunteering to plant flowers at the cemetery told Scott she had a generous nature. So what was holding her back now? It must have been something important—and very personal. Which meant it was none of his business, but he couldn’t help wondering about it all the same.

      Mom didn’t say anything more, and he recognized the patient look on her face from the many times he’d been on the receiving end. While she waited, Scott realized she was treating Jenna with the same respect she had her own kids. Even when they’d messed up, the Barrett boys could always count on her to hear them out before bringing down the hammer. Because of that, she was the only person he could comfortably look in the eye these days.

      And Jenna, he realized with a jolt. Why, he had no clue, but he couldn’t deny it was true.

      When she glanced at the drawing again, Jenna finally nodded. “Okay, I’ll talk to her. When would you like me to come in?”

      “Thursday,” Mom answered in her usual brisk way. “She said she was coming back after school that day, and I’d love for her to meet you.”

      “Then I’ll be there.”

      “That’s what I like most about you, honey,” Mom approved, giving her a quick hug. “You don’t stand around hemming and hawing like so many folks. When there’s something that needs doing, you step in to take the reins and make things happen. Gretchen should be in around four. See you then!”

      With a brisk wave, she was gone.

       Chapter Three

      “We can lay the window down over here,” Jenna said, sweeping a pile of crumpled sketches from a nearby workbench.

      In one of its previous lives, her studio had been a garage with a lofted workshop space and small bathroom above. Cramped but functional, that was where she crashed at night. The place wasn’t large, but the yoga teacher who’d rented it before her had retrofitted the wide-open room with skylights and a bank of windows that let in a ton of natural light.

      Unfortunately, they also revealed the general state of disarray she preferred to work in. Two landscapes in progress were propped on easels, with completed pieces protected in Bubble Wrap and stacked in one corner. In another, her pottery wheel held something that was beginning to resemble the terra-cotta planter a customer had requested for her front porch.

      A fine coating of stone dust covered everything. After he set down the window, Scott drifted toward the garden sculpture she was working on. Tilting his head one way and then another, he finally admitted, “I give up. What’s it supposed to be?”

      She heard that all the time from people who didn’t understand the artistic process, and she swallowed an exasperated sigh. “It’s for Lila Davidson’s rose garden. When it’s finished, it’ll be a girl gnome to match the boy one I made for her last year.”

      “Yeah, she always did love her gardens. She reminds me of Gram that way.”

      It was the first time he’d mentioned being fond of anyone outside his family, and she seized on the opportunity to encourage him to open up a little. “From what I hear, they’ve been friends a long time.”

      “Lila’s husband, Hank, was Granddad’s foreman at the sawmill when I was growing up,” he replied as he carefully unwrapped the fragile chapel window. “The four of them were pretty close back in the day. Stood up at each other’s weddings, stuff like that. I’d imagine that hasn’t changed any.”

      “It’s nice having lifelong friends like that.” When he shrugged, she sensed he wasn’t pleased about the direction the conversation was heading. Prickly didn’t begin to describe this man, she groused as she picked up two corners of one of the quilts while he did the same. Walking toward him, she tried again. “So, you must be glad to be back home with your old crowd.”

      “I haven’t seen any of ’em.” Apparently, her shock was obvious, because he met her stare with a hard one of his own. “I’m not in the mood to see anyone from high school. Me being here is awkward enough for my own family, so it’d only be worse with anyone else.”

      “You’re not giving them much credit. I mean, I know all about what СКАЧАТЬ