Reuniting His Family. Jean C. Gordon

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СКАЧАТЬ Gwen’s parents to inform them of her death and funeral, and they’d practically hung up on him. When he’d said the boys were being placed in temporary foster care, their grandmother had started to say something but their grandfather had cut her off, telling Connor, “Foster care was good enough for their father. It’s good enough for them.”

      “I’ve got you and Dylan.” Rhys wrapped his arm around his son and squeezed his shoulder. “What more could I want?”

      “Mom.”

      Rhys sucked in a breath. “Your mother.”

      Owen looked over the parking lot. “Which car is yours, Dad?”

      “I have a pickup. For work.”

      At their earlier interview, he’d said he was looking for construction or electrical work but hadn’t found anything. Had Rhys heard something since then? He hadn’t said anything today.

      “Mrs. Hill’s husband has a F-350 pickup with a supercab so Dylan’s booster seat fits and we can ride with Mr. Hill in the back seat. And he has a tow truck. That’s what he does, tows cars and fixes them.”

      Owen’s words made Rhys wince. “Sounds like a man I should get to know.”

      “Yeah, you’d like Mr. Hill,” Owen said. “Maybe you can be friends.”

      Renee followed Rhys’s gaze across the parking lot to a compact pickup with faded red paint and a missing hubcap, and understood the meaning of his comment.

      “Ms. Delacroix, Mrs. Hill said I had to ride with you, but couldn’t I go with my dad? I can show him where we’re going, or you can drive first and we’ll follow.”

      “No, son,” Rhys answered for her. “We have to follow the rules, so we can all live together again. I’ll follow Ms. Delacroix.”

      His words shouted control, which she read as another indication he’d do whatever he had to do to have his boys. Again, she was thankful she’d be done with her internship with Social Services soon, and that this would be the extent of her getting between him and his sons. It might be a flashback to her experience in Haiti, but Rhys Maddox struck her as a complex man—a man whom, despite the draw of his obvious love and devotion to his sons, she might not want to get on the wrong side of.

      * * *

      The truck didn’t start with his first two turns of the key and he could see Ms. Delacroix sitting in her car in the driving lane in front of him, chalking up more demerits against him. No job. No reliable transportation. No good for Owen and Dylan. He snorted a laugh. He’d been hearing the no-good part his whole life, from everyone but Gwen and the praise ministry and his Bible study group at Dannemora. He rested his head on the steering wheel for a moment before trying a third time. The engine rattled into action.

      He’d get something better once he started working and could afford payments. He was trying to spend as little as possible of the money from Gwen’s life insurance policy through the school district where she’d worked. That money was for Owen and Dylan’s future. The first and last month’s rent and security deposit on the three-bedroom house he’d rented on Hazard Cove Road had taken a sizable chunk. The house was a financial stretch, but it reminded him of the house he and Gwen had had in Albany. Their home. Another casualty of his rash actions.

      Ms. Delacroix tooted her car horn to signal she was taking off. He followed close behind for the thirty-mile trip to Paradox Lake and then to the opposite side of the lake from his rental house. She pulled into a rustic, old-fashioned, ice-cream stand. A red-and-white candy-striped awning shielded the order window from the hot midafternoon sun. Several picnic tables sported matching umbrellas.

      Owen was out of Ms. Delacroix’s car and over to his truck almost before he’d shut it off—with the cooperation of the engine.

      “Is vanilla still your favorite, Dad? Mine’s still chocolate. Can I have my cone dipped in chocolate, too?”

      “Anything you want.” This time. He’d have to watch himself to avoid indulging the boys to make up for lost time. It was a recommendation Ms. Delacroix had made that he couldn’t argue with, even though he wanted to give them the best of everything.

      He stepped up to the window. “We’ll have a large chocolate-dipped.”

      Owen grinned at him, warming his heart in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time. Too long.

      “A large vanilla-dipped and...” Rhys turned to Renee.

      “You don’t have to pay for mine,” she said. “I’ll get my own.”

      “No, I’m treating.”

      She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “I can’t accept. It’s a CPS rule. We can’t take gifts.” She placed her order.

      Another rule. He fingered the bills in his hand. He could accept it. The past five years had made him a master at accepting rules.

      “Hey, Dad,” Owen said as they started toward an empty picnic table, “that’s my friend Alex and his dad. Can we sit with them?”

      Rhys’s eyes followed Owen’s outstretched arm to a table where a dark-haired man and a boy about his son’s age sat eating burgers. He fought back a frown. This was supposed to be his time with his boys. Dylan had refused to come and now Owen wanted to be with his friend.

      He took the easy out. “Ms. Delacroix?”

      “It’s up to you.”

      If it was up to him, he wouldn’t be here now at all. Owen and Dylan would both be living with him already.

      Owen looked at him expectantly, with his mother’s eyes.

      “Sure,” Rhys said.

      Ms. Delacroix’s smile of approval lifted the gray mantle settling on him as much as Owen’s did.

      He was pathetic, waiting for validation of everything he did.

      Let go and let God. He’ll make everything right. Except Rhys’s faith was so new, he wasn’t sure he knew how to let go yet.

      “Hey, Owen,” his friend Alex called.

      “Hi,” Owen called back, tugging Rhys toward the table. “This is my dad,” he said as they approached the table.

      Rhys’s insides went mushy at the pride in his son’s voice. He certainly hadn’t done much to make him proud in the past. But that was behind him. He wouldn’t let Owen or Dylan down again.

      “Rhys Maddox.” He extended his hand over the table to Alex’s father.

      “Neal Hazard.” He stood and shook hands. “Hi, Renee,” Neal said before sitting again. “Looks like you two are joining us.” He motioned to the bench beside him, where Owen was already seated next to Alex.

      “Hi.” She stepped around Rhys to sit on the bench across from Neal.

      Ms. Delacroix and Neal seemed friendly, even though Neal had to be ten or fifteen years older than her. Not that it mattered to him.

      Rhys СКАЧАТЬ