Dreaming of Home. Glynna Kaye

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      He nodded as he scattered the fresh batch of cubed potatoes around the frying pan. “It’s home. Or used to be thirteen years ago.”

      “Nice,” she repeated, then took a quick breath and lowered her voice. “Look, I want to apologize about this afternoon.”

      Joe cocked his head. “And this would be for—?”

      “For making that flippant comment about Davy’s mother. About her being relieved that you didn’t want to get the girl. I didn’t know—”

      “Don’t worry about it.”

      “Davy looked confused when I said that. I’m usually more careful about making assumptions.” She didn’t mention that the ring on his left hand contributed to the misunderstanding.

      “No harm done. He hasn’t mentioned it. I didn’t think twice about it.”

      “Nevertheless, I’m sorry. And I’m sorry about the loss of your wife. Sharon Dixon told me.”

      He kept his eyes on the stovetop. “Thanks.”

      “Has it…been long? I mean, as Davy’s Sunday school assistant it might help if—”

      “He doesn’t remember her.” Joe jabbed at the sizzling potatoes. “Not much, anyway. Except for what he’s been told. Photos. Videos. He wasn’t quite three when…you know.”

      Meg nodded, not wanting to pry further, and was grateful when she heard the front door open as Bill returned. A gust of fresh, crisp air permeated the room.

      “The laundry’s a mess all right. I’ll get someone out here on Monday to take a look at it.” He pulled off his shoes as Davy reentered the room. Together they set the table, and Meg caught the older man in a momentary pause as, lips pursed in concentration, he looked around in search of something. Then with a few quick steps to an overstuffed bookcase, he pushed aside a piece of native pottery and plucked up a vase filled with faded red silk flowers. Dusting them off with a sleeve, he returned to the dining area and plopped the container in the middle of the oak table with a satisfied grunt.

      Davy’s eyes approved as he placed folded paper towels under mismatched silverware. “That’s cool, Grandpa.”

      Bill patted the boy’s shoulder, his gaze meeting Meg’s. “We have a lady joining us tonight.”

      Her heart warmed as he pulled out a chair for her. Within minutes Joe placed hot pads on the table, one for the skillet of browned potatoes and another for a pan of oven-baked fish. A chipped yellow Fiesta dinnerware bowl cradled canned green beans. Another, canned pears. Davy contributed a bottle of ketchup and stepped back to view his handiwork. He looked every bit as satisfied as his grandfather did upon locating the flowers.

      No, the meal didn’t fit the dietitian’s recommendations, but one night wouldn’t hurt. Meg shared a smile with the excited boy.

      Once seated at the oval table, across from Joe and between Davy and Bill, Meg bowed her head as Joe’s dad offered thanks. Then upon Davy’s hearty “Amen,” the boy leaned forward to address Bill.

      “Grandpa, can I have a sleepover at Miss Meg’s?”

      What? Stunned, she could only hope she hadn’t gasped aloud.

      “Davy.” A coffee mug halfway to his lips, Joe’s appalled tone echoed through the room. He cast an apologetic glance at her.

      “I’d say that would be up to her, young man,” Bill interceded on behalf of his grandson. “Did she invite you?”

      Davy slumped for a moment in his chair, shaking his head. Then he perked up, turning a beaming smile on her.

      “Will you invite me?”

      “David William Diaz!” The timbre of Joe’s voice registered displeasure at his son’s chutzpah. “We don’t invite ourselves to other people’s houses.”

      “It’s not a house, Dad,” Davy whispered in an aside, as if embarrassed by his father’s misunderstanding of the situation. “It’s an RV.”

      “It may not be a house, but it is Miss Meg’s home.”

      All eyes turned to her for confirmation.

      She wet her lips. Yes, as weird as it might seem to most people, the RV was her home. A retreat where she could be alone with her thoughts. A hideaway to shut out the world. A refuge when life’s realities became too overwhelming.

      “A sleepover is—” She took an uncertain breath as she looked from father to grandfather to grandson. “Is…fine with me.”

      What was she thinking? This was not a good idea.

      Clutching his fork in a fist, Davy leaned in. “Please, Dad?”

      “Come on, Joe.” Bill pinned his son with a meaningful look. “You could use a night off. Why not tonight?”

      Tonight? Meg took a shaky sip from her water glass. What had she gotten herself into?

      “Tonight?” Joe set down his coffee mug. “We’re talking about tonight?”

      Meg focused steadily on Davy’s hope-filled eyes, and her insides melted. She hadn’t the heart to disappoint him. “Tonight’s okay with me.”

      “All right!” Davy’s fist punched the air.

      Staring at her, Joe picked up his fork, laid it down and then picked it up again.

      As if reading his son’s mind, Bill spoke up. “I’ve known Meg for months. Love her to pieces. She not only babysits for your cousin Reyna’s kids, but she cleared the background check for school and the church.”

      “What’s a background check?” Davy looked to his grandfather, but Meg responded.

      “It means I’m a certified good person to be around kids.”

      Davy considered that for a moment before turning to his father with a doubtful look. “Are you certified to be around kids, Dad?”

      Bill chuckled, and she bit back a smile.

      “Not yet. But I will be. Soon.” Joe cut into a fish stick. “And certification has nothing to do with being a mom or dad. It’s only for when you have a job with kids that aren’t your own.”

      “Might not be a half-bad idea, though.” Bill sent a wink in Meg’s direction.

      “So, can I go, Dad? Please? Because Miss Meg’s certified?”

      Joe cleared his throat. “Let’s eat while I think about it.”

      Davy wiggled in his seat, then dived into the pirate food with gusto.

      Still baffled at her own willingness to host a sleepover for a child she hardly knew, Meg cast a furtive glance in Joe’s direction before turning her attention back to her meal.

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