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Their faces—younger, yet not young—came back to Mandy. Growing up, she’d seen them at town festivals, at school events, at the ice cream parlor.
“One day you’ll have to tell us about your grandfather,” Agnes said in an I’m-so-sorry tone of voice, the kind that always brought tears to Mandy’s eyes. “I always admired George and Blythe for taking you kids in when Teri was—”
“A flake.” Rose returned to the living room with a glass of milk and indicated Mandy sit up. “Your mother is a flake.”
Olivia stopped chewing. She claimed a blind admiration for their mother. Mandy had given up arguing with her about Mom years ago.
Rose handed the milk to Mandy, paused and put on an apologetic smile. “No offense.”
“None taken.” Mandy bit into another cookie, making short work of the sweet treat. So much for casserole. “Have you seen my mother in town recently?”
“No.” Rose returned from the kitchen almost immediately and handed Olivia a glass of milk. “You need some fresh baking soda in that fridge.”
“Vinegar,” Mildred said.
“It smells like there might be something dead underneath.” Agnes leaned down to admire Olivia’s handiwork. “Those are very pretty nails.”
Her praise won Olivia over. She preened. “If you like that, look at my feet.” She’d done them yesterday.
Agnes bent over, hands on knees. “Are those fireworks or chrysanthemums?”
“Fireworks.” Olivia wiggled her toes.
“Are you licensed?” Rose drifted closer to Olivia. “We’ve got a hairstylist in town, but not a nail lady.”
“Not yet. I’m going to cosmetology school in a few months. My grandpa left me money, but said I have to wait until I’m eighteen to collect.”
Mandy’s feeling of comfort evaporated. She couldn’t look at her sister.
“We heard your grandfather had dementia.” Mildred’s hand found Mandy’s and squeezed. “Was it bad?”
“It was,” Olivia said before Mandy could do more than nod.
“It was worse at the end,” Mandy said in Grandpa’s defense. As his kidneys failed and his organs shut down, his touch with reality hung by a thread. He hadn’t slept more than an hour at a time. He’d wake up and sing at the top of his lungs, and not always with the right words.
Glory, glory hallelujah. Glory, glory with a poodle.
“Well...” Agnes tilted her head toward the door, perhaps noticing the mist in Mandy’s eyes. “We won’t take up any more of your time. Let us know if you need anything.”
Now that Mandy was full of sugar and dinner was in the kitchen, her smile felt uncharacteristically carefree. “We’re looking to rent a place.” Too late, Mandy realized that statement opened the door to unanswered questions about why they couldn’t live in this house.
Other than a fleeting display of creased silver brows, the town council didn’t seem to care.
“Oh.” On her way out, Rose pivot-turned at the door. “There’s a cute place around the corner that used to have a beauty salon in the garage. It might be the perfect place for a nail salon.”
“We’ll get you the owner’s information,” Agnes promised.
Olivia beamed, while Mandy wondered how much more expensive a home would be to rent with a salon inside.
After the town council left, Mandy and Olivia stared at each other.
“Just this once,” Olivia said with a sly grin, “can we have cookies for dinner?”
“I hate that we think alike.” But she loved that no eggshells had been broken between them.
They each ate three more cookies and drained their glasses of milk.
CHAPTER FOUR (#u57945a2e-938e-5c0d-96c7-e6c0b5161a40)
“HANNAH, THAT SNAKE is not coming inside.” Ben’s mother sounded flustered. She’d raised two boys and been around firemen all her life. Nothing ruffled her feathers.
Except, it seemed, a seven-year-old girl.
“But the snake is already inside.” Hannah’s calm voice, stating a fact.
Another crisis. Ben hurried to unlace his boots. Still in his navy blue uniform, he ran to the kitchen, assessing the situation as quickly as he would an emergency call.
Hannah held a slender gray snake that was about two feet long. Its small head rested between her thumb and forefinger. The rest of it was coiled around her forearm. Thankfully, it was only a garter snake.
Looking frazzled, his mother stood on sandaled tiptoe, backed into the corner of the dark kitchen cabinets. Her hands clutched her orange flowered tunic. Her short blond hair was uncharacteristically spiked up in front. If Hannah brought the snake any closer, she’d probably climb into the double metal sink. “Ben, thank heavens. Hannah slipped away again and she—”
“I didn’t slip away.” Hannah sounded weary of overprotective adults. Where Hannah used to deal with one parental unit, now she dealt with three. “You were taking a nap, so I went for a bike ride.”
Ben bit back a smile.
“Fine. Yes. I took a nap. That’s what grannies do because children are exhausting.” There was a hysterical edge to his mother’s voice. She gripped the counter so ferociously Ben was surprised she didn’t embed a fake French nail in the butcher block. “But for once, honey, can you go on a bike ride and not bring home a critter?”
Hannah pushed her glasses up her nose with her free hand. Her knees were dirty, and her thin blond hair hung half out of its single braid. “I only bring home the lost and the injured.”
Sensing an opportunity, Ben knelt next to Hannah. “That snake looks fine to me.”
“He has a kink.” Han gently pulled the snake’s tail away from her arm so he could see.
“Take it out of the house, please.” Mom shuddered. “I cook meals in this room.”
“Hannah,” Ben said in the patient voice he’d had to use a lot since he’d taken his godchild in. “That kink isn’t something a stay in the infirmary can fix.”
The infirmary. That’s what Han called the wall of cages and terrariums in the garage. Mom hadn’t wanted to keep animals in the house, period. But Hannah had insisted. It was the only time since her mother’s death that the little girl had cried.
“But...” Hannah’s eyes turned watery. “Iggy needs a friend. The other snakes make fun of him.”
Mom gave Ben a look that said: you better set that kid straight.
Ben stood and took Han’s snakeless hand. “Little Iggy might have had friends back where you found him. They might have been better at hiding without a kinked tail.”
“We have to take him back?” Han asked, lips drawing into a pout.
Ben would’ve relented, if not for Mom’s vehement nod of the head.
“Come on, peanut,” he said. “I’ll drive you back where you found him.” Which turned out to be an empty field near the river about a mile from the corner house his parents were renting.
On the return drive home, Hannah stared out the window, her forehead pressed to the glass. “I’m like Iggy. I don’t have any friends. No parents. And now, no snake.”
Ben tried to make light of the situation. “As your godfather, I’m crushed.”
“You don’t count.” She turned those large, solemn blue eyes his way. “You don’t want to keep me.” Her voice was thin, but not whiny or accusatory. Just factual.
“That’s not true.” Her birth certificate said he wasn’t her real father. His dedication to his profession said he wasn’t the right person to raise her. He wanted to be a fire investigator. That involved long hours and unpredictable schedules. Jobs were scarce. When his time here in Harmony Valley was done, he planned to apply everywhere. “I love you, peanut. Would I have taken you to Sylvia Steinway’s princess-themed birthday party if I didn’t?”
She tilted her head and smirked at him. “Wearing princess dresses is stupid. I didn’t want to go.”
Ben didn’t believe that for a moment. He’d caught Hannah gazing at her reflection in the mirror before they’d left for the party, fingers knotted in her poufy pink skirt. And she still kept her tiara on top of her dresser. But that wasn’t the point. “Would I have taken you to see the latest Disney movie if I didn’t love you? And don’t forget I bought popcorn and Goobers.”
Her smirk threatened to turn into a smile. She chewed on the inside of her cheek and looked away, such an old soul for being only seven. “And when my dad shows up? Will you want me then?”
“I’ll want you always, peanut.” Ben gently tugged what was left of her braid. “Just remember, dads have first dibs.”
Later that night after Hannah had gone to bed, Mom pulled Ben into the garage. It was crowded with plastic storage tubs from the move except for the space they’d carved out along one wall for Hannah’s infirmary. “I’m sorry Han got away from me again, Ben. I can’t let my eyes off her even for a minute.”
Dad sat in a burgundy camp chair next to the hot water heater, chewing on a cigar, which was the only vice left to him—chewing, not smoking. “You shouldn’t worry so much, Vanessa. Harmony Valley isn’t the Bermuda Triangle. Kids can safely roam free here.”
“She isn’t ours to let roam.” Mom was wound up tighter than the snake had been around Hannah’s arm. “What if she fell in the river? What if she got hit by a car? Her real father would have our hides. And who could blame him?”
“Time to face facts.” Keith mouthed the cigar. “It’s been three months. We may never find Han’s dad.”
“Don’t say that.” Ben had been searching since Erica died. A few weeks ago, he’d hired a private investigator to aid in the search. “Her father is out there.”
Erica’s parents couldn’t take Hannah because her grandfather had Alzheimer’s and her grandmother couldn’t handle caring for a child on top of that. Nothing in Hannah’s records—not even her birth certificate—said more than John Smith. There were thousands of John Smiths in California. And what if good ol’ John had moved to another state?
Ben stared at the wall with cages. A rabbit with a broken leg. A guinea pig missing an ear. A bird with a broken wing. A baby possum that required bottle feedings. Hannah was a magnet for animals, especially those in need. Would her biological dad appreciate that?
“What Han needs are friends.” It was too bad it was summer and school was out. “Let’s ask around and see if we can’t get her some playdates.” Ones without princess dresses, at least at first.
“Fine.” Mom slipped her arm around Ben’s waist, smelling of the garlic she used in nearly everything she cooked. “But we need to start thinking about what we’ll do with Hannah if you can’t find her father.”
“She’s always got a home with the Libbys.” Dad removed the cigar from his mouth and stared up at the ceiling, perhaps imagining he was blowing smoke rings.
Mom frowned.
Ben’s lungs felt as if he was fighting a fully engaged house fire from the inside and had run out of oxygen in his tank. It was unfair to ask his mother to raise a child when she’d already raised two of her own. And firefighter hours? He couldn’t walk away from a raging house fire if his shift was over. His father was the perfect example of absentee parenthood—gone for days at a time, never home when he promised, always rushing to pick up an extra shift or attend a union meeting. When other kids had dads in the stands for Little League or end-of-the-year school awards, Ben had had none. Those crazy hours? It was why Ben had been staying with his parents since Erica’s death. It was why he’d moved in with them in Harmony Valley.
“All I’m asking is we think about it.” Mom’s frown disappeared. She gave him another squeeze. “You’ll do the right thing, Ben. You always do.”
Ben was doing the right thing. He was caring for another man’s child. It blew his mind that he’d never met and couldn’t find John Smith.
He’d formed many friendships at the fire academy, but none stuck like the connection between himself, Steven and Erica. They shared the same family lineage of firefighters and a drive to succeed. They’d all been hired by the Oakland Fire Department and assigned to the same busy, downtown station. And then one night Steven had been killed on-scene when a drunken driver plowed into the ambulance he’d been standing in front of. Ben had been the first to reach him.
That night, Ben had shown up at Erica’s apartment with a six-pack. Six beers and several whiskey shots later, he woke up in her bed. They’d both been horrified. Erica had a boyfriend. They’d made a pact never to mention it again. And Ben hadn’t until three months later when Erica announced she was pregnant. Ben had asked if it was his, because despite not wanting kids it’d been the right thing to do. When Erica denied it, Ben had been unable to hide his relief.
He wondered again for the umpteenth time... Was John Smith real?
If he wasn’t real, that might mean...
Ben needed space to think. Space to stop himself from thinking. Space from Mom and Dad and even sleeping Hannah. Space from the nagging feeling that he’d been lying to himself for seven years. He and Erica had been friends. He should have met her boyfriend at least once.
Ben went outside and called the private investigator he’d hired to find Hannah’s dad. His report? Still a dead end.
“But now that I have her laptop,” Fenway said, referring to the computer Ben had given him last weekend, “I’m going through her pictures and reverting them back to the original photo. You’d be amazed what and who people crop out before posting to social media.”
If John Smith existed, Hannah deserved to be with him. Being a fireman’s kid wasn’t a bowl of cherry-filled chocolates. There’d be missed meals, missed school events, missed ball games. Much as Ben wouldn’t trade his parents, he wouldn’t wish a fireman’s family on anyone.
He sat on top of the wooden picnic table in the backyard and stared at the sky. It was peaceful in Harmony Valley at night. There were no sirens. No gunshots. No road-raging shouts. Instead, there were wind-rustled leaves, curious owls and singing crickets. It was peaceful, safe, boring. The kind of slow-paced place where a man had little to think of other than his own hard truths.
Was he Hannah’s dad?
A branch snapped to his left.
“Ouch,” a female voice said, sounding more annoyed than hurt.
The four-foot-tall shrubbery separating the Libby backyard from the rear neighbor shook. More branches protested a bodily intrusion.
“For the love of gardenias!” A figure moved beneath the shadows created by a large tree.
Ben hopped off the picnic table. “Need any help?”
The woman and the bushes stilled. “Um. No. I’m looking for... I’m trying to...” The woman huffed as if the weight of the world was too much for her patience. “I like to look at the moon, and this humongous tree is in my way.”
Her hesitation and intensity gave her away. “Mandy?”
The very air seemed to go still. No crickets chirped. No owl hooted. Even the offending tree had gone still.
He peered into the shadows, trying to discern if she was still there, imagining her holding on to that calm smile of hers. “Mandy from the post office?”
“It’s Ben, isn’t it?” She spoke as if this was the worst news of the evening. “How did I not know the fire marshal was my neighbor?”
He chalked up the defeat in her voice to the stress of his fire inspection. His opinion of the post office didn’t reflect on her. She... He had to admit, she and her unflappable smile were more interesting than most things in Harmony Valley. “We’ve both been busy working.” And he went down Harrison to the firehouse, while she probably drove in the opposite direction to the post office.
“If our house looks vacant, it’s because I park in the garage and walk to work.” Gone was the postmaster with her defensive stubbornness. In her place was a neighbor shooting the breeze, one who fed displaced raccoons.
“Speaking of looking...” His lips turned upward for the first time that night. “I can see the moon clearly over here.”
“Rub it in,” she said, less pained than when she’d discovered he was on the other side of the hedge.
He was near enough now to see the outline of her face, although not a clear expression. Not her smile.
He wanted to see her smile.
Which was beyond ridiculous. A stranger’s smile shouldn’t matter.
