Currant Creek Valley - By RaeAnne Thayne Page 0,87
the equanimity of the other locals—that the tourists poured money into the economy, which helped build roads and schools and community centers for the year-round residents.
He was now twelve minutes late. In three more minutes, the art camp organizers would probably start calling to look for him.
He had fully intended to leave work earlier but at the last minute, Harry Lange had dropped by the recreation-center site, nearly complete, and he hadn’t been able to extricate himself until now.
He really had to get this whole child-care thing figured out. Finding full-time help with Ethan had turned into a bigger challenge than he had expected, mainly because his house still wasn’t at all in optimal condition, though he wanted to think he had made progress.
Meantime, for the past two weeks since Ethan had come home, he had made do with this summer camp and a crowded day-care facility Ethan wasn’t very crazy about.
A few times, he had ended up taking Ethan along with him if a job site was safe enough for a seven-year-old. The situation was reaching the critical stage, though.
He pulled up in front of the aging community center, just down the road from the high school. The new recreation center in the canyon wasn’t really intended to replace this one but to augment the facilities. This one had a much more convenient location to town but his construction eye picked up various areas of the building that looked in need of attention, specifically the roof and new windows.
His vague worry that he would find Ethan sitting alone on the steps of the building, forlorn and afraid he had been forgotten, didn’t materialize. Instead, he found his son deep in animated conversation with Claire McKnight and her son, Owen, a few years older than Ethan.
Ethan was telling a story, apparently, with broad hand gestures and exaggerated expressions. Both Owen and Claire were laughing at whatever he said, which warmed Sam’s heart.
Even with the child-care chaos, his son had adapted remarkably well to their new situation here in Hope’s Crossing.
Ethan missed Nick and Cheri and their children, who had played such an important part in their lives since Kelli’s death, but he seemed to be embracing this new phase easily. Sam couldn’t help being deeply relieved to know his huge gamble seemed to be paying off.
“Hi, Dad!” Ethan exclaimed when he spotted him. His son grinned and ran to him, wrapping his arms around Sam’s waist, and the tension that came from dealing with contractors and job headaches and tourist traffic miraculously dissipated.
“Hey, there, kiddo. Did you have a good day?”
“Yes! I made a really cool bowl with a picture of a fish on it—I painted an Atlantic salmon—and it’s going to be fired in a real kiln tonight.”
“Wow. Very cool. Hi, Claire. Owen.”
“Hi, Mr. Delgado,” Owen said politely.
“Hi, Sam.”
To his delight, Claire gave him a hug in greeting around the bulk of her pregnant belly. The warm, generous welcome of so many in town still took him by surprise.
“Tell me you’re not running the art camp, along with everything else in town,” he said.
She looked slightly aghast at the idea. “Oh, my word, no. I was just picking up Owen. He’s been coming to the art camp every year since he was old enough and loves it.”
“This year we’ve been doing some computer animation. It’s very cool!”
“Great.”
Seeing Claire made him automatically think of Alexandra and he wanted to ask how she was doing. He hadn’t seen her since the memorial service for her friend Caroline the week before.
He had felt a little weird about going since he didn’t really know the woman, had only met her the very day of her death, but he had decided to attend for Alexandra’s sake, if nothing else.
She had looked pale and distant; her features that normally glowed with life had been tight and withdrawn. He had tried several times to talk to her, to convey his sympathies, but she had studiously avoided him.
Frustrated and, yes, rather hurt that she would turn away the comfort he wanted to offer, he had finally reminded himself everyone grieved differently. He certainly had learned that after Kelli’s death.
On some days after his wife’s funeral, he had wanted to sit on the couch and flip aimlessly through channels on the television so he didn’t have to think. Others, he had to throw himself into frenzied work to keep the gnawing pain away.
He had a feeling Alexandra was in the last camp. She hadn’t been around her house