Driftwood Bay (Hope Harbor #5) - Irene Hannon Page 0,69
his hand. “You got easy questions.”
“For the record . . . that’s not true.” The priest directed his comment to the audience of three, then turned back to the minister. “But enough of this debate. We should move on to more important matters—like doughnuts and deliveries. Give me ten minutes and I’ll meet you in the parking lot. You can wedge yourself into the back seat, next to the toilet paper.”
“Gee thanks.” Reverend Baker straightened his clerical collar. “You’re lucky I’m such a great sport.”
“Not on the golf course.” He nudged the pastor with his elbow, and Logan hid a grin behind a cough as the padre winked at him and Jeannette. “I’m glad I ran into you both today. I wanted to say thanks again for the tutoring, Jeannette, and for the job you gave Mariam, Logan. I understand Thomma is also training your pup.”
“Yes—and doing an exceptional job. I think the man is a dog whisperer.”
“Is that right?” Reverend Baker chimed back in. “I have another member of the congregation with a recalcitrant puppy. I wonder if she might want to enlist Thomma’s aid once he finishes your job.”
“Let’s mention it to him during our visit. And now I’m off for a doughnut.” Father Murphy lifted his hand in farewell and wove through the clusters of churchgoers in the vestibule toward the fellowship hall.
“I best be off too.” Reverend Baker waved at another departing congregant. “I have to turn off a few lights in the church and stop in at the house. But first let me add my thanks to Kevin’s. You two have gone above and beyond helping our deserving family.”
“Mariam and Thomma have done far more for me than I’ve done for them, Reverend. Jeannette’s the one who’s gone above and beyond.” Logan gestured toward the woman across from him.
“Indeed she has.” The man took her hand. “May the Lord bless you both—and you too, young lady.” He squeezed Molly’s fingers.
As he returned to the sanctuary, Jeannette pulled out her keys. “I have to get home.”
“If you change your mind about joining us for a walk—or you’re in the mood for some visitors later—we’ll be heading down to the beach about six thirty.”
“Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind. You two enjoy your day.”
Molly watched her walk away, emitting a wistful sigh. “She’s nice.”
“Yes, she is.”
“I wish she wasn’t sad.”
So Molly had picked up on that too. “What makes you think she’s sad?”
His niece shrugged. “Sometimes her smile doesn’t get up to her eyes.”
Never again would he underestimate the perceptive powers of a five-year-old.
He surveyed the thinning crowd in the foyer. This wasn’t the place he’d planned to broach heavier subjects with Molly, but if she was in a talking mood it might be wise to take advantage of the opportunity.
“I wonder why she’s sad.” He kept his tone conversational.
His niece studied the tips of her Sunday shoes. “She said she misses the people she loved. Like I do.”
Throat tightening, Logan brushed back a strand of hair that had escaped from her ponytail. “Where did the people she loved go?”
“I don’t know. Away.”
That must be all she knew—but as long as they were talking about loss, he ought to follow his neighbor’s advice about sharing what was in his own heart.
He dropped down to one knee beside her and tipped her chin up with one finger. “It’s hard when people you love go away. I miss Nana and your daddy every single day. And I miss my own daddy too, even though he’s been gone a long time. But they always stay in my heart.” He touched the left side of his chest.
“Sometimes . . .” She sniffed and wiped her hand under her nose. “Sometimes my tummy hurts when I think about Nana. Like it’s empty.”
“Mine too.”
She shuffled one of her feet and dropped her chin again. “I don’t remember my daddy very good.” Her soft voice quavered. “But Nana showed me pictures of him and told me stories.”
“I know stories about your daddy too.”
She met his gaze, the blue of her irises an exact match for her dad’s—and his. “Could you tell me some?”
“Sure.” Why hadn’t he thought about doing that weeks ago? “I can start tonight while we take our walk on the beach.” Where the seclusion and quiet would be much more conducive to building rapport than the busy vestibule of the church. “How does that sound?”
“’Kay.” She watched the people strolling toward the doorway that led to the fellowship hall. “Can we