Driftwood Bay (Hope Harbor #5) - Irene Hannon Page 0,73

didn’t surprise him. Charley had an uncanny ability to engender confidences.

“I agree the cat sounds like a perfect excuse—but she made it clear she doesn’t want us to drop in to see him.”

“There are other ways to initiate contact. She does run a tearoom, you know. You could take Molly.”

“I did that once—but Jeannette’s busy at those teas. She wouldn’t have any time to chat with us.” He checked on his niece.

She was hunkered down not two feet from the seagulls, who didn’t appear to be in the least perturbed by her touching-distance proximity.

It seemed Charley was right again.

“You could always drop by her booth at the farmer’s market some Friday.”

Neither of Charley’s suggestions were bad. Molly would enjoy both—and at the rate they were going, that sort of contrived meeting could be his only chance to see his neighbor.

“I’ll have to think about that—though it’s not like I’m in the market for another challenge. I’m plenty busy with Molly and the new job.”

“Some challenges are worth tackling . . . and they often pay dividends far beyond what we can imagine.” Charley finished assembling the tacos, wrapped them in white paper, and slid them into a bag. “Two orders, all set to go.”

Logan handed over some bills and took the bag. “These won’t last long.”

“Music to a taco-maker’s ears. You two enjoy your evening. Bye, Molly.” He waved at the girl and turned to the next customer in the line that had formed.

“Bye.” She called the farewell over her shoulder but remained by the birds.

“Come on, sweetie. These will get cold if we don’t eat them fast.”

After lingering a few more seconds, she rose and walked over to him. “Did you see how close I got to Floyd and Gladys?”

“Yes. They must like you.”

“I just did what Charley said and went real slow and careful so I wouldn’t scare them. He knows a bunch about birds.”

Yeah, he did.

Also about people.

And his advice about the seagulls might also be appropriate for Jeannette.

His neighbor did need a friend, whether she realized it or not—and slow and easy could be the key with her . . . as well as with his niece. Perhaps his progress with both of them was meant to be marked in tiny increments rather than great leaps.

Not his usual dive-in-and-get-it-done style, but he could live with small steps forward—as long as they advanced.

He took another gander at Charley as they strolled back to their car.

Funny.

He’d been on the verge of giving up on Jeannette until he’d talked with the man.

But maybe he’d hang in for a while after all.

Because if he succeeded in breaking through her barriers, the dividends Charley had referenced might be well worth the effort—for both of them.

“Papa?”

At Elisa’s tentative question, Thomma shifted around in his seat at the table on Anna Williams’s patio.

His pajama-clad daughter stood ten feet away, clutching her Raggedy Ann doll in one hand, a book in the other, her demeanor somber.

“Yes?”

“Would you read me a story?”

He gritted his teeth and bit back a word Raca had asked him never to use in front of their children.

His mother had put Elisa up to this.

And he was in no mood for stories—or reminders of his dead wife—after a long day on the boat. It was hard enough to cope with all of them living together in one large room, where there was no door to close to escape from his memories.

“Ask Teta.”

“She’s baking. She said to ask you.”

“Maybe later. I’m busy now.”

Not true. Now that their English lesson with Jeannette was over, he was doing nothing on this Wednesday except staring into the dusky distance and trying to figure out how he was going to get through the rest of his life.

Even Elisa recognized the lie.

Her eyes filled with tears and she backed up a few steps. “I told Teta you would say no.” Her voice was a mere whisper.

The sharp prod from his conscience didn’t improve his humor. “I didn’t say no. I said maybe later.”

“I’m going to bed soon.”

“Another night then.”

After lingering a moment, she trudged back to their temporary quarters.

Thomma let out a slow breath and closed his eyes.

He didn’t want to hurt Elisa—but he couldn’t change how he felt.

Too bad God hadn’t taken him in the bombing along with the rest of his family. An absent father would be better than a cold one.

He had no idea how long he sat there, deep in his own misery, but at some point he heard someone settle into the