Driftwood Bay (Hope Harbor #5) - Irene Hannon Page 0,98

the results.

The beams of headlights illuminated the backyard, and her pulse stuttered.

They were here!

She finished dividing the food and removed her apron as Toby pranced about the room, pinging with excitement.

Hopefully the newspeople waiting in front would stay there and let their two families have some peace.

She hurried to the back door and pulled it open as the two police cruisers came to a stop.

Thomma hadn’t said much on the phone a few minutes ago, nor had she pressed him for details. All that mattered at this moment was the well-being of the two girls.

But if today’s events hadn’t been the wake-up call her son needed to realize how precious Elisa was to him, perhaps there was no hope.

Gripping the edge of the door, she closed her eyes.

Please, God, let this be a turning point for him—and let Elisa respond to his overtures. Please let it not be too late for them to salvage their relationship. You know far better than I how much they need each other.

Logan and Thomma got out of the first cruiser, and the police chief slid from behind the wheel. She spoke to Logan, then strode back down the driveway while the dog and handler exited the second car.

The two men, the girls in their arms, walked over and shook his hand before heading for the house.

As Logan stepped back to let Thomma enter first, Mariam held out her arms for Elisa. “Oh, tafalay alhulu.” And that was more than a generic endearment. Elisa was her sweet child, always obedient and loveable. Running away had been a cry for help—and attention.

She hugged her tight, fingered her shirt, and inspected both girls.

“Clothes wet. Need change.”

“Yes.” Logan walked toward the bedroom. “Come.”

She followed.

In Molly’s bedroom, he pulled out tops and pants for both girls. “Bath first.”

He led them to the bathroom. “You help?” He arched an eyebrow at her.

“Yes. I be quick.”

Moving at top speed, Mariam filled the tub and got both girls cleaned up fast. Though she tried to talk with them, neither had much to say.

Perhaps Elisa would open up to her later, at home—or better yet, talk to her father.

Once both girls were warm and dry and dressed, she led them back to the kitchen, where Logan and Thomma were drinking coffee.

Thomma stood as soon as they entered. “We go home now.”

“Yes.” She retrieved their food, and motioned toward the covered dishes in the oven as she looked at Logan. “For you.”

For once, he didn’t refuse.

“Thank you.”

“I come tomorrow?”

Logan hesitated.

“Better keep . . .” Mariam searched her vocabulary but came up with no word for routine. “Keep same.” After today’s excitement, it would be best if the girls got back to normal as soon as possible.

Based on Logan’s nod, he seemed to get her gist. “Yes.”

She picked up their dinner and motioned for Thomma to take Elisa’s hand.

He did better than that.

After crossing the room in two long strides, he bent and swung her up into his arms.

Mariam’s spirits rose.

Perhaps her prayers were about to be answered.

Logan followed them to the door, and as Mariam turned to say good-bye, Molly sidled close to her uncle and tucked her hand in his. As he bent to pick her up, she lifted her arms and smiled. A real, no-holds-barred smile that banished the hurt and grief that had always darkened her eyes.

It appeared those two had mended their fences.

Now if only Thomma could win back the little girl in his arms.

Logan closed the door behind the Syrian family and shifted Molly in his arms. “What do you say we eat some of the dinner Mrs. Shabo left for us?”

“Can you hold me first?” She tightened her grip around his neck—like she never wanted to let go.

Fine with him.

“Sure.” He carried her into the living room and sat in the overstuffed chair he’d brought from his apartment in San Francisco. It was large enough to accommodate both of them—though Molly had never initiated a lap-sitting session.

Toby trotted in and plopped down at his feet.

For several minutes they sat in silence, Molly cuddled up against his chest as he stroked her back and waged a mental debate about how to proceed.

Should he introduce the subject of her afternoon adventure—or hope she’d tell him about it on her own?

But what if she never brought it up? Should he let it go?

Maybe.

After all, it wasn’t as if there was any secret about why she’d left. She and Elisa were both unhappy and grieving.

Thomma’s daughter had Mariam, of course. But while