I shouldn’t have worried.
I should have believed.
I wouldn’t make that mistake again. Not ever.
Because my man could do anything.
* * * * *
It was snowing, late afternoon, skies gray, when Deacon pulled up to the curb outside the tidy, little house on a sweet street in Iowa.
He didn’t even stop before the door opened and a woman’s body filled it.
This wasn’t surprising. In the hotel that we’d checked into forty-five minutes ago, he’d made the call to tell them we were in town and he wanted to see them.
He suggested dinner at a restaurant that evening.
His mother had told him to come immediately.
We’d come immediately.
As I heard Deacon’s door open, I watched the woman walk out onto the porch, a man followed her, more people were inside.
His sister, maybe.
I pushed my door open and Deacon was there when I jumped out.
He closed the door for me, grabbed my hand, and guided me to the walk.
I took in deep breaths as I saw them, his parents, his sister, a man hanging back in the house, a little boy at his side, leaning against his dad’s leg, a toddler in the curve of the man’s arm.
Deacon’s nephew and niece, both he’d never met.
Deacon let my hand go halfway up the steps that were nearly covered with empty pots awaiting spring flowers, making the ascent awkward for two people.
He didn’t let me go because of that.
He let me go because his mother was losing it. It was plain to see.
And when he hit the porch, she lost it.
I stopped moving one step down.
She rushed him, rolling up on her toes, her hands clasping his cheeks, and stood still, silent tears streaming down her face.
The same happened to me.
“My boy,” she forced out in a voice cracked and scratchy.
“Yeah, Mom,” Deacon replied gently, lifting one of his hands to cup her cheek.
“My boy,” she repeated, lost the silent, and sobbed.
Deacon folded her in his arms, bending his head deep to put his lips to her hair, and he whispered to her words I couldn’t hear.
She clutched him harder.
I concentrated all my efforts on not making a fool of myself and losing it too by letting loose ugly, sloppy tears.