In the nursery, he lifted her out of the stretchy cotton wrap and placed her in a colorful bouncer with a sea creature mobile so he could prepare her bottle. By always having her against him, he could anticipate her needs before she ever cried. Her slight squirms told him she’d be ready to eat in about ten minutes, and then about ten minutes after her meal, another bit of restlessness indicated she’d need a diaper change.
Attachment parenting, the baby book called it. It said this type of parenting created strong bonds and well-adjusted independent children by teaching them about secure attachment and quickly having their needs met. He shook his head, laughing to himself.
Was it possible for him, of all people, to teach her about secure attachment? When he was six, the state-appointed child psychologist had labeled Harvey to explain why foster parents had such a hard time with him. Reactive attachment disorder, or something like that. The doctor said the combination of trauma and unstable foster placements had rendered him incapable of forming normal relationships.
“Ivy Rose, I don’t know if it’s possible for me to teach you anything about connecting to the world, but one second with you did something for me no one else could.”
Harvey picked her up and reclined in one of the gliders to feed her. They let out a simultaneous contented sigh. She blinked sleepily, enjoying her bottle.
Harvey leaned his head back into the plush glider. “I don’t know about you, but I could get used to this. I don’t remember the last time I sat on something so soft.” He let his eyes close, soothing himself with the gentle motion and the warm weight of Ivy in his arms.
Propping her on his shoulder, he patted her back. She felt so fragile under his hands. Ivy let out a man-sized burp.
He lifted her away from his shoulder, supporting her wobbly head. She looked at him wide-eyed with her mouth in a pucker as though she were in the mood to pass out kisses. A dribble of formula ran down her chin. “Gosh, girl, you’re not even two weeks old, and you’re louder than a grown person.”
Tucking her back into the wrap, he hummed a lullaby as he ensured all traces of their nursery visit were erased. He hoisted the trash bag over his shoulder Santa Claus style and then headed down to the basement to check the trash in there.
The can was mostly full. He tugged the stretched tight rim of the trash bag until it popped free. As he lifted the bag to pull the drawstring, the papers on top shifted. There was a gift box dented in on one side, tied with a green ribbon. Who would throw away an unopened gift?
After the garbage was in the dumpster and the doors locked, Harvey returned the key to Pearl. She rocked in her porch swing, but it was like she wasn’t even there.
He cleared his throat. “Mission accomplished.”
She snapped her head around. “Oh. Hi, Harvey.” Standing, she reached for the key he dangled from one finger.
“Thank you again for the boots. They fit perfect.”
“I thought they might.” Pearl offered a half-smile. “If you want to leave your phone number, I’ll pass it along to Pastor Thomas. Next time he’s going to be out, he can call you instead of you coming all this way.” Her voice was flat and quiet.
He shook his head and his mouth went dry. “I . . . I don’t have a phone.”
She gave a small nod. “I hope you have a good rest of the day. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Pearl seemed so sad, he nearly offered to stay, but then again she hadn’t invited. He gave a small wave as he left.
On the sidewalk, fifty feet from the bargain store, Harvey glanced around—no familiar faces. Pastor Thomas was sick or something. Pearl hadn’t seemed in the mood to be out and about. He removed his oversized shirt and tucked it in his bag. He’d found the fitted T-shirt last night, the same color as Ivy’s wrap.
Before entering the store, he checked his reflection in the storefront glass.
His hair was too long and his face scruffy. Sweet Ivy snuggled tight against him with only her fuzzy crown visible—his only endorsement that he was of worthy character.
He chose a cart and squeaked toward the baby section. People’s heads turned as he passed. But maybe the screech wasn’t what drew their attention. There was a softness about their glances.
He stopped at the shaving aisle and splurged on a pack of the least expensive razors for himself.
Voices drifted over from the previous aisle. “Did you see that man with his daughter?” The voice was elderly with a lazy southern drawl.
“Oh, I know it. Wasn’t that the sweetest thing? This world would be a better place with more doting fathers like that one.”
Harvey warmed.
The two voices chirped out a synchronized greeting. “Hi, Pearl.”
The warmth vanished. Harvey abandoned the cart and edged away from the voices, fingers flying as he buttoned the shirt over Ivy. What a stupid idea. Risking being noticed with Ivy. Had Pearl followed him? That didn’t make sense. He’d left fifteen minutes ago, and it’d only take her five minutes to zip over in her Oldsmobile.
“Hello, Margaret, Eva. How are y’all doing this afternoon?” Her voice had more of its usual spunk, but it sounded forced.
He edged farther around the corner, stole a peek at the group, then pressed against the end-of-aisle display as the women exchanged pleasantries. Pearl said something about sugar, and then he heard the retreating squeak of her orthopedic shoes on the vinyl floor.
He held his breath until she passed by his aisle.
Hushed voices from the two ladies drifted his way. “That woman is a pillar of strength, I tell ya. I don’t know how she’s still standing.”
“I know it. Such tragedy, her son. Did you know she was the one who found him?”
Harvey, pulled by their words, strained his ears as they walked away.
The other voice gasped. “No. Oh my. I can’t imagine.”
“To have him survive a war zone, and then to lose him anyway.”
“Two weeks before Christmas too.”
A breath stuck in Harvey’s lungs as he studied the boots on his feet. Oh, Miss Pearl. No wonder she’d been so undone today.
He walked mechanically to the baby aisle. All the bright colors blurred together. Why would she want someone like him wearing her son’s boots?
CHAPTER
EIGHTEEN
PRESENT DAY
An incessant pounding throbbed in the distance. Why was the maintenance man hammering in her neighbor’s apartment at this hour? Ivy rolled over on what she thought was the queen-sized bed in her bedroom with a groan that turned into a yelp as she rolled off Grandma’s sofa.
“Oomph.” Ivy sat up and scrubbed her face as her disorientation faded. Her insomnia-induced classic film bingefest came back to her.
The pounding continued from the front door. Ivy checked the time on her phone.
9:15.
Reese.
How long had he been out there?
Ivy scrambled to her feet and staggered toward the door. She smoothed her sleep-tangled hair from her face and then yanked the door open. Reese stood on the doorstep with a cardboard cup in each hand, looking like he’d walked off a modeling shoot. Her gaze traveled from his neatly combed hair and hazel eyes to his fitted T-shirt. The morning sun turned his normally light brown hair to honey gold.
Reese’s eyes widened. “Hey, sorry to wake you. I should have called first.”