“Thomma!”
At his mother’s sharp tone, he blinked and refocused. “What?”
“I asked you what is wrong.”
“I’m tired.” He tried to brush past her, but she stepped in front of him and pressed a hand to his chest.
“The job is too hard for you?”
“No.” Compared to the backbreaking work he’d done at the mine, dealing with charter fishing customers and taking care of a boat was easy. Steven Roark was also a much better boss than his old foreman.
“Then the tiredness is from within.” His mother’s gaze bored into his. “That is more difficult to cure. You should talk with Father Murphy.”
He snorted. “He’ll just tell me to trust in God and do my best with what I have left.”
“That is not bad advice.”
“It doesn’t bring Raca—or the others—back.” He shouldered past her. “I’m taking a shower and then I’m going to rest until dinner.”
She didn’t say another word or try to stop him.
But the sight of his solemn-eyed daughter propped up in bed, a picture book in her lap, her hair spread on the pillow behind her, brought him to a standstill.
Elisa didn’t speak. She just stared at him with big eyes filled with sadness and longing and bewilderment.
How different this greeting was from the old days, when she’d run to him, arms upraised for a twirl as he came through the door from work, then squeal with laughter as he swung her around and nuzzled her neck.
His vision misted.
So much had changed.
Forever.
And none of it was Elisa’s fault.
She didn’t deserve to be dumped into the care of her grandmother, much as she loved her Teta. She was his responsibility. It wasn’t her fault that every time he looked at her, he saw Raca—and a shaft of pain pierced his heart.
For the sake of compassion alone, he ought to make an effort to show some affection.
He took one step into the room. “Teta says you’re sick.”
She held up a tissue. “My nose runned.”
“Does your tummy hurt?”
“Yes.” Her voice was so soft he could barely hear it.
“You rest while I take a shower. Then we’ll have dinner. Do you need anything?”
She hesitated for one second, then shook her head.
But that was a lie.
Of course she needed something.
A hug. A smile. A twirl in the air. A game of Candy Land with her papa.
Anything to reassure her that her father loved her.
Yet all he could manage was a slight flex of his lips before he escaped into the hall.
His mother was still standing at the far end, arms crossed, brow creased, her message clear.
She didn’t approve of his behavior.
And he couldn’t blame her.
He ought to be able to see past Elisa’s resemblance to his wife, to love his daughter for herself, be grateful he had her, and give her top priority in his affections.
His head knew that—but his heart refused to cooperate.
Turning his back on his mother, he swallowed past the tightness in his throat. Fled toward the bathroom. Slipped inside and flipped the lock.
There, away from ’Ami’s reproving gaze and Elisa’s haunted eyes, he leaned his forehead against the door, drew in a shaky breath, and did something he’d vowed never to do again.
He prayed.
She didn’t have to talk to Logan in person. A phone call would suffice.
So why was she circling around the hedge that led to his house and walking up his drive?
Jeannette halted.
This was crazy.
Paying an unnecessary visit to her neighbor broke every rule she’d imposed on herself when she’d left Cincinnati behind to start over here.
But she’d been breaking a bunch of them lately.
If she wanted to keep to herself, she shouldn’t have gone to a social event like the welcome party for the Shabos. She shouldn’t have offered to teach the family English. She shouldn’t be initiating a visit to her new neighbor with an idea that would enmesh her even more in other people’s lives.
What was going on? Why had she suddenly begun leaving her safe cocoon and connecting with the residents of this town more than her business required?
And where were those connections going to lead?
Somewhere scary.
Her pulse stuttered as the answer strobed across her mind, and she backed up a few steps.
Hesitated.
You’re being selfish, Jeannette. Your neighbor is in a bind, and your idea could solve his problem.
That was true.
But she could pass it on by phone. That would be far safer.
Decision made, she pivoted and hurried back toward her house.
“Jeannette!”
As Logan called out from behind her, her step faltered—as did her heart.
Too late to run.
She swiveled toward him as he jogged down the path from the porch.
Halfway to her, he stopped and plucked a lavender ribbon from the grass.
Holding it aloft, he grinned. “Never mind. Crisis averted. I thought I might have lost this at your place and was going to ask you if I could look for it. Come on over, if you can stand Toby’s barking.”
She was stuck.
Smoothing a hand down her jeans, she joined him. “I’m a little later than I expected. I wanted to change first.”
“That’s fine. Toby was not happy about being confined in a cage while we were gone, and he’s been barking and running around the house like he’s possessed since we liberated him. He’s calmed down some, but why don’t we sit out here while Molly plays with him? It will be less chaotic.” He motioned toward the front porch.
“Works for me.”
He let her precede him, pausing at the front door as she moved toward the mesh folding chairs the former owner had left that had been there for as long as she’d lived in her house. “Let me give this to Molly and stave off a meltdown.”
By the time he joined her, she’d moved the two chairs farther apart and claimed one of them.
If he noticed the wider separation, he gave no indication of it. “Molly loved the tea—and we both appreciated the animal-shaped peanut butter and jelly sandwiches you added to our tray.”
“I figured she’d like them better than the smoked salmon rosette and the marinated shrimp skewered on the lavender stem. Besides, that left more of the gourmet food for you—not that it filled you up, I’m guessing.”
He shifted in his seat. “Everything was delicious.”
“A diplomatic answer. But I have a feeling you’re in the same camp as one of my male guests from Texas, who said, ‘Mighty tasty, young woman—but where’s the main course?’”
“Can I plead the Fifth?”
“Not necessary. Most women can’t finish everything I serve and tell me they’re full at the end, but their male companions don’t consider my teas a meal. So you’re not alone.”
“Where did you learn to make all that fancy food, anyway?”
Not a subject she wanted to discuss—but she couldn’t ignore the question.
“My mom was a wonderful cook. Most of the elaborate fare is self-taught, but she was my inspiration.” Jeannette folded her hands in her lap and steered the conversation back on course. “Would you like to hear my idea?”