“Absolutely.”
“Did you happen to notice how Molly and Elisa Shabo clicked at the farmer’s market?”
“Yes.”
“It occurred to me that both girls could use a friend. Given their instant rapport, I wondered if Mariam—the grandmother—might be interested in watching them in your home. That would give Molly personalized care in familiar surroundings, along with the companionship of a child she already likes.”
Logan leaned forward and clasped his hands together, faint furrows creasing his brow. “Have you asked her about this?”
“No. I wanted to run the idea by you first. But I imagine the family would welcome another source of income. They came here with nothing, and Thomma isn’t earning much working on a fishing boat.”
“Does Mariam have any kind of childcare credentials?”
“I doubt it—but she raised two sons, and she’s very loving with Elisa. Given the circumstances, it will be impossible to do any of the typical due diligence, but you could always talk to Father Murphy. Get his read.”
“What’s your take on her—and the family?”
“I don’t know them that well.”
“You know them better than I do—and I’d appreciate your input.”
Jeannette knitted her fingers together in her lap. Back in her more sociable days, she’d been an excellent judge of character. But those skills were rusty.
As if sensing her reluctance to offer an opinion, Logan spoke again. “Whatever insights you have would be appreciated—and I won’t blame you if anything goes wrong.”
Given that caveat, how could she not share a few topline impressions?
“I think they’re good people.” She spoke slowly, choosing her words with care. “Thomma is angry, which is understandable. Mariam is trying hard to be the glue in the family and present a brave front, but I have a feeling she’s hurting inside and struggling to keep it together. Elisa is like Molly—a victim of circumstance, buffeted by trauma, but like most children, she’s responsive to love and very resilient.”
“Does that mean you think I should give this a shot?”
“That has to be your decision. I’m just presenting it as a possible option.”
“You don’t think Mariam’s lack of English would be a problem?”
“It’s not ideal, but she has their translator’s cell number. If there’s a communication glitch, she can always call for clarification—and I’m next door in an emergency.”
She clamped her lips shut.
Why on earth did she keep offering to get involved?
She had to stop doing that. Now.
“Do they have a car?” Logan crossed an ankle over his knee.
“Yes, but Thomma hasn’t gotten his driver’s license yet. Once he does, he can pick them up in the afternoon—but since he starts so early, they’d still need a ride to your house in the morning.”
“Not a problem. Nothing’s very far in Hope Harbor—and this arrangement would be far more convenient than the preschool in Coos Bay.” He leaned back, his expression thoughtful. “I like the idea of Molly having a ready-made friend—and the daycare center director did recommend in-home care.”
Jeannette remained silent while he mulled over the notion. She’d presented her case, and she wasn’t going to push. She’d already far overstepped her self-imposed boundaries.
“Maybe I should run this by Molly. What do you think?” Logan looked over at her.
“I think it’s always wise to involve children in decisions if possible. And given the preschool fiasco, letting her have some control over the situation could help create buy-in.”
Logan hitched up one side of his mouth. “You seem to know as much about kids as Laura Wilson, the daycare center director.”
She let that pass. “I’ll tell you what. If you’re interested in considering this, why don’t I contact Mariam and see if the idea appeals to her before you broach the notion to Molly? No sense getting her hopes up if this isn’t going to fly—or you decide not to pursue it.”
“That makes sense. Can you reach her tonight? I have to get back to the woman Reverend Baker found ASAP.”
“Yes. I have the translator’s cell number, and she sounded willing to help if an urgent situation came up. Given your ticking clock, I think this qualifies.”
“Amen to that.”
“I’ll call Susan as soon as I get back to the house.” She rose.
He stood too—much more slowly. As if he wasn’t anxious for her to leave.
Or was that her overactive imagination at play?
“I’ll tell the woman Reverend Baker lined up that I may have an alternate plan, but I’d appreciate it if you’d get back to me as soon as you hear anything.”
“Why don’t I call you with an update by eight o’clock at the latest?”
“Perfect.”
She edged around him on the porch, doing her best to ignore the hint of spicy aftershave tickling her nose. “I’ll let you get back to whatever you were doing.”
“No rush on my end. I’m going to read Molly a few of her fairy-tale princess books and introduce Toby to the electric fence.”
“Exciting Saturday night.”
“The fence part might be.”
“That kind of excitement you could do without, I’m sure.”
“True.”
“This new lifestyle of yours must be a huge adjustment after leading a bachelor life in San Francisco. I bet Saturday nights there were much more . . . entertaining.” As the comment tripped off her tongue, she tried not to cringe. It sounded like she was digging for information about his social life, when all she was trying to do was make conversation.
Yeah, right, Jeannette. Who are you trying to kid?
She mashed her lips together.
Fine.
She was digging.
But he probably wouldn’t answer anyway.
“To be honest, I like Saturday nights here better.” He leaned against the porch post and slid his fingers into his pockets, his casual stance at odds with his serious demeanor. “I worked a fair number of weekends in the ER, which had a dramatic impact on my social life. Since I wasn’t dating anyone seriously, though, it was no big deal.”
She stared at him.
Why would he share such personal information?
Unless . . .
Was he trying to communicate that he was available . . . and interested in her?
Hard to tell. Her skills at reading those kinds of signals were too rusty.
Whatever his intention, however, the revelation was more than she’d bargained for.
And much too unsettling.
“Um . . . I’m glad it’s been a positive change for you in that regard.” She eased down the three steps from the porch to the walk. “I’ll give you a call later.”
“I’ll look forward to that.”
Because he was anxious to hear what Mariam had to say—or anxious to talk to her again?
It could be both.
And that was bad.
She did not want to attract attention or catch any man’s eye. That was one of the reasons she’d kept to herself for the past three years.
Without looking back, she hightailed it down the drive, toward the safety of her farm behind the tall hedge. Where she belonged.