“I’ll be happy to.”
“Hang on a minute.” He walked over to the table and held the cell out to Elisa’s father. “Susan.”
The man took it, had a brief conversation with the woman, and handed it back to him.
“So what’s the story?” Logan watched as Mariam tasted the stew-like concoction on his stove.
“He said he likes dogs and often trained them for his friends in Syria.”
“No kidding.” Logan propped a fist on his hip. “I wonder if he could train Toby on the electric fence I installed. I’m getting nowhere.”
“I could ask him for you. Tell me how the training works.”
Logan gave her a brief overview. “Of course, I’ll pay him for this.”
“Why don’t you give the phone back to him and I’ll explain the job?”
Once again, Logan passed over the cell.
This time, Thomma had a longer conversation with the woman, doing more listening than talking, shaking his head once. Finally he handed the phone back.
It was impossible to tell from his expression whether he’d agreed to help, but the head shake wasn’t promising. However, Logan was willing to up the fee to whatever the man wanted. Bringing peace and quiet to this house would be worth any price.
“What’s the verdict?” Logan curled the fingers of his free hand into a tight ball and held his breath.
“He said he’d be glad to help you. He can come early in the morning before work, right after work, and again in the evening—but he doesn’t want to take any money. He said he’d enjoy doing it.”
Thank you, God.
He refilled his lungs. “I can’t let him do this for free.”
“I told him you’d probably say that. He countered with the equivalent of five dollars a day for the three fifteen-minute sessions.”
“Let’s make it twenty-five.”
“I’ll leave you to negotiate that.”
“Fair enough. Thanks for your help tonight.”
“Anytime. But I doubt you—or the Shabos—will need me much longer. Jeannette is doing an outstanding tutoring job. I can’t believe the progress they’ve made after just three lessons. In the meantime, though, don’t hesitate to call if I can be of assistance.”
After they said good-bye, Logan joined Thomma at the table. “Molly, why don’t you and Elisa go play in your room for a few minutes while I talk to her daddy?”
In silence, she slid off her chair, took the other girl’s hand, and tugged her down the hall.
“Toby . . . okay.” Logan indicated the dog.
At the sound of his name, the dog gave a yap.
“Kunn hadyaan.” Thomma grasped the dog’s muzzle, his tone firm.
It was the same command he’d used before—and it worked again.
Logan repeated the phonetics silently and tucked the term away in his vocabulary as he pulled up a calendar on his cell, angled it so Thomma could see, and drew a finger across the next fourteen days, beginning with tomorrow.
The other man dipped his chin in acknowledgment. “Okay.”
“Good.” They could deal with the money issue at the first session.
Mariam took off her apron, folded it, and tucked it inside her tote bag. “Dinner.” She indicated the simmering dish emitting savory aromas, lifted a lid on a pot of rice, and motioned toward a plate of—baklava?—on the counter.
There was way too much food here for him and Molly.
He swept a hand over the Shabo family and indicated the table. “Eat?”
“No. Thank you.” Mariam picked up her purse. “Monday?”
“Yes.”
Thomma stood and walked to the door of the hall. “Elisa.”
When the girl appeared, her father spoke in Arabic and took her hand.
Molly trailed in, dragging her feet, the corners of her lips drooping as her new friend prepared to leave.
Logan followed the family to the front door, with Molly and Toby in his wake, and watched as they walked down the driveway to their car.
“Did you have fun with Elisa today?” Logan rested his hand on Molly’s stiff shoulder.
“Uh-huh.”
“What did you do?”
“Played.”
“What did you play?”
“Games.”
So much for the theory that open-ended questions stimulated conversation.
“Let me run down to the mailbox, and then we’ll eat dinner. You can watch me through the window, but don’t open the door or Toby might take off.”
He slipped outside, pulling the door shut behind him, and jogged down the drive.
As he approached the box, Jeannette appeared on the other side of the hedge heading for her mailbox.
Perfect timing.
“Hi.” He gave her his best smile.
She jerked and swung toward him with a soft exclamation.
“Sorry.” He flattened his lips. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“That’s okay. I’m, uh, not used to friendly greetings from my neighbor.”
“The previous owner wasn’t sociable?”
“Not very. I doubt he said more than ten words to me the entire three years we shared a property line.”
“His loss.”
A faint flush stole over her cheeks—but she didn’t otherwise acknowledge his comment. “How’s Mariam working out?”
“Couldn’t be better. And I got an extra benefit. It seems Thomma has a way with dogs, and he’s agreed to help me try to get Toby under control.”
“That is a bonus.” Jeannette continued to her mailbox and pulled out the letters inside.
In a minute, she was going to disappear behind her hedge again—unless he took some fast action.
He retrieved his own mail as she closed her box. “I don’t know if you’ve already eaten, but Mariam made dinner tonight to thank me for giving her the job.” He kept his manner casual, his tone straightforward rather than personal. “There’s far more than Molly and I can eat—and since you were the catalyst, it’s only fair we share it with you. Would you like to join us for dinner? Afterward we’re going to take a walk on the beach.”
Jeannette retreated a few steps toward her house—giving him her answer before she verbalized it. “I appreciate the offer, but I-I have chores to do tonight.”
Don’t push, West. Respect the lady’s decision, even if you’re tired of the silent treatment from Molly during meals and dying to share dinner with a female over the age of five.
“I hear you.” He forced up the corners of his mouth. “But if you see us pulling out of our driveway later and change your mind about the beach, flag us down.” He started back toward the house.
He was eight steps away when she spoke.
“Logan.”
Masking his surprise—and his hope—he pivoted back toward her.
“Um . . . you don’t have to drive to get to the beach.”
Not what he’d expected.
“Is there an access point around here?”
“Yes. At the back of my property there’s a path that leads to the dunes overlooking the bay, and from there you can walk down to Driftwood Beach. It’s not far. You’re welcome to use it. Most days you’ll have the beach to yourself.”