Thomma exhaled . . . lowered his hands . . . and picked up his fork to eat the breakfast his mother had prepared for him.
As he dug into the egg, a thin ray of light from the rising sun stole through the window and slanted across the table.
He lifted his head.
Outside, the black of night was giving way to a new day. The darkness was receding, the world once again brightening.
Perhaps the same would be true of his life.
Or not.
But for today at least, he would cling to that hope.
Because if he didn’t . . . if he succumbed to the fear that the shadows encroaching on his soul would plunge it into darkness forever . . . he might not make it through another day.
“I think we better start back, Molly. Your uncle will be home soon.” Jeannette checked her watch as they strolled along the beach. She also had a lesson to prepare for tonight’s session with the Shabos. It was going to be a busy evening—but she ought to be able to squeeze in a fast dinner too.
The girl bent to pick up a small piece of driftwood. “Look, ’Nette. It’s a heart.”
Jeannette’s lips bowed at the child’s shortened version of her name. Much less of a mouthful than Jeannette or Ms. Mason.
“Let me see.” She held out her hand.
Molly passed it over, and she examined the small chunk of sea-smoothed wood. It did, indeed, resemble a heart. “This is beautiful. You were lucky to find such a pretty piece. You can keep it for always to remind you of the people you love and our walk on the beach today.” She extended it toward the girl.
“It’s for you.” Molly’s demeanor was solemn.
Jeannette’s heart contracted at the simple gesture of affection.
But Logan would appreciate such a gift too—and this was a perfect opportunity to plant that suggestion.
“That’s a lovely present—and it makes me happy. Do you think your uncle might like to have it, though?”
“No.” Molly gave her head an emphatic shake. “It’s for you.”
So much for that idea.
The topic was worth a bit more discussion, however. Hard as she’d tried all day to get a read on Molly’s feelings for Logan, the child hadn’t cooperated. Yet if she could gain a few insights that would be useful to him as he tried to connect with his niece, it was worth one more attempt.
“Don’t you think he’d like it?” She kept her inflection conversational as they continued their side-by-side walk along the beach.
She shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Most people like to get presents. Don’t you?”
“Uh-huh.”
“The Easter dress and hat you wore to tea were a nice present from your uncle.”
“Nana got me an Easter dress and hat too—and sometimes she got me a popsicle from the truck that came to our street.”
“I like ice cream trucks too.” One more shot and she was calling this interrogation attempt quits. “Should we find another piece for your uncle, since I get to keep this pretty heart?”
“Why?”
“It might make him happy.”
Molly’s forehead wrinkled. “Why?”
“Well . . . the heart made me happy. I bet he’d feel the same about a present you gave him.”
“Why?”
“Because he loves you.”
Molly sighed and kicked at a piece of flotsam in her path. “Not like Nana did.”
“How do you know?”
“Nana loved me . . . just because. She was happy I lived with her.”
“Don’t you think your uncle feels the same way?”
“No.” She lunged for an elusive mole crab, but it vanished beneath the sand in a furious burst of digging.
Jeannette dropped down beside her and examined the smooth surface. “Those guys are fast, aren’t they?”
“Yes. Toby can’t catch them either.”
“Why don’t we sit back there on the dry sand for a minute, see if he comes out again?” Not likely, but it would give her a chance to continue the conversation. “Want to do that?”
“’Kay.” The girl moved a few feet back and sat beside her, watching the spot where the crab had vanished.
“You know . . .” Jeannette sieved the sand through her fingers. “It’s kind of hard sometimes to know if someone loves you. Not everyone shows love the same way.”
“Nana hugged me and tucked me in at night and read me stories and baked cookies.”
“Your uncle doesn’t do any of that?”
Molly’s brow knotted. “Yes . . . but it’s not the same. And he burned the cookies we made. The house was stinky.”
“He tried, though—and trying should count, don’t you think?”
“I guess. But Nana loved me a lot.”
“I know she did—and I kind of thought your uncle did too. Not many uncles take their nieces to tea . . . or let them have all the chocolate cakes.” She smiled at the girl and gave her a wink.
Molly poked her finger in the sand, her lips flat. “He’s nice, but he doesn’t want me.”
Whoa!
Where had that come from?
“Why do you think that?” She brushed back a strand of hair that had worked loose from Molly’s ponytail, her heart aching for the child whose eyes were sad beyond her years—like Elisa’s.
“’Cause.”
Not helpful.
“’Cause what?”
“’Cause I heard him talking on the phone one night.” Molly sniffed and wiped the back of her hand under her nose. When she continued, her voice was so soft Jeannette had to lean close to hear it above the crashing surf. “He said he promised my daddy and Nana he’d take care of me, but he didn’t know what to do with a little girl and wished I was still with Nana. He sounded m-mad.”
O-kay.
That kind of overheard conversation would be enough to make anyone feel unwanted, let alone a child who’d lost everyone in the world she knew and loved.
Be careful how you respond, Jeannette.
“How long ago did you hear that, honey?”
Another lift of her thin shoulders. “At the beginning. In the other place we lived.” She hung her head. “I wet the bed one night, and after he changed everything, I heard him on the phone.” She gave Jeannette a sidelong glance, expression earnest. “But I don’t wet anymore. I’m a big girl.”
Pressure built in Jeannette’s throat. “I can see that. And you’re also brave. It’s hard when everything in your life changes, and the people you love go away.” The last few words rasped, and she swallowed.
Molly scrutinized her. “Are you sad too, ’Nette?”
“Sometimes. I miss the people I loved too.”
The girl took her hand. “I’ll be your friend. And I gave you the heart I found. Maybe it will help you not be sad.”
Mercy.
Now Molly was consoling her.
How had this conversation gotten so off track?
She had to regroup and focus on Logan’s niece.
“I’m sure it will help me feel better. Thank you.” She squeezed the girl’s hand. “And you know what? I think your uncle might be sad sometimes too. Nana was his mommy, and your daddy was his brother. He must miss them.”