As Logan stepped back to let Thomma enter first, Mariam held out her arms for Elisa. “Oh, tafalay alhulu.” And that was more than a generic endearment. Elisa was her sweet child, always obedient and loveable. Running away had been a cry for help—and attention.
She hugged her tight, fingered her shirt, and inspected both girls.
“Clothes wet. Need change.”
“Yes.” Logan walked toward the bedroom. “Come.”
She followed.
In Molly’s bedroom, he pulled out tops and pants for both girls. “Bath first.”
He led them to the bathroom. “You help?” He arched an eyebrow at her.
“Yes. I be quick.”
Moving at top speed, Mariam filled the tub and got both girls cleaned up fast. Though she tried to talk with them, neither had much to say.
Perhaps Elisa would open up to her later, at home—or better yet, talk to her father.
Once both girls were warm and dry and dressed, she led them back to the kitchen, where Logan and Thomma were drinking coffee.
Thomma stood as soon as they entered. “We go home now.”
“Yes.” She retrieved their food, and motioned toward the covered dishes in the oven as she looked at Logan. “For you.”
For once, he didn’t refuse.
“Thank you.”
“I come tomorrow?”
Logan hesitated.
“Better keep . . .” Mariam searched her vocabulary but came up with no word for routine. “Keep same.” After today’s excitement, it would be best if the girls got back to normal as soon as possible.
Based on Logan’s nod, he seemed to get her gist. “Yes.”
She picked up their dinner and motioned for Thomma to take Elisa’s hand.
He did better than that.
After crossing the room in two long strides, he bent and swung her up into his arms.
Mariam’s spirits rose.
Perhaps her prayers were about to be answered.
Logan followed them to the door, and as Mariam turned to say good-bye, Molly sidled close to her uncle and tucked her hand in his. As he bent to pick her up, she lifted her arms and smiled. A real, no-holds-barred smile that banished the hurt and grief that had always darkened her eyes.
It appeared those two had mended their fences.
Now if only Thomma could win back the little girl in his arms.
Logan closed the door behind the Syrian family and shifted Molly in his arms. “What do you say we eat some of the dinner Mrs. Shabo left for us?”
“Can you hold me first?” She tightened her grip around his neck—like she never wanted to let go.
Fine with him.
“Sure.” He carried her into the living room and sat in the overstuffed chair he’d brought from his apartment in San Francisco. It was large enough to accommodate both of them—though Molly had never initiated a lap-sitting session.
Toby trotted in and plopped down at his feet.
For several minutes they sat in silence, Molly cuddled up against his chest as he stroked her back and waged a mental debate about how to proceed.
Should he introduce the subject of her afternoon adventure—or hope she’d tell him about it on her own?
But what if she never brought it up? Should he let it go?
Maybe.
After all, it wasn’t as if there was any secret about why she’d left. She and Elisa were both unhappy and grieving.
Thomma’s daughter had Mariam, of course. But while the woman loved her deeply, it wasn’t the same as a father’s love—and Thomma, for whatever reason, had closed himself off emotionally. Rejection by your own father would be devastating . . . and nothing could make up for that—even the love of a doting grandmother.
As for Molly—she’d lost everyone she loved, and the conversation she’d overheard in San Francisco had convinced her she was an unwanted intruder in her uncle’s life.
It was no wonder the two girls had run away.
In hindsight, the bigger surprise was why they’d waited so long.
His niece burrowed closer, emitting a contented sigh, and he swallowed past the lump in his throat.
Running away hadn’t been the latest transgression in a litany of stunts from two ill-behaved children.
It had been an act of desperation—and despair.
But based on Molly’s behavior since the rescue—and since he’d verbalized his love for her—the two of them might finally be on the road to the kind of relationship he’d envisioned for them.
Perhaps they didn’t have to talk about her running away or— “We were going to Missouri.”
Molly’s soft comment pulled him back to the moment.
Apparently they did need to talk about this.
“That’s far away.”
“It didn’t take very long to get here.”
“But we were on an airplane.” Not that the different speeds between modes of transportation would mean much to a child. Better to ferret out her reason for that destination. His mom was gone, and they had no other relatives in the town. “Why did you want to go back there?”
“It was my happy place.”
A simple answer that summed up everything.
Everyone wanted to find their happy place—and his mom would have created that for Molly.
“It was my happy place once too.” He finger-combed a few tangled strands of her hair. “Thinking about it makes me smile.”
“Me too. That’s why I wanted to go back. I told Elisa about it, and she wanted to go too.”
Careful how you phrase your response, West.
“Sometimes I wish I could go back there too. But it wouldn’t be the same as I remember. What usually makes a place happy is the people who are there.”
Her shoulders drooped. “I know. And Nana isn’t in Missouri anymore. She’s in heaven.”
“And in your heart. No matter where you go, she’ll always be there.”
“But I can’t sit on her lap anymore.”
“No.” That was reality, and trying to sugarcoat it wasn’t going to help. “But sometimes, after people we love go to heaven, God gives us new people to love—and new laps to sit on.”
Several beats of silence ticked by.
“I like sitting on your lap.”
At the shy admission, pressure built behind his eyes. “I like holding you on my lap.”
She played with a button on his shirt. “Maybe . . . maybe you and me can stay together so we don’t get lonesome anymore.”
“I’d like that.”
“If you get sad at night again, it’s okay if you come sleep with me.”
“Thank you. I’ll remember that.”
She twisted in his arms to search his face, tiny creases denting her smooth brow. “Do you really love me?”
“With all my heart.”
“You didn’t at first.”
“Yes, I did—but I never had a little girl live with me before, and I was scared I wouldn’t know what to do or how to make you happy. I had to figure it out.”
“That’s what ’Nette said.”
God bless his neighbor!
“She was right.”
“I like her.”
“Me too.”
“I think she’s lonesome, like us.” Molly continued to watch him.