Chapter Eleven
Carrie Fletcher quickened her steps across the walkway from the carport to the back door of her little cottage, inserted the key and stepped into her warmly lit kitchen. She never tired of coming home to this sweet little 1920s house. The soft glow from the lights under the cabinets kept the darkness at bay and welcomed her like a warm hug, as did the click of little claws on the tile floor as her five-year-old shih tzu, Leo, scurried to greet her. “Hey, sweetie. Were you a good boy today?”
After placing her purse and a sack of groceries on the table, she flipped the switch, bathing the kitchen in full light, instantly aware of the tension falling away from her shoulders. A long and hectic day had kept her at work until dark. Her job as Special Events Coordinator at Peace Community Church was both exhilarating and challenging. Especially now, when the historic edifice was celebrating 125 years as a house of God. The yearlong celebration would culminate with a huge citywide picnic at Friendship Park. Organizing such a massive event was keeping her busy every moment.
Tomorrow was her day off and she planned on taking full advantage by sleeping late and curling up with the book she was reading. The hero and heroine had been torn apart by a terrible disaster, and she couldn’t wait to see how they got back together.
A rush of happiness buoyed her spirits as she made her way through the small dining room and living room, turning up lights as she went and sending up a grateful prayer for her new life. She had a job she loved and a home of her own. She didn’t own it, but her savings were growing and one day she hoped to purchase a house.
She flipped the dead bolt on the front door and switched on the porch light, which popped, then went out, surrounding her in darkness. Her throat tightened. Inhaling a deep breath, she scolded herself for being such a wimp. Her mailbox was right outside the door. She’d only be in the dark for a second or two. After opening the door, she stepped out onto the porch. Movement on the other side of the rocker froze her in her tracks. The shadows made it hard to identify the shape. A dog? Cat? A man?
Heart pounding, she peered closer. The creature scooted backward. She froze, blood pounding in her ears. She fought the impulse to duck back inside. What if it was an injured animal? She couldn’t ignore that. Carrie forced herself to look closer. Two wide eyes looked back at her from a little face. A child. A little boy was huddled on her front porch. Fear slid quickly into concern. What was he doing here? Her mind raced through a dozen questions. She took a step toward the child. He scooted back against the wall, clutching a plastic grocery bag in his hands.
Slowly she stooped down, putting a smile on her face and keeping her voice calm and soothing. “Hello. My name is Carrie. What’s your name?” The big eyes blinked back at her.
The boy, whom she guessed to be about five years old, didn’t respond, only clutched his bag to his chest. “Are you cold? Hungry? Would you like a cookie?” He nodded. Carrie extended her hand, but he was reluctant to take it. “It’s okay. I’ll fix you some milk, too. Or how about hot chocolate? It’s chilly tonight.” It was late March in Mississippi and while the days were warming up, the evenings could still be very cold.
Slowly the child extended his hand and together they stood. When he lowered his precious sack, she saw a large note pinned to his chest. She prayed it held some answers.
The blazing lights inside her home calmed her racing pulse, and she made a mental note to replace the porch light as soon as she could. Leo greeted them, tail wagging rapidly. The boy stopped. “This is Leo. You can pet him if you’d like. He’s a good boy.”
The child only stared at her a moment, then backed away from the animal.
Guiding the boy toward her breakfast table, she reached for his sack, but he clutched it more tightly against his chest. She noticed he held a toy in his other hand, a small yellow truck, battered and bent with much of the paint worn away and a tire missing from one of the wheels. A long-ago memory exhumed itself. A shiny blue bracelet. The only thing that had ever belonged to her. She’d lost it somewhere along the way, but she’d cherished it much the same way the little boy did his truck.
Settling him onto a chair, she briefly rested her hand on the top of his head, surprised at how cool he felt. How long had he been on her porch? The thin jacket he wore was woefully inadequate for the weather. His jeans were threadbare and his sneakers worn through at the toes. Her heart ballooned with sympathy. She wanted to wrap him in her arms and make him warm and safe, but she doubted he’d let her do that.
She heated up a cup of water in the microwave, added a packet of cocoa, took two cookies from the jar and set them in front of the boy before joining him. “I see you have a note. It must be important. May I see it?”
He thought a moment, then nodded. Carrie unpinned the stained and crumpled paper. It was folded in half with the number 533 scribbled on it. As she read the short note inside, a swell of familiar anger formed.
Seth, I’m done. He’s your son and it’s time you did your part. He’s five years old. Do the math. I’m leaving the country. His name is Jack. Tiff
Seth. That was the name of her new neighbor, the man who had so kindly changed her flat tire last week. She’d labeled him a good guy—kind, charming and nice. She’d even felt a spark of attraction to his solid strength and boy-next-door smile. Apparently there was another side to the man—deadbeat dad. She would never understand how a man could father a child, then walk away. Still, she found it hard to believe Seth was that kind of man. It was a shame. He’d been so thoughtful and seemed so trustworthy. But then she was a terrible judge of character.
Carrie scanned the note once more, making sure she hadn’t missed something. Nope. The boy was Seth’s, and for whatever reason he’d been left on her doorstep. Well, this was a situation she was not going to get involved in. She watched Jack sipping the cocoa and taking small bites of the cookies as if wanting the experience to last. Her throat constricted. She knew that feeling. Memories, hot and stinging, shot through her system. She ached to hold the child and make sure he never felt this way again. But Jack wasn’t her responsibility. He was Seth’s.
Jack downed the last of his milk, wiped his sleeve across his little mouth, then stared at her. She forced a smile. “Jack. Do you know who left you here? Your mom, grandma or a friend?”
He stared back at her with the biggest cobalt blue eyes she’d ever seen. No. She’d seen them once before. Seth’s eyes were the same color. Only his eyes had crinkles at the corners and a warm, friendly light in them that drew people in.
Focus. She fingered the note again. “Jack, I think you’ve been left here by mistake. You should be next door. That’s where your...father lives. How about we go see him?”
Jack shrugged his bony shoulders and her throat tightened. The poor little guy was lost and afraid. From deep down, old hurts and fears coalesced into a ball of fury. This was the reason she was taking online classes to become a social worker. She vowed
