that she was emotionally distraught. Yet. “If you could put it in the garage, maybe? I’ll hit the opener for you. I’m sorry,” she said as Madison began a more intense wave of crying. “This is really a bad time.”
“I see that.” He studied the little girl, his ruggedly handsome face lined with concern.
“It’s an ear infection. The medicine’s starting to work. I just have to rock her until she falls asleep.”
“Alright, then.” Stiffly, he took a step back. “Is Jonas going to be okay?”
No. But could she say that in front of Tyler? All she could do was shrug her shoulder. Tyler had frozen in place, ears peeled, eyes wide, trying to absorb any detail.
As if the stranger had noticed, he nodded in understanding. Sadness crossed his granite face. With a single nod, he turned and strode down the walkway, taking the shadows with him.
Immeasurably sad, Aubrey closed the door and sent Tyler into the garage to hit the button that activated the door opener. Madison was crying anew and there was nothing Aubrey could do but rock her gently back and forth, quietly singing the only song that came into her mind.
She wasn’t even sure if she had the words right, because all she could think about was Jonas. Thoughtful Jonas. He’d gotten an anniversary gift for his wife, but would it become like a message from the grave? A final goodbye? Aubrey choked back her own sorrow. It was too horrible to think about.
Life could knock your feet out from under you with a moment’s notice, she thought. You could have it all, do everything right, pray diligently and live your faith, and tragedy could still happen.
She tightened her arms around the little girl who might have to grow up without her daddy, and she tried not to wonder what awaited her family, the people she loved.
William Corey could see the woman—Aubrey—through the garden window. His opinion of women was shaky these days, due to his experience with the gender. But he could see how this woman was different.
Maybe it was the soft, thick, golden fall of sunlight through the glass that diffused the scene, like a filter on a camera’s lens. That soft brush of opalescent light touched her blond hair and the porcelain curve of her heart-shaped face, making her look like rare goodness.
Or, maybe it was the child in her arms, clinging to her with total trust and need. Whatever the reason, she looked like innocence, pure and sweet.
Stop staring at the woman, William, he told himself and shook his head to clear away all thoughts of her. He popped the crew-cab door of his truck. Sweat dampened the collar of his T-shirt and the black knit clung to his shoulders as he lifted the wrapped frame from his rig. Across the street, a miniature dachshund came racing down from its front porch to bark and snarl, teeth snapping. It halted at the edge of the curb, glaring at him with black beady eyes. Someone shouted for it to shush and the little fellow kept barking, intent on driving William away.
“Yeah, I know how you feel, buddy,” he said to the dog, who only barked harder in outrage. William didn’t like strangers, either. He’d learned how to chase them with off with a few gruff words, too.
As he circled around to the open garage, he caught sight of the woman in the window, framed by the honeyed sheen of the kitchen cabinets. Washed with light, caught in the act of kissing the little toddler’s downy head in comfort, she looked picture perfect.
His fingers itched for his camera to capture the moment, to play with light and angle and reveal this pure moment of tenderness. It had been a long time since he’d felt this need to work—since Kylie’s death. It took all his will to drag his gaze from the kitchen window and force his thoughts away from the woman. His days of holding a camera in his hands were over.
“So, mister.” The boy stood in the open inner door between the garage and the house, a lean, leggy little guy with too-big Bermuda shorts and a shocking-green tank top. His brown hair stuck straight up as if he’d been struck by lightning. Tear tracks stained his sun-browned cheeks and had dampened his eyelashes. “That’s a present, huh?”
“For your mom.” William softened the gruffness in his voice. He liked little kids, and he figured this one had enough hardship to deal with.
He leaned the framed photograph, carefully wrapped, against the inside wall safely away from the garbage cans and the lawn mower. “I’ll just leave it here, alright? You make sure your mom gets it, okay? With all you’ve got going on in your family, it might be easy to forget this is here.”
“I never forget nuthin’.” The little boy said with a trembling lip. He gave a sigh that was part sob, sounding as if he were doing his best to hold back more tears. “My daddy’s sick in the hospital.”
“I’m real sorry about that.”
“Me, too.” The kid sniffed once.
William had questions, but he didn’t know exactly what to ask. An illness? That didn’t seem right; Jonas was the type of guy to hit the gym three times a week without fail. Not that William knew him well.
The little boy looked so lost, holding on to the doorknob with one hand, as if he were hanging on for dear life. What on earth should he say to him?
William stood in the shadows of the garage, as still as the boy, feeling big and awkward and lost. He’d been alone too long, out of the world so long that he wasn’t used to making small talk with adults, much less a little boy.
“I miss my daddy. You haven’t seen him, have ya?”
“No. Sorry.” William could feel the kid’s pain—it seemed to vibrate in the scorching heat. The silence stretched until it echoed in the empty rafters overhead. “How long has he been in the hospital?”
“A l-long time.” The boy scrubbed his left eye with his free hand. “For-ev-ever.”
William had a bad feeling about this, a strange reeling sense of the present lapping backward onto the past. “How old are you, kid?”
“I’m gonna be this much.” He held up his whole hand. “Daddy’ll be well, cuz he’s takin’ me to the f-fair. He prom-mised.”
William studied the fat gleam of two silver tears spilling down the boy’s cheeks and felt the sorrow of his own past. Things didn’t always turn out well, stories didn’t always end happily, and ill loved ones didn’t always recover.
Maybe that wouldn’t be the case for Jonas.
Faintly, from inside the house, came the woman’s—Aubrey’s—voice. “Tyler, close the garage door and come try to finish your supper, okay?”
Tyler hung his head and didn’t answer. His pain was as palpable as the shadows creeping into the garage and the heat in the July air.
“You’d better go,” William said, ambling toward the cement driveway, where birdsong lulled and leaves lazed in the hot breeze and the dog across the street was still yapping with protective diligence.
“Mister?”
The little boy’s voice drew him back. William stilled. Even his heart seemed to stop beating.
“You could p-pray for my daddy so he can come ho-me.” Tyler
