stories you mentioned. Will you tell me more?”
Wasn’t her life goal to bring awareness and knowledge to the world about her culture? Alicia nodded. “I guess we could talk for a while, if your father is agreeable.”
“As long as you are.” Jack waited for Alicia’s nod. He gave her a quizzical smile before he rose and moved across the aisle.
Giselle sat down in the seat he vacated. She fiddled with her hands for a few moments before she looked at Alicia. “My mother would have been furious if she’d heard me be rude,” she admitted.
“And you want to get back at her for dying, or something?” Alicia frowned.
“No.” Giselle shook her head.
“Your father then?” And here she’d thought preteens would be easy to understand. Alicia took a shot anyway. “You blame your dad.”
“For Mom’s death?” Giselle frowned and shook her head again. “I don’t blame him but—”
“You want him to pay,” Alicia said in sudden understanding.
“I want my life back the way it was,” the girl said fiercely with a sideways glance at her dad, who had his nose buried between two black covers. “I want my mom.”
“I know you do. But that isn’t going to happen, Giselle, and I think you know it.” Alicia kept her tone gentle. “I doubt your dad likes the way things are any better than you, but don’t forget he lost someone, too. I’m sure he’s doing the very best he can.”
“It’s not enough.” Tears filled Giselle’s dark eyes. “Aunt Laurel says I need to talk to God about it, but I’m mad at God, too.” She wrapped her arms around her middle and thrust out her chin. “I feel mad at just about everyone.”
“I understand.” Alicia laid her hand on the girl’s shoulder. “Maybe this won’t help much right now, but things will get better. Eventually. God has wonderful things planned for you.”
“You think?” Giselle stared at her, her big brown eyes begging for confirmation.
“I know. There’s a verse in Psalms that I sometimes repeat to myself. It says, ‘Weeping may endure for the night but joy comes in the morning.’”
“My mom had something like that written in one of her diaries,” Giselle murmured. She was silent for a long time before she brushed away a tear and rose. “I really do want to hear your stories, Alicia, but maybe you and I could talk another time. Excuse me.” Then she scooted across the aisle.
“I don’t know what you said,” Jack said when he eventually returned to the seat beside Alicia. “But thank you. Giselle apologized to me.”
“Don’t thank me. You have a lovely daughter.” Alicia shared a smile with him, but it lasted a second too long and that made her stomach clench. This man had an odd effect on her and she didn’t know why. She ducked away from his gaze. “We’re coming into the station,” she said. “Would you mind giving me my things you put up top? I’ll pull out my sweater and try to stuff the packages into the backpack so you can have your bag back.”
“Keep it. You can return it next time we see each other,” he said. Once the train stopped, Jack rose, lifted down her bags and handed them to her. “I’m looking forward to working with you on that sod house, Alicia.” His blue gaze sent a tiny spark wiggling up her spine.
“Me, too.” Funny thing was she meant it.
Alicia stepped off the train and quickly made her way through the station and outside, anxious to get away from Jack’s disturbing presence so she could figure out her odd reaction. A soft spring wind blew across her skin, chasing away the odd tremors she’d felt when she stood so close to him. The fresh air revitalized her. How wonderful to come home.
Then she remembered. Mr. Parcet.
After a furtive glance over one shoulder Alicia hurried toward her shop, checking every so often to be sure he wasn’t nearby. Of course he wasn’t, she chastised herself. He hadn’t been on the train. But the worry clung nonetheless.
It was silly, but Alicia gave a sigh of relief as she unlocked the store door and stepped safely inside. She turned the sign to Open, switched on the lights and then strode to the back, where she set down the bag Jack had lent her.
She climbed the stairs to her apartment above the shop, pausing to toss her backpack into her bedroom and wash the tiredness from her face. After snatching a carton of juice and a muffin from the fridge, she hurried downstairs, eager to unpack her wares. She forced herself to eat slowly as anticipation built about the treasures she’d picked up on her trip.
Alicia had barely removed the first box when the door opened.
“Giselle and I are going out to Lives tonight for supper,” Jack said, holding up his phone. “Laurel says you’re welcome, too.”
“That’s kind of you but perhaps another time,” Alicia declined.
“Okay. See you.” Jack raised his hand in a wave then left as quickly as he’d come. Alicia ignored her accelerated heartbeat as she dragged her gaze off his retreating figure.
What was wrong with her?
After one last sip of juice she washed her hands, then tenderly pushed away the protective tissue paper so she could lift out the first treasure. In her palms she cradled the chiseled figure of a woman with a baby papoose strapped to her back. Mother and child. Alicia let her mind drift back almost ten years.
Her son. Even now the scent of him returned, soft, sweet, a miracle. Tiny, delicate limbs, so small yet so perfectly formed. Her heart hiccupped as she remembered one pink finger reaching up to brush her cheek, as if he knew who she was, as if he was asking her to rethink her decision to give him away.
Tears rolled over her cheeks as the sadness Alicia had kept tamped down would no longer stay buried. She hated everything that brought him into being, but she’d never hated him. She couldn’t. He was beautiful, innocent and so full of promise. He didn’t deserve hate. He deserved love, a chance to push his way into the world, to prove that everything was not dirty and evil and messed up. He deserved happiness. Alicia had known she couldn’t give him that.
“Alicia?” Jack stood in the doorway again, staring at her. How was it she hadn’t heard the tinkle of the bell signaling the opening door?
She turned away, scrubbed a hand across her cheek then set the figure carefully in the box before she looked at him. “Yes?”
“Are you okay?” he asked in that already familiar low, rumbling voice.
“Fine. Just touched by the beauty of this piece.” She glanced at the sculpture, then folded her hands together lest he see their trembling. “Is there something you need?”
He cleared his voice but said nothing. His scrutiny continued. Finally she forced herself to look directly at him.
“I just wanted to tell you that I think it’ll take me at least a week of steady focus on the hotel before I can even think about working on the sod house.” He sounded hesitant. Was he regretting his offer of help?
“That’s
