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  “Yes, Tyson?”

  “I wanta show you something.” He opened the bottom drawer of his nightstand and slid out a picture. He studied it for a moment before handing it to her.

  “I don’t keep this out all the time because it makes me sad,” he said. “But I keep it close so I can look at it when I want to. Uncle Paul says that someday I’ll want to have it out all the time.”

  Charlotte looked at the picture. “I think your uncle Paul is right, Tyson,” she said gently. “Thank you so much for sharing this with me.”

  In the picture, Tyson was sandwiched between his parents, being hugged from both sides, and his mouth was wide-open in a laughing smile. Erica, Paul’s sister, had eyes that were hazel, several shades lighter than his dark brown ones, and they were dancing instead of deep and thoughtful, but she had his smile. Tyson’s father was boyish looking with red hair and blue eyes, and Charlotte could easily imagine Tyson growing up to look very much like him.

  Something his parents would never have the chance to see...

  “Ms. Connelly?”

  She blinked and did her best to smile at the little boy.

  “Yes?”

  “Do you think my mom and my dad know that I punched Michael?”

  Dear Lord, please help me find the right words.

  “I know God knows everything,” the little boy continued, “and I axed him to forgive me. But do you think my mom and my dad saw? Or that God told them about it?” He fixed anxious eyes on Charlotte.

  There was so much she could say to Tyson about God and His infinite love, but as an educator she had to tread carefully, especially since she wasn’t sure where Paul stood on the matter. It wasn’t her place, she knew, but at the same time she couldn’t bear to leave Tyson without some kind of answer.

  “I think,” Charlotte said, “that there’s nothing your parents knew or could know about you that would make them stop loving you. You always carry their love right here.” She touched her own heart.

  Tyson reached out his hand then and she gave the picture back to him. He studied it again before putting it back into the drawer. “My mom used to talk to me about God,” he said, “but Uncle Paul doesn’t. I don’t know if he likes God very much.”

  “Supper’s ready.” Paul’s voice sounded from just outside the bedroom door, and Charlotte wondered how much he had heard. Still, she was relieved that she didn’t have to answer to Tyson’s last comment.

  * * *

  Paul felt conflicting emotions swirl around in his head. On the one hand, he was touched that Tyson had chosen to show the picture of his parents to Charlotte—a picture, as it happened, that would turn out to be the last one the three of them would ever take together. He wondered if Charlotte realized the significance of that, because Tyson was very protective of that picture. Sometimes when he went to tuck his nephew in, he would see the little boy hurriedly put it in his drawer and pretend he hadn’t been looking at it.

  On the other hand, he was feeling guilty. Although he knew he should have made his presence known to his nephew and Charlotte before he had, he couldn’t help being curious about how Charlotte would handle Tyson’s questions. He thought she had handled herself appropriately, under the circumstances, and with compassion for Tyson. So, in fairness, he knew that the unsettled feeling their conversation had provoked was because of his own feelings. He knew that Erica had expected that he would take Tyson to church and, because of his own struggles with faith, he had failed to do so.

  “Uncle Paul makes pretty good mac and cheese,” Tyson said. There was no lingering sign of the tough questions he had asked Charlotte. “He says it’s one of his spe-shul-tees.” He sounded the word out carefully.

  Paul could sense that Charlotte was making an effort to catch his eye. He tried to put aside his discomfort and keep his company manners on.

  “Where’s the blue box?” she asked him over Tyson’s head, grinning.

  Despite himself, he grinned back. “I’ll have you know that this is my own secret recipe.”

  “Well, in that case, I look forward to eating it.”

  “There’s salad, too,” Tyson said. “I sometimes help make it but I was busy showing you my room today. Uncle Paul says that we gotta have our greens. I like ranch dressing best. What do you like?”

  “I like ranch, too,” Charlotte said.

  “Okay, bud, I think Ms. Connelly’s probably feeling a little overwhelmed right about now. Although—” he tilted his head at her “—I guess you’re probably used to that, with being a teacher and all.”

  He served Charlotte some of the mac and cheese and passed her the salad and dressing to help herself. Then he served Tyson and himself, and he was about to take a bite when he noticed Charlotte waiting with her hands folded.

  He suddenly felt very stubborn.

  “Dig in while it’s hot,” he said, pretending not to notice that Charlotte was waiting for the food to be blessed.

  There was a flicker of hesitation, and then she took a bite.

  “It’s delicious,” she proclaimed, but Paul couldn’t help feeling like he had failed another exam.

  * * *

  So, Paul had heard her conversation with Tyson, and now Charlotte couldn’t help noticing the point he was making. She knew that not all families prayed before meals, and since she’d never seen them at church for the Sunday service, it wasn’t likely they did. But it had become a habit for her, though she certainly hadn’t intended to make him feel bad about the omission.

  Tyson’s oblivious chatter helped smooth things over, and soon Charlotte was eating with even more enjoyment than she had anticipated.

  “Admit it,” Paul prodded, “you’re surprised. Can you taste the secret ingredient?”

  “Nutmeg?” Charlotte guessed. “I’ve heard a lot of people use that to enhance the taste.”

  “Oh, please, that’s for amateurs.” Paul rolled his eyes in an exaggerated fashion and she giggled, relieved and happy that they were having fun again.

  “Is it your mom’s recipe?” she asked.

  For a beat she wondered if he was going to answer or if she’d dampened the mood, then he simply said quietly, “Actually, it was Erica’s.”

  She realized Paul must have memorized the recipe. And once again, Charlotte thought how smart he was, with his ability to take in information and retain it.

  Tyson had been too busy chasing rogue noodles around with his spoon to pay attention.

  “Can I get the ice cream?” he asked.

  “You may,” Paul said, pointedly. “But a polite thing to do is make sure our guest has had enough of the main course first before you offer dessert.”

  “I have,” Charlotte assured them. “It was delicious.” She started to get up from her chair. “Can I help clear the table?”

  “You’re our guest. Don’t worry about it, but thanks.” Paul said. “Ty, would you please, very carefully, take our plates to the kitchen and bring out the ice cream, spoons and bowls? You don’t have to do it all in one trip,” he cautioned.

  “It probably takes three times as long when he helps,” Paul remarked when Tyson was in the kitchen. “But I think it’s good to let him.”

  “It’s exactly the right thing to do,” Charlotte agreed. Then she added in a hurried tone, “Before Tyson’s back, I wanted to say that I’m sorry if I offended you. I gather you heard some of our conversation when you came to call us for supper. I want you to know that I’m mindful of boundaries—as a teacher I have to be. But I didn’t want to disregard Ty’s questions, either, because they’re obviously important to him.”

  “You didn’t,” Paul said. “Offend me, I mean. Or cross any boundaries.”

  “Okay, if you’re sure. I just sensed something before we started to eat.”

  “I felt you were waiting for me to say grace,” Paul said. “We don’t do that.”r />
  “So I gathered. It’s just what I’m used to. I didn’t mean to put any pressure on you.”

  Paul shifted in his chair. “I’d better go see what’s holding Tyson up.”

  His departure left Charlotte wondering what his thoughts really were on the matter. She hoped she hadn’t ruined whatever friendship they had between them; she especially hoped that Paul wouldn’t change his mind about getting help with his reading—if she could come up with a way to help that he was comfortable with.

  Paul and Tyson returned together, each holding a bucket of ice cream.

  “We have mint chocolate chip and cookie dough,” Tyson announced excitedly. “What’s your favorite? Do you like both? If you can’t choose, Uncle Paul will let you have both, but then you get just a little less of each. Still, it’s not a bad deal.”

  “No, it certainly isn’t.” Charlotte said. “I think I will have both, please.”

  “Ty, we forgot the toppings!” Paul slapped his palm to his forehead as if he couldn’t believe how careless they’d been.

  “I’ll get them!” Tyson ran back to the kitchen.

  “I just felt like we weren’t quite done here,” Paul said bluntly as soon as his nephew was out of earshot again.

  Charlotte waited, remaining silent.

  “I feel like I should be apologizing to you,” he continued. “You haven’t done anything wrong. You’ve been nothing but kind and helpful to both of us. It’s just... I think I’ve been reminded of something today that I’ve been trying to avoid thinking about. I know Tyson’s parents would have expected me to take him to church and to teach him about faith. But I haven’t, because of the struggles I’ve had with my own faith journey.”

  “The church would welcome you,” Charlotte said. “Just as we’ve welcomed you on Wednesday nights.”

  “What about God?” Paul asked, searching her eyes. “What does He think of all of this?”

  “He welcomes you...” Charlotte’s cell phone began to ring. “It’s Rena,” she said, puzzled. “Excuse me, but I’d better take this. Hello, Rena?”

  “Where are you?” Rena asked.

  “Why are you looking for me?” Charlotte said, avoiding the question of where she was. Then she swallowed panic as she asked, “Is it my mother? Did something happen? Is she all right?”

  “No,” Rena said. “It’s Mrs. Cannon—Michael’s mom. She came into the café and demanded to know if I’d seen you. I tried to encourage her to make an appointment with you at the school, but she was upset and causing a bit of a scene, so I took her phone number and I promised her I’d pass it on to you. I’m worried, Charlotte. She’s definitely on the rampage.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Ms. Connelly is very nice,” Tyson said as Paul tucked him in that night.

  “Yes, she is,” Paul agreed.

  “She saw my room.”

  “She did, and she liked it.”

  Tyson wriggled around in bed, getting his head into exactly the right spot on the pillow. He sighed and closed his eyes.

  Then for some reason, his nephew’s eyes flew open again.

  “She likes the same kind of ice cream as me, both kinds.”

  “Uh-huh,” Paul said.

  “You should marry her,” Tyson proclaimed.

  Paul wanted to laugh it off, but something in the innocent suggestion got under his skin. He realized that something had been nudging at him ever since he had overheard their conversation before supper. It wasn’t just the fact that they’d been talking about God and church and Tyson’s parents; it was that Tyson was talking to Charlotte in a way that he never talked to him. And he wondered what it might be like to have someone in his life who cared for Tyson, too, and who could help him answer the hard questions.

  But he couldn’t drag Charlotte—or anyone else—into his world. He had too many emotional scars and too many limitations. She’d stay in his life strictly on a professional basis. In fact, come next June, she wouldn’t be in his life at all. He had to keep that in mind and protect himself from getting too close.

  Even if he couldn’t stop thinking about the way her eyes danced when she teased him about macaroni and cheese.

  But then she’d received that phone call and, even though she’d assured him that everything was fine and had made a big show of enjoying her ice cream, he knew that something had happened, something that she wasn’t willing to share.

  “Uncle Paul?” Tyson’s drowsy voice pulled Paul away from his thoughts.

  “Yeah, bud? You know it’s time for you to go to sleep.”

  “I know,” Tyson said around a yawn. “I just wanted to tell you that I showed Ms. Connelly my picture. You know...?”

  “Yes,” Paul said gently. “I know what picture you mean.”

  “Is that okay, Uncle Paul?”

  Ah, so now there was this question to add another ingredient to the bittersweet mix.

  “Of course it’s okay, Ty. If you felt like it was the right thing to do, then it was the right thing to do.”

  Tyson sighed and nodded, then flipped over onto his stomach. “Will you draw pictures on my back until I go to sleep?”

  “I’ll stay for five minutes,” Paul compromised.

  Tyson closed his eyes, but before a slower, deeper breathing could signal that he was asleep, Paul found himself with his own question.

  “Tyson...would you...would you like to go to church on Sunday?”

  He felt the little boy’s back go taut under his hand.

  “For real?” Tyson asked.

  “Yes, if you’d like.”

  “Yay!” After the brief exclamation, the little boy closed his eyes again, and just before he drifted off, he mumbled, “Mom’ll be so glad...”

  * * *

  Charlotte decided to take the proactive approach in dealing with Mavis and whatever her concerns were. She had no desire to avoid her and, even if she had, it was foolish to think she could do so in a place the size of Green Valley. She didn’t intend to avoid Seth’s Café, or the grocery store, or anywhere else.

  The problem was, now she couldn’t track Mavis down. When she called the phone number that Rena had provided for her, the message kept telling her that the customer was out of the service area. It also appeared that Mavis didn’t have any trouble avoiding the typically frequented places.

  Charlotte thought about asking Michael how she could get hold of his mother, but she immediately dismissed the idea. She wasn’t a fan of involving children in adult problems. But she wished she could find out where Mavis was and what was on her mind—although she felt like she had a pretty good idea.

  But, in the midst of all of it, the blessing was that Tyson and Michael were actually getting along okay. They weren’t exactly best friends—far from it—but after the first day, a kind of silent acceptance seemed to have sprung up between them, one that Charlotte hoped could eventually develop into friendship. The problem with spending recesses supervising a silent classroom was that it gave her far too much time to think about things: about Mavis...and about Paul.

  And then there was the question of her overseas missionary work. A letter had arrived for her yesterday. She hadn’t opened it yet.

  Her heart told her that she already knew the reason why. She just wasn’t willing to listen yet.

  * * *

  On Sunday morning, Tyson hopped three times on one foot, three times on the other, then spun in a circle with his arms spread wide. “Ready to go, Uncle Paul?”

  “Almost,” Paul said, feeling considerably less excited than his nephew for their Sunday morning venture. He was particularly apprehensive about being swarmed by curious people. Even if they were well-meaning, he just hated it when people made a big deal out of someone coming back after a long absence, or someone showing up who had never been there before. He reminded himself that many of these people we
re the same ones he saw on Wednesday nights.

  Charlotte would be there, he had no doubt of that. He couldn’t help imagining her face when she saw them. Would it light up with pleasure? He felt pleased at the thought of her being happy to see them.

  But he wasn’t doing this for her—he was doing it for Tyson.

  “Stop with the spinning, please,” he said to Tyson, his nervousness making him less patient than usual. “You’re going to knock something over.”

  Tyson stopped but continued to bounce on his heels like they had springs in them. He was particularly excited to see Max at Sunday school. He had on his good dress pants and a button-down shirt and his hair was behaving, but Paul didn’t expect that would last for long.

  As for himself, he felt completely stiff in his good clothes, like his broad shoulders were going to split the seams of his dress shirt. Maybe it was because he only dressed up for special occasions like weddings...and funerals.

  I’m doing this for Tyson and for you and Ross, Erica. Can you ask that God you believe in so much to help me out here?

  The church was humming with people when they stepped in. Tyson spotted Max almost immediately and ran off to greet her, leaving Paul to his own devices. Without meaning to, he found his eyes sweeping the room for Charlotte. He felt a combination of anticipation and nervousness knowing that if she was there, she would be with her family. He’d already sensed that they weren’t his type...or, rather, that he wasn’t theirs. Which made him all the more curious about the strong attachment he felt to their daughter.

  “Paul? Is that you?” Ralph Meyer came toward him. The older man was wearing a suit, but with his ramrod posture, closely cropped hair and perpetually watchful expression, he would always look like a police officer no matter how many years he was retired.

  Just as Paul was preparing to answer him, Ralph said in his blunt way, “Good, you’re here. One of the legs keeps buckling on the Sunday school craft table. We should have time to have a look at it before the service starts.”