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  He still had a hard time believing they were gone. Somehow, he would get through it, one step at a time. He would pick up Tyson. He would stop by the garage and grab his tools. He would look at Rena’s car. Tyson liked Rena and wouldn’t mind hanging out while Paul did his work. One step at a time, he could do this.

  Paul always felt reassured at Mildred’s home. Everything about her freshly painted house and immaculately tended yard spelled comfort and order to him. He regretted the time that Tyson had to spend with a caregiver, but since it was necessary, he was glad that Ty was happy there.

  Mildred had never married and had no children of her own, but she was an honorary grandmother to the entire town. In contrast with her house and yard that conjured images of a storybook grandmother, Mildred was six feet tall, broad-shouldered and wore overalls and her white hair was always in two long braids.

  The front door of her house swung open as Paul neared it. Clearly, they were watching for him.

  “How did Tyson get along today?” Paul asked Mildred as his nephew was getting his backpack.

  “Oh, he’s always a good boy,” Mildred said in her soft, sweet voice. “How was your meeting with his teacher? Charlotte Connelly is a fine young woman.”

  Was it his imagination, or did the older woman put extra emphasis on her statement about Charlotte?

  “She seems like a good teacher,” Paul said cautiously. He had no desire to delve any deeper into the topic. Charlotte Connelly was not his type. Not that he’d ever really had a type. Dating had never been a priority for him.

  Survival had.

  Now he had one goal, and that was to be the best guardian possible for Tyson. Even though he was sure Erica would never have named him guardian if she’d known how unstable his faith was now.

  “Thanks for letting Tyson stay late,” Paul said.

  “My pleasure,” Mildred said.

  “We have to stop by Harold’s for a couple of minutes,” Paul explained to Tyson as they went down the sidewalk together. “Then I’m going to have a quick look at Ms. Acoose’s car.”

  “I like her,” Tyson declared.

  “I thought you did,” Paul nodded. “You like your teacher, Ms. Connelly, too, don’t you?”

  Tyson nodded. “Yup.” Paul waited to hear more, but Tyson had already moved on to the subject of his after-school snack. It amused Paul, the way the boy’s thoughts could drift from one topic to another like scattered fluff from a dandelion wish.

  “We had oatmeal and raisin cookies,” Tyson said. “Except not raisins, because Mildred knows I don’t like raisins.”

  “I don’t like raisins, either,” Paul said. Tyson looked up at him with those large blue eyes of his and nodded with a satisfied sigh. The expression on his freckled face clearly said that they were two men bonding over a shared dislike of wrinkled fruit.

  It was these moments that gave Paul hope that he could do this. He could do this whole guardian, raise-a-child-into-a-responsible-adult thing.

  “Did my mom and dad like raisins?” Tyson asked. “Is there snacks in Heaven? Do you haveta have raisins?”

  And, just like that, the cautiously emerging confidence was gone, like a rabbit being chased away by hounds.

  Paul didn’t know how he felt about the God and Heaven questions these days. In Paul’s opinion, He had been pretty much MIA during Paul’s school days, and then after losing Erica... Well, how was he supposed to feel about a God who would allow all of that?

  But there was a little boy, wide eyes fixed on him, waiting for an answer, and he couldn’t confess his raging doubts to anyone, let alone a six-year-old who counted on him.

  “I’m sure you only eat what you like in Heaven,” he finally answered. To Paul’s great relief, there were no more questions. As they walked to Harold’s Garage, Tyson chatted about the things he had learned in Ms. Connelly’s class that week. Each time he said her name, Paul was unwittingly struck by a vision of her violet eyes.

  They reached the garage, and Harold greeted Tyson in the booming voice that the little boy loved.

  “Why, hello, good sir! And what brings you my way? Do you need a part for your car? Or have you come to help me organize my wrenches?”

  Tyson giggled, then suppressed it because that was part of the game.

  “I’ve come to buy a racing car, good sir.” He did his best to imitate the low boom in Harold’s voice, and Paul broke into a grin.

  Harold Price was five years younger and a good six inches shorter than his sister, Mildred, but his warm blue eyes matched hers and, although he was married and had a family of his own, he cared equally about Green Valley and the people who lived there.

  “I’m actually here to get my tools,” Paul said. “I promised someone a favor.”

  Harold considered that briefly, then nodded. Paul knew the older man was an astute businessman but that he would also understand that being a Good Samaritan was beneficial to everyone in the long run.

  “Since you’re here,” Harold said. “There is something I’d like to talk to you about.”

  He reached down and lifted Tyson up, swinging him onto a high stool behind a workbench.

  “Mind the shop, good sir?” he asked. “I’m just going to have a quick chat with your uncle.”

  Tyson sat up straight and proud. “You got it, good sir,” he replied.

  Paul felt the relaxed, enjoyable feeling of the moment slip away into apprehension. But he quickly reasoned that he was a good mechanic and he knew he worked hard.

  Back in Harold’s office, a small room crammed with a desk, one chair and shelves filled top to bottom with binders and stacks of paper, Harold indicated that Paul should sit.

  “This won’t take long,” Harold promised. “First off, you’re a fine mechanic, Paul. I don’t know if I’ve worked with a better one.”

  “Thank you,” Paul said, feeling the thread of tension in his shoulders begin to unravel.

  “However...”

  The thread pulled taut again.

  “Competition in this business is fierce,” Harold continued. “Sure, folks will come here because they know us and it’s convenient. But there are garages being set up all over the place, so it’s very important that we offer excellent customer service.”

  He leaned forward, linking his hands together and studying Paul’s face intently. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  Paul couldn’t think of a single time when he’d done less than his best work. “I’m not sure I do.”

  “You do great work,” Harold reiterated, “and the customers do like you. It’s just that...” He stopped, looking as if it pained him to say what he had to say. “Mrs. Meissner had a bit of a complaint about you yesterday.”

  “A complaint?” Paul repeated, trying to think of his dealings with her. He had fixed her car, which hadn’t been an easy job. Also, in the short time he’d known Mrs. Meissner, she struck him a chronic complainer.

  “Maybe complaint is too strong a word,” Harold amended. “Let’s say she had a concern about you.”

  “What was it?” Paul asked, wishing that his boss would get to the point. He didn’t want to leave Tyson waiting too long.

  “Well, she always likes someone to review her invoices with her,” Harold explained, “and she said that you refused to do it.” Harold looked at him, as if sure there was a logical explanation.

  Suddenly Paul remembered the incident. Mrs. Meissner had said something about a price being higher than usual. Paul had remarked that inflation seemed to impact everything and then had gone into the shop to let the next customer know he was ready for him.

  His mind raced, like a mouse going through a maze after some elusive cheese. He would have to apologize and give some kind of reason. He had to make sure that he bonded with the people of this town, for Tyson’s sake, even if his own inclination was to run away a
s soon as the pressure was on. Maybe he would take Ms. Connelly up on her offer of Ty and him joining in those Wednesday night activities at church.

  There was only one thing he was sure of. There was no absolutely no way he could tell Harold, or Mrs. Meissner, or anyone else that the reason he hadn’t reviewed the invoice with her was because he couldn’t read.

  Chapter Two

  Late Saturday morning, Charlotte was sitting with her cousin Bridget at Seth’s Café. As always, the place was busy, and Seth was cooking, calling out orders and chatting with the customers. His black hair spiked out in all directions, regardless of what he was doing but, inevitably, one of the regulars was bound to call out, “Look at Seth, he’s working so hard his hair’s standing on end!”

  The familiar joke, as well as the coffee, lightly flavored with nutmeg, and an order of pancakes usually soothed Charlotte, but she had a restlessness that she couldn’t quell.

  Sometimes she liked to imagine different directions her life could take. She loved music and poetry and she’d always been fascinated by history. Of course she could teach about those things, but that wasn’t the same thing as actually experiencing them. Maybe one day she would travel more, go to concerts and shows and see first-hand some of the things she’d only read about.

  But she had also made a promise to the uncle of a grieving little boy...

  Charlotte’s father and Bridget’s father were brothers, both businessmen who commuted daily to Regina. Less than a year apart—Charlotte ten months older, almost to the day—she and Bridget had always been close. They were more like sisters than cousins. People always told them they looked like sisters, too, although Bridget’s eyes were more denim than violet blue, and her hair was a shade lighter.

  “So, what do you think?” Charlotte asked Bridget, having filled her in on her possible mission work. Bridget hadn’t been at church on Wednesday night because she was on a date. Since they’d been teenagers, she and Bridget had shared their ideas of what their perfect lives would look like. Marriage and family were definitely part of the plan.

  “I don’t know, Char,” Bridget said, twirling a piece of toast through an egg yolk. “I can’t imagine you going so far away. You’ve never even left Saskatchewan. How are you going to handle living thousands of miles away?”

  “Maybe it’s time to change all that,” Charlotte said quietly.

  Bridget shrugged. “Maybe,” she said. She finished the rest of the food on her plate and sighed. “That was so good, but I am not going to eat anything else until supper time.” She looked around the café. “It’s busy this morning.”

  “It always is,” Charlotte said. She accepted that the conversation about missionary work was over for now. She knew that Bridget would miss her terribly if she went away, even if she had a hard time saying it.

  “Who’s sitting in the back corner?” Bridget asked in a lowered voice. “Don’t make it obvious that you’re looking.”

  Charlotte laughed and turned around to look. “If they’re strangers here,” she said to Bridget, “I won’t be the first person to stare.”

  She briefly took in the sight of a woman who looked like she was in her early to mid-thirties, with a tired face and a distant gaze, and a boy, who looked to be about six or seven, listlessly pushing a toy car back and forth across the table.

  Charlotte turned back to Bridget. “I’ve seen them on Wednesday nights at church, so they must live somewhere close by, but I haven’t seen them Sunday and the little boy isn’t at our school.”

  “They don’t look like they feel at home here,” Bridget observed.

  “Maybe we should do something to make them feel welcome, then,” Charlotte suggested. But she had no idea how to do that.

  She felt a bit ashamed at her relief when the strangers got up to leave.

  Seth sped around the café, refilling coffee mugs and water glasses. He had hired Eugenie Tyler, a high school senior, to help out in the café, but Seth still liked to mingle with his customers.

  Charlotte thought with amusement that when Eugenie tried to keep up with Seth, she looked like a fledging bird in a nest watching an eagle swoop around her. But she was always pleasant and worked hard.

  She also thought that it was a good thing that Seth’s wife, Rena, was quiet and generally unflappable. It not only made her an effective teacher, it also provided the perfect balance for Seth’s boundless energy.

  Charlotte believed that there was a perfect match for everyone, at least in theory. Unfortunately, she hadn’t yet met her perfect match.

  Inexplicably, she pictured Paul Belvedere’s deep brown eyes and the way he had studied her face as if he was trying to make a decision about her.

  She brought her attention back to Bridget.

  “Speaking of being a homebody,” she said, “I need to get handier with repairs and stuff. There are so many things around the house that need fixing up, but I’m afraid of ruining it if I tackle anything.”

  “I wish I could help,” Bridget said. “But you know I’m no better.”

  A melodic chime sounded in the café, signaling that someone else had entered. As usual, almost everyone looked to see who the new arrival was. Charlotte followed suit and saw Paul and Tyson coming in.

  She had no explanation for the way her heart suddenly sped up.

  Tyson had his hands jammed in the pockets of his jeans, and his reddish mop of hair looked like it could use a cut. Beside him, in a black T-shirt that emphasized his broad shoulders and a pair of blue jeans, his uncle looked strong, and like he could handle any situation that life threw his way.

  Except Charlotte could still see the shadow of a deep weariness in his eyes. She wanted to know more about him, about what put those shadows in his eyes.

  Tyson had spotted her and was sidling up to their table, looking awestruck to see her. It always entertained Charlotte the way her students acted like they had run into a celebrity—or an alien—if they saw her outside the classroom.

  Tyson grinned shyly. “Hi, Ms. Connelly! Did you have breakfast?” he asked.

  “I did,” Charlotte told him. “The pancakes were delicious.”

  He nodded as if pondering the secrets of the universe. Paul came over to their table. “Hi,” he said glancing at Charlotte, then at Bridget.

  “Hi!” Bridget chirped. “And what brings you two handsome gentlemen out this morning?”

  “Who’s she talking about?” Tyson said in an audible whisper, and Charlotte fought the urge to giggle.

  “We’ve come out for some breakfast, too,” Paul answered Bridget. “For a special treat.”

  “And we forgot to buy eggs,” Tyson added.

  “I sometimes forget to buy things, too,” Charlotte said to Tyson, hoping Paul knew he shouldn’t be too hard on himself.

  Their gazes met, and his eyes had a glimmer of thanks in them.

  “Hey, Paul,” Bridget piped up, “I’ve heard you’re good at repairs and things. Char here was just telling me that she could use some help with her house.”

  Charlotte shot her cousin a warning look.

  “Really?” Paul said. “I’d be happy to come over and give you a hand.”

  “Oh, that’s okay, you don’t have to,” Charlotte said, flustered.

  “No, I’d like to,” Paul said. “It would mean a lot to me if I could contribute in some way.”

  Charlotte understood the feeling of wanting to make a contribution.

  “Okay, then,” she said. “I’d be happy to accept your assistance.”

  Tyson wandered over to select a coloring book and crayons from the basket Seth kept for the children at the front.

  “Did you see those reading sheets I sent home with Tyson?” Charlotte asked. “He’s doing quite well, but I think just a bit more practice would really make a difference. I can go over them in more detail with you, if you like?”
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  For a moment she thought she saw a panicked expression flash across Paul’s face, but then it was gone. He gave a tight smile and said, “That’s fine, we’ll get to them. It’s just been a busy week.”

  Charlotte nodded. “I understand,” she said. She would make sure that she encouraged and supported them both.

  “Just know I’m here to help if you need it,” she added.

  Paul nodded. “I appreciate that,” he said. “Got your coloring book?” he called over to Tyson.

  “Yup, and crayons, too.” The little boy came back to stand beside his uncle.

  “Hey, Paul!” Seth hurried over. “Have a seat, and whatever you want, it’s on the house. Thanks a lot for looking at the car. We really appreciate it.”

  “My pleasure.”

  Paul said the right words, but Charlotte saw from his face that he wasn’t comfortable being praised.

  “Let’s go find a table, Ty,” he said to his nephew. “Say goodbye to the ladies.”

  “Goodbye, ladies,” Tyson intoned obediently.

  Charlotte grinned. “Enjoy your weekend, Tyson. See you at school on Monday.”

  Just as they were about to walk away, Paul turned back and asked, “When did you say those community activities were?”

  “Wednesday nights,” Charlotte said. Paul nodded as he made his way to a table on the other side of the café, where Tyson was sitting.

  “What was that all about?” Bridget asked in a hushed tone. “Are you guys friends?”

  “His nephew is a student in my class,” Charlotte replied, deliberately not answering the question she knew Bridget was really asking.

  Especially since there was no other answer to give, was there?

  * * *

  After breakfast at the café, Charlotte went home to do her Saturday chores around the house. As she dusted and swept, her thoughts kept returning to Paul Belvedere. She couldn’t escape the nagging feeling that there was something he wasn’t telling her. On the other hand, he was trying to connect.