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  “Am I too early?” Paul asked, and Charlotte realized that she’d let him just stand there on the doorstep.

  “Not at all,” she said hurriedly. “Please come in. Where’s Tyson, by the way?”

  “He’s over at Max’s.”

  As he stepped into the entryway, she tried to see her house through his eyes. She knew she was a tidy but not immaculate housekeeper, and that the decor reflected her personality rather than the latest trends.

  “Come into the kitchen,” Charlotte said. “That’s probably the best place to start.”

  Paul set the toolbox on the kitchen table and looked around. “I like your place,” he said. “It’s very you.”

  She was inordinately pleased, but then something in Paul’s eyes shut down again. “I don’t mean that I really know you,” he said. “Just that I noticed there’s some variety in how you’ve fixed up the place, like you have different ways that you dress and wear your hair.”

  Feeling self-conscious, Charlotte tugged on her braid. “I knew what you meant,” she hurried to say. “I don’t like everything matchy-matchy,” she added, thinking of her mother’s house, where the curtains matched the sofa and the wallpaper.

  Silence hovered between them.

  Paul cleared his throat. “So...what do you want to show me first?” he asked.

  “Maybe we could start by changing the light bulb in the storage room,” Charlotte suggested.

  With Paul coaching and encouraging, she climbed up on the step ladder and managed to remove the cover off the light fixture. Paul was good at explaining things without making her feel like she had six extra arms, none of which had any coordination at all. “I did it!” she said, back on the ground and feeling pleased with herself.

  “You sure did,” Paul praised her. “Next I’ll show you how to hammer a nail without hitting your thumb.”

  They moved on to the next task, and after they’d successfully hung all of Charlotte’s pictures, Paul said, “I’ve got to take you shopping for your own tool kit. There are things that no house should be without.”

  “Or you could just make me a list,” Charlotte suggested. “I’d hate to take up more of your time.”

  “I don’t mind,” Paul said tersely. “But I should probably leave soon, to pick up Ty.”

  “Can you stay just a little while longer?” Charlotte asked. “I made coffee. I’d like to show you some hospitality to thank you for helping me.”

  “That’s very kind of you,” Paul said, as he sat down at the kitchen table and accepted a mug of coffee.

  “I think I might have some leftover Saskatoon berry muffins from Seth’s, if you like,” Charlotte offered.

  Paul shook his head. “I had a big breakfast.”

  As he sipped his coffee, Charlotte noticed that his eyes had taken on their weary look again, and once more she felt that Paul had concerns above and beyond being Tyson’s guardian.

  She couldn’t resist making another attempt to reach him, even if that meant risking another rejection. “Paul, is there anything else you’d like to talk about? I mean it, anything at all. You know, helping a student involves more than just dealing with the student. I care about what’s happening in the families, too, because that can impact the student.”

  Paul’s large hand curved around the cup, and he stared down at the coffee inside.

  “It’s good of you to care, Charlotte,” he said with an expression that she couldn’t read.

  “I know moving here has been a big adjustment for you,” she continued, “You’re probably not used to kids, and you’re still grieving your sister...”

  He raised his eyes and gave her a long, searching look. She almost held her breath, thinking for a moment that he was about to open up. But then his eyes dropped again and he said, “I appreciate your concern, I honestly do. But Ty and I...we’ll muddle along. I just want you to keep making sure he’s doing all right in school, okay?”

  “Of course,” Charlotte nodded, trying not to feel disappointed that she hadn’t gotten further with him, but she couldn’t force him to say anything he didn’t want to. Besides, maybe it was only her imagination that there was anything else to discuss.

  Still, something needled her...

  “I’m glad I got that light bulb changed and hung those pictures,” she said, noticing how Paul relaxed once she’d changed the subject. “Thank you again.”

  “You’re welcome,” Paul said. “We’ll find a time to pick out some basic tools that will be handy for you to have around and I can come over again, maybe next Saturday? You’d mentioned painting, too. I expect you’ll want to pick out colors, but let me know when you want to get that done, too.”

  Charlotte laughed nervously. “I was thinking of hiring a professional for that.”

  Paul shook his head. “You don’t want to spend that kind of money. Trust me, you can do it yourself for half the cost. Besides, you might even enjoy it.”

  He smiled at her, a relaxed, open smile, and she had to stand up quickly to take their coffee cups to the sink before he saw the effect he had on her.

  Then Paul stood up. “I really have to go. I’m sure I’ll see you soon.”

  “Yes, we’re bound to run into each other,” she said, smiling at him.

  Paul reached forward and gave her braid a gentle tug.

  “I like this look on you,” he said. Charlotte blushed profusely as she walked him out.

  After he left, Charlotte felt like a daydreaming schoolgirl. Then her phone rang and she grabbed it up, glad of the distraction.

  “Hi, Bridge,” she answered.

  “You sure had Anna on your mind at supper last night,” Bridget said, not wasting any time getting to the point. “But you know it’s upsetting for everyone when you talk about what happened.”

  Daydreams of a handsome handyman bachelor quickly disappeared.

  A million answers, none of them adequate, rushed through Charlotte’s mind. Finally she said, “I’m tired of never talking about her, and I think she deserves to be remembered.”

  “I’m just concerned that you keep tormenting yourself with it, Char.”

  Then the fight went out of Charlotte as suddenly as it had arrived and she felt as deflated as a damaged tire on the side of the road. She didn’t want to upset her family, even if it meant bottling up her own feelings. So she changed the subject to something she knew would interest her cousin.

  “I decided you were right about Paul.”

  “Oh? Why do you say that?”

  “I asked him to come over and help me with some fix-it projects around the house. We got a lot done. So thank you for the suggestion.”

  She didn’t tell Bridget about the questions that still troubled her. What good would that have done?

  * * *

  “Do we have a grocery list?” Tyson asked Paul later on that afternoon. “My mom’s grocery list was always on the fridge with a magnet that was a bumblebee.”

  Paul tensed up a little. When Tyson mentioned his parents, he still never knew if it was going to be just a passing remark or a spiral downward into a session of grief and the impossible demand that his parents be returned to him.

  But this time, Tyson just looked curious, and Paul breathed a sigh of relief. For the moment, he was free to think about the morning he’d spent helping Charlotte. She was a quick learner and was more adept at things than she gave herself credit for. He’d wanted to tell her so, but he was torn between being drawn to her and keeping up his walls. Especially since she was going to leave town soon. He tried to tell himself that he was only concerned for Tyson’s sake, but it was getting harder and harder to do that.

  “Uncle Paul?” Tyson repeated. “Do we have a list?”

  “It’s all up here,” Paul tapped the side of his head with one finger and pulled a funny face that made Tyson laugh. He relied on his mem
ory, compensating for not being able to read.

  “Saturday we call Grandpa Glen and Grandma Pat, right?” Tyson’s question steered his thoughts away from Charlotte.

  “Yes, that’s right.” He believed it was good for Tyson to connect to whatever family he had left, even if he was never sure how much the phone calls meant to his parents.

  They had retired to Victoria, British Columbia, and during their Saturday evening phone visits, they chatted enthusiastically about life in their senior living complex, which, as far as Paul could tell, provided plenty of friends, lots of activities and a variety of delicious meals. He knew that both of his parents had worked very hard to provide for their family throughout the years, so he tried not to begrudge them a well-earned early retirement. But it reminded him of the way they had always been such a self-contained unit—working long hours to provide for his and his sister’s physical needs but letting the details of their lives slip through the cracks. Details from the small, like Erica and her best friend having a brief fight, to large ones... Paul closed his eyes briefly.

  That was then. This is now. I’m not that boy anymore.

  He knew they must have grieved Erica’s loss greatly. But they’d handled the funeral and other details and carried on with their lives in such a pragmatic way it was almost impossible to tell exactly how they felt about losing their only daughter.

  Paul vowed again that Tyson would never have to wonder how Paul felt about him.

  At the grocery store, Paul was surprised when he spotted Charlotte in the hardware aisle. She held two packages of nails in her hands and frowned at both of them. Her frown made him want to grin from ear to ear. She was wearing blue jeans, a pair that looked newer than the ones she’d worn that morning, and a mint-green sweater. But she had her hair pulled back, teacher style—a hybrid of the two Charlottes.

  He suddenly realized that she was trying to pick out nails on her own, even though he’d told her he was willing to help. He wondered what that meant.

  Tyson caught sight of her, too, and called out, “Ms. Connelly!” as he careened toward her. “Hey it’s me, Tyson!”

  “It is you!” Charlotte said to Tyson, matching his enthusiasm. She ruffled his already unruly hair. “It’s great to see you. I see you’re helping your uncle get the grocery shopping done.” She turned her gaze to Paul. “I guess we’re seeing each other again even sooner than we thought.”

  He nodded, trying to decide if she was embarrassed or if he was only imagining it.

  “Uncle Paul doesn’t use a list,” Tyson said, with an eye roll that made his feelings clear on the matter.

  “His memory must be better than mine,” Charlotte said. “I’d be lost without one.”

  Paul didn’t want any more conversation about memory or lists, so he changed the subject. “You look like you could use some help there,” he said, indicating the nails. “Though I thought I’d made it clear that I’d help you with that.” He looked pointedly at her.

  “I know,” Charlotte said with an shy smile that tugged as his heart. “But I feel silly asking. I should be able to do these things on my own.”

  “We all need help with one thing or another, don’t we?” Paul said. “Here, let’s have a look. No one is born knowing this stuff.”

  As soon as he said it, an idea flashed into his head. “You know how you’re helping the newcomers with their reading and communication?” he said, his words tumbling out rapidly. “Well, there could be other skills they could learn that I could teach them, like basic car maintenance and easy home repairs. Things that everyone could make use of. You could come, too, though of course I’m still willing to help you on a personal level if you...”

  He stopped talking. He probably sounded like a blathering idiot.

  Charlotte laughed.

  “I didn’t mean...” Paul said.

  “No, I know what you mean. It’s okay.”

  “Ms. Connelly, your cheeks are red,” Tyson said.

  “Ah, yes... I think it’s a bit warm in here.” She smiled. “I think it sounds like a really good idea,” Charlotte said, trying to recover her composure. “Let’s talk more about it on Wednesday night.”

  “Sounds good,” Paul said. “And, by the way, you might as well get both kinds of nails.”

  “When in doubt, buy more than you need?” Charlotte asked in a teasing tone.

  “Exactly,” he said. “See, you’re learning already.”

  They parted ways, and Paul was glad that Tyson occupied himself by dashing ahead in the aisles and grabbing what was needed. At least it provided some respite from the constant chatter about his teacher.

  “I like Ms. Connelly,” he said blissfully. “She shops for groceries like we do, right, Uncle Paul? Do you like her, Uncle Paul?”

  “She’s a nice woman,” Paul answered carefully. “I’m glad you’re happy she’s your teacher.”

  He wondered how involved he should really be getting with Charlotte or with the community in general. The problem with getting too close to people was that they could hurt you or find out things about you that you didn’t want them to know. He had not been part of a church community for years, and he hoped that people wouldn’t think that helping out meant he was interested in letting God in again. Still, for Tyson’s sake, he felt he had to give back to the community he was now living in. And maybe helping others would help him to feel less like an outsider.

  But he’d do whatever it took to guard his heart against a certain violet-eyed teacher who was making her way closer him—and to the things he didn’t want anyone to know about.

  Chapter Six

  In the teacher’s lounge on Monday, Charlotte bit into her ham and cheese sandwich and listened to Rena sing Paul Belvedere’s praises.

  “Our car is running perfectly, thanks to him. He’s really good at what he does and seems like a great guy.”

  Charlotte was surprised at the tug of emotion she felt, like she wanted her friends to approve of Paul. And she kept thinking about the way he had helped and encouraged her on Saturday morning, and the sheer pleasure that had skittered through her when she saw him again at the grocery store.

  Proceed with caution, she told herself, echoing the lesson she had taught the children that morning about traffic lights as another way to help them recognize colors. She asked God to help her determine the best way to do that.

  Now Rena was looking at her with a mischievous light of interest in her brown eyes, so she steered the conversation in a safer direction.

  “I actually ran into Paul and Tyson at the grocery store on Saturday afternoon, and we touched on the idea of him teaching basic car and home maintenance skills to the literacy group participants.”

  “That sounds like a great idea,” Rena said.

  “I think so, too,” Charlotte agreed.

  “So, that means you’ll probably have to spend more time together?” Rena asked with feigned innocence.

  “He’s one of my students’ uncles,” Charlotte said, avoiding her friend’s teasing question. “I’m bound to interact with him on a regular basis.”

  Rena gave her a look that said she wasn’t buying it. She was relieved to be rescued from more scrutiny when Rena had to leave because there were a couple of things she needed to get done before the lunch break was over.

  When her friend was gone, she immediately felt the weight of silence asking its own questions. Why was she letting her feelings about Paul distract her from her own goals? She pulled the application for missionary work out of her purse and looked it over for what felt like the hundredth time.

  Enough of this nonsense, she told herself. She needed to fill out this form and submit it, and she needed to tell her parents about her plans as soon as possible. She was the only child her parents had left and they counted on seeing her on a regular basis, so it was only fair that she give them time to get used to th
e idea.

  The bell rang, signaling that lunchtime was over. Charlotte folded up the application and put it back in her purse. She resolved that she would tell her parents that evening.

  Please help me find the words, Lord, and please help them to understand why I need to do this and how important it is to me to pursue a dream.

  * * *

  “Tyson and I really enjoyed the activities at the church last Wednesday night,” Paul said to Harold, wanting him to know that he cared about the Green Valley community and that he was getting involved.

  They were taking advantage of a lull on Monday to better organize some of the shelves in the shop. Doing so made Paul think about Charlotte and the projects he was helping her with. If he was being honest with himself, thoughts of her were becoming more and more frequent. There was just something about her that made him feel good, comfortable...even safe. Thinking about their most recent conversation at the grocery store the other day reminded him that he wanted to share his idea about teaching basic skills with Harold.

  “I wanted to tell you about an idea I had for Wednesdays—something I know I’d be good at.”

  Harold made a quick note on the pad he carried, then set it aside to give Paul his full attention. He listened carefully as Paul told him what he and Charlotte had discussed on Saturday.

  “I think it’s a good idea,” he said. “You’ll have to run it by the organizing committee, but I can’t see them saying no to it. And I have to say it’s a shame one of us didn’t think of it sooner. You probably know that Charlotte Connelly runs the literacy group, so I expect you’ll want to get her on board and the two of you will work something out.”

  “I’ve already touched base with her about it,” Paul said. “In fact, she was the first person I discussed it with, and she’s all for it.”