The Prodigal Cousin

Nina latched on to Sam’s hand. “I want to go to school, Daddy.” She turned to Sophie. “I can write my name, and I can make numbers up to ten.”

Sam let her swing from his arms. “She’s been badgering me to let her go to ‘big kid’ school for the past year. You can’t go today, Nina. We’re hiking, remember?”

“I wanna do balloons with the big girl!”

Heading off her tantrum, Sam smiled an apology at Sophie, Ian and Eliza, and guided his suddenly weeping daughter toward a back table. As he settled her in a chair, Eliza appeared at his elbow, offering a small square whiteboard and a couple of markers.

“I thought she might like these.”

“Thanks.” He took them, searching her gaze. A thoughtful woman planned ahead for young customers—a kind woman gave them markers that could destroy her furniture. He handed the board and markers to Nina. “Thank Mrs. Calvert.”

“Thank you,” Nina said through a haze of tears. She grabbed her napkin and wiped her nose, and Sam stared, appalled. Fiona had instilled a deeper respect for linen in her daughters.

Eliza misunderstood his dismay. “Don’t worry. I’ll get her a clean one. And then bacon and eggs. Do you like cheese with your eggs, Nina?”

Up and down went her head. A wisp of hair fell out of her braid and poked her eye. Sam hooked it away with his little finger. With a fortifying smile at both of them, Eliza hugged Nina and hurried back to the kitchen.

“No more crying, Nina, okay?” He sat across from her, and she nodded, sniffing back the last of her tears.

“But I wanna go to school. I like balloons.”

“You don’t have to go to school to play with balloons. We’ll find one in town.”

“The big girl has better ones.”

“Her name is Miss Calvert.”

“I thought that was her mommy’s name.”

He gave up. “Just try calling her Miss Calvert when you see her.”

As they waited for their breakfast, Nina taught him to write her name and then speedily learned how to write his. Every so often, he followed his daughter’s glance to the garden, where Molly was stuffing filled balloons into large white plastic bags.

Strands of dark red curls slipped over Molly’s shoulder, lifting with the same breeze that wrapped her long, feminine skirt around her legs. Sam returned his attention to his child.

Eliza brought their breakfast about the time Sophie went out to the garden and distracted Molly from the balloons. Ian took their baby out to join them, and Nina finally lost interest enough to eat. At least until Sophie and Ian left and Molly returned to her work.

“Can I go out, Daddy?”

“I’ll come with you.” She might try to climb into one of the bags. Holding her hand, he led her through the garden door.

Outside, Molly looked up, flustered, her skin pink from battling the slippery balloons.

He liked her happy smile for Nina. He couldn’t look away from the faint sheen of moisture on her cheekbones and throat. Sixteen months alone, and his mother’s daughter had to be the one woman who reminded him he was a man.

“Hi, Nina.” Finally, Molly looked at Sam, who wished he could backpedal to the house. “Children can’t resist these things.” She tied a knot in a bright yellow one. “The machine broke two balloons ago, and I still have to blow up a few more.”

“I’ll help.”

“I’ll manage.” She peered through the window at his full plate. He hadn’t finished a meal since the day he’d become a single parent. “Eat,” Molly said. “If Nina blows one of these up, she can keep it.”

Nina clapped her hands. “Daddy?”

He stared, speechless with guilt. If Molly looked after Nina, he’d be free to explain everything to Eliza. The plan might stink for Molly, but it helped him.

“She’s fine.” Molly’s too-neutral tone betrayed her wish that he leave. He didn’t have time to diagnose her motives. She’d offered him a better opportunity to talk to Eliza than he could have hoped for. No one else ever had to know anything if Eliza rejected him.

“Thanks.” He knelt beside Nina on the damp grass. “Don’t get in Miss Calvert’s way, and if she leaves, come back inside.” With a lick of his finger, he rubbed a smudge of cheese off his daughter’s nose while she wrestled for freedom.

“I’m all right, Daddy.”

He hoped she would be—that Eliza and her family would accept Nina and Tamsin even if they resented him. His own parents had loved him, but they hadn’t been good at the expansive, arms-wide affection the Calverts offered even to guests.

Standing, he brushed grass off his knees. “Thanks again, Molly.” Emotion unexpectedly deepened his voice, making her curious and him uncomfortable.

“Go ahead,” she said.

He found Eliza alone in the dining room, standing beside his plate. “You’re not hungry?”

“I am.” He couldn’t choke down even a swallow of coffee, but he sat, hoping to make her stay. She eased around the table to watch the woman and girl outside.

“Nina’s a lovely child. You’re obviously doing a good job with her.”

Neither of them mentioned Tamsin, his greater worry.

He filled up his coffee cup from the carafe on his table. “She’s latched on to Molly. She might be a nuisance.”

Eliza shook her head. “Molly’s wonderful with children.” How could she remain blind to his rising tension? “She’s a patient teacher, creative, eager to get involved. Her students feel how much she cares for them.” Eliza broke off with a nervous laugh. “I’m proud of her.”

“Naturally.” He left the table to stand beside her at the window. “You have no other children?”

“No.” Her lack of hesitation slashed like a knife.

A nice, clean wound. It would heal.

“I’m afraid I have to disagree with you, Mrs. Calvert.”

She didn’t answer. Her silence lasted so long Sam finally checked to see if she’d fainted. She was rooted at his side on the patterned rug of her cozy dining room.

He would remember this moment for the rest of his life—the smell of fried bacon and rich coffee, the tick of a grandfather clock that guarded the far corner, the slight tang of a fire that had burned to ashes the night before.

And Eliza Calvert, trapped in stillness like a photo of herself. His wound might take a little longer to heal than he’d estimated.

“Who are you?” She closed her eyes for the briefest moment. “Don’t answer. I know. Since last night, I’ve tried to remember who you remind me of, but now I know. I’ve wondered about you for so long—wondered if you’d show up, if you hated me, if you were happy.” She jerked her head toward the window, and he followed her gaze, watching Molly hand Nina a fat green balloon. “I wondered if you had children of your own.”

“I don’t know what to say.” He couldn’t tell from her delicate, frozen features what she felt. “I couldn’t locate my birth father.”

She took a deep breath. “Neither could I. He told me he wanted to help, that he wanted you even if he couldn’t marry me. He came along to my first doctor’s appointment—the day before he and his family left town in the middle of the night. He wanted to be a lawyer—kind of ironic when you consider I eventually married a judge. His mother wanted a good career for him and his father refused to let him pay for my sins. I guess they didn’t think I was the proper appendage for him…. But I shouldn’t tell you this.” She looked horrified. “You don’t want to know about—”