Here with Me

Her shoulder-length brown hair was pulled into a casual ponytail. He knew if he were closer he could see the hints of red that threaded through its strands.

What he could never be sure of was how her eyes would look. They were the type of neutral color that seemed to change day to day, much like the lake. Sometimes almost blue, sometimes a dark gray that almost bordered on black.

She spotted him on the porch and waved. She didn’t look overly excited to see him.

Well, that was one thing that hadn’t changed, because Mary Eileen had never been overly enthused with his company, although she’d always been kind and polite.

It was that kindness he remembered the most. Maybe that’s why he’d returned? The article appearing the day before Paul and Cathie’s accident—the day his world had tilted on its axis and changed so fast—seemed like a sign.

Maybe that’s why he’d been drawn back to this spot. He needed something stable, something he could count on. This place was the only stable thing he could recall now that Paul and Cathie were gone.

Mary Eileen Singer’s kindness was like that…dependable. He hadn’t seen her in eighteen years, but he knew in his gut that quality about her hadn’t changed.

“Mr. Benton,” Mary Eileen called as she approached. “Are you all settled in?”

“Yes, thank you. I didn’t bring much, so it didn’t take long. It was nice of you to stop by and check on me,” he said.

“I wasn’t being nice. I started to tell you, before you so abruptly left—”

She was scolding him, he realized, and resisted the urge to grin at the thought. He hadn’t been scolded…well, in a very long time.

“—that I live in the cottage next to yours.”

“I thought you might.”

“But you left so fast that I didn’t have a chance,” she continued; then what he’d said hit her and she paused a moment, then asked, “What do you mean, you thought I might live here?”

He knew he should have told her earlier who he was when he first saw her again, but some devil of an inclination wanted to see if she’d recognize him.

She hadn’t.

He should have felt a sense of satisfaction that he’d changed that much. He had worked hard to become Adam Benton, trying to leave the troubled boy he’d been behind.

He’d obviously succeeded.

And yet, he’d thought maybe Mary Eileen would see through his facade.

“I know, Mary Eileen, because I’ve been here before. Not for a long time, but I remember how much this place meant to you.”

“What do you mean you’ve been here before? I would have…” She stopped a moment and stared at him.

“Matty Benton,” she whispered.

She did remember.

He felt suddenly lighter than he had in a long time.

“You said I wasn’t a Matt, and not really a Matty. What do you think of an Adam?”

She continued to study him and Adam felt a bit naked. Not in a no-clothes sense, but rather in a she-could-see-all-the-things-he’d-rather-keep-hidden sort of way.

She’d always made him feel like that.

But this was slightly different. Her study left him feeling more than a sense of coming home. It left him wanting to reach out and pull her into his arms.

He wondered how she’d react.

He doubted she’d melt into him and cover him with kisses.

No, he rather thought she’d deck him.

The thought made his smile broaden.

“Well?” he prompted.

She nodded slowly. “Yes, Adam suits you. It’s who you are. Matthew Adam Benton.”

“Adam Mathias Benton.”

“Oh, la-di-da,” she said with a laugh. “To be honest, that suits you even better.”

“And you, Lee instead of Mary Eileen.”

“Mary Eileen was a bit too long to fit on my artwork, so I started signing Lee and by the time I got to college it just stuck.”

“It suits you as well.”

“So, Adam,” she smiled as she said his name, “what brings you back to Erie from New York?”

How to answer that.

There were a dozen different ways, and all of them would be accurate up to a point.

“Da!” Jessie cried in a voice so loud it was hard to believe it came from such a tiny body.

“Pardon me,” he said, running into the cottage before Jessie tried to get out of the crib herself.

“Da,” she repeated as he came into her room.

Da.

Short for Adam.

He was swept away by the memory of Cathie working with Jessie, trying to get her to say Adam. Da was as close as she’d come.

He tried not to think of his uncle’s wife. Cathie had had a sense of happiness that had simply radiated in everything she’d done.

As he lifted Jessie out of the crib and she smiled at him, he was hit with a wave of regret that Paul and Cathie had missed that smile, just as they’d miss so many things in the coming years.