A House Full of Hope

Goodness. Hannah had thought so much about her own situation with the kids and the house that she hadn’t considered Sydney hearing about Mark being in town. “Yeah, me, too. She’s still got a few more weeks in rehab.”

Regret crawled across Redd’s ragged features, drawing his mouth into a frown. He shook his head and plodded toward the garage, hands in his pockets, head down. As if carrying a huge weight. He stopped partway across the yard.

“I know the kids in the youth group miss you, but you made a good choice to spend Sundays with your little ones. They grow up too fast.” Regret tinged his voice, and his pain jabbed her heart.

“You’re right,” she said, wishing she could say something more, something to comfort him.

He’d lost one son. And, really, the other, as well.

Now Mark was here trying to butt into his dad’s life. The man might end up hurt all over again.

“Mom, I’m hungry,” Tony called. “Is it time to eat yet?”

“Not yet, sweetie. But why don’t you come inside and help me decide what to cook?”

Maybe if she finished unpacking, she wouldn’t feel so unsettled, so worried about losing the house. She would finish the last boxes that night, even if she had to stay up to the wee hours.

Mark had the money in hand by noon on Monday. When he arrived at the church, he climbed out of the air-conditioned car. The muggy afternoon air nearly sucked the breath out of him. He’d forgotten how miserable it could get in early June in Georgia.

Carrying an envelope of cash left him unsettled. After years of living on the streets, he’d become hyperalert. Cautious. Now he caught himself glancing around, waiting for someone to jump him.

He laughed it off and flagged down Phil as he spotted him walking through the parking lot.

“Oh, hi, Mark. Is that the money for your dad?”

“It is.”

Phil nodded toward the bank, which sat across from the old brick courthouse with its newly refurbished white cupola. “Come on, walk part of the way with me.”

As they crossed the street, Mark said, “Did a little research at the courthouse this morning. Dad owes back taxes. This will cover that debt, plus the larger home repairs.” He handed over the envelope.

A flash of concern drew Phil’s brows together. “You know, Mark, I’m all for doing good. But I hope Redd won’t be angry when he discovers the deposit.”

“Surely an anonymous donation will save his pride.”

“We’ll see soon enough.” He gave Mark’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “I’ll have the receipt anytime you want to come pick it up.” He nodded toward Faith’s Coffee Time Café. “Miss Ann Sealy often spends her mornings over there with her Bible, visiting with friends…if you think you could use a friendly face.”

As the pastor walked inside the bank, Mark decided Phil was very insightful. He did need a cup of coffee and a friendly face even more.

Movement flickered in his peripheral vision as he turned toward the coffee shop.

A little dark-haired girl stood on the sidewalk, craning her neck back, looking up at him. “Hello.”

“You’re Hannah’s daughter.”

She pushed her pink glasses higher up her nose, and stared at him with earnest brown eyes. “Yes. And you’re the man who was lost.”

He bit back a grin. No point in trying to convince her otherwise. “I guess I am.” He forced a serious look on his face. “So what are you doing today?”

“I’m bored, so I’m walking to the library.” Her pigtails swung in her face as she took off a backpack, unzipped it and pulled out a card. With a wide grin, she proudly held it up for him to see. “I have my own library card.”

“Impressive.”

She stuffed it back inside. “Where are you going?”

“To get coffee. Are you with your mom?” He glanced around, hoping Hannah was with the girl so she wouldn’t find out about the deposit.

“No, I’m staying at my nana’s, and she let me play outside.” She crossed her arms and squinched up her nose. “I should probably ask her if I can go to the library.”

“Yes, I imagine she’d be worried if she can’t find you.”

She sighed as if very disappointed to have to delay her visit to check out books. “I guess you’re right. Bye, Mister, uh…”

“Mark. Just call me Mark.”

A shy smile lit her studious face and made her bright eyes sparkle. “I’m Becca.” She ran toward the church, crossed the street at the corner and then ran toward a group of older redbrick duplexes. She disappeared between two buildings. He assumed her grandmother—Donna—lived nearby.

Becca didn’t seem to have noticed Mark walking with Phil. But he still didn’t like the idea of Hannah’s daughter seeing him near the bank. The last thing he needed was for Hannah to find out where the money had come from and tell Redd.

“Becca, please put down your book while we’re eating.” Hannah had managed to prepare a dinner of spaghetti and salad, though she never had located the box of kitchen supplies that held her colander. Dinner had also been delayed by her mother’s half-hour rant about her fury over Mark’s return.

As if Donna storming out of the church hadn’t been indication enough.

“This spaghetti is watery,” Becca said as she stuck a bookmark in the novel. “I wonder why.”

“No mystery there. I can’t locate the box with my pasta strainer.”

Becca made a check mark in the air with her finger. “Aha! Problem solved.”

Hannah smiled at her daughter. “So what are you reading?”

“Do we have to hear about one of her stories agaaain?” Eric whined through a mouth covered in tomato sauce.

“That’s okay, Becca. I want to hear,” Emily said, but then followed the sweet remark with a punch to her brother’s arm.

Ignoring the whole exchange, Tony-the-bottomless-pit, with his tousled brown hair and squeaky-clean face, bent over his plate, totally focused on shoveling in the pile of plain noodles he’d insisted on that night.

Though parenting by herself left her drained sometimes, Hannah wouldn’t trade a moment spent with her children. “Let’s all be nice. Becca, you can tell us about your new book. Then it’s Tony’s turn to talk. Then Eric’s, then Emily’s.”

Becca’s face lit with a smile as she pushed up her glasses and jumped right in with a complete plot summary. Then after she finished, with a dribble of spaghetti sauce on her chin, she added, “Oh, and I met Mark today. You know, the man who was lost? He and Pastor Phil were walking downtown while I was going to the library.” She looked up to see if her story had attracted their attention.

Normally, Becca’s asides wouldn’t faze Hannah, but this one grabbed her by the throat. Phil had deposited a large anonymous donation into Redd Ryker’s account that day. So Becca’s information could mean Mark was the donor. It would make perfect sense.

“So did Mark say what he was doing with Pastor Phil?”

“Nope. He just asked if I was with you. And told me his name.”

Goodness. She certainly hoped Donna hadn’t made a scene. “So did Nana talk to him, too?”