Finally a Hero

The moment Jane disappeared, the restaurant’s door opened. Eva reached down, snagged her book from her purse and randomly turned to a page as she tried to ignore the family. It wasn’t easy. They were the elephant in the room, and fact was much more entertaining than fiction.

The woman was loud and defensive. She kept prodding the little boy forward. “Hurry up, Timmy. Sit down, Timmy.” Once the kid was settled, she dropped her car keys on the table with a clatter. The man wore brand-new jeans, about two sizes too big, and a dark-blue T-shirt that stretched across his chest. He looked like he’d rather be anywhere else. Well, from what Eva had overheard, no wonder. He slid a duffel bag under the table and put his left foot on it as if he were afraid it would escape. His gaze slid across the room, finding hers and locking in. His eyes were dark and brooding. The little boy looked in need of a bath and scared of both adults.

Embarrassed, Eva turned away. Her youngest sister, Emily, would see a story begging to be told. Eva just saw people struggling with problems they’d made for themselves and probably did nothing to change.

“Here ya go,” Jane said, putting a hot plate in front of Eva and snagging ketchup and maple syrup from her apron pocket. “Your toast will be out in a few minutes. Cook burnt it.”

“That’s okay. You’ve got some other customers.” Eva nodded at the newcomers.

“Oh, thanks. I didn’t hear them come in.” Jane took out her pad and headed over to stand between the man and boy.

The little boy was eating a cracker left on the table from a previous diner. His dirty, bare feet were tucked under him as if he knew that shoes were required.

“I’m hungry, haven’t eaten since last night,” the woman said, then loudly gave her order and the boy’s. Once the man made his selection and Jane walked away, the man leaned in to do the talking.

“I can’t believe you didn’t call me, didn’t put this in the letter,” the man said, obviously trying to keep his voice low.

Maybe Eva should just leave. When Jane came back, Eva’d ask for a to-go box, never mind the toast.

“Surprise for me, too,” the woman insisted. “This Matilda showed up at my house last Monday. She said she couldn’t take care of Timmy anymore. She showed me his birth certificate. Your name isn’t on it, but look at the kid. He’s you all over again.”

Eva peeked over her book. Same hair, same facial shape, same skin tone, same deer-in-the-headlights expression. Yup, they were related.

Just then Jane brought out salads for their table. The moment she finished, Eva would let her know she needed a to-go box. The woman dug right in. So did the boy. The man, however, bowed his head in prayer.

Something Eva had forgotten to do.

She’d been too busy being judgmental.

Chapter Two (#ulink_056403a4-1fb1-5f36-af97-d22c1aec6a9e)

It didn’t seem possible, but the longer Jesse stared at the boy, the more he believed it. He had a son.

He tried to think of a scripture where a surprise son or daughter appeared, but couldn’t. Joseph might have been surprised when Mary told him about the son she carried, but she’d not followed the pronouncement with “Guess what? He’s yours.”

“So, you met Matilda?” It was all he could think of to say.

“Interesting girl,” his mother said.

Jesse’d lived with Matilda Scott for three months, just after he’d aged out of the foster system. He’d managed to deal with the assigned group home for only three days. Matilda’s one-room apartment had been an oasis for the next few months. Then she’d disappeared overnight, leaving him with rent due and a vague fear that he’d just been used by a woman too much like his mother.

He’d steered clear of relationships ever since.

Easy enough, since he’d spent much of that time in prison.

“But then, I only talked with her for all of twenty minutes.” His mother shook her head, her expression half mad, half impressed. “She knocked on the door. Next thing I knew, she was in the house telling me that Timmy was your son and that she had dreams to pursue. She wanted me to keep Timmy until you got out of prison. She kept saying, ‘It’s just nine days.’ I told her no. I mean, come on. Couldn’t she see we were in a one-bedroom apartment? She went to use the restroom and crawled out the window and disappeared. Wonder what she would have done if I hadn’t been on the first floor? And, she left me with the kid! If I’d been sober, she wouldn’t have gotten away with it.”

Looking across the table at Timmy, he tried to decipher if the young boy showed any emotion at being abandoned. Not really. Then, Jesse looked at his mother and tried to see any hint of interest, grandparental pride, something.

Nothing.

“How’d Matilda find you?”

“Didn’t get around to asking,” Susan said. “And she didn’t bother telling.”

“Timmy,” Jesse said, “did you know Matilda, your mom, planned on dropping you off?”

The yellow crayon clutched between Timmy’s fingers was quickly becoming a nub. The little boy didn’t look from the gold-panning scene he was coloring.

“Do you know your mom’s phone number?” Jesse tried next.

“I’ve already asked him, at least twice a day. He hasn’t said a word. I don’t think he can talk. Anyway, she didn’t leave a phone number or previous address. Nothing except her car, some games and a bunch of clothes.” His mother picked up her fork and ate her food as if it had been a week since her last meal. She didn’t look at Timmy.

He’d felt that same parental disconnect during his childhood. Felt it now, at twenty-four years of age. He didn’t know the woman sitting across from him, felt no connection. When Jesse was very young, he hadn’t been allowed to call her “mother.” She’d passed him off as her younger brother because calling him her son might have discouraged boyfriends. The deception worked for a little while because she’d had him at fifteen. But as time passed, the drugs and hard living made her look even older than her actual age.

Matilda had dropped off their son and disappeared? Jesse had no history, nothing to go on. Where had they been living? Had Matilda tried to be a good mom? What had happened? He had all kinds of questions, but they were not ones he’d ask in front of the child. Already, though, he knew his mother was telling the truth. Matilda had abandoned Timmy the same way Matilda had abandoned Jesse. And the same way Jesse’s mother used to abandon him.

This wasn’t how he’d pictured his first day of freedom. Jesse wanted to come to town, meet his employer and join productive society: the working world. He needed time to figure out his future.

He’d need a lifetime to figure out what to do with Timmy.

“You need to eat,” his mother advised him. “I, for one, am starved.”

Any appetite Jesse might have had disappeared with the words “Meet your son.”

The waitress, way too happy, came over and refilled Jesse’s water glass. She scooted Timmy’s milk glass closer to him as if to hint “Drink this. It does a body good.” If she noticed something amiss, she didn’t let it show.

She walked away from them to chat with the blonde seated in the corner. When Jesse looked over, he noticed the woman was watching him, her expression guarded and somewhat disdainful. He got the feeling she knew not only where he came from and what he’d done but had already made up her mind that his future would be just as bleak. The look on her face was the same one the guard had given him before saying he’d see him soon. Yet for all that, she was a pretty thing, all long blond hair and Westerny: clean and soft.

Clean and soft weren’t the words most females wanted to hear, but to a man fresh out of prison, they were powerful. She looked like someone well taken care of.

Someone smart enough to stay away from him.

Her cheeks colored about the time Jesse looked away. He had other things to focus on, like a newly discovered son.

He took the first bite of his hamburger, washing it down with a swig of water, and asked, “Did Matilda say why she dropped Timmy off? Was she in some kind of trouble? I mean, did she say when she’d be back?”

His mother rolled her eyes. “She didn’t even say she was leaving before she climbed out the bathroom window without taking her kid.”

Timmy didn’t act like he knew they were talking about him.

“And, you’ve had him how long?” Jesse asked.

“Nine days now.”

Jesse figured in those nine days, his mother had done more talking at the kid than to the kid. That was her style. Looking at Timmy, she said, “His mother left a twenty, but that didn’t last long. I’ve had to buy lots of extra food, stuff I normally don’t buy. Things like spaghetti, peanut butter, jelly and Pop-Tarts. Nothing in the car worth selling. Believe me, I looked. And then there’s the gas for driving him here.”

He knew exactly what his mother was telling him and took a deep breath. She wanted to be reimbursed. But what money could she honestly expect from a man who’d been out of jail for only a few hours? He was living on faith, but had no clue how faith could help Matilda, his mother or Timmy. Part of him wanted to pray; part of him wanted to run out of the restaurant. Instead, hating himself for what he couldn’t provide, he said, “You’ve come to the wrong man. Right now, I can barely help myself.”