Charlotte continued to look uncomfortable. “I don’t know where to start.”
Maizie’s smile was warm, encouraging. “Just jump right in and I’ll try to keep up.”
“It’s Mitchell,” Charlotte finally blurted out, referring to her only child.
Again, Maizie was fairly certain she knew what was coming, but she approached the subject slowly, not wanting to make her friend nervous enough to abruptly change her mind and table the subject.
Guessing at the true reason for this impromptu meeting, Maizie was well aware that the subject the other woman was attempting to broach was not an easy one for some mothers. Although genuinely concerned, mothers like Charlotte didn’t want to be seen as meddling, which was only a cut above words like controlling, calculating and interfering. No true mother wanted that label.
“Ah, how is Dr. Mitch these days?” Maizie asked, her blue eyes sparkling with humor.
The word escaped Charlotte’s lips before she could think to prevent it. “Lonely.”
“Is he?” Maizie asked with keen interest. She loved matching up people with their dream homes. She loved matching people up with their dream soul mates even more. The former came with a commission, the latter was priceless to her, even if the service itself was free.
“Except he doesn’t know it yet,” Charlotte hurriedly qualified.
Maizie was nothing if not patience personified. “Explain,” she requested.
“He’d really be annoyed if he knew I was saying this,” Charlotte interjected hesitantly.
“Then we won’t tell him,” Maizie assured her pleasantly. None of the protagonists in the matches she and her friends had undertaken ever knew that their “meetings” had been orchestrated. Things worked out far more naturally that way. “But you’re going to have to give me a little more to work with here.”
Charlotte took a deep breath and forged ahead, knowing that if she lost her nerve, if she told Maizie “never mind” and just left, the problem would only continue. And most likely get worse. She loved her son far too much to let that happen. He deserved to have a full life.
“Mitchell is a fantastic surgeon,” she said by way of an introduction to the crux of the matter.
Maizie nodded. “Like his father.” She was rewarded with a grateful smile from her friend.
“But he lacks Matthew’s gift for getting along with people.” Charlotte hesitated for a moment, knowing that wasn’t specific enough. She tried again. “He just doesn’t connect.”
“With his patients?” Maizie asked, quietly urging her friend on. She vaguely remembered Charlotte’s son as a quiet, intense young man.
“With anybody.” Charlotte sighed as she leaned forward over the table toward Maizie. “He’s brilliant, handsome and you couldn’t ask for a better surgeon—or a better son,” she tacked on.
“But...?” Maizie asked, fully aware that the word was waiting in the wings.
“But I’m never going to have any grandchildren.” Charlotte appeared distressed at the words she had just blurted out. “I know it sounds trivial—”
Maizie quickly cut her off. “Trust me, I understand perfectly. I was in your shoes once. So were some of my friends. Sometimes, you can’t just sit back and wait for the planets to align themselves. Sometimes, you have to drag those planets into place yourself,” Maizie told her with a wink. And then Maizie got down to business. “As far as you know, has Mitchell ever been seriously involved with anyone?”
“I do know.” Charlotte prided herself on the fact that she had the kind of relationship with Mitch where her son actually talked to her. “And he hasn’t. I once watched a young woman all but throw herself at him at a party—it was a fund raiser for his hospital,” she interjected. “Anyway, Mitchell had absolutely no idea that she was doing it.” Charlotte pressed her lips together as she shook her head, recalling the incident. “I’m beginning to think things are hopeless.”
Maizie was always at her best when faced with a challenge. A string of successes had only bolstered her confidence in her knack—as well as Celia’s and Theresa’s—for bringing the right people together.
“Never hopeless,” Maizie assured her. “Let me ask around and see what I can do.” She patted Charlotte’s hand and repeated, “Never hopeless.” And then she grinned. “Now we can order,” she declared since her agenda had come into focus. “I don’t know about you, Charlotte, but I’m suddenly starved.”
She was doing her best to get lost in other people’s lives.
Melanie McAdams knew she should be grateful for the fact that she was in a position to help them—which was what she was doing here at the Bedford Rescue Mission, a homeless shelter where single mothers could come with their children and remain as long as needed. The women were encouraged to attempt to stitch together a better life for themselves and their children. Melanie had been volunteering here for almost three years now—and when, nine months ago, her own life had suddenly fallen apart, she’d taken a leave from her job and volunteered at the shelter full-time.
But today, nothing seemed to be working. Today, trying to make a difference in these people’s lives wasn’t enough to keep the dark thoughts from the past from infiltrating her mind and haunting her.
Because today was nine months to the day when the somber black car had come down her street and stopped in front of her house—the house she and Jeremy had planned to share. Nine months to the day when she’d opened her front door to find a chaplain and army lieutenant John Walters standing on her doorstep, coming to solemnly tell her that her whole world had just been blown up.
Coming to tell her that Jeremy Williams, her high school sweetheart, her fiancé, her world, wasn’t coming back to her.
Ever.
No matter how good she was, no matter how hard she prayed, he wasn’t coming back.
Except in a coffin.
Melanie gave up trying to stack the children’s books on the side table in one of the shelter’s two common rooms. They just kept sliding and falling on the floor.
When did it stop? Melanie silently demanded. When did it stop hurting like this? When did the pain fade into the background instead of being the first thing she was aware of every morning and the last thing that she was aware of every night? When did it stop chewing bits and pieces out of her every day?
Four days, she thought now. Four days, that was how long Jeremy had had left. Four days and he would have been out of harm’s way once and for all. His tour of duty would have been over.
Four days and he would have been back in her arms, back in her life, taking vows and marrying her. But it might as well have been four hundred years. It hadn’t happened.
Wasn’t going to happen.
Because Jeremy was now in a cold grave instead of her warm bed.
“Are you okay, Miss Melody?” the small, high-pitched voice asked.
Trying to collect herself as best she could, Melanie turned around to look down into the face of the little girl who had asked the question. The small, concerned face and older-than-her-years green eyes belonged to April O’Neill, a beautiful, bright five-year-old who, along with her seven-year-old brother, Jimmy, and her mother, Brenda, had been here at the shelter for a little over a month. Prior to that, they had been living on the streets in a nearby city for longer than their mother had been willing to admit.