“I didn’t raise you to talk like that!” Georgia had scolded. And when she started praying for his salvation, he’d put a hand over the phone and closed his eyes. “Mom,” he’d muttered, “you’re full of beans.”
And that’s when he’d noticed Nate, standing in the doorway.
“I was only teasing,” Max had whispered past the phone’s mouthpiece. “Besides, Gramma didn’t hear me.”
But Nate’s doubting expression said he believed otherwise.
Now, Nate stood and brushed freshly mowed grass clippings from the knees of his jeans. “You gonna say goodbye to Mommy, Dad?”
Closing his eyes, Max held his breath and summoned the strength to go through the motions…for Nate. He’d tried to say goodbye to Melissa, for even as the EMTs struggled to save her, they’d known she was dying. Instead, he’d struggled to keep a lid on his temper. Max couldn’t remember being more angry with her. He hadn’t understood why she left Nate then, and he didn’t understand it now…nearly three years later.
The very people who, when he was a boy, taught him that suicide was one of the most grievous sins a human could commit, also believed that God in His heaven had total control over things on earth, that He loved every last person. If that was true, why did some of His “children” die of starvation, while others became victims of genocide and war? Why did good people get cancer, while bad people robbed and raped and pillaged?
Despite all that, their simple faith seemed to bring them such joy, such solace. Nate—more than any of them, Max believed—deserved to grow up feeling that way. At least until life stepped in and taught him otherwise in its usual fist-to-jaw way.
“You gonna say a prayer for Mommy?”
Prayer. Of all the— Groaning inwardly, Max shaded his eyes. “Tell you what,” he said from behind his hand, “why don’t you say the prayer this time.”
“Me?” Nate’s brown eyes widened. “Thanks, Dad! I’ll do a good job. I promise.” He got down on his knees and bowed his head, then he closed his eyes and pressed both palms together, fingers pointing skyward. “God? It’s me, Nathan Maxwell Sheridan. Um, me an’ my dad won’t be comin’ to visit my mom here at the simmy-terry for a while, on accounta my gramma busted her leg an’—”
“Broke her leg,” Max corrected gently. He didn’t see much sense in correcting the “for a while” part.
“…on accounta Gramma broke her leg, an’ we’re going to Texas to take care of her ’til she can walk again. So, God? Could You do me a favor? I know my mom’s soul is up there in heaven with You, so maybe You could tell her not to worry ’bout her bones an’ her wedding ring an’ stuff while we’re gone, ’cause the men who work here take real good care of the place. Thanks.” Nate started to get up, then changed his mind. Eyes squinted tight-shut again, he added, “And, God? Please send another wife for my dad…and a mom for me. We really, really need one. Amen.”
On his feet again, Nate put his hand into Max’s. “How was that, Dad? Did I do good?”
Max swallowed the hard lump that always formed in his throat when Nate prayed for a new mom. It was only natural, he supposed, that even though Nate didn’t remember Melissa, he’d yearn for a mother’s love. But he was doing okay by the boy, wasn’t he? Hadn’t he learned to cook—a little? Hadn’t he taught himself to do laundry—sort of? He’d figured out every gizmo on that fancy vacuum cleaner of Melissa’s—hadn’t he? And tough as it had been to go it alone, he hadn’t missed a single Parents’ Night at Nate’s school. What did they need a woman for!
Max hoisted his son, held him close. “You did great with that prayer, kiddo, just great. Now what-say you and I head over to the burger joint. We have enough time for chicken fingers and curly fries before we head out.”
Nate kissed Max’s cheek. “You’re the best, Dad. Almost as good as havin’ a mom and a dad!”
Almost as good, Max thought, but not quite. Sad fact was, Nate would never have it “as good”—at least, not in the mom department, because Max had made a promise to himself when Melissa died.
And he aimed to keep it.
“Well, as I live and breathe,” Georgia said, slapping the arm of her wheelchair. “If it isn’t Lily London!”
“Oh, my!” Lily said, pointing at the woman’s cast. “What have you done to yourself?”
The redhead smiled. “One leg too few in a three-legged race?”
“Don’t let her pull your leg, Lily,” the fry cook called over the counter. “Genius Georgia was changing lightbulbs…on a stool with wheels.” He raised floured hands and shook his head. “Again!”
Georgia waved his comment away. “Oh, put a lid on it, Andy.” As an aside to Lily, she added in a loud whisper, “That man doesn’t know what he’s talkin’ about.”
“I know what I saw,” Andy argued.
Lily scooted a chrome and vinyl-padded chair nearer to Georgia’s wheelchair. “Is that cast as uncomfortable as it looks?”
“Nah. Hardest part about wearin’ this thing,” she said, knocking on the toes-to-thigh plaster, “is not being able to get around like I’d like to.”
“How long ’til you’re back on your feet?”
“Ten weeks. Eight, if I’m very, very good.” Georgia tucked a red curl behind her ear. “One good thing came of it, though.”
“In other words,” Andy tossed in, “ten weeks. Probably more!”
Georgia feigned a frown. “Funny man. Maybe we oughta get you a gig at the local comedy club.”
Lily helped herself to a cup of coffee. “Can I get you some?”
“Had my quota for the day, thanks.”
“So, what’s the ‘good thing’ to come of your broken leg?”
“Max is coming home,” Georgia said, beaming. “And he’s bringing little Nate with him!”
Lily felt as though her heart had plummeted into her stomach. Max? Coming back to Amarillo? She put her coffee on the counter, afraid her trembling might cause her to spill it. “When…um…when will Max be here?”
Georgia glanced at her wristwatch. “They called from the road not half an hour ago, so they should roll in here any—”
The door burst open and a small boy with curly brown hair exploded into Georgia’s diner. He was the spitting image of Max, right down to the adorable dimples bracketing his wide grin.
“Gramma!” he squealed, arms outstretched as he ran toward Georgia. “Gramma, we’re finally here!”
Georgia hugged him tight, then held his rosy-cheeked face in her hands. “Lemme have a look at my favorite grandson,” she said, pressing a noisy kiss to his chin.
Giggling, Nate said, “How can I be your favorite grandson when I’m your only grandson?” He swiped at the spot his grandmother had kissed. “And second, how can you have a look at me while you’re kissin’ me!”
His grandmother hugged him again. “Four-year-old genius,” she told Lily, “just like his daddy. Yes’m. That’s my boy!”
She glanced toward the door. “Speaking of which, where is your daddy?”
“Parking the car.” Nate’s eyes widened. “You should see