* * *
Devon turned the key in the lock and pushed open the side door. Even though he had permission, walking into someone’s house when they weren’t home gave him the creeps. He wondered if burglars felt the same way. He took the two steps into the kitchen. A carton of milk sat on the countertop and a loaf of bread stood nearby. Ashley said she’d been in the kitchen when everything happened. He poured out the milk and tossed the carton into a trash can he found beneath the sink. He added “buy milk” to his task list.
He passed through a small dining area into the living room and faced the boarded window. A lamp lay on the floor beside a toppled side table. Across the carpet, glass shards glittered in the daylight from a side window. He righted the table, moving it away from the glass, and surveyed the lamp. No damage. The contents of a candy dish lay scattered nearby. He turned over the dish and replaced the wrapped candies, then set the bowl on the table. A photograph lay facedown. When he lifted it, his heart lurched. A good-looking young man, wearing his Class A uniform, blond hair showing beneath his cap. Adam. He’d been right about Joey’s hair color, and now he noticed the similar jawline. A father who had never seen his son.
Though he’d learned to control his emotions, pressure pushed behind Devon’s eyes. He closed them and set the photo on the table, refusing to weaken. A crying firefighter was useless, but hardening his heart was tough.
He walked into the kitchen, and near the backdoor where he’d seen stairs to the basement, he found a small broom closet. He opened it. No vacuum cleaner. He followed his instincts deeper into the house and located another closet, mainly linens with a small space to squeeze the Hoover. He pushed it into the living room, plugged it in and stepped on the button. The machine’s hum filled the silence as he worked it back and forth. When the carpet looked free of glass, he attached an edge tool and inched it along the space close to the wall. Joey played on the floor, he was sure, and he didn’t want the boy to get cut.
Standing back, he surveyed the window. Though difficult to measure, he pulled the measure tape from his pocket and did his best to estimate the size in each direction, one large window and two smaller panes. He’d let the expert worry about accurate measurements.
Devon made the two calls before he left the house. Both men promised to call back and come by today as soon as they could, so all he had to do was wait.
After returning the vacuum cleaner to the closet, he passed another row of photographs sitting on a small buffet in the dining room. He walked closer, his stomach tightening. Ashley and Adam’s wedding photo wrenched his heart. Two smiling faces beamed into the camera, their arms entwined, a bouquet of white orchids tinged in pink, dark green vines twining between pink rosebuds. A lump formed in his throat, and at that moment, he realized the tears were for himself.
His marriage had ended more strangely than he could ever understand. He and Gina had never argued other than the typical little squabbles all couples had. They’d been in love...he’d thought. When he tried to sort it out, the only clue he found came after her pregnancy. She called it postpartum depression. He’d known of the illness, but had no idea the stress it would add to their lives. Days came when she didn’t want to get out of bed. She had lost interest in everything. Her mood swung from anger to withdrawn silence. Even toward Kaylee. Because of his work schedule, she suggested living with her sister who could help her. He watched her go, but he’d tried everything to bring her home. Instead of getting better, she became worse.
The memories tore through him, weighting his chest and curdling his stomach. He loved his daughter. He’d loved Gina, but the love had died. She’d become a woman he no longer knew. He’d failed her. Even prayers and pleading with God had reaped no answer, and finally he stopped, sensing that her choice was God’s will. Had he been wrong to think it had been the Lord’s decision? He still had no answer to the question.
Thinking of her call, he’d heard a new desperation in her voice. Something prodded him to call her and demand Kaylee today. He could fight for custody. He turned his eyes to the one window open, which added light to the room. As he looked at the blurred scenery, tears rolled down his cheeks. He brushed them away with the back of his hand, frustrated that he’d allowed himself to succumb to self-pity.
Or was it really pity? Love for his daughter burned in his heart.
He forced himself away from the photographs, not liking the feelings they’d exposed. He scanned the other rooms. Everything looked in order, a few things here and there like any home. Ashley hadn’t planned an injury and days in the hospital when she walked out the side door to move her car and salvage Joey’s wagon.
Joey. The child would need clothes if he stayed with Neely, and he had the key. He’d call and return it. As the situations organized in his mind, a noise alerted him. He glanced out the front door and saw the window repairman. Once he was gone, he’d leave for the store to pick up milk. Or maybe he’d wait until he learned Ashley’s release date.
With Ashley on his mind, he opened the door for the window installer and led him to the living room. While he watched the man work, he reviewed the thoughts skittering through his mind. He wanted to get to know Ashley better. A lady friend sounded nice. A sweet sensation rolled through his chest, but for now, he could only handle friendship.
He had offered his babysitting services to Neely again, thinking about Kaylee and Joey playing together, but the bonus to his plan offered him a chance to bond with Ashley. He liked her. A lot. Though Kaylee was almost a year older, Joey’s skills for a three-year-old equaled hers, he was sure. They would get along fine.
But what if they didn’t? That could be the end of his plan.
Chapter Three
Ashley closed her eyes, willing away the ache in her arms. She’d hoisted Joey so many times, but lifting her own weight on crutches brought about a whole different challenge. She caught herself more than once forgetting to keep the weight off her left leg.
“One more time.”
The therapist’s command struck her again, and she wanted to rebel at his insistence even though she knew the therapy was good for her. When she could walk with the crutches, she could go home.
Home. She’d missed her place so much. She’d survived Adam’s death. This setback should have been nothing more than a bump in her life. Instead, she’d allowed it to become a dunghill.
Shame swept over her. Strength. Courage. Faith. Those attributes had been her stronghold. Where were they now?
“Ashley. If you want to go home, you—”
“I know. If I want to go home, I have to maneuver stairs. I know. I know.” The tone of her voice sickened her.
“Good. So maneuver them.”
His cocky comment grated on her patience, but his job consisted of being firm, being supportive and teaching her to walk with crutches. He’d tried firm and supportive. All she’d left for him to use was sarcasm.
She lowered her forehead to her forearm and brushed the perspiration away from her eyes. The stairs took effort and balance. She could do it.
One step at a time, Ashley made her way to the top and back down the other side. “There. How’s that?”
“Good. Take a minute and then do it again.” His eyes captured hers, and her frustration subsided.
Compassion. The emotion slipped through her, and she wished she’d not taken her defeated feeling out on him. Without another comment, she moved forward, working her way up and down each step, one at a time.
“Good job.” He gave her shoulder a pat. “You’re finished for today. In fact, I think you could go home tomorrow.”