“You expected a parade?” he asked.
“Some welcome would be nice.”
“Some notice would’ve been nice.”
Listening to this exchange, Fawn bounced the baby gently and reached for the bottle she’d been preparing. Dixon Lyons was not what she’d expected. He was more man than boy, though Jackie constantly referred to him as “my boy.” Also, he was amazingly attractive. She didn’t know why she’d never considered that possibility, but her concern for Jackie and the baby was so great that she hadn’t stopped to think about anything other than Dixon’s willingness to accept them into his home, and a lovely home it was. Jackie hadn’t stopped talking about all the improvements he’d made or what good taste he had—until he’d arrived. Now the woman had suddenly become defensive and snide, not at all like the brave, stoic Jackie whom Fawn knew.
“Uh, you did say that Dixon was unaware of Harry’s passing,” Fawn reminded her older friend. At that, Jackie bowed her head.
“Something happened to Harry?” Dixon asked, sounding both concerned and shocked.
Jackie nodded, wobbling slightly. “Highway accident.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know. When did it happen?”
“Almost eight months ago.”
“Eight...” He lifted his hat and ran a hand over his short, thick hair. “And you’re just now letting me know because...?”
“It’s been a difficult time,” Jackie muttered, swaying on her feet.
Fawn hurried over and pulled out a chair at the round table with her right hand. “Sit down before you fall down.” Like most of the furniture in the house, the dinette was older but of good quality.
Jackie sank down onto the chair just as Dixon glanced at Fawn. “Maybe my mother and I should speak in private.”
“No,” Jackie insisted. “Fawn has a stake in this conversation.” She smiled wanly. “If not for her, I wouldn’t be here.”
“I’m Fawn Ambor, by the way,” Fawn introduced herself, holding out her right hand. Dixon merely glanced at her then at the baby before turning back to his mother. As if realizing she had been snubbed, the baby started to fuss.
“Give her to me,” Jackie said, holding out her thin arms. Not even the long sleeves of her cotton blouse could disguise her frailness.
“No, no. You rest a few more minutes,” Fawn said. “I’ll take care of her.”
Jackie nodded and pushed up from her chair. “Maybe you’re right. I do feel weak.”
Fawn went to get the bottle and give it to the whimpering baby.
“So what happened?” Dixon asked, coming to lean against the rust-and-gold granite countertop. “Harry throw her out before the accident?”
Fawn turned to find Jackie standing, stiff-backed, in the wide, cased doorway. “No! Why would you think that?”
Dixon didn’t so much as glance in his mother’s direction. “She’s back here, isn’t she?”
Lifting her chin, Jackie slowly made her way into the other room. Fawn leaned closer, holding the baby to the side, and demanded softly, “Are you always so disrespectful of your mother?”
“She’s never given me any reason not to be,” he answered bluntly.
“She gave birth to you,” Fawn told him. “That should be reason enough.”
“Yeah, well, you weren’t here when she was the talk of the town, running off to anywhere and everywhere she could find a party and her drug of choice.”
“No, I wasn’t here then,” Fawn conceded softly, “but did you ever ask yourself why your mother did those things?”
He lifted a rather heavy eyebrow, his clear gray eyes coldly impassive. “Little boys don’t ask why their mothers are zonked-out druggies. Instead, they blame themselves. Until they grow up and figure out personal responsibility.”
Slapping his hat onto his head, he walked out through the same door from which he’d entered. Shaken, Fawn turned and followed Jackie from the room. She found her friend snuggled into an oversize armchair in front of the cold fireplace, a fuzzy blanket over her legs.
“Think you can hold her while she nurses?” Fawn asked, handing the baby and bottle down to Jackie.
Jackie’s face lit with delight. “Of course.” She smiled down at Bella Jo. “Hello, sweetheart.”
“I want to make a phone call before I start supper.”
Jackie nodded, cooing to baby Bella. Fawn paused to watch Bella grin around the milky nipple of the bottle. This was a new trick for the four-month-old, one she employed often with great success.
Slipping down the central hall to the bedroom that Jackie had pointed out to her, Fawn pulled her cell phone from the hip pocket of her jeans. Little remodeling had been done in here. The yellowed walls hadn’t seen a fresh coat of paint in years, and the hardwood floor badly needed polishing, not to mention a throw rug. At least the twin-size bed, which boasted neither head-nor footboard, had sheets on it. The room could have used a bedside lamp. And a table to set it on.
Fawn dropped down onto the bed and punched in the familiar numbers. Within moments her grandmother answered the phone.
“Auweni?”
“It’s Fawn, Grandmother.”
“Mamalis!” Grandmother exclaimed, using Fawn’s Lenape name. “I am happy to hear from you. I have prayed to Jesus for your safe trip. How is Jackie?”
“She is tired and weak, Grandmother, and her son is not what I expected. Your prayers are appreciated.”
“He is kikape?”
“Yes, he is single,” Fawn confirmed. It had been one of their fears. Unattached men did not respond well to illness. Or infants. Or anything that hampered their freedom. A married man who had given up his freedom willingly would have been more inclined to open his heart and home. He would also have had help.
“But that’s not the problem,” she continued. “Things are worse between him and his mother than I realized. He’s very resentful.”
“I remember two girls with much resentment toward a parent.”
“A drunkard who kills himself and your mother is a little different from a woman who deadens her pain with drugs,” Fawn pointed out.
“Is it?” Grandmother asked. “Seems to me the only real difference is an accidental house fire.”
Fawn bit her lip. “Perhaps you’re right.”
“My daughter’s husband was a habitual drunk,” Grandmother said calmly, “but he meant no harm, Mamalis.”
“He meant no harm,” Fawn pointed out softly, “but they are both dead. Besides, it’s been years since Jackie used illicit drugs.”
“But does her son know this?”
“I’m not sure,” Fawn admitted. “Apparently, they’ve been estranged for a long time.”
“Patience,” Grandmother counseled. “Patience—”
“And prayer,” Fawn said for her, smiling. It was Grandmother’s prescription for every situation.
Her kmis, or elder sister, was not so sanguine. Though older by only sixteen minutes, Dawn took her position as kmis very seriously. Those slim sixteen minutes might as well have been sixteen years, given how protective Dawn could be with her twin. She had not been in favor of Fawn undertaking this mission before Christmas.