Teardrop Lane (30 page)

“Sure.”

Rose expected to find the girl curled up in bed with a book. Instead, she sat in her window seat with her arms wrapped around her knees.

“Is everything okay, sweetheart?”

“Yes. Everything is wonderful. This was just the most special day. I don’t want it to end.”

“I love days like that.” Rose crossed the room to the window seat and peered outside over Misty’s shoulder. The yard was large for a house in the center of town and boasted two tall fir trees and a cottonwood with a low-hanging branch perfect for a tree swing. Tonight, light from a three-quarter moon bathed the yard in a silvered glow. “I’m so happy you got the part in the play.”

“Oh, me, too. The music in
Sound of Music
is so awesome. I’ll have four speaking lines plus I have a short solo in ‘Do-Re-Mi.’ That’s a little scary. I hope I don’t blow it. I have promise, but I’m not as good a singer as Laura Simpkins. She sings like an angel. I need to work on my breathing and pay closer attention to my projection.”

Rose stopped herself from rolling her eyes.

“Mrs. Hendricks told you that?”

“Yes. I’m worried about it. I need voice lessons, but Mrs. Hendricks has no time in her schedule right now.”

Carla Hendricks directed the summer theater, the music programs at the school, and the choir at St. Stephen’s. She’d been a music major in college, and her claim to fame was the fact that she’d once been a singer on a float in the Rose Parade. The woman’s heart was in the right
place, but she did enjoy being the big choral fish in Eternity Springs’s little music pond.

“Well, I don’t know about Laura Simpkins, but I do know you have a lovely voice. I daresay I’ve heard a much broader section of your abilities than Mrs. Hendricks has—after listening to you on our car trip from Texas to Colorado.”

“I was just singing for fun, then. I should always pay attention to my breathing.”

“I’m sure you’ll learn what you need to learn for the play. That’s what rehearsals are for. But if you’re worried about it, you could ask Mrs. Blessing for her opinion. I’m sure she would help you.”

“Is she a singer?”

“Honey, from my experience, Celeste can do just about everything. Wait until you hear her voice—talk about singing like an angel.”

“If she wouldn’t mind helping me, I would love it.”

“She loves helping people. She says she believes she was led to Eternity Springs for that purpose. Heaven knows, we needed her. She has worked miracles in this town.”

Misty turned her face back toward the window.

“I need a miracle.”

Frowning, Rose asked, “Is there a problem we don’t know about?”

“No. Uncle Hunk knows. He just doesn’t care.”

“Now, Misty,” she chastised. “Your uncle is one of the most caring men I’ve ever met. What is this about?”

“This house. It’s perfect. I don’t see why we have to move again in just a few months.”

Hmm. Has she hit the wall as far as moving is concerned? Is that what this is about? A security issue of some sort?

Rose really needed to talk to Cicero about counseling for these children.

“This house has good bones, and it’s fine for a rental, but I think your uncle has his eye on buying the property next to Whimsies. He’s trying to get all of our financial ducks in a row.”

“I like that place, but this one is better.”

“You think?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Just because.”

Misty kept her eyes on the moonlit yard.

“Don’t you think that house will suit our family better than this one? It’s bigger. Each of you can have your own room. As Galen and Keenan grow older, we will all be happy about that.”

“If we could stay here, I wouldn’t mind sharing a room with Daisy.”

“What’s so special about this house?”

“Look what’s in the backyard!”

Rose gazed out the window, expecting to see an animal of some sort. She’d noticed today that the deer had obviously gotten to the roses in the front yard. She’d have to ask Celeste what the landscape team at Angel’s Rest used to keep them from the rose garden there.

“I don’t see anything, Misty.”

“There’s a fence! It’s a big yard with a fence. The other house doesn’t have a fence.”

“Yes. It is a pretty fence, I admit. I’ve always wanted to live in a house with a white picket fence.”

“And a dog,” Misty said, yearning in her voice.

Without thinking, Rose agreed.

“A fluffy one. Not too big. Not too small.”

Misty turned her gaze away from the window, hope shining in her big blue eyes. “Do you want a dog, too, Doctor Mom? This house has a doggy door in the kitchen!”

Oh. That’s what this is about. How dense can you be, Rose?

Aware that she needed to tread carefully, she said, “With the long hours I work and the places I’ve lived, it’s never been practical for me to have a dog.”

“But would you like to have one?”

“Misty, have you talked to your uncle about getting a dog?”

“About a million times.” Her sigh held the weight of the world in it. “That’s why I need a miracle. He won’t even consider it. I don’t know why. He said he’s not allergic or anything. He just says nope, out of the question.”

Rose had noticed Cicero’s reticence about dogs, but they’d never discussed the subject.

“It seems like everybody in town has dogs but us,” Misty continued. “I understand why we couldn’t have one before. Mama was sick and we moved around a lot. But it’s different now. We have a yard and fence and a doggie door! I told myself to quit hoping because it would never happen, but then today—today was just the best day. One of my dreams came true. It made me get my hopes up again.”

“You should never quit hoping.” Rose instinctively reached out and stroked Misty’s hair. “Hope feeds our strength, and keeps us standing tall in the face of adversity. You are such a special girl, Misty. You are brave and loving and so strong.”

“I’m not strong.” Her lower lip trembled. “I’m really not. Everybody thinks I am, but I’m not.”

“I say you are. I’m a doctor. I know about these things. I’ve seen you be strong.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

It was true. In so many ways, in these past few months, Misty had been the glue that held this little family together
while Amy Parnell and her husband floundered and Cicero stumbled around.

“I hoped that Mama wouldn’t die. But she did. I loved her so much. Sometimes after the other kids went to bed she’d let me sneak out into the living room and we’d make popcorn and watch the shopping channel on TV. We’d pretend to buy whatever we wanted. It was so much fun. She was fun. Even when she was sick, we could do that. I miss her.”

“I know about that sort of heartache. I was a little older than you when my own mother died. I still miss her.”

“Your mom died, too?” Misty’s eyes went round. “I didn’t know that.”

Rose nodded.

“I had a little sister to watch out for and a dad who was often clueless.”

“Like Uncle Hunk.”

“I didn’t say that.” Rose winked at the girl, then continued. “For a while after I lost Mom, I was filled with hopelessness. And you know what happened then?”

Misty shook her head.

“Nothing good. I walked around with a black cloud hanging over my head. I had a negative attitude, so bad things happened. It took me a long time to find my hope again. You are so much smarter than me, Misty. Life has given you some hard knocks, but you’re still standing. You’re still dreaming. You’re still hoping. You hold on to that. Let those hopes and dreams continue to feed your soul and you’ll stay strong. You’ll stay positive. When you think positively, good things happen.”

“Like getting a dog?”

Rose made a mental note to talk to Cicero and find out what his issue was with dogs. “I make no promises there, sweetheart. But I’ll tell you this much. I hope so.”

Misty offered a tremulous smile, then wrapped her arms around Rose’s waist and hugged her.

“I’m so glad you are going to marry us.”

“Me, too, Misty. Me, too.”

She tucked the girl into bed, made her promise not to read too long, and gently pulled the door shut behind her. Turning toward the stairs, she stopped abruptly at the sight of Cicero sitting on the floor. He sat with his legs outstretched and crossed at the ankles, his back against the wall, his face tilted up, eyes shut, his expression filled with regret.
Oh, Hunter
. He looked as if the weight of the world rested on his shoulders. “Problems at the studio?”

“No. That went well. Great, in fact. A new design for the Albritton. I think this one is it.”

He made no effort to move, so Rose sat down beside him. He reached for her hand and laced their fingers. “I was eleven. Jayne was back with her dad. I’d been with my mom about four or five months when she got high and landed in jail. My caseworker placed me with Jason and Christina Brotherton. They’d married older in life, thought they might want to adopt an older kid. They were great. Really, really great. My first week there, they brought home a puppy. A wheaten terrier. They asked if I’d mind if he slept in my room.”

He fell silent, but Rose could tell that he’d only begun his story. Obviously, he’d overheard her conversation with Misty.

“They wanted to adopt me. Nobody ever wanted to adopt an eleven-year-old kid. Mom said she’d sign over her parental rights. They started proceedings. I was happy. Damn, I was happy. Pike slept in my bed.”

“The dog’s name was Pike?”

He nodded. “He was a stray. Like me. They found him on Pike Road.”

“What happened?”

“Mom got sober. She got paroled. Changed her mind about me. I was so torn up. I wanted to go back to her—but I didn’t. I loved the Brothertons. I wanted to be Hunt Brotherton. I heard them one night—Jason and Christina. They decided to fight for me. They’d decided to do it. Then the next day my mom knocked on the back door and begged them. She swore she’d stay off the stuff. She meant it, too. I know she did. She got a job and managed to rent a house. A house with a yard. The Brothertons let me go, and sent Pike with me. We had over a year. Sixteen really great months before she got high and left the gate open. Pike got out and was hit by a car.”

“Oh, Hunt.”

“I never lived with her again.”

“You weren’t returned to the Brothertons?”

“They got transferred to Japan. They adopted a seven-year-old girl. We email.”

“Of course you do. They’re one of your families.”

He turned his head and stared at her with eyes fierce and intense. “I wanted one family, Rose. A nuclear family. She took me away from people who loved me, people who I loved, and basically, killed my dog. I look at dogs, and I think about loss. Losing Pike destroyed me. When it comes to dogs, I’m still that brokenhearted boy. I know how much Misty wants a dog. Maybe I’ll get there one day, but I’m not there yet.”

“That’s the saddest story, Hunt. I totally understand why you feel the way you do.”

One corner of his mouth lifted in a sad and crooked grin. “I totally hear the ‘but’ coming.”

She squeezed his hand and mimicking the gesture he so often used, lifted it to her lips for a kiss.

“Not a ‘but.’ A ‘maybe something to think about.’ ”

“That’s the same thing as a ‘but.’ ”

“You told me you’d finished your Albritton entry.
Now that you’ve mastered Emily Dickinson’s feathered hope, I wonder if it’s time you moved on to another poet.”

“You’ve lost me.”

“Alfred, Lord Tennyson.”

When he made a circular motion with his hand, she quoted:

“ ‘I feel it, when I sorrow most;
’Tis better to have loved and lost
Than never to have loved at all.’ ”

“Rose—” he began, a protest in his voice.

“I wonder if that little boy’s broken heart might finally heal if the man with one nuclear family—and a dozen extended ones—watched his daughter fall in love. Just saying.”

With his hands shoved into his pockets, Cicero slowly circled the sculpture he’d removed from the annealer a short time ago. Three feet high, four feet wide, free-form, and perfectly balanced. He’d fashioned the work in shades of the sunrise—yellow, orange, rose, and gold. It was both delicate and substantial. Airy, but consequential. Definitely a statement piece. Some of the best work he’d ever done, he thought.

Now he needed a name for it. Something creative, but not too descriptive because the free-form nature of the work was intended for individual interpretation. He was drawing a blank. He’d put the women in his life to work on it. Maybe stop in at yoga one morning and ask the Ladies Who Lotus to help come up with something. In the past, he’d never much cared about naming his art. For him, the work was important, not the marketing of it. In this instance, he understood and accepted that the name for the work was part of the art.

“Oh wow,” said Rose as she entered the studio. “That’s it, isn’t it? That’s the Albritton piece? It’s the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen.”

He gave his fiancée a thorough once-over. She was dressed for their evening date in a classic black dress and
pearls. “You should look in a mirror. You’re a masterpiece.”