His Heart for the Trusting (17 page)

“When will we
be leaving?”

“In about five
minutes.  You have plenty of time to settle both of you in.”

She glanced
down at Jonathan, giving him a wide grin as she brushed her red-tipped fingernail
across his cheek.  She was rewarded with a drooly, toothless grin and a wave of
an equally drooly fist.

Laughing, she
said, “Enjoy your flight.”

Pulling off his
straw hat, Mitch hoisted Jonathan's car seat high to avoid hitting anything or
anyone as he carefully navigated the narrow aisle.  He stopped short when he
got to his seat number.

His pulse
thrummed hard.  “What are you doing here?”

Sara offered a
quick smile, but it instantly faded.

“I thought...it
would be easier for Jonathan to stay with me while you're in court.”

She sat across
from him on the single seated side of the plane.  He and Jonathan occupied the
twin seats opposite her.  He strapped Jonathan into the seat by the window
before standing up and placing the diaper bag in the overhead compartment.

When he was
done, he took his seat and said, “My mother offered to watch Jonathan for me
while I go to court.”  His heart longed to reach out to Sara, touch her silky
black hair, stroke his thumb across the plains of her smooth skin.  He loved
this woman, yet he couldn't bring himself to tell her how pleased he was that
she was there right now.  Lord, she was here with him.  That empty feeling that
had weighed him down all night and all day had lifted.

Sara simply
nodded.  The light in her eyes had faded some, but not her determination. 
Mitch could see it.  He dropped his hat in his lap and fiddled with it to give
his hands something to do.

Sara leaned
forward and peeked at Jonathan.

“It may be
easier to have me watch the baby and have your mother go to court with you. 
For support, I mean.”

“I don't...” 
He was about to say he didn't need his mother.  He didn't need anyone.  It had
been an automatic response most of his life.  His adult life anyway.  And for
the most part, it had been true.  Until a few months ago.  Now he knew he
needed someone.  He needed that special someone.

“I'm going to
Baltimore, Mitch,” Sara said, her voice filled with determination.  “I'm
going.”

He waited a
second, tried to find the words so he wouldn't trip over his tongue or his
stupid pride.

“Thank you.” 
His voice was low and thick and threatened to crack. 

Minutes later,
they were speeding down the runway, wheels lifting into air like the feet of a
hawk.  He didn't know which one of them had made the move, but their fingers
met and entwined, clinging together across the aisle.  His eyes sought out
Sara's and found instead, she was staring straight ahead.  But her face, strong
and sure, held a hint of a smile he felt deep in his heart.

* * *

The taxi drove
by rows of triple-decker homes before turning down Maple Street.  Didn't every
city have a Maple Street that looked just like this?  Probably, Mitch mused as
he took in the sight of his old neighborhood.

They'd been cleaning
it some, recalling the changes from his last visit about a year ago.  Fresh
paint, new porches, and patches of green turf brightened up the neighborhood in
a way he hadn't thought possible.  Mitch didn't often think about his time in
Baltimore when he was out at the Double T.  Steerage Rock had been his home for
his whole adult life.  Baltimore was just a place he lived in his youth. 

Beside him,
Jonathan blew saliva bubbles and giggled at himself as he discovered his own
voice.  Sara had been quiet.

A grin
instantly split Mitch’s cheeks when he saw his mother standing on the porch in
her cleaning duster while she talked to Mrs. Santini, who stood on the porch in
the next house.  More gossip and news traveled the distance of those two
porches than the miles they'd traveled to get here.

Cynthia Broader
saw the yellow taxi and squealed mid-sentence.

“They're here!”
she screamed, then turning to Mrs. Santini, she added, “Oh, Claire, you just
have to hold off watching Days of Our Lives long enough to come meet my
grandbaby with me.”

“Course, I
will.  They'll just be dragging things out for weeks before anything new
happens anyway.  Besides I set the VCR as soon as you told me Mitchell was
coming home.” 

Laughing, Mrs.
Santini gathered up her skirt and trotted down the porch steps with as much
grace as a woman her size could.  Overweight by some one hundred pounds in
heart and size, Mrs. Santini had been Mitch's salvation on more occasions than
he could remember.  Cynthia and Claire had lived across a patch of grass for
over thirty years and it didn't seem likely that would change unless death took
one of them.

“Hi, Ma.  Mrs.
Santini,” Mitch said out the taxi window as he handed the driver the fare with
tip.  Minutes later he was stepping out of the taxi and collecting the bags
while Sara unhooked the carseat.

Cynthia Broader
had been on her own and sober for six years now.  Mitch respected his mother
for all it had taken to fight her alcoholism and to finally break free from the
abusive relationship with his father.  It had taken a while for the resentment
of his childhood to wear thin, but they'd managed to build a somewhat stable
relationship that had been too rocky for Mitch as a child.

“Let me see
him, Mitchell.”  His mother fluttered her hands and giggled like a schoolgirl
as she danced on the sidewalk, waiting to meet her grandson for the first
time.  Mitch obliged by taking Jonathan right out of the car seat and handing
him to his grandmother's waiting arms.

“Oh, would you
just look at those blue eyes, Cindy,” Claire said.

“Why he's the
spitting image of his daddy.  Aren't you, Jonathan?” Cynthia said, tears
filling her eyes.

Sara cast a wry
glance at Mitch and he shrugged.  “He's a good looking kid,” he whispered
teasingly.

She smacked him
on the shoulder playfully and retrieved the empty car seat while Mitch grabbed
the luggage.

Cynthia and
Claire were in a world of their own, carrying on as they brought the baby into
the house.

“I've got your
old room cleaned out just nice, Mitch.  And Clair let me borrow the day crib
she uses when her Mary comes over with the twins.  It'll do for a bed for
Jonathan until I can get one of my own.”

“You won't have
much use for it if he's going to be living in Texas, Cindy.  It's a waste of
money.  You can just borrow this one anytime.  It'll give me an excuse to come
over and see the baby myself.”

“Since when do
you need an excuse?” Mitch said.

“I don't want
to have to wait for an invitation.”

“And when did
you ever need one of those,” Cindy said.  “Heaven's, we live on each other's
doorstep.  You'll know as soon as I do when he's coming for a visit.”

Cynthia paraded
the baby through the dining room, talking sweetly in a high-pitched, singsong
voice reserved for dotting grandmothers.  “Now I can to spoil my own grandbaby instead
of having to share with Claire.”

Mrs. Santini
had noticed Sara first.  Mitch figured it would take at least a half hour for
his mother, in her joy, to notice that a woman got out of the taxi with him and
the baby.  But Mrs. Santini had hawk eyes and did nothing to hide her appraisal
of Sara.

“I know you're
not the baby's momma,” she said directly.

Sara held out
her hand.  “Sara Lightfoot.  I'm Jonathan's nanny.”

Mrs. Santini's
mouth twisted into a knowing grin.  “Uh-huh.  Nanny.”  Ignoring Sara's extended
hand, she squeezed Sara into her ample chest for an embrace.  “In this house we
don't do formalities,” she said, winking at Mitch.

“You didn't
mention Sara coming with you,” Cynthia said as she came across the carpeted
floor toward them.  “It was nice of you to come all this way for Mitch.”

“I thought it
would be easier...since the baby knows me.”     

Cynthia nodded
and smiled bright.  “Claire, you take hold of Jonathan for a minute while I dig
up some pictures of Mitch as a baby.  But don't you think you're not going to
give him right back to me when I find them.”

“I'll give him
back alright as long as I get a good minute with the baby.  Then I'll leave you
alone to enjoy him all to yourself.”

Mitch groaned
and dropped his straw hat on the coffee table.  “Ma, we don't have to drag all
that out now.”

“Yes, we do,”
Sara said quietly, tossing him a wicked grin.

He shook his
head of the lightheaded feeling, but it remained.  This wasn't what he'd
imagined his homecoming being like.  The craziness, the joy of it.  But Mitch
did welcome it, because it kept the fear that had nagged at him throughout the
last twenty-four hours at bay.

When Cynthia
returned, Mitch got straight to the point.

“Lillian
mentioned a will for Grandpa.”

His mother cast
him a hard glance he'd seen more than a few times as a kid when he knew he was
in trouble.  “Not now, Mitchell.  I don't want to be talking about such things
while I'm enjoying my only grandchild for the first time.”

She plopped a
photo album in front of him on the coffee table, then sat in the center of the
sofa.

“Now Sara, you
sit yourself right here on the other side of me.  Claire are you going to hold
that baby all day or are you going to give his Grandma a turn?”

“Oh, all
right.  He's just as precious as can be.”

“I know.” 

Mrs. Santini
handed the baby over to Cynthia and said her good-byes, saying she had
meatballs and sauce on the stove and a tray of lasagna in the oven when
everyone was hungry.

They spent a
few minutes turning pages and laughing over pictures that had gone gray and
fallen out of places where tape didn't hold them anymore.   These pictures only
told the story of the happy times.

He supposed it
was good.  He didn't really need to remember the moments after these snapshots
were taken, when booze and anger got the better of either one of his parents. 
Happy times were best kept on these Polaroid pictures.  The rest he could
forget.

“I didn't know
about the will, Mitch,” Cynthia finally said.  “Seems your daddy dug it up
before your grandpa died, but kept it hid.  Probably because it's all yours,
you know?  It’s valid though.   The lawyer dug up the witnesses.”

It was
beginning to make sense, Mitch thought closing his eyes.  “If Dad had the only
copy, how did Lillian find out about it?”

Cynthia sniffed
and lifted her shoulder idly.  “Suppose she had someone dig it up in Texas. 
Don't know how she could have done it.  The family just assumed there was no
will because your grandfather always used the same lawyer here in Baltimore. 
No one thought to look in Texas.  Now that one has been found...”

“Dad must be
fit to be tied.”  Mitch said the words to his mother and glanced at Sara. 
She'd gone quiet, not even looking at the pictures anymore.

“Lillian knew
you were going to get a piece of something.  I'm sure that's why she married
you and why she's coming back now.  No one dreamed your grandpa had done as
well as he had in his later years.  He put all that money in trust for you. 
That’s why it never showed.  But I have to tell you, your father is not likely
to sit tight with it.  I can almost guarantee he'll be fighting you for it,”
she warned.

“He can have
it.  I don't want Grandpa's money.  I'm doing just fine on my own.”

Cynthia snapped
her eyes to him like it were a slap.  “Your grandpa was good to you.  He knew
you had dreams.  He knew even more you'd make your dreams come true if given
long enough.  He wanted you to have that money to make things easier for you. 
You take that money.  Now that you have a child of your own, it’ll make things
easier.  Your daddy won't do anything but spend it on sin or gamble it away
anyway.”

Sara got up
from the sofa and took Jonathan from Cynthia's arms.  “I should change his
diaper,” she said quietly.

“There's no
need to run from the room, Sara.  This is just family talk,” Claire said,
dropping her now empty hands into her lap. “Why don’t you let me do it?  I've
been waiting a lot of years to be able to fuss over a grandchild.  You just
relax here with Mitch and he'll give you a good look at some of these
pictures.”

“Okay,” Sara
said, handing Jonathan back to Cynthia once she'd stood up.  “Everything you
need is right here in the diaper bag.”

“It'll come
back to me soon enough.”

Cynthia started
for the kitchen.  From where he was sitting, Mitch could see her place a towel
on the kitchen table and then lay Jonathan on top of it.  Sara was already deep
into going through the photo album when he turned his head back.

Every so often,
she'd linger and then chuckle before turning a page.

“When was this
one taken?” she asked, pointing to a picture of a dirty-faced Mitch in a dusty
cowboy hat, chaps and boots.  He straddled the porch rail outside as if he'd
mounted a stallion.  In his hand was a jump rope he'd turned into a lasso.

“I must have
been about eight then, I guess.”

“You always
wanted to be a cowboy?”

“Pretty much. 
Grandpa had moved to Texas by then.  He used to send me postcards of rodeos and
ranches he'd visited.  He'd grown up in Dallas and once my grandmother passed
away, he'd gone back to be closer to his sisters.  We visited him there, my dad
and I, a few times after my parents were divorced.  But mostly he'd visit me
here.  I think he was the one who took this picture.”

“Dallas is a
long way from Steerage Rock.  How'd you end up there?”

“Grandpa moved
in with his sister and her husband when I started high school.  Things were
getting pretty bad with both my parents around that time and he was visiting me
a lot to make sure I was okay.  On his last visit, my dad stopped by and
grandpa saw firsthand just how hard living with two alcoholic parents, who
could barely take care of themselves, could be on me.  See, even though my
parents were divorced, my dad would come around, sometimes staying with my mom
for a month or two before the fighting would start all over again and he'd be
hauled away by the cops.  He could be quite a tyrant, and mom always defended
him.  Grandpa saw how bad things had deteriorated,  packed my bags, and told my
mom he'd had enough.  He was taking me to Texas to live with him.