A Mom for Matthew

“Oh, look! This shop sells music boxes. May I pop in for a look? My grandmother collects them. I feel so guilty for not spending my summer with her when it may be her last. I didn’t dare confide what I’m really doing in Galveston in case I’m not successful. She thinks I’m taking a summer class.” Grace shrugged lightly. “A music box would tell her that she’s very much on my mind.”

“I’ll wait here. Glass doodads make me nervous. I’m always afraid I’ll knock something off a shelf.”

She turned from the window to look at him. “You do have broad shoulders,” she remarked, continuing to gaze at him. “And those aisles are awfully narrow.” She sighed and moved away from the window. “I can come back another time. No sense holding you up. You probably want to get that food back to your family while it’s still warm.”

“It’s okay. They’ll have eaten,” he said quickly. “Please, go, browse all you want.” Zeke had to get rid of her so she’d stop staring. He’d never met anyone before who had ocean-colored eyes, now blue, now green. Grace Stafford’s eyes made him long for things he’d put behind him. Very little unnerved Zeke, but Grace’s big eyes sure did.

“I’ll be quick,” she murmured, and hurried up the steps, disappearing into the brightly lit shop. Zeke released his breath.

True to her promise, he’d barely settled a shoulder against the rough brick wall to take up people-watching when out she dashed, swinging a package. Her smile spread from ear to ear.

“Found something, did you?”

“It’s so perfect. Want to see?” Not waiting for him to agree, she pulled a box out of the bag, opened it and removed a block of packing foam.

To see better, Zeke had to bend his head near hers. Again her sweet perfume clouded his senses. “That’s a music box? Looks like a miniature white bench with garden gloves and a basket of flowers on the seat.”

“Exactly. It’s almost a replica of a bench in my grandmother’s garden. Better yet, when I wind up the music box it plays ‘I Will Wait For You.’ Grandmother wore out her old record of that tune. I bought a CD she plays over and over. I think the song speaks to her feelings about waiting for news of Grandpa Albert.”

Zeke expelled a loaded, “Oh,” right before he drew back. That one word couldn’t have stated more plainly his feeling on such romancey schmaltz. Grace didn’t care.

Shrugging, she restored the filler and closed the lid. She refused to let Zeke’s cynicism spoil her pleasure over having found the perfect gift for her grandmother.

They walked briskly toward the hotel. Zeke roused himself to comment on the crowded streets that signaled the beginning of summer tourism. Moments later, he pushed open the heavy door and followed Grace into the lobby. She stopped beside a cluster of chairs. “There’s no need for you to see me up. I, uh, thank you again for a lovely dinner.” She thrust out her hand, forcing Zeke to clasp it awkwardly.

“My pleasure,” he mumbled, dropping her fingers as if he’d grabbed a hot potato.

Grace headed for the elevators and entered an open car without glancing back. Zeke didn’t linger, either. He wanted to get home to give his mom a break from Matt.

Since it wasn’t too late, he extracted his cell phone and hit the automatic dial for Pace Kemper. He’d have more peace and quiet to phone his boss from the pickup than if he waited until he got home. Matt wouldn’t be in bed yet, so Zeke’s evening could be hectic.

Kemper answered on the third ring. “Give me some good news, Zeke, my boy. I’ve had a lot of our contractors from Galveston on the horn, accusing me of stalling—if not outright breaking contracts.”

“Yeah, well, my news sucks. Grace Stafford is dug in solid until she finds that damned plane. She’s the stubbornest woman, Pace. After two meetings, I can assure you she’s not going away unless you arrange to have her kidnapped.”

“Damn!”

“You took the word right out of my mouth.”

“If you believe she’s that serious, Zeke, there’s only one thing for us to do.”

“Scrap this well and run tests farther out in the bay?”

“No. I want you to help her locate that damned airplane.”

“Pardon? You want me to—what?”

“You heard me. You scuba dive, don’t you?”

“Yes, but…” Zeke stammered. “I don’t think this is a good idea, Pace. She and I didn’t cotton to one another. She wouldn’t like me sticking my nose in her affairs.”

“Do it anyway,” Pace roared. “Purchase whatever gear you need on the company credit card. And don’t waste any time. I want you diving with her tomorrow. Oh, and assure our men and subcontractors that we’re gonna solve the problem—soon.”

Kemper’s phone slammed sharply in Zeke’s ear. Swearing long and loud, he almost missed the corner to his house.

Dammit! Zeke didn’t want to spend his days watching sweet-smelling Grace Stafford prance around deck in her ugly frog swimsuit. Would Pace know if he pawned this job off on Gavin Davis?

CHAPTER THREE

HIS BRAKES SQUEALED as Zeke rammed them to the floorboards seconds before he would’ve smashed into his garage door. He rubbed his face, hit the door opener, then proceeded. For Matthew’s sake, Zeke needed to shake off an anger that went nowhere, anyway.

Retrieving the sack of leftovers, Zeke climbed out and entered the house through the kitchen. Fresh-baked cookies cooled on the counter. He grabbed one out of habit, not because he was hungry. The house seemed awfully quiet. It’d be a miracle, but maybe his mom had gotten Matthew to bed early.

Zeke polished off the cookie and drank milk straight from the carton after he’d shoved his leftovers in the fridge.

He opened the vertical blind, automatically gravitating toward the light spilling from the living room.

Celia Rossetti slept on the couch, a paperback novel still open on her stomach. Zeke stood quietly a moment, simply observing his son, who sat at the center of a ring of Lincoln Logs.

Zeke’s heart tumbled. It killed him that Matthew hadn’t heard or apparently even sensed his approach. Closing his eyes, Zeke lowered his chin to his chest. He stifled a sigh, wishing his mom would try not to drift off like that when he wasn’t home. They’d spoken about it before. Zeke knew Celia worked hard. The work she used to do as a nurse’s aide had involved more standing and lifting than she did now. Granted, caring for a child took its toll. Still, she wasn’t old enough to be falling asleep at the switch. She hadn’t been quite seventeen when she’d had him.

A couple of weeks ago, she’d mentioned that her blood pressure pills made her fall asleep if she sat for any length of time. Celia slept like the dead, though. What if someone broke in? Or a fire started upstairs? Matthew couldn’t hear the smoke alarm. Or what if a young boy’s curiosity led him to try a dangerous stunt? Zeke recalled plenty of those he’d tackled as a kid.

Zeke circled his son carefully, not wanting to frighten him. The boy was so intent on fitting together his logs, he didn’t see his father until Zeke dropped to his knees on the carpet almost directly in front of Matt. Scrambling up, the boy made a series of toneless noises and flung his arms around his dad’s neck.

Maybe Matthew’s attempt to vocalize his joy woke his grandmother. Or perhaps it was Zeke’s laughter as he hugged his son and they fell backward on the carpet. Something jolted Celia awake so fast she sat up and the book flew off her lap and hit Zeke in the head.

“Goodness!” She hurried to inspect his head and retrieve her book. “I can’t believe I drifted off. What time is it? How long have you been home, Zeke?”

“I just got here, Ma. It’s still early. You look flushed. Are you getting sick?” Zeke worried that she appeared thinner and less energetic than she had when he and Matthew had moved to Galveston. Zeke didn’t know what he would’ve done without Celia, then or now. He didn’t tell her often enough how much he appreciated her putting her life on hold to help him raise his special needs son.

Zeke recognized her sacrifice. A lot of women Celia’s age launched second careers, or found second loves and a new lease on life. Was it unfair of him to depend on her? But when did he have time to make other arrangements? And what could he find that would be better? No one was going to love Matthew the way Celia did.

His ever-present nightmare was Bonnie Burnham. The social worker had been assigned the first time Trixie sicced her lawyer on Zeke to get more money. Ms. Burnham had decided Matt ought to attend a preschool out of state. She claimed it would better prepare Matthew to enter The Texas School for the Deaf at age five. If Zeke agreed to that, then his mom could reclaim her life. He understood the advantages. But the facility was in Florida.

“I could be coming down with whatever caused Matty’s latest ear infection.” Celia felt her face with both hands. “I think I’m fine. Just more tired than usual. I don’t know how you stay awake night after night when Matt’s ears flare up, and then go off to work. You tell me to sleep, but I worry. And I hate hearing Matty cry. Did you have any success with that Ms. Stafford, Zeke?”

“No.” His hands were busy showing Matt how to build a barn. Matthew loved the farm-animal set he got for Christmas, but he hadn’t yet learned which logs were needed to build the old-style barn.

“That’s too bad,” Celia said. “I hope Mr. Kemper doesn’t blame you.”

“He didn’t say so. On the other hand, he ordered me to help with her salvage to speed things up.”

“Oh, then that benefits your cause and hers. I’ll bet she’s happy to have an extra pair of hands. You said she was trying to raise an airplane by herself. This new breed of young women astound me. I can’t imagine anyone I grew up with doing that.”

“I didn’t talk to Pace and get the order until after I’d left Grace at her hotel. She doesn’t know yet that I’m expected to hasten her journey. I doubt she’ll be any happier at the news than I am.” He pressed a hand on Matt’s and forced the busy child to pause for a moment. Zeke caught his eye and showed him exactly how to attach roof pieces to the skeleton of the barn.

“I suppose you scowled at the poor girl all through dinner. Honey, may I remind you that every woman isn’t to blame for what Trixie Lee did to you.”