Page 12

My eyes misted, and I swiped at them before setting the table and ferrying the food over.

“Are you okay?” he quietly asked, as I took my seat.

I swallowed hard, having done my best to conceal my grief from him.

I nodded vaguely, flipped my lips upward and grabbed the spoon from the eggs.

“Momma?” he gently questioned, and that one word came heavy enough to make me clench my eyes shut against the wave of emotion.

“We’re fine, baby. Everything will be fine.” I cleared my throat, chasing the uncertainty and emotion from my voice.

I wasn’t entirely sure if the pension Patrick’s job had promised upon retirement would somehow be converted to anything that would be given to us. I knew the part-time position I held at the diner wasn’t enough to cover a fraction of the bills, though I’d forced myself to keep going through the chaos of it all.

I’d meant to speak to my manager, Stephen, about taking on more hours. In truth, it was hard to say if even that would be enough. I needed to look for a second job, but what would that bring? Who would be here with Oakland?

Would his grades slip?

Would he eat right?

Would he fall into trouble with the neighborhood hooligans without supervision?

I trusted that he could see to himself on a basic level, but all of the rest were things I’d never been forced to consider. Patrick had always taken care of us, he’d made certain I could be there with the boys when they were small, rather than leaving them with daycares or strangers to babysit.

I thought I had it together.

I intended on taking a deep breath and reassuring him again, but the minute I opened my eyes, the hot tears I’d been holding back raced down my cheeks.

“Losing your daddy has been hard on all of us. It’s been an emotional few weeks, and I’m sure there will be a great deal of adjusting ahead of us, but we can stick together and manage. He’d want us to manage…” I nodded, knowing it was true.

A knock sounded against the living room door, drawing me away from whatever I was about to say next.

I glanced toward Patrick’s chair; it had always been his habit to guess at who the visitor might be.

When I found it vacant, I instantly felt foolish and disgusted with myself.

I needed to snap out of this.

I hefted myself from the chair and slowly started toward the door. Through the slender pane, I saw dirty-blond hair and froze.

“Who is it, Momma?” Oakland asked.

“I, uh–” I shakily reached for the door, forcing myself to take a breath and face him.

It wasn’t just facing him. I was staring into the eyes of Patrick’s pet project as I’d bitterly called him when Patrick was still around to hear it.

“Mr. Henshaw,” I tipped my head in acknowledgement.

“Good morning, Brenna.”

The sound of my name on his lips instantly jerked my attention to his face. The usual dark hint of stubble was shaved clean. His eyes weren’t bearing any of the red tinge they normally did. They were bright, and full of kindness. His nails tapped over the edge of the bible he was clutching making a faint, odd sound.

“Wh–?”

“I know you don’t like to drive. Patrick told me that once, so I thought… Maybe if you’d allow it, I could chauffeur you and young Oakland over to the church so you wouldn’t have to miss any more masses.” He hitched a thumb in the general direction.

The door slid from my hand, and Oakland pressed his way between me and the frame until he was snug against my side and peering out at the man.

“Hey, Mr. Henshaw,” he chirped, that sparkle of awe coming into his eye as it had when he first spied Cole on that motorcycle of his.