“Oh? Whereabouts is it?” she asked. The baby in her arms calmed to whimper level.
“Just past Cupid’s Creek.”
Her eyebrows lifted. “That must be the old Russo place. I’m surprised they let it out of the family.”
“It turns out they didn’t.” I shifted, giving a sidelong glance at the floor. “Bernard Russo is my grandfather.”
Her eyes opened wide. For some reason, I rushed to explain, or apologize, or something. “But I only found out I was related to him after I bought the house. I don’t even remember my grandfather and now I own his old hunting lodge. Weird, huh?”
“Was your mom the one that . . .” Her voice petered off.
“Killed herself? Yep. That was my mom.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
“Oh, you didn’t. Don’t worry about it. It’s all water under the bridge. I’m okay with it. Really.” The more I babbled, the less believable I sounded. Even to myself. I gave a half grin. “Let’s start over. My name is Patricia Amble. You can call me Tish.”
“Hi, Tish. I’m Melissa Belmont. Everybody calls me Missy. I live up on River Street, in that rose-colored house toward the end.” She reached over and smoothed the toddler’s curls. “This is Hannah. And the baby is Andrew.”
“They’re beautiful kids. I hope they get some playmates here soon.”
Missy’s pretty features collapsed into a pained frown. “Oh, they will. I’ve already got another one on the way.”
I blinked, surprised at her forlorn tone. “Congratulations.”
“I wish I could say I was happy about it. But it comes as a big surprise. And at a bad time.”
I didn’t want to minimize her situation, but I also didn’t want to play into some pity party. “I’m sure you’ll make the best of it,” was all I could think to say.
At my words, a veil dropped over her face. I flinched with guilt. Maybe she’d wanted to talk to me about her situation and I’d just slammed the door in her face.
I backtracked. “What I meant to say was, is there anything I can do to help?” She’d probably never take me up on it, but it felt good to make the offer.
Missy gave a look of hope. “I’ll think about that. Thank you for asking.”
I glanced at her left hand and saw the flash of a diamond ring. “Is your husband in there? Because if you want to join him, I can watch the kids.”
She shook her head. “He doesn’t come to church.”
I reached for the baby. “Even more reason for you to get back in there. No sense in dressing everybody up and rushing over here if you don’t even get to hear the sermon.”
She hesitated a brief moment, then let me take the baby.
“I’ll come rescue you if he cries.” She stood and headed for the sanctuary. “Thank you, Tish. Hannah, you be a good girl.”
The door closed behind Missy. I sat in the glider with baby Andrew on my lap. He twisted up his face. For a minute I thought he was going to cry. But soon he found the zipper pull on one side of my jean jacket. Chubby fingers strained to drag the mechanism up and down the track. His forehead furrowed in concentration. Pudgy baby lips jutted out with the effort.
I drank in his clean, fresh baby scent. His warmth and weight there on my lap sent love flooding through my veins like a caffeine fix. I pictured my own kid bouncing on my knee. His head would be topped with Brad’s dark hair, he’d have Brad’s straight, serious lips . . .
Baby Andrew held his breath and grunted. Suddenly, a mini mortar exploded on my thigh. With my self- preservation instinct operating in full gear, I lifted the baby like a hot-air balloon and set him on the floor. I dug through the diaper bag Missy had left behind and found a rattle. Andrew shoved the toy in his mouth and sucked on it. His face turned red, then back to white, like an errant Christmas bulb.
The next few minutes passed in relative peace. Hannah occupied herself with a chunky manger scene puzzle. Andrew continued a project of his own. Then the odor hit.
Hannah spoke without looking up. “Andrew’s got a stinky.”
“I know. I think church is almost over. Your mom will be here soon.”
Hannah paused and swung her blue eyes my way. “You should change him so he doesn’t go ballistic.”
Her matter-of-fact tone as she said the big word made me smile. “Think you can help me with that?”
“’Course.” She went for the shoulder bag and pulled out a disposable diaper and a box of wipes. She spread out a cushy vinyl mat, then seized the baby under his arms, dragging him to the changing pad.
I intervened, laying the baby gently on the soft surface. “You’re going to be a really great mom when you grow up.”
“I know,” the girl said, already unsnapping the baby’s bottoms.
With Hannah in charge, we cleaned Andrew and had him back in action by the time the grown-ups started trickling out of the sanctuary.
The moment Missy reached us, she scooped up Andrew and hugged him. She knelt to Hannah’s level.
“How’d it go, sweetie?”
“Good. I had to show the lady how to change a diaper.”
Missy smiled. “Thank you, pumpkin.” She rose. “And thank you, Tish. I really appreciate it. Sometimes those sermons are the only thing that gets me through the week.”
I patted Hannah’s head and smiled. “I have a hard time believing life could be less than perfect with these two cuties around.”
Missy stepped closer and dropped her voice to a whisper. “Can we get together sometime soon? I’d like to talk to you about something.”
I looked at the congregation around me, milling about with smiles on their faces, as if life was nothing short of heaven. No wonder Missy singled me out to talk to. Spiritual Journey in Progress was stamped all over my forehead. “Do you want to come out to the cottage? I’m pretty much available anytime,” I said.
“No. Not the cottage.” She crouched to pack the diaper bag one-handed. “Let’s meet in Manistique instead. How about Tuesday around noon at the public library? There’s a nice kids section there.”
“Okay. Sure. I’ll see you Tuesday.”
Missy rattled off quick directions. Then in a few swift moves, she had herself and the kids bundled up and out the door.
I stood in the corner of the large hall and watched them leave. With the Belmonts went my sense of belonging. Now I was merely a strange face once again. I willed a friendly person my way, but got only polite smiles and quick glances from those who even bothered to look at me. I refused to read anything into the standoffish behavior other than general discomfort regarding strangers.
I zipped up my jacket and raced through the cold out to my car.
7
That afternoon, I treated myself to hot tea and the last pages of a romantic mystery along the lumpy length of my sofa. I had on three layers of clothes and a sleeping bag to guard against the chill. By evening, I knew I’d have to break down and invest in a new heating system and maybe some storm windows. While it didn’t faze me to live like a refugee, I knew the next owners wouldn’t be able to hack it.
Monday morning I opened the skinny Manistique area phone directory and dialed the number of a Silvan Township–based heating professional. I got an answering machine.
“Hi, my name is Patricia Amble and I’m at Number Three Valentine’s Lane,” I said after the beep. “I’d like a quote on a new heating system, please.” I left my cell number and hung up. If he were like the contractors in the rest of the state, a call back was questionable.
I spent the remainder of the day washing down the great room. The stone surround of the fireplace presented my biggest challenge at the cabin so far. Dust had collected on the uneven ledges between every rock. I
