Planning committee members consisted of herself and her fellow teacher, Jim Brand; Sarah and Maggie Romano, representing the chamber; and PTO members Christy Hartford and Erin Ward.
“How have the nights been going with the puppies?” Hope asked Christy.
“Better,” Christy replied. “They’re not waking me up, though I suspect the kids are sneaking them into their beds. I admit I want a good night’s sleep enough that I haven’t bothered to check.”
The Hartfords had adopted two of Roxy’s puppies, while their next-door neighbors, the Wests, had taken the third. Hope had struggled with the decision to give up the puppies, but she couldn’t find anyone to take Roxy and all of her babies, and six weeks of puppy care had convinced her that four dogs were too many for one person to care for properly. The West and Hartford kids had fallen hard for the pups, and Christy’s suggestion that Roxy visit her offspring often had alleviated Hope’s guilt.
“You’ll have to bring Roxy over soon,” Christy continued. “My girls have a gift for her—a Halloween costume.”
“Really?” Hope responded, delighted.
Christy grinned. “They’re hoping you’ll let them take Roxy trick-or-treating with the puppies.”
“Tell your girls it’s a date.” Hope turned her smile toward Gabi next. “Are you here in your mother’s place today?”
“Yes.” Gabi rolled her eyes. “She’s in the middle of an argument with Lucca, and I needed to be away from there.” She paused, then added softly. “Permanently.”
Gabi pasted on a smile. “So, what’s on the agenda today?”
Hope passed out the final room assignments for each of the carnival games. Erin reported on volunteers, and Gabi gave a recap of the prizes pledged by businesses in town. “Wow,” Sarah said. “We’re going to make a mint. Those are some awesome prizes.”
Looking over the list, Hope nodded in agreement. When her gaze fell upon her own classroom and its assignment to be the cakewalk headquarters, she frowned. “Sarah, are you sure about this? Fifteen cakes?”
“It’s what I donated last year.”
“You didn’t have a two-month-old baby last year.”
“It is a lot of work,” Jim said. “Why don’t you cut back? We can invite some of the teachers and parents to provide cakes.”
“I’ll …” Gabi began, then stopped and scowled. “Oh, stop it. You all look like you’re sucking on lemons. Fine. I won’t bake.”
“You’re better at other things, honey,” Sarah said gently.
Hope thought it best to move on. “I have an idea. What if you made one cake, Sarah? It could be the grand prize and we could sell special tickets to participate in that round. Higher-priced tickets.”
“Make your Sarah’s Special,” Jim suggested. “I know folks in this town who would crawl through broken glass to get your … what’s it called?”
“Chocolate Almond Joconde Imprime with Golden Raspberry Filling,” Sarah said. “That’s an idea.”
“A great idea,” Gabi said. “It’s to die for and since you only make it around the holidays, there’s a lot of pent-up demand in town for it.”
“Isn’t that a lot of work?” Hope asked.
“Yes, it takes me three days. But, it’s still not as much work as making fifteen cakes.”
At that point a little mewling noise emerged from the baby monitor. “Sounds like someone is waking up,” Christy Hartford observed.
“Early, too,” Sarah said with a sigh. “I could have used another ten minutes off my feet.”
The mewling rose to a cry, and Hope bounced to her feet. “I’ll pick him up.”
“He’ll need changing.”
“Doesn’t scare me away.”
“Then be my guest.”
Hope made her way to Michael’s nursery, which was decorated in a koala bear theme in recognition of Cam’s years in Australia. Their artist friend Sage Rafferty had painted a glorious mural on the room’s far wall that made Hope smile whenever she saw it. Plus, it was far enough away from Piglet and Pooh that Hope’s deja vu didn’t kick in every time she stepped into the room.
The infant lay on his back, his arms and legs flailing, his little round face red as he worked up a cry. “Shush, now, sweet boy,” Hope said, slipping her hands beneath the baby’s head and bottom and lifting him to rest against her shoulder. Immediately, her heart swelled with bittersweet joy, and her eyes went damp with tears. Holding a baby brought comfort, albeit temporary, to that hollow place inside her. The weight of an infant, the powdery scent, and the way plump little cheeks begged for kisses soothed her.
Her friend Daniel Garrett, whom she met six months after Holly had been taken, couldn’t understand her. The parent of a kidnapped child himself, he had the biggest heart of any man she’d ever known, but he found it difficult to be in the company of little ones. Hope didn’t know why the company of children eased her heartache, but “why” didn’t really matter, did it?
“Let’s get you changed, little man,” she said softly, carefully laying Michael Cameron Murphy onto his changing table. He cried when she put him down, so she briskly and efficiently changed his diaper.
He nuzzled at her breast as she carried him to his mother, and longing filled her. She had wanted a sister or brother for Holly, and when their firstborn turned three, she and Mark stopped using birth control. A month later, he’d been assigned to a death penalty case, and their opportunities to conceive dropped significantly. It had been difficult for her to get pregnant when he all but lived at the office.
She carried Michael into the living room, where the committee members stood waiting to see him. He put up with the cooers and kissers for a moment but soon announced his hunger in no uncertain terms. Hope handed the crying infant to his mother, then helped Gabi carry dishes to the kitchen. By the time they returned to the living room, the other committee members had departed. Sarah sat in a wooden rocker, her baby at her breast.
“Sit down and talk to me,” she told them. “Now that we have business out of the way, I want gossip.”
Hope sat in a floral-accent chair. Gabi plopped down onto the sofa and said, “I’m game. First, though, I’ve been meaning to ask. How is your mom doing, Sarah?”
Sarah’s mother was an Alzheimer’s patient living in a memory care facility in Gunnison. “Physically, she’s fine. Mentally, not so good.” Sarah gave a brief update of her mother’s condition, then added, “I took Michael to see her. That proved to be just about the toughest thing I’ve ever done. I lived at home when Lori was born, and Mom helped raise her. She loved Lori so much—was such a big part of her life. Knowing Michael won’t have that … it’s so hard, losing someone you love this way, but at the same time, not losing them.”
“Absolutely,” Hope said, a little more heartfelt than necessary, judging by the curious looks she received from Gabi and Sarah.
“Do you have experience with Alzheimer’s?” Sarah asked.
“Not personal experience, no. My parents both died young—a plane crash when I was in college.” Loneliness washed over Hope. “Sometimes, girls just need their mommies.”
“That’s true,” Gabi said. “I’m so sorry for you both. It’s never easy to lose a parent.”
Sarah moved the baby to her shoulder to burp him, and asked, “How is your mother doing, Gabi? Maggie always seems to have a positive outlook, but do I remember that she mentioned an unhappy anniversary coming up soon? She was so sad. Is it the anniversary of your father’s death?”
“No.” Gabi shook her head. “Dad died in the spring. The anniversary we have coming up is Lucca’s bus wreck.”
“That’s right.” Sarah’s eyes widened then rolled as little Michael gave out a surprisingly loud belch. “You’re all worried about him.”
“We are. He’s definitely more his old self these days, but every so often he has a day where he’s dark and gloomy and will hardly speak a word.”
“Depression is a hard one to handle, too,” Sarah said. “I think it’s difficult to admit when simply being down becomes something more—especially for men.”
“It’s difficult to watch people you love go through it. With Lucca … he was always the cheeriest of us. Now he’s a grumpy old cuss more often than not.”
A grumpy, blows-hot-and-cold cuss whom Hope couldn’t imagine describing as “cheery” under any
