“Sure, girl.”
Michelle watched her walk out and sighed. Lord, please let Holly’s mother have some answers. Amen.
GUY WATCHED AS CARS drove by his cruiser, careful to maintain the speed limit. The one good thing about Freedom Lake was it wasn’t a big city. He would have many leisurely days as the town’s sheriff. The bad thing was it wasn’t a big city. So, days like today found him watching traffic to see if anyone would dare speed in the presence of his cruiser.
He held Michelle’s ring up. He didn’t know why, but he couldn’t get the fact out of his head that she had worn the ring for thirteen years. Thirteen years was a long time to hang onto a broken promise.
His thoughts reversed to his last visit to her office. His apology had stunned her. That was clear by the open mouth and widened eyes. He could only imagine the words that would come out her mouth the next time they met, for she would no longer be in shock. If anything, she’d probably be angry and ready to let him know it.
Thirteen years.
Guy sighed, putting the ring back into his pocket. Did he still have his and the chain he’d worn it on? He vaguely recalled putting it in his storage box with all his high-school memorabilia. Only he couldn’t recall when he had done so, considering the numbers of moves he’d made since high school. He rubbed a hand over his face, his stubble scratching his palm.
His cell buzzed in his cellphone holder showing the caller ID information of his mother. He closed his eyes in frustration. She didn’t want to help him raise the girls, but she had no problem calling him daily to micromanage. As if he didn’t know how to raise his own children.
Do you?
“Hello, Manman.” The Haitian creole for mother easily rolled off his tongue.
“Guy, how are my granddaughters?” His mother spoke in the Creole that had been used in her childhood home, pronouncing his name as ‘ghee.’ The language had been passed on to him as remembrance to their culture. His mother stressed the importance of remembering where one came from. Guy had always thought he’d visit, but it just hadn’t happened.
He didn’t know any of his relatives living there. He had always thought of himself as more American than Haitian since he had been born here. An issue his mother frequently brought up in conversations. She seemed to forget she hadn’t returned to Haiti either.
“They’re good, Manman. Nana Baker watches them during the week.”
“Hmmm. You need to find a madanm for my babies.”
“Manman, I don’t want another wife.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose.
“Speak to me in your native tongue.” The Creole rolled off her tongue swiftly and sharply.
It was all he could do to silence the sigh desperately trying to escape. His mother believed the only way he and his daughters would be happy was to find a replacement wife. But what he had with Charlene couldn’t be replaced. And he was perfectly fine going the rest of his life alone.
“Manman, I’m at work, I need to go.”
“You call after work.”
“Wi, Manman.”
He slid his cell back into his holder right as a car blew past him. His radar gun beeped. “Finally.” The mundane had been turned around.
Chapter Nine
Michelle walked up the sidewalk leading to the cute, gray bungalow. Guy’s secretary, what was her name? Holly. Holly’s mother had agreed to talk to her about Chloe’s mother. She knocked on the door.
An older woman, with pale red hair and a smattering of freckles across her nose, smiled. “Hi, you must be Michelle,” she held out her hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”
She shook her hand thankful she chose to wear a casual shirt and jeans since Mrs. Adams was dressed in similar fashion. She wanted to make the woman feel comfortable, not out of place, in her own home. “Nice to meet you, too. Thank you for agreeing to meet me.”
“Come on in, I just took some cookies out of the oven.”
Mrs. Adams led the way through the living room and straight back into the kitchen. The layout was similar to the bungalow she shared with Jo. She stopped short at the sight of a younger version of Mrs. Adams sitting at a dining table with a little girl.
“Holly, honey, this is Michelle. Michelle this is my daughter, Holly and my granddaughter, Samantha.”
The little girl grinned. “I go by Sam. Did you know Sam is a nickname?”
Michelle grinned back at her. “I did.”
“Some people have nicknames, and some don’t. Do you have a nickname?”
She sat down at the table and rested her chin on her hands. “Yes, my friends call me Chelle.”
Sam tilted her head to the side. “I like Chelle. It sounds friendly. Are you friendly?”
“That’s enough, Samantha.” Holly’s glance was apologetic.
“Oh, mom, Chelle doesn’t mind. Do you?”
She shook her head. The girl was too cute for words. She had the same pattern of freckles as her mother and grandmother but unlike the gray of Holly’s, her eyes were a rich blue. “Not at all, Sam.”
The little girl beamed.
“We’ll get out of your way so you two can talk.” Holly grabbed a plate of cookies and guided Sam out the kitchen.
Michelle had expected to dislike Holly on sight even though she knew it was ridiculous to be jealous of Guy’s secretary. After all, she got to see him every day. Why do you care? She sighed. The woman seemed friendly, if not a little lost. Wonder what her story is?
Mrs. Adams placed a plate of chocolate-chip cookies in the center of the table. “Would you like something to drink, Michelle?”
“Do you have milk?”
Mrs. Adams chuckled. “Sure do. A glass of milk coming up.”
After she sat down with two glasses of milk, she looked at Michelle expectantly. “So, you want to know about Charlotte Smith?”
“Yes. My friend is her daughter. She’s...she’s trying to find her father. Only she has no clue who he is. I
