What Should Have Been. Helen R. Myers
it would be okay to tell Nana that I like candied apples more than the caramel ones? D’you think she knows how to make them?”
“Ah, darlin’, your daddy loved everything caramel. That’s why she keeps up the tradition.”
“What’s tradition?”
For a moment Devan had the impulse to burst into song, namely the one from Fiddler on the Roof. She’d seen it at the Dallas Summer Musicals when she was a teenager. “Things people from one culture and era do that’s unique to them. Like having turkey at Thanksgiving. Like having roast beast in Dr. Seuss’s Whosville.”
“Ooooh.” After a considerable pause, Blakeley asked, “Then she must still love Daddy more than me.”
Checking for nonexistent traffic, Devan eased the white Navigator through an intersection and passed the cemetery where her husband was buried. Mount Vance had a population under six thousand, and yet the cemetery was getting crowded. The balance of populations would get narrower if they didn’t do more to keep people here and woo their young, educated people back to raise families. “Not getting your way isn’t a sign of rejection, Blakeley,” she said at last. “Daddy was her baby, the way you’re mine. Her only one.”
“Maybe I could remind her ’bout my favorite things?”
Devan ran her teeth over her lower lip, recognizing shadows of her own youthful self-focus in her child. “No, sweetie, that’s not a polite way to think. As we grow up, it’s important to consider the feelings of others.”
A sound of panic burst from Blakeley. “I could end up eating a lot of yucky stuff for a long time!”
The minx was going to make her burst out laughing yet. “Aw, c’mon. Doesn’t it make you feel good when you see Nana’s eyes sparkle down at you with pleasure when you say ‘thank you’ for something she worked on a long time? More than once I’ve surprised myself and tasted something I ended up really liking.”
“Like what?”
“Oh…blue cheese dressing.”
When all her daughter did was cover her face and moan, Devan did chuckle and added, “Okay. How about we share Nana’s treat and get a candy apple for you from the bakery? I happen to have told them to reserve you one.”
“Wow! Thanks, Mommy!”
Hoping that she wasn’t setting herself up for an unexpected dentist visit, Devan made another turn, bringing them to Redbud Lane. But she delighted in her daughter’s glee, for tonight had drained her more than family dinners generally did. Lately, as much as she respected her in-laws, they left her feeling increasingly stifled—as if she needed more of that in her life.
Since Jay’s death sixteen months ago, people seemed to have narrowed down her existence to being Blakeley’s mother and Jay’s widow, and not much else. Even devoted and respectful customers of Dreamscapes often overlooked what it took to be a reliable entrepreneur in a town where two-thirds of the businesses were proprietorships or partnerships fighting to stay afloat, let alone out of bankruptcy court. How had this happened? And what was it doing to her personality? She used to be so independent and fearless. When everyone was sporting the Valley Girl look complete with big hair, she was into Flashdance fashion and cut her waist-length locks pixie short. When the uppity clique in school shunned a pregnant senior, Devan didn’t just ruin her cheerleader chances by befriending her, she dumped her Jell-O into the squad captain’s chicken noodle soup. Insignificant fluff compared to what was going on in the world today, but patterns were patterns.
Mead… All of this analysis was about seeing him again. Granted, she was grateful that he was alive, but she hadn’t been happy to find herself face-to-face with her past. To realize that her child had been exposed to the unknown commodity he’d become had almost caused her an internal meltdown. Why hadn’t he remained where she’d hidden him—deeply suppressed in her memories?
Odds are he should be dead. Would that be better?
Almost hiccuping as she pushed away those thoughts, Devan glanced into the rearview mirror. “Sweetie, are you sure there isn’t anything we need to do before tomorrow?”
“No…the permission slip for the trip to the Christmas tree farm is in my backpack.”
“Good. Then we can—” Blakeley’s gasp silenced her.
“Who’s that, Mommy?”
Beginning to turn into her driveway, Devan was slower than her daughter to see the person sitting on the front stoop; the porch light only gave her the benefit of identifying the person as male, an adult male, and yet fear never came into play. A sense of fatalism did. Somehow she knew from the first who it was. He had owned part of her mind since the instant she’d recognized him yesterday. That didn’t mean her heart didn’t start pounding harder as adrenaline surged through her veins.
Knowing it would be only moments before Blakeley recognized him as the man from the park, Devan said quickly, “He’s an old friend, sweetheart. The man in the woods? He’s a soldier come home.”
Blakeley said nothing.
A glance in the rearview mirror told Devan that her daughter was confused and apprehensive. Parking and shutting down the engine, she said gently, “Let’s get you inside and you can watch a little TV, while I talk to Mr. Regan, okay?”
“Should I call 911?”
Devan swept her shoulder-length hair back as she realized this was no lightweight decision. “No, ma’am. When you get inside, change into your pj’s, wash up and brush your teeth, and then you can see if there’s something on your TV channels in my room. Okay?”
“No. But I guess.”
Heaven help her, Devan didn’t know what else to say to reassure her. Exiting the truck and slipping her purse strap over her shoulder, she circled around to Blakeley’s door. Opening it, she stroked her daughter’s cheek. “It will be fine. Fine. This man has never, ever, been unkind to me or to children, sweetie. Ever.”
“Okay. Hurry, though.”
Mead stood as they approached. He waited down on the lawn as she ushered her daughter inside. Blakeley kept her head down all the while, then ran to the back of the house as Devan shut off the alarm system and set down her purse. Then Devan stepped outside again and closed the door behind her.
When she joined Mead on the lawn, her confidence wavered slightly. “Do you realize what it was like for her to see you sitting here?”
“I can’t say I did before,” he began, glancing at the door. “I do now. Sorry.”
He was wearing the denim jacket and jeans again, but tonight the weather was milder and the jacket was open. She could see he had on a white T-shirt and noted that while she was right about him being thinner than she remembered, his body appeared toned. The lack of a bandana was the only other difference. Instead a clear Band-Aid covered his scar. Devan wondered about it. Was covering it for her or Blakeley’s benefit? It had been a long time since he’d been hurt, so surely he didn’t need a bandage anymore.
“What are you doing here?” she asked more kindly. “I’m surprised my neighbors haven’t already notified the police that a stranger is lurking about.”
Exhaling, he rubbed the back of his neck. “At the risk of upsetting you more, they’re, um, not home.”
She could have seen that if she had been more alert. Everyone on their block had full lives with most families including several children who were heavily involved in extracurricular activities. She bit her lower lip.
“I only came to apologize,” Mead said wearily.
The simple, humble remark drew her focus back on him. But for Blakeley’s sake if not her own, she had to remain cautious. “At this hour?”
“It’s barely—” he glanced at his watch “—eight.”
His