Instant Father. Donna Gartshore
“Oh, I’m sure we can work something out,” Paul said. “Maybe just mention to Seth that Tyson and I are pretty fond of that bannock he makes.”
Paul’s half smile caused Charlotte’s cheeks to flush. More than his obvious good looks, she was attracted to his willingness to help. Her curiosity was piqued.
A moment later, though, she tamped down on the curiosity. Her only goal with him was to help his nephew, although it did no harm to notice how handsome he was.
Paul departed with a promise to return to look at Rena’s car. As soon as he was out of earshot, Charlotte felt her friend’s fingers eagerly gripping her forearm.
“He’s cute!” Rena whispered dramatically. “A nice guy, too. And don’t even try to pretend you haven’t noticed.”
Wanting to steer Rena away from any matchmaking thoughts, Charlotte said, “I’ve been looking online at sites about overseas missionary work.”
“Do you think you’ll do it?” Rena asked.
“I’m not sure. I mean, I’d really like to, but...there’s a lot to think about.”
Rena nodded.
One of the best things about longtime friends, Charlotte thought, was that you didn’t have to spell everything out for them.
“You headed to your parents’ tonight,” Rena said. It wasn’t a question. Everyone who knew Charlotte knew that she went to her parents’ on Friday evenings for tea and shortbread and a game of cribbage with her father.
“Yes, I keep telling Mom that they can come to my place if she’s not up to it,” Charlotte said. “Or we can take a night off, but she says she likes doing it. I guess...well, I guess she likes knowing that some things won’t change.”
But, as she left Rena at the school to wait for Paul to look at her car, Charlotte wondered what Paul Belvedere did on a Friday night.
* * *
Could he trust Ms. Connelly to do everything she could for Tyson? Paul wondered if she would truly pay enough attention, because he was all too aware of what could happen when teachers—and parents—let things slip through the cracks.
Despite himself, he was also trying to decide if she was pretty. His first reaction was that she was plain, until he caught a glimpse of her eyes. They were quite extraordinary, violet with long thick lashes, and they brought an unexpected beauty to her face. She was tall and slim and her straight-line gray skirt and pink blouse made him think of a prim librarian. She had light brown hair that she wore pulled back in a low ponytail, her nose was small and straight, her mouth was on the wide side and she didn’t wear lipstick.
Not that any of that mattered. The important thing was how Tyson felt about her and, so far, he said he liked her. Plus Paul had heard nothing but good things around town about Ms. Connelly.
Mildred Price lived one block over from Main Street, and as Paul headed toward her house, he passed the few businesses in town—Seth’s Café, Fran’s Women’s Wear and Dudley’s Pharmacy. It still bemused him that he could walk from one end of Main Street to the other in less time than it took him to pick up one of Seth’s renowned cups of coffee. It was a real change from Toronto, which was the last place he’d lived.
His sister, Erica, had emailed him about Green Valley, and he’d teased her, unable to believe they would last for long there. She and her husband, Ross, were city people through and through, or so he had thought. But they’d wanted to raise Tyson in a place where he could play outdoors and where they would actually know their neighbors’ names. Despite how much he’d enjoyed giving his older sister a hard time, Paul had been happy to be proven wrong, because Erica and her family had thrived in Green Valley.
He still had a hard time believing they were gone. Somehow, he would get through it, one step at a time. He would pick up Tyson. He would stop by the garage and grab his tools. He would look at Rena’s car. Tyson liked Rena and wouldn’t mind hanging out while Paul did his work. One step at a time, he could do this.
Paul always felt reassured at Mildred’s home. Everything about her freshly painted house and immaculately tended yard spelled comfort and order to him. He regretted the time that Tyson had to spend with a caregiver, but since it was necessary, he was glad that Ty was happy there.
Mildred had never married and had no children of her own, but she was an honorary grandmother to the entire town. In contrast with her house and yard that conjured images of a storybook grandmother, Mildred was six feet tall, broad-shouldered and wore overalls and her white hair was always in two long braids.
The front door of her house swung open as Paul neared it. Clearly, they were watching for him.
“How did Tyson get along today?” Paul asked Mildred as his nephew was getting his backpack.
“Oh, he’s always a good boy,” Mildred said in her soft, sweet voice. “How was your meeting with his teacher? Charlotte Connelly is a fine young woman.”
Was it his imagination, or did the older woman put extra emphasis on her statement about Charlotte?
“She seems like a good teacher,” Paul said cautiously. He had no desire to delve any deeper into the topic. Charlotte Connelly was not his type. Not that he’d ever really had a type. Dating had never been a priority for him.
Survival had.
Now he had one goal, and that was to be the best guardian possible for Tyson. Even though he was sure Erica would never have named him guardian if she’d known how unstable his faith was now.
“Thanks for letting Tyson stay late,” Paul said.
“My pleasure,” Mildred said.
“We have to stop by Harold’s for a couple of minutes,” Paul explained to Tyson as they went down the sidewalk together. “Then I’m going to have a quick look at Ms. Acoose’s car.”
“I like her,” Tyson declared.
“I thought you did,” Paul nodded. “You like your teacher, Ms. Connelly, too, don’t you?”
Tyson nodded. “Yup.” Paul waited to hear more, but Tyson had already moved on to the subject of his after-school snack. It amused Paul, the way the boy’s thoughts could drift from one topic to another like scattered fluff from a dandelion wish.
“We had oatmeal and raisin cookies,” Tyson said. “Except not raisins, because Mildred knows I don’t like raisins.”
“I don’t like raisins, either,” Paul said. Tyson looked up at him with those large blue eyes of his and nodded with a satisfied sigh. The expression on his freckled face clearly said that they were two men bonding over a shared dislike of wrinkled fruit.
It was these moments that gave Paul hope that he could do this. He could do this whole guardian, raise-a-child-into-a-responsible-adult thing.
“Did my mom and dad like raisins?” Tyson asked. “Is there snacks in Heaven? Do you haveta have raisins?”
And, just like that, the cautiously emerging confidence was gone, like a rabbit being chased away by hounds.
Paul didn’t know how he felt about the God and Heaven questions these days. In Paul’s opinion, He had been pretty much MIA during Paul’s school days, and then after losing Erica... Well, how was he supposed to feel about a God who would allow all of that?
But there was a little boy, wide eyes fixed on him, waiting for an answer, and he couldn’t confess his raging doubts to anyone, let alone a six-year-old who counted on him.
“I’m sure you only eat what you like in Heaven,” he finally answered. To Paul’s great relief, there were no more questions. As they walked to Harold’s Garage, Tyson chatted about the things he had learned in Ms. Connelly’s class that week. Each time he said her name, Paul was unwittingly struck by a vision of her violet eyes.
They