Wendy looked up, startled.
Linette was smiling, though her eyes were curious. “I guess getting Bill Champlain out of your house really was a good thing, eh? Because that smile of yours just now lit up the entire room.”
Wendy would have loved to talk about Alejo, but he might leave any time, and… She wasn’t going to think about it.
She finished her coffee. “On that note, I’d better start earning my pay.”
“Wendy, I’ve got a much clearer picture now. There isn’t much to say, except that if you ever need a friend, you’ve got one.”
Linette reached over and gave Wendy a quick, hard hug. She was warm and smelled of vanilla and cake flour. Then she let go and grabbed her purse. “I’d better get cracking on my errands.”
“And I see there are two batches of doughnuts on the cooling rack that need frosting.” Wendy got her apron out. “Thank you for listening.”
The rest of her shift flew by, and soon she was on her way back to Godiva’s, her mind hopping from that talk with Linette to Alejo to planning dinner. What would Alejo like?
She decided to make pizzas from scratch, which were easy to adapt to everyone’s preferences. She’d just finished mixing the dough when Sam burst in. He scampered to his room to toss his school bag in, but instead of vanishing out into the garden, he said, “I want to go help Alejo fix our house. Can I?”
Wendy’s heart gave that leap at the thought of seeing Alejo. “Let’s go see if he would like to have your help.”
She put down the knife, covered the veggies she had been chopping, and they walked into the garden together. Wendy watched Sam skipping along, and relished the awareness that she wasn’t worried about what would happen when they got there. Somehow she counted on Alejo welcoming Sam’s “help” with that smile of his, instead of criticizing him for being too small, and uncoordinated, what were his latest grades? He needed to start early for the college competition.
She and Sam found Alejo standing in a moat of wood chips and curls as he finished off the framework for one of the sadly warped, cracked window frames that had let in far too much moisture and salt air for years.
“Of course you can help, Sam,” Alejo invited. “As soon as I get this frame joined, I’ve got to sand this wood satin smooth. Want to learn how to use a sander?”
Sam’s eyes had strayed to the saw, but Alejo was already shutting that down, and Wendy knew without having to say a thing that all the dangerous stuff was about to vanish inside cases and tool boxes for now. She watched for a few minutes as Alejo demonstrated the different types of sanding paper, in a calm, easy voice, and then gave Sam a piece of wood to practice on. They sat side by side, Sam inexpertly rubbing against the grain, until he frowned, and looked intently at what Alejo was doing, then he shoved his heavy glasses up his nose, and began to mimic Alejo’s movements. All without a single sarcastic word, or a “Watch what you’re doing, dimbulb!”
She realized then that, for the first time ever, she could even leave Sam there. He would not only be safe, he would also be as close to happy as she ever got to see him around another adult.
She longed to sit down and just bask in Sam’s happiness, and the sight of Alejo’s encouraging smile as Sam struggled with the wood and the sander. How was it possible to find a man hot no matter what he was doing—whether it was loading the dishwasher, or sitting side by side with a small boy as they both worked with their hands?
He won’t be here forever, that warning voice whispered, chilling her. She tried to shush it by thinking firmly,Then I’ll enjoy the miracle while I can.
But the easy moment had vanished like a cloud behind the sun, leaving her conscious of trying to recapture the joy.
She rose and dusted her hands. “Those pizzas won’t finish themselves,” she said with her best sparkle. “Dinner will be right at six!”
ELEVEN
ALEJO
Alejo watched her go, wondering what had taken her smile away. He felt bereft. When he noticed small Sam giving him a puzzled look, he forced a cheerful voice. “That looks excellent. Would you like to paint that window frame when we finish sanding?”
Sam’s eyes rounded behind the thick lenses. “I can use a paintbrush? For real?”
“No time like the present to learn.”
“I love drawing,” Sam whispered. “Sometimes I make my own comics. They aren’t very good.”
“What do you like to make them about?”
“I make stories about Squeak, and Bandit, and Rocky, and Ratty—”
Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop!
A swarm of small animals appeared, led by Squeak, the flying squirrel-like creature. He was joined by two raccoon-like creatures, and a pink-nosed white rat of a large size. Sam greeted them happily, and they lined up in a row along the porch rail, which was by now dry. Sam introduced the raccoons as Bandit and Rocky, and the rat as Ratty. These were the sort of names one might expect of a seven-year-old, which he earnestly explained was when he first made friends with them.
“But I didn’t know they could talk until last year. Or build things. They have to be very careful. Do you know, Squeak has a school he has to go to?” Then, not waiting for an answer, he said, “They want to help. I can tell. What can they do to help?”
