On the drive home, Jesse hummed to himself. Something about Mary Clare made him feel good. Made him want to consider something more than temporary for the first time in his life. He’d dated a lot over the years, but had always kept it casual, figuring it was going to end anyway. Why was this any different? Because she made him think of home? Of the great time during his teen years when he had been an honorary member of her family? Because she was thoughtful. Smart. Beautiful. So darned sexy…

Oh man, he wished they had met under different circumstances. By the end of the summer, she’d be back in Buffalo. And he’d be… He sighed heavily. He wasn’t sure where he’d be. Back in California? Managing the West Coast?

Well, God willing, he’d still be caring for his father. And he didn’t resent that. It just made things…unpredictable.

Jesse flipped on his directional and turned up the long lane to his dad’s trailer. He used to hate every part of living here in a rundown trailer. He had developed such a tough exterior to ward off all the bullies. He had never become the bully, but he exuded a certain toughness that made most kids at school give him a wide berth. Except Bill, Mary Clare’s brother. Jesse often wondered where he’d be if he didn’t have the positive influence of the O’Connor family.

Jesse’s headlights swept across the trailer. When he was little, his parents had talked about building a permanent house on this site, but it never happened. His mother bailed. And his father had done the best he could for Jesse and his older sister. But his auto repair business had consumed him. His sister had left to get married at the ripe old age of nineteen. Jesse had been left to his own devices. But he had food, clothing, shelter. The basics.

Once he got inside, the trailer smelled faintly of onions and garlic. Before running over to Mary Clare’s earlier this evening, he had made sure his father was tucked into bed. The father becomes the child… His sister Lynne had spent a long two days with him while Jesse went to the track and camped overnight. Thankfully, his father never got out of bed once he actually fell asleep, allowing Lynne to go home and sleep in her own bed. The doctor said it had something to do with the medicine their dad was on.

Jesse tossed the truck keys onto the counter and his mind drifted. The taste of Mary Clare’s soft lips sent a jolt of desire coursing through him, tinged with a side of “Mary Clare’s not the kind of girl you date lightly” guilt. She deserved more than a summer fling. And neither of them had more to offer.

But oh, those lips…

Plowing a hand through his hair, Jesse crossed the small living space. A stab of guilt and worry squeezed his heart when he noticed his father’s bedroom door stood open. Jesse turned on the hall light. His father’s bed was empty, the covers thrown back.

A surge of adrenaline spiked through him.

“Dad,” he called, turning on his heel.

He strode to the bathroom and braced his hands on the doorframe. Empty.

“Dad, where are you?” He scrubbed a hand across his face. The front door was locked when he came in. He was sure of it. Wasn’t it? What about the back door? His gaze darted around the room. There weren’t many places to go in the trailer.

The stillness mocked him.

The stale air pressed in on him.

Jesse cursed under his breath. The back door was unlocked. He stepped outside. The crickets joined the buzzing in his ears.

“Dad!” A rock weighed on his lungs, making it difficult to draw a decent breath. He should have never left his father alone. His father had never wandered away from the trailer at night. But why had Jesse taken the risk? He scratched his head. He strode back inside, the screen door slamming in the frame. Opening and closing the cabinets with a bang, Jesse finally found the flashlight under the sink.

Setting out across the wide field behind the trailer, he swept the flashlight back and forth calling his father both by Dad and his given name. As seconds ticked to minutes, and minutes added up to an eternity, he wondered at what point he should call the police.

I should never have left you alone. He sent up a silent prayer. Let me find my dad safely and I’ll make sure he’s never left alone again.

Jesse stopped and drew in a ragged breath, a panic like he’d never known pressing down on his chest. Making it hard to breathe. That’s when he saw a shadow by the dock on the pond. Jesse broke into a jog, the sound of his breath ragged in his ears. His father was slumped over in the Adirondack chair on the dock. Crouching down next to his father, Jesse expelled a huge sigh of relief when he felt his pulse on his wrist.

He gently nudged his father’s shoulder. “Dad?”

His father lifted his head slowly and opened his eyes. “Hey there, Jesse.”

“Hey, Dad.” It gave him no small amount of joy when his father greeted him by name because he knew someday he might not remember it.

“What are you doing out here?” Jesse wrapped his solid hand around his father’s frail fingers, cool from exposure.

“Night fishing can be the best. Once I caught the biggest catfish I’d ever seen.” His dad ran a finger across his bushy eyebrow. “Were you with me that time? I think we were at Jimmy Dengler’s farm.”

Jimmy had been a childhood friend of his father’s. Jimmy had died decades ago. Jesse had heard the story many times before. The counselor at the doctor’s office compared an Alzheimer’s patient’s memory to that of a movie. A movie that someone was cruelly erasing, starting at the ending. Soon his dad’s long-ago memories would be all he’d have, but they’d likely be blurred and confused for more recent events.

“Dad, you shouldn’t have come outside by yourself. I was worried.” He patted his father’s hand and tried to smooth out the rough edges of his angry tone. His father didn’t mean to scare ten years off his life.

“I’m perfectly capable of coming out here on my own.” His father waved his hand at him in dismissal, a flash of anger in his eyes. “I couldn’t find the fishing poles. Where did your mother put them?”

Jesse opened his mouth, then snapped it shut. “I have the poles in a safe place. Maybe we can fish together next time.”

His father patted Jesse’s cheek. “That would be nice. Really nice.”

Jesse helped his father stand. With his hand hooked around his father’s elbow, he guided him to the trailer and back to bed. Once his dad was settled, Jesse sat in his dad’s recliner with a beer, adrenaline coursing through his body.

His father could never be left alone again. Anything could have happened tonight. He took a long swig of his beer, his mind drifting to the black pond. If not for the grace of God, the police could have been dragging the pond for his father’s body.

Jesse let out a huff and sank into the recliner.

The promises he had made floated to mind. His father never wanted to go into a nursing home, but Jesse had only promised he’d make sure his father was safe, taken care of. It was the only kind of promise that his children could make.

Jesse set the beer down on the end table. He ran his fingers across the worn fabric of his father’s favorite chair. He had made a decision.

Jesse would have to get back to California. Travel up and down the West Coast. Do his job.

Nursing homes didn’t come cheap.

* * *

The next morning, Mary Clare woke with a lightness in her heart she hadn’t felt since the troubles with Chip had begun. She poured hot water over her chai tea and dunked the bag a few times before draping the string over the edge of the mug and sitting down at the kitchen table. Her mother had her nose buried in the local newspaper after grumbling that Jesse’s noisy truck had woken her up last night and she hadn’t been able to fall back asleep. She didn’t seem ready to accept her daughter’s apology. But even her mother’s sour mood couldn’t dampen hers.

Henry played with Legos on the family room floor. They had been her brother’s once upon a time. With an intense look on his face, Henry dug through the multi-colored blocks searching for the right piece, a hollow clinking sound accompanying each scoop. A slow burn heated her skin when she thought about all the little ways Chip had controlled their lives. Little ways that when stacked one on top of the other made for a suffocating, walled-in life. For one, he’d never allowed certain items in their home, like Legos. Too messy.

Resting her elbows on the table, she lifted her mug and took a sip, the spicy chai rolling over her tongue.

Her mother lowered the newspaper and studied Mary Clare in the watchful way she did when she was trying to figure something out. “Remember Mrs. Ostermeier?”

Mary Clare set her cup down. “She taught me pre-calculus at Blessed Trinity.”

“She passed away. Seventy-eight years old.”

“That’s too bad.” Mary Clare wrapped her hands around her mug. “She lived a nice long life.”

“Can you believe she was still teaching?”

Mary Clare scrunched up her face. “Really? At seventy-eight?”

Her mother looked down and read from the newspaper. “‘Mrs. Ostermeier was my favorite teacher. She was tough, but fair. She set me up to do well in college,’ said Emily Park, a freshman engineering student home for the summer. ‘I would have never passed college Calculus One and Two if I hadn’t had her.’”

“I’d love to have that impact on a student.” Mary Clare took a sip of her chai.

“Then do it,” her mother said emphatically. “Stop talking about it and go teach. That’s what you always wanted to do. If you didn’t have your nose stuck in a book, you were playing school.”

Mary Clare’s shoulders sagged. “I don’t have my certification.” She was starting to feel like she was on a broken loop.

“Look, there’ll be an opening at your old high school. What better place to apply? You were valedictorian.”

“But—”

“Apply. See what happens.”

Mary Clare furrowed her brow. Could she? The phone rang and her mother put down the newspaper and grabbed the handset from the counter. She went outside on the back porch and came back a few minutes later with a concerned look on her face.

Mary Clare’s heart dropped. “What’s wrong, Mother?”

Mother shook her head, her white roots visible at her part. “Nothing’s wrong.” She filled the tea kettle and set it on the stove. She turned around and braced her hands on the oven handle. “I have good news.” A dullness glazed her eyes. “We sold the house.”

Mary Clare’s eyes flared wide. “You sold the house? Already? I thought you said the neighbors’ home took twelve months to sell?”

Her mother crossed her arms. “That’s what I thought, too.” She bit her lower lip. “The sign went up yesterday, but apparently a family had been waiting for a home to become available in this neighborhood.” She rubbed her fingers across her forehead in disbelief.

“They made an offer without seeing the inside of the house?” Mary Clare stood, the chair scraping across the worn linoleum.

“It’s the daughter of a friend of mine. My friend has been here many times. She knows the house. Her daughter and her husband wanted to make an early offer to avoid a bidding war. They offered full asking price.” Her mother flattened her palms together and pressed her fingers to her lips. Her eyes filled with tears. “But maybe now is not the right time.” She pulled her hands away from her face. “There will be other offers. I’m sure of it. I don’t have to jump at the first offer. You and Henry might need a place to stay.”

Mary Clare shook her head. “No, you have to take this offer.” She caught her mother’s hands. “The move will be good for you. You’ve made the argument yourself many times. This is your time. You can move to Florida with Aunt Carol. No more harsh winters.”

A tear tracked down Mother’s cheek. She lifted her gaze to the ceiling. “This house has all our memories.” Her mother cupped Mary Clare’s cheek with a warm hand. “I brought all my children home from the hospital to this house.” She blinked a few times and swallowed. “Dad and I made our life here. When I sell it, it will all be gone.”

Mary Clare held her knuckles under her nose and fought against the emotions welling inside her. Selling her dream house had hurt. Mary Clare had agonized over walking away from the granite countertops, crown molding, in-ground pool. Her McMansion. A status symbol. A possession.

Mom and Dad had created a home.

“You and Dad made memories that will last a lifetime.” She put her arm around her mother’s shoulder and squeezed. “You’ll always have the memories. No one can take those away.”

“Well,” her mother sighed heavily, “if the deal goes through, the buyers want us out by late September.” Her mother swiped at her tears and forced a bright smile. “Do you think that will work with your plans?”

Mary Clare laughed. “Henry will be back in school in Buffalo by then.” She smiled brightly at her mom. “Everything will work out just fine.”

“Grandma, why are you crying?” Henry had strolled into the kitchen holding his Lego masterpiece and had a worried expression in his eyes.

Mary Clare ran a hand down his messy hair. “Grandma sold the house.”

Henry frowned. He wrapped his arms around his grandmother’s waist. “It’s okay, Grandma. I had to move, too.” He pressed his cheek against his grandmother’s side, and the compassion in this simple gesture nearly melted Mary Clare into a pool of blubbering tears. “It will be okay. Mom and I are moving into a townhouse, right? Maybe you can move in with us.”

“We’ll see.” Mary Clare didn’t trust her voice. She hated to tell her little man that he’d be moving again. And it likely wasn’t to the townhouse she had promised him. Without any money, Mary Clare wondered where they would be living, what she’d do for a job. Her gaze drifted to the newspaper scattered across the kitchen table. Guilt niggled at her as the thought of the potential job opening created at her alma mater due to poor Mrs. Ostermeier’s death came to mind. It felt a little too opportunistic.

But it was a job. One that would keep her in Mills Crossing.