* * *
YOU’D THINK A MAN who made his living by teaching others would learn from his own lessons. Especially when he’d learned his lessons the hard way as Cal had.
You didn’t bring anyone into your home. You didn’t let anyone that close.
It was too personal.
It opened your life up to more than just casual curiosity and questions.
Morgan looked out of place sitting at the hand-carved wooden table Frank had bought from an Amish family fifteen years before. That, the file cabinet and the recliner in Frank’s bedroom were the only pieces of furniture that had moved with them every place they went.
The intricate carvings on the table depicted a family, and each of the four chairs had the likeness of a mother, father, sister or brother on the wooden back.
Morgan perched on the edge of the mother chair at one end of the table. She looked ready to take flight.
“Where’s your television?” Sammie asked, standing under the archway between the living room and kitchen.
“Over there.” Cal pointed to a small flat screen mounted on the back wall across from the couch. “The big screen is in Frank’s room.”
Sammie looked at the old man who sat in the father chair. In the ten minutes the Lowens had been there, Frank had slowly scooted his chair away from the table and into the far corner of the room. He hadn’t said a word since his initial hello.
Cal had taken a chance bringing Sammie here. He’d known that. His father hadn’t had one-on-one contact with a child other than Cal since they’d left Comfort Cove twenty-five years ago. Certainly not in their home.
He’d wanted no suspicion whatsoever that he had a thing for kids.
Sammie returned from an inspection of the television, looking around some more before stopping about six feet in front of Frank.
“You watch a lot of TV at night?” Sammie asked.
“Yes.” That was it. No smile. Frank didn’t even look Sammie in the eye. This from a man who had once been known for his charisma with kids.
Nodding, Sammie continued with his exploration of their small space.
“You guys don’t have much stuff out,” Sammie declared next. “No pictures or stuff on the walls.”
Sitting up straight, Morgan said, “Sammie, that’s not polite.” She glanced at Cal. “I apologize. Now where are those curtains you wanted me to take a look at?”
“Those are the ones over there.” He pointed to the window over the kitchen sink, and to a bay window farther down the wall. Morgan went over to look. She noted the type of rod, asked for a measuring tape and talked about finding something in yellow to brighten up the room. Then she offered to pick them up for him.
Silence fell on the room again. Cal felt like a tongue-tied schoolkid who’d invited the popular kids to a party that was a total flop. What about Morgan Lowen had prompted him to break his and his father’s rules? Why had he suddenly opened up their lives to someone after twenty-five years of living in relative seclusion?
And then he remembered…
Retrieving a shopping bag from the closet, he held it out to the boy. “Sammie, this is for you,” he said.
Sammie got up from the floor in front of the bookcase where he’d been perusing their collection of DVDs, came over and took the sack. Holding the handles open he glanced inside.
“Cool! No way! Look, Mom!” He pulled out the shoebox the salesclerk at the sports store had placed in the bag the day before. “They’re even the right size.”
The boy’s grin made every awkward second of the past half hour worth the agony.
And then Cal looked at Sammie’s mom. She wasn’t smiling.
“I got his shoe size from the description on the Amber Alert.”
Sammie stilled, dropping the lid of the shoebox to the floor, but not touching the name brand basketball shoes inside. “I can have them, can’t I, Mom?”
Frank stood, his six-foot frame appearing increasingly diminished each day as his weighted shoulders slumped more and more. “If you’ll excuse me…”