The House that Love Built

Four




Brooke tried to pay attention to the pastor’s message on Sunday, but she’d had another dream about Travis last night, and thoughts of him distracted her. She couldn’t remember much of the dream except that she, Travis, and the children had been all together. They’d been happy.

She glanced to her right at her mother. Mom hadn’t looked this good in years, and Brooke was pretty sure that peach dress with the ruffled ivory collar was new. Once a week a van from the Oaks took the residents to the mall, and apparently Mom was taking advantage of the field trips. Brooke noticed a hint of blue eye shadow again, and Mom’s cheeks were a bit rosier than usual. Brooke had given her mother the bottle of perfume she’d asked for, and as always, her mother had insisted on reimbursing her. Mom must have been in between field trips when she asked Brooke to get the perfume for her.

Clearly, the retirement villa was agreeing with Mom, and Brooke hated to mess up her mother’s day. But she’d decided she had to tell her about the flowers . . . and why she’d tossed the lovely floral arrangement in the trash can.

She waited until after lunch at the house before she broached what she knew would be a painful subject for both of them. Spencer was upstairs in his room, playing video games, most likely, and Meghan was in the fenced backyard swinging. She spent every free moment doing that. Brooke watched her through the kitchen window. She could almost see Travis standing behind her, laughing and pushing her higher and higher.

“I need to tell you something, Mom.” Brooke pulled her gaze from the swing set and turned to face her mother. Mom sat at the kitchen table sipping on a glass of iced tea. Brooke closed her eyes for a moment, wanting to bypass this conversation. But she’d never really kept much from her mother.

“What?” Her mother set the glass down, pushed her glasses up on her nose, then slowly laid her palms on the table as she sat taller. “Is everything okay? With you? The kids?”

“Yes, yes.” Brooke pulled out a chair across from her mother and slowly eased into it. “Everything is fine with all of us. I—I just . . .”

“Spit it out, dear.” Mom reached over and laid a hand on top of Brooke’s. “What is it?”

Brooke leaned her head back, blew out a long breath, then looked back at her mother. “Daddy sent me some flowers.” She watched her mother’s face, waiting for sadness or anger to creep across her expression, but Mom wasn’t giving anything away.

“Oh,” she finally said before she took another sip of tea.

Brooke watched her and waited. That’s it? Oh?

Her mother rubbed her forehead for a few moments before she looked up at Brooke. “I’m guessing you aren’t happy that your father did that.”

“Uh . . . no. I’m not.” Brooke leaned back in the chair. “I don’t care if I ever see him, and I threw his stupid flowers in the garbage.” She could hear how juvenile she sounded, but she didn’t care.

Her mother tapped freshly painted pink nails on the table. “Was there a card?”

“Yes.” Brooked rubbed her arms as she spoke. “It was all a bunch of . . .” She took a deep breath and blew it out slowly.

“What did it say?”

Brooke tried to recall the exact wording on the card. “It said . . . um, ‘I miss you, Brooke, and I have always loved you. Hope to see you soon. Love, Daddy.’ She blinked back tears as she shook her head. “Something like that.”

“You need to forgive him, Brooke.” Her mother’s matter-of-fact tone was not the reaction she’d expected.

“No. I don’t.” She thought briefly about all the times Travis had given her the same advice, saying she needed to forgive for her own sake.

“And saying he loves me? I mean, really, Mom. You don’t walk out on the people you love. I don’t care if I never see him again.” She swiped at her eyes.

“Hmm.” Mom laid her hands flat on the table again and stared into space.

“That’s all you have to say?”

A smile tipped at the corner of her mother’s mouth. “No, Brooke, that’s not all I have to say, but I can see that you aren’t ready to hear what I have to say.”

“If you’re going to tell me to reach out to Daddy, save your breath, Mom. I quit caring about him a long time ago.”

“Yes. I can see that by the way you’re crying.” Her mother propped her elbows on the table and cupped her chin in her hands. “Why don’t you tell me how you really feel?”

Brooke lifted her hands in the air. “Mom! I watched you cry about him for years. He left us both. And maybe you still care about him, but I don’t. I don’t want him near me or my children!” She let her hands fall. “A few birthday cards or phone calls here and there does not a father make.”

“Hmm.”

“Quit doing that. I know you have more to say about this.” Brooke raised her eyebrows. “Has he sent you flowers too?”

Mom smiled. “No, dear. He hasn’t.”

“Well, I’m just not going to acknowledge the flowers or the note.” Brooke snorted. “Not that I could anyway. I have no idea where he is.” She leaned forward. “Mom, are you over him? Or are you hurting so much inside that you’re going to cry your eyes out when you leave here? Talk to me. Why do you think Daddy is contacting me after all this time?”

“I don’t know.” Her mother stared long and hard at her. “Sounds to me like he is seeking forgiveness.”

“Well, he can seek all he wants. Seek ’til the cows come home. I really don’t care.”

“This attitude is hurting you more than anyone else.”

Brooke thought about Travis again but just shook her head. “I get it, Mom. But I still don’t want anything to do with him.”

“Well, that’s your choice, I guess.”

They were quiet for a while. Brooke knew that her mother still talked and corresponded with her father occasionally. “Have you forgiven him?”

Her mother’s gaze drifted to the far side of the kitchen. “I forgave your father a long time ago.”

“How? How could you do that after . . . after everything that happened? I remember how it was, especially in the beginning.”

“It was hard.” Her mother sat there silently for a few moments, then reached over and put her hand on Brooke’s again. “But it was the only way to heal my heart. And you need that healing too.”

“Well, I’ll have to find it some other way, because I’m not talking to him. That other person whose genes I share lost the right to be my father a long time ago, and a bunch of stupid flowers and a card isn’t going to change that.” She pulled her hand out from under her mother’s. “Mom, I’m glad you’ve found some sort of peace about all this, but I can’t. I’m sorry.”

“You’ll have to come to terms with all this on your own.” Her mother stood up, shaking her head. “I’m at a new place in my life, and I choose to let go of that heartache.” She walked toward Brooke and touched her arm. “As you well know, life is short. You were dealt a terrible blow with Travis, but I was so proud of you. Somehow you got through it, and you clung to God, even though I know it was impossible to understand how this could be His plan for your life.” She stared into Brooke’s eyes.

Brooke lowered her head, knowing that wasn’t entirely true. Yes, she’d clung to God, but she’d also questioned Him for a long time. Still did sometimes. She let out a heavy sigh. “I love you, Mom, and I’m glad you’re in a happy place and you’ve forgiven Daddy.” She paused. “But I just can’t do it right now, and I still have a hard time understanding how you can. Mom, he cheated on you and left us for another woman.”

Mom pulled Brooke into a hug, ignoring the mention of the infidelity as she always did. “Okay, dear, I think you’d better call in the children and then get me home. I feel a nap coming on.”

“This should be your home, Mom.” Brooke headed toward the door to call Meghan.

“We’ve been over all this.” Her mother shook her head.

Brooke yelled for Meghan to come in, then smiled at her mom. “I know. And I really am happy if you’re happy.”

Her mother smiled. “I am very happy.”

And for that, Brooke was thankful.



Patsy called Harold as soon as she got home, and he promised to come right over. Fifteen minutes later he was knocking at the door. Patsy rushed into his arms as soon as she saw him. She’d managed to hide her tears from her daughter, but now she just wanted to cry in Harold’s arms.

“Oh, my sweet Patsy,” he said as he held her.

Patsy basked in the comfort of his arms for a few moments before she backed away, pulled him inside, then closed the door behind him. She motioned him to the couch, then sat down beside him. Harold grabbed both her hands, brought them to his mouth, and kissed each finger tenderly. “Everything is going to be all right, my love.”

Patsy felt the weight of the world struggling to lift from her shoulders at the sound of his voice. That was the way it had always been. Harold had the ability to calm her soul.

“I’m sorry this is causing friction between you and Brooke.” Harold pulled her close and kissed her on the forehead.

Patsy snuggled into his chest, listening to his heart and wondering if he could hear hers. She lifted her head. “Do you know how much I love you?”

Harold blinked his eyes several times. “Yes. Almost as much as I love you.”

Patsy stared into his eyes as she reached up and touched his cheek. She forced a smile. “But I don’t think our daughter is ready to accept you back into her life.”



Hunter covered his face with his hands as his grandma swung her arms in his direction, catching the side of his face twice. When she finally ran out of energy and plopped down on the couch, Hunter eased his hands away. “I didn’t do nothin’, Grandma! I swear it. Not this time!”

“Shut your mouth, Hunter.” Grandma grabbed her chest as she leaned against the back of the worn blue-and-white-checked sofa. “I’m tired of your lies. Just plumb tired of ’em, ya hear me?”

Hunter shifted his weight from one foot to the other and waited for her to go on. There was no talking to her when she was like this. She’d never really hurt him during her rants, and it seemed to make her feel better, so Hunter always just let her swing at him a few times.

“So who paid your bail, or did ya pay it yourself with what you done stole?” Grandma reached for her pack of smokes on the TV tray by the couch. She lit one and blew a puff of smoke in Hunter’s direction as she crossed her legs.

“I told you. I didn’t steal nothing.” Hunter waved the smoke from his face as he stared at her. “You ain’t supposed to smoke. Doctor said so.” She looked real old, older than sixty-two. She’d already had two surgeries for some sort of cancer. It wasn’t a cancer most people got. He could never remember the name of it, but Hunter knew she wasn’t supposed to smoke.

“I’ll worry about me, Hunter.” She drew in a long drag, held it, then turned her head this time when she blew the smoke out. Reaching for a pill bottle on the tray, she struggled to open it, so Hunter walked toward her, opened it, and handed it back. Grandma popped two pills and added, “But I sure don’t need to be worrying about you too. Why you got to go pulling a stupid stunt like that?”

Hunter hung his head. He’d been plenty guilty of lots of bad stuff in the past, so it was no wonder Grandma didn’t believe him now. Truth was, he didn’t steal anything this time. But he shouldn’t have run when he heard the sirens. Habit, he supposed.

“So how’d ya get out of jail?” Grandma coughed, and Hunter cringed. It was a deep, raspy cough. Reminded Hunter of when she first got sick.

He sat down in the recliner on the other side of the den, edging around the exposed spring on the left side. “Somebody posted my bail.”

Grandma coughed some more, the smoke lingering in the air all around them. “On a Sunday? Who?”

Hunter shrugged. “I dunno.”

His grandma took another drag and scowled.

“Really, Grandma. I ain’t got no idea.”

She took a deep breath, shook her head, then stubbed out her cigarette. “They feed you in there?”

He’d been eating bologna sandwiches for days. “Yeah.”

Grandma nodded toward the kitchen. “Get on in there and getcha something decent to eat, then. I got a pot of spaghetti and meatballs on the stove.” She slid her legs up onto the couch and lay back, pointing toward the kitchen. “And get you some bread. You’re too skinny, boy.”

Hunter hurried to the kitchen, hungry as a hostage, and loaded himself a plate of Grandma’s spaghetti and meatballs. He was pretty sure there wasn’t a better meal on the planet. Grandma always made sure he had a hot meal and clean clothes, and she never allowed him to curse around her.

As he stuffed a meatball in his mouth, he thought about all the beatings he’d gotten from both his parents. ’Course, he deserved them. He was a bad kid. They’d told him so since he was barely old enough to go to school. He’d quit school when he was sixteen, as soon as it was legal to. Momma had told him he needed a job, so he’d gotten one. Then another. Then another. Things always started off real good at his workplaces, but sooner or later Momma would show up there, all high on crack and making a scene. Next thing Hunter knew, he was being let go for something stupid.

Dad had a job. He was probably the best drug dealer in the tri-county area, and he barely spent any time in jail. Until this last go-round with the judge, when both Momma and Dad got sent away to rehab. Hunter knew he was a bad person for thinking it, but he was glad they were gone. Glad it was just him and Grandma.

“You getting enough to eat in there?” Grandma yelled from the living room.

“Yes, ma’am.” Hunter swallowed as he watched a big black cockroach walk across the table in front of him. Not much point killing the poor fellow. A thousand more were probably hiding all around. He glanced at the sink full of dishes from the past week and thought about cleaning them, but he suspected he better go out and look for a job. Grandma’s money from the government didn’t pay for all her medicines. Or if it did, it didn’t leave money for things like electricity and food. He’d been told that at least a thousand times.

He’d have to leave this area to find work, though. Nobody would hire Hunter Lewis around here. He thought about what Old Man Parsons had said. “It’s that Lewis kid! . . . No telling what that piece of trash has done now.”

Hunter stuffed another meatball in his mouth as he watched the roach trailing across the table toward an opened loaf of bread.