When Dreams Come True. Margaret Daley

off the television, raising her hand to quiet the protests from Blake and Mandy. “We need to talk and I can’t do that with the TV on.” Sitting on the couch, Zoey patted the soft brown leather cushion. “Come here and sit with me.”

      Blake sat down next to her without a word while Mandy plopped down on the other side and bounced a few times as though testing the plumpness of the cushion. The whooshing sound permeated the silence. Zoey marveled at how much energy her daughter had after a long day playing and helping her get dinner ready.

      “Mommy, who was that man?” Mandy finally settled next to her and looked up at her with her big, brown eyes that reminded Zoey so much of her own.

      She didn’t know where to begin. Blake had been nine when his father had left on his last assignment. And her five-year-old daughter hardly remembered the father who had been gone a lot that last year before he’d disappeared.

      “Mom, is something wrong?” Blake asked, frowning.

      “Mommy, did that man make you sad?” Mandy’s mouth turned down in a frown, too, always imitating her older brother.

      Zoey slipped her arms around her children and brought them close to her, savoring their nearness for a few seconds before she had to break the news. Mandy would be all right, but Zoey worried about Blake’s reaction. He hadn’t taken his father’s death well, withdrawing into a shell for months after his father’s disappearance. She’d tried to reach her son, but he was a lot like his father. He kept things bottled up inside.

      Realizing she had been frowning herself while trying to find the best way to break the news to her children, Zoey forced a smile to her lips. “No, the man didn’t make me sad. Not at all. In fact, just the opposite. I have some great news to share with you two.” She drew in a deep breath and held it before releasing it through pursed lips. “The man Mandy is talking about is your father.”

      “Dad?” Blake pulled away, confusion knitting his brow. “But—I don’t understand.”

      “Honey, your father has come home.”

      “Are you sure it’s him? He didn’t look like the pictures we have.” Mandy hopped off the couch and faced Zoey, her face screwed up in a thoughtful expression as though she were picturing the man at the door and trying to reconcile in her mind that person with the photos she had of her father.

      Both of her children peered at her as though she didn’t have any idea what she was talking about. “Your father was believed to be dead, but he isn’t. He’s returned to us.”

      “Where was he? Why did he stay away? Why didn’t he come home?” Blake asked, his voice rising as he bounded to his feet.

      Zoey tried to grasp his hand, to tug him close to her. She wanted—needed—to hold him. Blake shuffled farther back, his scowl firmly in place. She didn’t have all the answers for her son. She didn’t know what had really happened and, knowing Dane, might never completely. All she could tell her children was what little she knew. “Your father was hurt and couldn’t remember who he was until recently. He’s in the living room waiting to see you two.”

      “Did he bring me a present?” Mandy asked, hurrying toward the door. “Maybe he’ll play a game with me or read me a story.”

      Zoey didn’t have a chance to answer Mandy. She flew out of the room, leaving Zoey alone with her son, who looked as if he wasn’t going to budge an inch.

      “Honey, your father didn’t choose to be gone for these past few years. As soon as he could, he came back to us.” Drawing on her reserve of strength, Zoey stood and extended her hand toward Blake, noticing the slight tremor in her fingers. “Come talk to him, please.” When her son didn’t move, Zoey dropped her hand to her side and walked toward the door. “We’ll be in the living room when you’re ready.”

      For months after his father had disappeared, Blake had cried himself to sleep. He hadn’t understood his father being gone for good. He’d wanted his playmate back—the man who rode him around on his shoulders, played ball with him, built sand castles at the beach with him. After the first year Blake had refused to discuss his father with anyone. She’d had the minister at their church and a counselor speak with Blake, but still he wouldn’t talk about his father. Finally over time everything seemed to be back to normal. Now she wasn’t so sure.

      When she entered the living room, she found Mandy sitting next to Dane on the couch. Dane cradled Tara next to him, his eyes unusually bright as he took in first one daughter, then the other. Her mother had brought her youngest to meet her father.

      Mandy stared at something cupped in her hand, wonder in her expression. She saw Zoey and leaped up, racing to her. “Look what he brought me. Coins from another country. They’re different from ours. Look!” Mandy thrust them toward her.

      Zoey picked up one and turned it over. “They’re pretty.”

      “Yes.” Her daughter closed her fingers around the coins and went back to Dane. “Thank ya. I’ll put them with my other treasures.” She stood in front of him now, not quite sure what to do.

      Zoey came to her side. “Maybe you would like to show your father your treasure box.”

      A smile brightened her daughter’s face. “I’ll go get it.” Mandy ran from the room and pounded up the stairs.

      Zoey stared at the entrance into the living room, wondering if her son would appear. Dear Lord, what should I do about Blake? She chewed on her bottom lip and tried to think of what to tell Dane about their son.

      “Mandy’s full of life.”

      “That she is. There are days she can run me ragged.” Zoey turned back to Dane, whose gaze was glued to his youngest daughter, as though he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing.

      “She looks just like you, too. I’m glad. I wish I had known. I—”

      The pain in his voice shredded the composure she’d fought hard to maintain for her children’s sake. Her heart hammered against her chest, the beat vibrating in her head. Zoey peered at him and saw that glimpse of vulnerability she’d caught in his expression several times earlier. Sensing her regard, he quickly masked his look with a neutral one, something he was very good at doing. This was the Dane she knew—the one who didn’t know how to share his feelings, who held a part of himself locked inside, the person her son was so similar to.

      Exhausted from the past hour, Zoey collapsed in the chair next to the couch, wanting as much distance between them as possible in a room that had suddenly become small.

      “Where’s Blake?” Dane asked, his gaze fixed on the entrance into the living room.

      “In the den.”

      “Is he coming in here?”

      “No, I don’t think so.”

      Dane tensed, the only indication that her words had affected him. “Why not?”

      “When you…disappeared, Blake didn’t take it well.”

      “But I’m here now. I know this isn’t easy, but—”

      Again that pain laced his voice and stabbed through her heart, through all the defenses she had erected. “But, what?” Tell me what you’re thinking, she silently added.

      Pressing Tara to him, he shuttered his look and rose. “I’ll go have a word with him.”

      “Don’t.”

      Chapter Two

      Dane froze. “What do you mean, don’t? He’s my son. I haven’t seen him in over two years.”

      “I know.” Zoey stood, her legs shaky. “When you didn’t come home, he took your disappearance very hard. He cried for months, then clammed up and wouldn’t say a word about you.”

      Dane closed his eyes for a few seconds, shaking his head. “Then he should be glad