Her Second-Chance Family. Holly Jacobs

like quinoa. Yeah, that’s right.” The girl nodded. “You’ve never heard of it. No one in the real world ever has. Anyway, I have to do something for you and balance my karma in her hippie-chick sort of world. I wouldn’t let me in your house if I was you, but I figured your yard was safe. I’ll tell you when I’m coming and you can dead bolt the doors and lock the windows.”

      He pointed to the sticker on his window.

      “You got a security service? I didn’t notice the sticker, so I’m not sure it’s enough to warn off other future thieves.”

      “There are signs, too.”

      She shrugged. “I’d have to be stupid to rob your place again. I might be a thief, but I’m not stupid. But maybe it’ll keep other people from trying to break in. So, about the lawn?”

      “Like I said, I have a lawn service.” This was another golden opportunity to slam the door on her, but instead he waited to see what her next response would be.

      She nodded. “Listen, that’s fine. I get it. Like I said, I don’t blame you. But if you say no, I’m going to have to go back to the car and tell her that after four visits, you finally let me say my piece and still said no. If that happens, either she’ll say that we’ll try again next week—that’s your best option. And I’ll be standing out here again next Saturday. Or she’s going to come out to convince you to let me mow. If she does that, you won’t stand a chance. You might argue. You might put up a good fight. But she won’t listen. And before you know it, I’ll be mowing your yard this summer and you’ll be eating quinoa.”

      He glanced at the car again, but still couldn’t make out the driver.

      “Really,” Willow said, “I know you’ve got no reason to trust me on anything, but trust me on this...you do not have a choice. Heck, I don’t have a choice. We’re both stuck with the fact that I’m going to mow your lawn one way or another. And I might be a burglar, but she’s...” The sentence drifted off, as if the girl wasn’t sure how to describe her.

      “She’s what?” he found himself asking.

      The kid’s blue eyes met his. “She’s like no one you’ve ever met. She seems to think she can fix me. I tried to tell her that I’m not broken and I don’t need fixing or saving, but she ignores me and just keeps at it. She says everyone should have a second chance. Then Clinton...”

      “Clinton?” he asked.

      “Clinton Ross. Another one of her rescues. She says everyone should get a second chance and he laughs and says, ‘Sometimes even a third.’ She agrees and then says, ‘Even a fourth.’ They laugh like it’s some kind of joke. They’re weird. They have family game nights and like doin’ stuff together.”

      She shook her head. “But there’s no fighting them. They’ve decided I get a second chance, so I’m getting one whether I want it or not. And part of that second chance means mowing your yard, so that means you don’t have a choice, either.”

      “All summer?” he found himself asking.

      She nodded. “I’ll bring the lawn mower and supply the gas and everything. You just need to leave me a few garbage cans for the yard trimmings...unless you have a compost pile.”

      He shook his head. “I don’t.”

      She sighed. “Well, don’t tell her that or you’ll get a crash course on how you can save the planet one compost pile at a time. Anyway, other than garbage cans, I don’t need anything from you. Just say yes and tell me when it’s convenient for me to come, then forget about me.”

      “Really, you don’t...”

      “Quinoa,” she said ominously.

      Sawyer grudgingly admired the girl for her tenacity. This might have been the woman in the car’s idea, but Willow seemed to be behind it, no matter how she tried to lay the blame on the mysterious her.

      “Fine,” he said. “You can mow.”

      Willow let out a long sigh. “Great. Any time that’s best?”

      “No. Whatever works for you.”

      “Fine. I’ll be over next week.” She started down the stairs.

      Sawyer called her back. “Hey, is she your mom?”

      Willow turned around and laughed. “I sooo am not going to tell her you asked me that. She’s only twelve years older than me. I doubt they’d let anyone else take in a foster kid so close to their own age, but she decided I was hers and...well, like I said, when she decides something, it happens. She wanted me and now I’m hers, like it or not.”

      The girl seemed clearly confused at the thought of anyone wanting her that much.

      “And she’s a hippie,” he stated. He was surprised to hear a teenager referencing hippies.

      She nodded. “Oh, yeah. Really, keep your distance or you’ll be...”

      “Eating quinoa.”

      She laughed. “Yes.”

      Willow turned and started toward the car again, but Sawyer called out, “Hey, what’s her name?”

      “Oh, yeah, I forgot.” She ran back over to him, pulled a piece of paper out of her back pocket. “That’s her name, my name—not that you don’t remember me—our address and both our phone numbers. And there’s my social worker and my juvenile probation officer. She says I’m not supposed to be doing it to impress my probation officer, and that unless he asks, I shouldn’t say anything about making restitution like this. She says that doing things for show is shallow. You do the right thing because it’s right, not for glory or recognition. She says that you can call my probation guy if you want, but I’m not supposed to look for credit for doing what’s right.”

      “She says a lot of things,” Sawyer said.

      Willow sighed, but he thought he detected a slight smile behind her put-upon expression. “Oh, you don’t know the half of it,” the girl assured him. “I swear, I almost wish she’d smack me when I screw up. It would be fast and over much more quickly.” She obviously spoke from experience and Sawyer found himself angry at the thought of anyone hitting the girl.

      “But no, not her,” Willow continued. “She just looks disappointed and then starts talking. Pretty soon I’m doing what she wants just to get her to shut up.”

      Sawyer was intrigued by this foster mom who was only twelve years older than the teen at his door.

      “I told her that someday I’m going to write a book filled with all the things she says,” Willow continued. “She just laughed and said she’d come to my book signing. She’s always happy and smiling and believing that everyone is better than they really are. Except at night.”

      “What happens at night?” he asked, but Willow was gone. She was getting in the car with... He glanced at the paper she’d handed him. Audrey Smith.

      It looked as though he was going to have to cancel his lawn service, then he was going to look up quinoa on the net.

      * * *

      AUDREY SAT IN the car while Willow talked to Sawyer Williams.

      Watching the man was a pleasure. Really, it was absolutely pure pleasure.

      He was tall, but not too tall. She was sure he checked the box next to brown when asked what color his hair was, but she wasn’t sure that was an adequate description. It was the sort of brown that probably turned lighter in the summer, and darkened to almost black in the winter. It was on its way to lightening up now.

      She wondered what he’d look like if he smiled.

      She’d driven Willow here weekly and had hurt for the girl every time the man slammed the door in her face.

      But