Finding A Family. Judy Christenberry

the barn. “What are you doing, Hank?”

      Hank sat down on a bale of hay, staring glumly into the distance. “Nothing.”

      “Why didn’t you come in for lunch?”

      “Because I couldn’t face Dad or Maggie.”

      Larry looked alarmed. “Uh-oh, what did you do?”

      “I acted like a fool. Dad was praising Maggie to the skies, like he’d completely forgotten Mom. Then he casually mentioned her in the next breath.”

      “Yeah, I’ve noticed him talking about Linda a lot nowadays. I think that’s good for him.” After pausing, Larry said slowly, “I’ve never heard you talk about your mom.”

      “Damn it! I don’t spill my guts every other minute, Larry. I’m a man!”

      Larry shrugged and walked away, muttering under his breath, “Just a thought.”

      Not one Hank wanted to consider. But, as if a dam had burst inside of him, images of his mother ran through his mind. When she’d decorated the house for Christmas, or made him a special snack when he’d come home from school. Or when she tended him when he had the measles, or had hurt himself playing football.

      And then there were all the times she’d read him stories before he went to sleep each night when he was a little boy.

      He loved his dad, and they’d spent many hours working together. But he and his mom had shared a special bond.

      Tears filled his eyes, and he was glad Larry had gone off somewhere else. He hastily wiped the tears away. He missed his mom, his best friend.

      He stood and paced the aisle in the barn. He had to get control of himself. He couldn’t let anyone see him as weak as he felt right now.

      When Hank came in for dinner, he avoided looking at Maggie. She didn’t know if that was a good sign or a bad one. With Carl’s help she’d worked extra hard to make Hank’s favorite meal. Since he had missed lunch, Maggie figured Hank wouldn’t refuse to eat dinner.

      As she put the dishes on the table, she covertly studied Hank. He looked at each dish and then stared at his father. He said nothing. Carl asked him what he’d done all day.

      “I worked,” Hank said.

      “Everything okay?” Carl asked.

      “Fine!” Hank snapped.

      “Carl, could you fill Timmy’s plate for him?” Maggie hurriedly asked. If she didn’t do something, Hank would leave the table without eating anything.

      “Mrs. Washburn came over this afternoon,” she added. “She had heard that you hired a housekeeper. She wanted to make sure I wouldn’t be any competition for Carl’s heart. You didn’t tell me you had a secret admirer, Carl.”

      That should change the subject.

      “Who? Me?” Carl roared. “Sue Washburn is interested in me? Not a chance. Her husband was the most miserable man I’ve ever met. We all figured when he died it was because he couldn’t stand living with Sue any longer.”

      “Dad! You shouldn’t say such things.”

      “Well, it’s true. The woman can’t even cook.”

      “She might learn for you, Carl,” Maggie teased.

      “Don’t need her to. We’ve got you, Maggie. You’re as good a cook as Linda.” Carl didn’t notice his son’s frown, but Maggie did.

      “You should meet my Aunt Kate. She’s an even better cook than I am, and she’s charming, too.”

      “I love Aunt Kate!” Timmy said with a chuckle. “She’s fun.”

      “Yes, she is,” Maggie said, hoping the men wouldn’t notice her wistful expression.

      “Well, why don’t we invite her for a visit?” Carl asked.

      “Let’s wait until I get my new bed set up. I don’t think Kate, Timmy and I could manage on the single bed I have now.”

      “I thought you said it was coming right away,” Carl said.

      “I thought it was. But they called and told me delivery had been delayed for a week.”

      Hank cleared his throat. “If I drove into town to pick it up, could it be ready for tomorrow?” he asked.

      “I—I don’t know. I didn’t ask that question.”

      “Call them in the morning. If it can be picked up, I’ll go after I get the men started on their jobs.”

      “That’s very kind of you to offer, but it’s not necessary.”

      “I feel guilty enough for not cleaning the room. Maybe this will make up for it.”

      “Thank you, Hank. That would be nice.”

      “That’s thoughtful of you, son,” Carl added.

      “Let’s not overdo it, Dad,” Hank growled.

      “Okay. What’s for dessert, Maggie?”

      Maggie wished she could hide the cookies, but she had nothing else to offer them for dessert. And Carl expected dessert. “Uh, I baked cookies today. Will that be okay?”

      “Of course it will,” Carl said with enthusiasm.

      Hank stared at her. “What kind of cookies?” he asked.

      “Um, well, I wanted a healthy treat for Timmy, and I found a recipe in your mother’s cookbook that looked—”

      That was as far as she got before Hank bolted out the back door.

      “You made the oatmeal cookie recipe, didn’t you?” Carl asked. “I should’ve warned you.”