Laurel Blount - Hometown Hope

He made it to the kitchen about the time the smoke alarm started going off. He opened the oven and drew out four charred lumps of garlic bread. Even by his low standards, they weren’t salvageable.

Not a good start.

“If that’s our dinner maybe we should skip right to dessert.”

Anna had followed him and was leaning against the doorframe. Bombing the bread had served one purpose at least. She didn’t look suspicious anymore. She looked amused.

“Nah, the lasagna’s okay.” Mainly because it had started out in the supermarket’s frozen foods section. “I was trying to hurry this bread along. Me and the broil setting on this oven have a love-hate thing going on. I like it because it cooks stuff fast, but if you forget about it—” he gestured to the smoking lumps “—charcoal.” The smoke alarm was still shrilling. “Could you hand me that broom?”

Anna picked it up. Instead of passing it to him, she upended it and poked the button on the ceiling alarm. The shrieking stopped.

When she saw him looking at her, she shrugged. “I went through a stir-fry period right after my dad died. I think I learned more about the smoke alarm in our old kitchen than I did about Chinese cooking.”

That reminded him. Avoiding her eyes, Hoyt grabbed another pot holder and picked up the hot tinfoil pan of lasagna. “I’m sorry I missed Principal Delaney’s funeral. I don’t know how it slipped by me. I was planning to go, but then I never saw the announcement about it.”

“There wasn’t one.”

“You should have announced it. I imagine pretty much everybody in town would have been there. Your dad was principal at the high school forever.”

“No. I meant there wasn’t a funeral.”

Hoyt set the steaming pan down on the table and turned to look at her. “What?”

“I mean no public one.” Anna avoided his gaze. “I just had a private memorial service. Only the minister and I were there.”

“Why?”

“Well, Dad was sick for years and toward the end he didn’t even recognize people. He was...disconnected. Nobody would’ve come.” She glanced up at him and frowned. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

Hoyt realized he was staring at her with his mouth open. “Are you crazy? Everybody would have come. This whole town loved your dad.”

She looked at him skeptically. “Then why didn’t people visit him after he got sick? I mean, a few people did at first but then...” A spasm of pain crossed her face. “He didn’t always know who people were, but he liked having visitors.”

Regret settled on Hoyt’s chest like a rock. That hurt in her eyes hit really close to home. “I wondered the same thing when Marylee got sick. People I expected to come by the hospital...didn’t. Jacob Stone said it didn’t mean they didn’t care. He said that people have a hard time seeing somebody they love suffering.”

She nodded. “He said the same thing to me.” From the look on her face, she hadn’t found it much more comforting than he had.

“I should have come by to see him. I’m sorry I didn’t. Your dad was always good to me. Even after what happened senior year—”

“You know what? Let’s not get into all that.” Anna cut him off. “I’m here because you wanted to talk to me about Jess.”

All right. If Anna wanted to leave the past in the past, that was fine by him. “Okay. How about I say grace, and we’ll talk while we eat?”

They settled at the two places he’d set, and Hoyt reached across the table and took her hands in his.

He always held Jess’s hands when he said the blessing. He hadn’t thought about how inappropriate that might be from Anna’s point of view until he felt her jump. She didn’t pull away, though. Hoyt said possibly the shortest grace in the history of table blessing and released her.

She immediately put both hands in her lap. Okay, point taken. No more touching. In fact, from the look on her face, he’d better skip the small talk and get straight to the point of this visit before she ran right out the door.

He pried up a cheesy square of lasagna, set it on her plate and nudged the salad bowl in her direction. Showtime. “You know about Jess, right? How she stopped talking after her mother died?”

“Pine Valley’s a small town.” Anna frowned as she focused on transferring lettuce from the big bowl to the one by her plate. She didn’t lose a single leaf. “So, yes. I’d heard about that, and of course when she came into the store, I noticed she never said anything. Until last night.” Anna picked up her glass of sweet tea and looked at him over the rim. “Was that really the first time she’d—”

“It was.” Hoyt couldn’t help smiling at the memory.

“So is she still talking and everything?”

“To me, yeah. Just a little bit at first, but more and more. Only me, though. Not anybody else so far.” Hoyt tried using the salad tongs and ended up dumping about half the lettuce on the table. How did Anna manage these things? “But talking at all is a big step forward, according to her doctor. Today she asked me for some syrup for her pancakes. That probably happens every day in other people’s houses, but it felt like Christmas morning over here, you know?”

Anna’s expression softened. “I can imagine. I’m so glad she’s all right, Hoyt. I felt awful about locking her in. I still can’t believe I did that.”

“Trust me. If there was ever a time when God took somebody’s goof-up and turned it into gold, this was it. I called her therapist after I left the bookstore last night and told her about the whole thing. Dr. Mills thinks that maybe it was the trauma of being locked in combined with the relief of me coming to find her that finally encouraged her to talk. So since your mistake might turn out to be an answer to some pretty desperate prayers, I don’t think I’d waste much time feeling bad about it, if I were you.”

Anna studied him, a forkful of lasagna halfway to her lips, her expression unreadable. “I’m so glad,” she repeated finally.

He probably wasn’t going to get a better opening than that, so he’d better get this moving along. “Me, too. I just hope it lasts.”

“What do you mean?”

He hated to say this out loud. He didn’t even like thinking it. “Dr. Mills says that usually once kids like Jess—kids with selective mutism, the docs call them—start speaking, that’s it. They keep on talking. But Jess’s case has never been typical.” As he repeated the therapist’s words, he felt that familiar lump forming in his stomach. “So Dr. Mills can’t say for sure what’s going to happen. But the longer we keep her talking and the more people she starts to talk to, the more likely it is that this will be permanent.” Hoyt paused, fumbling for the best way to say what he needed to say next.

He should’ve known he wouldn’t have to spell things out for Anna Delaney.

“I’m assuming I’m here because there’s some way you think I can help.” Anna set down her fork and looked him in the eye. “You didn’t have to go to all this trouble. I’ll help Jess in any way I possibly can.” Just as Hoyt relaxed with relief, Anna went on. “I just hope this doesn’t have anything to do with my plans to close the bookstore.”

His heart sank. “As a matter of fact, it does. Jess talked because of your dad’s store, Anna. The therapist thinks it’s all wrapped up with Marylee taking her there so much when she was little.”

“But Jess was so young when Marylee died, Hoyt. How could she even remember that?”

“I asked the same thing, but the therapist said that on some level, she can. Dr. Mills said this goes down deep for Jess. That’s why it’s been such a challenge. But Jess is finally talking again, and that’s all tied up with your store. If Pages closes right now, especially after I promised her it wouldn’t, it could throw everything sideways.”