Missy Tippens - A House Full of Hope

Hannah stepped outside, and as the door swung open, Mark caught a glimpse of boxes in the entryway. As if someone was moving.

He pointed to the boxes. “What’s going on?”

“Kids, go wash up. There’s a snack on the table.”

Once they’d scampered into the house, Hannah turned back to him. “We’re renting from your father.”

Incredulous, he sputtered, “That can’t be. My dad would never rent this place. It belonged to his grandfather.” And was Mark’s home, even if he hadn’t set foot in it for years.

A sudden longing to be close to his mom again made it difficult to speak. He wanted to go inside, see what had become of his old bedroom. Of his spot at the kitchen table. Of his mother’s things.

Hannah looked away, almost guiltily. “Apparently, he’s decided he doesn’t need such a big house and prefers to live in the garage apartment.”

The garage? No matter how badly Mark had wronged this woman’s family, he couldn’t let her run all over his family. “Look at this place. It’s run-down. My guess is you took advantage of his financial difficulties.”

There it was again—a flash of guilt. “We simply responded to an ad in the newspaper.”

He took a step closer and stared into her eyes. They were a beautiful, pure green and couldn’t hide a thing. “Now I understand why you wouldn’t give me information about Dad’s finances at the bank yesterday.”

He had to give her credit. She didn’t back down. No, she actually leaned in closer. “I told you. I don’t have authorization to divulge information on your father’s accounts.”

“Accounts, plural? Maybe including a line of credit?”

Her face revealed a flicker of something he took as confirmation before she turned away. “I need to go check on the kids.”

“I see you’re not settled yet. I suggest you and your husband wait to unpack. Before I leave town, I’d like to know that all Dad’s finances are in order and he’s back in his home.”

“I have a signed contract that says we’re staying.”

“I guess we’ll see about that.” As he strode to the garage, he promised himself he’d get to the bottom of the situation. If his dad was in the bind he suspected, then Mark had to make sure he was financially secure. Redd might refuse to speak to him, but surely he wouldn’t refuse help. Mark would park himself in the garage if he had to, until his dad listened to reason.

He banged on the upstairs apartment door. But of course, there was no answer. Redd would be at the hardware store, probably all day.

He plopped down on the top of the steep outside stairs and leaned his forearms on his knees. He’d come home to apologize. That was it. To say he was sorry, have his dad pronounce forgiveness, and then head back to Seattle.

And now he’d found the man in a mess.

Well, Mark had nothing to do with the situation, so he could just run by the store and apologize one more time. Then be on his way.

But a nudge in his gut—the same one he’d trusted when he’d come here in the first place—told him he needed to see this through.

He opened his cell phone to two measly bars of service and managed a staticky call to his assistant. He informed her of his change of plans.

In several years, Redd would be facing retirement. He should be able to sell his store and live in comfort—not in some apartment over the garage.

It might take Mark two or three days, but he would not leave town until he knew his dad was okay financially and settled back in his home. He owed him that much.

“I found him first.”

“Uh-uh. We all found him together.”

Hannah stepped between the twins, their riotous wavy hair adding to the sense of perpetual energy and motion that surrounded them.

“No one found Mark. He wasn’t even lost. He was here to see Mr. Redd.” She pointed both children toward their new bedrooms. “Now, no more arguing. I switched the schedule to have this Saturday off work so we could do some more unpacking.”

Becca whooped from her room across the upstairs hallway, the sound bouncing off the hardwood floors and high ceilings. The only drawback to a larger, older house was how noise carried. And boy, did her family produce noise.

“I’ll help each of you arrange your room the way you want it,” Hannah said. “Eric, you first.”

Eric huffed and pointed at Emily. “No fair. She’ll get to play longer while I have to do chores.”

“No more arguing. Get to work.”

Tony stuck his head out his door. “When’s Nana going to come see my new room?”

The child loved his grandmother, even with her faults—one of which was holding grudges. She was furious Hannah had moved into a house owned by those Rykers. All these years later, Donna refused to associate with Redd, even though he’d had nothing to do with his son’s behavior.

“I don’t know, sweetie. I’ll be sure to invite her again, though.”

Tony, named for his father, was the only one of the four with Hannah’s green eyes. He was also the most sensitive. Hannah worried that her mom’s refusal to come around would end up hurting him.

Of course, Mark showing up would not help one bit. Maybe Hannah could invite Nana out for the following week—well after Mark headed back to whatever rock he’d climbed out from under.

Those green eyes peeked around the door again. “Will you call her now?”

She knelt down in front of him and gently caressed his face. “Of course. Now, go figure out where you want to store your rock collection.”

As he hurried to obey, she went downstairs to call her mother from the phone in the kitchen, in case they ended up arguing.

Donna Williams picked up on the fourth ring. “Terrible timing, Hannah. I’m trying to get—” she grunted “—a pound cake into the oven.” A thump like an oven door closing rattled over the phone. “Of course, if I wasn’t on the bereavement committee at church, I wouldn’t be doing this. But how could I say no when Ann called me directly with a request for one of my pound cakes?”

If Hannah just sat quietly, she suspected her mother could carry on a whole conversation by herself. Someday, she might test the theory. “So who’s the cake for?”

“The Smith family. Maude died.” The sound of water running blasted in the background. “And you can imagine how it burns me up to have to do something nice for that no-good daughter of hers. Frederica tormented you in second grade. You almost had to change schools. But, well, your daddy refused to move and instead taught you how to fight.”

Yes, her mother still held a grudge against a second-grader who was now thirty years old. Hannah nearly laughed at the memory and made a mental note to give her dad, now remarried and living in Colorado, a call. She and her dad had often made her mother furious.

“Well, I survived. And speaking of moving…”

Banging of dishes continued. “No. I will not babysit out there.”

“Come on, Mom. It’s been two weeks, and the kids are dying to show you around.”

“Why couldn’t you just buy a nice little house in town? Or if you had to move out there to the boondocks, why not rent from someone else? Anyone but those Rykers.”

Hannah shook her head. Donna had always said the name with disdain. And she never used their first names. She lumped father and son together and deemed them both bad news.

Of course, Mark Ryker had turned their world upside down when he started dating Sydney. He’d had a reputation for being wild, and when Sydney began coming in at night with alcohol on her breath, their mom had tried her best to end the relationship.

But by then, Sydney was in love. Or so she had claimed. Hannah had always suspected she enjoyed hanging around a guy who was fun and easygoing like their dad—and not a bit like Mom.