BEVERLY BARTON – Whitelaw's Wedding (страница 10)
Hunter poured himself a cup of coffee from the old metal percolator his granny had used as far back as he could remember. Taking his coffee mug with him, he shoved open the kitchen door and walked out onto the back porch. The sun had just begun its ascent from the eastern horizon, but already at seven o’clock in the morning, the day was warm, predicting the accuracy of the weatherman’s forecast that the temperature would climb into the high eighties by midafternoon. Barefoot and bare-chested, he strolled out into the yard. Weeds infested Granny’s once picture-perfect flower beds that surrounded the ramshackle old house. His feet touched the dew-laden grass as he ventured past the wire clothesline and toward the small orchard of pear trees his great-grandfather had planted decades ago.
There was a sense of homecoming in being here, in setting foot on land that had been possessed by his ancestors for close to a hundred and fifty years. Strange how when he’d been a teenager, he had longed to get away from this place, from the daily chores that went along with being a farm kid.
Now, he wished that Granny and Pop were still alive so that he could tell them how wrong he’d been about wanting to escape the peace and solitude of the farm to live in a big city.
Had that been how his mother had felt when she’d run away at seventeen? Had she wanted to escape? But what she’d done was get herself pregnant. Unmarried and abandoned by her boyfriend, Tina Whitelaw had been forced to come home to her parents. Hunter had never known his father, didn’t even know who the man was. No name. No description. Nothing. His mother had returned to the farm, dumped him on her parents and before his first birthday, had left again. They hadn’t heard from her in years when they received a phone call ten years later telling them that she’d died from a drug overdose. She’d been living with her fourth husband in Los Angeles.
Hunter breathed deeply, savoring the smell of the earth and the abundance of verdant life surrounding him. Had his mother realized too late that what she had run away from was far better than anything she’d ever found?
Manda drank her morning tea on the patio of the house she had purchased eight years ago, shortly after acquiring her masters of education degree in community counseling. After Rodney’s death and her father’s six months later, Perry had sent her and Grams on a year-long trip through Europe. After the time she spent far away from Dearborn, her mind occupied with the wonders of the world, she had returned home to Georgia with a purpose. With love, comfort and support, she had survived the deaths of two people she dearly loved. She had wanted to spend her life helping others who were lost in the hopelessness of grief, as she had been. After acquiring her degree, she’d begun work as a counselor at the Hickory Hills Clinic. That’s where she’d met Boyd, who was also a counselor.
Oxford came bounding across the yard, wagging his tail and panting madly, after retrieving his favorite red ball Manda had tossed. The black-and-white springer spaniel had been a gift from Grady Alders last year on her birthday. Oxford, whom she’d named in honor of the saddle oxfords she’s worn as child because the dog’s oddly striped front feet bore a striking resemblance to the shoes, had become her beloved friend and confidant. She found herself often talking to him as if he were a person. Of course, he had no idea that he wasn’t. He slept at the foot of her bed on his own oversize, cedar-chips-stuffed pillow and had free reign of the house and yard. He ate table scraps along with choice cuts of meat she prepared especially for him. And she kept a supply of every dog treat product on the market, as well as an endless variety of toys. Oxford was probably one of the most pampered pets in the world, but why shouldn’t she lavish her love and attention on the animal? Unless Perry’s plan worked, she would never have the chance to become a mother and give all the love in her heart to a child of her own.
When the telephone rang, she made a mad dash into the kitchen, Oxford at her heels. Who would be calling her at seven on a Saturday morning? She lifted the receiver off the wall base.
“Hello?”
“Manda, dear, it’s Claire. I hope I didn’t waken you.”
“I’ve been up for a good half hour,” she said. “Oxford and I were outside soaking up some of this great springtime sunshine.”
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