Don't Let Go by Marliss Melton

tied into a single braid down her back.
    She stopped by the bumper of his truck to take stock of him. “Great day, but you look just like Silas!” she exclaimed in an alto voice that came out in slow, syrupy syllables.
    Solomon nodded, not sure how to greet this woman. After all, she’d kept Silas from him for years, since Candy had dropped him off.
    “Ellie Stuart,” she said, stepping up to offer him a work-roughened hand.
    “Solomon,” he replied, seeing nothing but honesty in the woman’s gray-blue eyes.
    She nodded. “Silas,” she called, “come and meet your papa, now.”
    Solomon turned toward the approaching trio of dust-covered boys. His mouth felt desert-dry in this wilting heat. Fear and uncertainty made his heart pound. How could the boy standing waist high be the same cherubic baby he’d held in his arms? Yet the silvery eyes, so like his own, were unmistakably the same, as was the line of his mouth, the height of his brow.
    Father and son stared at each other from a distance of ten feet.
    “Lord have mercy, boys,” Ellie muttered, walking briskly up to them and slapping the dust off their clothing. “You’d never know you all had a bath this morning. Now get into the house and scrub that dirt off your faces.”
    All three boys turned obediently toward the house, but the littlest, Silas, ran ahead of them, slamming the door shut.
    Ellie sighed. “I told him you were coming to fetch him sooner or later. I think he hoped I was lying.”
    “Why’d you keep him from me all these years?” he demanded, letting his frustration show.
    Instead of cowering, Ellie lifted her chin at him. “Candace told me things about you—things I hope aren’t true,” she added with a searching look.
    Solomon glowered. “They’re not,” he retorted. “That boy was my life,” he added hoarsely.
    The suspicion in her eyes faded. She gave a nod of understanding and resignation. “Silas has been with us since he was four. He’s been one of us,” she added, her own voice husky, her eyes suspiciously bright.
    Solomon sensed her deep sorrow at the impending separation, but she turned toward the house, keeping her emotions under tight rein. “Come on in,” she called.
    He followed her leggy stride, admiring her outward spirit.
    The interior of the mobile home was scarcely cooler than the temperature outside. Not a single light was shining. He guessed right away that the power had been turned off.
    As bedraggled inside as it was outside, the trailer was nearly Spartan in terms of furniture but surprisingly tidy considering the number of boys living in it.
    “Silas?” Ellie called. “Christopher, Caleb, go find him,” she instructed. “Then all of you wash up.”
    She put the baby in a windup swing and reached in the cupboard for a glass. “All I can offer you is water,” she said, matter-of-factly.
    Solomon wasn’t fooled. He’d already guessed that the silent refrigerator probably stood empty. “Please,” he said, nodding at the glass.
    She filled it at the sink, then handed it to him.
    He drained it in three swallows. “Did she tell you why she left me?” he swallowed his pride to ask.
    Ellie gave him a good once-over. “What she told me doesn’t really matter, considering it was her problem, not yours. Like I said in my letter, she was never content with what she had. Don’t blame yourself for that,” she added frankly. “Silas, on the other hand, never complains. He must’ve gotten that from you,” she added.
    He found her candidness refreshing. She deserved better than this. “Sounded in your letter like you’d fallen on some hard times,” he fished, inviting her to unburden herself.
    Her smoky eyes reflected cynicism. “My husband ran off,” she admitted, “with a cocktail waitress from Turley’s Show Bar. Decided being a daddy wasn’t what he wanted, after all.”
    Despite the careless toss of her head, he detected disillusionment so deep and so wide that he found himself reaching