Mom in the Middle by Mae Nunn Page B

mouthed, “I love you.”
    From her vantage point she could see through the tall, narrow row of windows that lined the walls of the small sanctuary. Beyond the recently planted beds of blooming day lilies, their playground effort was visible. There was a metal frame donated by the salvage shop where new swings would eventually hang, a dome-shaped network of monkey bars that needed sanding and fresh paint, and a low fence surrounding a two-year-old pecan tree planted in Phillip’s memory.
    An embarrassing flush seeped throughout her body. Her palms grew moist as her face went hot with shame. She was within fifty yards of the spot that would be dedicated to her late husband. The playground would be a tribute to the selfless young man who’d willingly given his very life so the children in another country might experience the freedom his son would likely take for granted.
    Phillip, her dearest friend, had made the ultimate sacrifice and here she was, admiring the scent of another man.
    What is wrong with me, Abba Father? I have enough shortcomings without adding lustfulness to the list.
    She drew in a deep breath, blew it out through her lips and squeezed her daddy’s hand for strength.
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    Guy heard Abby’s sigh, leaned forward the smallest bit and noted the way she held tight to Shorty. Something stirred inside Guy. He didn’t want to call it envy. Envy was longing for what someone else had, and it was a deadly sin. He had a close relationship with his own parents so that couldn’t be it.
    Was it protectiveness? No, he’d felt that for the gaggle all his life. Was used to it, had been defending a sister’s honor or helping out a wannabe girlfriend for as long as he could remember. That wasn’t it. Still, something niggled at him, something to do with Abby.
    She was different from the women he’d casually dated or the Hardy girls who were self-confident and secure. They’d had their share of worry what with their mom’s Parkinson’s and their dad’s bypass surgery, but there were a slew of them to stick together. Abby was alone, vulnerable in ways that a big family couldn’t relate to. But she appeared not to notice, even determined not to let him help her the way most women in his life naturally did.
    It had been “Guy to the rescue!” for as long as he could remember. It was gratifying, like his habit of giving blood once a month. He liked it, took pride in doing good deeds. And he realized with a wry smile that it was bugging him no end to accept that Abby Cramer didn’t much want his services or advice. In fact, she was still questioning his motives as the store owner, no matter what he’d said to reassure her. Smart cookie. Guy’s gut stirred again, this time with guilt. She had reason to remain suspicious but he was on a mission to change that.
    He folded the outreach brochure and tucked it into the pocket of his crisp, white dress shirt. He glanced down at the freshly buffed toes of his boots, his mind casting back to the previous evening. Abby had been on the telephone when he’d returned for Shorty. She hadn’t even looked up from the notes she’d been taking on a yellow pad by the kitchen sink, had just waved over her shoulder and continued her phone conversation when her father had called goodbye.
    The trip to the rehab center had been an enlightening one, but all time spent with Shorty was informational. The irascible old fella had been confined to his wheelchair with limited access to his own house and community for so long that he was starved for conversation. Well, you couldn’t exactly call it conversation since it was mostly one-sided, with Shorty sharing tales of his life and his two womenfolk. Guy had already heard more about Abby’s marriage to Phillip Cramer than he had a right to know. He cringed imagining how angry Kate or Andrea would be if their father rattled off personal stories about their