Finders Keepers (29 page)

Zachary didn’t want to hear. And Nick probably wouldn’t want to hear, either. When Elizabeth’s son was old enough to wonder about the circumstances of his Romanian heritage, she would try to explain. But she had a feeling that the same sense of loss, anger, and betrayal would threaten to overwhelm Nick.

“Aren’t you coming outside, Mommy?” the child asked, appearing in the kitchen. “Zachary is cooking the burgers. Smoke is coming out of the top of them. It smells good!”

She tried to smile. “I love you, Nick,” she said softly, reaching out to her son.

“I love you, too, Mom, and Zachary’s going to let me put on the barbecue sauce. Do you think I’ll like how it tastes? Zachary says it tastes like the sauce on ribs. That sauce is my favorite thing in all the world.”

She shook her head as he took her hand and began pulling her toward the balcony. “Your favorite thing?”

He paused. “Oh, bother. I think I like bean burritos better than ribs.”

Laughing, Elizabeth followed Nick out onto the balcony. Zachary turned. At the sight of them, the grim line of his mouth softened. “Is Nick trying to change my menu?”

“It’s just that I love bean burritos,” Nick said.

“Wait’ll you taste my burgers,” he said, taking a spatula and flipping a patty. “One bite, and you’ll forget all about bean burritos.”

“Really?” Nick looked at his mother. “But I don’t want to forget about burritos. I love them. I was thinking we could eat them tomorrow for lunch right after church. I could have my usual—two bean burritos and water. And that would taste yummy.”

“We’re not going to plan tomorrow’s menu tonight,” Elizabeth said.

“But Zachary could come with us to eat at Taco Bell. Because after church, we’re going to be very hungry.”

He stopped speaking for a moment, and Elizabeth could almost read the direction of his thoughts. Before she could stop him, however, Nick blurted out his latest idea.

“Zachary, you could be the father of the practical son!” The boy leapt from his chair and grabbed Zachary’s arm, sending a splatter of barbecue sauce across the wall. “Herod says she won’t be the father, so Magunnery and I didn’t know who could give me the fat cow, but now it can be you!”

Holding his dripping brush, Zachary gave Elizabeth a quizzical look. “The prodigal son,” she explained, “needs a father.”

His green eyes deepened as his gaze moved over her face, taking in her eyes, her cheeks, her lips. “Elizabeth …” he said.

“Don’t shut him out, Zachary. Don’t let your pain wound those who care about you the most.”

“Are you one of those?”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” She swallowed down her own hurt. “I reached out, even though I wasn’t able to touch.”

“Don’t underestimate the power you have over me, Elizabeth,” he said. Then he turned and gave Nick a thumbs-up. “I’d be proud to be the father of the practical son,” he said.

Nick pumped his fist. “Yesss!”

Laughing, Zachary winked at Elizabeth. “That kid is determined to turn me into his father.”

“One way or another,” she said.

S
IXTEEN

Zachary eased his lanky frame down onto a miniature plastic chair in the Sunday school classroom. Once he was reasonably sure it wouldn’t collapse under his weight, he focused on the front of the room, where he observed the prodigal son living riotously. Around Zachary the parents of other children leaned forward in anticipation of their little stars’ shining moments. Costumeless and cramped in the small room, the players nonetheless performed to perfection.

In place of money, Nick Hayes was handing out colorful beads in exchange for such vices as apple cider, a kiss from the teacher, and a borrowed jacket. “This is a strong drink,” he informed the class as he held up the cup of cider, in case they were missing the point. “And this is a wild woman.”

At the reference to their sixty-year-old teacher, all the children began to laugh uproariously. Nick didn’t crack a smile. This wasn’t funny business to him, Zachary could tell. If one were going to live riotously, one must do it in earnest.

“And this jacket is my fancy new clothes.” Nick put on the garment, which was a couple sizes too large on the boy’s thin frame. “Oh, dear. I have no more money. What shall I do? I’ll go home to my father and see if he will give me a fat cow.”

“No, Nick, you’re supposed to eat with the pigs first!” Montgomery whispered loudly. “Marnie and Jennifer are waiting for you over in the sty!”

Nick turned to stare at the two girls huddled down on their knees behind a cage made of chairs. “Oops. I forgot to eat with the pigs. Scoot over, pigs.”

Amid giggles, Nick wedged himself down between the girls and pretended to eat. Caught up in the play, Zachary hadn’t noticed Elizabeth seated on another of the little chairs nearby. When his eyes fell on her, she gave him a shy smile. As Nick gobbled pretend pig food, Zachary thought over the previous evening.

He and Elizabeth hadn’t spent long together—just enough time to eat the burgers and a quick bowl of ice cream. She had seemed uncomfortable in his apartment, and he could only assume it was because of their prior discussion. She didn’t want to be alone with him, didn’t want the town to think there was anything serious to their relationship, didn’t want to risk her son’s emotional attachment.

All the same, she had come to see Zachary because she was worried about his reaction to the news about Grace Chalmers. Though they hadn’t discussed the subject of his parentage any further, he was glad she had cared enough to risk driving out to his place.

“I will go home to see my dad,” Nick said. “He might be mad at me because I wasted all his money in righteous … rite-u-ous … riotous living. But even if I can only be his servant, it will be better than eating this revolting and disgusting pig food.”

With that, the prodigal son began his journey home. Zachary stood and pretended to search the horizon. “There’s my long-lost son,” he said, as he had been directed by Nick the evening before. “I’ll bet he has wasted all his money on riotous living. I should make him my servant. That’s what he deserves. But I—”

“Daddy!” Nick cried, throwing wide his arms and rushing toward Zachary. “There you are, Daddy!”

Zachary caught the little boy up in the air and crushed him against his chest. “Nick, I—”

“I love you, Daddy. I missed you.”

“I love you, too, Nick.”

“He’s not Nick,” Montgomery corrected in an even louder whisper. “He’s the prodigal son, Mr. Chalmers, and you’re supposed to give him the fatted calf so I can get mad.”

Nick still in his arms, Zachary looked into the child’s bright olive green eyes. “This is my son who was lost,” he said. “Now—” To his surprise, Zachary found himself choking up with emotion as he tried to say his line. “Now … I’ve found him.”

“Well, I’m his brother, and I say you better not give him that fatted calf,” Montgomery shouted, playing her role to the hilt.

“Moo!” called another of the children, who had donned a pair of empty toilet-paper tubes for horns.

Everyone laughed as Montgomery pretended great indignation at the fact that Nick would be honored by the fat cow. At that, the bovine decided it was time to make a run for safety. Montgomery followed in hot pursuit, which sent the other children into a wild scramble around the small classroom.

“Everybody sit down!” the teacher cried, gesturing for order. “Sit down right now, or I’m going to have to take stars away from those crowns on the bulletin board.”

At that threat, the children stumbled to their chairs, gasping for breath and giggling as though the parable of the prodigal son was the funniest thing they’d ever heard. Zachary sat down and perched Nick on his lap. For some reason, the story had rocked Zachary to the core. Never had he considered the events from the father’s point of view.

In the role of father, he hadn’t found it at all hard to forgive the wayward son. Instead, he had welcomed reunion, restoration, and reconciliation.

“God is your Father,” the teacher was saying. “He loves each one of you boys and girls in the same way that the father loved his prodigal son. The son was naughty, just as we can be naughty sometimes.”

“Like when Magunnery and me broke Mr. Fox’s window,” Nick piped up.

“That’s right,” the teacher acknowledged. “The son made some mistakes, and he did some very foolish things. He hurt the father so much—but the father never stopped loving him. And when the son wanted to come home, his father welcomed him.”

“And he gave him the fat cow,” Montgomery added.

“The cow was a sign that the father had forgiven the son. But could the brother forgive?”

“No,” Montgomery said, tossing a red pigtail over her shoulder. “He didn’t forgive. And you know what I think? I think he was the saddest one in the whole story.”

“Not sadder than the cow,” the cow spoke up. “He got eaten.”

Somehow Zachary had lost sight of Elizabeth in the throng exiting the Sunday school room. He’d spotted her later in church, sitting in the balcony with a very wiggly little Nick. But after the service, she had gotten away again.

Instead of driving home or heading over to the Nifty Cafe to join the usual Sunday after-church crowd, Zachary considered walking to Elizabeth’s apartment. He didn’t know why he was still so drawn to the woman, when it was obvious she wanted nothing more than a casual friendship with him. He stood on the sidewalk by the Ambleside Chapel and scanned the street for any sign of her.

Elizabeth had looked beautiful that morning, her long pale pink skirt swishing when she moved. She had pulled her dark brown hair up into a heavy bun near the top of her head, and soft tendrils danced around her neck. This woman, he realized, possessed everything that compelled and fascinated him. She was tender and kindhearted. She loved children, old people, and even glass countertops that reminded her of an era long past. Every time Zachary thought of moving back to Jefferson City and leaving behind his tangled inheritance, he remembered Elizabeth Hayes. And he couldn’t go.

Strolling down the sidewalk, he found himself drawn toward her shop. But it wasn’t just Finders Keepers and the apartment behind it that beckoned to him. It was Chalmers House. Grace had lived there once … his mother.

The thought of her betrayal slammed him in the gut, as it had repeatedly since he found out about it. He paused to catch his breath. A mother who gave away her son. How could she?

And who was Zachary’s father? His mind had reviewed the list of Ambleside citizenry and had come up with no one to fit the bill. Why hadn’t Grace Chalmers married the man who fathered her child? Why? A hundred thousand whys. And not a single answer.

Though he hadn’t planned on it, Zachary found his feet drawn onto the long front porch of Chalmers House. He slipped his hand into his pocket and located the key to the front door. In a moment, he was inside.

The foyer was deeply shadowed and cool in spite of the noontime summer heat. Down at the end of the open chamber stood the large vase that Boompah and Nick had brought to replace the one Zachary had sold at auction that spring.

As Zachary studied the vase standing alone in the empty, marble-floored foyer, he recalled all the things he had been told about Grace Chalmers. She loved beauty, and she was generous to the poor. She liked to sit out on the back porch with her fan, she wore a well-known red coat in winter, and she donned one of her vast collection of hats each Sunday. She had been a member of Ambleside Chapel, Zachary remembered as he wandered through the front parlors and into the large, empty dining room. He turned to stare out a bay window at the thick forest of Chalmers Park. And she had been unlucky in love.

He leaned his palms on the windowsill and shut his eyes. How could he forgive his mother for the selfish act that had destined him to such a lonely, empty childhood? The bitterness that he once felt for those he’d called parents now slipped away from them and wove a tight cord around the woman called Grace.

But even as Zachary’s resentment hardened, Elizabeth’s words from the night before knocked on the hardened door of his heart.
Forgive. Forgive.
Grace had made a mistake. She had chosen poorly. But like Nick’s mother, she had tried to do the best she could. At least she had tried.

“No,” he said aloud. Unlike the father he had portrayed that morning in Sunday school, he was a wronged son who found that forgiveness wasn’t so easy. He had no mother. He had no father.

God is your Father,
the Sunday school teacher had told the children that morning. Zachary shook his head, unwilling to let the concept penetrate.
The son made some mistakes,
the teacher had explained,
and he did some very foolish things. He hurt the father so much—but the father never stopped loving him. And when the son wanted to come home, his father welcomed him.

Zachary sat down on the sill of the bay window. Without even recognizing it, he had behaved exactly like the prodigal son. Though he had become a child of the Father early in life—and nothing could change that—he had wandered away from that loving home and had spent years following his own willful path. But here in this small town, he had come to realize his emptiness and need. He had returned to the Father, surrendering his life and his daily will.