Trust in Me by Kathryn Shay Page A

sensations.
    And felt safe once again.
     

 
    Chapter 5
    JOE knocked tentatively on the church office door. Annie opened it. Dressed in a short black skirt with leotard and leggings underneath, her stance, despite her petite stature, would have done Attila the Hun proud. He scowled, though, at the smudges under her eyes that betrayed her sleeplessness. Once again, he was the cause of them.
    “Hi, Annie.”
    She glared at him. “Be careful, Joe. I mean it.”
    “I will,” he promised, more anxious than a convict facing the parole board. His heartbeat tripled as she drew open the door.
    They made a picture perfect tableau, standing before the window, with the last rays of the sun muted behind them. Could that tall adolescent really be the small boy he used to swing up and carry on his shoulders? Wearing a hooded sweatshirt, jeans and sneakers, Matt looked so much like a Murphy it startled Joe. The boy’s dark hair, square-cut jaw and broad shoulders came directly from him.
    Joe’s eyes dropped down to Matt’s arm, which encircled a tiny little girl. She had hair like Rapunzel’s. The braid draped over her shoulder caused his heart to constrict—it was as long and as thick as Annie’s used to be. And how she was dressed mirrored her mother—same color tights and leggings and a bulky sweater over a leotard. But her face differed from Matt’s and Annie’s dramatically. She was smiling. Oh, God, he had a little girl.
    Off to the side Linc stood guard.
    “Hello, Matt.” Joe’s voice was husky. “Hi, Faith.”
    As if she’d sensed his nervousness, Faith broke away from Matt and crossed daintily to him, already as graceful as a prima ballerina. Her expression angelic, she stared up at him. “Hi.”
    Squatting down, eye-level, he whispered, “How you doing, sweetheart?”
    Annie turned her back on them and faced out the window. Belatedly he remembered why. Don’t call me sweetheart after you’ve slapped me, Joe. It’s obscene.
    “I’m good,” Faith said. Reaching out, she placed a small, cool palm on his cheek, as if touching him made him real. “You’re my daddy.”
    Daddy . Briefly, he closed his eyes to savor the innocent gesture and precious words. “Yes, I am.”
    “Mommy said you came back to Glen Oaks last week but had to wait to see us. Till Uncle Linc said it was okay.” She cocked her head. “Jimmy Docker had the chicken pox and couldn’t see anybody ’cause he was ’tagious. Were you ’tagious?”
    Joe swallowed hard and glanced at Linc. God bless him, though the man was angry at Joe for past transgressions, he nodded his encouragement. They’d all agreed on a version of the truth. “I was sick, Faith, like Mommy told you. But it was here...” —he pointed to his head, then clapped a hand over his heart— “... and here. It took me six years to get better. But no, I’m not contagious.” He stole a glance at Matt. At least I hope not .
    When his son made no move toward Joe, Linc stepped forward. “Why don’t we all sit down.”
    Chairs had been arranged around a small table. Annie took one, and Matt dropped down next to her, their shoulders touching. Linc flanked Matt on the other side. Like the little doll she was, Faith grasped Joe’s hand and led him to a seat. The gesture meant more to him than that first college degree he’d earned.
    Start out with an innocuous subject, he told himself, after they were settled. “So, Matt, I hear you like baseball.”
    Sullenly his son met his eyes. “Yeah.”
    “Maybe we can toss a ball around sometime.”
    Matt’s look soured even more. “If Uncle Linc is free.”
    Joe knew the kid was asking in a round-about way why the restrictions had been placed on their time to together. “You probably want to know why Linc will be with us for a while.”
    Shrugging, Matt held his gaze.
    “Tell me, Matt, did you ever lose somebody’s trust? Do something so they didn’t believe in you again for a while?”
    Obstinately, Matt shook his head.