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TOMMY TUCKED THE paperwork into the folder when Mrs. Scott walked into the small kitchen of the red brick duplex on Cedar Street. She’d been living at the Scott home for one day, and everything already felt different. For the better, Tommy thought because every home needed a woman’s touch.
“Honestly, how your father managed without a woman for so long is a mystery to me. This morning he couldn’t find his razor blade although it was sitting right there on the bathroom sink.” Mrs. Scott gathered the breakfast dishes, set them in soapy water.
“He needed a good woman like you,” Tommy said because he wouldn’t dare point out that after two men living on their own for so long, the addition of a woman into their midst set their world askew.
“You’re not wrong there.” Mrs. Scott stood by the sink, the sunlight streaming through the window haloed her black Fedora. “You’ll wash these for me, won’t you, Darling?”
“Of course. You get yourself sorted. I know dad’s anxious to get to Niagara Falls to get this honeymoon of yours started.” Tommy took the damp cloth from Mrs. Scott when she started wiping the table.
“Imagine an old biddy like me on a honeymoon. Will wonders never cease?” Mrs. Scott said, but Tommy’s head was miles away. “I’m sorry she didn’t make it in for the wedding, love. You know, the first year of university is tough even for a smart girl like Frankie.” Mrs. Scott rested a hand on Tommy’s shoulder and squeezed tight.
“I wasn’t thinking of her,” Tommy said, but when Mrs. Scott raised a brow, his shoulders went as limp as he felt inside. “I’m not going to be able to get away with anything with you around, am I?”
Mrs. Scott shook her head. She’d liked Tommy from the time she sat him down to have her motherly talk about Francesca. Now, he was her son, and she loved him as her own. “I know you expected Frankie to make the trip if not for the wedding, at least to see you, and I’m sorry she didn’t, darling. But you must know her actions had nothing to do with you.”
“I know.” Tommy tried to disguise his hurt, but Mrs. Scott could see the injured expression in his eyes, the pain that filled them.
“I’m sorry you’re hurting so much, darling. You deserve better, but you mustn’t hate or blame Francesca. I want you to believe me when I tell you none of this is her doing.”
“I don’t blame Francesca for anything, and I certainly don’t hate her.”
Francesca had been gone for six months, but it felt like a lifetime to Tommy, and he feared forgetting the taste of her kisses, her scent. In time he’d forget her face, the sound of her laughter just as it had with his mother. If it weren’t for the picture of his mother on his night table, Tommy wouldn’t remember her face anymore.
After calling up to tell her husband his wallet was on the nightstand, Mrs. Scott sat next to Tommy. “I saw Mr. Thompson talking to you at the wedding reception.”
“It was nothing.” Tommy dismissed the comment with a wave of his hand.
Mrs. Scott watched Tommy agonizing like a child whose lollipop was taken from him. “You’re like a son to me now, and you won’t mind if I treat you like one, will you?” When Tommy shook his head, Mrs. Scott said, “All right then, sit up straight, stop brooding, and tell me what Mr. Thompson said to you.” Mrs. Scott’s blazing eyes told Tommy he’d better do as told.
“He told me to stop writing to Francesca. Said she needs to concentrate on her studies. He said she has a new life now, and if I cared for her, I’d let her live it.”
There was so much pain in the solemn blue eyes staring at Mrs. Scott she couldn’t help but let out a string of Gaelic curses. Calmer now, Mrs. Scott fixed her eyes on Tommy. “I saw him hand you a package.”
“It was the letters I’ve written to Francesca, unseen, unopened.” The sense of loss, the ache in Tommy’s heart was unbearable.
The sorrow in Tommy’s voice turned Mrs. Scott’s eyes to a fiery blaze, and she set off on an oath driven rant in intelligible English this time. Oathed out, Mrs. Scott breathed in for calm. “I’m so sorry, love.”
“He’s right. I need to let Francesca get on with her life, and I need to get on with mine.” The despair and defeat clear in this tone.
Mrs. Scott drew Tommy into her ample bosom to hold and comfort as a mother would. “Wait for me in the car,” she mouthed, waving Mr. Scott away when he walked into the kitchen. Knowing better than to question her or the scene playing out before him, he scurried along. “Do you want me to talk to Frankie, lad?”
“No. Mr. Thompson is never going to allow us to come together, and it will just make things more difficult for Francesca—for me.”
Mrs. Scott thought she heard something desperate in Tommy’s voice, and she couldn’t escape the nagging sense of dread in her gut. “You’re not going to do anything rash, are you, lad?
“Of course not. You better get going.” Tommy urged Mrs. Scott to the front door when the car horn sounded off.
“He is an impatient one, isn’t he? I’ll have to do something about that.” Tommy smiled, thinking if anyone could change his father, it was her. “I’m worried about you, Tommy. Your father and I can just as well cancel our honeymoon and stay here with you.”
“I’m a twenty-two-year-old man. I certainly don’t need my new mommy around to take care of me.” Tommy’s words melted Mrs. Scott’s heart, and she folded him into a tight embrace. “You get off. I’ve heard the falls in February is a winter marvel. Just make sure you don’t come back telling me I’m going to be a big brother in nine months.”
Mrs. Scott let out a boisterous cackle. “You cheeky bugger.”
“I’m glad you and dad are together. I’m glad you’re in his life. You’re going to be good for him. Promise me you’ll take care of him, of each other.”
“Of course, I will. And as your mommy, I’m taking care of you too.”
Tommy pecked Mrs. Scott on the cheek. “I love you.”
“I love you too, lad,” she said with the nagging sense of dread becoming stronger.
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ONE WEEK LATER, ON THEIR RETURN from Niagara Falls, Mrs. Scott found Tommy’s letter propped on the fireplace mantel. The moment she read it, she screamed out for her husband.
