Promises to Keep, Nan Rossiter [feel good fiction books .txt] 📗

there was a whole family who didn’t know about him, but who, Maeve now believed, would welcome him with open arms—something she hadn’t been certain of eighteen years earlier. “I’m supposed to go to my parents’ for dinner tonight.” She eyed him hopefully. “Would you like to come?”

Mason frowned, considering her invitation, but then shook his head. “No, I think I’ll take a rain check. Maybe after you have a chance to tell them about me.”

“You have given me the courage, Mason,” she said, and then she searched his eyes. “Is there any way you could stay a little longer? I mean . . . you drove all this way and I just got to meet you . . . again.” She smiled as she said this, remembering the tiny baby she’d held in her arms the first time.

“I can stay,” he said. “I’m waiting for Mr. Hawkins to have dinner . . . but aren’t you supposed to be going to your parents’ for dinner?”

“I am, but they’ll understand. Are you hungry? I’m sure Sal made more than enough food. He was making salmon tonight . . .”

Mason smiled. “No thanks, but I do want to hear about your life. I want to get to know you.”

Maeve shook her head. “Oh, my life is pretty boring. I’m sure yours is much more exciting.”

“I don’t know about that,” he said, laughing.

As they walked toward the pond, Maeve turned to him. “So, how’d you meet Mr. Hawkins?”

“I was riding my bike home from work last summer and his car was parked in front of his house, for sale, and when I stopped to look at it, he came out. He sold it to me for a song—I didn’t even have my license yet, but part of the deal was he wanted me to restore it someday.”

Maeve nodded. “He’s such a great guy—he didn’t want to be here at first, but I think he’s finally adjusting.” They stood near the pond, watching the swans glide gracefully across the water. “You said you were riding your bike home from work—what do you do for work?”

“I work for a landscaper.”

“Do you like it?”

“It’s okay, but I wouldn’t want to make it my livelihood.”

Maeve nodded and then looked over. “Sooo . . . do you have a girlfriend?” she ventured, raising her eyebrows, and then she bit her lip. “You don’t have to answer that! Tell me if I’m being too nosy or crossing the line—I can do that sometimes, just ask my sister,” she added, laughing. “I can’t wait for her to meet you.”

Mason smiled, feeling his heart already reaching out to this woman—his biological mom. What was it about her? She was sweet and funny and she seemed to have such a warm heart. “I have a friend who is a girl,” he offered with a grin.

“Yeah?” Maeve said. “Does she have potential to be more?”

“Yeah . . . maybe,” he answered, smiling. “At least, I hope so . . .”

Maeve smiled. “I hope so, too, then.” She searched his eyes. “I’m so glad you came, Mason.”

He nodded solemnly. “I’m glad I came, too.” And then he looked at her as if he was seeing her for the first time—this beautiful woman with the same color eyes and hair as him—this woman who many would call his real mom. But what made someone real? Was it having the same DNA . . . or was it being the one who’d always been there . . . who’d loved you all your life without condition . . . who’d picked you up when you fell, and who’d comforted you when you were sick or sad . . . who’d been there to celebrate your triumphs and console you when you failed? Which woman was his real mom?

“Are you married?” he asked, suddenly realizing they were still talking about him.

Maeve shook her head. “No. I’m living with someone though . . . the guy with the dog who was just here . . . but left, and who, I hope, went to my parents’.” She eyed him. “Are you sure you don’t want to come? My mom—your grandma,” she added with a smile, “is a wonderful cook, and she always makes too much food.”

Mason shook his head again. “I would, but I think I’ve caused enough surprise for one day, and besides, I have to take Mr. Hawkins for a ride, and then I’m heading home.”

“Okay,” Maeve said, “but I’m going to hold you to that rain check. I know I haven’t been part of your life up to now, but I would really like to be . . . if you’ll let me.”

“I’d like that,” Mason said. “Do you have a cell phone?”

“I do,” Maeve said, pulling her phone out of her pocket. They exchanged numbers and Maeve gave him her new address. “I’m glad you didn’t give up when you didn’t find me at my old apartment.”

Mason smiled. “Me, too.”

As he said this, Mr. Hawkins came out on the porch. “You’re still here,” he said cheerfully. “I thought you’d be long gone.”

“Nope,” Mason replied, grinning. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

“Okay! Let me grab my hat.”

He headed back inside, and Maeve turned back to Mason. “Please let me know if you need anything. Anything at all.”

Mason nodded. “I will.”

Maeve eyed him. “Promise?”

Mason laughed. “Now I have someone new to make me promise stuff.”

“Absolutely,” Maeve said, laughing, too.

“Okay, I promise.”

“Good,” she said, and he leaned down and gave her a warm hug.

“Ready,” Bud said, coming out wearing his faded navy veteran hat.

“Do you want to drive?” Mason asked, grinning.

Bud furrowed his brow. “Oh, I don’t know. . . . Are you sure?”

“Absolutely,” Mason said, handing him the keys as they walked to the old Chevelle.

Maeve stood in the driveway and watched in amazement as Bud—with a youthful spring in his step—walked beside her beautiful son. It was almost too much to take in, and as they pulled away in the old car, she turned to see the house awash with a warm golden light—as if an artist had brushed pink and orange watercolor paint across the Savannah sky.

Maeve looked up. “I know it’s you,” she whispered. “Thank you.”

36

AS SOON AS THE RUMBLING MOTOR OF THE CHEVELLE FADED INTO