The House That Love Built by Jean Brashear

Author:Jean Brashear
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Romance
Publisher: Jean Brashear Literary Trust
Published: 2019-02-01T16:00:00+00:00

The next day, Cleo locked the shop’s front door and flipped the sign over to Closed, more tired than she could recall being in years. Ria had worked silently for hours, but the atmosphere had hummed with tension, and the effort to dispel it for the sake of her customers had been enormous. For a moment, the temptation to simply fall to the ground right then and there beckoned more strongly than she thought she could resist.

Cleo crossed the floor and came face-to-face with Ria’s display, depicting a child’s view of a Christmas tree from below. It pushed every button, tugged at the heart, sent the mind arrowing into a life no one actually led but everyone would want. She wondered how much of it came from Ria’s deepest longings. This was the vision of a child wrapped in the arms of perfect love.

That life hadn’t been Ria’s, no matter how hard Cleo had tried. All Cleo had ever wanted was a normal, happy family life. The one she’d attempted to create had collapsed under the weight of her failure.

Right now it hurt more than Cleo could bear. She strode past the display and planted her mind firmly on her business. She would swing by the bank and deposit the day’s receipts, then head to the market to pick up the items on Aunt Cammie’s list.

One step at a time. One task at a time. It was the only way she knew.

She grabbed the bank bag and her purse, then made her way to the car. Once inside, she leaned her forehead against the window.

The tightrope was exhausting.

Briefly she contemplated going over to Colin’s for a coffee. Sandor wouldn’t be back for a while, and a sympathetic ear would be welcome.

But she and Colin had lost their footing. He didn’t understand her about-face, and she couldn’t explain what she didn’t comprehend herself.

She should never have yielded, even that slight bit, to fancy. She might have lost not only a potential lover, but a cherished friend.

All of a sudden, Cleo craved the freedom to drive off and never return.

But that wasn’t her way.

So she might as well go home.

An hour later, after the bank and grocery shopping, she rounded the corner to her house, and for an instant, she was thrown back into a treasured past.

On her front lawn, the man who had been her life played football with the boy who had been their precious, unexpected gift.

Her heart bloomed like roses after rain, the sweet redolence intoxicating, almost too rich to bear.

Then Malcolm turned, and she saw the silver in his hair, the lines on his face.

And with painful clarity, Cleo crashed back into the present.

He was not her love anymore. And that was not their love child.

But he’d kept her drawing.

Worn out from the emotional tug-of-war, she stopped in the driveway and emerged from her car.

Benjy tore across the lawn, shouting, “Nana, look! Me and Gramps are playing football.”

She knelt on the grass, and Benjy hurtled into her embrace.

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