Chapter Twenty
ABBY
Abby tapped her foot against the lawn in eager anticipation of Max’s homecoming.
Any minute now, Cynthia Richards would pull up to their curb with a van full of grungy eight-year-old boys, tired, unbathed, and overstimulated from two weeks at camp.
Being the carpool mom wasn’t for the faint of heart, and Abby couldn’t be more grateful to Cynthia for her son’s safe return.
She knew she’d miss him while he was gone, but she hadn’t been prepared for how deeply.
She’d waited her whole life to be a mother.
And not just anyone’s mother— Max’s . The world seemed emptier without him, without his laugh, his silly antics, and his never-ending questions about random topics like the dietary preferences of pincher bugs.
Her foot tapped faster, as if her pent-up energy could hasten their arrival.
“Easy, Ginger Rogers,” Logan teased, nudging her shoulder. “If you keep up with your tap-dancing routine, I’ll have to patch a hole in the grass.”
“Sorry. I can’t help it. I can’t wait to see him.” She had the whole day planned down to the last detail in her mind. Most of the afternoon would be spent listening to Max recount his camp adventures, then they’d all attend the Bare Feet & Good Eats event at Blessings Beach that evening.
“Me, too,” Logan admitted. “The past two weeks felt a whole lot longer.”
Cynthia’s silver van turned down State Street, and Abby bounced on her toes.
Logan laughed at her excitement.
The van parked along the curb.
Abby’s breath hitched. Only a few more seconds now.
The side door slid open and a gangly boy with disheveled brown hair and rumpled clothes climbed out of the middle seat, lugging a sleeping bag, pillow, and duffel behind him. Was it her imagination or had Max grown six inches since he left?
Happy tears stung her eyes, and she bit her bottom lip. Don’t cry. You’ll embarrass him in front of his friends.
Max said goodbye to the other boys, and the door slid shut.
Abby waved her thanks to Cynthia before the woman drove away, then she turned her undivided attention back on Max.
His scruffy bangs stuck out on both sides, dirt covered his knees, and his T-shirt displayed more than one mystery stain. It probably smelled atrocious.
He’s perfect .
With a gigantic grin, he scrambled up the lawn to greet them.
“Welcome home!” Abby beamed, flying her arms wide to embrace him.
“We missed you, buddy.” Logan held out a hand to help with Max’s bag.
But before he’d come within reach, Max froze midstride, his gaze laser focused on the house behind them. Uncertainty flickered in his light-brown eyes, followed by cautious confusion. He blinked slowly, squinting as if he didn’t trust his own vision.
Then, in an instant, recognition flashed like a spark of blinding light.
“Dad!” Dumping his belongings in a heap, Max raced up the lawn, darting past Abby and her outstretched arms without a glance.
Bewildered, Abby spun around.
Thomas Maineland stood on the front porch, as still and expressionless as a statue.
“I knew you’d come back!” Max flung his arms around the man’s thin waist, nearly knocking him backward with the force.
Tom stiffened, elbows elevated and bent at an awkward angle like a scarecrow on a stake.
Poor Tom looked beside himself with dismay and discomfort. Max had never looked happier.
Abby’s heart ached, both baffled and broken by the worrisome scene.
Why had Max mistaken this man for his father? They looked nothing alike. Should she intervene?
Carefully weighing her words in her mind, she took a step forward then stopped cold.
In the span of a single second, Tom crumbled before her eyes. His features twisted as a flood of tears cascaded down his face, quickly escalating to an uncontrollable sob that shook his frail body. He fell to his knees and gathered Max to his chest, rocking back and forth as he wept.
Abby couldn’t breathe.
The world turned upside down and inside out until all shapes and colors lost meaning.
“What just happened?” Logan echoed her tortured thoughts.
She swallowed against the tightness in her throat, her eyes burning. “I have no idea.”
But one thing she did know: Nothing would ever be the same.
Abby sat pin straight on the sofa beside Logan, staring at the man across from her as if she’d never seen him before. Tom. Sam. Who was he?
He knelt on the floor beside Max, who cradled his lop-eared rabbit, Ron, in his lap.
Max had been eager to introduce his new pet and hadn’t stopped talking since he got home, enthusiastically regaling his dad with every detail he’d missed over the last several months.
Tom, on the other hand, had barely spoken a word.
He kept staring at Max as if he couldn’t believe his eyes.
More than once, Abby caught him wiping tears away. Tears that looked remarkably sincere.
If Max had mistaken the man’s identity, Tom sure knew how to put on a good show.
But they’d been down this road before, and all too recently.
Everyone, including Carla, had been fooled into accepting a con artist as Max’s distant great-aunt only a few months earlier.
They’d almost lost Max for good. She couldn’t let that happen again.
Abby jolted at a sudden knock on the door.
“Carla.” Logan squeezed her hand and stood to answer the door. His features bore the same look of relief that she felt—Carla would put an end to this charade. She had access to DMV and medical records for Sam Bailey. She wouldn’t be fooled by phony tears, no matter how convincing.
Her gaze flitted back to Max and Tom—aka Sam—on the floor. Her stomach knotted at the genuine glimmer of love in the man’s eyes—warm brown eyes rimmed with amber. The same eyes staring up at him with unbridled delight. Max’s eyes. How had she not made the connection before?
A wave of grief crashed into her as she instantly knew the truth, deep in her heart, in the dark corners of quiet intuition she’d tried to ignore. This wasn’t a ruse or a misunderstanding Carla could fix.
Sam Bailey had returned.
“Sorry I took so long,” Carla effused, although less than forty minutes had passed since they’d called with the news. “I had to run back to the office for some paperwork.” She stopped short the second she caught sight of Sam and Max, visibly startled.
Abby knew how the woman felt. They’d all thought this moment would never come. And now that it faced them, it was difficult to process.
“Carla, look!” Max beamed up at her. “I told you my dad would come back.”
“Yes, you did.” Carla measured her response carefully. “Max, would you mind giving us adults a few minutes alone to chat?”
Max cast a worried glance at his dad. “But I want to stay with you.”
Abby’s chest tightened at the angst in his sweet voice. After all he’d been through, he didn’t want to let his dad out of his sight again. She couldn’t blame him. Max had suffered immensely in his father’s absence, enduring more than any little boy should ever experience.
They all had the same question for Sam Bailey. A question to which Max, more so than anyone, deserved an answer.
“I don’t mind if he stays,” she said softly, trusting Carla to handle the delicate conversation with enormous care for Max’s sake.
Logan nodded his agreement, reclaiming his seat on the couch beside her.
Carla looked at Sam. “And you?”
“I’d like Max to stay.” Sam rose from his kneeling position on the floor and stood, offering his hand in introduction.
“I’m Tom Main—I mean—” His sallow cheeks reddened slightly.
He glanced at Max, then back to Carla, his flush deepening.
“Sorry. I’m still a little, uh, disoriented. ” He cleared his throat. “I’m Sam.”
“I’m Carla, Max’s social worker.” She shook his hand with a kind but reserved smile, then gestured toward one of the twin wingbacks. “Please, have a seat, Sam.” She took the matching chair.
Sam tentatively eased himself onto the chair while Max sat on the floor by his feet, petting Ron.
His eyes wide and wary, Sam gripped the armrests, his body tense, like a trapped animal, unsure of its fate.
Abby’s empathetic heart ached at his palpable discomfort. Don’t jump to compassion just yet , she chided herself, trying to keep her expression unreadable. He’d better have a good excuse for his absence.
“Why don’t we begin with you, Sam,” Carla said gently.
“Okay.” Sam’s knee twitched with nerves. He cleared his throat again. “I, uh, don’t really know where to start. I don’t remember much of anything before I woke up in the hospital in Redton a few months ago.”
“Were you sick?” Max asked in concern.
“Yeah, I guess you could say that.” Sam leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs, looking more relaxed as he focused solely on his son. “You see, Max, my boat got caught in a storm.”
Max nodded as if the information wasn’t new to him.
“The storm sent my boat miles off course, and I don’t remember exactly what happened, but I got lucky. A whale-watching tour found me, and I was taken to a hospital where I got the help I needed.”
While Abby appreciated Sam’s tactful explanation, she could read between the lines.
Shipwreck victims often suffered from horrible ailments—dehydration, malnutrition, hypothermia, hypoxia, among many other possibilities.
No wonder Sam looked so haggard. Her chest squeezed at the harrowing experience he’d endured.
“I know why you got lucky!” Max said proudly. “Abby and I prayed for you every night.”
Sam’s gaze flickered to Abby, then back to Max. He blinked rapidly as if to ward off tears. “Thank you,” he said, his voice gruff with emotion.
“Plus,” Max added. “You had the sea glass I gave you.”
“The what?” Sam squinted as if he hadn’t heard Max correctly.
“The sea glass,” Max repeated. “The aqua piece I found. You always took it with you.”
Sam shoved a hand into his pocket and withdrew a tiny bluish-green stone. “You mean this one?”
“Yeah. That’s it.”
“Y-you gave this to me?” Sam’s voice cracked.