Page 7 of Heart of a Hero

“Hey, Zannie… Marty. How are you?”

As Karen stepped out of her vehicle, she smiled at the two wide-eyed children who always greeted her when she visited the mobile home park. Her heart softened at seeing them even as she cast a critical eye toward their home.

The small, charming mobile home neighborhood was perfect for the residents. Most of the people who rented the homes were older, although the area was sprinkled with a few younger families. The homes had neat yards and flowers or shrubs lining the walkways. Unfortunately, the home the children lived in appeared run-down, giving evidence that their mother and her boyfriend didn’t care about the cleanliness of their surroundings.

She came for her weekly visit with an older man who had been released from rehab after a fall several months ago. The first time she’d visited, she’d glimpsed two faces staring at her from the trailer next door. The children had smiled through the window, but when she smiled and waved, they had ducked out of sight. The sweet, shy encounter had melted her heart instantly.

On the second visit, they had worked up the bravery to come over. Tiny footsteps pattered on the pavement as theyapproached her, hesitant but smiling, their shyness giving way to excitement. Their soft "hellos" had been tentative but sweet, and Karen had crouched down to their level, speaking to them with the same warmth and patience she offered her patients. Since then, her visits had become more than just her routine checkups with Roscoe Jefferson. They had become a small but significant part of these children's day, and their presence brought her a quiet kind of joy.

“Are you here for Mr. Roscoe?” the little girl asked. Her long brown hair was haphazardly pulled back into a ponytail. Her light brown eyes held curiosity with a large dose of caution.

“Yes. I’m a nurse, and I check on him each week.”

“How come?” the older one asked. The boy was a carbon copy of his sister, with brown hair that needed to be combed and curiosity mixed with caution as he looked over his shoulder toward his home.

“Well, Mr. Roscoe needs me to check on him to ensure he’s okay.”

“I like Mr. Roscoe,” the little girl said. “He shares some of his treats with us.”

“He’s a nice man,” Karen agreed.

The little girl smiled shyly up at Karen. “My name is Zannie.”

“Zannie? What a pretty name.”

“It’s short for Suzanne,” the boy replied. “Mom just calls her Zannie.”

“And what’s your name?” Karen asked, smiling at the way the boy stood close to his sister as though to protect her.

“Marty. My real name is Martin, but Mom shortens it to Marty.” His thin shoulders shrugged as though his name didn’t matter.

“I’m seven years old,” Zannie said. Her gap-tooth smile beamed. “Marty is nine.”

As her gaze automatically evaluated the two in front of her, it was apparent they were small for their age, and she wondered about nutrition. “Do you live here with your mom and dad?”

“Just Mom,” Marty replied.

Zannie turned toward her brother and crinkled her nose. “And Alan!”

“He don’t count. He won’t be around long enough to count,” Marty groused.

Zannie’s chin wobbled as she looked up at Karen. “He’s mom’s boyfriend. He yells a lot?—”

They heard a big motor and tires on gravel, and the two kids jumped. Before Karen could ask what was happening, a large black pickup truck roared to a stop in front of the mobile home, gravel kicking up underneath the oversized tires. With the driver’s door on the other side, Karen couldn’t see who alighted from the vehicle until the heavy boot steps sounded, and a man walked around the corner.

“Zannie! Marty! What the fuck are you doing?”

“We’re just talking to the pretty—” Zannie began.

“Nothing,” Marty answered. “We were just heading back inside.”

“Damn right, you are. Get in there now!”

The two kids rushed past the man Karen assumed was Alan. Not afraid, she held his gaze. When she didn’t back down, he sneered as he looked behind her at Roscoe’s trailer.

“Who the fuck are you?”

“A visitor for Mr. Jefferson,” she replied, turning quickly and reaching for Roscoe’s screen door. Seeing the older man standing just inside, his rheumy glare focused on Alan and his cell phone in his hand, made her love her patient even more. Hewould never have been able to protect her, but he would have called 911 if needed. As she stepped inside, she wondered how much he protected the two adorable kids next door. And what happened to make him feel that he needed to do so?

---