Page 35 of The Uncomplicated Café
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 shedidknow: 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’mTom 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.
