Page 41 of To the Moon and Back
“Near the bookcase.”
“Yes, sweetheart. That would be perfect.” She put her hands on Amy’s shoulders. “You were very good today as Wendy.”
“Thanks.” Amy’s face filled with tenderness. She kept her eyes on Ashley’s. “I understand Wendy. All she wants is to go home to her mom and dad.”
“Even though she’s happy with Peter in Neverland.”
Amy hesitated. “Yes.” The hint of a smile lifted her lips. “Exactly.”
Ashley hugged her close for a long while. “When you get to heaven one day, they’ll be there.”
“I know.” Amy leaned back and looked at Ashley, her expression both innocent and sincere. “Until then, I do like it here. In Neverland.”
Tears filled Ashley’s eyes. She hugged Amy close again. “Sweet girl. I’ll never be your mom. I’ll never be good enough.” She ran her hand along Amy’s long blond hair. “But thanks for letting me try.”
“Actually”—Amy shifted back and grinned at her—“you’re very good at it.”
Ashley put her hand alongside Amy’s cheek. “Thanks, honey. I love you.”
“Love you, too.” Amy yawned. “I’m glad you like my painting.”
“It’s perfect.” Ashley kissed the girl’s forehead. “Just like you.”
Amy left for bed, and Ashley stared at her computer a few feet away on the kitchen table. She closed her sketchbook. Brady Bradshaw was the only person she knew who could get a Survivor Tree sapling for Amy. Ashley hesitated, but just for a few seconds.
She could at least reach out to him one more time. For Amy. The sound of the boys’ voices outside caught her attention. Maybe she should ask Landon first. Just get his opinion on the matter. But she couldn’t do that. Things were already terrible between them. She needed to prove to Landon that she was only trying to help. She couldn’t do that if she didn’t do some good first.
Then Landon would understand.
The sapling gave Ashley the perfect reason to contact Brady. Once they talked about that, she could ask Brady about Jenna. She turned to her laptop and brought up his Facebook page again. A private message couldn’t hurt anything.
Dear Brady, thank you for responding to me earlier. I can see why you’ve struggled to find Jenna if you don’t know her last name. I haven’t found her yet. Is there anything else you could tell me? What high school she went to, or what university? What year did you meet her? Anyway, I know the chances are slim. But I’m praying that I find her. I still think there was a reason I saw you that day at the memorial.
Ashley read over what she’d written. Then she typed a few more lines.
Also, on a personal note, how would I go about getting a Survivor Tree sapling for my 12-year-old niece? It’s a long story, but the sapling is something she wants very much. They were gone by the time we got there that day. I’ll wait to hear from you. Blessings, Ashley Baxter Blake.
A quick glance over what she’d written and she hit send.
She would tell Landon about it later.
12
T he firehouse was active that day. An electrical fire in an old home on the edge of the city. A sweet widow whose cat was stuck in a tree. And a teenager with a shoe caught in a moving escalator.
All three calls had happy endings.
Brady sank into the sofa in the station’s living room. He grabbed his laptop from his backpack and opened it. Now that things were slow, maybe he could catch up on Facebook. Like on most weekends, he needed to do another search for Jenna. In case she finally showed up on social media.
Where she hadn’t been since he first started looking.
A sigh slipped from his lungs. The anniversary had been more than a week ago, but this year it had stayed with him. Like a bad cold he couldn’t quite shake. He opened Facebook and immediately spotted the notification.
Someone had written to him.
Not too strange. People would find him from his time on Survivor or because of the calendar. There were the occasional offers on his page. Modeling agencies. Casting directors. Girls. Most of them weren’t legit. Especially not the women. Did they really think he’d strike up a relationship with them? Because of a private Facebook message?
Since meeting Jenna, Brady had dated a dozen girls. At least that many. He only remembered the names of a few of them. They were pretty or funny or interesting. But as soon as they learned about his mom, as soon as they discovered he’d been raised in foster care, something changed.
