Page 30 of Season of Mercy
Ethan grinned as he parked at the curb near his childhood home. Yes, that little boy had him wrapped around his tiny finger, and Ethan was totally fine with that.
And he was totally crazy about his wife. He couldn’t imagine his life without Mercy and Stevie now. But there was a restlessness inside him that wouldn’t go away along with a fear that the person dearest to him could abandon him when he least expected it.
Was that fear the reason he’d walked out of every relationship before?
His wife’s name, the word so familiar to his lips, nearly as familiar as the sound of his own name to his ears, had a totally different meaning now.
A new season, new time had started for him when he realized how much she’d meant for him. His life was filled with faith, love, and hope ever since he put a ring on her finger.
Over the years, he’d probably broken a few hearts, if he wanted it or not. He deserved punishment. Instead, ever since he’d married Mercy, he’d received happiness beyond his comprehension.
He’d received forgiveness andmercy.
Thank You, Lord.
Pondering over the wonderful gift that his marriage was, Ethan threw a duffel bag with auto parts for his father’s car over his shoulder. Balancing a covered dish with home-cooked enchiladas and rice and beans in his hands, he closed his vehicle’s door. Then he marched to the house, a Spanish Colonial Ethan and his younger brother had grown up in. He knew he’d always be welcome in that house with stucco walls the color of coffee with a lot of milk, reddish-orange ceramic tile roof, and terracotta ornaments.
As Ethan walked through decorative black iron gates, his gaze flicked to one of the semicircular windows, behind which was his childhood room. A warm feeling swept over him. He was glad his father had never sold this house, never moved into something much bigger, like Ethan had.
The front door opened, and Ethan’s father waved him in, and Ethan obliged. There was more salt in his father’s salt-and-pepper hair and whiskers, and he looked a little more stooped than before. But the spark in his dad’s brown eyes was still the same.
“I couldn’t wait for you to get here.” The older man gave him a hug, careful not to damage the covered dish.
“Happy to see you, too.” Ethan put the duffel bag on the floor.
“I meant the enchiladas. You can’t seem to stop talking about your wife’s cooking skills. Among other things.” His dad winked at him.
“You prefer enchiladas to your own son. I should feel offended.” Ethan followed his dad to the kitchen, knowing his father was joking.
As he passed near the living room, his gaze washed over the sombreros he and his brother had tried on as children. Sombreros still hung on the wall in the living room, right near a landscape oil painting his father had brought from Mexico many years ago. Some things never changed.
His dad could’ve hired a high-class personal chef easily, what with the kind of income he’d received throughout the years from the auto shop chain, but preferred to live modestly.
Ethan placed the covered dish on the large wooden table in the kitchen. The ceramic tile on the floor was a bit more worn out but would probably last hundreds of years. Amazingly, the oak cabinets were the ones from his childhood, solid and well built. Just like his father.
The thought gave Ethan a feeling of stability that was especially needed after the zoo incident and a reminder how his mother had abandoned him and his father.
“Let’s go,mi hijo. You can help me wash my car.” His father patted him on the back and led him in the direction of his garage.
Ethan shook his head in disbelief but followed. This was beyond living modestly. But he knew his dad wouldn’t trust just anybody to wash his prized convertible.
Once there, his father handed him a bucket with water and washrags. Just like in childhood, before Ethan had graduated to car repairs and business lessons.
Ethan wetted the rag in the bucket, rinsed it out, and slowly moved it along the car’s right side.
“I need to talk to you about something.” His dad’s voice sounded low, so unlike his usual confident, looming voice. “It’s about me and your mother.”
Uh-oh.
Ethan stilled. “What happened? Did she decide to leave again?” Ethan tried to keep the bitterness out of his voice and failed.
“I should’ve told you about this a long time ago.” The older man’s voice was laced with guilt. “But you were small, and I thought you’d forget about it. And... I felt ashamed of myself. It was easier to sweep it under the rug. But the way you talked about that zoo incident with Stevie, about the memory of being lost in the zoo, your fear of abandonment, showed me I was wrong.”
Ethan took a dry rag and ran it along the car’s surface far too many times. “What are you talking about? Wrong about what?”
“The reason your mother left you with me and took your younger brother with her all those years ago was because I asked her to leave you with me when we separated. Not because she didn’t love you.”
“She shouldn’t have left at all.” Ethan’s jaw set in a stubborn line. He took the wet rag again and started wiping off invisible spots from the car’s hood.
