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The Greatest Gift
Diana Palmer


Today the bestselling author of over one hundred novels, Diana Palmer is a renowned romance writer. When she published her first novel in 1979, fans immediately fell in love with her sensual, charming romances. A die-hard romantic who married her husband five days after they met, Diana admits that she wrote her first book at age thirteen – and has been hooked ever since. She and her husband, James Kyle, and their son, Blayne, make their home in northeast Georgia, with a menagerie of animals that includes three dogs, fi ve cats, assorted exotic lizards, a duck, one chicken and an emu named George.
Don’t miss Diana’s fantastic new book, Lawman, which is available now.

The Greatest Gift
by
Diana Palmer

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
CHAPTER ONE
THE CAR LIGHTS passing by the side road kept Mary Crandall awake. She glanced into the back seat where her son, Bob, and her daughter, Ann, were finally asleep. Sandwiched between them, the toddler, John, was sound asleep in his little car seat. Mary pushed back a strand of dark hair and glanced worriedly out the window. She’d never in her life slept in a car. But she and her children had just been evicted from their rental home, by a worried young policewoman with a legal eviction notice. She hadn’t wanted to enforce the order but had no choice since Mary hadn’t paid the rent in full. The rent had gone up and Mary could no longer afford the monthly payments.
It was Mary who’d comforted her, assuring her that she and the children would manage somehow. The order hadn’t mentioned the automobile, although Mary was sure that it would be taken, too. The thing was, it hadn’t been taken today. By tomorrow, perhaps, the shock would wear off and she could function again. She was resourceful, and not afraid of hard work. She’d manage.
The fear of the unknown was the worst. But she knew that she and the children would be all right. They had to be! If only she didn’t have to take the risk of having them in a parked car with her in the middle of the night. Like any big city, Phoenix was dangerous at night.
She didn’t dare go to sleep. The car doors didn’t even lock.…
Just as she was worrying about that, car lights suddenly flashed in the rearview mirror. Blue lights. She groaned. It was a police car. Now they were in for it. What did they do to a woman for sleeping in a car with her kids? Was it against the law?
Mary had a sad picture of herself in mind as the police car stopped. She hadn’t combed her dark, thick hair all day. There were circles under her big, light blue eyes. Her slender figure was all too thin and her jeans and cotton shirt were hopelessly wrinkled. She wasn’t going to make a good impression.
She rolled the window down as a uniformed officer walked up to the driver’s window with a pad in one hand, and the other hand on the butt of his service revolver. Mary swallowed. Hard.
The officer leaned down. He was clean-shaven, neat in appearance. “May I see your license and registration, please?” he asked politely.
With a pained sigh, she produced them from her tattered purse and handed them to him. “I guess you’re going to arrest us,” she said miserably as she turned on the inside lights.
He directed his gaze to the back seat, where Bob, Ann and John were still asleep, then looked back at Mary. He glanced at her license and registration and passed them back to her. “You can’t sleep in a car,” he said.
She smiled sadly. “Then it’s on the ground, I’m afraid. We were just evicted from our home.” Without knowing why, she added, “The divorce was final today and he left us high and dry. To add insult to injury, he wants the car for himself, but he can’t find it tonight.”
His face didn’t betray anything, but she sensed anger in him. “I won’t ask why the children have to be punished along with you,” he replied. “I’ve been at this job for twenty years. There isn’t much I haven’t seen.”
“I imagine so. Well, do we go in handcuffs…?”
“Don’t be absurd. There’s a shelter near here, a very well-run one. I know the lady who manages it. She’ll give you a place to sleep and help you find the right resources to solve your situation.”
Tears sprung to her light eyes. She couldn’t believe he was willing to help them!
“Now, don’t cry,” he ground out. “If you cry, I’ll cry, and just imagine how it will look to my superiors if it gets around? They’ll call me a sissy!”
That amused her. She laughed, lighting up her thin face.
“That’s better,” he said, liking the way she looked when she smiled. “Okay. You follow me, and we’ll get you situated.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Hey, I’m not that old,” he murmured dryly. “Come on. Drive safely. I’ll go slow.”
She gave him a grateful smile. “Thanks. I mean it. I was scared to death to stay here, but I had no place I could go except to a friend, and she lives just two doors down from my ex-husband.…”
“No need even to explain. Let’s go.”
He led her through downtown Phoenix to an old warehouse that had been converted into a homeless shelter.
She parked the car in the large parking lot and picked up the baby carrier, motioning to Bob and Ann to get out, too.
“Dad will probably have the police looking for the car by now,” Bob said sadly.
“It doesn’t matter,” Mary said. “We’ll manage, honey.”
The police officer was out of his own car, having given his location on the radio. He joined them at the entrance to the shelter, grimacing.
“I just got a call about the car…” he began.
“I told you Dad would be looking for it,” Bob said on a sigh.
“It’s all right,” Mary told him. She forced a smile. “I can borrow one from one of the ladies I work for. She’s offered before.”
“She must have a big heart,” the policeman mused.
She smiled. “She has that. I keep house for several rich ladies. She’s very kind.”
The policeman held the door open for them as they filed reluctantly into the entrance. As she passed, she noticed that his name tag read Matt Clark. Odd, she thought, they had the same initials, and then she chided herself for thinking such a stupid thing when she was at the end of her rope.
Many people were sitting around talking. Some were sleeping on cots, even on the floor, in the huge space. There were old tables and chairs that didn’t match. There was a long table with a coffee urn and bags of paper plates and cups, where meals were apparently served. It was meant for a largely transient clientele. But the place felt welcoming, just the same. The big clock on the wall read 10:00 p.m. It wasn’t nearly as late as she’d thought.
“Is Bev around?” the policeman asked a woman nearby.
“Yes. She’s working in the office. I’ll get her,” she added, smiling warmly at Mary.
“She’s nice people,” the policeman said with a smile. “It’s going to be all right.”
A couple of minutes later, a tall, dignified woman in her forties came out of the office. She recognized the police officer and grinned. “Hi, Matt! What brings you here at this hour?”
“I brought you some more clients,” he said easily. “They don’t have anyplace to go tonight. Got room?”
“Always,” the woman said, turning to smile at Mary and her kids. She was tall and her dark hair was sprinkled with gray. She was wearing jeans and a red sweater, and she looked honest and kind. “I’m Bev Tanner,” she said, holding out her hand to shake Mary’s. “I manage the homeless shelter.”
“I’m Mary Crandall,” she replied, noting the compassionate police officer’s intent scrutiny. “These are my children. Bob’s the oldest, he’s in junior high, Ann is in her last year of grammar school, and John’s just eighteen months.”
“I’m very happy to have you here,” Bev said. “And you’re welcome to stay as long as you need to.”
Mary’s lips pressed together hard as she struggled not to cry. The events of the day were beginning to catch up with her.
“What you need is a good night’s sleep,” Bev said at once. “Come with me and I’ll get you settled.”
Mary turned to Officer Clark. “Thanks a million,” she managed to say, trying to smile.
He shrugged. “All in a night’s work.” He hesitated. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”
She did smile, then. “Maybe you will.”
Phoenix was an enormous city. It wasn’t likely. But they continued smiling at each other as he waved to Bev and went out the door.
An hour later, Mary and the children were comfortably situated with borrowed blankets. She realized belatedly that she hadn’t thought to take one single piece of clothing or even her spare cosmetics from the house. There had hardly been time to absorb the shock and surprise of being evicted.
Mary looked around, dazed. The homeless shelter was just a little frightening. She’d never been inside one before. Like many people, she’d passed them in her travels around Phoenix, but never paid them much attention. The people who frequented them had been only shadows to her, illusions she remembered from occasional stories on television around the holiday season. Helping the homeless was always a good story, during that season when people tried to behave better. Contributions were asked and acknowledged from sympathetic contributors. Then, like the tinsel and holly and wreaths, the homeless were put aside until the next holiday season.
But Mary was unable to put it aside. She had just sustained a shock as her divorce became final. She and her three children were suddenly without a home, without clothes, furniture, anything except a small amount of money tucked away in Mary’s tattered purse.
She was sure that when they woke up in the morning, the car would be gone, too. The policeman, Matt Clark, had already mentioned that there was a lookout for the car. She hoped she wouldn’t be accused of stealing it. She’d made all the payments, but it was in her ex-husband’s name, like all their assets and everything else. That hadn’t been wise. However, she’d never expected to find herself in such a situation.
She’d told Bev that they were only going to be here for one night. She had a little money in her purse, enough to pay rent at a cheap motel for a week. Somehow she’d manage after that. She just wasn’t sure how. She hardly slept. Early the next morning, she went to the serving table to pour herself a cup of coffee. The manager, Bev, was doing the same.
“It’s okay,” the manager told her gently. “There are a lot of nice people who ended up here. We’ve got a mother and child who came just two days before you did,” she indicated a dark young woman with a nursing baby and a terrified look. “Her name’s Meg. Her husband ran off with her best friend and took all their money. And that sweet old man over there—” she nodded toward a ragged old fellow “—had his house sold out from under him by a nephew he trusted. The boy cashed in everything and took off. Mr. Harlowe was left all on his own with nothing but the clothes on his back.”
“No matter how bad off people are, there’s always someone worse, isn’t there?” Mary asked quietly.
“Always. But you see miracles here, every day. And you’re welcome to stay as long as you need to.”
Mary swallowed hard. “Thanks,” she said huskily. “We’ll find a place tomorrow. I may not have much money or property, but I’ve got plenty of friends.”
Bev smiled. “I’d say you know what’s most important in life.” She followed Mary’s quick glance toward her children.
With the morning came hope. They’d had breakfast and Mary was working on her second cup of coffee, trying to decide how to proceed. Mary watched her brood mingling with other children at a long table against the wall, sharing their school paper and pencils, because they’d had the foresight to grab their backpacks on the way out, smiling happily. She never ceased to be amazed at the ease with which they accepted the most extreme situations. Their father’s addiction had terrorized them all from time to time, but they were still able to smile and take it in stride, even that last night when their very lives had been in danger.
One of the policemen who came to help them the last time there had been an incident at home, an older man with kind eyes, had taken them aside and tried to explain that the violence they saw was the drugs, not the man they’d once known. But that didn’t help a lot. There had been too many episodes, too much tragedy. Mary’s dreams of marriage and motherhood had turned to nightmares.
“You’re Mary, right?” one of the shelter workers asked with a smile.
“Uh, yes,” Mary said uneasily, pushing back her dark hair, uncomfortably aware that it needed washing. There hadn’t been time in the rush to get out of the house.
“Those your kids?” the woman added, nodding toward the table.
“All three,” Mary agreed, watching with pride as Bob held the toddler on his lap while he explained basic math to a younger boy.
“Your son already has a way with kids, doesn’t he?” the worker asked. “I’ll bet he’s a smart boy.”
“He is,” Mary agreed, noting that Bob’s glasses had the nosepiece taped again, and they would need replacing. She grimaced, thinking of the cost. She wouldn’t be able to afford even the most basic things now, like dentist visits and glasses. She didn’t even have health insurance because her husband had dropped Mary and the kids from his policy once the divorce was final. She’d have to try to get into a group policy, but it would be hard, because she was a freelance housekeeper who worked for several clients.
The worker recognized panic when she saw it. She touched Mary’s arm gently. “Listen,” she said, “there was a bank vice president here a month ago. At Christmas, we had a whole family from the high bend,” she added, mentioning the most exclusive section of town. “They all looked as shell-shocked as you do right now. It’s the way the world is today. You can lose everything with a job. Nobody will look down on you here because you’re having a bit of bad luck.”
Mary bit her lower lip and tried to stem tears. “I’m just a little off balance right now,” she told the woman, forcing a smile. “It was so sudden. My husband and I just got divorced. I thought he might help us a little. He took away the only car I had and we were evicted from the house.”
The woman’s dark eyes were sympathetic. “Everybody here’s got a story, honey,” she said softly. “They’ll all break your heart. Come on. One thing at a time. One step at a time. You’ll get through it.”
Mary hesitated and grasped the other woman’s hand. “Thanks,” she said, trying to put everything she felt, especially the gratitude, into a single word.
The worker smiled again. “People give thanks for their blessings, and they don’t usually think about the one they take most for granted.”
“What?”
“A warm, dry, safe place to sleep at night.”
Mary blinked. “I see what you mean,” she said after a minute.
The woman nodded, leading her through the other victims of brutal homes, overindulgence, bad luck and health problems that had brought them all to this safe refuge.
John curled up next to Mary while she sat at the long table with Bob and Ann to talk.
“Why can’t we go back home and pack?” Ann asked, her blue eyes, so like her mother’s, wide with misery. “All my clothes are still there.”
“No, they aren’t,” Bob replied quietly, pushing his glasses up over his dark eyes. “Dad threw everything in the trash and called the men to pick it up before we were evicted. There’s nothing left.”
“Bob!” Mary groaned. She hadn’t wanted Ann to know what her ex had done in his last drunken rage.
Tears streamed down Ann’s face, but she brushed them away when she saw the misery on her mother’s face. She put her arms around Mary’s neck. “Don’t cry, Mama,” she said softly. “We’re going to be all right. We’ll get new clothes.”
“There’s no money,” Mary choked.
“I’ll get a job after school and help,” Bob said stoutly.
The courage of her children gave Mary strength. She wiped away the tears. “That’s so sweet! But you can’t work, honey, you’re too young,” Mary said, smiling at him. “You need to get an education. But thank you, Bob.”
“You can’t take care of all of us,” Bob said worriedly. “Maybe we could go in foster care like my friend Dan—”
“No,” Mary cut him off, hugging him to soften the harsh word. “Listen, we’re a family. We stick together, no matter what. We’ll manage. Hear me? We’ll manage. God won’t desert us, even if the whole world does.”
He looked up at her with renewed determination. “Right.”
“Yes, we’ll stick together,” Ann said. “I’m sorry I was selfish.” She looked around at the other occupants of the shelter. “Nobody else here is bawling, and a lot of them look worse off than us.”
“I was thinking the same thing,” Mary confided, trying not to let them all see how frightened she really was.
She left them near Bev, who promised to keep an eye on them while she went to make phone calls.
Fourteen years ago, she’d had such wonderful visions of her future life. She wanted children so badly. She’d loved her husband dearly. And until he got mixed up with the crowd down at the local bar, he’d been a good man. But one of his new “friends” had introduced him first to hard liquor, and then to drugs. It was amazing how a kind, gentle man could become a raging wild animal who not only lashed out without mercy, but who didn’t even remember what he’d done the morning after he’d done it. Mary and the children all had scars, mental and physical, from their experiences.
Bob understood it best. He had a friend at middle school who used drugs. The boy could be a fine student one day, and setting fire to the school the next. He’d been in and out of the juvenile justice system for two years. His parents were both alcoholics. Bob knew too much about the effects of drugs to ever use them, he told his mother sadly, both at home and school. She hoped her other children would have the same stiff common sense later down the road.
First things first. She had a good job. She had clients who were good to her, often giving her bonuses and even clothing and other gifts for the children from their abundance. Now that they knew her situation, she knew this would increase. Nobody she worked for would let Mary and her children starve. The thought gave her hope and peace. A house was going to be impossible, because rents were high and she couldn’t afford them yet. But there were small, decent motels where she could get a good weekly rate. It would be crowded, but they could manage. She could borrow a car to take them to and from school from one of her employers, who had a garage full and had often done this for her when her own car at home was in the shop. Clothing she could get from the local Salvation Army, or from the thrift shops run by the women’s abuse shelter and the churches.
Her predicament, so terrifying at first, became slowly less frightening. She had strength and will and purpose. She looked around the shelter at the little old lady who was in a wheelchair and thin as a rail. She was leaning down on her side, curled up like a dried-up child, with one thin hand clutching the wheel, as if she were afraid someone would steal it. Nearby, there was a black woman with many fresh cuts on her face and arms, with a baby clutched to her breast. Her clothes looked as if they’d been slept in many a night. Against the far wall, there was an elderly man with strips of cloth bound around his feet. She found that she had more than the average guest here. She closed her eyes and thanked God for her children and her fortitude.
Her first phone calls were not productive. She’d forgotten in the terror of the moment that it was Sunday, and not one person she needed to speak to was at home or likely to be until the following day. She asked Bev if she and the children could have one more night at the shelter and was welcomed. Tomorrow, she promised herself, they would get everything together.
The next morning she was up long before the children. The shelter offered breakfast, although it was mostly cereal, watered down coffee and milk.
“The dairy lets us have their outdated milk,” the woman at the counter said, smiling. “It’s still good. We have a lot of trouble providing meals, though. People are good to help us with canned things, but we don’t get a lot of fresh meats and vegetables.” She nodded toward some of the elderly people working their way through small bowls of cereal. “Protein, that’s what they need. That’s what the children need, too.” Her smile was weary. “We’re the richest country in the world, aren’t we?” she added, her glance toward the occupants of the shelter eloquent in its irony.
Mary agreed quietly, asking for only a cup of coffee. The young mother, Meg, sat down beside her with her baby asleep in her arms.
“Hi,” Mary said.
The young woman managed a smile. “Hi. You got lots of kids.”
Mary smiled. “I’m blessed with three.”
“I just got this one,” Meg said, sighing. “My people are all in Atlanta. I came out here with Bill, and they warned me he was no good. I wouldn’t listen. Now here I am, just me and the tidbit here. Bev says she thinks she knows where I can get a job. I’m going later to look.”
“Good luck,” Mary said.
“Thanks. You got work?”
Mary nodded. “I’m a housekeeper. I work for several families, all nice ones.”
“You’re lucky.”
Mary thought about it. “Yes,” she agreed. “I think I am.”
The elderly man, Mr. Harlowe, joined them at the table with his cup of coffee, held in unsteady old hands. “Ladies.” He greeted in a friendly tone. “I guess poverty’s no respecter of mothers, is it?”
“You got that right,” Meg said with a faint smile.
“At least we’re in good company,” Mary added, glancing around. “The people here are nice.”
“Noticed that myself.” He sipped his coffee. “I retired two years ago and had all my money in a corporation money market fund. Last year, the corporation went belly-up and it came out that we’d all lost every penny we had in our retirement accounts.” He shrugged. “At least the top scalawags seem headed to prison. But it turned out that I was related to one. My nephew talked me into giving him power of attorney and he took it all. I lost my house, my car, everything I had, except a little check I get from the veterans’ service. That isn’t enough to buy me a week’s groceries in today’s market. I was going to prosecute him, but he went overseas with his ill-got gains. No money left to use to pursue him now.”
“Gee, that’s tough,” Meg said quietly.
The elderly man glanced at her, noting the cuts on her face and arms. He grimaced. “Looks like you’ve had a tough time of your own.”
“My man got drunk and I made him mad by being jealous of his other girlfriend. He said he’d do what he pleased and I could get out. I argued and he came at me with a knife,” Meg said simply. “I ran away with the baby.” She looked away. “It wasn’t the first time it happened. But it will be the last.”
“Good for you, young lady,” he said gently. “You’ll be okay.”
She smiled shyly.
“What about you?” the old man asked Mary. “Those kids yours?” he added, indicating her small brood.
“Yes, they are. We lost our house and our car when my divorce became final.” She gave Meg a quick glance. “I know about men who drink, too,” she said.
Meg smiled at her. “We’ll all be all right, I expect.”
“You bet we will,” Mary replied.
The old man chuckled. “That’s the spirit. You got a place to go after here?”
“Not just yet,” Mary said. “But I will soon,” she said with new confidence. “I hope both of you do well.”
They thanked her and drifted off into their own problems. Mary finished her coffee and got up with new resolve.
It was Monday, and she had to get the kids to school. She used the shelter’s pay phone and called one of her friends, Tammy, who had been a neighbor.
“I hate to ask,” she said, “but the kids have to go to school and Jack took the car. I don’t have a way to go.”
There was an indrawn breath. “I’ll be right over,” she began.
“Tammy, I’m at the homeless shelter.” It bruised her pride to say that. It made her feel less decent, somehow, as if she’d failed her children. “It’s just temporary,” she added quickly.
“Oh, Mary,” she groaned. “I noticed the For Rent sign on your place, but I didn’t know what to think. I’m so sorry.”
“The divorce became final Friday. Jack is failing to pay alimony or child support…and we were evicted.” She sighed. “I’m so tired, so scared. I’ve got nothing and three kids…”
“You could stay with us,” came the immediate reply.
Mary smiled, seeing the other woman’s quiet, kind smile in her mind. “No, thank you,” she added gently. “We have to make it on our own. Jack might track us down at your house, you know. I don’t want the children close to him. We’ll find a place. I’ll get the loan of a car later, but right now, I have to have the kids in school before I go to work. I can take John with me, but the others must be in school.”
“I’ll come and get you,” Tammy said. “Be five minutes.”
“Thanks,” Mary choked.
“You’d do it for me in a heartbeat,” she replied. “And you know it.”
“I would.” It was no lie.
“Five minutes.” She hung up.
Sure enough, five minutes later, Tammy was sitting in front of the shelter, waiting. Mary put the kids in the back of the station wagon, with John strapped securely in his car seat.
“I can’t thank you enough,” she told the woman.
“It’s not a problem. Here. Give this to the kids.” It was two little brown envelopes, the sort mothers put lunch money in. Mary almost broke down as she distributed the priceless little packets to the children.
First stop was grammar school, where Mary went in with Ann and explained the situation, adding that nobody was to take Ann from school except herself or her friend Tammy. Then they went to middle school, where Mary dropped off Bob and met with the vice principal to explain their situation again.
Finally they were down just to John.
“Where do you go now?” she asked Mary.
“To Debbie Shultz’s house,” she said. “She and Mark have about eight cars,” she said fondly. “They’ll loan me one if I ask. They’ve been clients of mine for ten years. They’re good people. They don’t even mind if John comes with me—they have a playpen and a high chair and a baby bed, just for him.”
“You know, you may not have money and means, but you sure have plenty of people who care about you,” Tammy remarked with a grin.
“I do. I’m lucky in my friends. Especially you. Thanks.”
Tammy shrugged. “I’m having a nice ride around town, myself,” she said with twinkling eyes. “Before you go to work, want to try that motel you mentioned?”
“Yes, if you don’t mind.”
“If I did, I’d still be at home putting on a pot roast for supper,” Tammy said blandly. “Where is it?”
Mary gave her directions. Tammy was dubious, but Mary wasn’t.
“One of my friends had to leave home. She went to the women’s shelter first, and then she came here until she got a job. She said the manager looks out for people, and it’s a good decent place. Best of all, it’s not expensive. If you’ll watch John for a minute…”
“You bet!”
Mary walked into the small office. The manager, an elderly man with long hair in a ponytail and a young smile, greeted her.
“What do you rent rooms for on a weekly basis?” she asked after she’d told him her name. “I have three children, ranging in age from thirteen to a toddler.”
He noted the look on her face. He’d seen it far too often. “Fifty dollars a week,” he said, “but it’s negotiable. Forty’s plenty if that’s what you can manage comfortably,” he added with a grin. “You can use the phone whenever you like, and there’s a hot plate in the room where you can heat up stuff. We have a restaurant next door,” he added, “when you want something a little hotter.”
“I couldn’t afford the restaurant,” she said matter-of-factly, but she smiled. “I’ll have the money tonight, if I can come after work with the kids.”
“They in school?”
“Two are.”
“Is one old enough to look after the others?”
“Bob’s thirteen, almost fourteen. He’s very responsible,” she added.
“Bring them here after school and pay me when you can,” he said kindly. “I’ll check on them for you and make sure they stay in the room and nobody bothers them.”
She was astonished at the offer.
“I ran away from home when I was twelve,” he said coldly. “My old man drank and beat me. I had to live on the streets until an old woman felt sorry for me and let me have a room in her motel. I’m retired military. I don’t need the money I make here, but it keeps me from going stale, and I can do a little good in the world.” He smiled at her. “You can pass the help on to someone less fortunate, when you’re in better economic times.”
Her face brightened. “Thank you.”
He shrugged. “We all live in the world. It’s easier to get along if we help each other out in rough times. The room will be ready when you come back, Mrs. Crandall.”
She nodded, smiling. “I’ll have the money this afternoon, when I get off work. But I’ll bring the children first.”
“I’ll be expecting them.”
She got back into the car with Tammy, feeling as if a great weight had been lifted from her. “They said he was a kind man, not the sort who asked for favors or was dangerous around kids. But I had no idea just how kind he really is until now.” She looked at Tammy. “I never knew how it was before. If you could see the homeless people, the things they don’t have…I never knew,” she emphasized.
Tammy patted her hand. “Not a lot of people do. I’m sorry you have to find out this way.”
“Me, too,” Mary said. She glanced back at the motel. “I wish I could do something,” she added. “I wish I could help.”
Tammy only smiled, and drove her to her job.
Debbie was aghast when she learned what had happened to Mary in the past twenty-four hours.
“Of course you can borrow a car,” she said firmly. “You can drive the Ford until the tires go bald,” she added. “And I’ll let you off in time to pick up the kids at school.”
Debbie’s kids were in grammar school now, so the nursery was empty during the morning. Mary had made a habit of taking John to work with her, because Jack had never been in any condition to look after him.
Mary had to stop and wipe away tears. “I’m sorry,” she choked. “It’s just that so many people have been kind to me. Total strangers, and now you…I never expected it, that’s all.”
“People are mostly kind, when you need them to be,” Debbie said, smiling. “Everything’s going to be fine. You’re a terrific housekeeper, you always keep me organized and going strong. You’re always smiling and cheerful, even when I know you’re the most miserable. I think a lot of you. So does Mark.”
“Thanks. Not only for the loan of the car, but for everything.”
Debbie waved a hand. “It’s nothing. If I were starving and in rags, then it might be, but I can afford to be generous. I’ll get you up some things for the kids, too. Please take them,” she added plaintively. “You of all people know how choked my closets are with things I bought that the kids won’t even wear!”
Mary laughed, because she did know. “All right then. I’ll take them, and thanks very much.”
“Have you got a place to stay?” was the next question.
“I have,” Mary said brightly. “That was unexpected, too. It’s a nice place.”
“Good. Very good. Okay. I’ll leave you to it. Just let me know when you’re going after the kids and I’ll watch John for you.”
“Thanks.”
Debbie just smiled. She was the sort of person who made the most outlandish difficulties seem simple and easily solved. She was a comfort to Mary.
The end of the first day of their forced exile ended on a happy note. From utter devastation, Mary and the kids emerged with plenty of clothing—thanks to Debbie and some of her friends—sheets and blankets and pillows, toiletries, makeup, and even a bucket of chicken. Not to mention the loaned car, which was a generous thing in itself.
“I can’t believe it,” Bob said when she picked him up at school, putting him in the back with John while Ann sat beside her. “We’ve got a home and a car? Mom, you’re amazing!”
“Yes, you are,” Ann said, grinning, “and I’m sorry I whined last night.”
“You always whine,” Bob teased, “but then you’re a rock when you need to be.”
“And you’re an angel with ragged wings, you are, Mama,” Ann said.
“We all have ragged wings, but I’ll have a surprise for you at the motel,” she added.
“What is it?” they chorused.
She chuckled. “You’ll have to wait and see. The manager is Mr. Smith. He’ll look out for you while I’m away. If you need to get in touch with me, he’ll let you use the phone. I’ll always leave you the name and number where I’ll be, so you can reach me if there’s an emergency.”
“I think we’ve had enough emergencies for a while,” Bob said drolly.
Mary sighed. “Oh, my, I hope we have!”

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