The Prodigal Valentine. Karen Templeton

he added, “And our folks have no clue, do they?”

      “Are you kidding? God knows, Anita wouldn’t say anything, she’d feel like a failure. Especially considering how thrilled they all were that the two of them got together. You’d have thought they’d made the perfect royal match. And in any case, I’m sure she really loves your brother.”

      “And you have no idea why.”

      “Please. I’m the last person to try explaining the workings of the human heart. Although, to give credit where it’s due, he’s definitely not a slacker—your father wouldn’t get half the jobs he does if it weren’t for Tony’s getting out there and beating the bushes. And he loves his kids. Even if he does seem to think it’s mainly ’Nita’s job to keep them alive. Still…” Her brow furrowed. “I’m not sure which is worse—having our parents watch the slow, painful death of their kids’ marriage, or getting blindsided by a possible divorce announcement.”

      Mercy scooped out the ice cream, carefully dropping it into the first glass of root beer. “Can I ask you something?” she asked softly.

      “Like my saying ‘no’ would stop you.”

      “True,” she said, a smile making a brief appearance. Another scoop of ice cream tumbled into the second glass. “Given everything you said yesterday…” Her gaze veered to his. “Why’d you come over tonight? Assuming you didn’t know the kids were here, I mean.”

      She had him there. “I’m not sure. It just seemed like the thing to do.”

      Again, she dipped the scoop into the carton. A glob caught on her knuckle when she drew it out; she licked it off and said, “Should I leave it at that?”

      “I’d be immensely grateful if you would.”

      A low laugh rumbled from her throat. “Oh, admit it—” Her eyes sparkling with laughter, she leaned close and whispered, “I’m the flame and you’re nothin’ but a big old horny moth.”

      He met her gaze steadily, fearlessly. “You’re dripping.”

      She flinched. “What?”

      “The ice cream. It’s dripping.”

      Swearing under her breath, she finished off the last float, then asked him to call Jacob.

      A few minutes later, they woke a very drowsy Mattie to welcome in the New Year, after which Ben scooped the boneless little girl off the sofa and carried her to the twin-bedded room next to Mercy’s. A dead weight against his chest, she smelled of popcorn, chocolate, girly shampoo and Mercy’s perfume.

      Mercy peeled back the covers so Ben could lay her down; she grabbed that disreputable stuffed kitty and curled onto her side, mumbling, “Love you, Uncle Ben,” and almost instantly drifted back to sleep. With a squeaked meow, Homer hopped onto the bed, forming a tight, furry knot at the small of her back.

      Ben straightened, his throat constricting as he watched Mercy draw the covers up over those defenseless little shoulders, reveling in a sense of belonging he’d deliberately ignored for far too long in the name of the “bigger” picture.

      Jake begged to stay up a little longer to finish his game. “Fifteen minutes,” Mercy said at her bedroom door, then continued to the living room, where she collapsed on the sofa, her toes curled on the edge of the trunk, her eyes closed.

      “I should go,” Ben said. “Let you get to sleep.”

      “We never got to the Baileys,” she mumbled, her eyes still shut, then yawned.

      “Maybe we should save it for another time.”

      Slowly—reluctantly—her eyes opened. “Another time?”

      “You know what I mean.”

      She laughed. “Not only do I not know what you mean, I seriously doubt you do, either. No, it’s okay,” she said, vaguely waving one hand. “No explanation necessary.” Her forehead crimped. “Bet you hadn’t banked on walking into the middle of a domestic crisis.”

      “Can’t say that I did. But—” he shrugged “—that’s just part of being a family, right?”

      “Ain’t that the truth.” Her eyes lowered to her knee; she stretched forward to pick off a piece of popcorn stuck to the glittery fabric, then looked back up at him. “Actually, I’m glad you came over. I didn’t realize how much I needed to talk to somebody about all this stuff until there was somebody to talk to. Somebody not totally crazy, anyway. Okay, a different brand of crazy, maybe,” she said when he chuckled. Again, she leaned back, her expression speculative. “It’s good to have you home.”

      “Even if we don’t…you know.”

      “Yeah,” she said drowsily. “Because it was always more than that with you, too.”

      Over the sudden buzzing inside his skull, Ben quickly leaned over to kiss her on the forehead. “It’s good to be here,” he whispered, then let himself out.

      And it was good to be back, he thought later, as he lay in the far-too-small twin bed in his old room, scratching a snoring rat-dog’s upturned belly. Even though, if it had been sanctuary he’d sought, the joke was on him. Between leftover issues from the past and a heap of fresh ones from the present, he hadn’t exactly walked back into a fifties sitcom.

      Nor would he have ever believed how quickly a couple of kisses, and a conversation or two could bring the past rear-ending into the present. But apparently he’d carried Mercy’s scent and feel and offbeat sense of humor with him, inside him, all these years like an old photograph. And worn and faded and cracked though it might be, all it took was a single glance to turn memories back into reality.

      To turn “What if?” into “What now?”