Page 139 of One Last Promise

“We saw you casing the joint,” Axel said as he came down the stairs.

“I wasn’t . . . okay, yes, I was. But only to figure out a way to get in.” She took a sip of her coffee.

“I don’t know why I knew to go to the back—I just did. And then, there she was.” He smiled at Hazel. “She just fell right into my arms.”

He’d caught her. Nearly gone down with the force of it, but held, pulled her tight. And then she’d wrapped her arms around him and started to wail—something about her mom—but she’d held him so tight he couldn't wrench her away. Then more cops appeared and grabbed him and forced him to the front yard and?—

And right then, he rewrote the nightmare lingering in his head.

Yes, life was out of his control. And always would be.

But God had sent him there, right time, right place, and that was enough. To trust God to be in charge. Moose just had to listen.

You keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on you, because he trusts in you.

“Right into your arms,” Tillie repeated, and gave him a soft smile. He lifted a shoulder.

Axel slid onto a stool. “Flynn and I stayed up late talking last night. Her friend Val contacted a family lawyer here that is filing a fresh custody petition in the Florida courts. They’re going to have to do a paternity test to prove that Richer isn’t the father. He’s on the birth certificate.”

“He’s not my dad,” Hazel said. “Iknowit.” She slid off the stool.

“Hazel!”

But she ran down the hall toward the room where she’d stayed with her aunt.

Tillie’s expression grew serious. “All her life—at least, after we moved to Alaska—my sister told her that her father was a soldier. A brave soldier who’d died. I think she wanted to put a good memory into Hazel’s mind instead of the horror of Rigger, and what went down. I always assumed she was lying.”

Hazel had returned, carrying her stuffed dog. “Ask my mom.”

Tillie frowned. “What?”

She shoved the dog into Tillie’s hands. “I know you’re not my real mom. She died. But she told me who my dad was.”

Tillie held the worn stuffed animal, frowning.

“Mom. Here.” Hazel grabbed the animal back and turned it over, reaching up behind its neck to an opening. Dug her little hand into the space and pulled out a tiny MP3 player. She handed it to Tillie. Then rose on her tiptoes and pressed play.

A voice emerged, soft, bright, clear.

“My dearest Hazel. I don’t have a lot longer for this earth, but I wanted you to know some truths, things that I think your mom—your next mom, Tillie—won’t be able to tell you. First, I love you more than life. You were what saved me from myself. You made me want to believe that there was a better life for us, but it wasn’t until your aunt Tillie made me act on that belief that I was set free. See, honey, sometimes you have to act like you believe even when you’re not sure. Don’t let your unbelief trap you. Someday, you’ll understand that. The second thing is that youarethe daughter of a hero. His name is Arch Henry. Archie. He served with your aunt Tillie. When she deployed, I was very sad. And Archie made me happy. He loved me, and we would have gottenmarried, but he left for the war. He was killed before he knew about you. But he would have loved you. When I get to heaven, I can’t wait to tell him all about you.”

Tillie looked up at Moose, holding his gaze, hers wide, glossy.

Yeah, his throat ached too. He took her hand.

“Be good for your next mom. Aunt Tillie—Momma Tillie—also loves you and would do anything for you. I’ll always be with you, Hazelnut. Never forget that I love you.”

The room went silent as the recording stopped. Tillie didn’t move.

Moose had nothing. Butshoot, he sort of wanted to put his head down in his arms and have a little cry.

“See, Mom, I knew that man wasn’t my dad.” Hazel slid onto the chair and tucked the recorder back into the stuffed animal. “So, can we go home now?”

Flynn had come into the room and now walked up to the counter. “Hazel, I think a few more people need to listen to that recording. And then we can figure out how to get you home.”

Moose squeezed Tillie’s hand.

“How do you feel about pancakes?” Oaken said as he dried the pan he’d just washed.

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