Page 105 of Missing

“Grandma, this is Mr. Doug.”

Doug held out his hand for a handshake, but Chase hadn’t let go of her free hand.

“Chase, I need my hand sweetie.” My mom pulled her hand free and shook Doug’s. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Mrs. Burnell.”

“None of that Mrs. Burnell nonsense, you can call me Dolly, or Mom.”

I knew she’d approve of him but hadn’t expected it to happen before she took off her coat.

Doug nodded, his smile as he made eye contact with me radiated pure joy. Despite my reassurances, he’d been nervous about meeting her. “Can I help you with your coat?”

“Thank you, Mr. Doug,” she answered, causing Chase to giggle. He knew adults didn’t use the Mr. or Mrs. like he had to.

“None of that, you can call me Doug.” He winked at Chase before helping my mom wiggle out of her coat. “Can you hang up your Grandma’s coat?”

“Yes, sir,” Chase answered the same way he’d heard the guys answer John countless times.

Even if I hadn’t found a good man to love me and help me raise Chase, he still would have grown into a damn fine man.

My mother laughed before asking, “When did he start saying that?”

“He picked it up at Sheppard & Sons,” I answered, knowing I didn’t need to say anymore. She’d met John, and understood the dynamic in the family.

When the food was done, Doug and I made plates for my mom and Chase, then for ourselves. Because my mom couldn’t drink alcohol, I served her and Chase sparkling grape juice. Doug and I enjoyed a sweet white wine.

Dinner was filled with lots of love, laughter, and delicious food.

Mom was feeling a little weak after dinner, so Doug helped her walk her to the couch.

“You’re a true gentleman, Mr. Doug,” she patted him on the arm, “and a perfect role model for my grandson.”

Color rose in Doug’s cheeks as he thanked her.

“Come sit with me Chase. I want to hear all about school," my mom said.

“Okay.” Chase ran to the living room and hopped up onto the couch. “Yesterday we couldn’t have recess…”

I tuned him out as Doug and I finished cleaning up. Doug put the food away before carving the rest of the meat from the turkey and setting the bones aside so I could use them to make broth later. While he did that, I rinsed the dishes and loaded the dishwasher.

“Have you always made your own bone broth?” Doug asked as he watched me shove the turkey skeleton into my crockpot.

“Yup. Mom always made her own and she taught me how.”

“That’s cool. My mom wasn’t much of a cook, not that she couldn’t,” he paused, “she just preferred not to.”

I didn’t like the sad expression that crossed his face so I turned the conversation back.

“It’s easy. You fill the crockpot with the bones, add water, and cook for thirty-six to forty-eight hours.”

“That’s it?”

“I add celery, carrots, onion, and garlic for the last twelve to eighteen hours. It doesn’t change the flavor much, but it adds extra nutrients.”

I could see his mind working. He was a guy who liked to eat T-Bone steaks, BBQ ribs, and chicken wings. “Can you use any bones?”

“You can, and you can mix them.” I secured the lid and turned the pot on low. “I keep a bone bag in my freezer. When I have enough to fill the pot, I make broth.”

---