From the top step at the entrance to Holy Redeemer Church, Samantha Lyons searched far out past the edge of town. The tiny gray speck on the horizon that was Field Station Number Thirty-Seven sat in the endless green of salt hay.
Sighing, she fixed her gaze on her tiny home, a spot easy to miss unless one
knew where to look for it. Despite the lack of conveniences, she had come to love
the modest dwelling.
For two years Samantha had studied the effects of a new pesticide on the salt marsh mosquito as the final application of her doctoral thesis. The very real
possibility that she would not finish her work was bad enough, but the idea of
leaving her first real home tore at her. Sorrow welled up in her throat, threatening to choke her.
Shading her eyes, she glanced up and down the main street of Clam Creek, New Jersey. She doubted that she would catch a glimpse of the college junior who had signed on to be her assistant. Ginger Blaine had decided that the lonely life of a research scientist on a salt marsh was no way to live and had driven away, vowing never to return.
Lowering her hand, Samantha ambled slowly down the church steps, forcing herself to rein in her emotions. The humid air and searing morning sunshine of another steamy August day did not bother her. Yet, the sense of loss that swept through her felt like a black stone in the pit of her stomach. Without Ginger�s help, she would have to leave Clam Creek.
She had known from the first that Ginger wouldn�t make a suitable assistant, but since nobody else had applied for the position, she had been forced to hire the flighty young woman. Waves of heat shimmered from the roof of her blue Chevy as she approached it. She had parked her car in the brutal sunshine, but with the weather forecast for clear skies, and sleepy Clam Creek�s almost nonexistent crime rate, she felt safe in leaving the windows open. Nobody had to worry about anyone stealing anything in the tiny town. So when she opened her car door and saw someone in her vehicle, it startled her so badly that she dropped the keys she held in her hand.
A small boy holding a chocolate ice cream cone sat on the passenger seat of her car. Melted brown ice cream covered his chin and he looked at her with wide, round eyes as full of fear as those of the timid deer that occasionally wandered into the field station. The child had straight, black hair falling into his eyes, which were the same hazy blue as the summer sky. Samantha didn�t have any idea who he was.
She slowly bent down to pick up her keys, keeping her gaze fixed on the child.
"Hi," she said. "Where�s your mom and dad?"
The little boy�s face crumpled. At almost the same moment, Samantha heard the frantic sound of a deep male voice calling.
"James! James! Where are you?"
Samantha rose, turned, and saw a man running down the street toward her.
The boy wailed. "Daddy! Daddieeeeeee!" His ice cream cone tilted and a large brown glob landed on the car seat. The youngster screamed louder.
"I�m here, James!"
As the man raced toward Samantha�s car, she noticed that the ice cream shop owner followed him in hot pursuit.
"Hey, Meester. You no pay me!" The rotund ice cream entrepreneur shouted.
The young boy�s father skidded to a stop when he reached Samantha�s car. He yanked open the passenger door, reached in, and quickly pulled his son into his arms.
"What are you doing with my kid?" he demanded.
"What�s he doing in my car?"
The boy sobbed. "My ice cream, Daddy! My ice cream!"
"Hey you! You owe me a dollar feefty!" the shop owner roared, creating more of a ruckus.
"Look, I told you I had the money in my car!" the father growled back.
Samantha shook her head and then studied the scruffy pair of father and son. The dad hadn�t shaved in a few days, though the stubble on his chin didn�t detract from his good looks. At some point in his life, the man must have lifted weights because he had wonderfully broad shoulders, which his T-shirt only seemed to emphasize. She felt a blush heating her cheeks.
"Thees your car?" the angry proprietor asked.
"No," the father answered. "Mine�s blue�"
His voice trailed off as he blinked in the bright sunlight at the car's finish.
"Hey, thees one is blue," the shop owner pointed out.
"Yeah, well--mine�s a Chev..."
Samantha saw the puzzled frown cloud the father�s face. He paused as his gaze moved from one end of the car to the other.
"Okay," he muttered. "This car looks almost the same as mine. Is that what happened, James? You thought this was our car?"
The boy nodded his head and took in a ragged breath.
The father glared at Samantha. "You should have rolled up your windows and locked your car."
"You should have been holding your son�s hand." Samantha reached under the seat for a roll of paper towels to remove the brown glob of ice cream, which spread out as it melted.
The shop owner boomed, "You shoulda keep the money in your pocket, not in your car!"
"All right!" the father grumbled. "Can�t you be patient a minute? It�s not like you have a long line of customers in that shop." He pointed to the deserted ice cream parlor up the street.
"You gonna cheat me!" The shop owner shook his fist in a threatening manner.
The harried father swore. "I�ll see if I�ve got any change." He walked back up the street with his son sobbing softly on his shoulder and the shop owner dogging his footsteps.
Samantha tugged a few more towels off the roll and dropped them on the
chocolate goo. She glanced up and couldn�t help but notice how the father
dragged his feet along the street. It appeared as though he didn�t have just the
weight of his son on his shoulders but the crushing load of the world. An odd
suspicion set her nerves on edge. Maybe the father really didn�t have the money in his car.
She swiped once more at the mess on her front seat. She couldn�t ignore the lost look in the child�s eyes. He reminded her of herself at around the same age. A small chill wound its way up her spine despite the heat of the day.
Suddenly, the father and the shop proprietor commenced yelling at each other all
over again, loud enough for the entire town to hear.
"This is one dollar and ten cents!" The shop owner had his teeth bared. "I told you it was one-feefty!"
"So I�m a little short." The man clutched his son against him. "I really thought I had the exact amount."
Samantha dropped the messy paper towels in a nearby garbage can. Without a moment�s hesitation, she dug in her handbag for some change and hurried up the street to the scene.
"I think you must have dropped this when you bent over to take your son out of my car." She held out the coins in her hand.
"No...I..." The father shot her a wary look. "Uh. Yeah, that must be mine." He reached out and she dropped the change into his palm.
Samantha saw the relief break out on his face as he stared at the coins.
"Thanks...I..." His eyes narrowed and he peered at her for a moment with such suspicion that she took a step back. He turned to the shop owner and dropped the money into the man's beefy paw.
"Well, that�s all settled then. Here�s your forty cents, sir. No hard feelings."
The shop owner carefully counted out the coins and closed the money tightly in his fist before heading back to his store, mumbling loud enough for everyone to hear.
"Hmmph! I know the minute I see him--he's a bum!"
