Free Claire Knows Best by Tracey Bateman

grew to love Kim in his own way.
     They began attending church and she eventually found the Lord. I think that helped his feelings toward her. At any rate, he
     chose to make the best out of his life. I think he would have had children sooner, but Kimberly was afraid after the miscarriage.”
    “No wonder he’s so close to Sadie.”
    “They have a bond that’s even stronger than most little girls and their daddies.” Her gaze pierces me. “But it’s not a substitute
     for the bond between a man and a woman. I thank God for bringing you into my son’s life.” Her eyes get a little misty and
     I’m feeling like a big jerk for turning him down earlier. “I think he’s really in love for the first time in his life, Claire.
     He’s happy.”
    “I’m glad. He makes me happy, too.” A lame response, but I’m at a loss for words, so it’s the best I can do. “Well, I better
     get that book and let you get some sleep. Thank you for telling me all of this. I guess if Greg had wanted me to know, he
     would have told me. So I feel a little guilty knowing.” I send her a grin. “But I’m still glad you told me.”
    “Well, he should have told you months ago. I think he just wants to let it go.”
    “I guess so.” Back in the library, I grab the first book I come across that looks even remotely engaging. When I come out,
     Helen still seems to be deep in thought. “Good night,” I say.
    “Good night, dear. I hope you won’t be angry with Greg about all of this.”
    “Naw. I’m sure he would have told me eventually.”
    But on the way back to my room, it rankles me a little that Greg hasn’t been very forthcoming about his first wife. I never
     really thought to ask too much. I guess I just thought he loved her too much to talk about her. Now I know it was just that
     he didn’t want to rehash all of his past mistakes. I guess I can appreciate that, but it still doesn’t help my suspicious
     side cope with one nagging question: What else has he kept from me?

5
    T he next afternoon Greg has made good on his promise to find me a contractor. I’m more than a little worried that the guy is
     so readily available on such short notice in the spring—the beginning of a busy season for most contractors. Nevertheless,
     Milton Travis is standing upstairs in my house, wearing a ratty red cap, looking over the damage so he can give me an estimate.
     His presence helps me to push aside the whole “associate pastor” situation. It’s a welcome relief, and I can’t help but breathe
     a little easier that I’m moving forward on my house so quickly.
    Milt, the contractor, lets off a long, low whistle. “That is some big tree.”
    His uncanny penchant for understatement just fills me with raw emotion. And not in a good way. To make matters worse, the
     guy has that bend-over butt-crack syndrome that guys with beer bellies and tool belts tend to get. And every time he bends
     over to look at the tree from another angle, I’m forced to avert my gaze. We may have to work out some sort of warning system
     if he’s going to be a permanent fixture around here for the next few weeks.
    “So, what do you think?” I ask.
    “Well, hon,” he says, and this is my second indication I’m not going to like this guy (the aforementioned butt-crack syndrome
     being the first). I don’t have any patience with “hon”-calling men. “First thing you’re gonna have to do is get yourself a
     tree-removal service.”
    I assumed he would just take care of it all. Take off the tree, fix the roof. This is going to be a step-by-step process involving
     more people to hire? I feel my stomach sinking down to my toes. The more people involved in anything, the more complicated
     things become.
    “Oh, sure. Mostly they take care of trees that folks want yanked out of the ground and moved. But most of ’em take care of
     storm damage kind of stuff, too.”
    Well, this one is already yanked out of the ground, compliments of Mother