Free The Tidewater Sisters: Postlude to The Prayer Box by Lisa Wingate Page A

wild, taking over three times their old territory, too tangled and knotted now for anyone to groom or sort them. “That’s really great. Congratulations.” His voice is flat.
    Fortunately, a phone chimes in his pocket before I have to answer. He goes to it as a welcome distraction. I watch his profile in the soft pink light as he reads the message.
    “Laura says come on down for supper. She was hoping to get to see you at least a little more before you go.”
    “That sounds nice.” I’m thankful for the reprieve. I don’t want to leave, but I know I can’t stay here like this, alone with Luke and the thinning clouds and the first faint star testing the horizon. It’s too familiar.
    I’d like to talk to Laura a bit more anyway, find out what sort of money Gina has glommed on to while stealing the farm rent over the years.
    A whistle calls Boomer from his hunting place. “Why not walk?” The melancholy is gone, and there’s that boyish hint of double-dog dare again.
    “Yeah. That sounds nice.” One more journey down Mulberry Run Road with Luke Townley and Boomer. Just about perfect.
    We slip into the past again as we set off, talking about bike rides and frog gigging and the time we put ablack racer snake in Gina’s purse. “My daddy whipped the fire out of me for that. But it was kind of worth it.”
    I’ve said it before I realize that talking about Daddy and whippings is a potential conversation spoiler, considering how much Luke actually knows about my family. The comment slides away as we turn into Laura’s yard and a gaggle of assorted kids runs out to greet us. They make a human jungle gym of Luke. I can’t even tell which ones are family and which ones are here for foster care. He seems to love them all. It crosses my mind that it’s a shame he’s not a father.
    The melee travels inside with us and continues as Laura and her husband, Dale, do their best to get a meal served. It’s sloppy and messy and chaotic, but you can feel the love in this house. As we pause to pray over the food, I’m thankful that Laura has all of this. After what she’s been through, she deserves it. I’m awed anew by the power of a single, ordinary life—one the rest of us would think of as broken. Here she is, with no legs, and she’s giving these children wings.
    I’m more determined than ever to save the old farm, to retain possession of it. I want to bring Paul and the kids back here to spend time. I want to show them all the old childhood places. I want them to get to know this amazing woman and her cornucopia of kids.
    But as the prayer ends and conversation flies, I look across the table, see Luke, and wonder how it would be to introduce him to Paul. To bring together these two men who saved me at different times in my life.
    Maybe it wouldn’t be the right thing to do at all.
    It’s likely that it’ll never happen, anyway. I don’t have to listen to the chatter long to realize that Luke’s not kidding when he says he’s moved around a lot. He never stays here very long. He never stays anyplace. The kids ask for stories, and he tells them about one home after another, one person after another, but they’re all temporary in Luke’s life.
    I’m still trying to form a complete picture of his wanderings by the time supper ends. He and Dale go outside with the kids to feed scraps to dogs, gather eggs from the coop, and do the barn chores for the night. I stay in with Laura to help clear the dishes, even though she insists that I don’t have to. She tries to urge me to go with Luke. I have a feeling she’s hoping to set something up, so I make sure to tell her, as we’re washing and drying plates, about to the upcoming wedding.
    Her reaction is a little like Luke’s, but she says, “Oh, that’s awesome. I’m so excited for you!”
    “He’s really an incredible guy.” Why do I feel strangely like I’m justifying myself? “The best.”
    “Good for you. Congratulations.”
    The focus drifts to