Free The Language of Sparrows by Rachel Phifer Page B

I were wrong.” She looked up. “You have a son.”
    He sent her a quizzical glance.
    “He was once Sierra’s age. I’m sure you were careful about who you let him associate with.”
    “I believe our circumstances are quite different.”
    She studied her pastry. How were their circumstances so different? Mr. Prodan and his son had been separated for some years according to Nick, but he’d only been a year older than Sierra when Mr. Prodan arrived in Houston.
    “I do not think Sierra wishes to come here with her mother,” Mr. Prodan said. “My years of fatherhood have not been as they should be, but they have taught me this much. Children have a different type of honesty with their parents than they have with friends. Otherwise, I would invite you to come and visit me with Sierra.”
    April had been so sure she would see more options when she spoke to this man, but instead she found only more questions. “So what should we do?”
    He shook his head. “I would very much like to see Sierra again, but it is more important for her to have peace with her mother first.”
    Faith. That is what he was telling her. Her only way forward was to have faith in him. April looked into his eyes. This was a man worth knowing, as Sierra found out for herself.
    It was hard to imagine a man less likely to hurt her daughter in the perverted way she had imagined. Even less in the way Nick Foster suggested. How could this gentle man use words like jackhammers?
    But then she’d only known him a few minutes. He was still a stranger. She had to know more.
    April inched forward in her chair. “What did you do in Romania, Mr. Prodan? Where did you live?”
    “I was a secondary math teacher. In Bucharest.”
    His eyes were all-knowing, and she had the feeling he knew she was investigating him, but that didn’t stop her. She inclined her head toward the library. “You’ve got a lovely collection of books.”
    On that subject he opened up to her like a beloved friend. He leaned back and almost began to chat.
    He liked to read theology and philosophy but was content to read a good children’s story or a classic romance. He gave a small laugh. “I learned English by reading children’s books by Enid Blyton, and eventually I moved on to Henry James. I got quite a few odd stares my first years here in America. It took me some time to realize that the language has changed since those writers put pen to paper.”
    Outside, the afternoon light softened. She took a last sip of coffee, cold now and thick as molasses, and stood to go. “I haven’t found any answers. But I’m glad we met.” She let out a nervous laugh. “You’re not the man I imagined.”
    He gave her a quiet nod and led her to the front door.
    As she stepped onto the porch, she inhaled the sharp scent of marigolds and dead leaves. Her gaze traveled along the oaks and stopped when she realized a truck was parked in the driveway. Nick Foster, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, carried several bags of groceries. She’d understood from their conversation that he wasn’t on close terms with his father.
    April stole a glance at her watch. They met on the walk, and she stopped to look up at Nick, who seared her with his icy blue eyes.
    “I had to see for myself,” she said. “I needed to know what kind of man he is.”
    He shifted the grocery bags to one hand and used the other hand to push his glasses up. “Was it a good day or a bad one?”
    April wasn’t sure how to answer that. “He wasn’t what I expected. He seems … wise.”
    “It was a good day then. You were lucky.”
    Mr. Prodan, still on his porch, bent over his flowers, studying them. He made no move to meet his son on the walk, and his face remained blank, as if he didn’t realize Nick stood in his yard. Nick didn’t look his father’s way either. What was that all about?
    Why did she feel the need to apologize for coming here and for liking his father? “It bothers you that I came to see him,