She admired the snapshots, drifting from one to another. The resemblance to her benefactor tattled, for the little girl had his piercing amber eyes.
“That’s Abby, my daughter.”
She didn’t jump in alarm. Instead, ZeLisa made a nonchalant turn. He approached silently because of the music. “She’s lovely.”
“Took after her mother. My little girl was only two when that was taken.”
Hank was beside her now, his dejected posture a measure of his hurt. ZeLisa lifted her head to get a better look at him. The pain pulsating in his voice filled his eyes. The miserable look, she suspected, exemplified a parent’s ultimate nightmare.
“Abby took ill and never recovered.”
“Oh, Hank,” she breathed. “I’m so sorry.”
He stiffened his back as if to shake off the melancholy feeling. His brows rose. To her amazement, Herman the Munster’s easygoing expression resurfaced.
“No need to catch cold.” In his palm was a pair of masculine, close-toed slippers.
Hadn’t she vowed never to wear a pair of men’s footwear ever again? “Yes, you’re right.”
“We’d better get going.”
“Thank you, Mr. Streeter.” His huge slippers swallowed her feet.
“Oh. It’s Mr. Streeter again, huh? Anyway, you’re welcome, Dr. Tobias.”
ZeLisa shifted her feet, suddenly uncomfortable. Although there was no adult female in any of the pictures, she had to ask. “Your wife won’t mind?”
His expressions ran the gamut from sadness to anger to resignation and at last acceptance. “I’m divorced. No worries.”
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