* * *
“THIS ONE CAN go over, too.” Roman tapped the top of the file box with one of his crutches when Jasper returned to the office.
“I think I prefer the weights,” Jasper groaned as he hefted the box and headed back out. “Hey, Mrs. S.”
“Jasper. Is my son keeping you busy?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
At the sound of his mother’s voice, Roman hobbled frantically back to the chair and had just planted his butt when she walked in. “Hey, Mom.”
She narrowed her eyes, dropped the box she’d been carrying, along with her purse, then bent down, grabbed the trash can and flipped it over. “Leg. Here. Now.” Roman sighed and did as he was told. Not that he had a choice, given she grabbed his crutches and put them across the room. “Did you eat?”
“Breakfast, yes.” Although he didn’t think she’d consider fruit ring cereal a nutritious choice. “How’s the hotel?”
“Spectacular.” Ezzie leaned in to check the kitchen, her mouth twisted into something akin to disapproval. “The ocean puts me right to sleep. Reminds me of the cruise ships. Those darlings Abby and Lori had breakfast sent to my room this morning. Lemon ricotta pancakes. They were so delicious I had to stop in the kitchen on my way out and give my compliments to the chef.”
“Mom.” Roman could only imagine how that went. “You can’t just go into the kitchen of a restaurant to talk to the chef.”
“Of course I can.” Ezzie looked dumbfounded at the notion as she opened her box. “That Jason Corwin is a handsome young man. And so polite. You know, I’ve heard people think he’s a bit of a grouch, but I didn’t see that at all.”
Probably because she wasn’t looking. Jason could be a bit intense, especially where his kitchen was concerned. Or so he’d been teased on their fishing trip the other weekend.
“This town is simply charming. It’s so refreshing being able to walk everywhere. And the little stores along the way. I might have stopped at that bakery near the bookstore.”
“I don’t blame you. What’s that you’ve got?” He started to stand but froze when his mother shot him “the look.” From the box, she lifted the handmade polished-oak humidor that had sat in his father’s office for as long as Roman could remember. “Dad’s cigar box.”
“I told you I was going to give it to you.”
“I didn’t expect you to bring it with you on the plane.” But he accepted the box gratefully. “Mom, thank you.” He smoothed his hands over the engraved top, memories washing over him with the strength of a moon tide.
“It’s my treasure box,” his father had whispered in Roman’s five-year-old ear. “Your mother thinks it’s where I keep my cigars so she won’t go near it.” Tony Salazar slipped his arm around Roman’s shoulder and unlatched the lock, lifted the lid. Inside were bundled letters tied with ribbon, countless scraps of paper with scribbled notes on them, a few small boxes and one dried sprig of mistletoe. “I asked your mother to marry me under this.” Tony motioned to the dried plant. “Best decision I ever made. Best Christmas gift I could have ever received was when she said yes. Before you came along, at least.” Tony had hugged and tickled Roman to the point of contagious laughter. “This box holds all my wishes, Roman. All the ones I still have, all the ones that have come true. One day, far in the future, this will be your box for you to keep your wishes in.”
“Mama won’t look?” Roman had asked and, when his father closed the box, he flattened his small hands over the hand-carved image of a thicket of trees with tiny butterflies darting among the branches.
“Mama won’t look,” Tony promised. “You’ll take care of this when I’m gone, okay?”
“Where are you going, Daddy?”
“Nowhere for a very long time, I hope.” Tony drew Roman close. “Not for a very, very long time.”
“Roman?” His mother’s hand on his arm jolted Roman out of the memory. “Are you all right?”
“Sure.” He wasn’t embarrassed about the tears blurring his vision. How could he be when he knew how much his father had loved him? Roman looked down at the carved lid, smoothed a solitary finger over the butterfly. “It’s funny. This looks just like where they’re building the butterfly sanctuary,” he told her.
“It does, doesn’t it?” Ezzie circled around him and laid her hands on his shoulders. “I walked up there the other day, stopped at that lovely little organic farm.” Ezzie bent down and rested her cheek against his, covered Roman’s hand with hers as he embraced the box that had held his father’s dreams. “He loved you very much. He would be so proud of you. Almost as proud as I am.”