Mackinnon 03 - The Bonus Mom (14 page)

“You’d love my oldest brother, Tucker. He can get dirty by just stepping outside.”

“Yeah. That’s me, too. I’d come home, tired to beat the band, and I couldn’t even walk in the door. If she had her way, I’d have stripped outside and gotten hosed down before coming in. We had a white couch. White carpeting. Some magazine did a spread of the place. Not because we were that wealthy. But because she was so full of taste and style. Or that’s what the article said.”

Whit started to rub against her back again, but then he just let out an earthy sigh, and crashed. He was beat. She understood. She was too darned tired to sit any longer, too. Still, they both choose to lie near the hearth, head to head rather than close enough to hold each other. This wasn’t about temptation anymore, she understood. It was about him getting something off his mind.

“Okay,” she said. “So how’d the marriage go from there?”

“That’s exactly what I wanted to tell you. But it isn’t really a fun thing to say.”

“You think my telling you about George’s sexual escapades was fun?”

“No. I think it was damned tough. And that’s why I’d like to own up to something on the tough side for me. I was proud of her, Rosemary. What Zoe did, she did so well. I was the screw-up. I went to the ballet, did my best not to fall asleep. I’d do the tux thing, the charity auction thing. I didn’t want to argue with her. I didn’t want her to be unhappy. If she wanted quiche and I wanted meatloaf, hey, that was no big sacrifice. But the whole package got harder and harder. I just couldn’t be the man she wanted.”

“Aw, Whit.”

“I don’t know who screwed up worse—her or me. Maybe she thought I was someone else when she married me. But I was working more and more hours, just to stay away from the house that wasn’t my house, the life that wasn’t any kind of life I wanted. Only then...she got pregnant.”

“Planned?” Rosemary asked.

“Not exactly. Neither of us believed bringing kids into a bad marriage was a good idea. But...we slept together. Not as often as before, but there were always some nights when we’d turn to each other. When the pregnancy test came back, we were both startled. When further testing revealed she was pregnant with twins, well...”

“You were both scared witless?”

“You said it. But...then the girls were born...and from that moment on, everything was completely different. I took one look at those baby girls and fell like a brick. I always liked kids. But this was like...sunstruck. I never expected a bond that fierce, that powerful, that just plain instinctive. And Zoe...well, we didn’t fight anymore. We didn’t have time. She had help in the house, but twins are still a lot of work. I may not have had the same parenting ideas that she had...but we got along. I would have stayed in the marriage. Hell, I would have done anything to keep the family together for the girls’ sake.”

“There’s a ‘but’ in your voice,” she said softly.

“I never wished her harm. I swear.”

“You don’t have to swear. I believe you.”

“This whole past year, I’ve felt so much guilt. I never wanted her to die. Never wanted anything bad to happen to her. But there was this feeling of...relief. Week by week, I felt like I was learning to breathe again. To not live ‘tight’ all the time. I could laugh out loud. Come in from work on a hot summer day and pop the top on a beer.”

“You felt free,” Rosemary said.

“I did. I do. But I know the girls think I’m still grieving for their mom, and I can’t—would never—tell them otherwise. They loved her. They miss her.

“Zoe was never evil or bad or anything like that. We just didn’t fit. I never put her down in front of them. I never will.”

“I understand, Whit.”

“Yeah, I think you do. Because you felt you had to keep a secret from family. Different reasons, different situations. But that one aspect is the same. When you love someone, you don’t want to hurt them. And if that means you have to lie or keep secrets or whatever, you just do it.”

“Whatever you have to do,” she agreed.

“I don’t like lying. Or to feel like I’m a liar.”

“I completely understand, Whit. I never wanted my family to think I’d walk out on a wedding on a whim. But...”

“You felt it’d hurt them more if you told them the truth.”

She closed her eyes. It was odd—and maybe amazing—how different their stories were. Yet how much they somehow understood each other.

Whit said nothing for a while. Moments passed. When the old chime clock in the far corner hit twice, she realized he’d fallen asleep. And it was past time both of them got up to their separate bedrooms and knocked off some serious z’s.

She meant to get up. Meant to wake Whit. But the night had been precious in so many ways, that she just didn’t want to give in yet. There were still sounds and smells and treasures to inhale. Including Whit.

Especially including Whit.

And that thought was the last thing she remembered.

Chapter Twelve

W
hen Whit opened his eyes, two bright faces loomed over him. He strongly suspected the chances of further sleep wouldn’t make bookie odds.

“Dad, did you and Rosemary really sleep down here? On the floor like this? Weren’t you cold?”

“Dad, there are presents under the tree. You told us we weren’t doing any presents this year. Except that you bought all that stuff for our rooms. But you said that wasn’t about Christmas and it was all getting shipped home. So what’d you get us? Can we open them?”

“Dad, we have to call Grandma and Grandpa. You think it’s too early?”

“Dad—”

“Dad—”

He swiped the sleep from his eyes, recognized that his entire body had been twisted in a cold, cramped position, and swung to a sitting position. Then, looking at his girls, raised his arms.

They swooped in for a Christmas hug. They both snugged in close, and both seemed to decide the attire for the morning required red tops with lots of glitter, jeans, and red-and-white socks. They’d brushed their hair, used a red, white and green elastic band to make ponytails, and somewhere, somehow, they’d found some eye makeup.

At least he was pretty sure Lilly’s eyelids weren’t green—and Pepper’s weren’t red—when they’d gone to sleep last night.

The questions continued. There was no point in trying to answer any until they’d both run out of steam. In the meantime, he turned a sharp eye on the crumpled mound still on the floor. It didn’t look like a body. It looked like someone—such as himself—had half woken in the night, and scooped all the afghans and throws from the couches to cover her up.

She was still covered up, including her head.

She wasn’t still sleeping, because that was inconceivable with the girls’ racket. But considering how little sleep they’d gotten the night before, he wasn’t surprised she was trying to fake it.

That, of course, didn’t last long. The girls pounced, peeled the blanket off her face, and discovered a smiling Rosemary—who burst out with a “Happy Christmas, you two!”

They shrieked in return.

“Okay guys, we’re going to give Rosemary a chance to run upstairs and change clothes, while I make breakfast.”

“He’s going to make crepes, Rosemary—but that just means pancakes, don’t be worried.”

“Hey,” Whit objected, trying to sound mightily offended. “I brought my copper pan, the Bisquick, the rum. Not like I don’t know how to do this.”

Lilly, like always, rushed to reassure her. “Yeah, he uses rum, Rosemary, but it’s not like you’ll feel funny or get drunk or anything. It just takes a tablespoon. But it has to be good rum.”

“Like you’d know good rum from bad,” Pepper said, then rolled her eyes.

“Girls...” He took that moment to intervene. “Where’d you find the eye shadow?”

“We already had it.”

He had the batter made by the time Rosemary popped downstairs, wearing jeans and a white sweater with Christmas trees. Her eyes met his, with an expression so vulnerable, so fragile...so much worry. And then not. “Hey, I really need to call my parents. Is it too late to do it before breakfast?”

“No, go for it. I need to make a call to the kids’ grandparents, too.”

They both headed for their cell phones. He called his parents—the time change to Washington was always an issue, but no problem to call them early, because they were always up at the crack of dawn. They loved to talk with the girls.

By the time Whit rang off, he aimed back to the kitchen to finish making breakfast.

Rosemary ambled into the kitchen moments later. “I didn’t get my parents yet—their line was busy. But they’ll call back any minute. I’ll set the table.”

Her cell drummed on, just as she scooped up a handful of forks and knives. He poured her coffee, then went back to his flapjacks. Or pancakes. Or crepes. Whatever they were. Since Rosemary’d already made that super coffee cake, it didn’t much matter if his pancakes worked out.

He could hear Rosemary from the doorway, as she set the table.

“Dad!” Her voice was bright as sunshine. “Good, good, glad Mom can come on, too. Merry Christmas to you both! When are Ike and Tucker and the kids coming over?”

Some sort of chitchat bantered back and forth. He couldn’t hear what her parents said—or guess which parent was talking to her—but from the conversation, it appeared that both her parents poured on guilt with all the enthusiasm of alcohol for an alcoholic.

“I’m sorry, but that’s just not going to happen. There’s no possibility of any kind that George and I will get back together.”

Silence again. He had to flip the first set of crepes, put a fresh dollop of butter in the copper skillet. He missed some of the conversation, but heard her respond to one of her parents.

“That’s not really true. I’m doing work up here. For positive, I’m not hiding out at the lodge because I’m afraid to face George or anyone else. I...”

More silence. He couldn’t stand it, and took the pot in the dining room to refill her mug. The table was set and she’d plunked down in a chair, her elbow on the table and a hand in her hair.

“Listen, you two. I love you both. I’ll be seeing you in a matter of days. And I’m sorry that you’re upset with me. I’m sorry that you feel disappointed. But all I can say is that both of you, by now, should know that you can trust me. Trust my judgment. You should know that I broke up with him for serious reasons. And I really don’t want to talk about this again. I hope you both have a super day. Say hi to the gang. And I’ll see you in a few days, as soon as I can head down the mountain.”

When she clicked off, she tilted her head, saw him in the doorway holding the spatula. Her expression changed, from looking crushed and vulnerable...to a wry smile. “Boy, was that fun.”

“That’s just what I was thinking. Maybe after breakfast, we could both...I don’t know...fall off a cliff. Or go kick up some copperheads. Or put our hands into a beehive.”

“Darn it. You’re making me laugh.”

“You want laughter? Wait until you taste these crepes.”

The girls descended on the table. Lilly, thankfully, always ate the burned ones, and Pepper, just as predictably, gobbled them up until she groaned, she was so full. Rosemary expressed shock that they actually tasted good, requiring him to pretend to punch her arm.

Then came the presents. He hung back, tense, watching the girls open their cameras, and all the gear and supplies that came with them. He worried, always, whether he’d picked something age-appropriate...but also something they’d personally like. They were old enough to be into labels and clothes styles that he had no way to cope with.

Rosemary, on the floor near his knee, shot him a glance. “I told you so.”

“They do like ’em, don’t they.”

“Are you kidding?
We love them!
”

Whit got buried in hugs and kisses, but all too soon the girls settled down. Too soon, they noticed the one last present under the tree. For Rosemary. From him.

He’d never run from a problem or a tough challenge, but he had the brief, sick wish that he could just disappear. He hadn’t known what to get her. Going into stores and shops, nothing jumped out at him. He had no idea whether to get her something funny, or something traditional, or candles or jewelry or clothes, and every store he’d tried in Greenville, some saleslady took one look at him and started in with the advice. He’d never had a panic attack, but he’d come close.

It mattered. That he do something right. In her eyes, on her terms. It mattered more than he could breathe. He wasn’t so good with words, like some men. And God knew, Zoe had told him over and over that he was terrible at choosing presents.

The girls brought the box out from under the tree. They were already rolling their eyes. Okay, so the big box looked a little ragged. He’d had to use a lot of Scotch tape. And he didn’t have enough paper, so he’d sort of had to add newspaper to it. And then the bow got crushed when it was upside down in the car.

“What on earth...?” Rosemary asked.

“Listen. It’s like I told you before. I get presents all wrong. So don’t worry if you don’t like it or it’s wrong or something. Don’t expect anything. Don’t—”

“Sh,” she told him sternly. Inside the big box was a smaller box. And then another. And finally, was a manila envelope.

She slit open the envelope, and even before she’d pulled out the sheath of papers, the girls rounded on him.

Lilly was almost beside herself. “
Dad!
You were supposed to get her a real present!”

Pepper was more vocal. “Come on, Dad, what’d you do? Paper isn’t a present!”

He couldn’t answer them for that instant. His gaze was glued to her profile, as she studied the content on the papers. Finally, she lifted her face to his. She started to say something, stopped. Tried again. Her voice barely reached a whisper.

“Whit. How could you do this to me?”

He saw her eyes well up with tears, felt his heart drop like a stone. The girls got even more upset. “What did you
do
to make Rosemary cry? What’s going on, Dad? What did you give her?”

* * *

An alien suddenly invaded her body. Rosemary didn’t cry. She’d never worn emotions on her sleeve, never lost control in public. But the sting of salty tears in her eyes turned on like a switch that wouldn’t shut off. She said quickly to the girls, “I’m not really crying, girls. Honest. I... Something...”

Well, she couldn’t finish. She could see the look of alarm and worry on their faces, but she couldn’t speak. Her throat suddenly felt as thick as molasses.

Whit carefully, calmly intervened. “You know what? I think holidays get crazy for everyone. Let’s give Rosemary a little break, guys. We’ll go outside, take your cameras, try ’em out.”

She couldn’t look at him. She wanted to reassure him, immediately, what his present meant to her. But for at least that moment, her throat was still jammed up, the tears still threatening a hurricane deluge. It was stupid and she was mad at herself, but there it was.

By the time Whit and the girls came back in, she still hadn’t figured out what had happened to her, but it was better. Everything was better.

She made a joke to the girls about being an idiot sometimes, and the group congregated in the kitchen. Whit took on breakfast cleanup—and clove-studding the ham. She and the girls put together a cherry sauce, and then a huge batch of the cheesy potatoes the girls wanted.

She tried to catch Whit’s eye—wanted and needed to explain why she’d reacted so strongly to his present. But the girls hovered like guardian angels, outside, inside, wherever she was.

She found Pepper waiting outside when she opened the door to the bathroom.

“Listen, Rosemary,” Pepper said with a wary eye down the hall as if her sister or dad might appear any minute. “You have to understand about my dad. He doesn’t know how to give presents to grown women. My mom said so all the time. She used to say, ‘Just give me a check, honey. It’ll save you having to shop or buying anything crass. Or trashy.’ Or something like that. So it’s not like he doesn’t try, you know? He gets us. He gets kids. But you’re another adult, you know?”

Rosemary opened her mouth, then closed it. When Whit told her about his marriage last night, all the things the girls had mentioned about their mom suddenly added up. The stories she’d heard about Zoe suddenly all had a different interpretation. Zoe had been a harper. An overcritical badger. Especially of men, but also of her daughters.

That made it all the more important that she catch Whit alone for a few minutes, but she just couldn’t make it happen.

Once dinner was in the oven, Whit dragged them all outside again—they’d forgotten to check on their manger, and both girls wanted to take pictures of the crèche. The kids pranced and danced outside, singing off-key renditions of their favorite carols, and coaxing her to sing with them—at least until they arrived at the manger.

Their manger was unrecognizable. The lean-to shelter had leaned over and crashed. The wind had whipped around their sheet people. Some critter had stolen the blanket from the crèche.

“You know what?” Rosemary said, when the kids’ exuberance suddenly bottomed out.

“That it was never as great as we thought?” Lilly asked mournfully.

“No. I think what we created was a moment in time. A Christmas Eve moment in time. A moment that no one else was meant to see or hear, exactly the way we did. So we four have the memory of it...but no one else ever will. It’s just for us.”

Whit looked at her. She felt his gaze, felt the warmth of his eyes. But the girls looked at her as if she’d said something deep and profound and they were trying to figure it out. Finally Lilly stepped forward, and put an arm around her waist.

“Rosemary,” she said tactfully, “I think you’re really goofy sometimes. But we love you anyway.”

“Hey, I love you, too,” Pepper said, and took up roost on her other side. Whit came up from behind, and flapped her on the head with a glove...not the most romantic gesture.

“Me, too, on thinking you’re goofy,” he said gravely. “But also that you probably can’t help it.”

The twins turned on him, all giggles again. They chased through the woods for a while longer—even though a drizzly rain began—until everyone finally tired. If there was time before dinner, the girls wanted to play a game—something with dice and pretend money, that required a great deal of groaning, moaning and other dramatics. Every time she tried to meet Whit’s eye, the girls were engaging him in something or another. Every time she caught him looking at her, and she started to say something—a scream from the girls diverted them both.

Midafternoon, the ham was done. The scramble to the table was akin to heathen wolves who’d been starving in the desert for a half century, and Rosemary told them so.

“Now, Rosemary,” Whit said, “I don’t think we’re
that
bad.”

“Well, you wolves have to wait for a minute, because I have something to say.”

“Oh, yeah,” Pepper said. “We need to say grace.”

“Good idea,” Whit affirmed.

Rosemary raised her hand. “I agree, too, but first—I just want to say that I have a sort of present for you girls, but it isn’t something I could wrap. I know you’re going home to Charleston in a few days. You want to see your friends, get back to school and all that good stuff. But when you get more into your cameras and taking pictures...I’m inviting you to spend a weekend with me up here. You say whenever it works for you. And I’ll show you how to develop the pictures yourselves.”