Mackinnon 03 - The Bonus Mom (9 page)

Lilly patted her hand. “Rosemary, chill. It’s awesome. We had a great time doing it. We’re just saying that Mom wouldn’t have liked it, that’s all.”

Whit came from behind, hooked an arm loosely around her shoulder. “Come on, team. Sun’s going down, and the temperature’s dropping like a stone. Not even counting that, I’ll bet we’re all starved.”

She glanced up, but he didn’t look back at her. His expression was distant, distracted. Perhaps he hadn’t heard the girls’ comments about their mom. She felt the warmth and weight of his arm around her shoulders, thinking that it felt so darned right to be snugged close to him. To be in touch with him. To feel his warmth, his protectiveness. And yeah, to feel enough sizzle to start a bonfire.

How crazy was that? And when the girls started talking, she felt the glow disappear from the afternoon completely.

They weren’t far from the house, but the girls jogged just a bit ahead, bumping shoulders the way they often did when they walked together. Apparently the earlier remark about their mom brought on some memories.

Lilly started it. “Remember that fancy crystal vase thing Dad gave her a couple years ago?”

“I remember you dropping it.”

“Yeah, well, when we were in the hospital last year, waiting to see her, waiting to hear if she was all right, I kept thinking about that vase. How upset she was when I broke it. She really loved that thing. And I kept thinking how I’d have given anything not to have dropped it. Because she was so hurt and I was so scared.”

“Yeah, well...I keep thinking about Easter dinner. The one where we had an Easter egg hunt in the morning?”

“We had an egg hunt every Easter, doofus.”

“But I meant the dinner where she had the yellow tablecloth. And the yellow flowers. And the little yellow bunnies holding the napkins. Everything was just so. Until I threw up.”

Lilly nodded. “Oh, I remember that one. You were so gross.”

“Everybody jumped up and left the table. Even Grandpa was gagging. And Mom started crying.”

Lilly punched her sister in the shoulder. Not hard. “Yeah, it
was
gross. But you were sick, for Pete’s sake. Not like you could help it.”

“I
know
that. But when Mom was in the hospital, I kept thinking about that dinner. I didn’t want that Easter to be a memory in her head, not when she was so hurt.”

Rosemary glanced up at Whit. A quiet frown pleated his forehead, a sign that he was also listening.

And it was Lilly’s turn to come through with some memories. “Pep, it’s not like you’re the only one who did stuff. Remember when we got our two-wheelers? And I fell and skinned my knee and there was blood all over the place and I ran home as fast as I could.”

“And Mom had that white cloth all over the living room carpet. She was measuring something. I can’t remember what.”

“I don’t remember, either. I just remember running toward her and blood getting all over that white material and her being so mad.”

Pepper punched her sister in the shoulder. Not hard. “She never stayed mad at you for long. Remember how mad she was at
me
when I skipped school in kindergarten?”

“You were such a dolt. How could you think nobody would notice you were gone?”

“You didn’t have to tell.”

“I wasn’t
telling.
Like tattletale. But I didn’t know what happened to you!”

“You
told.
And when I got home I sneaked in the back door because I could see a police car out front. The police were there about
me.
”

“How was I supposed to know that? You could have been sick or in an accident or something. When you do something dumb, you’re supposed to tell me first, remember?”

“All I remember was that Mom wouldn’t let me watch television for a whole year.”

Lilly rolled her eyes. “It was maybe for a week. Not a year. Besides, remember the first time we went to the dentist. And you didn’t want to go. And you ran out as soon as Mom opened the car door and ran right in the street and Mom had to run after you and there were cars honking all over the place—”

“I thought it was funny,” Pepper insisted.

“Me, too. It
was
funny. Except to Mom.”

They’d almost reached the house. The girls had slowed their pace, and Rosemary not only slowed down, but didn’t want to breathe. Everything they said gave her pictures of their mom, of how their family behaved together—at least how Zoe was with her daughters.

Pepper hesitated before they got to the back door. “Mom always said I was a lot of trouble.”

“Yeah, well. I wish sometimes that we could have had some do-overs.”

“Me, too.”

“But you didn’t have to worry like I did. You were the good kid. I was the troublemaker. If anything happened, everyone looked at me first, like Mom
knew
I’d been behind it somehow.”

Lilly struggled for a second before responding. “When she died, though, Pep, remember how you hit the wall? That’s what I wanted to do. Hit things. Hit things hard. The way you did. I wanted to be like you lots of times. In the hospital, I was so sad I was sick. But I couldn’t
do
anything.”

“Hey.”

Whit’s quiet voice interrupted the two. Maybe he believed it was a good idea for the girls to talk, get some of those things off their chests. But when he suddenly stepped forward, Rosemary realized what had changed.

The girls had gone from talking to crying. Their faces turned toward their dad, and it got worse. Both of them erupted with tears. Snuffling, nose-dripping tears. And when Whit lifted his arms, both girls hurtled toward him, burying their faces in his chest.

Rosemary sucked in a breath. They’d reached the back door, and he motioned for her to come in with them—and that’s what she’d initially planned to do. But not then. Not when the girls were upset, when the three of them were obviously having a private, fragile family moment together.

The girls and Whit had so easily made her feel part of their family group.

But at a time like this, Rosemary thought she needed to remember that she was an outsider, an interloper.

Whit protested about her leaving, but she made hearty noises about seeing them tomorrow, that she had some work she needed to do.... Aw, hell’s bells, she had no idea what excuses she came up with. She just got out of there as fast as she could, with a fast kiss for each girl and a squeeze on Whit’s arm for a goodbye.

Right then, that was the best she could do.

Unfortunately she was close to crying herself.

Chapter Eight

W
hit put together cheese and bacon sandwiches for the girls, which had always been one of their favorites. The best he could do for a vegetable was to plaster some cream cheese in celery, which they usually liked, too. Both only picked at their food.

Truthfully, he didn’t immediately notice how quiet they were at first, because he’d felt pensive ever since Rosemary left. On the walk home, when the twins started talking, he’d been startled at the words coming out of their mouths.

Whit knew his marriage to Zoe wasn’t the happiest. He remembered, too well, how difficult it was to live in the pristine house she valued so much. And Zoe had been so sure that marrying a landscape architect would add up to a good life, as defined by money and status.

Whit never had a problem bringing in good money, but Zoe hadn’t counted on him coming home with muddy feet and dirt under his fingernails. But the girls had seemed devoted to Zoe, and she’d been a very good mother. They’d always been dressed to the nines. They had salon haircuts. She’d made sure they had riding and dancing lessons. That was her version of being a good mom, and Whit had never been sure she was wrong.

But it hurt, this afternoon, listening to his daughters’ stories. He hadn’t known they experienced some of the same guilt that he had. He could never guess what wrong thing was going to offend her next. Zoe had the textbook on the “right way to live” and he’d never known the rules until he broke them. During most of the marriage, he’d simply shut up and tried to keep the peace. But he never realized that Zoe had made their daughters feel badly—for doing nothing more than being kids.

Rosemary must have formed impressions from hearing Lilly and Pepper—but he wasn’t sure what she’d thought...much less why she’d taken off so abruptly.

And temporarily his concerns were tabled because the girls jumped up from the table and carried their dishes to the counter. Every alarm bell in his nerve system went off. They cleared the table, often did dishes—but only after a lot of badgering and bargaining and stalling. Their volunteering to do the chore without any prompt at all warned him that something was going on.

It got worse. After the dishes were stashed in the dishwasher, they wiped down the counters and swept the floor.

Whit wanted to search for antacids in the first aid kit, but he was afraid to leave them.

He first wanted to have an inkling of what was going on. So he stoked the fire. Picked up a book from the floor.

“Hey, Dad.” Predictably when the twins were planning Armageddon, Pepper took the lead. She and Lilly wandered over to the west window, where they could see their handmade crèche. It was dark as pitch, but their glow sticks created a soft light on the scene.

The manger definitely looked better by night than day.

“We had a good time today, didn’t we?” Pepper continued. “It was like...unique. We never did anything like that before.”

“I liked it, too,” Whit said. “Especially liked doing it with you two.”

“And Rosemary.” Lilly exchanged a quick glance with Pepper. “Both of us have been worried that she was upset.”

So this was the topic they’d been brewing on? “Because she left before dinner?”

“Yeah. We were thinking...maybe we shouldn’t have talked about Mom so much.”

“Yeah,” Pepper chimed in. “I mean, she’s done all this great stuff with us. And she’s alone this Christmas, too. And then we started talking about Mom and feeling sad.”

“Hmm,” Whit said.

“What if we hurt her feelings? Like maybe she thought we weren’t thinking about
her
being alone. And tomorrow’s Christmas Eve. And we want her to come over on Christmas Day, too. And she said she would.”

Lilly added, “Tomorrow she said we could go over to her place and make a bunch of stuff. Like a coconut cake for dessert on Christmas. And a blueberry coffee cake for Christmas morning. And like black cherry Jell-O in a mold, you know, like we both liked since probably before we were born. And she said we could have cocoa with marshmallows while we’re making everything.”

“But we’re worried that won’t happen if she’s upset with us,” Pepper said urgently.

“All right. I don’t think that’s the case, but if you’re worried about, I think you should call her.”

“No. We can’t do it.” Pepper and Lilly exchanged glances again, then looked at him. “We think the only answer that’ll work is if you go over to her place, Dad.”

“Me? Now?”

“Listen, Dad.” Pepper pushed Lilly ahead, the way she always did when she thought Lilly could present the most persuasive argument. “First off, it’s not very late. And you could talk to her the way a grown-up talks. So if we did something to upset her, you could explain it or fix it. She probably wouldn’t say anything to us—not the truthful,
real
thing—because she’s nice. And she wouldn’t want to hurt our feelings. So if we asked her, we still might never know why she left so fast.”

“And tonight, besides, Lilly and I were just gonna watch a movie.
The
Hunger Games.
”

“You already saw it,” Whit reminded them.

“Exactly. The first time we saw it with you. Because you said we either saw it with you or we didn’t get to go. But now we’ve seen it, and you did, too, so you know it isn’t terrible or too old for us or anything. And we want to see it again and you don’t. So it’s easy, you know? You can go over and talk to Rosemary, and you don’t want to be here anyway while we’re watching a movie you don’t even like.”

Whit scratched his head. He was positive a shoe was going to drop. The kids were offering him a chance to do the one thing he really wanted to do—even though they didn’t know it. Surely fate was going to show up and drop a shoe on his head. This was just too easy.

“I don’t like leaving you at night.”

“Like you think we’re babies? That’s just dumb. If something happened, we could call you and you could be back here in less than ten minutes. What could happen? Even if another bear showed up, we could hide and call you. For Pete’s sake, you’d just be a little way up the mountain.”

Whit looked up. There had to be a cloud in this sky. There just had to be. “Well, maybe Rosemary’s not up for company. For sure I should call her first—”

“No, no! No calling first! That’d just give her a chance to say she’s tired or she’s working. And then we still won’t know if something’s wrong. You have to just show up.” Pepper frowned. “Like...take something. A glove. Say we thought she dropped it.”

“That won’t work, dolt,” Lilly interrupted. “Dad can’t lie. He’s no good at it.”

Wilt wanted to pursue that unexpected character judgment, but just then he didn’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth and risk it disappearing. “Well, if you two are sure you think it’s a good idea...” He said grudgingly.

“We do. We both do. And like we can call you or you can call us if there’s any problem. We can’t go get you. Unless you’d let me drive the Gator—”

“No.”

“Worth a try,” Pepper muttered to Lilly.

Whit was out the door before he let a bark of a chuckle escape. The girls were so sure they’d outwitted him.

Of course they often did outwit him. Both were smarter than he was, and together, they were formidable.

But right now there was nothing on his mind but Rosemary. All afternoon, he’d watched her with the kids. She wasn’t just a natural mom; she was a natural nurturer. Full of fun. Full of zesty energy and up for anything. So easy, so natural to be with. And not just for the girls.

He’d never been comfortable with Zoe. He’d been in love with her, the way a young man could be crazy in lust, and what could possibly matter more than sex when you’re a kid? Sex mattered then. And later. And probably forever, Whit figured, since he hadn’t noticed any lessening in drive or need.

But the urge had paled in the past years with Zoe. She wasn’t any less beautiful. Any different than she’d ever been. But he hadn’t noticed, for so long, how critical she was of everyone and everything. He could go weeks without doing anything right. Weeks where he didn’t want to go home—except to see the girls. Where dinner and breakfast and weekends were an effort, to be careful about what he said, what he did, how he did pretty much anything.

Rosemary was like...a fresh rose.

Complex. Way smart. But no undercurrents other than pure sweet female, a woman who loved life and loved others and loved every adventure a day could bring.

He wanted to call it smitten. Wanted to call it a major lust attack. Wanted to call it all kinds of things—because it seemed too damn soon to be so sure. But he was sure, like it or not. That he’d fallen in love with her.

Real love.

The SUV already knew its way to her house, even on a pitch-black night, on the unlit mountain road. It was only when he saw the lamp shine in a downstairs window that his stomach suddenly clutched.

Out of nowhere, he suddenly remembered that she’d left faster than a bat out of hell that afternoon. She’d been stressed. He’d guessed a zillion reasons why—starting with her being horrified at the images of Zoe she must have formed—or because the girls’ crying had hit her in some unforeseen way—or, or, or. He could guess reasons forever, but the fact was...he didn’t know.

And he really had no idea what kind of reception he might get when he knocked on her door.

* * *

When Rosemary left Whit and the girls, she felt as unsettled as a cat in the rain. While she put away her jacket, her gaze flew to the fragrant tree, and the crazy, wonderful decorations the girls had made for it.

Somehow the tree made her feel another naggy restlessness.

Christmas should be about kids. And family.

She felt so badly that the girls had broken down into such a serious cry fest. It wasn’t that she thought crying was bad. And bringing up memories of their mom wasn’t a bad thing, either. But she hadn’t wanted to provoke painful memories for the kids...or for Whit.

The whole afternoon had relentlessly reminded her of what she already knew. Whit and his girls’ memories of Zoe were still very much part of their lives.

As much as she cared, as much as she’d even come to love them, she was inarguably an outsider. They needed each other, needed to be with each other that night. She understood that.

But she still felt mighty lonely in the big old lodge. She wasn’t up for working. Wasn’t up for settling in front of a movie or TV show. She couldn’t concentrate enough to read.

So...she poured a glass of wine and carted a vanilla candle upstairs to the bathroom. It wasn’t often she had a total pamper session, but tonight seemed the time for it.

An hour later, she’d finished half the wine and peeled off a green facial mud mask. She stepped into the shower for the rest of the spa treatment. There wasn’t much she could do with her hair, except give it an extra dose of conditioning. Then came shaving her legs—with real shaving cream, because she loved the foam.

It had been months since she’d given herself the whole female indulgence thing, and she wasn’t humming by the time she stepped out of the shower and reached for a plump red towel. But she was
almost
humming.

A happier mood was trying to sneak back, and part of that was remembering some of the great things that day. How all four of them had laughed. How they’d all taken the manger idea seriously. How Whit was such a total sucker for anything that made his twins smile. How Lilly was so thoughtful and caring. How Pepper needed someone to help her believe she wasn’t just a screw-up.

When it came down to what mattered...she’d laughed more in the past week than she’d laughed in months and months.

The sound of someone pounding on her front door startled her—and made her catch her breath. People occasionally got lost on the mountain...but December 23 was an unusual time for hikers and campers. She’d never been afraid up here. She’d learned young to be self-reliant, and she knew every nook and cranny of her mountaintop. Still, it was dead dark and almost nine at night.

When she failed to answer immediately, someone pounded on her door again. She grabbed jeans and a sweatshirt from her bedroom, yanked them on over still wet skin, used her fingers to comb her damp hair and yelled, “I’m coming!” when the door pounding continued.

She ran downstairs barefoot, her heart starting to pound, instinctively grabbed her gun from the closet top shelf, ran to the door, looked out...

And there was Whit.

He looked cold, his shoulders hunched, his hands stuck in a buffalo plaid shirt jacket, his head bowed. His face appeared blue-white in the yard light.

She immediately opened the door. “You didn’t have to stand in the cold, you could have just come in! You know I don’t lock the door!”

“I was afraid I’d scare you.”

“You did. How come you didn’t call first?”

“Because the girls insisted I come over without calling. I’m here on their very specific orders.”

* * *

“Really,” she said quietly. She was pretty sure he hadn’t made up fibs before...but the way he looked at her as he pulled off his flannel jacket and tossed it on the couch had no resemblance to a mild-mannered dad. He looked like a lone wolf hungry for firelight. Hungry for her.

“They wanted me to apologize.”

“For what?”

“You were terrific with them, Rosemary. The girls—and me—we couldn’t have had a better afternoon. And even if it sounds odd, that includes the girls doing some crying near the end. I mean—I don’t want you feeling bad about their getting a little upset. I’ve never been sure if they’re supposed to talk about their mom all the time or not. I think it was good, their letting out those memories. And for me, it just felt better because you were there. Because—”

“Whit, it’s okay to take a breath.” Her tone turned gentle. She’d never seen him talk nonstop before. Never seen him remotely nervous. Once his jacket was off, his hand scraped through his hair. He pivoted around and saw that the fire needed tending, so he hunched down, opened the screen and grabbed the poker.

“They’re counting on coming over here tomorrow. Apparently you offered to let them cook with you? Or bake, I guess they said. Stuff that would be part of dinner for the next day. And I forgot to ask you what time we should come for Christmas dinner, mostly because I don’t have a clue. I’ve got a twelve-pound ham. Not sure how long that takes to cook. I was hoping you could tell me—”