Steal My Heart, Trevor (Best Friends To Forever Book 2)

by Barbara Lohr

  “Thanks, Nanny. I know you do.”

  Before leaving, she checked the pots to make sure another baby turtle hadn’t popped up from the sand. Then she grabbed her things, locked up the house and climbed into her Mini Cooper.

  The turtles she could set aside. Trevor Daniels?

  Something else entirely.

  Chapter 5

  What a day. Trevor was dragging when he got home. At least the girls’ toys were stacked neatly inside the garage. His mother was good about that, although Daisy could push back about straightening up. The rider toys, both the green caterpillar and the car, sat side by side. Grabbing his briefcase, he got out. Hesitating, he looked back.

  Had those been his favorite memories? His mother would keep at him until everything was neat before Father got home. Remembering didn’t make him all warm and fuzzy inside. From the look of Bryn’s home, she hadn’t been taught that everything had its place. And he liked how that felt, as if she’d been so involved in other things, she couldn’t straighten the magazines or fold the afghan. Maybe too much order put people off. But his mother was doing the best she could.

  No smell of food reached him when he came through the kitchen door. Looked like he’d be ordering take-out again tonight. Were Daisy and Annabelle both crying? Above their wailing, his mother’s voice prevailed in that cultured southern cadence as authentic as her pearls. “Daisy, if you don't do what I tell you, you will have to go to your room. Yes, indeed you will. Wait until I tell your father about this.” Of course Daisy cried harder.

  He set his briefcase on a chair. “So, what's going on?”

  “Daddy, Daddy!” Daisy threw herself at him. Her face streaked with tears, she was a mess from crying. Crazy blonde curls sprang every which way, but of course she was clean. His mother saw to that. “Daddy, Gamma’s being mean again.”

  Scooping her up, he nuzzled her neck. Her arms wrapped tight around him, she smelled like soap and warm tears. His eyes went to Annabelle, who at this moment resembled his mother, that set look of disapproval on her face as she sat primly on the leather sofa.

  These little girls would be the death of him yet. Looking up, he caught a flicker of exhaustion in his mother’s eyes. “Hard day, Mother?” His mother had never cottoned to the familiar “Mama” used in the South.

  And this was why he only taught classes three days a week and limited his lab work. Monitoring the home front was a serious distraction.

  Head high, his mother wore one of her linen dresses. Who dressed like this in ninety degree weather? Delia certainly hadn't, in the short time that his wife stayed around after having the girls. Today Annabelle was dressed in a frilly frock ruffled beyond belief. His mind went back to Bryn in her flowered sundress that looked like a wisp of summer.

  “They have to learn rules.” Mother fingered her pearls.

  Setting Daisy down, he turned to Annabelle, quietly watching Dora the Explorer on TV. Her hands were folded in her lap and every curl was in place, her barrettes at precise angles. Sometimes her silence and fussy ways worried him. She was like a mini-Mother. “Got a hug for Daddy, darlin’?”

  Sliding from the sofa, she ran to him. “Missed you, Daddy,” she said in a muffled voice as her arms wound around his neck. He picked her up. Like fillies, the two were all arms and legs.

  Casting a glance over the top of Annabelle’s head, he murmured, “Mother, they’re only four-year-old kids.”

  At least his mother didn’t correct him, insisting that only goats had kids. “When you were little…” she began.

  But he didn't want to hear it. His childhood was still vivid in his mind. The rules, the punishment. He wanted a different upbringing for his children. How he’d accomplish that frustrated the heck out of him. “Daisy, why don’t you run to the powder room and get cleaned up?”

  Looking satisfied for now, she tore down the hallway.

  Time to talk to his other daughter. Annabelle was the one he worried about, more than Daisy. With Daisy, everything was up front. She held nothing back and Trevor could deal with it. That wasn’t the case with Annabelle. His tidy twin could be a mystery. “Everything fine with you, sweetheart?”

  “I’m perfect, Daddy.”

  Perfect? His heart twisted. What a responsibility that must be. “You are, huh?” Taking a seat on the sofa, he kept her on his lap.

  She nodded very seriously. “Yes, I am. Gamma told me so.”

  Raising his eyebrows, he turned to his mother, sitting in the rocker he’d brought from her home so she’d feel comfortable here. Mother wouldn’t meet his eyes. Squirming from his arms, Annabelle returned to the sofa, eyes to the TV.

  Howls of dissatisfaction carried from the bathroom. “I’ll be right back.”

  When he reached the powder room, poor Daisy was pulling at the barrettes in her hair. From what he could see, she wasn’t making much progress. The barrettes unsnapped when his fingers found them. He was getting pretty good at this and left them on the sink. Taking a soft blue washcloth from the towel rack, he ran it under the warm water. She threw him a shaky smile as he dabbed at her tears. “Want to tell Daddy what happened?”

  When she nodded her head, her mangled curls shuddered. “We were playing outside. Annabelle had the swing and it was my turn. She was on that swing for a very long time, Daddy.”

  Trevor had to press his lips against the laughter bubbling inside when Daisy turned those serious blue eyes on him. “I see. But it’s good to take turns.”

  Picking up the silver monogrammed brush his mother had insisted on, he began to work on the knots. Daisy’s hair felt like corn silk, just like her mother's. That soft hair had probably been his undoing. “And what happened after that?”

  “Annabelle started to scream.” Daisy pressed delicate hands to her ears, as if the sound had been unbearable. She’d make a great actress. Imagining how horrified his mother would be about that career choice, he smiled. Even the late afternoon sun filtering through the plantation shutters could not soften Daisy’s drama.

  “What happened before she screamed?” Having children meant you had to ask a lot of questions. There would, of course, be two versions to this story.

  “I kind of took it from her.” Instead of wearing a dress like her sister, Daisy insisted on wearing shorts and a top. She said ruffles were scratchy and itched “terrible bad.” Her sister, however, was the queen of ruffles. To his mother’s chagrin, she could never have enough glitter on her shoes or clothes.

  “And how did you take the swing from Annabelle? Did you hit her?”

  Face very serious, Daisy folded her arms over her chest and shook her head.

  This might take a fair number of questions. “Well now, did you yank the swing away from her?”

  Another serious shake of the head, her eyes considering him through lashes peaked into little points by her tears. Still wielding the brush, Trevor hit a snarl in Daisy’s hair and she yelped. “Daddy!”

  Maybe he wasn't doing this right. Pressing one little hand to her head, Daisy shot him quite a look.

  The brush felt like a machete in his hand. Wasn’t there a better way to do this? “Sorry, sweetheart. Daddy’s doing the best he can.” But messing it up, as usual. And he was tired of playing twenty questions. “Okay, Daisy. Time’s up. What did you do to make Annabelle cry?”

  Heaving a sigh, Daisy dropped her eyes. “I pushed her off.”

  Trevor could hardly hear the last word. Although sometimes he appreciated Daisy's direct approach to conflict resolution, when it affected Annabelle he had to draw the line. Stooping over, he pinned Daisy with his eyes. “Daisy, you two girls are twins. That's a very special relationship.”

  His daughter’s bow-shaped lips flattened. She’d heard this lecture before. “I know, Daddy, but sometimes Annabelle is a pain.”

  Trevor’s laugh became a cough. Daisy patted him on the back so seriously that he coughed harder. A pain? Was this language they learned in school?

  The private play school he sent t
hem to each morning cost almost as much as most private high schools. In the mornings, he took them and at noon his mother picked them up. Okay, Mother wasn’t a fan, saying the school might be a bad influence on her grandchildren. “You never know the background of the other children, Trevor.”

  Absolutely ridiculous, but Trevor said nothing. He did not want to hurt his mother’s feelings. With his father gone, the three of them were all she had.

  His cough had soothed, but his mind hadn’t. “She might be a pain but she is your sister. Believe me, when you grow up you’ll be glad you have her.”

  How often Trevor had wished for a sibling to share family concerns, including his mother. After Delia took off, Mother had offered to babysit for him. At first he’d been grateful. But every day when he got home there was another problem for him to fix. Sometimes he wondered if he would have been better off with a qualified nanny.

  The darn brush snagged in her hair and his little darling reared back.

  “Daddy!” Her eyes filled with angry tears. Trevor felt like a clumsy fool.

  He set the brush down on the mirrored dressing table––another antique from the family home.

  “Come on, sweetie.” Taking her by the hand, he led her back into the family room. With his mother sitting beside Annabelle on the sofa, they were both watching Sesame Street.

  Without meeting his gaze, Mother got up, smoothed the non-existent wrinkles from her dress and went to get her handbag. Her silence had always spoken volumes. She did not buy purses; she bought handbags, each color-coordinated with her outfit. Today’s was a purplish gray with matching shoes. His father had always indulged his wife, although she’d taken back more than one outfit because he didn’t care for the buttons or thought the neckline was a bit daring.

  Sniffing as if she were the offended one, Mother walked to the door. “Think I’ll just check on my house.”

  “Will you be coming back to sleep here?” The mornings could be chaotic without her.

  “I’m not sure. Just depends.”

  Right. So she’d leave him dangling. Following her to the door, he laid a hand on her shoulder. Since his father's death, he felt responsible for his mother. He’d had a bonus room above the garage converted into a suite for her. “Sorry if they gave you any trouble.”

  “Oh, they're not so bad,” she admitted to his surprise. “But that Daisy has quite the temper. She's a lot like you, Trevor. Takes just so much and then she fixes it herself.”

  He chuckled with surprise. “Is that what I was like?” He enjoyed thinking of himself as a bit of a rebel. But his parents had pretty strict rules, from where to set his shoes when he came inside to when he did his homework and went to bed. He didn’t want that for Daisy and Annabelle. When Delia was still with them and the girls were just babies, he’d shared his concerns with his wife.

  But she hadn’t been listening. That took time to see.

  He turned back to the girls, glad to see them cuddling together, laughing over the Count on Sesame Street. “You two be good while I walk Grandmother out to the car.”

  “Yes, Daddy,” they said in chorus as if they'd been angels all the time.

  Mother always parked her car in the circle in front of the house, saying she didn’t want any possible intruder to think the house was vacant. In reality, he suspected she wasn’t sure she could negotiate the portico attached to one side of the house. Delia had insisted on a home this size, saying he was a doctor now. His wife never realized that a PhD didn’t necessarily make the same kind of salary earned by a medical doctor.

  Opening the car door of her Lincoln Towncar, Trevor said, “I appreciate everything you're doing for me. I really do.” How he wished she’d get rid of this dated car. His father had picked this out. But like her linen dresses, she would not change her ways.

  “I enjoy doing what I can, for the most part.” Her eyes darted between him and the inside of the car. Mother wanted to leave.

  But Trevor had to get this straightened out. “Kids get grubby when they're outside. I don't want them feeling that being a little messy is wrong.” He could hardly believe he was saying this. The words went against his grain. But seeing Daisy’s hair pulled tight against her delicate scalp had done something to him. Today Bryn’s curls had looked so soft, so free. “We can’t get upset when the twins argue.”

  Mother’s lower lip trembled and her face fell. As he stood at the car, the weight of the day washed over him. The morning had started on such a light note with Bryn, who was fun to be around.

  His mother took life so seriously, but could he blame her? If his father had lived, they might be living in Boca Raton right now, golfing and going to the club with friends. Couples. But Father’s death had kept her here, and Delia’s departure cemented her position.

  “Very well. I understand.” She still wouldn’t look at him. The comment about “messy” hadn’t gone over well and he wanted to kick himself.

  When Trevor widened the open door, she slid behind the wheel. “I love you, Mother.”

  Her head turned, but she said nothing. Closing the car door, Trevor stepped back. With great deliberation, she started the car, put it in gear, and it slowly rolled around the circle. He waved as she drove away, and his mind went back to Bryn’s cute little street with the gravel driveway.

  Looking up at the monstrosity he called home, he much preferred that sweet little place on Moonglade Road. Head down, he walked back inside, imagining how thrilled the girls would have been to hold one of those hatchlings. Closing the side door, he listened to the girls giggle over the Cookie Monster. Maybe he should let loose a little more.

  “Here comes the Cookie Monster!” And he tumbled onto the couch next to them.

  Thinking that the two would be delighted, he looked over. Annabelle and Daisy looked terrified, as if their daddy had lost his mind. Straightening his tie, he sat up and picked up a book from the coffee table. He watched them visibly relax. This was the daddy they knew.

  “Come on, girls,” he said. “Daddy could use a little loving right now.” Sure enough, Annabelle slid in next to him on one side while Daisy cuddled on the other. Trevor opened a book his mother had brought from the library. The book happened to be Tommy the Turtle. “Daddy saw some baby turtles today.”

  He’d been saving the news and it had its effect.

  Their eyes expanded like birthday balloons. “Turtles,” Annabelle said with awe.

  “Were they cute like Tommy?” Daisy asked. “Or slimy like at the zoo?”

  “Right now, they’re cute.” But it wouldn’t take long for the marsh to hide them completely in the gray mud swept in by the tides.

  “How big were they?” Daisy would be the one with a million questions.

  Opening one hand on top of the book, he drew a circle on his palm. He could almost feel those prickly little claws on his skin. “About this big. Maybe a quarter or so. Very cute.”

  “I want to see them,” Daisy shouted, bouncing on the sofa.

  “Me too,” Annabelle joined the ruckus.

  Well, now he’d done it.

  “Were they at the zoo?” Daisy asked. “Or were they at your work?”

  He had to step carefully. “Actually, they’re at a friend’s house. This is the time of year when the mother turtles come in to lay their eggs.”

  “You mean like the birds?” Annabelle squinched up her nose. “The birds lay their eggs in a nest. Then they sit on the eggs until they turn into little birds.”

  Daisy jumped in. “Yeah. Lucille Adams brought a nest to play school. It was yucky, though.”

  Maybe the play school was worth it after all. “It's kind of like that. The mother turtle comes out of the water and finds a good place to lay her eggs. Mama turtles have very strong claws in the back and they dig a deep hole. After she leaves her eggs there, she covers them up so none of the animals can find them.”

  Feeling pleased, Trevor sat back. It wasn’t often that his world was something the girls were interested in. Of
course, he wasn’t describing his world. Remembering his childhood friend’s devotion brought a warmth rushing through his body. Bryn was so modest about her efforts.

  “What do the animals do if they get the eggs?” Daisy’s eyes were round.

  Trevor grew still. Maybe he shouldn’t have mentioned that. “Hopefully, that won’t happen. My friend puts them in a safe place until they become baby turtles.”

  The room grew still. This felt like a slippery slope.

  “But if your friend takes the eggs away, then their mama will never find them.” Annabelle’s delicate forehead wrinkled.

  “Yeah, Daddy.” Daisy wore what Trevor called her fighting face. “Your friend should leave the eggs alone so that the mama turtle can sit on them like the mama birds do.”

  Oh, boy. Now he’d done it. He started to sweat and loosened his tie. “Turtles are different species in that there they leave their spawn in the habitat where they can flourish and they go back into the wild.”

  Both girls stared at him with the same expression Bryn had worn that night at the high school. “But the mama turtle won't know where they are.” With each word, Daisy punched one finger into the palm of her hand.

  Why hadn’t he seen this coming? Their fears wrung his heart. After all, wasn’t this what had happened to them? The last time they’d heard from Delia was their birthday in January. “No, mama turtles aren't like that. They love their babies. In fact they want to leave to make more.” He was making a terrible mess of this. Fatherhood sure wasn’t easy.

  Daisy’s chin pushed down and Annabelle bit her lip while Trevor waded deeper into the muck. “That’s why my friend has to help them.”

  “But I don’t like it when mamas leave.” Daisy folded her arms across her narrow chest.

  Why couldn’t he be a better father? They were so little to carry so much sadness. He’d picked the wrong wife and he couldn’t even tell the right story. Trevor sat there, drowning in his own inadequacies.

  Annabelle picked at a ruffle. “And it's not fair. It's not fair at all.”

  “No. Not. At. All.” Daisy’s face was set. The twins had united. Against him.