Family by Design

by Callie Endicott

  “You are, huh? We can’t have that.” Simon took the two containers of ice cream from the freezer. He lifted her onto the high stool in front of the breakfast bar and then scooped servings into bowls. He savored a couple of bites, then saw Livvie had stopped eating.

  “Is something wrong with your ice cream?” he asked.

  “N-no.” Tears were dripping down her cheeks and she let out a small sob.

  Simon pulled her onto his lap again. “What’s wrong, baby?”

  “N-noth-nothing,” she finally gasped out.

  “It doesn’t sound like nothing. Can’t you tell me?”

  “I... Oh, D-Daddy, we haven’t been midnight mice in forever.”

  Midnight mice?

  He felt as if a giant hand was squeezing his chest. The last time he and Livvie had been midnight mice was before Olivia had got sick. Now when they ate ice cream together, it was for dessert after a meal. Not as a late-night snack.

  “I know. I’m sorry.” He cuddled her closer as she cried on his shoulder. “It’s going to be all right,” he whispered.

  “But you’re so sad about Mommy. I don’t want you to be sad.”

  “I’ll always be sad that Mommy had to go away. We both will. But that means we loved her, it doesn’t mean we can’t be happy. You make me very, very happy.”

  “Really truly?”

  “Really truly. Cross my heart.”

  She cried for a long time, the ice cream melting into puddles, and Simon wondered if she’d been holding back tears since Olivia’s death. At the funeral and gathering afterward, people had speculated why Livvie didn’t cry. “It isn’t natural,” they’d muttered, thinking he couldn’t hear them.

  His daughter’s silent composure had troubled him, but he’d understood. Sometimes pain was too deep for tears, too horrible to let it show.

  Perhaps now she’d begin to heal.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  LATE IN THE WEEK, Rachel finished her research into the Liv’ing Creations files. Because Gemma was away, she called Simon and suggested they meet at his condo so Livvie would have her usual playthings to keep her occupied.

  Simon stretched and yawned the minute they sat down in the office. He looked tired and Rachel remembered what he’d said about not sleeping as much as he would like. Sometimes he didn’t look as though he’d slept at all.

  “Rough night?” she asked lightly.

  “Rough several nights.”

  “Sorry. I don’t mind if you want to meet another time.”

  He yawned. “No, it’s fine. I’m used to being sleep deprived. Things were better when I was married, but even then I would often be up at night when my wife was in bed, working in my home office or doing something else.”

  “Such as eating ice cream with Livvie in the wee hours of the night?” Rachel teased.

  Simon seemed startled. “Why did you bring that up?”

  “No special reason. Livvie mentioned it when you were out of town. Obviously being ‘midnight mice’ is a special memory for her.”

  “Yeah.” He yawned again. “We haven’t done it since before my wife got sick. The ritual was important to Livvie and would have given her continuity after Olivia died, but I was too buried in my own loss to realize I was letting opportunities like that slip away.”

  “You can make up for them now. Why does she call it being midnight mice?”

  “Liv used to say midnight mice must have been eating the ice cream, so that became our code term. Liv knew what we were doing, I just pretended it was a secret. She didn’t approve of sugary late-night snacks, but she didn’t ask me to stop, either.”

  “She knew it was one of your special moments with Livvie.”

  Simon’s face turned even more haggard. “I’m starting to wonder if effective parenting and marriage are possible with two career-obsessed people.”

  The remark seemed out of the blue. A couple of weeks ago Rachel might have got annoyed, figuring it was yet another warning not to get interested in marriage, but he seemed to have accepted that she wasn’t concerned about a husband.

  “Oh?” she said cautiously.

  “It’s this business with the picture books—it really looks as if Liv was working when she’d promised to take time for home and family. Night after night. She even dated and initialed the pages, the way she did with her storyboards at work.”

  Rachel had seen the date and signature as the habit of an artist. Or perhaps a way for mother and daughter to look back and be able to remember a certain period in their lives. Essentially, it was a visual journal. Problem was, Simon might not be sentimental enough to understand.

  “Simon, part of this was your wife telling Livvie stories about the two of them having adventures together. It was also a way of teaching her daughter about design and color and how fabric moves. Is that any different than my mom and dad teaching me to cook and bake? While teaching me, they were also experimenting with recipes. I never minded.”

  “I don’t know. Truth be told, Liv and I were a strange match. It was hard for me to understand how she could be so intense about designing clothes, though I probably would have felt that way if she’d been a different kind of artist. I’m a practical guy and she was a dreamer.”

  Rachel winced. Discovering the storybooks had seemed like a huge windfall, a way to infuse the struggling design house with Olivia Kessler’s original vision and vitality. But there’d been an unintended impact...making Simon ask questions about his marriage. Who knew an innocent set of picture books could stir up so many emotions?

  “I don’t know if it will help,” she said, “but I’ve checked and rechecked, and none of the designs in Livvie’s books were put out by Liv’ing Creations.”

  * * *

  SIMON WASN’T BIG on sympathy, but the concern in Rachel’s face was nice. And he understood what she was saying about Olivia, maybe because he wanted to believe his wife had kept her word.

  “Is there a special reason this is so important to you?” Rachel asked.

  “Liv is the one who taught me to reach for something beyond business and profit. So it’s doubly hard to think she was just using her time with Livvie to keep working.”

  “But that doesn’t change how much you loved each other, and Livvie cherishes the memory of those evenings. Anyhow, you mentioned Olivia was driven and had to do everything as fast as possible. Maybe slowing down and taking time for family is something you were teaching each other.”

  Perhaps, but Simon didn’t think it was a conundrum he was going to solve in the next five minutes. He wasn’t sure he could even stand thinking about it for another five minutes. Grasping for a lifeline, he recalled the flyer he’d seen about a cat shelter in the neighborhood saying they’d recently been inundated with kittens.

  “I hate to say this,” he said, making an effort to look apologetic, “but with Gemma away and things being so unsettled for Livvie, it seems like a good idea to get her a kitten. I’d like to do it this afternoon so they have the weekend to get acquainted. You said you wouldn’t mind postponing our meeting and I don’t know how late Hannah’s Home of Cats will be open. It’s a private shelter close to here.”

  Ironically, Simon might have been annoyed if a business partner had made such a request to him, but Rachel smiled. “No problem. I’ve walked past Hannah’s House of Cats and never gone in. Livvie will love having a kitten. Oh, I’ve chosen my tree to decorate at the park. How about you?”

  “They don’t just put your name on a list and assign one?”

  “It’s more personal to choose your own. I mentioned it because a volunteer is going to be there until 5:00 p.m. Also tomorrow and Sunday. You could go and sign up if you’re still interested.”

  “Sure. There should be time to do both.”

  He was interested in anything that kept him from chewing the past apart. Besides, Rachel w
as right. Olivia had loved him, and she’d loved her daughter. They’d both made efforts to put family first and sometimes they’d failed. If the situation was reversed, what sort of things would Liv be thinking about him now?

  Abruptly Simon recalled that anger was one of the so-called stages of grieving. Was this some kind of illogical anger at Liv because she’d died? Or maybe it was subconscious bargaining, a challenge that she do the impossible and defend herself?

  Rachel got up and stretched. “I’d better leave so you can get going.”

  She was so beautiful that his mouth went dry as if he was a teenager again, unable to come up with something clever to say to a pretty girl.

  “Would you like to come with us?” He felt like an idiot blurting out the invitation. “I’m sure Livvie would enjoy having you there when she chooses her kitty.”

  Rachel didn’t answer right away. “I... Sure. I’ll change and meet you downstairs. The community park and animal shelter are just a few blocks away, but it might be best to drive if you’re bringing home a kitten.”

  Simon sat for moment after she’d left, wondering how he had allowed his life to get tangled up with another woman. Business associate, his conscience mocked him. Yet his business associates were kept at arm’s length and would never be asked to help his daughter select a new pet.

  “Livvie?” he called, pushing the thought away.

  She came running. “Yes, Daddy?” She looked around the office and her face fell. “Rachel left?”

  “Just to change her clothes. We’re meeting her downstairs, so put on your coat. I have a surprise for you.”

  She disappeared and he heard footsteps racing down the hallway, making him smile. He’d rather have happy noise than the cautious silence that had filled their home the past two years.

  Simon called the cat shelter and found they were open until six, so there would be plenty of time. He pulled a hoodie over his head and made sure his wallet was in his pocket before they went down the stairs. Rachel arrived a moment later, looking classy in a pair of worn black jeans and a snug black jacket.

  “I’m getting a surprise,” Livvie told her eagerly.

  “Really? I wonder what it could be.”

  “The other place is open later than I thought,” he said to Rachel. “Shall we go to the park first?”

  “That sounds good.” Livvie seemed puzzled, then pursed her lips in excitement, perhaps guessing that they were discussing her surprise.

  Simon drove to the park, and Rachel led them across the sloping terrain.

  “This is the tree I picked to decorate for Christmas,” she told Livvie, showing them a scraggly six-foot pine. “The red ribbon around the trunk means it’s already taken. A green ribbon means the tree is available.”

  Livvie looked at Rachel’s tree and her face scrunched up. “It isn’t very pretty.”

  Rachel crouched to look into her eyes. “All trees are beautiful, sweetie. This one has had a tough time, so it needs extra love. Until this last winter there were two very tall trees growing above it.”

  “What happened to the big trees?”

  “They blew down in a windstorm. It’s sad, but this little one is getting more light now and is going to grow much straighter and taller. I picked it because I didn’t think anyone else would. I want to make it one of the prettiest Christmas trees in the whole park.”

  “Hello, folks,” a voice interrupted. “I’m Tate Longhorn from the fire station up the street. Are you here to adopt a tree for the holidays? Because I’m here to take names.” He waved the clipboard he carried.

  Rachel straightened. “Hi, Tate. I already adopted this one, but my neighbors want to participate, too. This is Livvie, and her father, Simon.”

  “Livvie, Simon, welcome to the community park holiday program. There will be a tree lighting ceremony on December 3, which means everyone is being asked to decorate between November 25 and December 2. This way you have six weeks to plan what you’re going to do and a week to get it done.”

  “I want to ’dopt that one,” Livvie said, pointing to a nearby tree, nearly as scraggly as the one Rachel had chosen. “Because it needs love.”

  “Wonderful choice.” Tate consulted a large sheet of paper. “According to my map, it’s a Sitka spruce. That’s a very special tree.”

  Livvie beamed as Simon gave the volunteer his name and phone number and received a list of the guidelines in return, a description of each species of tree in the park and a flyer about the fire department. Kessler was written on the park map and on the red ribbon replacing the green one. Tate said goodbye when he spotted someone else looking at trees, hurrying away to talk with them, clipboard in hand.

  “Daddy, I love my surprise,” Livvie exclaimed, her eyes shining as she looked at the bedraggled spruce.

  “There’s another surprise, too,” Simon told her. “But we need to hurry.”

  Livvie gave an excited squeal when the car stopped outside the cat shelter, located in a trim arts and crafts home. They went inside and he was immediately impressed—the place was clean and smelled fresh, even though there were cats everywhere, both in kennels and lounging in comfy beds around the various rooms.

  Livvie dropped to her knees, trying to coax a kitten with Himalayan markings in one of the bottom kennels to come to her. “Kitty, kitty,” she called, but it remained curled up, sound asleep. Her bottom lip quivered.

  “Kittens sleep deeply,” Rachel told her. “They can take a while to wake up. Call again and wait.”

  Livvie called and the small feline finally opened its eyes, yawned and strolled over to greet Livvie. They said hello to each other, but after a while it curled up again and Livvie began going to other kennels, greeting other kittens.

  “This may take some time,” Simon told the volunteer.

  “That’s okay. We have plenty of patience for true cat lovers.”

  * * *

  AFTER WATCHING LIVVIE hopscotch between kittens for a while, Rachel found her attention caught by a long-haired black feline with a white chin, whiskers and paws. It was staring at the wall of its kennel as though it had seen everything there was to see and wasn’t impressed.

  She went over to read the information card.

  Binx. Sixteen-month-old neutered male. All vaccinations up-to-date. Fastidiously clean. Found abandoned with broken leg. Possible history of abuse. Small limp. Trust issues.

  Trust issues? At least the people at Hannah’s House of Cats were frank about their animals.

  “Beautiful, isn’t he?” said a voice next to her.

  Rachel turned and saw a woman around her own age. She wore a smock with Hannah’s House of Cats Volunteer printed on the front, and a tag saying her name was Angie.

  “He’s gorgeous.”

  “Binx was brought here at around eight months old. He’s been adopted and returned twice. Both times they said they couldn’t keep him because he’s too depressed.”

  “That’s appalling. How can people be that cruel?” Rachel looked back at Binx. “I’d be depressed, too, if nobody wanted me.”

  She knew she couldn’t take in all lonely cats, but she could give this one a home where he was wanted and loved. Cats had a protocol of behavior they expected from humans, so she opened the kennel and extended her hand to let Binx get familiar with her scent, calling his name. It took a minute, but he finally turned his head to look at her.

  “Hey, Binx. I know what it’s like to get hurt,” she whispered. “Do you want to come home with me?”

  The feline regarded her for a long moment before looking away again. Rachel was patient, talking to him in a low tone, offering reassurances she was certain he understood. Cats were far more intelligent than some people thought. Finally he rose to his feet, limped over and looked into her face for an endless moment...then pressed his forehead to hers.

  “Oh, my, look at that,�
�� said the volunteer. “I’m going to get Hannah. She needs to see this.”

  Slowly and carefully Rachel stroked Binx, avoiding his right side, guessing from his uneven gait that it was his rear right leg that had been broken. It would take time to know if he could be touched on that side without causing discomfort.

  A faint, very rusty purr came from his throat.

  When he finally broke contact, she looked around and saw the volunteer had returned with another woman, who was around sixty. They were watching, delight on their faces.

  “Hi, I’m Hannah, the official cat lady of the neighborhood,” the newcomer introduced herself. “But you probably figured that out from the name of our shelter.”

  Rachel grinned. “Hannah’s House of Cats? It shows you have a sense of humor.”

  “Thanks. So, Rachel, do you want to adopt Binx? You got a reaction that doesn’t happen very often from a cat with his history,” Hannah said. “Cats choose their people as much as we choose them, but I never expected it with him. He’s gone through too much.”

  “Of course I do. He’s wonderful. I realize you may have a waiting period, but I don’t want to leave without him. He might feel abandoned and never forgive me,” Rachel said firmly.

  Hannah patted her arm. “I quite agree. Let me get some information from you and your husband.”

  Rachel choked down a laugh and didn’t dare look in Simon’s direction in case he’d overheard. “Mr. Kessler and I are just neighbors. His little girl is here to look at the kittens and they invited me along.”

  “Oops. Angie thought you were a family when you came in together.”

  Still avoiding Simon’s gaze, Rachel sat with Hannah and filled out the adoption form. It included questions about whether Binx would be allowed outside, or if she intended to have him declawed.

  “I might have part of my balcony screened off so he can get fresh air, but that’s all,” she assured the other woman. “I grew up with cats, so I know declawing leads to bad arthritis. I’d never have it done.”