Second Thoughts

by O'Keefe, Bobbie

  * * *

  Connie awoke to early morning daylight and a quiet house. She wondered how long the silence would last, then a shriek from Christopher broke through the stillness and made her jump.

  “Unca Dare!”

  She settled down again, giving in to a grudging smile. She might not be ecstatic about her ex-husband’s presence, but Christopher certainly was. Her smile broadened as she remembered how much Derek enjoyed sleeping in on his days off. Served him right.

  A muffled response from Derek was interrupted by a horrendous crash that had Connie bounding out of bed. But before she reached her door she realized what had happened, came to an abrupt stop and burst into laughter.

  Christopher had jumped on top of his uncle and the cot had collapsed.

  What a rude awakening, she thought with glee, and laughed harder.

  But someone could be hurt, and that possibility got her moving again. The bits of conversation she picked up when she opened her door, however, assured her there was more emotional frustration at the other side of the house than injury.

  The scrambling chaos finally ceased, and two sets of bare feet padded toward her room. The heavier footfalls sounded like they were limping. The twins simultaneously announced they were awake. Connie grabbed the pink robe, wrapped it around her, and tried to compose herself.

  Uncle and nephew arrived at her door and stood side by side.

  “I broke Unca Dare’s bed,” an apologetic Christopher said to the floor.

  “You’re laughing,” Derek said to Connie. He was holding his elbow, but it was clearly his dignity that was fractured. “It’s not funny.”

  One twin hollered something, and the other one answered.

  Derek wore a white t-shirt, sleeper boxer shorts in a red and white diamond pattern, and black socks. His legs looked even more bowed and hairy than she remembered. She also remembered that sulky frown. She was working extra hard to keep her own face straight, yet knew she was failing miserably.

  “It’s not funny,” he repeated. The frown cut lines into his forehead.

  “Good morning,” she managed, then doubled over with giggles. Giving up, she backed into her room, closed the door, collapsed on the bed and let go. She’d almost forgotten how great a really good belly laugh felt.

  Chapter ThreeAt 6:55 a.m., the same moment Connie was enjoying her belly laugh, a security camera was hard at work at a convenience market located two and a half miles away.

  It filmed a man entering the store who stood about six-four and appeared to weigh somewhere between two-fifty and two-eighty. He was bearded and wore overalls, but his features and age were indiscernible because he also wore a stocking mask. A run in the stocking, from nose to hairline, made his face appear scarred as well as distorted.

  His two companions entered behind him, also wearing nylons, but without runs in them. They weren’t bearded, were about five or six inches shorter and maybe a hundred pounds lighter. One wore a jean jacket, and the other one had on a gray sweatshirt with a blue-plaid shirt collar sticking out of the neck. They were a bit overdressed for Southern California in August, but because of the early hour, they were able to get away with the extra layers of clothing.

  The three masked men and the man at the cash register were the only people inside the store. The clerk was too involved in his magazine to look up at first. Using both hands, he spread the centerfold across the counter top and gave it an admiring up-and-down, side-to-side look.

  Overalls and Jean Jacket had guns in their hands. They went to the counter and demanded money. The clerk finally looked up, the magazine slid to the floor, and he must have wet his pants because a growing stain discolored his khakis.

  Gray Sweatshirt remained at the door with his hands empty as he looked nervously around the store. Jean Jacket stepped back and whispered something in his ear. Nothing happened, and Jean Jacket put his elbow into the belly of the sweatshirt. Gray Sweatshirt reached beneath the pullover, fumbled at his belt, then pulled out a gun. He juggled it, lost it, and it hit the floor with a loud clank.

  The clerk jerked around, knocking over a display of sunglasses. With his eyes wide and his glance flitting everywhere, he gripped the counter as if for support. Overalls stepped away, pushing bills in his pocket and wrinkling his nose as if he’d just caught a bad smell, maybe something stronger than urine.

  “It’s okay,” he assured the man. His gentle tone was incongruous with his masked countenance and cold-looking, steel-colored gun. “You’re all right. Everything’s okay.” He picked up the magazine and replaced it on the counter. He even found the man’s page for him.

  Gray Sweatshirt appeared to be more scared than the clerk. The instant the gun had hit the floor, he’d ducked as if to dodge a bullet. Still crouched, he looked at the floor, at Jean Jacket, at the counter, and then, frowning, he straightened and delicately sniffed the air.

  Jean Jacket remained still, his gaze traveling between the gun on the floor and his companion. Overalls swooped up the weapon, pushed Jean Jacket out the door, and grabbed Gray Sweatshirt’s arm. Then all three men were gone.

  The clerk stood frozen in place for several seconds with his mouth agape and his unblinking stare on the empty doorway. Then finally he must have remembered the alarm button. Of course it was in the same place it always had been, but the man’s mind had apparently drawn a blank. He turned in a circle, as if looking for it, then his gaze settled on something beneath the cash register. Holding his right wrist in his left hand to keep it steady, he pointed his forefinger at the button and managed to press it.

  The camera caught it all on tape, complete with sound. Not high quality sound, but words were discernible. And the same camera had filmed the same three men robbing the same store last night. But it was a different clerk this morning. Though last night’s counter tender had also been unnerved, he’d come through the ordeal with a clean pair of pants.

  Chapter Four“Just for you,” Connie said, and gave each baby a teething biscuit and a rattle. She hoped that would keep them happy until she got herself fed. Their breakfast had been smooth for a change, and faster, thanks to Derek’s help. At least he didn’t hesitate to jump in where he was needed.

  Neither did he hesitate to push himself in where he wasn’t wanted.

  Christopher was on his second glass of apple juice, sitting next to his aunt at the table and waiting patiently for his breakfast. Derek was in the shower. He’d gotten as much cereal on him as he’d gotten into the baby. Whichever one he’d fed.

  She squinted, studying each child in turn. They still looked alike, too young yet for gender to make its mark. She’d just changed their diapers, but they were each wearing yellow sleepers, and she’d forgotten which child she’d placed in which chair.

  One of them dropped its rattle. Christopher picked it up. “Here you go, Abbie.” She thanked him by beating it on the tray as if trying to dig a posthole with it.

  “Uh, Chris, how did you know that was Abbie? How do you tell them apart?”

  He looked at each child, as intently as his aunt. “I don’t know,” he admitted. Then he added, “Maybe it’s her nose. It’s different from Andy’s.”

  “It is? Oh, I see. It turns up on the end. Andy’s got a button nose.”

  He heard his name and looked up. “Baw, baw, baw.”

  “Oh, yeah? Tell me more.” He dropped his rattle, too. Hoping this wasn’t a new game they were learning, she retrieved it for him. When she bent over, she paused, and then angled her neck in order to get a better look at Christopher’s feet beneath the table. Yes, the right sneaker was black and the left one navy blue.

  “And their hair is different,” Chris continued. “See how hers is straight, and he has that little curl right there, just like Unca Dare.”

  “Yes,” she said as straightened in her chair. She smoothed Christopher’s hair on his forehead. “You and your daddy have that same curl. Guess it runs in the family.” She pointed at his feet. “Uh, Chris.”

  H
e looked, nodded. “Breaked a shoelace.”

  “Broke. Which one?”

  “The black one.”

  “Does the other blue one have a lace in it?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Then go put the other blue one on.”

  He seemed to think about it, then shrugged. “Sure.”

  Connie had time to set the table and crack eggs into a bowl before Derek showed. His limp had disappeared, and there was only a small scrape near his right elbow. His dark hair glistened wetly. He’d shaved but had apparently decided to forego the hair dryer this morning.

  His neat gray slacks bore no sign of having recently resided inside a suitcase, and his powder blue polo shirt hung nicely from well-developed shoulders. He always had worn his clothes well. She looked away, annoyed because she’d noticed.

  The twins hadn’t given her time to get dressed this morning. She was conscious of the borrowed robe and how it hung on her. Not giving the length of it a chance to trip her, she’d hitched it up before belting it, and a fold of fabric hung over the tie belt. Her little red and black kimono would’ve been okay with the kids, but its hem didn’t quite reach her knees, and it fell in a deep vee she couldn’t alter no matter how tightly she pulled it around her. No way was she going to show off that cute little number to her ex-husband.

  Chris returned, wearing matching blue tennis shoes. The black one now rested in the middle of his bedroom floor, she was sure.

  Derek came to stand next to her. “Er, I was going to do that,” he said, eyeing the bowl of eggs she was working on.

  She glanced sideways, annoyed with him now instead of herself, and feeling better for it. “They’re just eggs, Derek. What can I possibly do wrong with scrambled eggs?”

  “For one thing, you can get the pan too hot.” He removed that skillet from the burner and put another one on it. “And they’re better cooked in margarine.” Turning back, and without asking permission, he took the fork from her and stirred the egg mixture. “Did you put anything else in here?”

  She didn’t answer. He gave her a curious look. “No,” she snapped.

  He looked at Christopher. “Sounds like I’m in the doghouse.”

  Competing with Abbie’s rattle and Andy’s jabbering, the kitchen TV was on, broadcasting a news program. Derek’s head jerked toward it, and he put one hand out to cover Abbie’s and her rattle. She looked up and giggled, then patted his hand with her free one. Though not as noisy, this game was apparently as much fun as the other one.

  “…twice in the last twenty-four hours, and apparently by the same group of three men. The exact figures were not available, but last night’s take was estimated to be a small one, and it’s thought this morning’s loss would be even less. The clerk has—”

  Evidently tiring of the one-sided patty-cake game, Abbie’s voice joined and then quickly surpassed her brother’s. Derek reached for the remote control and punched up the volume, but the program broke for a commercial. He thumbed the mute button and replaced the control on the counter.

  “That must’ve been the convenience store I passed last night, maybe just a couple miles or so from here. Robbery must’ve just happened because there were flashing lights, big crowd, a lot of commotion.” His face was grave as his gaze remained on the TV screen. “That’s too close.”

  Connie wasn’t comfortable with the proximity either. She was also puzzled. “But why hit the same place twice? That doesn’t make sense. Seems like the motive might be harassment instead of profit.”

  Christopher reached for the remote control. He’d been watching the screen, paying little attention to the discussion. Sound once again issued from the set.

  “…standing in for Derek O’Reilly. Nate, it’s all yours.”

  Connie watched and listened, then frowned at the TV and at Nate. “Why isn’t Rachel on for you, like she usually is? She’s better than this guy, whoever he is.”

  “She’s in New York. Nate’s the best they could get on such short notice.”

  She gave him a surprised look. “Short notice? You gave them short notice for a fishing trip?”

  He shrugged without returning her gaze. His attention remained on the man who was explaining high pressure and low pressure areas. “I had the time coming, and I’d scheduled the trip a long time ago. Somebody must’ve gotten their wires crossed.”

  “It’s a news program, and somebody got their wires crossed?”

  “He’s not as good as you are, Unca Dare. He smiles too much. Makes him look phony.”

  “Thanks, partner. You’re good for the ego.” Derek laughed and ran his hand through Christopher’s hair.

  “And somebody also got his dates crossed,” Connie said. “He planned his short-notice fishing trip ten days too early.” She realized how peevish she sounded, but she was still resentful about the way he’d pushed himself into the household last night.

  With his hand still in Christopher’s hair, Derek looked at Connie. “Yeah, uh, I’ve been thinking about that—”

  “And he also got his skillet too hot to cook the eggs. I did that well on my own.”

  Derek uttered a mild expletive, looked quickly and guiltily at Christopher, then removed the hot skillet from the flame.

  “You’re running out of room for your skillets,” Connie said to his back.

  He turned, gave her a look that said she was pushing it, then turned back to replace the original and now cooled skillet atop the burner. This time, he switched the flame off before he again faced her. “May I talk to you for a minute? Then we’ll do the eggs.”

  She frowned. She had a strong suspicion she wasn’t going to like this. “I guess so.”

  “You need to learn to control your enthusiasm,” he said wryly. He got the tub of margarine from the refrigerator and put a loaf of bread on the counter. “I may be ten days early, but I don’t see why I can’t still spend the weekend here as I’d planned.”

  “Oh, no, you don’t.”

  “That way, Chris and I can still get our fishing in, and—”

  “No.”

  “And I can give you a hand with the kids—”

  “No.”

  “They’ve got to be quite a handful. And this way I won’t lose my vacation time—”

  “No.”

  Derek switched the TV off. “Chris, do you think you could play with the twins in your room or theirs for a few minutes, and let Aunt Connie and me finish our discussion?”

  “Sure,” Chris said agreeably. Unlike their earlier conversation, he’d been following this one with rapt attention. He pushed himself off his chair and collected a rattle in each hand. He looked up at Derek. “But you’re going to win, aren’t you, Unca Dare?” He directed an imploring look at Connie. “I want him to stay, Annie Connie. Please?”

  Floored, Connie blinked. “Of all the—”

  “I didn’t set that up,” Derek said quickly. “Chris just wants—”

  “Talk about stacking the deck.”

  “I didn’t set that up,” he repeated with vehemence. “Give me some credit.”

  She unfastened Andy’s tray and got him in the crook of her left arm. She reached for the other highchair and Christopher unhooked the tray for her. She swooped up Abbie, balancing her on her other hip. “I’m going to dress the twins. You do what you want to do.” She dodged around the table. “And don’t save any breakfast for me. I’m not hungry.”

  “I think I’m in the doghouse, too, Unca Dare.” Christopher’s voice sounded like there were tears lurking behind the words.

  Connie stopped. Chris wanted to go fishing with his uncle, that was all. Derek was one of his favorite people. She was annoyed with Derek, but punishing Chris. She felt about two inches tall.

  She breathed deeply, then turned. “No, Chris, you’re not in the doghouse. And I’m sorry I got upset.” She took in another long breath. “Of course Uncle Derek can stay, and the two of you can go fishing. Your mom and dad would have no objection, so I don’t either.”

&n
bsp; Christopher didn’t look convinced. The tears were still quite close. The babies were heavy, and it was awkward holding both of them. She knelt and put them on their feet. They toddled off in different directions, but she noted that Derek’s gaze followed the one who’d wandered behind her. She held her arms out to Chris. “Come here, honey.”

  His eyes cleared, but he still looked uncertain. He came to her and allowed a hug, then drew back. “Will you eat eggs with us?” He looked hopeful, but hesitant.

  The kid drives a hard bargain, she thought. An apology wasn’t good enough; she was going to have to prove her change of heart.

  “Unca Dare makes scrambled eggs real good,” Chris coaxed, as if aware he almost had her. “They’re not all dry and crusty and brown on the bottom like yours.”

  “Uh, Chris,” Derek said.

  But Connie just laughed. “Really good,” she corrected. “And if they’re that good, then tell him to make enough for me, too.”

  Chris rewarded her with a beaming smile. Connie was struck by how much the child resembled Derek. Inwardly, she winced at the strong and sudden tug on her heartstrings.

  * * *

  The twins were napping when Derek and Chris returned from their shopping trip. Connie met them at the door and put her forefinger to her lips in a shushing motion. Derek carried the box containing the new cot into Christopher’s room, elaborately tiptoeing. Chris deposited a grocery bag on the counter of the corner bar and followed his uncle, mimicking his walk. One side of the boy’s red knit shirt had ridden up to his elbow, which lent a lopsided look to his gait. Connie went back to her magazine.

  Derek quickly reappeared. “Wish me luck sleeping on it. I didn’t buy it with comfort in mind. I chose the one with the easiest assembly instructions.”

  “Build it now, Unca Dare?” Christopher entered the room so fast he almost ran into his uncle.

  “After dinner, partner. Give me a few minutes.” Stooping, he smoothed the boy’s shirt down. “Why don’t you go practice that computer game you showed me this morning?”