“I was giving them their bath.” Colton’s voice had become soft and tragic. “The phone rang. There was only a little water in the tub.” He showed her a space of about six inches with his fingers. Mickelle swallowed with difficulty, sensing what would come next. She had never left either of her boys in the bathtub alone until they were five, and even then she had allowed them only a little bit of water and kept within earshot.
“I thought I could just run down the hall and grab the phone,” he began again. “It was such a short space and I would be fast. The boys played together well in the tub. I didn’t feel they were in any danger. So I ran, but it took me longer than I thought because I couldn’t find the portable. I heard them laughing, so I kept looking. I found it, but it had stopped ringing. I went back and . . .”
He drew in a breath, obviously unable to continue.
“I’m so sorry,” Mickelle murmured, her initial outrage at his carelessness tempered by the evident torture he still suffered.
“I tried to revive them.” He was crying now in earnest, his eyes frantic as he relived the horror. “I know it’s no excuse, but I was so inexperienced as a father. I didn’t know what to do. I called 911, and I kept trying to breathe air into their lungs. I didn’t know who to help first. I’d go to one, then the next . . .”
Mickelle could imagine vividly what he must have felt. Hadn’t she felt a similar terror when confronted with an unconscious Damon? What if her sons had been in the water? What if she had to choose which one to save?
Colton stepped closer to her, and Mickelle put her arms around him. “They died,” he cried into her shoulder. “It was all my fault. I should never have left them. Not even to grab the phone. I shouldn’t have left them for anything. Terry blamed me, too. We couldn’t be together after that. She couldn’t love me after I had done something so horrible. I don’t think anyone ever will, either.”
Mickelle let him cling to her. She massaged his back and held him while the emotions raged. She marveled that her own emotions seemed steady, when his experience so closely mirrored that of hers with Damon.
But Damon had lived.
After a long time, Colton drew away. “I hope you don’t hate me now,” he said, his voice barely audible.
She shook her head. “No.” Then she gave him a sad smile. “You’re looking at a woman who asked her husband for a divorce a few days before he drove himself purposely over a cliff. There’s enough guilt to go around; somehow we have to forgive ourselves and go on.”
“My boys can’t go on,” he muttered.
She wondered if he had meant her to hear this last comment, or if he had perhaps hoped the sound of the river would cover the bitter words.
“You’re wrong,” she told him. “They do go on. And whatever awful stuff they passed through on earth, they’re in their Heavenly Father’s arms now, anxiously waiting to see you again.”
His eyes filled once again with tears, but this time they didn’t fall onto the tanned cheeks. “Thank you for reminding me of that, Mickelle. Sometimes I forget they have another Father who loves them even more than I do.”
She smiled and he smiled back. For a long moment they stared at each other silently. Without warning, he leaned forward and kissed her hard on the mouth. Mickelle responded before she could help herself. In his warm lips she could feel him asking for absolution and understanding. His kiss was different from Damon’s, less demanding and heart-stopping, but enjoyable.
At last he pulled away. “I’m sorry,” he said, not looking it. “I shouldn’t have done that. But I’ve been wanting to since the moment I saw you at the dance.” He paused and ran a gentle finger over her cheek. “Thank you for listening, Mickelle. Thank you.”
She stepped away, gradually, so it wouldn’t be noticeable. “No, I need to thank you. You’re the one who tackled that insurance company for me.”
He waved the words aside. “That was nothing.”
“Not to me, it wasn’t. Or to my boys.”
Something flickered in his eyes. “I hope I can meet them sometime.”
Mickelle hesitated only an instant. “Why don’t you come over for dinner tonight?” Colton obviously needed company, and she needed someone who wasn’t going to pressure her about making a commitment.
“I’d love to.” He grinned at her with unconcealed pleasure. Once again his striking appearance hit her, made her feel weak inside just by gazing at him. What did he see in her?
Of course, there was the tragedy in his life. That was hard to swallow, especially to someone intent on keeping what was left of her family together. But then, Mickelle had always been a bit paranoid about her sons’ safety, and her protectiveness had grown since Riley’s death. She still checked to see if Bryan and Jeremy were breathing at night, checked out the families of their friends, made them wear safety belts . . .
Riley had never been a stickler for safety belts. It had driven her insane when the boys were small. She had given up on him and had focused on training the boys instead. For the most part, they had obeyed. The thing that had saved her most grief, though, was the fact that Riley had rarely taken them anywhere alone. By the time he did, they were old enough to put on their belts of their own free will. It had been no surprise to her that Riley hadn’t been wearing a seat belt when his smashed truck had been recovered from the canyon. The police suspected he might have survived if he’d clipped it on. But then, he hadn’t meant to survive.
One thing was sure: Mickelle would have never left Riley to bathe the boys when they were small. He simply hadn’t known enough about their abilities to do it safely and hadn’t cared enough about them to learn.
Wrenching herself from this vein of thought, Mickelle smiled at Colton. “I have to get home. I have to pick up one of the children I baby-sit at school in Highland.”
Again Colton helped her over the fallen logs and rough terrain, perhaps touching her hands and arms more than necessary. Mickelle didn’t mind; she enjoyed the human contact.
Yet what about Damon who was willing to give her his whole heart?
No—too much involvement there. She thought she had been ready for a relationship, but Friday’s accident had proven her wrong. Now she didn’t know if she would ever be ready.
Chapter Seven
Back in Colton’s car, the silence was so loud that Mickelle laughed.
“What?” he asked, inserting the key into the ignition.
“Just that it’s positively quiet in here after being by that river. Gives a new meaning to the term ‘deafening silence.’ ”
He chuckled. “Why so it is. I wondered if there was something wrong with my ears.”
They chatted casually all the way back to Mickelle’s. She was actually sorry to see him go, but it was high time she picked up Tanner. By the time she returned from Highland, Bryan would be home from the junior high and she would leave to collect Belle and Jeremy. Ordinarily Belle and Jeremy would walk home from school with the neighbor children, but Mickelle wanted to catch a glimpse of the new girl Belle had been assigned to befriend. Something about the way Belle had talked made her uneasy. It’s just my overprotective nature, Mickelle thought.
“Penny for your thoughts,” Colton said as they pulled up in front of her house.
“They’re worth way more than that.”
He grinned. “You went quiet all of a sudden. If it’s something you’d rather not share . . .”
“Oh, it’s just the little girl I watch. Some stuff is happening at school that I need to keep an eye on.”
“Can’t her father handle it?” Colton asked. “Uh, or her mother,” he added hastily.
“Well, it’s not a problem—yet. It might not become one. And their mother died from cancer a few years back. That’s why I’m watching them.”
“That’s too bad.”
She nodded. “Anyway, thank you for lunch.”
“Wait.” He jumped from the car and hurried around to open her door. He helped her out carefully, as though she we
re made of fragile porcelain. His hand lingered long after she was out of the car, and she suspected he was going to try to kiss her again.
“Colton, what happened up there . . . after . . .” She wanted to tell him she wasn’t looking for a relationship, that she welcomed him only as a friend, but suddenly she couldn’t. If she brought it up now, he would suspect that she held his sons’ deaths against him. Hadn’t he hinted that women had reacted that way before?
“Yes?” he prompted.
She made a show of eyeing her wristwatch. “Oh, I’ve got to get going. Look, about dinner. Is seven-thirty too late?” She wanted to be sure Damon and his children were gone before he arrived.
And why is that? a nasty little voice wanted to know.
“That might be a little bit later than you’re used to eating,” she added hastily, “but the kids I watch don’t leave much earlier, and I’ll need time to cook.”
“Sure.” Then his brow creased. “Is there a problem with this being a Monday? You and the boys probably have family night.”
Mickelle had forgotten. Like most members of their church, she and the boys had set aside Mondays as a special family togetherness night, but it wasn’t as if Colton would be staying the entire evening. She could have family night after he left, and the boys could simply go to sleep an hour later.
“That’s fine,” she said. “The boys’ll be so excited about the insurance money that they won’t complain too much.” She rolled her eyes to show him she was teasing. What he couldn’t know was that recently Bryan had been trying to get out of having family nights. She hadn’t shared that information with anyone besides Damon.
Damon would have laughed and commiserated with her comment, but Colton only shrugged. “Okay then. I’ll see you tonight.”
Mickelle watched him drive away before she pulled out the keys to her car.
* * *
Later, as she drove up to Belle’s school, Mickelle had all but forgotten the incident between her and Colton. The kiss between them had only been inspired by the deep feelings of his sad past, nothing more.
She reached the classroom before the bell rang and stood at the open door, allowing her eyes to run over the numerous students who were grouped in twos throughout the room. The teacher, Miss Palmer was reading from a book, and most of the students were listening avidly. Mickelle’s niece, Camille, near the back of the class, spotted her and waved.
Belle didn’t notice Mickelle. She was too busy leaning over to whisper to the child next to her. Mickelle couldn’t see the girl’s face, but she was thin, too thin, and her long dark hair—a shade darker than Belle’s—hung straight and stringy from her scalp. Her oversized jeans were ragged and her short-sleeved, striped top was too tight.
Was this the mysterious Jennie Anne? If so, she didn’t seem like much of a threat, at least not from behind. She was as little as Belle, who was small for her age and even smaller compared to the rest of the class since she had skipped a grade. From her posture, Belle’s new friend appeared to be doing most of the listening, not the talking. Around her neck was the remainder of the Froot Loop necklace Belle had put together that morning, a few pieces of cereal still intact on the green yarn.
The two dark heads—one with shining, gently curling locks, the other dull, unbrushed, and limp—touched as the girls whispered together. Belle was also writing something on a paper lying on the other girl’s desk. Every so often her friend gave a little nod or a whispered reply.
The bell rang and the teacher closed the book. “We’ll read the rest tomorrow,” she announced. “Have a good evening. Don’t forget to take home your math tests to show your parents.”
Mickelle smiled at the teacher before approaching Belle. She was intercepted by Camille. “Aunt Mickelle!” the girl shouted with excitement. “Can I see the ring? Belle said her dad gave you a BIG ring that looks like a heart. Do I get to wear a pretty dress for the wedding?”
Mickelle frowned. No doubt about it, she had to give back that ring as soon as possible to stop these speculations. In a quiet voice, she told her niece, “I’m not getting married, Camille, but if I ever do, you will certainly get to wear a pretty dress.”
“Cool!” Camille wasn’t daunted in the least by Mickelle’s denial. She gave Mickelle a hug and a peck on the cheek. “Gotta go. I got a hundred on my math test and I have to hurry and tell Mom! Every time we get a hundred we get to put our name in the jar, and when we get it full of names we’re going to Disneyland!” Then she was out the door before Mickelle could marvel aloud at her good fortune. Camille was usually the most quiet of her sister’s five children, and Mickelle was glad to see she was opening up more now that she was growing older. Or perhaps it was simply because Camille was away from her more voluble sisters.
Belle and her friend were still at their desks, but Belle spied Mickelle and smiled. The other girl glanced over at the same time and Mickelle saw a thin brown face covered in splotchy freckles. The girl had large brown eyes framed within dark lashes, but they were overshadowed by an ugly green-brown bruise splayed over her cheekbone. Her eyes moved quickly away from Mickelle’s and meekly down to the paper Belle had been writing on. Was this the girl who’d gone through three other assigned friends? It didn’t seem possible that such an apparently unassuming child could cause a problem.
Mickelle hurried over. “Hello, Belle.”
“Hi, Mickelle!” She folded the paper on the other girl’s desk, as though she didn’t want Mickelle to see what was on it.
“I decided to come get you today. I wanted to meet your new friend.”
Belle dimpled. “This is her.” She pointed to the other girl, who didn’t lift her face at the introduction. “Her name’s Jennie Anne.”
“Hi, Jennie Anne. It’s nice to meet you.”
At that Jennie Anne did look up, just a glance, and then stared downward again. She sat unnaturally still.
“Say hello to Mrs. Hansen,” said their teacher, appearing beside Jennie Anne. Mrs. Palmer was very young, with short blond hair, hazel eyes, and a soft look about her face. She placed a hand on the girl’s shoulder. Her touch appeared gentle, but Jennie Anne flinched. Mrs. Palmer withdrew her hand, her brow wrinkling briefly. In worry? In anger? Mickelle couldn’t say. She had always liked and respected Belle’s teacher, but she couldn’t help wondering if her perception of the younger woman had been accurate.
“Hello,” Jennie Anne repeated obediently.
“That’s a big bruise you have there on your cheek,” Mickelle said. “I bet that hurt.”
“I got hit by a ball,” Jennie Anne answered, this time without prompting.
Mrs. Palmer continued as though there had been no interruption. “Belle is helping Jennie Anne get used to our class.”
“So I heard.” Mickelle was careful not to put any inflection into her voice since she didn’t know enough about the situation to make a judgment.
“They’re doing very well. I appreciate both of them.” Mrs. Palmer smiled her sweet smile and moved away to talk with another parent.
Mickelle slid into an empty desk across from the girls. The squeeze was tight, but she managed to fit. “So, did you have a fun day?”
Jennie Anne averted her eyes again, but Belle nodded excitedly. “Jennie Anne and I had fun. We got to have our own reading group, just her and me. And you know what? We found out that Jennie Anne is like a genius in math. No lie.” Her voice lowered. “I haven’t told Mrs. Palmer yet. We were working on math during reading ’cause Jennie Anne didn’t get very good on her test. But when I asked her the problems out loud she got them all right, didn’t you, Jennie Anne?”
The girl nodded. She glanced over at the paper Belle had folded and reached for it, slipping it inside her desk—out of sight.
“That’s wonderful,” Mickelle said.
“Ask her, Mickelle. Ask her anything. She can do it.”
“Okay.” Mickelle was up for the game. “What’s five plus five?”
“Tell her, Jennie
Anne,” Belle urged when the other girl remained silent.
The answer came reluctantly, “Ten.”
“Eight and eight.”
Belle sighed in exasperation. “Aw, do harder ones Mickelle. Not doubles. Those are easy.”
“Not for your grade they’re not.”
“Sixteen,” answered Jennie Anne.
“That’s right. But what’s five, plus four, plus eight?” asked Belle.
“Seventeen.”
“Very good!” Mickelle was impressed.
Jennie Anne smiled for the first time and Mickelle was amazed at the transformation in her homely face. She was pretty!
“Mom!” Mickelle turned to see Jeremy coming into the classroom. “What are you doing here?”
“Oh, I thought you two could use a ride home.”
“We’re testing Jennie Anne,” Belle informed him importantly. “She’s better at math than you are.”
“No way, I’m a fourth grader.”
Belle lifted her chin, undaunted. “Oh yeah, watch. Jennie Anne, what’s eight plus three plus . . . thirteen . . . plus . . . twenty one!”
“Forty-five.”
Jeremy blinked. “Well, I bet you can’t do times. You’re only in first grade. Hah! But I can do them. What’s eight times four?”
“Thirty-two.”
Mickelle laughed at her son’s chagrin. Belle giggled and pulled a face.
Jeremy glared at her. “Okay, then what’s forty-nine times sixteen?”
“Jeremy,” Mickelle warned. This was going too far. “You shouldn’t ask any question you can’t answer yourself.”
“I can do it,” he protested. “I just need some paper.”
“Yeah, or a calculator,” taunted Belle.
Mickelle stood. “Come on, guys, it’s time to go. Would you like a ride, Jennie Anne?”
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