“So Jennie Anne is helping your girl.” Nedda’s voice was flat, calculating.
“Uh . . . yes. That’s it! Jennie Anne’s a great help.” Mickelle stifled her guilt at her misinterpretation. How else could she take care of Jennie Anne? Besides, it would do Belle good to have a girl around. She glanced at the children, praying they wouldn’t interfere—especially Belle, who hated the idea of needing help from anyone.
“I think that’s a job in itself,” Mickelle continued. “We’d be willing to pay Jennie Anne. For her time at our house. Aside from schoolwork, Belle needs a girl her age around.”
“Sort of like a paid companion, huh.” Nedda’s gaze swung toward the girls, taking in Jennie Anne’s downcast face and Belle’s frank, curious stare. “Well, she seems normal enough. Can’t think why she can’t get her some friends without paying for them.”
Mickelle bristled at the statement, but she bit her tongue. “Jennie Anne can eat dinner with us if you’re willing, since she’ll be there anyway. If you were going out of town or something, she’d have somewhere to stay.” Had she gone too far? Would the other woman perceive Mickelle’s belief that Jennie Anne was being both physically and mentally abused?
Nedda’s eyes came back to hers, glinting in the dull light. “How much?”
Mickelle wondered how many envelopes Jennie Anne could stuff and how much Nedda was paid for them. Damon paid her generously to watch the children, but . . .
Then Mickelle almost started laughing. Why was she worrying about money? Hadn’t she just received a hundred thousand dollars? If needed, she could use some of that money to help Jennie Anne.
“How about five dollars a day?” Mickelle suggested. “Jennie Anne and Belle can, uh, work on homework, and then play. After dinner, I can bring her home.”
“I don’t know,” Nedda hedged.
Mickelle knew her offer wasn’t a lot of money, but did this woman really believe that her great-niece, who had never been to school, was really going to tutor Belle? “Dinner’s included,” Mickelle reminded the other woman. “And we have a lot of extra clothes that we can pass on to Jennie Anne. My sister has three girls.” The clothes alone should tempt the old woman.
“All right,” Nedda agreed. “I usually have most of the envelopes done before she gets home anyways.” Then, as though realizing what she had said, Nedda straightened her pudgy figure as tall as possible and added, “Of course that means I’ll have to clean up here alone, and eat alone.”
Mickelle refused to be manipulated further. What cleaning did Nedda do besides throwing more piles of junk onto already teetering stacks? And no way would she would start bringing the woman food. “We’ll pay her each week,” she said sweetly. “Twenty-five dollars.”
“Twenty-five? Oh, yeah, guess there won’t be no tutoring on the weekend.”
Mickelle suddenly felt desperate. She wanted to offer thirty-five to have weekends included. But what was she doing, trying to buy a child? And what was the great-aunt doing letting Jennie Anne spend so much time away from home? What if someone else offered more money for something else?
She wished she knew if what she was doing was right. “Maybe the girls could play on the weekends. Let’s see how it goes.” Of course, Belle was with Damon on weekends, and since Mickelle had refused his proposal, she wouldn’t be with him.
Unless they had their talk.
Mickelle knew she had to do just that. Not only because she loved Belle and Tanner, or because he’d brought her Chinese food, but because she loved him. She really did. In spite of the way he made her crazy with fear and anger, she wanted to be a part of Damon’s life.
Tonight when he comes to pick up the kids, we’ll talk. And I’ll tell him about Jennie Anne. He can help me decide what to do.
“Okay then.” Mickelle backed up a couple of steps, her hand behind her as she searched for the doorknob. “Kids, let’s go.”
Belle arose and padded down the path from the couch, the piled-up boxes, clothes, and papers well above her head. Her little nose wrinkled as though she wanted to sneeze or was smelling something disgusting. She didn’t look at Nedda but cast a sad glance toward Jennie Anne.
“Go on, girl,” Nedda told Jennie Anne. “I’ll see you tonight.”
Mickelle smiled. She hadn’t expected the old lady would allow the tutoring to begin tonight. Jennie Anne moved rapidly from the couch and stood near Belle. Mickelle noticed that she didn’t have her backpack or any homework, but she was too anxious to leave the house to care.
Nedda didn’t hug Jennie Anne. Nor was there any hint of kindness or love in her attitude toward her great-niece. An urge to weep sprang up in Mickelle’s heart. For an instant she was immobilized by an emotion that was more a vision than anything she could describe. She knew she’d been sent to help Jennie Anne, and that she could only do it in this way.
For now.
She smiled at Nedda, who watched her with glittering blue eyes. Calculating. That she didn’t care much for Jennie Anne was obvious. What guardian would allow her child to go home with a complete stranger without first doing a little investigating?
Back in the car, Mickelle’s tense muscles relaxed, leaving her shaking. She cast a last glance at the house—the willow weeping its continuous tears, the overgrown yard, the missing curtain. She shuddered. How could she allow Jennie Anne to return to such a place? Surely there were laws about putting a child in a home where a narrow pathway between piles of junk was the only way through the house. It might be different if the old woman loved Jennie Anne.
“I don’t like your aunt one bit,” Belle announced, clipping on her safety belt.
Jennie Anne didn’t reply, but when Mickelle glanced in the rearview mirror, the girl’s eyes bored into hers. They were bright again, not dull as they had been inside the house.
It was a beginning.
Mickelle drove home in silence, while Jeremy and Belle chattered. Jennie Anne remained quiet.
“I’m sure Dad’s giving me a horse soon,” Belle said. “I hope it’s a cream-colored one. Do you think he’ll find one like that?”
Jeremy laughed. “I bet he will. He’s good at doing stuff.”
Mickelle heard the admiration in his voice, and softened further toward Damon. He was a good man. Maybe if they talked things out . . .
She didn’t let herself finish the thought. Driving was not the best time to have a panic attack, and thinking of Damon often brought them on.
What a crazy relationship.
When they arrived home, Tanner and Bryan were playing basketball on the driveway slab instead of kicking the soccer ball in the backyard. Jeremy turned to Mickelle. “Please let me play a little before I do my chores. Tanner’ll be going home soon since we spent so long at the school and at Jennie Anne’s. Please.” His blue eyes begged, bright in his thin face.
“What about homework?”
“Don’t have any. I did it all in class. Well, I have to read a bit, but I can do that later. Please. I want to practice my long shot.”
“Okay, okay.” Mickelle shooed him away. She was more interested in getting Jennie Anne in the house. Would it be too soon to suggest a bath? How could she work it in without making it seem too obvious?
“I wanna play basketball, too!” Belle said.
Mickelle grabbed her before she could join the boys. “No way, young lady. Are you forgetting that you’re recovering from a broken arm? No basketball for you for at least another few months.”
“Oh drat!” But Belle came into the house docilely enough. “So what are we going to do then? I don’t have any homework. See? My backpack is empty.” She was accustomed to either playing with the boys or working on one of the project books Mickelle checked out from the library. Her eager mind never seemed to find enough challenge at school, and Mickelle had taken to supplementing her education as a way of keeping her occupied and content.
Mickelle was learning right along with her. Last week they’d been reading about the parts of an atom,
and had filled in another section of the map they were making of Alaska. Mickelle admitted to herself that she was curious about where Damon had spent so much of his life before he came to Utah, and that was why she had suggested that particular study. Belle had been only too happy to agree. After all, she had been born there.
Jennie Anne would likely be interested in their educational discoveries, but first things had to come first; Mickelle had taken a casual whiff of Jennie Anne’s hair and knew that somehow she had to find a way to wash it.
“We’ll play a game in a minute,” she told them, “but first let’s see if the boys left us any of those pumpkin cookies I made yesterday.”
The girls followed her into the house and to the kitchen. Belle threw her red backpack on the table and climbed on a stool. Mickelle frowned at it. There was something odd about the backpack, but she couldn’t think what it was. Probably nothing serious. It would likely come to her later.
As Mickelle took out the cookies and milk, she watched Jennie Anne survey the kitchen. There was nothing on her freckled face to show pleasure or displeasure at what she saw, but Mickelle sensed a wonder about her. Despite the disinterest Nedda had in Jennie Anne, the child apparently hadn’t been away from home enough to see how a regular family lived.
A regular family. Yes, that’s what Mickelle supposed she and the boys represented. Her house wasn’t much, but it must seem a lot to Jennie Anne. What had her life been like with her mother? Did she even remember?
All in good time, she told herself. A lack of patience had never been one of her greatest faults, but suddenly she hated not knowing.
Mickelle put the spaghetti casserole she had mixed together that afternoon in the oven while the girls ate. The cookies and milk went down in a flash, and they were ready to play. Belle had plenty of computer and board games that she had brought from home, and a few dolls, but Mickelle was still hoping to get Jennie Anne into the water. If it was summer instead of mid-October, she would fill up the swimming pool and have a water fight.
With soap?
Damon had a pool. And chlorine would kill almost any germ.
Kill.
She swallowed hard and pushed the memory of Damon’s inert frame from her mind. I can’t deal with that right now. Think of this little girl.
She thought up idea after idea, quickly discarding most of them. A water fight in the kitchen was not a good choice, though it probably wouldn’t damage the inexpensive vinyl tile or the ancient grime-caked cupboards. Neither was filling up the plastic pool in the unfinished part of the basement. But washing the dog in the bathtub might be the basis of a good idea. Maybe . . .
Mickelle snapped her fingers. She knew exactly what to do.
“Girls, come on, I have a plan. Let’s practice our ABCs in the bathroom.”
“What?” Belle gaped at her in surprise.
Mickelle smiled at her innocently. “You’ve never learned ABCs in the bathroom? Well then, you are in for a treat. I used to do it all the time when the boys were little. We lived for this game.”
“How do you play?” Belle followed her down the short hallway, face bursting with curiosity.
“I have some of Jeremy’s old T-shirts and shorts that should fit you—somewhere.” Mickelle ignored Belle’s question and rummaged through a box of old clothes in the closet at the end of the hall, ones she had intended for rags. “Here, girls, change into these while I fill up the bath. You can use my room.”
Belle pulled Jennie Anne along. “Oh, this is so exciting! Didn’t I tell you Mickelle’s fun?”
Mickelle didn’t hear a response, if there was any, because the door shut behind them. Hurrying into the small bathroom, she began filling the tub with warm water. She plucked a can of shaving cream from the windowsill and then searched under the vanity for another. She had usually stocked up on them when they were on sale, but she hadn’t checked her supply in months.
Under the sink four cans stood in a solemn row, little soldiers ready for their task. Next to them was only one wrapped bar of soap, and two bottles of Flex shampoo, also purchased on sale. Of course she would have more of the shaving cream; she had always been careful to have plenty on hand for Riley, and since his death she hadn’t used even a full can. The lime smell reminded her of him, and she wondered if it always would. She didn’t mind.
By the time she’d placed the shaving cream and the bottle of shampoo on the edge of the tub, the girls came in—Belle dancing excitedly, and Jennie Anne more quietly, though her face also showed anticipation.
“Grab a can of shaving cream,” she told the girls. “I’ll be back with towels.” In the hall closet again, she found only two clean towels, but a stack of flannel sheets would do just as well for her task. Good thing Jeremy stopped wetting the bed.
That had come about because of Damon’s attention; one more thing she was grateful to him for.
When she reentered the bathroom the girls each had a can of shaving cream in their hands. Belle was experimenting with the nozzle. Suddenly, cream exploded from the end, blasting into the wall. Belle screamed with laughter, but Jennie Anne looked frozen into place, as though too frightened to move.
“Good job, Belle!” Mickelle said, wiping the cream off the wall. “You figured out how to use it. But come on over here to the bath. First let me turn off the water—looks like we have about enough. Put your feet in. Don’t worry, it’s warm. Now that side of the wall is yours, Belle,” she pointed to the left, “and that side over there is Jennie Anne’s. Don’t worry, that’s ceramic tile to keep out the water from the shower. The cream won’t hurt it.”
“We get to write letters!” Belle laughed in understanding. “Oh, this is gonna be so fun!”
And it was. Belle sprayed her cream over the wall in the shapes of huge letters. Jennie Anne followed suit, her shyness fading away. When they had filled the walls, they lifted water in their hands and wiped the white cream away. Soon they started drawing pictures and then spraying each other, giggling as they went.
Mickelle had forgotten how different the exuberant joy of a five- and six-year-old could be, compared to the older wisdom of her nine-year-old, who claimed to have outgrown this type of activity. But oh, how easily it came back! She remembered doing this very thing with her own mother, and then with the boys. How joyful it was. For the moment, the cares of the day were utterly banished. She rolled up her jeans, took her own can of shaving cream into the bath, and began to draw a design under the window.
“Mom! Mom!” Jeremy appeared in the open doorway. He stopped, jaw dropping. Mickelle thought she saw a little longing in his eyes.
“What is it, Jeremy?”
His eyes went to hers. “Oh yeah, Belle has to go. They’re here to pick her up.”
“Already?”
She glanced at her watch which she had removed from her wrist and placed on the low shelf above the back of the toilet. It wasn’t even six yet, and Damon usually didn’t come until six-thirty.
I should have known, she thought. Damon always appeared when she was dirty from working in the garden, sweaty from playing soccer, or wet from an accident with water.
She grinned, unable to stop herself. Maybe if she could get him to come in here, he could join them, and she would spray him with the shaving cream. Maybe that would break the ice enough for them to talk.
“I don’t wanna go home,” Belle wailed.
“It’s Juliet,” Jeremy said. “That’s who’s come to take you home. She says she is supposed to take you to your house. Your dad’s working late.” Jeremy frowned, and Mickelle knew he’d hoped to play basketball with him.
“I like Juliet,” Belle said in only a slightly aggrieved voice, “but I just wish you’d hurry and marry my dad, Mickelle. Then we could all go live at my house.” She turned to Jennie Anne to explain. “Juliet works for my dad. She sometimes baby-sits me.” She turned back to Mickelle, her round, cherubic face standing out more clearly with her wet hair matted down. “Do I have to go? And if I do, can
Jennie Anne come with me?”
“Let me go talk to Juliet.” Mickelle’s words were forced and seemed to burn the back of her throat. She couldn’t believe that he hadn’t come. All day she’d been preparing herself to talk to him, to confess her fears and possibly her love. To even apologize for getting angry at him.
He hadn’t come.
She was hurt, though she knew logically the feeling didn’t make sense. He hadn’t known she was preparing to talk to him, that she’d decided not to throw his Chinese food back in his face, but to invite him to share it with her. Her disappointment was almost tangible, like a sudden cold shower.
Chapter Twelve
Mickelle stepped out of the bath onto one of the flannel sheets she had put down to catch their spills. “While I’m talking to Juliet, you girls might as well wash your hair. You’re full of shaving cream, and this way you won’t have to do it later. Here’s the shampoo. I’ll help you rinse when you come back. No, don’t worry about taking off your clothes. We’re not really taking a bath. Just wash your hair.”
She was rewarded for the comment by a look of utter relief from Jennie Anne. That made Mickelle wonder about the bruise on her cheek and the possible one on her shoulder. Who had given them to her?
Juliet was waiting for her on the porch, wearing low heels, black dress pants, and a multi-colored sweater. There was a new chill in the air, one Mickelle hadn’t noticed before. Winter is coming, she thought.
“Hi, Mickelle.” Juliet’s wide smile made Mickelle relax. The young, dark-haired receptionist had that effect on people. Her light brown eyes were friendly, and her short hair so cute that every time Mickelle saw it she experienced a strong urge to cut her own in the same style and dye it brown.
“Come on in.” Mickelle pushed the door open wider. “Belle’s not quite ready yet. I wasn’t expecting Damon—you—so soon.”
“Damon had to work late and he asked me to get the kids before the usual time since you have a meeting tonight at church. It is tonight, isn’t it? Men aren’t that great at remembering things. At least my fiancé isn’t.”
Bridge to Forever Page 14