Willow Brook Road

by Sherryl Woods

  “It’s nice to know that things do work out, even if it’s not on the timetable we anticipated.”

  “That’s what she says, that love has its own timetable, and we need to pay attention to it. Not everyone gets that second chance.”

  Sam studied her and noticed a sadness he hadn’t seen since that first night when he’d spotted her at the bar at O’Brien’s.

  “How do you feel about second chances?”

  “Given how often we manage to mess up our own lives, I’m all for them,” she said. “You?”

  “Same thing. Have you messed up your life? It seems to me you have it all—a big, wonderful family, a whole town that’s practically a family business in some crazy way. You’re beautiful.”

  “I’ll accept the compliment, but those are blessings that I really had nothing to do with. My looks can be attributed to great genes. This town is Grandpa Mick’s baby. The family, well, that’s Nell’s doing. Even when there have been tensions, she’s made certain that we all stick together. It’s nice knowing that kind of support is always there when we need it.”

  “Is that why you came back here? I heard you were living in Europe.”

  “In a way,” she said. “This is home, and I do love it here.”

  “Are you planning to stay or is there another glamorous job on the horizon. I’ve heard from a couple of people you were involved in the fashion industry.”

  “All behind me,” she said. “It turned out it wasn’t right for me.”

  He grinned. “You wore the clothes well.” He glanced at the bright blue T-shirt and capris she was wearing today, along with a pair of flip-flops with a big white daisy between her toes. No more sexy heels. No designer wardrobe. “Is this a new look?”

  “You have a good eye,” she said. “I decided I needed some more practical clothes for the life I’m living now. I loved some of the things I was able to buy at a discount because of my connection to a designer, but I would have had heart failure if I’d splattered grease on them.” She gestured toward the apron Nell had given her, which was covered already with various stains. “Look at me. I sure wouldn’t have made one of those perfect housewives portrayed in those old TV sitcoms.” She glanced his way and caught a puzzled look. “You know, the ones who could cook entire meals in a dress and heels without getting a thing on them.”

  “Ah, yes,” he said with dawning understanding. “Well, just so you know, you look like a million bucks in these clothes, too.”

  She blushed. “Sam Winslow, are you flirting with me?”

  “Just calling it like I see it,” he said, then winked. “I’ve also heard that a little flirting is good for your health. If that blush on your cheeks is any indication, it definitely has an impact on blood flow.”

  She laughed. “I never thought of it quite that way. I’ll have to brush up on my flirting skills.”

  A sudden image of her flirting with any man who crossed her path gave Sam pause. And the fact that it did scared him in a way that little else in his life had, The only thing scarier was knowing that as tricky as the past three weeks of adjusting to being a dad had been, he still had years in that role to figure out.

  That thought had him moving quickly to the door to hold it open for Nell and Bobby, relieved to have a distraction. He could feel Carrie’s puzzled gaze for the rest of the morning as he focused his attention on mastering Nell’s instructions and answering her questions.

  When they finally sat down at the big kitchen table to sample what they’d cooked, he smiled when Bobby took his first taste of the Irish stew and looked up, his face alight with surprise.

  “This is really good,” he said, already spooning up more. “It’s like the stew we had when we got to town.”

  “It is,” Carrie agreed, looking triumphant. She met his gaze. “How about that? We didn’t mess it up.”

  “You both get an A plus,” Nell said approvingly.

  “Never had better, not even back in Dublin,” Dillon added.

  Sam studied their expressions, still harboring doubts about their success. Eventually he took a tentative taste. As the flavors of the beef, fresh herbs and vegetables burst on his tongue, he regarded the stew with amazement.

  “Who knew I could cook?” he said, an unmistakable hint of wonder in his voice.

  Nell chuckled. “Boy, you’re just scratching the surface. You can’t live on Irish stew alone, even as good as it is. Next week we’ll move on to my chicken and dumplings. Now those dumplings are the test that separates the men from the boys.”

  Carrie murmured something under her breath that drew a sharp look from Nell.

  “What’s that, girl? Speak up.”

  “I said Uncle Kevin’s dumplings are pretty light and fluffy.”

  Nell gave her a chiding look. “You mean compared to mine?”

  Carrie shrugged. “He does seem to have a magical touch.”

  “And where’d he get that from, I ask you?” Nell inquired with a touch of indignation.

  “I’m guessing he learned it from you,” Sam said quickly.

  Nell gave a nod of satisfaction. “Of course he did,” she said, then frowned. “But do you know the ungrateful brat won’t tell me what he’s done to improve on my recipe.”

  “So you’re admitting his are better?” Carrie pressed.

  “Maybe a smidgen,” Nell conceded, “but if you tell him I said that, I’ll call you a liar.”

  Sam noticed that Bobby was thoroughly engrossed in his meal, thank goodness. Because while the rest of them might be wise enough to keep Nell’s admission to themselves, if Bobby heard it, he’d blurt it out without a second thought.

  “Hey, Bobby,” Sam said, just to see if he was as distracted as he’d hoped.

  Bobby glanced up from his food. “Chicken and dumplings next week. I know.”

  Sam winced. “And?”

  “Kevin’s are better but we’re not telling.”

  Dillon’s boom of laughter filled the kitchen. He reached over and squeezed Nell’s hand. “That’ll teach you to say things you don’t want repeated, my darlin’ Nell.”

  A twinkle in her eyes, she focused on Bobby. “How many cookies would it take to make sure you forget what I said?”

  Bobby’s face lit up. “I can have all I want?”

  Carrie intervened. “No bribery, Gram.”

  Nell sat back with a sigh. “I suppose I’ll just have to hope that Bobby has a very short memory or that he and Kevin don’t cross paths.”

  “Something tells me you’re doomed on both scores,” Carrie said. “Kids always remember the things you don’t want them to and Kevin’s likely to be at Bobby’s T-ball practice every Saturday.”

  As he had at Kevin and Shanna’s, Sam listened with growing amazement to the banter at the table. This was what it would be like to have a real family, connected not just by the chance of DNA, but by genuine caring. For the first time in his life, he wanted that, not just because it was what Bobby had lost and deserved to have again, but for himself. Also, for the first time, he could appreciate just how much effort Laurel had put into trying to give him some semblance of normalcy amid the chaos their parents’ dysfunction had created.

  9

  On Monday morning Carrie dragged herself out of bed at the ungodly hour of 5:00 a.m. to shower, dress and make the drive to the Happily-Ever-After Day-care Center. At least the sun was still coming up fairly early, so she wasn’t driving the winding road in the pitch-dark of winter.

  At the center she found the lights on and Julie and two other women busy making sandwiches for lunch. Julie gave her an approving look, made quick introductions, then nodded toward a shelf where a box of disposable gloves had been left open.

  “Get busy,” Julie said. “We need to have these made before the next round of kids starts to arrive. Lucy has the early arrivals entertained for now, but she’ll need help as soon as it starts getting crazy in here.”

  Studying the turkey, tomato and lettuce sandwiches being assembled, Ca
rrie pitched in and went to work, then dared to ask, “Wouldn’t peanut butter and jelly be a lot easier and more popular?”

  “Peanut allergy,” Julie explained. “We know we have one boy who has it. Once we open that jar, who knows who might get their hands on it. Why take chances? And we try to stick to healthy options, not popular ones.”

  “We shake things up with grilled cheese and tuna on pita bread,” Lucy said, joining them and reporting that the three early arrivals were occupied within view with picture books. “It’s never boring and the younger kids will pretty much try anything once. For a couple of them, the meal they get here will be the healthiest one they get all day. Add in some fruit and added veggies at snack time and they get decent nutrition from us. It makes the older ones more alert, too, so we can actually get in a few lessons during the day when the littlest ones are down for their naps.”

  “What ages do you have?” Carrie asked. “I noticed some older kids here with a tutor the other day.”

  “We have six up to the age of eight who come here after school. During the summer they’re often here all day. They’ve been with us since they were toddlers. I won’t take babies,” Julie said. “I just don’t have the staff, but we’ll take them as early as two as long as they’re reasonably potty trained.”

  Just then a loud No! carried from the lobby.

  Julie shook her head, her expression resigned. “Lucy?”

  “I’m on it,” her daughter said.

  “Problem child?” Carrie guessed.

  “She just started here a week ago and has big-time separation anxiety, at least until we can get her so interested in something, she doesn’t realize her mom has left. Once the other kids are here, she’s pretty good.”

  Thinking of Bobby, Carrie asked, “How do you deal with the separation thing? I have a friend who just assumed full custody of his nephew after the parents died in an accident. So he’s in a new town with an uncle he barely knows. I noticed the other day that he’s not letting his uncle out of his sight. That’s going to be a problem when school starts.”

  “Totally understandable,” Julie said. “How old is he? Does he have friends?”

  “He’s six and he’s started making some friends.”

  “The same age?”

  “A couple are older, but he started playing T-ball on Saturday and that looks promising. He seemed to fit in pretty quickly, though that’s when I noticed he was keeping a close eye on his uncle the whole time.”

  “If he’s socializing that well already, I’ll bet he’ll be fine,” one of the other women making sandwiches piped up, then gave a shrug, her expression wry. “Lots of psychology classes before I had to quit college. I know just enough to be dangerous.”

  “Alicia, right?” Carrie said, determined to keep as many names as possible straight from the beginning. She’d been a master at it during her career in fashion. Remembering names was the first step in great PR.

  Alicia nodded.

  “Listen to her,” Julie said. “I may have been at this a long time, but Alicia does have the advantage of all those classes. One of these days we’re going to convince her to finish her degree and hang out her shingle in child psychology. Or I’ll put her on staff right here and brag about her.”

  Carrie noticed that the women had an easy rapport and a demeanor that would be warm and welcoming with the children. When Lucy returned with a little girl whose face was tearstained, Alicia rushed over to give her a hug.

  “We’re so glad you’re here,” she told the child. “Want to come with me and draw a picture?”

  “No!”

  “Finger paints?” Alicia suggested, even as Julie winced.

  “Okay,” the girl said with a spark of interest.

  “Be sure she wears a smock over that pretty dress,” Julie called after them, then sighed. “The person who invented finger painting should be made to clean up a day care at the end of the day for a year. I swear I’d ban it from the premises if I could.”

  “No, you wouldn’t,” Lucy said, giving her a hug. “You are in charge here, so you could easily toss all the paints in the garbage and never mention the activity again.”

  Julie’s expression brightened. “I could, couldn’t I?”

  “And let all those smocks you bought go to waste? Come on, Mom, you know the kids love all those bright colors and getting messy. Nothing on earth makes you happier than a room filled with smiling faces.”

  Three more children arrived in rapid succession. The adults made quick work of getting them settled with toys or other age-appropriate activities before the next wave arrived. By seven-thirty the room was filled with noisy, but definitely cheerful, chaos.

  By nine Carrie’s clothes were streaked with finger paint, and her hair, which she’d pinned atop her head, had tumbled to her shoulders. But she was as happy as those children Lucy had described. She’d read at least a dozen stories, helped clumsy fingers play with blocks and doled out praise for unidentifiable art projects.

  After lunch, with the littlest children down for naps, and others looking at picture books during their own quiet time, she finally had a minute to draw in a deep breath.

  “How are you doing?” Julie asked. “Is the indoctrination by fire helping or destroying this crazy impulse of yours?”

  “I love it,” Carrie responded without hesitation.

  Julie smiled. “Then there may be hope for you. You’ll be back tomorrow? Or Wednesday? We didn’t settle on a schedule.”

  “Tomorrow,” Carrie said at once, eager to learn all she could as fast as she could.

  For the first time in months, she was actually excited about getting up in the morning, even if it was at 5:00 a.m. when no sensible person should be expected to be awake.

  * * *

  Since she didn’t want to reveal her plans to the whole family just yet and it had been Luke’s idea in the first place, as soon as she’d showered and changed, Carrie headed to the pub. It was still early enough to be deserted and she found Luke, as expected, behind the bar.

  He studied her curiously. “Something’s different.”

  “I’ve had a very good day,” she said.

  “Have you, now? Well, it’s definitely agreed with you. Your face is glowing and your eyes are bright. And there’s a lovely streak of something that looks like blue paint in your hair. What was so special about today?”

  Carrie reached for her hair, regretting that she’d simply twisted it into a loose knot again, rather than washing it as she probably should have. “Where?” she asked Luke.

  “It’s the strand that’s pulled loose and curled along your neck. If I didn’t know you better, I’d think you were making some sort of rebellious fashion statement, the kind meant to drive your grandfather to distraction.”

  “Hardly,” she said, then shrugged. “Oh, well, it’ll wash out.”

  Luke stared at her with feigned shock. “Who are you and what’s happened to my perfectly groomed, fashion-forward cousin? You’re not rushing home to deal with it right now?”

  “Nope,” she said, grinning. “This is the new me, relaxed and taking life as it comes.”

  “Now that’s a fine attitude, if you ask me,” he said. “What brought it on?”

  She extracted his promise that on pain of death he’d never reveal a word of their conversation.

  “Bartender’s confidentiality,” he intoned seriously. “You’ve got it.”

  “I took your advice.”

  “What advice is that? I hand out so much of it and I’m not used to anyone taking it seriously.”

  “Maybe the rest of it is suspect, but this was right on target. I’m volunteering at a day-care center to see if I like it and to learn everything I can about possibly running my own. I even signed up for two online classes the owner recommended I take.”

  “Now, there’s a bit of news worth celebrating,” he said at once, tapping his glass of soda with her glass of wine. “Judging by the way you look, I’m guessing you’re finding
that it’s a good fit.”

  “It’s the best,” she told him enthusiastically. “The work is hard. There is a huge amount of responsibility, but I’ve never been happier. I actually can’t wait to get back there tomorrow.”

  “No difficult children to ruin it for you?”

  “Sure, there are problem kids or, I should say, kids who have problems from time to time, but nothing I can’t handle.” She hesitated, then amended, “At least so far.”

  “Tell me everything.”

  She described how she’d discovered the day care, stopped in and met Julie and Lucy and asked for advice. “I got a whole lot more than I’d ever imagined,” she said. “Julie’s incredible. It’s not just that she has a wealth of information to share, but she cares almost as much as I do about making sure I’m not making a mistake. Not for my sake, of course, since she doesn’t even know me, but for any kids who might be placed in my care. In just one day, I’ve already learned so much. I’m also beginning to see how much I don’t know.”

  “And the blue paint?”

  She smiled. “Some of the kids are a little aggressive with the finger paints,” she said, then shrugged. “It’ll wash out.”

  Luke tapped her glass again. “And that sort of acceptance is what will make you very good at this, if it turns out to be the right career for you.”

  “I already know it is,” Carrie said eagerly. “But I’m not rushing into anything. For one thing, Julie won’t teach me the nuts and bolts till she’s satisfied that I’m not going to mess up. For another, this experience is invaluable.”

  “When will you tell the rest of the family?”

  She sighed heavily at the question. “No idea. Not yet, that’s for sure. Grandpa Mick will think I’m grasping at straws. For someone who’s always been a huge supporter of the schools and education, he’ll view this as glorified babysitting and a waste of my talents. I can hear him now.”