by Shirley Jump
All Carolyn could picture was Emma choking on a raisin in the back seat. “When we get home, okay?” She climbed into the driver’s seat and buckled her seat belt. She drove the couple of miles across town to her parents’ house. They still lived in the low-slung ranch house where Carolyn and Sandy had grown up. The white siding was now a soft butter yellow, and the big oak tree that had shaded the front lawn for decades had been lost in a storm two years ago, but everything else appeared to be the same.
Until you got close to the house and saw the paint was fading, the flowers choked by weeds, the garden overgrown. Her parents had gotten old in the time she had been away, as if someone had flipped a switch and fast-forwarded. She’d seen them two Christmases ago when she’d flown them to New York as a Christmas gift, but it seemed like her father had aged twenty years in that time. And her mother—
She was distracted and anxious, hovering over Dad every chance she got.
Bringing a four-year-old and a dog here had seemed like a great idea when she was hundreds of miles away. Now, Carolyn wasn’t so sure. Her plan to have her parents raise Emma was losing steam every day. They were clearly not healthy enough or strong enough to do that.
Which left Carolyn in the same place she’d been five days ago—with a job that was not at all raising-a-kid-friendly and a dog she couldn’t control. And a whole lot of expectations left behind by Sandy.
Roscoe bounded out of the car the second Carolyn opened the door, almost toppling her in his rush to freedom. He raced across the yard, trailing his leash behind him. Carolyn cursed, told Emma to stay put, then chased after the dog. Three hundred yards later, Roscoe darted left towards a tree, and Carolyn went right, grabbing the leash loop and wrapping it tight in her hand. “Stay,” she said, but Roscoe just jumped up on her, knocking her to the ground and covering her with kisses.
Damned dog.
So maybe working with Matt was a crazy idea, but if it got this dog under control, she’d do crazy. They hadn’t dated in ten years—surely enough time had passed that being around him wouldn’t affect her. Keep it all business.
Don’t think about his hands. Yeah, how well was that plan going so far?
She got Emma out of the car, then went inside, with the not-so-contrite dog padding along beside her. “Don’t run off, Emma. Wait for me and Roscoe.”
But Emma, much like her beloved puppy, didn’t listen. She hurried into the house, dropping a colorful river of coat and hat and toys in her wake. She kept Sandy’s sweater clutched to her chest. “Gramma! Can we make cookies?”
At the excitement in Emma’s voice, Roscoe broke into a run down the hall. The leash jerked against Carolyn’s arm, then slid out of her hand. Roscoe kept on going, undeterred, skidding to a stop beside Emma, thinking he deserved a cookie, too.
Sandy had once told Carolyn that baking cookies together was a favorite activity for Emma and Mom. Unlike Carolyn, Sandy and Bob had visited Marietta often, coming home for all the major holidays and birthdays, and spending two weeks here every summer. Which was part of why Carolyn had been so surprised to be named as Emma’s guardian. She barely knew Emma—she could literally count on one hand the number of times she’d seen her—and no matter how hard she tried, Emma stayed reserved and distant from Carolyn, preferring to run to her grandmother for hugs and questions and comfort.
There’d been a few times over the last few days when Emma had teared up, her little body trembling. She’d asked about her mother and father, wondering when they were going to come get her. Mom had taken that question every time, telling Emma that they weren’t coming back. Emma didn’t seem to grasp that concept yet—or maybe didn’t want to—and she always ended up changing the subject and asking for a toy or a book or a TV show. Carolyn knew there would come a moment when Emma finally realized what had happened. She prayed her mother and father were there to help deal with Emma’s grief.
Because she sure didn’t know how to deal with a little girl. She’d hardly been around kids, and worked in a rushed, stressful environment with a lot of men and a lot of cursing. She had no idea what four-year-olds liked or how to make them happy when their world had just fallen apart.
So she left Emma with Mom a lot, although Carolyn could see the weariness in Mom’s face and the toll the days had taken on her, and that only intensified the guilt in Carolyn’s gut. Emma brought joy into the house, but she also brought a daily reminder that Sandy would never be here to see her daughter grow up.
“No cookies today.” Mom gave Emma a sad smile. “I’m sorry, sweetie. I’m a little tired. Maybe tomorrow?”
“Okay,” Emma said, her eyes downcast. She toed at the floor.
“I can make cookies with you, Emma,” Carolyn said, putting on a bright smile. That was totally something in Carolyn’s wheelhouse. “Whatever kind you want.”
“I don’t wanna anymore.” She clutched the sweater tighter to her chest. “Can I go watch TV?”
“Yes, but only for an hour,” Carolyn replied. As she watched Emma head into the living room, her steps slow and sad, Carolyn wondered what else she could have done or said. Sandy would have known. She would have had the perfect words to erase the shadows in Emma’s eyes.
Mom turned away, reaching into the cabinet for a mug. Carolyn came up beside her, leaned over and kissed her mother’s cheek. “Mom, let me get that. You want some tea?”
Her mother gave her a weak smile. “If it’s not too much trouble.”
“Trouble is sending out twenty-two chateaubriands at the same time. Making tea is nothing.”
“Thank you, honey.” Her mother lowered herself into one of the kitchen chairs. She moved a little slower than she used to, took more time to process and think. At sixty-two, Marilyn Hanson still wore the same perfume she’d worn all her life, kept her hair in a blond pageboy that skimmed her chin, and regardless of the plan for the day, dressed in cardigan twinsets with black dress pants.
Her mother used to work as a receptionist at a law office in a nearby town, while her father spent his days building custom furniture in the garage. But ever since Sandy’s death, neither of them had worked at all. Carolyn could understand that—there were moments when the grief became this heavy stone wall, and she had to remind herself that she had to keep moving forward. Because Sandy was counting on her.
Carolyn had arrived five days ago, and was staying in the bedroom she’d had as a child, sleeping in her old twin bed, with Emma on the daybed against the opposite wall. Five days and already she was itching to get back to New York, to her own life, to the restaurant.
Five days and she had yet to talk to her parents about Emma. Already almost a week of her two-week leave period was gone. Five days and no plan for how she was going to be a surrogate mom and dog owner. The two things she completely sucked at doing.
Carolyn set a cup of raspberry green tea in front of her mother, then slid into the opposite chair.
“She looks so much like Sandy,” her mother whispered even though Emma was out of earshot. “All I keep seeing is your sister, and as much as I love Emma, it breaks my heart all over again.”
Carolyn heard the pain in her mother’s voice, the shards of grief that hitched on the end of each word. “It still doesn’t seem real.”
“I don’t know if it ever will.” Mom’s eyes welled, and she turned away, pressing a hand to her nose, and struggling to hold back her tears. Carolyn slid out of her chair and wrapped her arms around her mother. Marilyn held stiff for a moment, then eased into her youngest daughter. She reached around, clutching at Carolyn, while tears dampened their shoulders and grief poured into the space.
After a while, Mom drew back and swiped at her eyes. “I’m sorry, honey. It’s still so hard.”
“It is for me, too, Mom.” With Sandy gone, it felt as if part of Carolyn had been carved away. When they were young, they’d been so close, doing almost everything together. They were only separated by two years, and had stayed just as close after Sandy moved to Wyoming, only a couple hours from Marie
tta, and Carolyn went to New York. They talked weekly, texted daily. A thousand times since Sandy had died, Carolyn had reached for the phone to call her sister, only to remember she was gone, and the pain hit her all over again.
But no matter how bad it was for Carolyn, it had to be a hundred times harder on her parents. She could see that agony in the lines in her mother’s face, the shadows under her father’s eyes. A dark cloud hung over the house, invaded every conversation, every glance.
“Your father just stays out in the garage,” Mom went on. “I don’t know if he is even working on anything. He’s out there before I wake up and doesn’t come in until I’m asleep.” She shook her head. “He’s hurting but he’s hurting alone.”
Carolyn clasped her mother’s hand. “He’ll come around, Mom. He just needs some time.” Marilyn’s gaze strayed to the silent garage, where no table saw whined, no wood was being shaped into furniture. “I hope so.”
Carolyn hoped so too. She’d barely seen her father since she arrived. Even Emma’s presence hadn’t been enough to drive Dan back into the house. The light in the garage burned at all hours of the day, and the few times she’d gone out there to talk to her dad, he’d been working and didn’t say much.
She remembered the days when her mother would sing while she did the dishes and her dad would come in from work or the garage, and spin her in his arms. There was laughter and joy in the house, a lightness. That had disappeared since Sandy’s death and Carolyn feared it might never return.
“I’m glad I have you and Emma here,” Mom said, and a little brightness returned to her words. “And you know you can stay as long as you want. I’m sure it’s going to take a while to find a house to rent and a new job and…” Her mother’s voice trailed off. “What?”
“About that…” Carolyn drew in a breath. She was going to have to have this conversation someday and delaying it only made things worse. “I know Sandy named me as Emma’s guardian but I have a job and a life back in New York. A job that consumes eighty hours a week sometimes, and an apartment smaller than a postage stamp. I can’t have a kid and a dog there, Mom.”
“Which is why you moved back here.”
Carolyn laid her hands flat on the maple kitchen table and waited a beat before she spoke. “I didn’t move back. I’m not staying here long term. I’m visiting. In another week, I have to go back to New York.”
“But I thought you just said Emma…” Marilyn shook her head. “Carolyn, you’re her guardian.”
“I can’t raise her, Mom. My life, my job—”
“Your father and I are in our sixties, Carolyn. Your father hasn’t been the same since his heart attack a few years back, and I’m…I’m exhausted. Taking care of him, grieving the loss of my daughter…” At that, her voice broke, and she let out a long shuddering breath before speaking again. “I love Emma, love her as much as I love you girls, but we’re not spring chickens anymore. Keeping up with a four-year-old is tough. And when Emma gets to be a teenager…”
The unspoken words—her parents would be in their seventies, nearly eighty by the time Emma graduated high school. How could Carolyn possibly lay this at their feet? What was she thinking? That wasn’t a solution. It wasn’t even a partial solution. “I understand. You’re right. I guess I’m just not sure how I’m going to do this.”
Her mother’s hand covered Carolyn’s. “One day at a time, honey.”
The problem was, Carolyn only had a week to figure out a way to keep her career, her home, and her promise.
Chapter Three
Matt was not a guy who got nervous. He’d been in stressful situations with life-saving surgeries for a gravely wounded dog hit by a speeding car or a cat with rapidly spreading stomach cancer, but he’d never had that flutter in his stomach or that moment of wondering what the hell he was doing.
But he had all of those feelings in spades today. He paced his house, waiting for Carolyn to arrive with Roscoe, and told himself this was nothing more than one friend doing a favor for another.
Except friends didn’t have a history. And memories of making love, seeing her sleep in the soft moonlight streaming in through his bedroom window. She’d only spent the night with him once, when his parents were out of town and she had lied to her parents and told them she was going to a girls’ sleepover at a friend’s house. That one night had been amazing, and even now, ten years later, he could remember the feel of her in his arms, the way she curled up against him in her sleep, and how her sleepy morning smile nearly undid him.
But those memories were tempered by the one of her breaking his heart. The cold, callous way she had said goodbye, as if their relationship had been nothing more than a blip in her life.
He heard the crunch of gravel and crossed to the door. His own dog, a goofy, patient chocolate Labrador named Harley, trotted along beside Matt. Carolyn got out of her car, opened the back door, but Roscoe had already clambered over the seats and lunged out of the front of the car. Carolyn caught the leash and Roscoe yanked her toward the front door, barking and jerking his way forward.
Matt opened the door and bit back a laugh at the frustration on Carolyn’s face. “Who’s walking who?”
She scowled. “Don’t even ask. That dog chewed up another pair of my heels today. And a sweater. And then he ripped a hole in the screen door trying to go after a squirrel in the backyard.”
Matt reached forward, took the leash from Carolyn’s hand, and gave Roscoe a slight tug of correction. The dog looked up at him, and settled into place against Matt’s hip, his tail wagging with a hard thwap-thwap against Matt’s jeans. Harley settled on the floor, letting out a doggie sigh that said he’d seen brash youngsters like this before and he was far too old to put up with such antics.
“Come on in and we’ll get right to work with Roscoe,” he said to Carolyn. She passed by him, leaving a trail of her fragrance. It wasn’t the floral scent of her youth. No, this one was darker, with notes of jasmine and sandalwood, the kind of perfume that whispered about dark nights and tangled sheets. The kind of perfume that made his brain stutter and his heart skip. “Uh…so, you’re staying at your parents’ house?”
She nodded, shedding her coat. She was wearing a pair of black jeans today—skinny jeans he thought they were called—that outlined every inch of her legs, and a dark green sweater with tempting buttons in the front. “For now. Until I figure out what I’m going to do.”
Do with what? He wanted to ask, but reminded himself that they weren’t dating anymore. They were barely even friends. He didn’t have a right. That didn’t stop him from being curious, though.
“I can’t stay too long. I left Emma with my mom and she’s…not up to watching a four-year-old for too long.”
“No problem.” He led her down the hall toward the kitchen, with Roscoe trotting happily at his side and Harley bringing up the rear. “Do you want something to drink?”
“Iced tea would be great.”
He smiled. “Half unsweetened, half sweet?”
A smile flickered on her face. “You remember.”
Instead of answering, he opened the fridge and pulled out two quarts of iced tea. Okay, so maybe when he’d run out to the store this morning and bought them, he’d been hoping she’d be touched that he’d gone the extra mile. But if he told her he’d done that, she’d think he cared, and that door was definitely closed between them. He’d moved on, settled into his life here in Marietta, and the last thing he needed was a complication. And if there was one thing Carolyn Hanson had always been, it was complicated.
“So what are you trying to figure out?” he asked, as he handed her the glass of tea and poured an unsweetened one for himself. So his resolve not to get involved in Carolyn’s life again had lasted approximately 8.72 seconds. “Forgive me for asking. It’s probably none of my business.”
“It’s okay.” She wrapped her hands around the glass and stared down into the tea. “I haven’t really talked to anyone. Everything happened so fast and…” Car
olyn sighed and her eyes filled.
Every instinct inside Matt wanted to go to her, to fold her into his arms, and to comfort her. Instead, he leaned against the counter with the two dogs at his feet and waited for her to continue.
“Sandy was in a car accident,” Carolyn said finally. “Both her and Bob…I can’t even say the words because it still seems so unbelievable, you know?”
Sandy and Bob had died? He remembered Carolyn’s sister well. Bubbly, sweet, and friends with about everyone she met. He’d been introduced to Bob one time when he ran into the couple over the holidays a few years ago. Quiet guy, with glasses and a clear affection for his wife. Carolyn’s family must be devastated by that double loss—and the orphaned daughter they had left behind. “I’m so sorry, Carolyn. I can’t even imagine how hard that has been on your family.”
When she lifted her gaze to his, the tears had begun to spill over, and Matt could stand it no longer.
He pushed off from the counter, crossed to her, took the glass from her hands, and set it on the table. Then he pulled Carolyn to her feet and against his chest. She stiffened for a moment, then a sob caught in her throat, and her arms tightened around him. He held her, held her grief with her, while her tears fell. “I’m so sorry, Carolyn. I’m so sorry.”
She clung to him for a long time. Then she drew in a breath and stepped out of his embrace, going in an instant from heartbroken to the staid, determined Carolyn he remembered.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. I…I just haven’t really processed the fact that my sister is gone, and she left me with Emma, and that dog and…” Carolyn threw up her hands. “I don’t know what to do with any of that. I’m not a mom. Heck, I can’t even keep a dog under control. How am I supposed to raise a kid?”
He didn’t have those answers. He had always wanted children, wanted that family life, but both the women he had been in long-term relationships with had wanted other lives. What did that say about him that he picked both Carolyn and Wendy, thinking each one could be a forever kind of woman, only to find out they were on totally different trajectories?