Yesterday's Embers

by Deborah Raney

  The sofa was already piled high with a laundry basket and a load of white clothes in various stages of folding. She tucked the girls’ gloves into the pockets of their jackets, moved a stack of unopened mail off the arm of the sofa, and placed the coats there.

  “Come see our room, Miss Mickey!” Sarah grabbed her hand and Sadie took the other, and they started tugging her across the toy-littered living room.

  She wriggled out of their grasp. “Not tonight, girls. I’m sure your dad will be here any minute. It’s late and I need to get back.”

  “Hows come? Is your husband waitin’ for supper?”

  “Stop it, Sadie.” Kayeleigh looked embarrassed. “Miss Valdez isn’t married.”

  “Yeah, dummy,” Landon piped up. “Why do you think she’s called Miss Valdez?”

  Sadie gave an impish grin that said she did, indeed, know.

  Before she could think of a comeback, Mickey heard the front door close behind her. She turned, still with a twin attached to each arm, to see Doug duck through the doorway.

  Relief shone in her blue eyes. He’d never noticed before that she had such blue eyes. Liz Taylor eyes, violet almost.

  Chapter Seven

  Doug tossed a fat Dairy Barn sack on a cluttered table by the sofa, took off his ball cap, and dipped his head in Mickey’s general direction. “Hi there.”

  Feeling like an intruder, she took a step toward the door. She still had a twin attached to each hand, but at the sound of Doug’s voice, they let loose and made a beeline for the door. “Daddy!”

  Harley squealed and toddled toward him, too.

  Even Landon jumped off the sofa where he’d plopped in front of the TV with the remote. “Hey, Dad.”

  Doug squeezed his shoulder, patted the girls’ heads one by one, and scooped Harley into his arms. But he kept his eyes on Mickey. “Hope you haven’t been waiting long. It took me a little longer than I thought.”

  “No, we just got here. I hope you don’t mind that I…came on in. The kids sort of…” She shrugged.

  He shook his head. “Of course not. I appreciate you bringing them home. Sorry it worked out that way.”

  “It’s no problem.” Feeling awkward, she picked her way through kids and toys to the door. “I’d better get back…let you guys eat your dinner.” She looked pointedly at the Dairy Barn sack, which masked the mustiness with a fragrant burger-and-onions-and-fries aroma.

  Sarah grabbed her hand again. “You can have supper with us. Can’t she, Dad?” Like an eager puppy, she wagged her blond head, sending her curls bouncing.

  Mickey avoided Doug’s eyes. “That’s sweet, Sarah, but…I need to get going.” Reaching past him for the doorknob, she glanced up and thought she saw relief in his eyes.

  But he surprised her by picking up the Dairy Barn bag and giving it a little shake. “Sure. Stay. There’s plenty.” He tousled Landon’s hair. “That is, if this little wolfhound doesn’t get carried away.”

  “We’ll share. Won’t we, guys?” That was Sadie, always the mediator.

  Mickey held up a hand and opened the door, shaking her head. “Thanks, but I couldn’t.”

  “Stay.” Doug beckoned her and carried the Dairy Barn bag to the adjoining dining room.

  She traipsed after him and stood by dumbly while he moved mounds of junk-mail catalogs and a stack of what looked like sympathy cards off the tabletop.

  “This’ll be your reward for hauling the kids home. It’s the least I can do.”

  She felt trapped now that she’d followed him back here. It was awkward, being here with him and the kids. But the burgers smelled good, and it would be more awkward to bow out now. “You’re sure there’s enough?”

  “Oh, yeah. No problem.” He set Harley on the floor and clapped his hands. “Kayeleigh, you and Landon get the paper plates and napkins.” He turned to Mickey, looking sheepish. “We avoid dishwashing at all costs around here.”

  She laughed. “Hey, I hear you.” But looking through to the kitchen behind Doug, it was apparent he wasn’t kidding. The sink was piled high with dirty dishes, and the countertops were strewn with cereal boxes and empty juice bottles.

  Doug pulled out a chair. “Here. Sit.”

  She did as she was told while the twins vied for chairs on either side of her. Kayeleigh and Landon put slightly crumpled paper plates at each place. Doug got the toddler settled in the highchair with a handful of French fries. Stuffing her mouth full, Harley banged on the tray for more.

  Doug obliged, then disappeared into the kitchen. He came back with a half-empty bottle of ketchup, a two-liter bottle of store-brand pop, and a stack of plastic cups.

  Kayeleigh doled out burgers and fries, putting two on every plate except her own. “Tear some of yours off for Harley,” she told the twins.

  “Thanks, honey, but I can’t eat two. Here…” Mickey handed back one of her burgers.

  The twins looked relieved, but she felt bad that Kayeleigh had still ended up with only one hamburger.

  Without prelude, everyone bowed their heads around the table and recited a blessing Mickey had sometimes used at the daycare center.

  “Thank You for the world so sweet.

  Thank You for the food we eat.

  Thank You for the birds that sing.

  Thank You, God, for everything.”

  Doug’s “Amen” seemed to be the signal for everyone to snarf down the food in front of them. Kayeleigh unwrapped her burger, tore off a hunk for herself, and put the rest on Harley’s highchair tray. Trying to be discreet, Mickey winked at Kayeleigh and followed suit.

  They ate in silence for several minutes, everyone’s chewing noises magnified.

  Landon elbowed Sarah, eyeing her second burger. “You gonna eat that?”

  “Yes, she is,” Doug answered for her. “If you’re still hungry, there’re some apples in the fridge.”

  “No. They’re gross, Dad. They’re all squishy.”

  “Oh. Well, maybe Grandma can make a pie out of them.”

  Harley grunted for more to eat, and Kayeleigh put another handful of fries in front of her.

  Doug took a swig of pop and offered Mickey a crooked smile. “It’s kind of like watching a bunch of pigs at a trough, isn’t it?”

  “Actually, I feel right at home.” Mickey grinned. “This is pretty much what lunch at the daycare is like every day.”

  Laughing with him, she relaxed a little and listened to the kids’ banter, no longer feeling like she had to make conversation.

  When the last fry had been polished off, Doug rose and started collecting paper plates and cups, hoping Mickey would take the hint and go home. She got up to help, but he held out a hand. “Don’t bother. I’ll handle this.”

  She followed him into the kitchen, rolling up the sleeves of her shirt as she went. “Let me help with the dishes.”

  He decided to aim for levity and turned his back to the overflowing sink, stretching out his arms as if he could hide the pathetic mess. He made his voice deep. “Close your eyes and back away. There’s nothing to see here, folks.”

  “Too late,” she said, laughing. She had a nice laugh.

  “You don’t need to get involved.”

  “I don’t mind. I’m not easily intimidated.” Her expression turned serious. “Let me help. It’s always easier with two.” As soon as the words were out, she cringed.

  He remembered the day at the daycare when he’d snapped at her. He felt bad now.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean—”

  He waved her words away. “Don’t worry about it. I-I’ve noticed everybody seems to think they’re putting their foot in their mouth around me these days.”

  She nodded.

  “It’s not you. Everything seems to have…double meaning, you know?”

  “Exactly.” Relief shone in her blue eyes. He’d never noticed before that she had such blue eyes. Liz Taylor eyes, violet almost. Striking with her olive Latina coloring. He shook his head, trying to banish the
thought. What was he doing? Kaye wasn’t dead two months, and he was mooning over a strange woman’s beautiful eyes? Knock it off, DeVore.

  He grabbed the bottle of dish soap off the counter and squirted a stream into the side of the sink with the fewest dishes in it, then turned the water as hot as it would go.

  Mickey nudged into the space beside him at the sink and went to work on a pot with macaroni and cheese cemented to the bottom.

  Doug grabbed a dishrag and rinsed it in the soapy water. He headed back to the dining room, where the kids were arguing about what to watch on TV. “Huh-uh. Turn it off. No TV until your homework’s done,” he said.

  “Da-ad,” Landon started.

  Doug cut him off. “End of discussion.” He handed Kayeleigh the soggy dishrag. “Please go wipe off the table so you and Landon can get going on your homework.” He put a hand on each twin’s head. “You two go get your pj’s on…and take Harley with you.”

  When he was sure the kids were on task, he came back to the kitchen to stand beside Mickey at the sink. She’d already emptied one sink and was starting on the other side.

  “Wow. You’re fast.”

  “I’m running out of room.”

  “Huh?”

  She nodded toward the precarious stack of dishes drying in the rack on the drainboard.

  He rolled up his shirtsleeves and grabbed a couple of wilted dishtowels from the back of a kitchen chair. He took a covert sniff, hoping they weren’t sour, before he handed one to her. They worked in silence side by side for several minutes while he scrambled for something to say.

  “I hope the kids were good today,” he came up with finally. “I’m sorry about being late again.”

  “Your kids are always good. They’ve never been a bit of trouble.”

  He put the dishtowel down and looked askance at her. “Are we talking about the same kids?”

  That musical laugh again. “Yeah, I get that a lot. I think we get to see kids at their best because they’re not tired or hungry or being told to do their chores. Kids are pretty good at playing Mom and Dad against each other. They know they won’t get away with quite so much in an environment like the daycare setting.” She sounded like a professor giving a lecture on childhood development, and he scrubbed hard at an already-dry frying pan, trying to keep a straight face.

  She seemed not to notice but rinsed the last dish, setting it in the drainer. “Where do you keep your dishtowels? Mine’s a little soggy.” She held it up as if he’d need proof.

  “Oh, they’re in the laundry room. Here…I’ll get you one.” He ducked through the doorway of the enclosed porch that served as the back entry and utility room, praying he could unearth a not-too-wrinkled dishtowel from the clothes dryer.

  “Who’s the artist?” Her voice behind him startled him. She’d followed him to the door and stood looking past him at the easel with his half-finished canvas perched on it.

  He shook his head. “That would be me—using the term artist very loosely. I thought I wanted to try my hand at oils. Took some art classes Jack Linder was teaching last fall. Discovered I probably wouldn’t want to quit my day job.”

  She laughed, and he appreciated that she didn’t try to dispute him—or comment on his work at all. He didn’t know why he’d told her all that anyway. She probably didn’t give a rip.

  He brushed past her, and she followed him back to the sink. Together they finished drying the dishes and she wiped off the few empty spaces on the kitchen counters. He desperately needed to recruit the kids to clean this place up. Maybe Saturday.

  Harley toddled into the kitchen, looking cherubic in footy pajamas a couple sizes too big, thumb suctioned to her mouth. She popped her thumb out, though, when she saw Mickey, and came at her with her arms up.

  He quickly intervened. “Here, Harley, let Daddy—”

  But Mickey lifted the baby into her arms as if she were on daycare duty. “Well, don’t you look cozy. Are you all ready for bed, sweetie?”

  Harley started wagging her head back and forth. “Uh-uh. No bed. No bed.”

  “We’ll see about that,” Doug said, reaching out for her.

  “Uh-oh, I guess that was the wrong thing to say.” Mickey gave Harley a hug before she handed her over to Doug. “I’ll see you tomorrow, sweetie. You’d better go to Daddy now. Miss Mickey needs to go home.”

  Harley came to him happily, and Mickey looked thankful for a graceful exit.

  He walked her to the door, suddenly embarrassed that she had to pick her way through a minefield of toys and junk in the living room. Six kids—five kids—could mess up a house in nothing flat, but Kaye would never have let things get this bad. Saturday, for sure. They’d get this place whipped into shape.

  “Landon, turn down that TV. Are you done with your homework?”

  “I have all weekend, Dad.”

  Doug held the door for Mickey with one hand and snapped his fingers at Landon behind Mickey’s back. “See what I mean?” He gave her a sheepish grin.

  She shrugged. “They’re angels for me.” Then looking uncomfortable, she took a step backward. “Well, good night.”

  “Yeah, good night. Thanks again. For bringing the kids home…for helping with the dishes. I appreciate it.”

  “Thank you for supper.” She waved over his shoulder. “’Bye, kids.”

  They turned away from the TV long enough to return her wave. “’Bye, Miss Mickey.”

  Doug waited at the open door until she was safely off the porch and in the van. The car engine revved, and her headlights flashed across the driveway.

  He closed the door and leaned against it, surveying the mess that was his home. A wave of longing—for Kaye—rolled over him, pulling him into its undertow.

  He looked across the room at Kayeleigh’s bed and stopped in his tracks. There were two forms beneath the fluffy comforter.

  Chapter Eight

  Harley had kicked her blankets off and Doug tucked them over her sleeping form. She was on her belly, thumb in her mouth, her round little bottom hiked in the air. Kaye always called her Mount Saint Harley when she slept in that position.

  He pulled the door shut and went upstairs to check on the other kids. Landon was sprawled diagonally across his twin bed, the covers tangled between his lanky limbs. When had he gotten so tall? The kids had all grown and changed in the two months since he’d lost Kaye and Rachel. A vivid image formed in his mind of Kaye walking through the door, like she was coming home from a week in Florida with her mom. “Oh, my goodness,” he heard her say as clearly as if she were standing in the room beside him. “They’ve all grown a foot since I left.”

  Doug shook off the vision, unsettled, yet strangely comforted by the memory of Kaye’s voice. It had started to bother him when he couldn’t remember what her voice had sounded like.

  He disentangled Landon from the blankets and covered him back up, then scraped a path through the toys so the kid wouldn’t kill himself when he got up to go to the bathroom at 5:00 a.m. like he always did.

  He went down the hall to check on the girls. Sadie and Sarah were curled in the middle of their bed, back to front like teaspoons in a drawer. He envied them each other’s warmth. It struck him that, in a house of six, they were the only two who had the comfort of the warmth of another body now.

  He looked across the room at Kayeleigh’s bed and stopped in his tracks. There were two forms beneath the fluffy comforter. The image dragged him two months into the past, when their sweet Rachel had been Kayeleigh’s bed partner. For a minute he was disoriented. Had Kayeleigh invited a friend to spend the night? He didn’t remember that. But then, his memory hadn’t been exactly trustworthy lately. But surely he would have remembered an extra person at the dinner table.

  Maybe one of the twins had crawled in bed with Kayeleigh. But a glance at their bed confirmed that he’d indeed seen two curly heads on twin pillows. He’d just seen Landon and Harley in their beds. Everybody was accounted for.

  She’d better not hav
e snuck one of the muddy dogs in to sleep with her. Squinting through the dim light that spilled into the room from the hallway, he tiptoed to Rachel’s side of the bed, trying to figure out who was in bed with Kayeleigh. Whoever it was had burrowed deep into the quilts.

  Gingerly he pulled the covers back. An empty pillow. He pulled the quilts down farther. Another pillow—this one turned the long way in the bed. Kayeleigh breathed deeply, asleep beside the row of pillows. Doug pulled the blankets back up over the Rachel-shaped form, then snugged them around Kayeleigh’s shoulders, aching for the daughter he’d lost. And, for the first time, realizing the depth of Kayeleigh’s loss.

  She’d been so morose lately, and distant. It seemed he had to repeat everything he said to her at least twice because she was off in some la-la land daydream. He didn’t know whether to chalk it up to grief or simply preteen hormones. Kaye had been warning him for a year now that Kayeleigh would soon hit puberty and that they might be in for some rocky times with their sweet firstborn.

  With a king-size lump in his throat, he crept back downstairs to his own bed. He didn’t want to lose another daughter. He had to find a way to reach her.

  Harley stirred when he came into the chilly room, but she stilled and her breaths came evenly again after he put another quilt over her.

  He turned out the lamp on his nightstand and settled under the blankets, trying to get warm. He rolled onto his back and lay staring at the ceiling, then flipped to his belly, punching his pillow into shape, unable to find a comfortable position. After ten minutes of tossing, he crawled out of bed and went into the living room.

  He grabbed a bolster cushion off the sofa and carried it to his room. Throwing back the bedspread, he laid the cushion on Kaye’s side of the bed, gently bending it into a fetal position—the way Kaye slept on cold winter nights. He tucked the blankets around the lifeless form and climbed into bed beside it.