Raising Connor

by Loree Lough

  He clutched the handset tighter. “Don’t worry, Mom. I’ll be there.” And to change the subject, he added, “Maureen asked me to pick up Rafe’s cake on the way over. Need anything else?”

  “Aren’t you a sweetheart to ask! Do you have a pen?”

  He should have known her list—ice, sodas, chips—would include something that would take him out of his way. Hunter was about to find out just how far….

  “Would you call Deidre for me? You know how that woman loves to talk. Normally I wouldn’t mind hearing about her theater project or her latest play or some star she used to work with or how adorable her handyman is. But with everything else I need to do to get the house ready for the party…”

  Hunter listened as she recited another list, this time of all the chores and errands that would fill her hours between now and Sunday afternoon.

  “Mom, I’ll never understand why you go to all that bother before a party. You know better than I do that what you do will be undone by the kids. Besides, the party is for family. Nobody cares if there are dust bunnies under the guest room bed.”

  “I care,” she countered.

  Shouldn’t have wasted your breath.

  “So you’ll call Deidre for me?”

  “No problem.”

  “And Brooke?”

  Just what he needed as his brothers and uncles discussed cop awards. Brooke, watching and listening as they did their best to avoid any mention of his most shameful moment.

  “Why? Deidre and Brooke aren’t family.” Never would be, he thought, if Brooke had anything to say about it.

  “Because we think a party will be good for them. Especially that darling little boy.”

  “We?”

  “Your sisters-in-law and me, of course.” Constance sighed resignedly. “All right. Fine. I’ll call them myself.” She clucked her tongue. “But really, Hunter, if you ask me, this…this grudge match between you and Brooke is ridiculous. It isn’t healthy for either of you. Or for Connor.”

  He could have said the obvious: You’d think after all these years, you’d know I’m not the one holding the grudge. But why bother? It wasn’t as though his mom asked a lot of him. Besides, it would be good for Connor to spend time with Stone aunts and uncles, cousins and Constance herself, who’d become his grandmother once Harry worked his magic in court.

  “All right,” he said, “I’ll call them.”

  The minute he hung up with his mom, Hunter drove to the nearest toy shop and bought a colorful plastic train set for Connor. Because how would it look if he dropped in just to deliver the invitation?

  Brooke was on the phone when he showed up, and she waved him inside. She didn’t say hello or invite him to sit down, ask how he was doing or if he’d like something to drink. Must have been something work-related to put that serious look on her face.

  As she stepped out of the room to complete the call, Hunter got onto the floor and showed Connor how the train cars connected to one another, how they rolled around on the shiny black track. The baby was doing his best to emulate the chug of an engine when Brooke returned carrying a basket of freshly laundered towels. She put it on the couch and joined them on the floor.

  “It’s so cute,” she said, connecting two cars. “Wherever did you find it?”

  “There’s a little toy shop on Main Street,” he told her. “Mumbles and Squeaks. Ever been there?”

  She got up and sat beside the basket. “Can’t say that I have. But I need to check it out. I like things that are safe and unusual.” Perched on a sofa cushion now, she flapped a hand towel. “It was really sweet of you to pick it up. I packed up most of his toys when we moved over here.”

  Yeah. He remembered, because he’d been the one who carried the boxes into Beth’s basement.

  “It’s nearly suppertime. Have you eaten yet?”

  Levering himself onto one elbow, he grinned. “What is it with you and food?”

  She’d already made a tidy stack of hand towels and washcloths and started a new pile of bath towels. “Me and food? What do you mean?”

  “I’m not complaining, mind you, but I’ve probably gained five pounds since…” Reminding her of the crash didn’t seem smart, so he finished with “Since you moved back to Baltimore. Keep this up, and I’ll need a whole new wardrobe.”

  “Sounds like a complaint to me.” Brooke smoothed the top towel. “And it isn’t like you’re a Christmas goose—no one is force-feeding you.”

  She was smiling, but he wasn’t sure how to respond.

  He helped Connor sit in the circle of train tracks. “You’d think the animal activists would have put a stop to fattening birds up just to sell them for a few cents more per pound.”

  “You’d think.”

  Had enough time passed so she wouldn’t think he’d stopped by solely to invite her to the party? Only one way to find out….

  “So I was talking to my mom earlier. She and my sisters-in-law are throwing my brother Rafe a surprise party for his fortieth this Sunday.”

  “Rafe is you oldest brother, right?”

  “Yeah, and Mom wants you and Deidre to come.”

  She grabbed the last towel from the basket. “Connor had a lot of fun playing with your nieces and nephews at Deidre’s party.”

  How was he supposed to interpret that? As an acceptance or a polite rejection?

  “What time should we be there?”

  “I, ah… Four o’clock, I think.”

  “Perfect. Connor will have had a nap.”

  “What’s that?” Connor asked, pointing.

  Hunter picked up the end car. “It’s a caboose, buddy.”

  “Cah-boose,” he echoed, then picked up the car and inspected it. He pointed to the platform and met Hunter’s eyes. “Porch?”

  “Close enough,” he said. “And this—” Hunter touched the raised portion of the roof “—is a cupola.”

  Connor put the car back on the track and fussed when it didn’t instantly connect to the boxcar in front of it.

  “Hold on a sec, kiddo. Let your ol’ uncle Hunter help you get back on track.”

  As he realigned the car, Brooke groaned at his joke. “Were you into trains as a kid?”

  “You could say that. I still have the engineer’s hat I got on a field trip to the B&O Railroad Museum. Mom can tell you, that outing was a curse and a blessing. I added to my collection every year. I ended up selling half the stuff, but I still have enough to set up a bona fide train garden in the basement.”

  “Do you run tracks around your Christmas tree?”

  “Never had a tree of my own. Unless you count that little ceramic job I found at a flea market. Only reason I bought it was so Connor would have something Christmassy when he spent time at my place.”

  “No tree of your own? Why not?”

  “Too much time and trouble considering how little time I spend at the house. Besides, Mom always does her place up to the nines. When I want a taste of the holiday, I just go over there.”

  Connor started gnawing on the little blue engine.

  “Uh-oh,” Hunter said, “teething, eh, big guy?”

  Brooke placed the neatly folded towels into the laundry basket. Standing, she balanced it on one hip. “He’s been drooling and chewing everything in sight lately,” she said, heading for the hall. “Would you mind putting him in the high chair and getting him a couple of teething biscuits? They’re in the cabinet above the coffeepot.”

  He did as she asked, and helped himself to a biscuit. “Blah,” he said, grimacing. “Tastes like cardboard. How do you eat these things, kid?” Breaking it in half, he tossed the bitten end into the trash as Brooke entered the room.

  “I think I’ll bring cone cakes to the party.”

  “Cone cakes?”

  “Like cupcakes, only you pour the batter into ice-cream cones. Kids love ’em, and so do moms. No messy papers to throw away.”

  “Sounds good, but you don’t need to go to all that bother. Mom says she and the girls
have everything under contr—”

  “Of course she did. That’s what women always say.”

  “They do? Why?”

  She shrugged. “So the men in our lives won’t see us as needy, whiny females?”

  The men in our lives. Did that mean—

  “If we get to your mom’s early, you can help me carry them inside.”

  We? So…not only did she want to go to the party, she wanted to go with him?

  “Then maybe if you’ll keep an eye on Connor, I can help your mom and sisters-in-law with the last-minute setup.”

  No maybe about it. Your assignment—whether you choose to accept it or not—is to mind Connor while she infiltrates your family.

  But why would she want to, considering their history?

  And why did she automatically assume he was okay with it?

  Better question: Why was he standing here nodding like the fuzzy brown dog that once sat in the rear window of his grandfather’s Oldsmobile?

  Hunter knew that if he didn’t hit the road soon, he might just break out that DVD and let her have it with a firm Your “I’m the boss of you and Connor” days are O-V-E-R, Brooke O’Toole!

  But it was too soon for that. He needed to schedule a sit-down with his lawyer. Needed to plan a strategy.

  “Better hit the road,” he said, getting to his feet.

  “So you’re not staying for supper? I made tuna salad and macaroni and cheese. All I have to do is heat up the noodles and toast the bread for sandwiches. There’s more than enough.”

  Had his mother told Brooke that tuna salad was one of his favorite sandwich fixings? “I, ah, I’d better not. Payroll to take care of and bills to pay.” He opened the door. “See you Sunday.”

  “What’s best for you? Three o’clock?”

  “Better make it two-thirty. Mom gave me a list of things to pick up on the way to her place.”

  Smiling and nodding, she said, “We’ll be ready.”

  “Right. Ready. See you then.” And he left so fast that he forgot to hug Connor, didn’t tell her goodbye.

  *

  THREE DAYS HAD passed since that afternoon, and as he and his brothers congratulated Rafe, Hunter could hear Brooke and his sisters-in-law swapping “It isn’t easy balancing work and chores and kids” stories. He heard Connor, too, giggling at the antics of his nieces and nephews. Nice change from the depression-induced whining, he thought.

  During their last session, Dr. Rosen said that the baby’s cranky behavior could continue indefinitely or, because kids his age were remarkably resilient, he could just as easily wake up one day and behave as if his parents’ deaths had never happened.

  The boy squealed with glee at a silly noise one of Hunter’s nephews had made, and he’d been just as happy when he delivered the little train days ago. If this behavior continued…

  Connor’s calm, content demeanor gave Hunter hope that moving permanently into his house wouldn’t cause psychological damage, now or down the road. But what if a judge decided to give Brooke full credit for the baby’s adjustment?

  Part of him agreed, and part did not. She’d started out on shaky ground, running from Baltimore to Richmond to escape romance-related problems, then running back again for the same reason. She got rattled way too easily, in his opinion, and since starting this new job, Brooke seemed more frazzled than ever. Oh, she’d tried to hide dark circles under makeup, but he’d noticed them.

  Hunter wondered if Harry charged double for Sunday-evening consults. Not that it mattered. He’d second-mortgage his house, use the equity in Stone Contracting to finance the adoption if he had to. He needed to get on the ball. Because with every passing day, Brooke was racking up more “good parent” credits.

  “Come and get it!” his mom called.

  As the family crowded around the long dining room table, something else became obvious: connor looked right at home with the Stone family. Yet another reason to make things legal sooner rather than later.

  He glanced at Brooke, who looked anything but exhausted today. Maybe it was the pink of her shirt. The earrings that dangled from her lobes. The matching stone-and-bead necklace that enhanced the warm brown of her big eyes. Funny, but she looked right at home with his family, too. How much simpler would everything be if she’d just let go of the past and marry him.

  Hunter nearly laughed out loud at the absurdity of the thought. And yet…

  “I’m almost afraid to ask what that sly grin is all about,” his mother said, sitting beside him.

  She’d made Rafe’s favorite, lasagna and meatballs, and as the baking dishes moved up and down the table, she leaned close and whispered, “I don’t blame you for staring. Brooke is such a lovely girl.”

  He could have kicked himself for not being more careful. If his mother had caught him staring, maybe others had, too.

  Hunter took a bold chance and looked at her, and he breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that she was too busy laughing at something Gabe had said to notice. Yeah, she was lovely, all right. Lovely, and then some.

  “Admit it,” his mom was saying, “you could do worse.” Laughing, Constance elbowed his ribs. “You’ve already done worse! If you’re smart, you’ll snap her up before some other guy realizes what a treasure she is.”

  “I would if I thought for a second that she’d have me.”

  Had he actually said that out loud? And if he had, had his mother heard it?

  “I expect grandchildren from you, too,” she continued, “and you’re not getting any younger, you know.”

  He winced.

  “Now, now, I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.” Constance squeezed his hand. “You always were my sensitive one, weren’t you. Maybe that’s why you couldn’t make it as a policeman like every other man in the Stone family.”

  In a two-minute time span, she’d reminded him of his poor choices in women, told him he was getting old and underscored what she saw as the reason he’d failed as a cop.

  “Ouch,” Hunter said. “When did you enroll in the Don Rickles Insult-a-Minute class?”

  His brother Gabe looked up. “What’s this? Mom’s gone back to school?”

  Constance waved the question away. “Oh, don’t pay any attention to him. He’s just upset because I said he should snap up—”

  “Mom,” Hunter broke in, “pass the Parmesan, please?”

  She handed him the cheese shaker and took a breath. And Hunter knew it meant she intended to finish her sentence. “And how about some meatballs?”

  He could tell even before she let go of the bowl that his mom would spill the beans…if he let her….

  “Delicious,” he said around a bite of lasagna. “Did you do something different to the sauce?”

  Gabe laughed. “Oh, you’re good, kid. Real good.”

  Hunter didn’t have to ask what his older brother meant. The smirk, the teasing glint in his eyes, that sly tone of voice told him that Gabe had overheard most, if not all, of his conversation with their mother and knew exactly what Hunter was up to.

  “But as the youngest—and the last man standing in this house—you oughta know better than the rest of us that she has a one-track mind.”

  “She’s stubborn,” Jesse agreed.

  “An immovable object,” his wife added.

  Gabe’s wife chimed in with, “Mom isn’t easily sidetracked, that’s for sure.”

  “The girls are right,” Gabe confirmed. “Nothing short of a bulldozer plowing through the dining room will distract her.”

  “Good grief,” Constance said, feigning a frown. “Listen to the bunch of you!”

  Had they all been eavesdropping? Hunter wondered.

  “So if I’m the sensitive one,” he said, grinning, “which of your boys is the tactful one?”

  From the opposite end of the table, Rafe said, “Hey. I turned forty today. There shouldn’t be any laughter or lightheartedness. This is a solemn occasion.”

  “Age is only a number, old man,” Gabe said. “Turn of
f your hearing aids and enjoy your lasagna.”

  “My plate is clean,” he said. “How ’bout the bunch of you do the same so we can get to the main course, cake!”

  By now everyone at the table—including the kids—had joined in the laughter.

  “Leave it to you, Constance,” Deidre said as Hunter’s cell phone rang, “to throw a simple family dinner…and have a wild party break out!”

  He pretended not to notice his mother’s scolding expression and excused himself to take the call. Last Chance, said the caller ID. “Hey, Mitch,” he said, stepping into the foyer, “haven’t heard from you in months. Those hooligans eating up all your free time?”

  The young counselor laughed. “No more than usual.”

  “How many kids in your care now?”

  “Sixteen. And they’re the reason I’m calling. They’re going stir-crazy now that school’s out, so I was wondering…could you use a few helpers, you know, to fetch tools, haul drywall, sweep up sawdust, the way they did last summer? Can’t have ’em lying around here all day watching TV and playing ‘Monster Hunter’ on the Wii.”

  “I swear. If I live to be a hundred, I’ll never understand what teenagers get out of those video games.”

  “I’m in favor of anything that keeps ’em off the streets—” Mitch chuckled “—and each other’s backs. But they need fresh air and exercise, too, along with practical lessons that could give them some direction in life.”

  Hunter turned in time to see Brooke nodding and looking somber at something his mother was saying. God help you, Mom, if you’re repeating that “why don’t you snap her up?” nonsense….

  He turned his back to the table. “As it happens,” he said to Mitch, “I just started a whole-house rehab.” Hunter pictured the Sheridans’ house. “How many of the kids are old enough to work?”

  “Five.”

  “Well, you know the drill, send them in their rattiest jeans and Tshirts because they’ll get good and grimy. I’ll supply safety glasses, work gloves and hard hats. You supply the transportation.” He paused. “And work boots, ’cause sneakers won’t cut it on a construction site.”

  “Right. I’d almost forgotten about that. Got a donor’s check in the mail today, so I’ll take them shopping tonight.”