Then Comes Baby

by Helen Brenna

  “Your dad doing okay?” Natalie asked Chase.

  “Yeah. He’s mad at himself.”

  She nodded, understanding. After two DWIs, their dad had stayed sober for more than five years, then he’d fallen off the wagon at a buddy’s wedding and got his third offense and a ninety-day jail term. The wedding had been no excuse, and losing his boys for the summer was, hopefully, going to be what it took to keep him on the straight and narrow. At least Natalie prayed it would be enough, given the boys’ mother was no longer involved in their lives.

  “Nat,” Chase said, “can I have something to eat?”

  “We just finished dinner.” Natalie put a stack of clean plates into the cupboard.

  “I’m still hungry.”

  “All right. Something healthy. Grab the grapes leftover from lunch.”

  He dug around inside the refrigerator for a few minutes and then wandered into the living room, passing Sam and Galen on their way into the kitchen. They hung around, looking as if they were at loose ends. Finally, Galen said, “It’s Friday.”

  “Yes, it is.” Natalie glanced at them. They seemed to be waiting for something. Then it hit her. “Oh, goodness! I almost forgot our agreement. You guys have the night off, and I need to give you paychecks!”

  “Yes!”

  “Cool!”

  Galen and Sam connected fists in the air.

  Natalie ran back to her bedroom, grabbed the two payroll checks she’d left on her desk by her laptop, and hurried back out to the kitchen. “Okay,” she said, handing them envelopes. “The kitchen is clean and the supper dishes are done. You two are on your own.”

  The teenagers glanced at each other.

  “Want to go into town?” Galen asked.

  “Totally! Let me change first.” She took off upstairs and came down a short while later. “The sink is clogged again.”

  “I’ll take a look at it,” Natalie said, studying Sam. Something had changed. Clothes? No. Hair? Yep, that was it. She’d forsaken the ever-present ponytail to let her light brown hair hang long and straight halfway down her back. And she was wearing makeup. With hazel eyes and pleasing features, Sam was naturally pretty, but the mascara, blush and lip gloss, not to mention a full, almost womanly figure, made her look easily several years older than Galen, despite the fact that she was actually a couple months younger than him.

  Even Galen had done a double take when Sam came into the kitchen. “Dustin and Chad said they’d be at the pizza place,” he said, recovering quickly.

  “Sounds good.”

  “Blake’s off the phone,” Arianna said. “Can we call Grandma now?”

  “Absolutely. And then when you two are done we’re going to have some popcorn and watch a movie.”

  As Galen and Sam shot through the back door, Natalie followed them outside, not a little envious of them having a night without a single responsibility. They’d been here less than a week, but the concentrated time with eight kids was forcing Natalie to accept that Missy had most definitely been right. She was going to need a break every now and again.

  “Hey, guys!” she called. “Be home by eleven, okay?”

  “Whatever.”

  “No, not whatever, Galen. Eleven. And take the golf cart, so you can see your way home in the dark.”

  “Good idea.”

  “Do you have your cell phones?”

  They both nodded.

  “And one more thing.” They both looked up at her, clearly anxious to be on their way. “Have fun.”

  Feeling an odd mixture of both excitement and apprehension, Natalie watched them drive the cart out of the yard and disappear within minutes on the path through the thick woods. Don’t worry, she reassured herself. Sam and Galen are from a big city. What trouble could befall them on Mirabelle?

  “QUIT KICKING ME!” The next morning Arianna glared across the kitchen table at Chase.

  “I’m not even touching you!” Chase said.

  “There!” she said. “What was that?”

  Day and night. Night and day. The kids were constantly after each other, and Natalie could feel her normal patience waning more and more every day. “Blake?” she said softly.

  The other twin, looking innocent as all get-out, glanced at her. “What? I’m not doing anything.”

  She’d been up and about since the crack of dawn getting organized for the day. There wasn’t much these kids were going to sneak by her. “Keep your feet to yourself, Blake, or you’ll be doing the breakfast dishes alone this morning.”

  “Fine,” he grumbled, apparently unconcerned about having gotten caught attempting to get his twin in trouble.

  “Um, Natalie?” Toni said. “Is there any cold cereal?”

  “You don’t like the pancakes?”

  Quietly, the little girl shook her head.

  A quick inspection of the table showed Galen, Blake and Chase in various stages of devouring everything on their plates, Samantha forsaking everything else for a yogurt and apple, and Arianna and Ella picking at the food on their plates. This scenario had been virtually the same for most of their meals this past week as they set about establishing routines and getting settled. In the past, Natalie had managed to survive on her own without being much of a cook, but things were different now that she was responsible for all these kids.

  “Okay,” she said. “I can see things are going to have to change. After breakfast, I want each of you to write out three suggestions for meals and set them on the counter by the phone.”

  “Why?”

  “Do we have to?”

  “If you want food you like to eat, yes,” Natalie said. “And I can see we need a rule about meals.”

  Everyone groaned except for Galen. That boy had been nearly impossible to awaken that morning and with his longish black hair still sticking out this way and that it was obvious he’d merely thrown on jeans and a shirt before stumbling down the stairs.

  “Not another rule,” someone murmured.

  “If you don’t like what’s being served or are still hungry after a meal,” Natalie said, glancing in particular at the growing boys, “the options are cold cereal or PB and J, but you have to prepare it yourself. You don’t like the rules, you can go home. Anyone want to go home?” She looked at each and every one of them.

  Everyone except Galen shook his or her head.

  Going home for the twins, Chase and Blake, meant dealing with a father in jail. For Arianna and Ella, it was a mother who couldn’t be found and a grandmother who was going through drug and alcohol treatment. Toni, Ryan and Sam would be going back to foster care homes. And for Galen, it meant a mother with unacknowledged substance abuse problems.

  Natalie had painstakingly selected every one of them from a group of more than fifty applications, looking for kids whose profiles implied a high risk for problems, but a probability for success with the summer program she’d outlined. While Natalie was loathe to send any of them back before she’d gotten a chance to instill a small amount of hope in each one’s heart, she wasn’t going to sacrifice the success of the entire camp for any one individual.

  The only one in the group who hadn’t matched her profile was Galen. His school counselors, principals and teachers had all told her he wouldn’t make it. They saw a young man with a bad attitude who was going to end up in trouble with the law, just like his mother. Natalie saw a boy with a possible learning disability trying desperately to find his way, a boy who hid his frailty behind a mask of defiance. Somehow, she had to find a way to get through to him.

  “Okay, let’s review the schedule we developed these past few days,” she said. “Breakfast is at eight every morning, lunch at noon, dinner at six. Lights out at nine for everyone except Sam and Galen. After breakfast is chore time.”

  Because of their home lives, all of these kids spent far too much time alone. The more life skills she could instill in them, the higher their self-esteem and the better they’d fare once they went back home.

  “After chores, we’ll
do some sort of fun activity and then free time until lunch. After lunch, we’ll be making crafts to sell at the gift shop in town, and, if everyone behaves, we’ll be taking in all of Mirabelle’s charms over the course of the summer.”

  “What does that mean?” Arianna asked.

  “Well, this summer isn’t going to be all work and no play. We’ll be making field trips into town at least once a week, and taking advantage of all that Mirabelle has to offer. Horseback riding, sailing, fishing, golfing.”

  “Horses!” the girls squealed.

  “Fishing. Cool,” was the consensus from the boys.

  “All kinds of fun stuff.” Natalie smiled. “So let’s all work together this summer, and if you’re ever not sure what you’re supposed to be doing, look at the whiteboard on the pantry door. I’ll do a new one every week with rotating chores and activities.”

  Toni raised her hand.

  “Yes, Toni?”

  “What’s a pantry?”

  Natalie was explaining it was the room next to the stove where their food was stored when the phone rang. Sam hopped up to answer the call. “It’s for you, Natalie.”

  She stood and took the phone, and the boys finished with breakfast and wandered toward the living room. “Ah, ah, ah!” she said, covering the mouthpiece of the phone. “After meals, no one leaves the kitchen without first taking his or her own dishes to the sink. And then chores, people.”

  Another round of groans sounded, but the boys turned back. She pointed to the pantry door. “When in doubt, refer to the whiteboard.”

  “Ha-ha, Chase. You have to wash dishes,” Blake taunted.

  “So! You have to wash tomorrow.”

  “Yeah, but—”

  Deciding to let them hash it out themselves, Natalie went inside the pantry with the phone and closed the door. “Sorry about that. Natalie here.”

  A man chuckled over the line. “It’s Roger.” Her grandmother’s longtime attorney and now Natalie’s. “Sounds like you have your hands full.”

  “We’re still ironing out some details. We’ll get there.”

  “I thought you might want a heads-up on something.”

  “Shoot.” She leaned against one of the shelves and felt it wobble. The board was warped. That was going to have to get fixed.

  “I got wind of someone making inquiries with the city of Mirabelle and various departments with the state of Wisconsin with regard to the filings for your camp.”

  “Who?”

  He sighed. “An attorney here in town who just happens to represent your neighbor.”

  “Jamis? Why would he care?”

  “If I were to guess, I’d say he’s looking for a way to shut you down.”

  “Well, that’s just sil—” She stopped. “You’re right. He’s not at all happy about our presence on this end of the island. Can he make us leave?”

  “All the proper paperwork has been filed and approved, but, in my experience, if a person looks hard enough, he can usually find some kind of loophole, especially if he has a good attorney. Jamis Quinn could make your life miserable.”

  He could try. “Thanks, Roger. Let me know if anything else comes to your attention.”

  “By the way, we filed those grant requests for you.”

  “Oh, good. Do you think I’ll get enough to fund this camp for next year?”

  “I think you’ve got a good chance, Natalie. There are several agencies very excited about what you’re doing. But it wouldn’t hurt to solicit some private donations. Send me some information and I’ll get it out to our list of donors.”

  “Thanks, Roger.” She hung up the phone. So Jamis wanted her and the kids gone, huh? Well, there was only one thing for it. She was going to have to change his mind.

  NADA. ZIP. ZILCH.

  Jamis stared at his blank computer screen. This morning and every morning since Miss Chipper had taken over next door, he had nothing. Normally, starting a new book was a piece of cake. Long before he typed the words Chapter One a concept for a story would have effortlessly laid itself out for him. Sometimes in a dream a fully formed opener would come to him. Other times, a kernel of a scene would hit him while he was running or lifting weights. He could be brushing his teeth and a line of dialogue would hit him. Cooking a pasta dish he might feel a character’s name hot on his tongue. Or out on the water kayaking, an overall concept would come to him, giving him something to work out in his mind as he worked out his body.

  Unfortunately, the only story his brain seemed receptive to developing these days was a bloody mass murder at a small-town orphanage. And for good reason. Natalie seemed to have made it her personal mission to feed him.

  Earlier in the week, she’d brought over a hunk of cake, undercooked and mushy in the center. Jamis had gone back to his computer in the hopes of starting his new book, but it wasn’t happening. He’d finally surrendered and had put on his wetsuit, dragged his kayak down to the frigid water and paddled his way around several of the islands as fast as he could.

  A few days later, it was homemade ice cream she and her kids had churned by hand in her grandmother’s machine. That particular treat hadn’t tasted half-bad, but how could anyone screw up sugar, strawberries and cream? Again, after attempting unsuccessfully to return to work, he’d finally gone outside and chopped half a cord of firewood.

  After she’d needed bay leaves for a soup he could only hope he wasn’t going to have to sample, he hadn’t bothered returning to his computer. He’d gone straight to his workout room and pumped weights until every single one of his muscles had failed.

  The biggest problem was that as that woman grew more irritating, she also seemed to grow more beautiful. She would stand on his porch with sunlight glinting off her hair, a bright smile on her pretty pink lips, and a twinkle in her sea-blue eyes. In spite of everything, there was something indomitable about her that he couldn’t help but respect. What in the world had possessed her to organize a summer camp for kids? What was the point? What made her tick? And why in God’s name did she give a rat’s ass about him?

  He glanced at his watch and was surprised she hadn’t been over to his house yet today. Great. He shook his head, disgusted with himself. Now he was actually waiting for her to make an appearance on his doorstep.

  Snickers whined.

  “What?”

  The dog’s ears arched expectantly.

  “No.” Jamis scowled. “You cannot go over to her house.”

  Another whine, and this one was accompanied by a swish of the tail.

  “It’s not Snickers time. Snickers time is after lunch.”

  Resigned, the dog laid his head on his paws. He continued looking up at Jamis with those forlorn brown eyes, and the memory of the morning Snickers had come into his life came back to Jamis in a rush. The smells, the sounds.

  “Daddy, that’s him,” his three-year-old daughter, Caitlin, had declared in her sweet little voice. “He looks like a candy bar.” She’d stuck her chubby fingers through the cage at the pound and singled Snickers out from a litter of puppies.

  He’d tried steering her toward a tough pit bull, a Rottweiler, even a lab mix, but no. She’d wanted this puny mutt. A scruffy-haired mishmash of white, black and caramel, the animal folk had guessed he was part hound and part Border collie. When they’d gotten him out of the cage, Justin, not quite a year, had toddled over, grabbed the puppy by his ears and planted a sloppy wet kiss on his furry forehead, and it had been a done deal.

  At the time, Jamis had thought it would help his children with the rough patch they were going through with the impending divorce. Instead, Snickers had been the reason for yet another fight, another bargaining point for the lawyers, another excuse for Katherine to wheedle more money from Jamis. Now the poor dog served only as a constant reminder of the two lowest points in Jamis’s life.

  “Come here, Snick.” Jamis patted his lap. The dog hopped up and Jamis scratched him good and hard on his neck and ears. “Good boy.” He kissed his forehead and let h
im hop to the floor. Snickers’s ears perked up and he cocked his head toward the window.

  “No!” The sound of a girl’s voice came through the open office window. “I’m not going to ask him. You ask him.”

  “No way.” That was a different kid, a boy.

  Snickers ran down the steps and, without a single bark, sat at the door, waiting.

  “This is so jacked.” That voice belonged to an older boy, perhaps the teenager.

  “Then you ask him.”

  A knock sounded on the front screen door.

  “Unbelievable.” Shaking his head, Jamis pushed away from his desk yet another time and went slowly down the steps. The outline of several heads standing on his porch took shape. He opened the solid oak door and stood in front of the screened storm door, not bothering to invite them in. “What?”

  Snickers pawed excitedly at the door as several of the camp kids of varying ages and sexes stared up at Jamis. “Do you have any marbles?” asked the littlest girl.

  Was this a joke? Jamis stared at each one of them, in turn, debating. No, they were serious. “Why?” He heard himself asking the question as if disembodied from the idiot he’d suddenly become. What purpose could possibly be served by engaging them in conversation?

  “We’re on a scavenger hunt,” said the middle boy who looked to be about twelve. “The first team to get all the items on Natalie’s list gets breakfast in bed tomorrow morning.”

  So Miss Chipper had started up with her camp activities, huh?

  “The other team is beating us,” said the youngest girl.

  Jamis glanced at the teenage boy, who was shaking his head and rolling his eyes. “Yeah, I got marbles. Come on in.” He’d gone nuts. Certifiably so. All this time alone on this island had finally done the trick. “How many do you need?”

  He opened the door and Snickers happily scurried around the kids, sniffing every one of them and pushing his wet nose into their hands. The kids stepped inside, the littlest one keeping her cautious eyes on the dog. One look at the big-screen TV and the teenager’s attitude went from bored to calculating in seconds. Jamis could practically see his wheels turning looking for the angle that would get him viewing time on that screen.