Adding Up to Marriage

by Karen Templeton

  “Um, hello?” Jewel raised her hand. “I’d be happy to keep an eye on them.” She aimed a smile in the boys’ direction, only to be met with a pair of dubious frowns.

  “See?” Donna said, her face contorting as she shifted her ample form to put her good foot on the floor. “The Good Lord provides.”

  Silas’s gaze shot to Jewel’s. “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea—”

  “Nonsense. Oliver?” This in a strained voice to the straight-haired one. “Get my poncho from the closet, honey. And Tad, grab my purse off the table by the door. That’s right, sugars—bring ’em to me—”

  “I don’t want to stay with her!” The little one inched closer to Silas, his worried eyes nearly the same muddy green as his father’s. “What if she’s mean?”

  Jewel gasped. “I’m not—”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Donna said as Oliver dumped the well-worn, Peruvian-patterned poncho on the couch beside her, “Jewel helps deliver babies! She obviously loves children! Don’t you, honey?”

  “You bet! And really, Silas, it’s no problem. I don’t have any appointments today or anything.” Although despite the generous amount of cheer she’d injected into the words—what with her lack of pressing obligation being momentarily convenient—overall this was not a good thing. As in, she had far too much free time on her hands and not nearly enough cash in them—

  “So it’s settled,” Donna said. “You all can stay right here. Si, give me a hand—”

  “But we can’t stay here!” Oliver put in, his dark brown eyes all watery. “It’s almost time to feed Doughboy!”

  Oh, for pity’s sake…

  Crouching in front of the child, Jewel smiled. “Tell you what—if it’s okay with your daddy, we can go to your house, and you can feed Doughboy—” who or whatever that was “—and if it gets late you can go right to sleep in your own beds. But before that,” she then said to Tad, tapping him on his nose, “we’re gonna have so much fun your daddy’s gonna be sorry he wasn’t with us!”

  The boys shared a glance…then a shrug. Jewel couldn’t decide if that was good or not. Then her mouth fell open as Silas scooped his mother—who was by no means a frail little thing—into his arms, before, with no outward evidence of strain, carting her across the room and out the still open front door.

  “My daddy’s strong, huh?” little curly-head said, grinning at Jewel with one of those sweet, baby-toothed grins designed to make a woman want to rush right out and fill her womb.

  Especially when said womb had just been nicely primed by the sight of a good-looking man acting all manly and such. Silently cursing biological imperatives and what-not, Jewel took her little charges by the hand, deciding it was best all around if she not answer that question.

  “You know,” Silas said to his mother many hours later on their way home from the hospital, “you seem awfully mellow for somebody with a broken ankle.”

  Beside him, Donna released a half laugh. “That’s the pain meds.” She looked down at her foot, splinted to within an inch of its life. “Might be tricky to cook with this thing on. Your father will be beside himself.”

  “I imagine he’ll live. Besides, that’s what the church ladies are for. After the thousands of casseroles you’ve made for everybody else over the years, they owe you.”

  She laughed again, then sighed. “Shame I won’t be able to take care of the boys, though—”

  “And don’t even think about that. Hey, if I have to, I’ll keep ’em with me. It could work,” he said to his mother’s hoot of laughter.

  “These are Ollie and Tad we’re talking about. Otherwise known as Thing One and Thing Two?”

  “Thought you said they’d calmed down.”

  “I lied.”

  He glanced at his mother. “And you didn’t think to warn Jewel?”

  “Gal has youth on her side. And resilience. She’ll be fine. But wasn’t it providential, how she was available to babysit? She’s a real sweetheart, that one. A real sweetheart.”

  Oh, hell. “You know, you could at least try to be subtle. Next I’m gonna find out you deliberately broke your ankle just to further your matchmaking mission—hey. Everything okay?”

  Donna nodded tightly. “Joy juice is wearing off, I suspect.”

  “So take more.”

  “Forget it. A flower child I may have been, but a druggie? Never. Damned if I’m about to start now. I’ll be fine,” she said, her chin lifting. “At least until we get home.”

  Silas’s eyes again slid to his mother, the stress lines bracketing her mouth attesting to her no longer being the bottomless well of energy she’d once been. “Why didn’t you say something before? About the kids, I mean.”

  A moment ticked by before she quietly said, “Because after what happened…those babies needed mothering. And since I was the only candidate… Oh, don’t get that look on your face, I’m only stating the facts. At least I was there to fill the gap.”

  “Since I haven’t done anything to fill it myself.”

  She shrugged. Woman could say more with a shrug than most women say in a thirty-minute conversation. Then she blew out a long breath.

  “I adore those little monkeys, you know that. But even before this happened, I’d begun to realize I’m not as up to chasing them as I’d thought. As I want to be. Occasionally is fine—well, once this blasted ankle is better—but full time?” She shook her head. “I’m so tired by the time evening rolls around I can barely have a conversation with your father.” That was followed by a weary chuckle. “Let alone anything else.”

  “Mom, geez.”

  His mother laughed again, then briefly squeezed his arm. “I’m sorry, Silas. The spirit’s willing, but—”

  “And there’s nothing to be sorry for.” He flashed a smile at her, even as panic began to simmer in his gut. Nobody knew better than he that both his sons had gotten double doses of snips and snails and puppy dog tails. Not to mention enough energy to fuel a hydrogen bomb. Finding another day-care option for them wasn’t going to be easy. But taking out his mother—who’d already earned her medal for surviving her own four boys—hadn’t been part of the game plan. “You could’ve backed out anytime, you know.”

  In the dim light from the dash, he saw tears glisten in his mother’s warm brown eyes. “Couldn’t. Would’ve meant giving them up.”

  “It’s okay, we’ll figure something out,” he said softly as they pulled into his parents’ driveway, his father shooting through the front door before Silas switched off the engine.

  Nearly thirty-four years his parents had been married, and yet Gene Garrett’s solicitous concern for his wife when he jerked open her door was every bit as tender as Silas remembered from his childhood. Oh, they fussed at each other as much as the next couple, but what they had—it was magic and rare and defied explanation. Or definition.

  And there were times when Silas envied them so much it hurt.

  “For heaven’s sake, Gene,” Donna said after Silas’s dad gingerly maneuvered her out of the truck. No mean feat. “I’m completely capable of managing on my own. Thank you, honey,” she said to Silas after he handed her the crutches. She squinted at the things for a moment, shaking her head, then fitted them under her arms, her grip firm on the braces. “But you better go on—I imagine Jewel’s more than ready to be rescued by now.”

  “It’s nearly ten—the boys are bound to be asleep.” His mother rolled her eyes, and he smiled. “You sure you don’t need me?”

  “Honestly, between you and Gene… It’s a broken ankle, for goodness’ sake, not bubonic plague! Here, hold this,” she said to Gene, shoving a crutch at him, then reached up to give Silas a strong, one-armed hug around his neck. “Thanks for everything, honey. And we’ll talk tomorrow.”

  Still, after Silas climbed back into the truck to watch his father hover over his mother as she unsteadily navigated the short sidewalk between the driveway and house, envy pinched again. And regret, that his own marriage had been a
dismal failure.

  But at twenty-four, even with his parents’ example, he hadn’t been nearly as ready for it as he’d thought. Especially to a gal who’d apparently tuned out when the minister, during their prenuptial classes, had done his best to drive home that married life wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows, that it took more than love—and sex—to get through the rough patches. That without determination to make it work, a willingness to put each other’s feelings and needs ahead of your own from time to time, you didn’t have a chance in hell.

  Not that he had used those exact words, but close enough.

  And God knew Silas had tried his best. He’d hated seeing Amy so miserable, especially after Bundle of Joy Two arrived. But as her demands became increasingly impossible to meet—she constantly complained about not having enough money, yet pitched a fit if he worked late because he wasn’t around to help her with the babies—Silas began to see the writing on the wall.

  Oh, he’d dug in his heels the first time she’d said she wanted out, not about to give up that easily on something he still believed in. But eventually Silas had had to admit he couldn’t prop up the marriage on his own. Or raise his wife as well as his sons.

  His folks inside, Silas backed out of the drive, thinking that at least the resulting implosion, as horrendous as it had been, hadn’t left him where it had found him. In fact, his shrugging off his mother’s relentless matchmaking attempts notwithstanding, he was beginning to heal, even if only in terms of…maybe. If the right woman—not girl, woman—crossed his path, he might, might, consider trying again.

  But this time, he had a checklist as long as his arm, with Putting the boys first at the top. Followed closely by maturity. Serenity. Stability.

  Sanity.

  In other words, not someone who made him feel like the ground was constantly shifting under his feet.

  Moments later he pulled up into his driveway and cut the engine, his forehead crunched. Why were the lights still on?

  The cottonwood’s first crackly, fallen leaves scampered across his feet as he walked to the door, the rustle barely audible over the raucous goings-on inside. The instant he opened the heavy carved door to the hundred-year-old adobe, Doughboy speed-waddled over and plastered himself against Silas’s calf, the English bulldog’s underbite trembling underneath bulging, terror-stricken eyes.

  Why? Why you send crazy lady here?

  Then, his spawn’s shrieks of unbridled glee assaulting his ears, Silas got the first glimpse of what had once been his living room.

  Which now looked like Tokyo, post-Godzilla-rampage.

  Chapter Two

  “Daddy! Daddy! You’re home—!”

  “You shoulda been here, we had sooooo much fun!”

  “So I see,” Silas said in a low, controlled voice as he swept Tad up onto his hip while leveling a What the hell? look past the destruction at the flushed, heavily breathing, messy-haired female responsible for the mayhem.

  Who gave him a whatchagonnado? shrug.

  Woman destroys his house and she gives him a shrug? God help him.

  And her.

  Sofa and chair cushions teetered in unstable towers all over the room. Sheets, tablecloths, bedspreads—was that his good comforter?—shrouded every flat surface. No lamp was where he’d left it that morning, not a single picture on the wall was straight. And so many toys littered the floor—what he could see of it—it looked like Santa’s sleigh had upchucked.

  Leaning against his ankle, the dog moaned. See? Told ya.

  Jewel giggled. “Guess we kinda got carried away.”

  Silas forced himself to breathe. “Ya think?”

  Apparently, she got the message. “O-kay, guys, Daddy’s home, so off to bed—no, no arguments, we had a deal, remember?”

  He could only imagine. “Thought I said bedtime was eight?”

  “You did, but—”

  “Jewel said if we took our baths and got our jammies on,” Ollie said, “we could stay up for a bit.”

  “A bit?” Silas said. Calmly. Over the seething rage. “It’s after ten.”

  “What? You’re kidding!” Shoving loose pieces of hair behind her ears, Jewel picked her way through the wreckage to peer at the cable box clock. “Ohmigosh—I’m so sorry! The clock got covered and we were having so much fun we lost track of time—”

  “Yeah,” Tad said, curls bobbing. “We made cookies, an’ then Jewel said we could bring our toys out here, an’ then we decided to make tunnels an’ stuff—”

  “Jewel’s like the funnest person ever,” Ollie put in. “She’s not like a grownup at all!”

  There’s an understatement, Silas thought as he lowered the four-year-old to his feet, then lightly swatted both pajama-covered bottoms. “Go get your teeth brushed, I’ll be there in a sec—”

  “But we already brushed our teeth!” Ollie said, then stretched his lips back to show. “Shee?”

  “Fine. Let’s go, then. And you,” he said, pointing at Jewel, “stay right where you are.”

  She shrugged again, then plucked the boys’ quilts off two chairs. “Here! Take these back to your room!” The kids ran over, grabbed the quilts, gave Jewel hugs and kisses, and took off down the hall. Where, naturally, somebody tripped over his quilt, taking his brother down in the process, resulting in a tangle of Thomas the Tank Engines and hysterically giggling little boys. Silas sighed, sorted out his spawn and steered them to their room as Doughboy trudged dutifully behind, leaving a trail of slobber in his wake.

  The boys flew into their beds on opposite sides of the room hard enough to bang both headboards into the walls, while poor Doughboy collapsed on the multicolored carpet in the center of the floor with a noisy, relieved sigh. His little masters, however, were still high as kites from overexertion and God only knew how much sugar. In fact, no sooner had Silas tucked Tad’s quilt around him than he yanked back the covers, yelled “Gotta pee!” and flew to the bathroom, leaping over the already snoring dog.

  Silas looked at his older son. “What about you?”

  “No, I’m good,” Ollie said, pawing through two dozen stuffed animals for his ratty, shredded baby blanket which at this rate would accompany the kid to college. His bankie found, the kid pushed out a satisfied sigh and wriggled into the middle of the critters, giggling when Silas momentarily buried him in the comforter. Then his head popped out, his straight hair all staticky and his expression suddenly serious.

  “Is Gramma okay?”

  Silas sat on the bed beside him, rearranging the covers. “She’ll be fine, but her ankle really is broken. Which means she’s not gonna be able to take care of you guys.”

  Worry instantly flooded big, brown eyes. “So who’s gonna watch us?”

  “I have no idea. That’s tomorrow’s project. In the meantime, you get to hang out with me. Guess I’ll have to work from home for a while.”

  “We tried that before, remember? You nearly lost it.”

  As tired as he was, Silas laughed. “That was a year ago. You’re older now. It’ll be fine.”

  The toilet flushed; Tad zoomed back into the room and flew into his bed again. Unlike his brother, Tad didn’t need to sleep with a menagerie. But God help them all if Moothy—a smelly, one-eyed moose with sagging antlers—went AWOL.

  “Okay, you two,” Silas said, bending over to kiss Tad. “Lights out—”

  “Book?” Tad flopped around to grab a Dr. Seuss from the skyscraper-high pile on the floor beside the bed.

  “Not tonight, buddy. I’d pass out if I tried to read right now.”

  “Besides, doofus,” Ollie said, “Jewel read like ten books to us already, remember?”

  Curling himself around Moothy, Tad sulked. “S’not the same if Daddy doesn’t do it.”

  Just reach in there and squeeze my heart, why not? “I’m flattered, squirt, but reading is not happening tonight. So lights out. Now.”

  Grumbling, Tad reached over to turn off his light. Much to Silas’s relief, the kid nearly passed out befor
e Silas finished with the nightly hugs and kisses routine, but Ollie still had enough oomph to whisper, “You know what?”

  “What?”

  “I think Jewel should be our babysitter.”

  “She’s already got a job,” Silas said as he smoothed back his son’s soft, straight hair. “She was just filling in because it was an emergency.” And I would hang myself if she was the only option. “But…I’m glad you had fun with her.”

  “Are you kidding? She’s like the coolest girl ever!”

  Yeah, let’s hear it for the cool girls, Silas thought, returning to the living room. Like a hummingbird, Jewel madly darted from spot to spot, folding, straightening, picking up. At Silas’s entrance, she glanced over only to disappear behind a tablecloth as she stretched her arms to fold it in half.

  “Nothing’s broken,” she said from behind the cloth, then reappeared, the cloth neatly folded into eighths in three swift, graceful moves. “In case you were wondering.”

  Glued to the spot, Silas watched her zip, zap, zing around the room as he got grumpier by the second. “But where do you get off going into my room and getting my comforter off of my bed?” Silas said. Okay, whined. “I sleep under that! Naked! And now it’s dirty!”

  In the midst of hauling a cushion larger than she was back onto the sofa, Jewel shot him a look. “Geez, it might be a little dusty in places, but it’s not dirty. And the boys brought it out, I didn’t go into your room and disturb your things. Trust me, I’m not that desperate.”

  For what? floated through Silas’s brain, only to get shoved aside by Jewel’s “You sleep naked?” as she scooted across the room to smack at several large smudges on the comforter.

  It took a second. “I sleep what?”

  That got another look. A puzzled one, this time. “Naked. You know, without any clothes?”

  “I know what it means! But isn’t that kind of a personal question?”

  She frowned at him. “Um…okay…it wasn’t me who introduced the word into the conversation. You did.”