“Then why’d you do all this?” This was unnamed in the piteous cry.
“I wanted you to feel welcome. And I did want you to be happy.”
“We’re not ready to be happy! Okay?” Sophia flipped over, back to Suzanne. Now her voice was muffled by the pillow and perhaps by tears. “I want you to go away.”
Her eyes burned and she had to swallow to be sure she could control her voice. She stood. “All right. I’m going. But we’ll have to talk about this again. About how you feel, and your mom, and everything.”
“I don’t want to talk about it! Not with you!”
The first tears leaked out as she retreated, following the band of light to the door. There, she paused, not turning around. “I know one thing. Wherever your mom is, she wants someone to love you, and for you to be happy. More than anything in the world, that’s what she wants.”
“How do you know?” The anger, the rejection, were perilously close to hate.
“Because…” She swallowed again. “Because, if something were to happen to me now, that’s what I’d want. Good night, Sophia.” This time, she slipped out, leaving the door open a hand’s width, and continued down the hall to her bedroom.
There, her legs failed her and she sank into the rocker, covering her face with her hands as hot tears escaped.
She only let herself weep for a few minutes, knowing as she did that it was a pathetic kind of luxury. Had she really believed that adopting children the ages of Jack and especially Sophia would be easy? She had joked with Melissa about the honeymoon period. The truth was, she was lucky there’d actually been one, that Sophia had been sweet—within her abilities—and cooperative for almost an entire week.
She should be glad that Sophia mourned her mother. Hadn’t she worried when the ten-year-old seemed unfeeling? So, now she was admitting that she felt all the surging misery and grief and loneliness Suzanne remembered quite well, even though it was filtered by the years.
And maybe, she admitted as she wiped tears, she was guilty of trying to make Sophia and Jack forget their mother because they had it so good now. She hadn’t consciously done that, but she’d sure gone overboard on making their bedrooms perfect, and she’d bought extravagantly for Christmas even though she really couldn’t afford to spend so much.
And maybe it would have been better if the whole process hadn’t been rushed, if she’d been able to give them gifts but not felt the pressure to create a perfect Christmas. It had given her an excuse to say implicitly See how wonderful your lives will be, now that you’re my children?
And she wondered that Sophia felt as if Suzanne were trying to buy their love. Maybe… She swallowed. Maybe she had been.
She’d meant to ask to see a picture of their mom, to talk to them about her, to find out where she was buried and take them to visit her grave if possible. Show them her album of photos of her own, long-lost family, remind them that she knew how they felt because she, too, had lost her parents in a blinding instant that had changed her life.
But not, she thought, as disorienting as theirs had been. She had had the comfort of living with family she knew. She’d been held by her aunt, who had cried with her. She hadn’t had to go to a foster home, where people came and inspected her like a calf up for sale, shaking their heads and walking away as if she were too scrawny. She, at least, had known security and familiarity if not love.
So maybe she didn’t understand as well as she’d thought she had.
She lay in the dark, hurting as she examined herself and her best intentions. The clock passed midnight, and Christmas was gone before she sank into a troubled sleep.
FRIDAY OF THAT WEEK, TOM WAS out salting his walkway when Suzanne got home from work. Boeing shut down for the week between Christmas and New Year’s, and he’d been at loose ends with Suzanne and the kids gone every day. Rain had fallen for a few days after Christmas, followed by sinking temperatures that promised to descend into the low twenties today. By morning, weather forecasters promised, the roads would be black ice.
His porch light was on as was the motion detector above the garage, but neither reached to his neighbor’s driveway. He saw Suzanne get out of her car, but no other doors opened and closed.
“Hey,” he called. “Lose the kids?”
“Hi, Tom.” Suzanne circled the car and came over to his driveway. “They’re at Carrie’s. She called last night and suggested picking them up this morning. Mark’s agency is closed this week, and of course Carrie isn’t in school. This way they didn’t have to go to work with me today and tomorrow. I know it’s boring for them. I’ll pick them up tomorrow night.” She gazed up at the dark, cold sky. “Weather willing.”
“Roads are supposed to be dangerous tomorrow.” He studied her closely, trying to see if she looked as tired as she sounded.
“Oh, dear.” She bit her lip anxiously. “My tires aren’t the greatest.”
“If we have black ice come morning, there’s no point in you opening. The state patrol will be asking people to stay home.”
“I suppose that’s true. Fortunately, I don’t have any classes scheduled tomorrow.” Even with a jacket on, she shivered.
“If need be, I’ll drive you to Seattle to pick the kids up. If you’re absolutely determined to open shop, I’ll drive you there, too.”
“You’re always doing something nice for me,” she said, in a funny, quiet voice. “I wish I had some way to return the favor.”
He straightened, the bag of salt in his hand. “You don’t think you did? By having me for Christmas?”
“That’s not quite the same thing as the hours and hours of hard work you’ve put in.”
Tom let a word escape him he rarely used. She stared.
“I’m sorry. But that’s…” He struggled. “I did something for you I enjoyed. You…shared your family. You gave me the best Christmas I’ve had since…”
“Your friend moved,” she said softly.
Since I was a kid was what he’d been going to say, but he didn’t correct her.
“Still…”
“Still nothing.” He frowned, wondering why she was so intent on beating herself up. “You have dinner plans?”
“Oh, I can find something.” She sounded dispirited.
“If you don’t mind sharing a steak, I can put on an extra potato. I’d enjoy the company.”
“I’ll feel guilty if I take part of your steak….”
“I asked,” he reminded her.
“Well…what if I contribute a peach pie?”
“Peach?” At the end of December, peaches seemed like a distant memory.
“I sliced and froze some last summer.”
“You can have the whole steak,” he told her.
At last, she laughed. “Okay. Let me go drop my purse off and get the pie.”
He was done and had closed the garage by the time she got back. Letting her in, he said, “I’ll microwave the potatoes to speed them up. Here, let me hang up your coat.” She shrugged out of it and he put it on a hanger next to his parka in the closet. “Why don’t you come on back to the kitchen.”
She followed, looking around, and he realized she’d never been past his living room even though he’d become comfortable in her house. He was embarrassed by the sterility of his. The dining room held a table, chairs and one painting he’d spotted in the window of a gallery downtown and had bought on impulse. That was it. There was plenty of room for a china cabinet, but he didn’t own any china so what was the point?
He hadn’t changed much in the kitchen since he’d bought the house. Even the stools that pulled up to the breakfast bar had been left by the previous owners. He kept it neat, the counters bare, and thought of it as a functional room. He cooked here; he ate here. But her kitchen…her kitchen was warm, homey, cluttered, fragrant with things like that peach pie baking. It was a room where kids could do their homework, hang around to talk while she cooked, whisper as they sneaked midnight snacks. It didn’t feel industrial.
“Have a seat.” He got two big russet potatoes out of the bin, washed them and stabbed them full of holes, then put them in the microwave on high. Then he took asparagus from the refrigerator, rinsed it and cut it into short lengths. “Those potatoes are going to take a while. I could make a salad.”
“I’m not starved. More exhausted. I’m really grateful not to be standing in my own kitchen staring at the cupboards wondering if it’s worth making something.”
Appraising her, he realized she had paused long enough to brush her hair and put on a touch of lipstick before she came over. He’d like to think she’d bothered because she wanted to look nice for him, but chances were she was just trying to hide her exhaustion.
He pulled up the second stool and straddled it, hooking his heels over the rung. “I’m surprised they were willing to stay over.”
“Jack was excited about seeing Michael again. Apparently they were in the middle of a pirate battle.” Amusement colored her voice, but disappeared when she said without expression, “And Sophia… Well, she’s trying very hard to reject me.”
“Ah.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You expected it.”
“Yeah, I guess I did.”
Her shoulders sagged and the fight left her. “Why didn’t I?”
He would have liked to hug her, but he didn’t know if they were on those terms. Touching her the way he had Christmas Day, that had just come naturally. Too naturally. It would be easy to pull her into his arms and never let her go. Trouble was, she hadn’t invited any physical intimacy.
In answer to her question, Tom said, “Because you hoped she wouldn’t. You want to love her, and you want her to love you.”
She looked at him, her face vulnerable. “Do you think she ever will?”
God. He was supposed to stay on the other side of the bar?
“Yeah,” he said in a gritty voice. “I think she will. I think maybe she’s already starting to, and that’s what scares her.”
Hope stole slowly over her features, taking them from pretty to spectacular. “Really?”
“Is she upset, or genuinely indifferent?”
“This all started Christmas night with a storm of tears. I was trying to make her forget her mom. She implied that I’d thought I could buy her affection. She made sure I knew that I couldn’t.”
“Ah,” he said again.
She tilted her head in exasperation.
“So she’s upset. Which means she was tempted.”
“You mean, to be bought?”
“No,” he said gently. “To let herself forget.”
Naked hope again shone on her face. “I thought that’s what it was. But then I was afraid I was trying to fool myself.”
“I doubt it.”
“Why are you so easy to talk to?” she wondered. “When anyone else asks, I pretend everything is fine. But I can always talk to you.”
“Maybe it’s this homely mug,” he suggested, only half kidding.
Expecting polite protestation, he was surprised when she studied him with a crinkled forehead.
“Maybe if you looked like…like Mel Gibson, I wouldn’t feel comfortable talking to you. But it’s funny….” She stopped, her frown deepening. “I just don’t see you the same way I used to.”
He went still. “And how was that?”
“Really, I never saw you at all. I paid attention to things like the way you edged your lawn or the fact that you power-washed your driveway.”
“Another of those neighbor-from-hell stories.”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m trying to explain something here.”
He grinned. “Yeah, yeah.”
“What I mean is, my whole impression of you was determined by how inadequate I felt in comparison.”
“Wow.” That floored him. He’d always figured she was happy with her casual style of gardening. “You thought I was trying to make you look bad?”
Her “No, no…” was weak.
“Don’t worry. You can’t hurt my feelings.”
Yeah, she could. More than anyone else he could think of, she could. But he needed to know how she felt about him.
Forehead still creased in perturbation, she said, “I think maybe it was all symbolic. What I was really embarrassed about was the fact that you’d overheard those awful fights. So then I imagined you saw me as some kind of white trash, an impression I wasn’t doing anything to counter when my lawn was ragged, my flower beds weedy, my car rusting. So I had to resent you a little, or I would have felt even crummier about myself.”
“I wish I’d known. I’d have let dandelions grow in my lawn.”
She smiled, but then got serious again. “But then, I actually met your eyes one day. And I guess I’ve never seen you the same again.”
A jackhammer took up residence in his chest. “Yeah?”
“I thought… I thought what a nice face you have.”
Nice?
“It’s your smile,” she continued. “So don’t call yourself homely.”
“All I know is, they passed me over for the firefighter’s calendar.”
“But you aren’t a firefighter!”
He grinned.
She whacked his shoulder. “If you were a firefighter, they’d choose you in a heartbeat and you know it! They don’t care about faces, they go for beefcake.”
The jackhammer coughed and took a tap or two, as if warming up. “You calling me beefcake?”
“Well,” she said, looking suddenly prim, “you are well built.”
“Thank you.”
“I’ve seen you run.” She frowned again. “And you don’t limp or anything. Why did you have to retire from the Army?”
“My leg was hit by shrapnel. I’ve got a hell of a scar.” He gestured from mid-thigh toward his calf. “The knee isn’t totally stable. I’m okay unless I turn wrong or try to cut and run. I haven’t joined any adult soccer or basketball leagues, I can tell you.”
“Does it hurt?” Her big brown eyes were soft with sympathy.
“It aches a little when the weather is cold. No big deal.”
“I’m sorry.”
He shook his head. “Nothing to be sorry for. Everyone gets some aches and pains along the way.”
“I suppose.” Suzanne sighed.
“Hey, I never offered you anything to drink. I have coffee, pop, beer and wine.”
“Do you know, I think some wine would be good.”
He had a rack on his kitchen countertop. From it, he selected a Napa Valley merlot and poured two glasses. While up, he checked the potatoes and turned the oven on to broil.
“Are you sure I can’t help?” she asked.
“This dinner is about as easy as they come. I’m on it.” Handing Suzanne a glass of wine and sitting again, Tom asked, in part to distract her from her desire to leap up and do her share and more, “How’s business this week?”
“Not as bad as I expected, but I think it’s because Boeing is closed and a lot of other people are off, too. I’m told that January will be deadly.”
“Can you handle some months like that?” What he really wanted to say was Are you hurting for money?
She nodded. “I saved enough to cushion me for this first year, while I’m getting established. And Gary, bless his heart, gave me some money for Christmas. He’s offered before, and I turned him down, but now with the kids, I really appreciated his help.”
“What does he do?”
The minute she told him, he recognized the name of her brother’s coffee company. He’d bought some himself.
“He claims to have no use for most of his income. Rebecca tells me that he’s been donating a whole lot to a shelter for teenage runaways in Santa Fe. Which makes sense, since he was one himself.”
Tom raised his brows in surprise, and she told him her brother’s story.
With a sigh, she concluded, “I always hoped my brother and sister at least had happy, loving homes.”
“Carrie’s adoptive parents seemed like good people.”
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“They’re so nice. I know you weren’t aware, but Christmas Day was a little touchy because Gary had never met them.”
The microwave beeped and Tom rose again to check the potatoes. “Touchy how?”
She explained then concluded, “But Gary was gracious. It won’t be as awkward the next time. I’m so glad. They’ve practically adopted me, too, now that they know Carrie has a sister, so I’d hate for us not to be able to include everyone in family gatherings.”
“Didn’t look like that would be a problem.” Tom put the steak under the broiler.
“I think the kids were overwhelmed with so many people.”
A little dryly, he said, “They seemed to deal with so many presents just fine.”
Suzanne gave her low, throaty chuckle. “You have a point. Jack has been gloating all week. And getting greedy. He wants some of the toys Michael has.”
“Normal for a kid that age, I imagine.”
She sighed. “The one present that’s been a resounding failure so far is the bike. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but he hasn’t tried it yet. I mean, he hasn’t had an awful lot of opportunity, what with having to go to the shop every day, but it turns out he doesn’t actually know how to ride a bike.”
“He hasn’t wanted to try?”
“I told him I’d get training wheels, but I haven’t had a chance yet.”
“At seven and a half?”
“Do you think he can learn without?”
“Sure. He just needs a little help.” He got up again to turn on the asparagus and refill their wineglasses.
“What kind of help?” Suzanne asked.
“Don’t you remember learning to ride a bike?”
“I think I taught myself. But I was older.”
He could see her trying to remember, and had gotten enough hints about her childhood to guess no one had ever offered to help her. She’d probably learned on a bike one of her cousins had outgrown and therefore no longer wanted.
“You hold the bike up until he’s ready for you to let go. Simple as that.”
“Oh.” She pursed her lips. “I can do that.”
On her only day home? “I’d be glad to help,” he said. “Your Sundays are going to be tough now that you have the kids.”
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