***
“That is an absolutely beautiful rock.” Despite the supportive words, Eric didn’t look all that convinced.
Their long morning walk yielded a surprisingly large collection of flat rocks, round rocks, shiny rocks and just about any other size or shape imaginable. When Emily and Gavin walked into Hart House, Grams had already set up two child size easels beside her own supplies for the children to use. The rest of the morning had been spent dabbling in colors, shades, mixing, sketching, and of course painting. In some cases, there seemed to be more paint on the kids than the rocks or even the paper Grams had them try their design ideas on, but the kids were having a blast. And frankly, so was Iris.
“Who knew painting rocks could be this entertaining?” Eric leaned into Iris. Grams had set up a place for them to participate. At first the plan had been to only spend a few minutes and let Grams have her fun, but she and Eric got sucked in as well. Now whatever her new job might be, she had plenty of paperweights and doorstops to go with it. As did everyone else.
“What does it say about a man when his four-year-old nephew paints a better daisy then he does?”
“Maybe daisies aren’t your thing.” Iris smiled. “What else did you try?”
Eric gave a half-hearted shrug and chuckled. “Let’s just say, my starfish wasn’t any better than my daisy.”
“I’m in no better position to judge.” Laughing, Iris held up her most recent attempt at a green bullfrog on a lily pad. From the way Eric’s face contorted, he wasn’t having any easier time seeing the frog then she was. Maybe she should just tell everybody it’s a pea in a pod.
All the rocks set aside to dry, Grams walked the children, and the adults, through the steps of cleaning up the brushes and putting away the unused supplies. Iris could tell by the way the children moved, hurrying from task to task, that they were having just as much fun at this part of the process as they’d had with the actual artwork. A glint of pride shown in their eyes whenever they handled the still wet stones. That made Iris want to smile like she hadn’t smiled in a long time. Maybe working with children was still an option, just not the spoiled tweens.
Lucy came by carrying two plated dishes. “Aren’t we a fine group of artists.” She plopped the plates down in front of each child. “If you eat all your lunch, I have some of Lily’s Christmas Spitzbuben cookies!”
“But it’s not Christmas. Is it?” Gavin swirled his head toward Iris
“No.” Lucy ruffled his hair. “It’s just a name. The cookies can be made any time of year you want.”
The little boy nodded his delight and reached for the cut up sandwich.
“While we’ve been painting away,” Grams slid the drying brushes into a standing container, “the sun has come out full force.”
“I actually opened the windows. It’s so warm,” Lucy called from the doorway on route back to the kitchen.
“I know Mother Nature is merely teasing us, but it seems a shame to let such a beautiful day go to waste.”
Iris had to agree with her grandmother on that point at least. But what to do on such a lovely day.
“Your grandfather just had a fresh load of sand dumped down by the lake. You kids used to love helping.”
Memories of climbing on the mountains of sand—okay, maybe they were little hills, but to the Hart granddaughters they might as well have been Mount Everest—came rushing back.
“Why don’t you two go check out the shore, see what you think? I’ll have Lucy pack the desserts and if you think it’s a good idea you can eat by the water.”
Eric’s gaze shifted quickly from her grandmother to the children, back to Grams, out the window to the water and back to the kids.
“I promised Emily I’d teach her to play Jacks. This will be the perfect time. Don’t you worry. They’ll be fine,” Grams encouraged.
Of course Iris knew that, but she suspected part of Eric’s hesitation was that he knew that too. Insecurity still bounced off him in waves. He had better instincts than he realized. A bit lacking in the practical, but good instincts. Now she just needed to help him see that. But how?
***
“What are you thinking?” Lucy asked Fiona.
From her spot at the kitchen counter packing up some of Lily’s leftover desserts, Fiona kept an eye on the two kids whispering among themselves and slowly devouring the lunch Lucy had made. “That the kids are doing better but have such a long way to go.”
“So much sadness in their little worlds.” Lucy piled on twice the deli meats in the adult sandwiches.
“It was so nice to see Gerald’s granddaughter and her family last year. To see her coming back to her roots.” Fiona shook her head. “I’m glad her brother is going to be doing the same.”
“We’ll see.” Lucy sliced the two sandwiches on the diagonal.
Fiona laughed. Never in the middle, that would be sacrilege.
“I’m a bit concerned about that young man,” Lucy continued. “He seems a tad overwhelmed. What he needs is a good woman to help him.”
“Lucy…”
“Mabel’s daughter is still looking. With our Violet falling for Grant, Martha is still in the market for a nice city boy.”
“Lucy…” Fiona cautioned again.
“Don’t look at me that way. With Martha being the oldest of all those siblings, she’s got a good handle on little children.”
“Lucy!” Fiona said so sternly that Lucy’s brows shot up high on her forehead and her cutting hands stilled. “Not now.”
“But there’s never a bad time for love.”
“Lucy. For me. Please, let’s give this man some room before you thrust an unsuspecting wife on him. Okay?”
The woman heaved out a heavy sigh and slowly nodded her head. “I suppose waiting a little bit won’t hurt. Besides, the new organist at church might be a good fit too. We’ll have to invite her to tea and see.”
“Yes, let’s wait and do that.” Fiona smiled and closed the lid on the dessert box. At least Fiona was sure of one thing. Waitress or organist, Eric Johnson would make a nice catch.
Chapter Eight
Eric sucked in a deep breath. Fiona had been correct. The early spring chill that had filled the air while they had been off hunting rocks had given way to the heat of a sunny afternoon. Not the kind of heat he’d find if he lived with his grandfather in Florida, but by New England standards this was almost an early summer day.
“Days like this make you want to take your shoes off and dip your toes in the water.” Iris tipped her head back and lifted her face to the sun.
For a moment, Eric indulged in studying the woman before him. Long sandy blonde hair down her back, a hint of a suntan contrasted rosy cheeks, and with her eyes closed, long lashes paid homage to the sun. She fit in perfectly with the beauty of Mother Nature. Taking in a deep breath, she opened her eyes and retreated a step.
Not wanting to get caught ogling, he shifted his gaze up toward the house before looking back to the water. “Decided against testing the waters?”
“Oh, no way.” She barked out a loud laugh. “The sunshine may be tempting, but anybody raised on this lake knows there’s ice water on that shore. Thank you, but I’ll wait till July, maybe August.”
Eric bit back a muffled laugh. “That late in the summer?”
“I may be New England born and bred, but my blood thinks it has Caribbean roots.”
That made him smile. “I know what you mean. My grandfather lives in Florida. The waters are warm enough, but it still doesn’t compare to the warm shores of the islands.”
“You know,” Iris snapped her fingers, “this gives me an idea. When was the last time you built a sand castle on the beach?”
“Suffice it to say, a while.” He glanced at the mounds of sand piled near the stone wall. “Someone’s gonna have to get at least a little wet to get water to pack the sand.”
Iris nodded. “Chicken?”
“Is that a dare?”
Already big blu
e eyes rounded even larger. “Now would I do that?”
The natural beauty he’d observed just a few moments ago gave way to an impish grin and the twinkle in her eyes that made him take a single step away from the water. When she burst out laughing, he knew she had indeed been thinking exactly what he thought. Only his highly tuned instincts saved him from being toppled into the cold lake waters by a feisty nanny.
“Six years in the Navy.” He grinned back at her. “You’ll have to do better than that if you want to catch me off guard.”
Iris grinned back at him, those wide baby blues brimming with feigned innocence. The sound of pounding feet and chattering children broke the sense that they were the only two people on the lake.
“Miss Fiona said it was okay to come meet you at the water.” Emily pointed up the hill to Hart House. From the porch, Fiona Hart could be seen waving back.
“That is an important rule here at the lake.” Iris leveled her gaze on the two siblings. “You have to have an adult with you. There’s no coming to the water alone.”
The simple rule gave Eric his first teaching moment that didn’t leave him feeling like the proverbial fish out of water. Squatting in front of his two charges, he reached forward and took hold of each child’s hand. “That’s an important rule for being in the water everywhere, not just here at the lake. You always go in the water with a buddy. Never go in the water alone.”
From the corner of his eye he could see Iris nodding her approval. The recognition gave him an odd kick in the chest. What was that all about?
Shaking away the thought, he and the kids inspected the sand piles while Iris hurried up to the house to retrieve the necessary equipment for sand construction. She must have known exactly where her grandmother stored the goods because in a very short time she was hurrying down the path waving shovels and buckets and a bag of cups at them.
The first attempt at a foundational tower fell apart in front of him.
Practically rolling her eyes at him, Emily shook her head. “That’s not how you do it. You have to pack the sand really tight and just a little wet.”
For a six year old, Emily seemed to have the art of sand castle making down pat. A few efforts later and with a nod of approval from his niece, Eric reached for a large plastic cup and packed it full of sand to stack on top of the makings of a tower worthy of Rapunzel and her golden hair. He’d forgotten just how much fun playing on the beach could be. So used to being by the water only for work, he’d forgotten the simple joys of building a makeshift castle.
“That’s very good, Uncle Eric.” Emily almost smiled at him.
The words thank you barely made it past the lump in his throat and through his lips. This was the first time she’d mentioned him by name. Somehow, hearing her say Uncle Eric today felt way more important than when she’d muttered Uncle Eric the last time he’d seen her. Had it really been almost two years since that awkward Thanksgiving at his grandfather’s?
“Now you have to put little dents around the edge to make it look like a real castle,” Emily instructed without looking up from her construction.
Gavin paused from working on the moat with Iris, shovel in hand, and glanced over at Eric. “That’s the way Daddy does it.”
It took a few seconds for Gavin to realize he’d spoke of his father, and then another second to realize Daddy wasn’t here in the present anymore.
Before a sad moment washed away the fun they’d been having, Iris poured a half cup of water into the partially constructed moat. “Who was in charge of moats?”
“Me!” Emily shouted. “But Uncle Eric needs my help with the towers.”
Gavin hesitated, looked down at his shovel and then up at Emily again. “So I’m the new moat maker?”
A relieved breath of air swooshed out of Eric’s lungs. He didn’t know what the little boy was feeling or even thinking, but he’d happily chalk one up for distraction and a saved day. Now he only had another fourteen or so years to get through. How the heck was he going to manage?
***
“I promise, if you come back in the summer we’ll bury someone in the sand.” Iris held the screen door open for the children. The sand castle had turned into an entire compound and it was a total and complete success, even if perhaps the castle was tilted slightly to the left. What Iris had not anticipated, nor had Eric, was that the sandcastle building tradition in his sister’s family had ended with burying their father in the sand. Somehow that image simply didn’t jive with the picture Eric had painted of the stuffy Englishman.
“Can we come back in the summertime?” Gavin asked.
Surprise flashed in Eric’s eyes. Whether it was at the question of them coming back together or whether it was that he didn’t have an answer, she didn’t know. “Maybe,” he answered. Her money was on he didn’t have a clue.
Gavin nodded. “Will tomorrow be summer yet?”
Somehow Eric’s eyes grew even wider, and Iris had to smother a smile. Clearly the man had no idea the kind of questions children could come up with, or their lack of concept of time. Any parent who had ever ridden in a car with their young children on a road trip, and fended off the every five-minute question of “are we there yet,” understood his current dilemma. “No, sport.” Eric shook his head. “Summer is still a long time away.”
The munchkin was still peppering Eric with questions about the upcoming summer, and distance, and time, and possibly the rudimentary elements of the universe when they met up with Grams sitting by a window inside, easel set up, paintbrush in hand, and who knew what on the canvas. “If you wash your hands good and clean, I bet Lucy has a treat for you in the kitchen.”
Before anybody could say a word the two children nodded, beamed up at the older woman, and spinning on their heels, took off running for the washroom tucked under the grand staircase.
Grams smiled after the two small children. “It really has been too long since we’ve had small children in this house. It’s a nice change.”
Phone buzzing in his pocket, Eric looked down at the number, and let out a soft sigh before answering. “No.”
Even though the phone was not on speaker, Iris could still hear the response. “Don’t you want to hear what I have to say?”
“No.”
“Kurt can’t go either. He’s getting over an ear infection.”
“Sorry, man. I can’t go now. It’s not happening. What about Jim?”
“Are you really going to make me call him?”
“Yes. I am.”
“You do realize if he goes out there, there’s a really good chance we’ll need you to go back and fix it anyhow?”
“A risk I’m willing to take.”
Iris could hear the man’s groan on the other end of the phone loud and clear. “All right. I’ll call Jim.” The guy didn’t even bother with goodbye, the call simply disconnected.
Setting her paint pallet to one side, Grams looked up at him. “Problems?”
“Not really.” Eric shook his head.
Grams raised one eyebrow and stared at him in warm, patient silence.
“Well, maybe a little. I have a very specialized job, and I don’t work 9 to 5 like most people. I designed a specialized deep water drill mechanism. Whenever there’s a problem, I’m one of only a handful of people qualified to repair it. And I get paid very well to stop at the drop of a hat and go where I’m needed. By the time another repair is needed, Kurt will be over his infection and able to handle it. I’m not sure when I’ll be able to do that again, but the near immediate future won’t be it.”
“A lot of single parents find ways to make difficult jobs work.” Grams waved a hand at Iris. “My granddaughter has been practically raising other people’s children for years.”
“I’m not sure I like the sound of that.” Mostly because Iris wasn’t very fond of how the children had turned out. Rich helicopter parents with a bad habit of substituting money and objects for quality parenting time easily trumped her best efforts.
&nb
sp; Eric’s brows buckled in thought. “I guess a nanny wouldn’t be a bad idea.”
“Don’t look at me.” Iris waved her hands the way an umpire would for a runner safe at base. “It’s time to put my psych degree to better use.” Though heaven knows what job that would be. After all these years she found herself right back where she’d been after graduating college—facing years of post grad studies if she wanted to put her degree to work. Only then, when a chance to fill in for a wayward nanny for one of her parents’ friends fell in her lap, she’d jumped at the opportunity. The problem now was the same as back then, she had little interest in going back to school. Besides, at this point if she were a licensed counselor of any kind, she’d be more inclined to tell people to suck it up than to help them work out their issues.
“No,” Eric said. “I just mean that unless I plan on changing careers at this point—which since I like my job, I’d rather not—I am going to need someone I can trust to care for the children from time to time.” He heaved another slightly deeper sigh.
Something in the press of his lips told Iris he didn’t like that idea any better than she did. And why should it bother her, they weren’t her children.
Chapter Nine
So many things tumbled around inside Eric’s head. He’d had the children little more than a week, most of which was a blur. For the first time in his life he understood what the expression a fish out of water meant. In less than 24 hours, he’d received a phone call from an attorney—no, a solicitor—in London, learned of the fatal accident, and picked up two very quiet unaccompanied minors from the airport. From that moment on he’d been treading water.
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