A pucker formed between Dawn’s eyebrows as she peered into the living room. “Where did the chairs go?”
“We were only renting them for the wedding.” Melissa closed the door behind her guests. “It’s nice to have the couch in its proper place.”
Dawn sighed. “I miss the flowers.”
“So do I,” Melissa agreed.
“Something smells wonderful.” Edmond inhaled for emphasis. “Very spicy. Though I’d hoped Karen would wait to show me how to fix the chicken.”
“She had to marinate it for a few hours,” she explained.
“It has to marinate?” He ducked his head. “This is more complicated than I expected.”
“It’s worth it,” Dawn told him.
“I’m sure it is.” He gave her shoulder a pat. “Your uncle’s a beginner chef. Very beginner.”
“That’s okay,” his niece said earnestly. “We all have to start somewhere.”
He gave a startled laugh, and Melissa grinned. “You’re right, Dawn.”
“She often is,” he said, flexing his shoulders. He must be sore; Melissa’s mind flashed to their erotic massage.
“I want to visit your room, Aunt Lissa.” Dawn said.
Edmond’s eyes narrowed, but since they hadn’t broken the news to Dawn that her aunt was supposed to keep a distance, what reason could they give? “Sure.”
“I’ll try to learn something in the kitchen,” Edmond said. “Dawn, don’t stay up there too long. You’re the expert on peanut-butter chicken and we may need your advice.”
“I have to read Aunt Lissa the letter Mommy wrote.” From her small patent-leather purse, Dawn retrieved a wrinkled sheet of paper.
“You heard from Barbara?” This must have been a relief to Dawn. “How is she?”
“The letter arrived at my parents’ house yesterday.” Edmond explained. “She seems in upbeat spirits, considering.” Or she’d tried to appear that way for her daughter’s sake, Melissa gathered.
“Don’t tell her what it says!” Taking her aunt’s hand, Dawn tugged her toward the stairs. “I’ll read it to the babies, too.”
“I’m sure they’ll like that.” And so will I.
* * *
WHILE KAREN SHOWED Edmond how to dredge the marinated chicken in flour and fry batches of it in oil, Lucky chopped vegetables from the garden. He had a large pile, including carrots, onions, zucchini, green beans, tomatoes, yellow squash and assorted greens.
“I’ll stir-fry these with tofu, since I’m a vegetarian,” the male nurse explained when Edmond asked what he was preparing.
“Zora fixed a salad earlier,” Karen added, repositioning the clip that held her reddish-brown hair out of her face.
“Where’s Rod?” Edmond missed the colorful anesthesiologist, who’d provided humorous commentary during yesterday’s move, although he hadn’t done much heavy lifting.
“He took Jack and Anya out for dinner,” Lucky said. “There’s just five of us tonight.”
“Oh, is that all?” Edmond murmured.
Karen laughed. “The house feels empty without a crowd. I appreciate you and your niece joining us.”
“I can’t tell you how great this is for us.” With Isabel’s input, he’d planned a week’s worth of meals. Preparing them still loomed as a major challenge.
While the chicken was frying, Karen carried dishes into the dining room to set the table. Edmond assisted Lucky at a second cutting board. “There sure is a lot of chopping involved, not that I’m complaining.”
“That’s the fun part about cooking vegetables.” The man’s knife flew, dicing a white globe that might be a turnip. “You can start with a basic sauce, such as sweet and sour, and throw in whatever’s handy. If you have a couple of this and a few of that, it all goes into the dish.”
Karen returned for silverware. “Did I hear you say earlier that you’re arranging a get-together with the Adams girls?”
“Dawn asked to play with her friends again,” Edmond confirmed. “I was planning on taking them to a workshop to learn how to sew doll clothes.”
“Sounds fun,” she said.
“To you maybe,” Lucky muttered.
“How does this playdate thing work, anyway?” Edmond asked. “Do the parents stick around?”
“Depends on the activity, I presume,” she said. “Since I don’t have kids, my knowledge is theoretical.”
Lucky handed Edmond several large tomatoes. “Don’t chop these too small. Quarters will be fine.”
“Start by inserting the point of the knife,” Karen warned. “If you slice straight down and the knife isn’t super-sharp, you might use too much pressure. Then, squish.”
Edmond glanced at the red splotch blossoming on his apron. “Too late.”
“You’ll live,” she assessed, and walked back into the dining room.
Following her directions, he did a neater job with the rest of the tomatoes. Then he started in on a carrot. That wouldn’t squirt him.
“Rather than sewing classes, why not volunteer at the animal shelter?” Lucky said. “More fun for everyone, and you might do some good.”
“I’ll look into it.” The prospect of cleaning cages didn’t thrill Edmond. Still, he wasn’t eager to spend an afternoon hunched over a table in a doll shop, either.
“Word of warning,” Karen interjected as she reentered. “Rod volunteers at the shelter on Saturday afternoons. Running into him could be awkward.”
“He should stay home that day.” Lucky had no hesitation about ordering people around, Edmond mused.
“Surely it isn’t that terrible if he runs into his daughters,” he said.
“Vince has threatened to slap him with an injunction.” Karen scowled. “I try not to hate that man, but it’s hard.”
“I have to admit, I’m torn, too.” Lucky set his pot of vegetables on the stove. “An expansion of the men’s fertility program could mean a lot to my career. And it’d be a good thing for our patients,” he added. “But the guy’s a creep.”
“It’s too bad.” Rod obviously loved his daughters, regardless of not being related to them genetically. Just as Melissa loves her babies. Edmond had grown up hearing the philosophy that blood was thicker than water. Technically, that might be true, but now he was viewing relationships in a different light.
Dawn and Melissa appeared. “I’m hungry,” the little girl announced. “Aren’t you hungry, Aunt Lissa?”
“Pregnant women are always hungry,” Melissa said.
“That’s ’cause you’re feeding the babies.” Beaming, Dawn patted her aunt’s belly.
“The chicken’s done.” With tongs, Karen transferred the pieces to a plate. “Would somebody please call Zora?”
“Zora!” Dawn yelled.
Everybody laughed. Edmond made a mental note that kids tended to take things literally. Or maybe his niece was joking. She had all sorts of hidden qualities, he was happily discovering.
* * *
EVERYONE DUG INTO the meal with enthusiasm. Flavored with allspice and cayenne as well as buttermilk and peanut butter, the chicken proved delicious. The prep time had been rather long, in Melissa’s view, but this was a special occasion.
Overexcited by the day’s events, Dawn ate only a few mouthfuls before plying Zora with questions about her twins. In short order, the little girl learned that they were a girl and a boy, that Zora hadn’t selected names yet and that the father was her ex-husband.
“You used to be married like Uncle Eddie and Aunt Lissa?” Dawn asked.
“Kind of.” Zora shifted uncomfortably.
“Has he picked out names?” the little girl pressed.
“He doesn’t know he’s going to be a daddy,” Zora said.
“Not all former spouses get alon
g as well as Uncle Eddie and I do,” Melissa advised.
“Also, your uncle’s a decent chap who takes care of his family,” Lucky put in. “Whereas Andrew...”
“Lay off him, would you?” In her prickly mood, Zora’s short ginger hair gave her an electrified appearance.
“I should expect you’d be heaping insults on him, considering how he’s treated you,” Lucky said.
“That’s my decision,” Zora answered.
Melissa toyed with her fork, reluctant to interfere yet unhappy that the pair were sniping. For some reason, Lucky seemed to take Zora’s situation personally, although neither of them showed any romantic inclination toward the other.
“As long as your attorney’s here, why not ask him about notifying Andrew that you’re pregnant?” Lucky persisted. “I’ll bet the father has a legal right to be informed.”
“Does he?” Zora addressed Edmond.
He finished a mouthful of Lucky’s tofu dish. “When the baby’s born, you’ll be asked to identify the father for the birth records.”
“But then Betsy will find out, and she’ll tell him,” Zora protested.
Dawn listened wide-eyed. “Who’s Betsy?”
“Andrew’s mother,” Lucky said. “She’s the nursing supervisor at the hospital. And if you ask me, a grandmother has a right to know, too.”
Karen clinked her spoon against her plate. “Lucky, Zora’s told you to stay out of it. Being her housemate doesn’t give you big-brother privileges.”
“Someone has to put her straight,” Lucky grumped. “Otherwise she’ll go right on making one bad choice after another.”
“Like my mommy,” Dawn said. “That’s why she’s in prison. She says so in her letter.”
Zora, who’d opened her mouth to reply, turned her attention to the little girl. “I’m sorry your mom’s in trouble. But Lucky has no right to compare my situation to criminal activity.”
“I didn’t,” he protested.
Karen slapped the table, rattling the dishes. “Enough!”
To distract her niece, Melissa said. “Dawn, you’ve hardly tasted your chicken.”
The little girl heaved a melodramatic sigh. “Why do grown-ups always stop talking at the most interesting parts?”
Melissa wished she had an answer. No one else did, either, until Edmond spoke.
“As grown-ups, we should be mature enough to solve our problems without fighting.” He traced a finger over his niece’s temple, brushing away a curl that had drifted close to her mouth. “We should show children the right way to work out differences, which is to be kind and respectful.”
“That’s not how people act on TV,” she protested. “They do mean things to each other.”
“Which is an excellent argument for avoiding the boob tube,” Lucky said.
Dawn giggled. “The boob tube! That’s funny.”
“TVs used to have an actual tube inside, called a cathode ray tube,” Edmond informed his niece. “That might be where the term comes from.”
“What’s inside them now?” Dawn popped a forkful of salad in her mouth.
“Something called a liquid crystal display,” Lucky said. “I won’t go into the tedious details, mostly because I’d have to research them.”
From there, the conversation veered to speculation about the upcoming fall TV season. Her eyes glazing over, Dawn focused on her meal.
Melissa wasn’t sure boring a child was the best way to avoid ticklish topics. For the moment, however, a whole tableful of adults had no better idea. How was Edmond going to manage parenting on his own?
* * *
THE ALARM WOKE Edmond an hour early Monday morning. He’d set it early so he had extra time to introduce Dawn to sports camp. Even though he’d signed her up online, he wasn’t about to drop off a seven-year-old without a close look at the situation. Also, afterward he had to prepare for his office hours at the hospital, with several consultations scheduled as a result of Friday’s talk.
Blinking his eyes open in the unfamiliar light of his new bedroom, he switched off the alarm and stretched. Ouch. His muscles ached in places he hadn’t been aware of since he’d done construction in college.
Too bad Melissa wasn’t here to massage him. And kiss him. And... But they’d both understood that couldn’t continue. Still, this wasn’t a bad way to start the week, swinging out of bed to the tantalizing scents of bacon frying and coffee brewing.
Wait a minute. Who was cooking breakfast?
The last trace of sleepiness vanished as Edmond leaped to his feet, pulled a bathrobe over his pajamas and raced down the hall.
Chapter Fourteen
Dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, Dawn stood on a stool by the stove, flipping bacon over with a fork. The frying pan sizzled and spattered. Nearby, slices of bread had emerged nicely browned from the toaster, while a full pot of coffee hissed as the last few drops fell into it from the coffeemaker.
Edmond’s urge to yell “Stop!” faded as he caught his niece’s proud smile and heard her cheerful greeting. “Good morning, Uncle Eddie!”
“Good morning, cutie.” He debated whether to order her away from the stove before she burned herself. However, he hated to spoil her happy mood. Also, since he had no experience in frying bacon, his fumbling might only emphasize that she’d been right to take charge. “Thank you for fixing breakfast.”
“It was fun. You bought my favorite stuff.” After switching off the burner, she lifted slices of bacon and set them atop paper towels. “I love bacon!”
“Me, too.” Still debating how to approach the topic of safety, Edmond took out plates and napkins, along with flatware.
“There’s coffee.” Dawn regarded him expectantly, waiting for a compliment.
“You’re a talented little girl.” He poured himself a cup. “You don’t...do you drink this stuff?”
Her nose wrinkled. “Ugh.”
Thank goodness. There was one bad habit he didn’t have to break her of. After taking a sip, Edmond said, “This is great.”
“Daddy showed me how to make it nice and strong.” Dawn fetched a tub of margarine from the refrigerator along with a carton of juice.
After opening a jar of orange marmalade, Edmond sat at the table across from her. “Did you cook for your parents every morning?”
“Only when they were over hung,” she said.
“Hungover?” The revelation chilled him. “Both your mommy and your daddy?”
Nodding, she spread marmalade on her toast. “This smells like oranges. I never had it before.”
“I like it better than grape jelly.”
She took a bite. “Me, too.”
Edmond ate in silence for a while, processing what he’d learned. He’d always assumed that his sister, for all her faults, took decent care of her daughter. Instead, he’d just learned that Barbara had drunk to excess and allowed her little girl to risk serious burns. Simon had actually instructed Dawn in brewing coffee so the child could cater to him, instead of being concerned about her well-being. And his sister had allowed that, too.
With a jolt, he reflected that if Barbara did appeal and gained release, he wasn’t about to relinquish Dawn without making absolutely certain she’d have proper supervision. If his sister sought to reclaim her daughter, he’d be even tougher on her than child protective services would be.
To his niece, he said, “You’re a wonderful little girl and I appreciate this breakfast.”
Dawn’s forehead creased with worry. Clearly she’d detected a “but” fast approaching.
“From now on, it’s fine for you to get out cereal, bread, milk and juice, but please don’t use the stove or the oven when I’m not around,” he said. “If you want to set up the coffee, that’s okay, but don’t turn it on.”
H
er mouth trembled. “Why?”
Edmond hadn’t meant to upset her. “You didn’t do anything wrong. But even though you’re a good cook, you might get burned, and it’s my job to protect you.” Another point occurred to him. “No using sharp knives unless I’m around, either.”
“That’s silly.” Her mouth clamped shut, as if she were afraid to say more.
“You can still cook when I’m with you.”
“What about when you’re sleeping?” she demanded.
Clearly, his point hadn’t sunk in. What did parents do in such a situation? Simply ordering her to obey might backfire.
In persuading a jury, he’d learned that people responded best when explanations made sense to them. “Here’s the thing,” Edmond told his niece. “Family services has to make sure I’m a fit guardian for you. If they find out I’m letting you do something they consider dangerous, I could get in trouble.”
“Will they take me away?” Tears glimmered in her eyes.
“That’s not likely,” Edmond said. “But it’s important that we follow the rules. You won’t always know what those are, so if I correct you, please don’t assume I’m angry.”
“You’re not mad at me?”
“Oh, honey, no.”
When she scooted onto his lap, Edmond hugged the little girl, and discovered his eyes were wet.
In his ear, she murmured, “Can I still use the toaster?”
Edmond laughed. “You bet. Just keep a close eye on it. And thank you again for breakfast.”
Maybe he wasn’t so bad at this guardian thing after all.
* * *
THE SHOUTS OF children and coaches rang through the community college gymnasium as Edmond walked in. Dawn, marching beside him with her backpack, grabbed his hand and hung on tight.
Around him milled parents with their kids, who ranged from preschoolers up through sixth graders. Edmond noted banners designating which age groups were to gather in what parts of the gym. College-age counselors in red T-shirts cheerfully directed kids, as well.
The website said the camp had been established both to keep kids active during the summer and to train college students who planned to work in physical education. Parents seemed willing to trust their kids to these youngsters and depart, but Edmond gazed around until he spotted a man of about thirty in a black T-shirt bearing the red-lettered words Head Honcho. Roughly Edmond’s height, the man had the build of a wrestler. He must be Peter Gladstone, the director.
The Surprise Triplets Page 14
