by Karen Muir
“Is there something you want to talk about?”
“Nope.”
“Un-uh.”
Food might perk them up. “Let’s make popsicles.”
“Naw,” Harry said.
“We could walk to the library and get new books.”
“Too far,” Ian said.
Gina played her trump card. “I know. Let’s have a water fight!”
When the boys nixed their favorite pastime, she knew there was a problem. Maybe the miracle of the dirt would work for them, too. “Let’s plant those berries.”
Fetching her gardening tote from the porch, she set out the small gloves and trowels she had bought for the boys. They made no move to put them on.
She knelt before a clear spot in the flower bed and loosened the soil. After a moment, the boys joined her, scratching at the dirt with their small tools. They worked silently for a while, then Ian spoke. “We don’t have a mom.”
Her hands stilled.
“Her plane crashed,” Harry said.
She exhaled slowly. Here it was, acknowledged at last. “I’m sorry. That’s very sad.”
“She was nice,” Ian said.
“She brought us presents,” Harry added.
“She smelled good.”
“She was pretty.”
“She had a red car.”
“We’re never going to see her again.”
“I miss her,” Ian said. “But not our dad.”
“Our old dad,” Harry clarified. “He was mean.”
“Yeah. But now we’ve got Will. He’s our real dad.”
Gina listened until the boys fell silent. “Sounds like you had a really special mom.”
“Yeah.”
“If you like, I could write down the things you said.”
They stared at her blankly. “Why?”
“You have a lot of good memories you don’t want to forget.”
“We can’t read,” Harry said.
She fought a smile. “I can read them to you, and so can your dad. It won’t be long before you can read them yourself.” She set down her trowel. “I’ve been thinking of writing things down for myself. My mom died when I was eighteen.”
“Was she nice?” Ian asked.
“Oh yes,” she lied. She wasn’t about to tell them her mom was a drunk.
“Do you miss her?” Harry persisted.
She paused for a long moment. “Yes, I do.”
It surprised her to realize she spoke the truth. Always before, thoughts of her mother brought bitter images of drunken tirades and neglect and rekindled the anger she’d bottled up for so long.
But today she remembered the golden years spent with Jim, when her mother had been sober and caring. She’d baked Gina a chocolate birthday cake with twelve pink candles and sewn a green velvet dress for her first school dance. Once, the two of them had sat on a park bench, throwing bread crumbs to the ducks and watching the sun set on a shimmering lake.
Shedding her garden gloves, she stared down at the grass. Focused on her mother’s failures, she’d forgotten Rita’s days in the sun. Her mother had struggled with her addiction and ultimately succumbed to it, but she had loved Gina the best she could. Gina’s eyes burned with long-suppressed tears. She’d never cried for her mother before. Why now?
Because now she saw her as the victim of a cruel disease? Maybe seeing it in the boys’ life gave her insight. Their mother had been flawed, too, but what little she’d been able to give them had earned their undying love. She, too, had loved her children the best she could.
When Harry and Ian crept onto her lap, she put an arm around each of them and held them silently. Harry got restless first. “Read us some stories.”
They walked inside and sat on the couch, the boys pressed close to her. She kept her arms around them as they turned the pages to Brown Bear, Brown Bear, What Do You See? Tears pricked her eyes as she realized how close she had grown to them. She loved Harry and Ian like they were her own.
Guilt cut through her like a knife. It was wrong for her to be so important to them. They were vulnerable, grieving for their mother, and quitting as their nanny would make them even sadder. Her misguided mission had to end before Will learned of it. But she had to do it carefully, with a minimum of hurt. The boys still needed her, so she wouldn’t give her notice today, after all. But it had to be done soon.
…
The following day, the boys invited her to dinner. “We’ll cook something really good,” Harry promised.
She hesitated, thinking of a way to refuse. She and Will were on friendly, but strictly business, terms and had to keep it that way. He was sure to come up with a reason dinner tonight wouldn’t work. “You’ll have to ask your dad. He may have something planned.”
“He won’t,” Ian assured her. “We never go anywhere.”
But Will phoned soon after to talk with each boy. When they were done, both were frowning.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Dad has a new girlfriend.” Harry spat out the last word in disgust.
“Oh.” Will moved fast.
“We’re going to her house for dinner,” Ian said.
“Tonight?”
“Yeah.”
“Well…that should be fun.”
“We want to have you.”
Touched, she ruffled Ian’s hair. “There will be plenty of nights for me to come.”
“It’s not fair,” Harry said.
“We aren’t gonna like her,” Ian vowed.
Harry folded his arms. “We’re gonna track in mud.”
“And burp at the dinner table.”
She wanted to laugh at their four-year-old defiance and was tempted to let the girlfriend deal with their attitudes. But her conscience said no. She led them to the couch. “Let’s talk.”
When they were seated beside her, she said, “Your dad’s new girlfriend is probably very nice.”
“He doesn’t need a girlfriend. He’s got us,” Harry said.
“That’s why she’s having you for dinner. She knows how much your dad loves you, so it’s important to her that you like her, too.”
“So, if we don’t like her, Dad won’t, either?” Ian sounded hopeful.
She shook her head. “That’s not how it works. You’ve got to be fair. You can’t decide you don’t like someone before you even meet them.”
“So we can meet her, and then not like her?”
“No.” She prayed for inspiration. “Being fair means giving her a chance.”
Seeing their confusion, she put it another way. “What if you had never given me a chance? We would never have become such very good friends.”
Harry’s face lit. “Hey, I know. You can be Dad’s girlfriend.”
A bad idea she must nip in the bud. “Sorry, I already have a boyfriend.”
“You do?” The boys’ eyes rounded in surprise.
“Yes. I like him a lot, and he likes me, so we only date each other.” She rubbed her nose to see if it had grown. But what was one more lie, after the many she’d told? It was for a good cause.
Harry scowled. “Okay, we’ll go to the stupid dinner and give her a chance.” He folded his arms again. “Unless she’s mean.”
Gina nodded. “An excellent plan.” She wished the new girlfriend good luck. Tonight, she’d be on trial.
…
The following day, the boys’ attitude flipped. They told Gina in great detail about their dad’s new girlfriend, Bree.
“Bree’s got a pool, and we swam ’til it got dark.”
“Bree’s got a trampoline in her backyard. We jumped really high.”
“We had hot dogs for dinner.”
“And banana splits.”
All day it was Bree this and Bree that, until Gina wanted to yell, “Enough.” When the boys took their naps, she marched out to the backyard to wreak havoc on the weeds. She was tempted to give Will her notice today. She had a thesis to write, a career to resume, and she was wrenching d
andelions from the ground like a jealous fool. The boys would miss her briefly, but now they had Will. And Bree. She growled.
When Will came home that afternoon, she was sitting on the steps, watching the boys play in their sandbox. He sat beside her, stretched out his legs, and gave her a wry smile. “Thanks for talking to the boys about Bree.”
She nodded. “No problem.”
“Bree and I go back a long way. She was a cheerleader when I played college ball.”
A cheerleader? Gina, the nerdy botanist, smothered a groan.
“When I first talked to the boys about seeing someone, they didn’t take it well.”
“Harry and Ian have just found you,” she said. “When someone new comes on scene, it scares them. They think they’re going to lose you.”
His eyes widened with surprise. “That will never happen.”
“They need to hear that.”
“Point taken. I’ll talk to them tonight.” He leaned forward to pluck grass from the lawn and twirl the blades between his fingers. “The boys tell me you have a boyfriend.”
Gina paused. Her “boyfriend” had been a hoax to discourage the boys from matching her up with their dad. She should explain that to him now, yet he’d replaced her so quickly—with a cheerleader no less—she was tempted to embellish the story. A small payback for her bruised pride.
“I’m dating a painter,” she said. “His name is Leonardo.”
“Da Vinci?” He nodded. “I think I’ve heard of him.”
She laughed. “Leonardo Phipps. He writes poetry, too. I’ve always been drawn to creative men.”
“Really?” He scowled. “Those sensitive artist types make me feel like a knuckle-dragging Neanderthal. Can he change a tire?”
“Of course. Leonardo’s incredibly buff. Just a regular guy with six-pack abs.” Okay, you’re overdoing it. She smiled. “I’m sure you’d like him.”
“Indeed.” His voice was gruff. “I’m happy for you, Gina.” But he didn’t sound happy. “I just hope this guy is good enough for you.”
“Thanks.” She was touched by his words, but guilt plagued her the rest of the afternoon. She didn’t deserve his concern over her fake boyfriend. And she’d lied to him again. It had seemed like a harmless little fib at the time, but a lie was a lie. Will deserved much better from her. Driving home that evening, she vowed never to lie to him again.
Chapter Eight
Now that Will had a girlfriend, staying for dinner had seemed all right. But Gina soon discovered its dangers. She sat at the kitchen table while Ian and Harry prepped a dinner salad at the counter on stools. Will was making his first casserole.
Watching the busy threesome, she longed to join in. If she was Will’s wife, she’d share dinners with them every night. They’d go on outings together—to the beach or the park. At bedtime, they’d call good night to each other, Walton-like as they lay in their beds. The boys in their room, she and Will in his.
Heat coursed through her at the thought of sharing Will’s bed. He glanced her way and stilled, as though he sensed her fantasies. Damn. I’m blushing again.
Harry started toward the table, carefully balancing a bowl of black olives. He set it down next to Gina and said, “Bree is really big in front.” He cupped both hands on his chest to demonstrate.
“Really.” Just what she wanted to hear.
“Yeah. Why is that?”
“Well…” She shot Will an anxious glance. Knife in hand, he pointed toward her, as if to say, “Go for it.”
Turning back to Harry, she cleared her throat. “Those are called ‘breasts,’ Harry.”
“Breasts,” he repeated.
“Yes.”
“Why does she have them?” he asked.
“Breasts contain milk to feed babies.”
“Does Bree have a baby?”
“I don’t know.” She frowned. Will should be having this conversation, not her. Attempting to draw him in, she called across the room. “Does Bree have a baby, Will?”
“No, she doesn’t.” He walked to the refrigerator and took out a carton of milk. She watched in openmouthed disbelief as he poured a tall glass, lifted it high to salute her, and then drank.
Ian piped up. “Do you have breasts, Gina?”
Groaning inwardly, she faced his wide-eyed curiosity. As a scientist, she believed in giving children the facts about sex when they asked. In a matter-of-fact manner, with careful forethought. Harry and Ian had caught her by surprise, and their father—the milk-gulping clown—was no help. Even so, she gave the boys a basic explanation of babies and breasts.
She lost their rapt attention when helicopter rotors thumped overhead, and they dashed outside to catch a glimpse. Slumping with relief, she turned to Will, who leaned against the counter watching her. “Still thirsty?” she asked.
He smiled and set down his empty glass. “You looked so tense when they asked about Bree’s boobs—”
“Breasts,” she corrected.
“Breasts, right. I thought a little humor might ease the situation.”
“Ease it for who?” she asked.
“For you, of course.”
She shook her head. “I think you’re the one who’s uncomfortable with the subject.”
Laughing, he pushed off the counter. “No way.”
“No? Glad to hear it.” She stood and walked toward him. “Because their next question will probably be ‘where do babies come from?’ And you get to handle that one.”
He stiffened. “You’d do a much better job.”
“Oh no.” It was her turn to laugh. “You need the practice.” Ignoring his startled expression, she picked up the milk carton and filled the glasses at the table.
“Got any books on the birds and the bees?”
“I’ll go online and find something,” she said.
“Thanks.” He rubbed his jaw, visibly shaken.
Their eyes met often during dinner. When they both reached for the salad, his fingers brushed hers, and a jolt of sensual awareness shot through her. The heated look in his eyes said he felt it, too. She looked away quickly. Will might have a girlfriend, but she and he still needed to be careful around each other.
Finished with dinner, the boys and Will put away the food and washed dishes. The smooth way they worked together told her this was a nightly ritual. The table cleared, they played Go Fish in teams. Will looped his arm around Harry, who was perched on his lap, as they studied their cards. She did the same with Ian. The deepening bond between them made her happy. And sad. Happy they were a family now, but sad she would never be part of it.
Ian looked up at her. “Me and Harry are going to be five.”
“Wow.”
“Bree’s having a birthday party at her house.”
She kept her eyes on her cards, feeling left out. Knowing she had no right to. “Harry, do you have a seven?”
“Go Fish,” he said. “We want you to come.”
“I’d love to.” She drew a card and smiled at his invitation. She wouldn’t miss the boys’ party for the world, no matter who gave it.
“Be sure to bring Leonardo,” Will added.
Meeting his frown, she shook her head. “I’m not sure he can spare the time.”
“Tell him it’s important. We all want to meet him.”
Will had that Terminator look in his eyes again and seemed determined to check out her new beau. She prayed her little white lie wouldn’t come back to bite her.
…
The following evening, the sunset was a swirl of pink clouds. Will sat in a lounge chair beside a bikini-clad Bree, an iced drink in his hand, as Ian and Harry splashed happily at their feet in Bree’s pool. Soft rock music pulsed in the background. “This is nice.”
Bree arched an eyebrow. “It could get nicer.”
He smiled but didn’t reply. Bree was cheerful and fun, and initially he’d envisioned a casual relationship between them, with no strings or demands. They’d been a couple briefly in college.
But Bree was hurting from the recent breakup with her fiancé, and the last thing she needed was another Mr. Wrong in her life. A guy like him who had another woman stuck in his head.
Sipping his drink, he watched Harry’s frenzied dogpaddle. “Harry, come back to this end of the pool.”
Watching his son comply, his thoughts returned to Gina. Recently, her frumpy outfits had given way to tank tops and shorts. The new man in her life had prompted the change, no doubt. The sensitive artist with the six-pack abs.
Unfortunately, the change had a powerful effect on him, too, and triggered fantasies of making hot love with his nanny. A risk he couldn’t take. Becoming Gina’s lover would threaten the important role she played in his boys’ lives.
His thoughts were interrupted when Bree’s older brother, Roderick, sat down in the lounge chair next to Will’s. Blond and tanned, Roderick resembled a thirty-something beach bum. He’d been a ladies’ man all through college, and Will had no use for him.
“Good-looking boys you’ve got there, Will,” Roderick said.
“Thanks.”
“I never thought of you as the fatherly type.”
“We all have to grow up sometime.”
“Not me.” Roderick grinned. “I’m holding out, like Peter Pan.”
“I think you mean Casanova.”
He laughed at Will’s jibe. “Works for me.” He rose and gave Bree a wave. “Gotta go, Sis.”
“Bye,” she called after him.
“Catch you later,” he said to Will.
Will nodded.
“It’s too bad you and Roderick never hit it off,” Bree said.
“We’re opposites.” Will put it kindly, knowing she adored her brother.
“He’s changed a lot.”
“Has he?” Will couldn’t see it.
Bree’s red-lacquered fingertips slid up his bare thigh. Will caught her hand just before it crept beneath his shorts.
She sighed. “You’re such a grumpy bear these days. You need to loosen up.”
“Sorry.”
She sighed and retreated to her lounge chair. Was her come-on for real? Bree liked to tease, but her observation was dead-on. He really did need to loosen up. Getting laid would certainly help. But the only woman he wanted was the one he couldn’t have.
…
Driving home, Gina cursed her foolishness. Ian’s and Harry’s birthday party was next Saturday. Will had called her bluff regarding Leonardo and expected her to show up with her new guy.
