by Arlene James
He stood there, arms outstretched as if reaching for her, body clamoring, senses reeling. Gradually his head cleared. Mattie stared at him, mouth and eyes wide, as the reality of what he’d done hit him like a blow from a sledgehammer. He had kissed the baby-sitter—the very young, very impressionable Mattie—and she was looking at him now as if he’d hung the moon!
“Oh, Orren!”
Horror swiftly descended. He hadn’t just kissed her; he’d touched her breast! “No!” he gasped.
Mattie put her hands together and smiled serenely, as if she’d known all along how devastatingly electric a kiss between them would be. He felt suddenly as if someone had yanked the ground right out from under him.
“No, no, no, no, no!”
She shook her head pityingly and said with terrible patience, “Orren, listen to me.”
He literally clapped his hands over his ears. “No way! Oh my God! No way is this going to happen!”
She folded her arms, smirking censoriously. “It already has happened.”
“No, it hasn’t!” he exclaimed. “And it’s not going to again!”
She covered her mouth with a hand, and he had the sneaking suspicion that she was hiding a smile, but he had no time to consider the ramifications of that. There were things she had to understand right now, this very instant. He cleared his throat, prepared to be very firm.
“Number one,” he said loudly, “I’ve sworn off women! I don’t need that kind of complication in my life. It’s already complicated enough, thank you very much. And number two, even if I hadn’t and it wasn’t, it wouldn’t be you! You’re too young!”
“I’m almost twenty,” she argued lightly, dropping her hand.
“You’re nineteen! That’s a teenager, and that’s too young!”
She sighed. “I’m not—”
“Number three!” he interrupted, holding up three fingers to underscore the point. “I don’t have time for it!”
“I want to help you have time,” she said reasonably, but he thrust his hand in her face before she could say more, four fingers up this time.
“Four, I won’t put my kids through it,” he said flatly. “I won’t get them thinking there’s something between us, I won’t get their hopes up like that! It wouldn’t work out, and they’d just be disappointed, and I won’t do it to them! They’ve already lost one mother. They won’t lose another!”
“No, they won’t,” she said quietly. “I agree with you there.”
He blinked in surprise. “You do?”
She lifted her chin and her eyebrows simultaneously. “Of course, I do. You can’t think I’d hurt the children.”
He shook his head, a hand stealing up to the back of his neck. “Th-then you agree we can’t—We won’t—” He took a deep breath. “You understand that it can’t happen again?”
She smiled at him, a very Madonnalike smile, all knowing, serene, accepting, and flatly said, “No.”
He gaped at her. “No? No?”
She turned on one heel, flipped him a smile over one shoulder and said gaily as she sauntered away, “No.”
He stared mutely as she walked to the steps, climbed them, opened the door and went inside. No! No? He groaned, imagining a Mattie now intent on making him want her, on provoking a repeat performance, as it were, of what had happened earlier. Somehow it was no longer at all difficult to envision Mattie with a “come-hither” smile playing about her lips, emerald eyes smoldering, mouth parting in anticipation of his kiss. He put his hands to his head. Dear heaven, he’d created a monster!
As if to confirm his fears, the door to the house opened, and Mattie stuck her head out. He dropped his hands, glaring at her. She put on a stern face and hissed, “And speaking of disappointing these kids, the room stays as it is, so just deal with it!” She slammed the door shut again before he could work up any outrage at all, so he didn’t even bother to try. Instead, he admitted ruefully that she’d neatly punched holes in his prideful argument about the room with his own insistence that his children be protected from disappointment. Well, all right then. He couldn’t have it both ways, so neither could she. The room remained as it was, and he’d chop off his hands before he touched her again. That way, everyone was safe—wasn’t he, er, they? He shook his head, pushing away thoughts of how delicious she’d felt in his arms. It simply wouldn’t work; he believed it body and soul. Well, mind and soul, anyway. If it took a little longer to convince his body, then so be it, for he would not become romantically involved with Matilda Kincaid. Whatever it took.
“When’s Daddy coming home?”
Mattie smiled encouragingly at Jean Marie and brushed a wisp of curly, red hair from her forehead. “I don’t know, honey. He said he’d be working late, but he didn’t know what time he might be able to get away.”
To her relief and delight, Jean Marie leaned into her and looped an arm loosely about her waist, whining, “I wanna ask Daddy if I can go to Ramona’s birthday party.”
Mattie hugged her, using the need to support Jean Marie’s upper body weight as an excuse. “Oh, I think it’ll be okay.”
“But I got to take a gift,” Jean Marie pointed out.
And gifts cost money, Mattie thought. She didn’t even consider buying one herself for the child to take to the party, but maybe there was another way. “Tell you what, I have an idea for a really spectacular gift, and it won’t cost any money, but you will have to pay for it.”
Jean Marie curled up her nose. “If it don’t cost money, then how can I pay for it?”
“We’ll barter.”
“Huh?”
Mattie laughed at the screwed-up face that reflected Jean Marie’s confusion. “It works like this, I’ll give you two manicures if you’ll give me two hours of work.”
“What’s a mannercure?”
She picked up Jean Marie’s small, dry hand and turned it over in her own. “Well, that’s where I soak your hands in a special lotion until they’re soft as silk. Then I push back your little cuticles…” She demonstrated on two fingers. “And I paint your nails, oh, electric blue, maybe, or lime green, even yellow. Then I make delicate designs on them with glitter and fix them with hardener. And you have the most spectacular hands to show off at that party next week.”
Jean Marie’s eyes were wide with wonder. “You do it twice for both hands, so they’re the same?”
Mattie shook her. “No, one manicure is for you, all ten fingers, and the other is for your friend Ramona. But you have to work to pay for them, two full hours. Agreed?”
Jean Marie was hopping up and down on her feet. “Oh, boy! Oh, boy! It’ll be so cool! Ramona will flip! Thank you, Mattie! Thank you!”
Mattie laughed, lifting first one foot and then the other in an effort to spare them torture. “Remember what I said about the work, now. I expect two full hours.”
“Yes! Yes! Yes! I promise!”
“Okay, here’s what we’ll do, then. We’ll make a special certificate announcing Ramona’s gift, and you can give her that at the party. You can show her your nails, too, so she’ll know just what she’s getting. And we’ll leave a space on the certificate for the date and time when she can get her manicure—I’ll work that out with Ramona’s mother. Then we’ll pick her up and bring her here for her manicure.”
“And I can show her my room!” Jean Marie enthused.
“And you can show her your room,” Mattie agreed.
Jean Marie leaped up and threw her arms around Mattie’s neck, nearly toppling them both. Laughing, Mattie caught her and stumbled back against the kitchen counter, while Jean Marie pecked kisses on her cheek and chin. “Oh, I love you, Mattie. Thank you! Thank you!”
Mattie closed her eyes and squeezed the child tight, whispering, “I love you, too, Red.”
When she opened her eyes again, Orren was standing in the doorway, a look of such exhaustion and defeat on his face that the tears burning the backs of her eyes suddenly threatened to flood her cheeks. Sensing his presence, Jean
Marie whipped her head around, promptly abandoned Mattie and ran to throw her arms around her father’s upper legs, babbling her news. Orren struggled to follow the flow of his daughter’s happy words, nodding and murmuring appropriate phrases as he ushered Jean Marie deeper into the house and closed the door.
“And I’m gonna pay for it with two hours of hard work,” Jean Marie promised, finally winding down.
“That’s great, Red,” Orren told her. “That’s real fine. I bet Ramona will like your gift best of all.”
“Then it’s okay?” Mattie asked, stepping forward.
His glance bounced off her, decidedly cool. “Sure. Why not?”
She tried not to let it hurt. She knew he was struggling not to let his feelings for her blossom, and she knew, deep down, that he was going to lose that struggle, in which case she could well afford to be generous. “I put back dinner for you.”
“Thanks.”
Jean Marie scampered off to spread her news, knowing that Chaz could be found in his “room” with a book.
“Yancy and Candy are asleep,” Mattie told Orren as she brought his dinner out of the oven. “I promised them you’d kiss them good-night when you came in and make them a special breakfast in the morning.”
Orren nodded grimly, saying, “I’ll set the alarm a little early,” as he moved to the sink to wash up.
“I already have everything ready for you,” she informed him, pointing to a small sheet of paper on the counter, “and I’ve written the instructions down.”
He muttered something unintelligible to that. She decided to take it as grateful assent and carefully placed his dinner plate on the table between the folded napkin and the flatware. She pulled forward the small bouquet of wild flowers stuffed into a jelly jar of water decorated with a ribbon woven of grass. “The kids did this for you.”
He turned a look over his shoulder and smiled as he dried his hands. “That’s sweet.”
“They’re sweet kids,” she said wistfully.
He turned away. “Yes.”
Knowing full well that he wouldn’t sit down at the table until she moved away from it, Mattie went to the corner of the kitchen and picked up her bag from the counter next to the refrigerator. “Guess I’ll be going.”
He went to his chair and pulled it out, saying nothing. She hefted the straps of her bag over one shoulder and moved to the door. He sat down and picked up his fork. She opened the door and stepped through it, but she couldn’t go without one more word. The kids had told her that he often stayed up late watching television after his long hours of work, and it was telling on him. She backed up and said gently, “Try to get some rest. You need it.”
She knew that he heard her, for he went absolutely still, but he said nothing. She sighed, knowing that it was deliberate. Understanding, but determined as well, she said, “Good night, Orren.”
She went out and pulled the door closed gently behind her.
Orren sat and stared unseeingly at the food on his plate. Meat loaf. Corn. Mustard greens. Oven-roasted potatoes. Mattie was a good cook. Mattie was a good housekeeper. Mattie was a good baby-sitter. She was driving him nuts, and in many ways he wished he’d never laid eyes on her. But his kids were so happy with her. He’d never seen Red so happy as she was just now. His heart squeezed when he remembered how she’d told Mattie that she loved her. She hardly talked of Gracie anymore. He didn’t know if that was good or bad. He only knew that he wasn’t going to make the same kinds of mistakes that he’d made in the past. He wasn’t going to fall in love with the wrong woman.
Mattie was too young. She couldn’t even know yet what she wanted out of life, and he knew that from experience. Gracie had once thought that she wanted to be a wife and a mother, but she had been too young to realize what she was getting into, and she’d been nearly twenty-one at the time, to his nineteen. Orren sighed and made himself eat, even though his appetite had vanished when he’d stepped through the door and found his prickly Red wrapped around Mattie. He didn’t want her to win over Red. That was hitting too close to home. If she could win over the hard case, the rest of them were just putty in her hands. But they were young hands, much too young, despite their talent and gentleness. In a flash of memory, he felt those hands on his body again. Ruthlessly, he pushed the remembered sensations away. Too young. She was just too young to be saddled with four kids and a worn-out man whose heart could no longer aspire to the higher emotions. She was too young, and he was too tired, and that was that.
He polished off his dinner and carried the plate to the sink, but he didn’t rinse or wash it. He was just too tired, and seeing the kids before they went to sleep was more important. Besides, that’s what he paid Mattie for, to cook and clean and watch the kids. He went in Chaz’s temporary room and sat on the bed and talked to Chaz and Jean Marie, hearing about their day and the birthday party invitation that had come in the mail for Jean Marie and the book Mattie had loaned Chaz. He promised to watch a movie with them on the VCR in the living room. Then he went in and kissed his baby girls, careful not to wake them. He stood for long minutes and watched them sleep, loving them so much and wishing he could do more than work too much and kiss them in their sleep and make a breakfast somebody else had planned. He wished Gracie had seen in them what he did, instead of just the burden, and he was so tired that tears gathered in his eyes. He sniffed them away and went to shower.
When he came out of the bathroom, dressed in gym shorts and a T-shirt, the kids had run the movie tape past the previews and warnings and had paused it on the first scene. He snuggled down on the sofa between them and prepared to watch a movie about an Australian cowboy that he’d already seen dozens of times. They were deep into the movie, and he was struggling to stay awake when Chaz suddenly looked up at him and asked, “Dad, why don’t you like Mattie anymore?”
Jolted wide awake now, Orren sat up straight and cleared his throat. “What makes you think I don’t like Mattie?”
Chaz stared back solemnly. “She says you don’t.”
Orren tamped down a spurt of irritation. “I don’t dislike Mattie,” he said carefully. “I just don’t…” He swallowed what he’d been about to say. “She’s the baby-sitter, Chaz. You guys like her, don’t you?”
Chaz nodded. “Yes, we like her.”
“We love her,” Jean Marie said, folding her arms implacably even as she stared at the television set.
Orren felt dangerously close to shattering and flying into pieces. He struggled for composure. “Well, then, there’s no problem, is there?”
They both stared up at him, their frank eyes saying clearly that they didn’t understand, but they weren’t going to argue. What else could he say to them? That he refused to fall in love again? That their mother had ruined him for other women? He told them exactly what he’d been telling himself. “Mattie’s too young.”
“Too young for what?” Chaz wanted to know.
Orren felt heat climb into his face and was thankful for the dimmed lights. “T-too young to s-stay on permanently,” he said. “In the fall, you’ll all be going back to school, Mattie included, and that’ll be the end of it.”
“Will Mattie come back next summer?” Jean Marie asked softly, her voice revealing naked hope.
Orren swallowed painfully. “I don’t know, Red. We’ll see.” She turned back to stare at the TV, but not quickly enough to keep him from catching the glimmer of tears in her eyes. He dropped an arm around her, pulling her close to his side, and said, “But there’s no point in worrying about that now. Fall’s still a long way off yet, and you’ve got to earn that manicure for Ramona’s birthday.”
Jean Marie smiled and nodded, and this time her interest in the movie was genuine. Orren made himself relax. Fall wasn’t really so far away. He could hold on that long. Couldn’t he? Yes, for the kids’ sakes, he definitely could. He pushed away thoughts of what would come afterward, of the difficulties that lay ahead. No point in borrowing trouble. Who was it, he wondered, who’d said that t
oday has troubles enough of its own? Boy, was he right, whoever he was.
Mattie tapped lightly, then opened the door with her key and let herself in. Orren stood at the stove in his stocking feet. His hair was all mussed. He hadn’t shaved. His T-shirt was on inside out. He dropped the spatula, splattering himself with egg, and glared at her. “Mattie!” He lowered his voice to a rough, accusing hiss. “What are you doing here so early?”
He hadn’t lightened up in the least. In truth, she had expected no less. It took an awfully hardheaded man to raise four children on his own, and once such a man made his mind up to something, well, it was bound to be difficult to change it, but change it she would, one way or another. She slung her bag onto the table and faced him squarely, hands at her hips. “I have to talk to you.”
“No, you don’t!”
“About the kids.”
That corked his pipe. He turned back to his eggs and began scrambling them furiously. “What about them?”
“I’m worried. About Chaz and Yancy in particular.”
He scooted the skillet off the burner and turned to glare at her again. “What’s wrong with Chaz and Yancy?”
She walked over to the coffeepot and began making the coffee, saying over one shoulder, “For one thing, Chaz doesn’t seem to have any friends his own age. Jean Marie does, and that’s good, but Chaz should have, too, and he doesn’t, not so far as I can tell, anyway.”
For a moment Orren said nothing, but he grumbled, “Of course, he does.”
She turned around and leaned back against the counter. “So who are they then? What are their names? Met any of them?”
