Something Borrowed

by Holly Jacobs

  “Sorry, you have to use the front door.” He reached out and took her shoulder and steered her accordingly. “The kids are waiting. They have a surprise.”

  “I do not like surprises.” Each word was crisp and distinct as she gave him a look that did not bode well for future surprises.

  “Well, this once, you’re going to have to enjoy it because you’ll crush them if you’re not impressed. They worked so hard.” He didn’t add he’d worked hard, too.

  Mattie entered the place, clearly skeptical, and all the kids yelled, “Surprise!”

  “We cleaned the house,” Zoe clarified.

  “Yeah, it was a pickup party with Uncle Finn.” Abbey grabbed Mattie’s hand and dragged her into the living room. “Look. I dusted with Uncle Finn. He got the high stuff...I got the low stuff, ’cause I’m lower.”

  “And I helped with the dinner,” Zoe said. “Well, not really dinner. We ordered pizza. But I made dessert. We picked fruit salad like your mom makes at Sunday dinners. I called and she told me how. She also told me I can call her Grace. Do you think that’s okay? Uncle Finn said it is, ’cause she told me I could. She said whatever I’m comfortable with.”

  Mickey was the last of the three to approach Mattie, and he said, “I washed Bear so he smells real good. But Uncle Finn says he’s gonna buy you new shampoo ’cause I used yours and Bear, he knocked the bottle down.”

  “Yeah, but I like that Bear smells like you.” Abbey stood up for her brother. “And that’s nice, ’cause you were gone all day and I missed you, Aunt Mattie. I don’t like it when you’re gone.”

  Finn acknowledged how much Abbey and the other kids had come to count on Mattie, and he realized that although they’d managed cleaning up without her, it hadn’t been the same. When Mattie led the cleaning, there was not only a sense of common purpose, but also fun.

  Mattie quickly knelt down and hugged the little redhead. “I’m home now.”

  Abbey hugged her back. “Yeah, you are. You came back.”

  “I always come back,” Mattie agreed.

  “Mama didn’t,” Abbey declared.

  It was as if everyone in the room stopped and held their breath at Abbey’s innocent statement. There was still a raw, gaping hole in all their lives where Bridget used to be, and none of them had healed from the loss.

  Mattie was the first one to find her voice again. “Your mother would have stayed with you if she could. You and your brother and sister were the most important things in her life. But she—”

  “But she couldn’t,” Abbey finished. “But she left us you and Uncle Finn, ’cause she didn’t want to leave, but she had ta, so she left us you guys and you love us, too. I know.”

  Finn felt his throat tighten at Abbey’s words. She’d included him. She was counting on him. She knew he loved her.

  She was right. If asked before Bridget died, he’d have said, yes, he loved his nieces and nephew. He’d have probably felt slightly insulted if someone had asked that question and doubted his feelings. But what he’d felt then paled next to what he felt now. Before, he’d loved them because of Bridget. Because that’s what uncles did. But now? He loved them for who they were. He loved them in a way that made them part of him. When he was in Buffalo throughout the week and not here, he missed them with an actual ache. He couldn’t wait to get on the road on Friday and get here because they were here.

  Mattie, too, he realized. He missed her when he wasn’t with her, and before he could puzzle that particular riddle out, Zoe announced, “Pizza should be here in about fifteen minutes.”

  “Then I better get ready.” Mattie hurried up the stairs, then turned abruptly and smiled at the kids. “Thank you again, guys. This was a lovely surprise.”

  Finn wasn’t fooled. Mattie had smiled and seemed enthused, but he knew something was wrong. For the life of him he couldn’t imagine what. “Why don’t you guys set the table, okay?”

  He hurried up the stairs after her and knocked on her bedroom door.

  It was quiet for a minute, and he wasn’t sure she was going to answer, but finally the door opened. “Yes?”

  She almost looked as if she had tears in her eyes. Mattie Keith didn’t cry. Seeing the glistening in her eyes was disconcerting. “Mattie, what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” she insisted with a small hitch in her voice that told him that something was indeed wrong.

  “Mattie” was his only response.

  “You won, okay?” she exploded in a hushed whisper. “What was that song? Something about you can do anything better than me? Well, you can. You can save someone’s life, clean a house, make a supper—”

  “I only ordered a pizza,” he protested. “And the pickup thing was your deal. I simply followed your lead.”

  She ignored him. “You can do it all. Everything. Call the social worker. Call the judge. The kids don’t need me. You win. You’ve proven your point.” She blinked fiercely, unwilling to let her tears fall. She was about to cry, but wouldn’t. Not Mattie Keith. Not in front of him.

  And part of him was eternally grateful for that because he knew that Mattie’s tears would be his undoing.

  “Mattie, this wasn’t about winning, or proving a point. The kids and I wanted to do something nice for you. You’ve been working so hard on this shower. We wanted you to be able to take tonight and recuperate without worrying about having to clean or cook. Abbey wants to go to the zoo,” he added helplessly. “I thought after church and dinner we could make it.”

  She nodded. “Okay. The zoo. Yeah, thanks.”

  She started to close the door, but he jammed his foot between it and the frame. She looked up and he could see the tears coming. And he wanted to do something—anything—to stop them from falling.

  He reached out and took her in his arms. He wasn’t sure she’d accept comfort from him, but she didn’t pull back. He held her tight. “I swear, this wasn’t me trying to one-up you.”

  She sniffled against his chest. “I’m being silly. I believe you, but I couldn’t help feeling...useless. This is definitely a case of it’s-not-you-it’s-me. I simply worry so much. I worry that I’m expecting too much from the kids, I worry that I’m not expecting enough. I worry that I’m too involved, or not involved enough. I worry about letting them walk home from school on their own. I worry about the report that social worker, Mrs. Callais, is writing. I worry about losing custody. I worry that you all are going to figure out how poorly equipped I am for this and I won’t be able to keep my promise to Bridge.”

  Him and his stupid lawsuit. He’d done this to her. He knew she worried, but he hadn’t known how much. “Mattie, I’m so sorry.”

  “I know. I’m sorry, too. There’s been nothing malicious in anything you’ve done. We’re two people with different ideas on what’s best for the kids. I guess that might eventually make one of us the loser, but no matter what, the kids will come out winners.”

  “How so?”

  She pulled back and reluctantly, Finn let her go.

  She wiped her eyes. “I don’t think any child can be cared about too much. The kids might have had a creep of a father, and they lost their mom, but there’s no way they’re ever going to doubt that you and I love them. Hell, that the whole town loves them. I know none of that can really make up for losing Bridget, but it has to help.”

  Finn didn’t know what to say. When he’d sued her for custody, he’d believed it was right. He figured that eventually, Mattie might even thank him for relieving her of the burden, once she got over her stubbornness. But looking at her now, unshed tears in her eyes, he began to suspect she wouldn’t get over losing the kids.

  If he won custody, she’d continue to do everything in her power to see to it the transition was as easy on the kids as possible. She’d help him, he knew that, but he didn’t believe she’d pack up and happily go back to her itinerant ways.

  If he took the kids, she’d suffer.

  And Doctor Finn Wallac
e, who once felt he was decisive and right about his decision to pursue custody of the kids, felt unsure. Really unsure.

  He’d thought being able to go back to her Waltzing Matilda days would be the best thing for her, but looking at her now, he had doubts.

  “I’ll be down in a few minutes,” she assured him, brushing a hand through her hair.

  “I’ll holler when the pizza comes. And could you ooh and aah a bit over the kitchen floor? All three kids scrubbed it.”

  She nodded. “I will. And thanks, Finn.”

  “It really was supposed to be a nice surprise,” he said again, because he needed her to understand that. The pickup party wasn’t part of any nefarious plan.

  Mattie smiled, a weak, watery smile. “And despite my reaction, it was a very nice gesture.”

  He turned and headed down the stairs, trying to sort out his feelings. He’d always known what he wanted to do. He’d plotted a path and stuck to it.

  But now?

  What was best for the kids? What was best for Mattie?

  And why had that last question suddenly taken on a great deal of importance?

  * * *

  MATTIE HAD FALLEN INTO a comfortable routine with the kids and Finn, but yesterday’s slight breakdown had altered that. She felt awkward around him in a way that had nothing to do with the lawsuit and everything to do with him witnessing her crying, and even worse, the gentle tenderness he’d shown as he held her.

  Last night she’d somehow managed to paste a smile on her face as she exclaimed over how great the floor looked, how good the pizza was, and then exclaimed with even more gusto over the fruit salad.

  As soon as the kids were settled into bed, she hustled Finn out the door, his promise to see her in the morning ringing in her ears.

  He’d shown up for breakfast, gone with them to church and to her parents. She hoped beyond hope that he’d tell her he had to shuffle off to Buffalo early, but instead, he’d asked about the zoo.

  Which is why they all drove into Erie. It was quicker to go via the interstate, but Finn chose the longer option along Route 5. Glimpses of the lake darted in and out of sight. Vineyards, farms and homes lined the road. They crossed the Pennsylvania border and Finn drove south on Freeport Road, into North East proper. It was a small town, too, but bigger than Valley Ridge.

  They continued through Harborcreek, Wesleyville and finally arrived in Erie itself. “This was a roundabout way to get here,” she said to Finn.

  “Maybe I wanted to enjoy the dulcet tones of the kids’ voices for a while longer.”

  She laughed. “Yeah, I might buy that.” As near as she could tell, Mickey and Abbey were arguing about building a tree house or a fort this summer, and Zoe frequently punctuated the conversation by saying, “Shut up.”

  “Okay, confession. I haven’t been in Erie in a long time. I know I could have taken I-90 and made better time, but there’s some new Bayfront Connector and all the shops by the Mall, so I opted to take a route I was most familiar with.”

  “You could have asked me.”

  He looked over at her, then nodded. “I could have. I guess I’m not accustomed to asking for help.”

  “Obviously, I’m not either.”

  “About yesterday—”

  For a moment, she’d forgotten, but now that he reminded her, she felt embarrassed again about how she’d behaved. “It’s all good,” she assured him, then tried to switch back to easier topics. “I can take you over the new Bayfront Connector to 90 on the way home. It’s pretty simple from the zoo.”

  Directions were safer than her mini-meltdown.

  “Thanks.”

  At East Thirty-eighth, when Finn came to the new section of road that cut through Glenwood Hills, he glanced over at her.

  “Yeah, it threw me the first time, too. You have to go past the old entrance to the next light, then turn left by the golf course.”

  “The city’s changed a lot.” He sounded wistful.

  Mattie couldn’t help wondering if he was thinking about Bridget. She was. The last time she’d come to town, they’d brought the kids and they went out to the peninsula. They’d had burgers and fries at Sara’s, then walked down the beach and watched the sunset.

  Remembering that Bridget wasn’t here anymore—remembering that she wouldn’t be here today hurt. Mattie whispered, “I guess everything changes. There’s a saying about the only thing that stays the same is that things change.”

  She looked at Finn and couldn’t help but think how much things had changed between the two of them. And were continuing to change.

  She’d like to stop that right here. Right where they were. Finn came in on the weekends and saw the kids, but they were still hers the rest of the week. They’d become partners in a sense. For the sake of the kids.

  She didn’t have time to ponder this idea any longer because Finn pulled the car into a parking space and the kids burst out the doors, Abbey included.

  Mattie had visions of Abbey running across the parking lot on her own. She jumped out and called, “Don’t you dare take one more step by yourself, Abigail.”

  “Uh-oh,” Mickey said. “Aunt Mattie used your whole name. That means you’re in trouble.”

  Abbey’s lip began to quiver and Mickey looked smug.

  “Is that so, Michael?” Mattie asked.

  The quivering stopped, as had been Mattie’s intent, and Abbey laughed as she parroted, “Is that so, Michael?”

  Mattie held out her hands and Mickey took one, Abbey the other, and Zoe and Finn joined the brigade.

  Finn winked at her, saying, without words, that he understood a crisis had been averted.

  “You can’t do anything to Zoe, Aunt Mattie,” Zoe teased. “My name is what it is.”

  “Ah, but I could tack on your middle name.” Zoe Ann Langley was a perfectly good name, but instead of using it, Mattie said, “Zoe Pumpkindoodles.”

  “That’s not her name.” Abbey laughed.

  “Zoe TooCoolForSchool?” she tried.

  “Aunt Mattie,” Abbey managed between giggles.

  “I’ve got it, Mattie,” Finn declared. “Zoe WantsACellPhone Langley.”

  The two younger kids laughed, and Zoe said, “I do want a cell phone. Since I started working for Colton, I have most of the money saved up.”

  Zoe had been doing jobs at the winery with no further complaints. “You know, Finn,” Mattie said conversationally, “if I recall correctly, there’s a cell phone store up Peach Street.”

  “There is?” He gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod, indicating he agreed with her decision. He pushed his glasses up on his nose and waited for her to reply.

  She realized she’d been lost in looking at him and let the conversation flounder, so she quickly agreed, “Zoe’s earned money helping me out at home, too. I think she’s close enough. That is, if you do.”

  He grinned. “Close enough. She can owe you the rest. I’m pretty sure you can trust her for it.”

  Zoe was practically jumping up and down as they stood in line waiting to get to the ticket box. “You can, Aunt Mattie. You can trust me to pay the rest, I swear.”

  Mattie bought their zoo tickets while Finn pecked on his phone. “They’re open until six.”

  “You don’t say?” Mattie replied.

  Zoe’s expression seemed to shift from uncertainty to glee as she blurted, “Is that a yes, Aunt Mattie?”

  “Finn?” Mattie asked.

  He smiled, and she said, “Yes.”

  Zoe squealed. “Thank you, Aunt Mattie. I’ll be responsible, I promise and I’ll...”

  They toured the zoo with Zoe rhapsodizing about cell phones with the same level of enthusiasm that the younger kids did about rhinos, orangutans and the other animals.

  Mattie watched as tech-savvy Finn and Zoe chatted about phone options while Mickey and Abbey tried talking to a juvenile orangutan through a glass wall. Everyone was happy. Everyone was toget
her.

  It was a good moment. It felt as though the winter had been spent in loss and grief, but spring seemed full of hope and about looking forward.

  Not that Bridget wasn’t missed, but the pain wasn’t as intense. It wasn’t raw and bleeding...it was scabbed over. Still there. Still a wound, but healing. Mattie knew her friend would approve.

  The store was quiet when they finally arrived, and after hemming and hawing, Zoe finally picked out a phone her friend Jane had.

  “Look at this,” she said. “I can text and I can...”

  The ride home was punctuated with beeps from Zoe’s phone as she let all her tweeny friends know she’d joined the twenty-first century and Abbey gave them a blow-by-blow recount of the visit. “And do you remember that orangatang—”

  “Orangutan, stupid,” Mickey corrected.

  “Stupid isn’t a good word,” Zoe lectured even as she typed on the tiny keyboard. “You need to apologize to Abbey.” She snapped the phone shut.

  “Sorry,” Mickey managed.

  Zoe’s phone beeped again and she squealed again.

  “I think she’s officially received more texts in the past half hour than I’ve gotten over the life of my cell phone,” Finn said.

  Mattie, who was pretty much a technophobe, nodded. “I never get texts...” As if on cue, her phone beeped. She pulled it out of her pocket and looked. Thanx, A Mattie, a text from Zoe read.

  Finn’s pocket beeped, as well. “I’m pretty sure that’s your thank-you from Zoe.” She turned around and said, “You’re welcome, sweetie.”

  “Aunt Mattie, Mickey said that I can’t work at a zoo, ’cause I’m a girl,” Abbey complained.

  “Mickey,” Mattie said, “girls can do anything boys can do and vice versa.”

  “Well, girls can’t be dads,” he insisted. “Just me and Uncle Finn can be a dad. But a dad can’t be like my dad. He left. A real dad doesn’t leave. A real dad, he stays and loves his kids.”

  “Sometimes, people love you but they can’t stay,” Mattie said with more generosity than Alton Langley deserved.