Kisses And Kids (Congratulations Series #1)

by Andrea Edwards

  “Who are they?” Rulli asked.

  “Pat’s relatives?” From the corner of her eye Trisha saw him nod. “This older couple was what, great-grandparents?”

  “Great-great-grandparents,” Pat corrected.

  She glanced up at him. His eyes were still shadowed with pain, but it was a more distant hurt. He pointed to a younger woman amid the group.

  “That’s my great-grandmother.”

  “Was that taken on the front porch here?” Angie asked.

  “Yep. My great-great-grandfather built the house.”

  “Wow.”

  The house seemed to be in all the pictures, from ones in the front yard of kids and a wagon decorated for a Fourth of July parade in the 1920s to ones of Pat with his infant brother on a porch swing. There were shots from Christmases in the living room, Thanksgivings in the dining room and just random shots of family life scattered through the place. As Pat sorted the pictures by age, Trisha could see the people grow old, but the love and happiness in the pictures didn’t change.

  “This is my grandfather,” Pat said, stopping at one picture. “He had the loudest voice of anyone I’ve ever known.”

  Rulli peered at the picture. “Did he yell all the time?”

  “He never yelled,” Pat said. “He was a little deaf so he talked loud, but he never got angry or mad or yelled.”

  For the next several hours, Pat went through the box, telling them stories about his family. How that man fought in World War II in France, and that woman helped organize the union at the Bendix plant in town. How this was the Christmas that the turkey caught fire and how a cousin’s baby was born in the house during a blizzard in the 1950s.

  The kids sat as if hypnotized. They were fascinated by Pat’s collection of buffalo nickels and the arrowhead that his mother had found while digging in the garden here. Trisha just sat back, watching and listening. Nothing Pat said was all that extraordinary or revealing, yet she’d never felt so close to a man.

  Little by little the story of his family was coming out. His great-great-grandfather’s success as a wheelwright at the end of the last century, then the gradual changing of the business as transportation modes evolved, and finally the business’s rapid decline when it failed to mechanize at the right time. The family went from privileged to ordinary, from shopping in Chicago to shopping at rummage sales. Through the tale, the house in the pictures reflected the changes.

  Trisha looked around at the porch. Pat was taking the house back to the old days, the better days, when it had been a showplace. If only it could in turn give him back the happiness that it had held over the years.

  “Hey, look at the time,” Pat suddenly said. “I need to get dinner started.”

  “Let’s have pizza,” Angie cried.

  Pat was gathering up the papers and pictures and stuff from the box, but stopped to give Angie a look. “I’ve got a good dinner planned.”

  “Pizza’s good,” Angie protested.

  “I mean good for you,” Pat replied.

  “Yuck,” Angie said with a sneer. “You mean like that stuff they make us eat in school?”

  “That’s okay, Pat,” Rulli said. “We like stuff that’s good for us.”

  “I’m making food that’s good to eat as well as being good for you.”

  “Yeah, right,” Angie muttered.

  Trisha quickly jumped in. “Okay, kiddies. No more arguing.” Both Angie and Pat glared at her. “We’re all going to pitch in and help.” She herded everyone before her. “Pat, what do we need to do?”

  “The potatoes need to go in the oven, a salad has to be made and I’ll get the barbecue fired up.”

  “What are you putting potatoes in the oven for?” Angie demanded. “Cookies go in the oven. Potatoes get mashed or fried.”

  “I want my potatoes baked.”

  “Miss Stewart,” Angie whined.

  “Baked potatoes are good and good for you.”

  “Kids.” Pat’s voice was getting firm again. Very, very firm. “Angie, baked potatoes are good—trust me. You can put butter and sour cream on them and they’re just great.”

  “What’s a barbecue?” Rulli asked.

  “It’s a thing where I cook the meat outside,” Pat replied. “Come on. You can help me.”

  “Oh, no,” Angie wailed. “Miss Stewart, they’re gonna get bird poop all over my hamburger.”

  “I am not,” Pat snapped back. “And I’m not making hamburger. I’m making steak.”

  “How come you don’t have hamburger?” Angie demanded. “Somebody rich like you should have enough money to buy something good.”

  “All right, knock it off.” They all turned to stare at Trisha. She smiled at them. “Thank you. Now, Rulli, go help Pat. Angie, stay here with me. And nobody argues with nobody.”

  There was a long moment of silence, before Pat whipped his arm up in a snappy salute. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Suddenly his eyes were dancing as they met hers. A kind of electric charge filled the air between them. This simple sharing of joy awoke other needs within her, reminded her there were other ways of sharing. The heat of desire filled her body. Trisha felt herself leaning in toward Pat.

  “Miss Stewart.”

  Angie’s whine brought her back to earth so hard that it almost took her breath away.

  “Yes, Angie?”

  “I got a stomachache. Can I go lay down?”

  “You’re just hungry, dear.” Trisha put her arm around the girl’s shoulders. “Now let’s get started with dinner. The sooner we finish, the sooner you can eat.”

  “Swell,” Angie muttered, as she dragged herself toward the kitchen.

  * * *

  Pat looked around the crowded Harrison School gymnasium, a feeling of panic filling his stomach. Paper pumpkins dotted the walls, cornstalks and real pumpkins were strategically placed around the floor, and in the center was an Indian tepee. Parents and grandparents, intermixed with a few older siblings, filled the bleacher seats before him. He didn’t belong here.

  “Hi,” Trisha said, coming up behind him. “You just get here, too?” She squeezed his arm. “There’s some seats up there.”

  Without waiting for a response, she led the way up to one of the top rows of the bleachers. Was she so certain he’d follow that she didn’t even have to look back and check? She sat on the bench, scooting down to make room for him. He sat down.

  “I get nosebleeds up this high,” he muttered.

  She just laughed. “The kids are really excited about your coming. It’s all they could talk about all week.”

  He grunted some sort of response, still not certain when he’d agreed to come. They’d been having dinner last Sunday, Angie grumping about the lack of real food, when Rulli had told him about the school program. Though Pat didn’t remember ever actually saying he’d come, Angie had seemed to take for granted that he’d be there.

  “If it weren’t for you,” Trisha said, “I’d be the only one here for them, and I don’t count because I’m here for all the other kids, too.”

  Pat reached up and rubbed his eyes. He couldn’t believe it. Here he was, a footloose and fancy-free bachelor, playing daddy to a couple of kids whom he really didn’t know. How in the hell did he ever get pulled into something like this? He didn’t even fit on these stupid bleachers.

  “Hello, Trisha. It’s so good to see you again.” A tall woman in a gray pantsuit was standing in the aisle down from them. The tag on her lapel said that she was Mary MacGregor, Principal.

  “Oh, I’m glad to come,” Trisha replied. “The kids always put on such a nice show. You and your staff do a great job with them, Mary.”

  The principal stared at Pat.

  “I’m with her,” he said, pointing at Trisha.

  “Mary,” Trisha said. “This is Pat Stuart.”

  “Oh, the jobs man.” Mary MacGregor’s professional smile turned genuine as she stuck her hand out. “I’m pleased to meet you.”

  The best Pat could do w
as a weak smile in return, but he took her hand.

  “Pat’s here for Angie and Rulli,” Trisha explained.

  “Oh,” Mary MacGregor replied. “Are you related?”

  “No.” The word came out with such force that Pat suddenly felt the heat of embarrassment filling his cheeks. “No,” he repeated, in a softer and more normal tone. “I work with them a little bit when I have time. At the Boys and Girls Club.”

  “Pat’s a volunteer,” Trisha said.

  “Wonderful,” Mary MacGregor said. “We could use more adult volunteers in our children’s programs. Especially men.”

  “Yeah, I know.” His smile felt stiff on his face and Pat wished the principal would go away so that he could drop it. “The boys need a role model.”

  “It’s not just the boys,” Mary MacGregor replied. “Girls need an adult male in their life just as much.”

  Pat nodded. He and Rulli got along fine, but he wasn’t sure what he was doing for Angie. They couldn’t spend five minutes together without getting into an argument. In fact, he wasn’t sure that the girl even liked him. Although if she didn’t like him, then why did she want him at this little shindig?

  The principal wandered off, greeting other guests as the schoolkids filed into the gym with their classes. Pat scanned the lines of kids, but didn’t see Angie or Rulli.

  “How’s their uncle?” he asked Trisha.

  “Still in the hospital, but getting better. They expect he’ll be home tomorrow or Sunday.”

  “Kids must be relieved.”

  Trisha shrugged. “Rulli is. He thinks everything’s fine, but Angie knows better. Their uncle has emphysema and a bad heart. They want to get him into one of those retirement communities where care is close at hand, but the kids couldn’t live there.”

  “They must have other family around.”

  “Not any that are in shape to take on two kids.”

  Pat just stared out at the scoreboard across the gym. He didn’t know if she was hinting what he thought she was, but it was out of the question. Sure, Angie and Rulli needed a helping hand. But it didn’t have to be him.

  He was a bachelor who traveled all the time. Kids like Angie and Rulli needed someone who would always be there for them. Not someone to drop in now and then. Besides, he knew nothing about kids and family. Hell, the last person he had tried to take care of was Angel, and that had been an absolute and total flop. Suddenly the dull beat of tom-toms filled the gymnasium.

  “Look, there’s Rulli,” Trisha cried and waved.

  Rulli was dressed in jeans and a plaid shirt with a straw hat on. Pat guessed he was supposed to be a farmer since the kids around him were dressed like crops to harvest. Rulli’s eyes were on him, so Pat waved before Rulli turned to follow his classmates to their places.

  Pat turned to Trisha, but forgot whatever it was he was going to say. Her eyes were bright, her face was flushed and her mouth was open in a wide smile.

  “Look at them all,” she said. “Aren’t they cute?”

  She was what Angie and Rulli needed—a person who understood kids and knew how to care for them. More important, she was there and available. All day, every day.

  He forced his eyes back to the kids and found Angie walking in. Like her whole class, she was dressed as a Native American. When she spotted him and Trisha, she waved wildly, making sure everyone around her knew that she had someone in the audience.

  Pat waved back, but didn’t feel too good. When Angie turned away, he stared across the gym at the far wall with the stupid pumpkins and moons.

  This wasn’t where he belonged. He should just make a stand and that would be that. Trisha belonged here. Not only was she capable but she enjoyed getting involved in other people’s lives.

  Sure, Trisha was stretched thin, but she just needed more help. There were other people like her in the world.

  His eyes drifted down to the kids where Angie’s class was getting ready to do a dance. The girl kept looking their way, her face radiating all the pride and hope and possession that he’d learned the hard way to avoid.

  He didn’t belong here. These kids needed and deserved a long-term commitment. They needed more Trishas at the club.

  He wasn’t doing the club any good sitting on his butt here in the bleachers. He was just wasting his time. He should be out doing something he was good at—like raising money so they could buy a new van. So they could hire more Trishas. So they could take care of more kids.

  So he wouldn’t be a square peg stuck in a round hole because he didn’t know how to gracefully extricate himself.

  * * *

  “You’re pretty quiet tonight, Pat.”

  Pat looked across the table and shook his head. He was sitting with Walt Butcher in a nightclub on Chicago’s near-west side. A band was playing, a singer was wailing and the crowd was laughing, talking and dancing. The place was so damned noisy that Pat wondered how the heck Walt could tell that he was quiet.

  “What did you say?” Pat shouted, a wry smile on his face.

  “You know what I mean,” Walt shouted back.

  A waitress came by and Walt signaled for two refills. Pat’s drink was still almost full, but he’d known Walt long enough not to argue. Walt would just say that he needed some new ice cubes.

  Walt Butcher was the CEO of a venture capital firm and Pat always dropped in to visit him when he was in Chicago, to keep in touch with the money men. Sometimes finding the dollars to finance a move was the biggest help Pat could lend a firm wanting to move into his patch.

  The only real problem with Walt was that he considered himself a ladies’ man, having already been married—and divorced—twice. And he was now looking for wife number three, which was why they were sitting in this trendy club at 2:00 a.m.

  The waitress came by with the drinks. She removed Pat’s full glass after she’d placed the new one down. Walt lifted his glass to Pat and took a healthy sip. Pat lifted his glass in turn and touched it to his lips.

  “So tell me about this new girlfriend of yours.”

  Pat stared at Walt. “I don’t have a new girlfriend.” Sure, Trisha was a girl who was a friend, but she wasn’t a girlfriend.

  A smirk slowly eased onto Walt’s face. Pat definitely was not going to get into a conversation about Trisha with Walt. “I go out,” Pat insisted, “but I’m not serious about anyone.”

  Walt turned to look out on the dance floor, taking another drink from his glass. Pat felt himself drifting into a blue funk. He didn’t belong here, either. It didn’t feel the way it used to.

  He slowly let the air out of his lungs. His trouble was that he was letting the kids get too close. It was okay to give them money, maybe help the relatives find a job or make sure that they had a good tutor at the Boys and Girls Club. But there was nothing of a personal nature that he should be doing for them.

  Fortunately, he had recognized the problem before he had let himself get in too deep. Now was the time for him to back out. Not entirely, of course. He would still do fund-raising for the club. A lot of it.

  He felt himself feeling better already. He felt sorry for people having trouble making ends meet and yet he wasn’t doing the thing he did best—contributing to their financial health. That would be the biggest help he could give Trisha and all the Angies, Rullis and Douglases.

  Once he had helped Trisha get the club back on its feet, he could back out gracefully. That didn’t mean he and Trisha had to part. Well, they couldn’t really part, since they didn’t have that kind of relationship. They were friends. And there was no reason for that to stop. He just didn’t want everyone to be leaning on him. He just wasn’t cut out for close relationships.

  “Hey, Pat, old chum. See those two little ladies there?”

  Pat looked at two youngish women near the dance floor. Their dress and makeup bordered on the exotic.

  “What say the four of us go someplace a little more private?” Walt said. “You know, maybe hit a blues joint on the south side, have a li
ttle breakfast later.”

  The women were apparently operating with their antennae full out for they looked Pat’s way and smiled. They appeared young, vital, filled with sensual energy. All signs indicated they knew how to have a good time. There wasn’t a single thing about them that said “major commitment required.” But Pat couldn’t.

  “I really ought to get going,” he said.

  “Going?”

  “I have a breakfast meeting tomorrow morning,” Pat replied. “Eight o’clock. Over at the Hilton by the airport.”

  It was all right to have a little evening’s fun, but he wasn’t here on vacation. He was here on business. And he was a mature, responsible businessman. One who had his priorities in order. One who knew how much rest he needed in order to be able to operate with a clear head.

  “Maybe some other time,” he said, standing up and reaching for his wallet.

  “Forget it,” Walt said, waving off his offer to pay.

  “Hey,” Pat protested. “I’m not a charity case.”

  “You can pick up the tab next time,” Walt said.

  “Yeah, next time.” Pat put his wallet away. “I’ll give you a call when I come in again.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “And I’ll arrange my schedule a little better.”

  “Great.”

  Walt’s voice didn’t quite match his words. Pat could see a sagging around the corners of his eyes. Pat quickly turned away and hurried toward the door.

  It wasn’t as if he were leaving Walt alone. Heck, Walt wouldn’t be alone long at all. Probably no more than five minutes. Besides, if he really wanted a foursome, he should have warned Pat ahead of time. He wasn’t a college kid anymore. He had responsibilities. Others were dependent on him. Like the city he worked for.

  Not specific individuals. He didn’t do one-on-one. That wasn’t his forte. But when it came to groups he was one of the best. That was his strength. And that was where he should concentrate his energy.

  Chapter Nine

  “Miss Stewart.”

  Trisha looked up from her desk to see Angie standing in the doorway to her office. “Yes, Angie. What can I do for you?”