A Mother's Special Care

by Jessica Matthews

“The point is,” he began as he folded the final pair of jeans, “we need help with the chores around here. Wouldn’t you rather we did fun things instead?”

  “I don’t mind,” Corey said loyally. “And I like going to Lori’s every afternoon.”

  Mac did, too. “I know you do, but Lori is looking after you as a favor to me. It isn’t fair to impose on her indefinitely.”

  “She doesn’t mind. She enjoys having us over. I know because she said so.”

  “Yes, but we don’t take advantage of our friends,” he said, feeling like a parent as he delivered his words of wisdom. “We need to find someone to live here so we can get back to our routine. I adjusted the call schedule for this month, but next month is a different story.”

  Corey’s lower lip trembled and he sounded resigned. “You’re going to work all the time again, aren’t you?”

  “No,” Mac corrected him. “I promise my schedule won’t be like it was before, but I’ll have to cover a few more days than I do now. It will be easier on both of us if we find a housekeeper.” The laundry alone had become a task of monumental proportions. He couldn’t comprehend how the two of them managed to wear so many clothes.

  “But, Dad,” Corey protested, “we have a routine now.”

  “Our current arrangement was only meant to be temporary,” Mac reminded his son gently. “You knew that.”

  Panic rose in Corey’s eyes. “You promised that you wouldn’t hire anyone unless I liked her.”

  “Yes, but—”

  Corey squared his stance as he balled his hands into fists at his side. “You promised.”

  “I fully intend to keep that promise,” Mac said, hating the position in which he’d placed himself. “But you have to work with me here. You’ve met ten ladies and found something wrong with every one.”

  Corey relaxed a little. “You didn’t like them either.”

  The sad thing was, Corey was right. Mac had found some small detail about each that had prevented him from hiring them on the spot, although he could accept either Mrs Partridge or Mrs Racine. Strangely enough, choosing them made him feel as if he were settling for second best. Was he asking for too much when he wanted someone who was kind, loving, thoughtful, had a sense of humor, liked children and knew how to run a house and juggle their differing schedules smoothly?

  “Besides,” Corey continued, “I’m going to spend the most time with this person so I should have the final say.”

  Mac wondered if children had an innate sense of knowing how to send their parents on a guilt trip, or if they learned the skill in school from their peers.

  “I realize that,” he said. “But no matter which woman we hire, we’re going to go through an adjustment period until we get to know each other.”

  Corey’s mulish expression hadn’t disappeared and Mac felt compelled to appease him as much as possible. “What are you looking for? We’re not going to find another Martha, you know.”

  “I don’t want another Martha.” Before Mac could ask him to explain, Corey volunteered the information. “I want someone like Lori.”

  Corey’s wish didn’t come as any great surprise. For the past week, his son had sung her praises. Mac couldn’t blame him. He enjoyed his time with her, too, even when she fearlessly spoke her opinion. She’d only been looking out for Corey and he couldn’t fault her for that.

  Perhaps he hadn’t been thrilled with any of the applicants because he, too, had set Lori as the standard. In comparison, each one fell extremely short. Those few hours spent at her house each evening had become an important part of his day and he knew that coming home to a meal prepared by a housekeeper simply wouldn’t be the same.

  “Why can’t we hire Lori?”

  “She has a job.”

  “I know, but can’t you fire her at the hospital?”

  Mac smiled. “I’m not her supervisor.”

  “Oh.” Corey sank onto the sofa, and although he didn’t say anything Mac could see the wheels of thought turning. “Do you like Lori?” he asked.

  “Yes, I do.”

  “A lot?”

  Far more than he should, but Mac bit back the comment. “She’s a very nice woman.”

  “Couldn’t you just marry her? Then Ronnie would have a dad, I would have a mom, we wouldn’t need a housekeeper and none of us would be lonely.”

  Marry Lori? The idea wasn’t as frightening as he’d expected, but it was still out of the question. “I don’t want to get married.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because…” His mind raced with excuses before he decided that Corey was old enough to understand the truth. “Because I loved your mother very much and I’m not interested in getting married again.”

  “Aunt Liz says you should. It’s not good for you to be alone so much.”

  “Aunt Liz says a lot of things. And, anyway, I’m happy with my life the way it is. Aren’t you?”

  The silence was deafening. Obviously Corey wasn’t as satisfied as Mac wanted him to be.

  “Things here aren’t so bad, are they?” Mac pressed.

  “No, but they’d be even better if Lori was my mom,” Corey countered.

  Unable to dispute that argument, Mac simply placed the pile of jeans in Corey’s arms and changed the subject. “As soon as you put your clothes away, we’ll play checkers.”

  “OK.” Corey sounded resigned, rather than excited.

  By the time Mac had set the board out on the kitchen table, Corey had returned. It soon became obvious as Mac captured piece after piece that Corey’s mind wasn’t on the game and Mac knew why.

  “It’s going to work out,” he reassured him. “Things won’t be as bad as you think.”

  Corey didn’t appear convinced. “Sure, Dad,” he said politely, too politely. “Can we finish this later?”

  “Would you rather play something else?”

  “Nah. I think I’ll just go upstairs.”

  Their camaraderie had disappeared, but Mac didn’t want to give up so easily. “If you have homework, you could bring it into my office so we can work together.”

  “I finished it yesterday. I just want to do stuff in my room.”

  Alone wasn’t stated, but the implication couldn’t have been more plain. A door had slammed between them and Mac was powerless to keep it open. As he watched his son trudge away, Mac offered another suggestion. “Let’s shoot a few hoops when it stops raining.”

  The excitement he’d expected to see didn’t appear. “Sure, Dad. Whatever.”

  If Mac heard “Sure, Dad’ one more time, he was going to explode. He was almost tempted to call his sister for advice, but he knew what she’d say.

  Get a life, Mac. Elsa died, but you didn’t.

  Why did people think they knew what he needed better than he did? It grew tiresome to hear the same advice sung over and over again, no matter how many different tunes his family used. It was only bearable because Mac knew they meddled out of love and concern.

  Ignoring the pile of sheets and towels awaiting his attention, he sought sanctuary in his office, although here the gloomy mood hovered as strongly as it did throughout the rest of the house. Normally, he didn’t notice the overcast sky or the patter of raindrops against the window, but today he did.

  He settled behind his desk and picked up the first magazine, only to discover how unappealing the article on current anesthetics awaiting FDA approval was. After tossing it back on the pile in disgust, he closed his eyes and visualized the days when he and his sister Liz had been trapped indoors by the weather.

  They would occupy themselves with whatever board games were at hand and when they tired of those and started squabbling over whose turn it was to choose the next activity, his father would intervene.

  He never knew how his dad had managed the feat of pulling something special out of the closet because Mac had kept his eyes open for unusual packages stashed at the back. Invariably, his father would bring out a model of some sort and they would spend the next few hours b
uilding an airplane, a car or a train. By the time they finished, his mother would bring in a plate of cookies or brownies. For the builders, she would say before she dutifully admired whatever project Liz and he had completed.

  Ironically, he wondered what Corey would remember when he reached Mac’s age. Would he remember the checker games and last night’s water fight as they’d washed their breakfast dishes? Would he recall the time they’d popped popcorn in the microwave and burned it? Or would Corey simply think of a solitary pursuit performed in the privacy of his room? Somehow, he doubted if Ronnie logged many hours alone. No doubt she was at this very moment cuddled on the sofa with Lori, reading a book or sitting on the floor engrossed in a rousing hand of Old Maid.

  He smiled, remembering how Lori had played cards with the two children and had looked as if she’d enjoyed herself as much as they had. Mac would never forget the happiness on his son’s face as he’d passed the Old Maid card to Lori.

  Couldn’t you just marry her?

  The objections he’d given Corey were still legitimate yet, from a logical standpoint, the idea definitely had merit. The truth was, Mac found Lori extremely attractive and enjoyed being in her company. The four of them got along well and, while marriage would be advantageous to him and Corey, Lori and Ronnie would reap benefits as well. Ronnie would have the father she wanted and Lori wouldn’t have to struggle financially. In fact, she wouldn’t have to work at all if she chose not to.

  He wasn’t ready to replace Elsa, which meant that any marriage would be a business arrangement centered on meeting a mutual need. While he could live with that, he didn’t think Lori would embrace the concept. She wanted the marriage that she hadn’t had before—one of undying love, romance and roses; one where someone loved her with every fiber of his being. Could he convince her to settle for something less, something along the lines of friendship and respect?

  Somehow, he doubted it. She’d seemed rather adamant when she’d discussed her vision of a future relationship. Yet the possibility of Lori as his wife sent an urge to kiss her sweeping through him, along with a strong desire to hear her musical laughter. For him, her smile would turn this rainy day into one seemingly filled with sunshine.

  Before he changed his mind, he strode toward Corey’s room and knocked briskly to warn of his interruption. Corey shifted his attention from his half-finished cartoon drawing to him as Mac poked his head inside.

  “What do you think about taking Ronnie and Lori to the movies?”

  Corey’s eyes lit up. “Can we?”

  “I’ll call and ask if they’re free.”

  Corey shot to his feet, his drawing forgotten. “I bet they are. Ronnie says she doesn’t get to do much on account of how much stuff costs.”

  No wonder Lori spent a lot of time playing games and going to the library. Now that he thought about it, he never saw Lori eating in the cafeteria. She always ate an apple or a carton of yogurt in the lounge.

  “Hurry up, Dad,” Corey said, his comment about the Ameses’ finances clearly forgotten in his excitement. “The number is on the pad by the phone in the kitchen.”

  To Mac’s amusement, Corey stuck to his side while he walked to the kitchen and spoke to Lori. “Corey and I want to know if you two ladies would be interested in a movie this afternoon.”

  Lori’s chuckle was like a soothing balm to his soul. “It’s a good idea, but our theater isn’t showing anything appropriate for two eight-year-olds,” she told him. “Is Corey having an attack of cabin fever, too?”

  “Yeah. Too bad about the movie, though.”

  Corey’s high spirits visibly deflated and Mac hated to see his high spirits fall.

  “We could rent a movie instead,” she suggested. “I’ve got popcorn.”

  Mac gratefully accepted her offer. The second he hung up, Corey jumped off the barstool. “What are we doing, Dad?”

  “We’re picking out a movie at the video store and watching it at their house.”

  Corey clapped his hands. “Oh, boy, oh, boy. This is gonna be so neat. I know just the one to get.” He raced to the row of coat pegs on the wall separating the kitchen from the garage and fidgeted while Mac looked for his car keys. “Come on, Dad,” he said impatiently. “Let’s go.”

  Mac smiled. “Hold on. I’m coming.”

  Thirty minutes later, with a tape about an underdog kids’ baseball team in hand, Mac raced Corey to Lori’s front porch. After hearing his son’s “Last one to the door is a rotten egg”, he’d sprinted through the downpour, careful to stay a half-step behind. Hearing Corey’s laughter was worth the price of getting soaked.

  Lori watched Mac’s car park in her driveway, feeling as excited as Ronnie acted, although she worked hard not to show it. She opened the door as soon Mac and Corey reached the relative protection of the porch and welcomed them inside.

  Raindrops glistened like diamond chips in Mac’s hair and she offered him a towel. “You two shouldn’t need a bath tonight.”

  “Probably not,” Mac agreed as he dried off. “I appreciate your invitation. Corey was a little down in the dumps and I thought an excursion would raise his spirits.”

  Lori glanced at the youngster who was deep in a discussion with Ronnie at the television. “He seems OK now.”

  “You should have seen him an hour ago. He didn’t care for any of our three job applicants and he was upset when I mentioned how we had to make a decision within a few weeks.”

  “Why the time limit?” she asked, curious. “Wouldn’t you rather wait until you found the right person for the job?”

  “I can’t,” he said flatly. “I juggled this month’s call schedule, but next month’s is another story.”

  “Why?”

  “Several people are scheduled for vacations and, to be honest, I can’t keep up with the housekeeping details. It’s only a matter of time until we’re wearing pink underwear.”

  A vision of Mac in pink briefs made her smile. “Don’t mix your reds and whites and you should be OK.”

  “That’s easier said than done. And why is it that socks always lose their mates in the wash?”

  Lori shrugged. “It’s a fact of nature.”

  “Yeah, but I still can’t wait to have a routine again.”

  Lori felt sorry for Corey as once again the routine he’d adjusted to would change. In her heart, she suspected that he wasn’t as eager to embrace it as Mac was. For herself, she’d known their current arrangement was only a temporary measure, but it troubled her to hear it would soon end. Still, it was Sunday and those problems, along with her worries over her dwindling bank account, could wait for another day.

  Lori claimed a seat on the sofa next to Mac in order to see the small television screen. His sleeve brushed against her arm from time to time and the scent of his aftershave mingled with the buttery aroma of the popcorn.

  She’d never eat popcorn again without being reminded of MacKinley Grant.

  Within minutes of the movie starting, a huge clap of thunder startled her and she sent a handful of popped corn flying toward him.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said, embarrassed by her reaction to the storm.

  “I’m just glad you didn’t have something heavier in your hand. I might have been injured for life.” He grinned as he picked a kernel off his shirt and popped it into his mouth.

  “Uh-oh, Mom,” Ronnie said. “Corey spilled his drink.”

  “I’m sorry, Lori,” Corey said, his eyes wide with worry. “I didn’t mean to make a mess on your carpet. I tried to be real careful, but—”

  “Accidents happen,” Lori said as she hurried to fetch several towels to mop up the disaster. “I guess I’m not the only one who doesn’t like thunder.”

  Sensing how flustered he was, Lori tried to put him at ease. “This is nothing,” she told him. “I once made a cake for a friend’s baby shower. It was one of those four-layer creations that took hours to make and I’d decorated it with fancy frosting and raspberries and such. I was so-o-o care
ful when I slid it into my cake carrier because I didn’t want to bump a single frosting rose or raspberry.”

  His eyes were filled with interest rather than the shame she’d seen earlier, which told her that she’d taken his mind off his own clumsiness. “Anyway,” she continued, “I was carrying it inside the building and I didn’t see a step. I tripped, and do you know what?”

  “What?” he asked, enraptured.

  “This cake did the most perfect Olympic-style somersault you could ever see.”

  “Ooh,” Corey gasped. “Did you catch it?”

  Lori shook her head. “Nope. It landed upside down. Mind you, it hadn’t fallen out of the carrier so it was edible, but my work of art wasn’t a pretty sight.”

  “What did you do?” he asked.

  “The only thing I could do. I scraped off all the mangled roses and crushed raspberries and tried to re-frost it. Believe me, my poor cake didn’t look anything like it did before.”

  “I’ll bet it still tasted good,” Corey said, clearly loyal.

  “It did, and you know what? My slip gave everyone a good laugh because, you see, we’ve all had this happen at one time or another.” She gave the carpet one final swipe. “There. Good as new.”

  After tossing her wet towels on the washing machine in the utility room, she rejoined Mac on the sofa while Ronnie restarted the movie.

  Mac leaned closer so that his breath tickled her ear as he spoke. “What an interesting story.”

  She smiled as she shrugged off his thanks. “We all have our moments.”

  “Is it true?”

  She leaned back and pretended horror. “Why, Dr Grant. Would I tell a tall tale to an impressionable child?”

  His eyes crinkled with obvious merriment and it struck her how she’d never tire of seeing his grin or the dimple it revealed. He didn’t show either often enough as far as she was concerned. “I think you would if it would make someone feel better,” he whispered back.

  “Rest easy,” she told him. “Every word I said was true.”

  “When do you have time to bake fancy cakes?”

  “I don’t. Only for special occasions and only for my friends.”

  Ronnie turned around. “Shh, Mom. We can’t hear.”