by Holly Jacobs
"Have you ever had a solo pizza?" He grimaced. "I don't recommend it."
"I have four kids, remember? I don't get many solo meals. But if I do get one, I'll bear your warning in mind and make sure it's not pizza." She stopped teasing and added, "If you're sure, then we'd be delighted to have lunch with you."
"I'm sure."
They walked back out of the school, and Harry threw the security switch, then closed and locked the door.
"Hey, Mom," Shane called, "Mr. Rem said he'd take us out for lunch, but only if it's okay with you."
Mr. Rem. She glanced at Harry. The name suited him as well as the newly decorated office. She looked back at the kids. They'd stopped their game and waited, watching her. She could see how much they wanted to go, and even if she hadn't already said yes, she'd have agreed. "He already asked and I already said yes."
The boys whooped, and Stella just smiled.
"Shall we?" Harry asked.
"Sure." Samantha felt a bit first-date giddy, which was ridiculous since this was anything but a date. This was just Harry being nice. Nothing more. Nothing less.
HARRY COULDN'T REMEMBER the last time he'd had so much fun. Well, he could, but remembering hurt so much, he promptly tried to forget and simply concentrate on Sami Burger—no, Williams—and her kids. They'd opted to go to Patti's Pizza, which was just a couple minutes from the school. It was still at 38th and Pine, though it had moved to a new building across from where it had stood when he was young.
That's what coming home to Erie was like. Things were the same. . .except for the differences.
Buildings that had been renovated, businesses that had moved. Streets that had fallen into inner-city malaise, areas that were on an upswing.
Most were small changes, but that aside, Erie was still the same small town disguised as one of Pennsylvania's four largest cities.
"Earth calling Harry," Samantha said.
"Sorry. I was drifting. Remembering when I was a kid and we'd order pizzas here."
"Wow, Patti's is that old, Mr. Rem?" Stan asked, grinning.
"Watch it, boy," Harry replied with mock sternness.
All four of the kids laughed, which made Samantha smile.
Harry liked how the expression wasn't just in her lips. No, it sort of took over Samantha's whole face, especially around the eyes. He'd been right that first day when he thought her eyes would crinkle when she smiled or laughed. They did.
Seton looked more like his mother than Stan and Shane did. It was the wave in the boy's hair. The other two wore their hair cropped and straight. Harry wondered if Stan and Shane looked more like their father. On the heels of that thought, he wondered how the man could have ignored his kids for more than a year.
Stan was still chuckling over Harry's Patti's-being-that-old quip.
"Yes, Patti's was here when I was a kid, although it used to be across the street next to Burhenn's Pharmacy, Colonial Bakery and Paul Bunyan's Groceries. The old building didn't have any tables. Everything was to go."
"I like eating inside. I like how it smells in here," Stella added quietly. "Like Mommy's kitchen."
"You bake?" Harry asked.
"When I have time. Nothing fancy," she hastened to add. "Just plain kid-friendly stuff."
"Mommy makes the best chocolate chip cookies ever," Stella said.
Not to be outdone, Seton added, "And homemade macaroni and cheese. It's really cheesy."
"And pumpkin pies," Shane added. "I mean, you've never had pies like Mom's."
"I don't think I've ever had a homemade pie, except in a restaurant, and then it's restaurant-made, not really homemade." Harry cast his most practiced pathetic look toward Samantha.
"Was that a subtle hint?" she asked right on cue.
"Gee, you thought that was subtle? I'm going to have to work on the blatant part. I was just thinking, next time you made a pie, I wouldn't be averse to a piece."
"Mom always makes a big meal on Sunday," Seton said. "We help."
"I set the table and stir things," Stella told him.
"Maybe you could come?" Shane asked.
"I would never be rude enough to invite myself." Again, he gave Samantha his look.
She sighed and looked as put upon as she could manage, but Harry caught the twinkle in her eye that said she was teasing. "Harry, would you like to have dinner with us tomorrow? It's just meat loaf."
"And Mom will make pumpkin pie, right, Mom?" Seton said.
"I guess I could be convinced."
"Well, how could I say no to such an unexpected, unprompted, totally impromptu invitation?" He paused a fraction of a second, then added, "What time?"
"Noonish. We eat about one—"
"Then everyone has to farm for themselves the rest of the day," Stella proclaimed.
"That's fend," Seton said with seventh-grade disgust.
"Seton, I don't correct you like that," Samantha said gently.
Harry thought Seton might argue, but he looked at his mother's expression and sighed. "Sorry, squirt."
"Fend," Stella politely repeated.
Harry knew he should feel rather embarrassed by the blatancy of his fishing for a dinner invitation, but he couldn't quite manage it. All he felt was happy that he'd be spending the next day with Samantha and her kids.
He sat back and enjoyed the pizza. He looked from one person to the next, and knew that this was what he'd always wanted. A big family where everyone talked over one another as they laughed and ate. Small squabbles popped up, but Harry didn't even mind them. That was part of being a family. Something he'd always felt he'd missed.
It wasn't that he didn't have a family. He loved his mother and father. But after they'd divorced, they'd both gone on with their lives and built new families. Families he'd never truly felt a part of.
For seven years he thought he'd build his own family with Teresa, but. . .
He shook off the sad thoughts and tried to concentrate on what was in front of him, rather than what he'd left behind. He sat back and allowed himself to enjoy this moment.
The only fly in the ointment—well, pizza—was Stan. The eighth-grader had started shooting Harry dark looks right after Samantha had invited Harry to dinner. Stan obviously wasn't pleased at the idea of his principal coming to his house, but the younger kids didn't seem to mind. Harry wondered if he should back out, yet in the end, he couldn't bring himself to. He really wanted to spend more time with the Williams family.
More specifically, Samantha Williams.
He remembered her as Sami Burger, and found it hard to reconcile the freckle-faced girl with the beautiful woman sitting across from him, eating her pizza.
Stan caught him studying Sami, and shot him an even darker look.
Maybe if he spent time with the Williamses tomorrow, he'd be able to win Stan over. . . .
Chapter Three
Normally, Sundays were quiet. Harry would get the newspaper from the front porch of his rental home and spend an hour or two lazing his way through it, a cup of coffee in hand. Then he'd either work on projects for the classes he was taking, or maybe deal with Erie Elementary business.
He made it a practice of doing something non-school-related in the afternoon. Rollerblading around the paths along the peninsula, enjoying the increasingly colorful fall foliage, taking a long walk. . .something leisurely. He'd cap the day by treating himself to a home-cooked meal. Unfortunately, Harry's idea of a home-cooked meal meant a frozen dinner in the microwave.
That might explain why he'd awakened with a slightly embarrassing bubble of excitement that made his normal Sunday activities seem ponderous, rather than peaceful. He couldn't wait to go to the Williams house.
He kept assuring himself that it was the idea of real food that made the day seem so appealing, but he suspected the majority of his anticipation had nothing to do with meatloaf, and everything to do with Samantha Williams.
At ten to twelve, he drove to the address she'd given him and realized he probably could hav
e walked from his Grandview Boulevard town house.
Samantha's home was maybe a half mile away, on the north side of 38th Street. It was a two-story brick home with a large front porch that spanned the width of it. There was an unconnected garage in the back. Its door was open and it was crammed with bikes and skateboards, a huge soccer net. . .everything a houseful of kids could want.
He climbed the stairs, suddenly feeling a bit like an interloper. He'd practically invited himself. Samantha didn't need another mouth to feed. The bottle of wine in his hand felt like an inadequate hostess gift.
Before he could think of a way to apologize for the coerced invitation, the door opened.
"Hi, Harry." Samantha looked genuinely pleased to see him, and some of his trepidation dissolved.
He held the bottle of wine out to her. "I didn't know what else to bring. I was feeling bad because I sort of forced you to ask me."
Samantha laughed. Not some girly titter, but the full-bodied sound of a woman. "Harry, don't flatter yourself, no one forces me into anything. If I didn't genuinely want you here, I'd have ignored your not-so-subtle hints."
"But it did make extra work."
"It's just meat loaf and mashed potatoes. Nothing special. And cooking for six isn't any harder than cooking for five." She looked startled. "Where are my manners. Come in."
She stepped back and held the door open to him. Harry stepped into a crowded foyer. A coat tree was littered with various jackets and sweatshirts. Rollerblades, sneakers and a very pink pair of plastic slip-on shoes.
"Well, I'm glad you did pick up on my not-so-subtle hints. After eating my own cooking, such as it is, since school started, meatloaf is very special."
"Mom made the pumpkin pies," Shane hollered as he poked his head around the corner.
"I can smell them." He turned to Samantha. "May I help?"
"No. I'm fine. Let me just finish it all off. You can make yourself at home in the living room. The kids will entertain you." She gestured through the doorway. The room said lived in. It was clean, and Harry could tell Samantha had straightened it for him, but there was no disguising the fact four kids called this place home. The slightly scuffed toe of a sneaker peeked out from under the couch. A video gaming system was plugged into the ports on the front of the TV, the cords snaking down to the machine. A stack of school books sat on the coffee table, and a TV Guide was folded to what Harry assumed was the appropriate day, with a remote control next to it.
The room said Family, with a capital F.
This was the sort of room a person looked forward to coming home to. The thought sent him a small stab of regret, which he immediately and purposefully squelched.
Three Williams kids—Shane, Seton and Stella—stood waiting for him.
Seton obviously couldn't wait any longer. "Come see our rooms, Mr. Rem."
"Sure. That sounds like fun." Harry started to follow the boy to the foyer and the stairs, when a low growling stopped him in his tracks.
"Grunge, cut that out," Stella scolded as she reached under the chair and pulled out a cat. At least, Harry assumed it was a cat. It was missing a patch of its ginger-colored hair at its left shoulder blade and one eye didn't seem to open. Yet it made up for the lack by glaring at Harry all the fiercer through its good eye.
"You scared the poor little kitty," Stella informed him.
"I scared him?" Harry asked. Poor little kitty indeed. The feral cat had a look about him that said he'd like to make Harry his dinner.
"Yeah, he gets scared by new people. His old people weren't so very nice to poor old Grunge." Stella stroked the hissing monstrosity's head.
"He just showed up at the back door one day," Shane informed him. "Mom started feeding him. It took two weeks before he'd let her hold him. For a long time he wouldn't stay in the house, but it got cold last winter and finally he did."
"Mom says that means he's a smart cat," Seton added. "He loves her and brings her presents all the time."
"Presents?" Harry asked, wondering if it was wise.
"Mice, toads and once a snake." Shane reached over and patted the savage cat's head.
"He never kills them," Seton assured Harry.
"He's a guard cat." Stella squeezed the cat tighter.
Harry half expected the cat to turn and bite her. Instead, he could swear Grunge sighed as he cast Harry a look that said he was used to being mauled by the eight-year-old, but that he'd survive.
"Once Bobby followed me home and was yelling, but Grunge came out and chased him away. I told everyone at school Bobby was a scaredy cat. I mean, scared of a cat." She laughed while her brothers both groaned.
"That's still not funny, Stell," Seton assured her. "Right, Mr. Rem?"
"I liked it, Stella." Sensing an argument in the making, he chose to divert the kids' attention away from the cat. "Now, you were going to show me your rooms?"
They led him up the stairs and eagerly showed off the biggest room, which was where all three boys slept. Stan was sitting on the single bed, and didn't offer a greeting. He just flipped over and turned his back to Harry. Shane and Seton showed him their bunk beds and various treasures that ranged from rocks to rockets.
Stella led him across the hall to a terminally pink room. It was tiny, but it seemed to suit the youngster and her dolls. And there were enough dolls to have given his boyhood self nightmares. But now, in his mid-thirties, he was man enough to confess there was something endearing about not just the room, but in Stella introducing him to all her dolls, one by one.
The two boys stood in the doorway groaning, but Stella continued with the introductions until she got to the very last doll, who was obviously special, sitting dead center of Stella's bed. "And this is Miss Ruby, Mr. Rem." She used the boys' abbreviated version of his name. "She's going to come have dinner with us, aren't you, Miss Ruby?"
Ruby must have responded in the positive because Stella scooped her up and said, "Come on, Mr. Rem. We all have to wash our hands, or mom won't let us eat."
"Stell—" Shane started to say.
Stella obviously knew what was coming because she interrupted him. "And, yes, I will tell if you don't."
"She thinks she's thirty," Seton stage-whispered to Harry.
"Or our mom," Shane added. "And that's not such a good thing, 'cause we've already got one too many."
"You can't have enough people to care about you. Little sisters included."
Stella turned around and stuck her tongue out at her brothers, and Harry stifled a grin. "Enough of that, Stella," he said in his best principal voice.
They all trooped into the bathroom and washed their hands in turn under Stella's watchful eyes.
As they walked back to the stairs, Harry caught a glimpse of Samantha's bedroom through the crack in the door. It was all earth tones and pillows, the combination of which said comfort. It did something funny to his stomach, making it give a quick flip.
He was glad to get back downstairs where it smelled of pumpkin pies and meatloaf.
"Dinner," Samantha announced, right on cue.
"My hands are washed, Mommy," Stella called out. "I made sure they all washed, too, except for Stan. He was pouting."
"I wasn't pouting," Stan informed his sister as he came into the room, his expression dark and stormy. "And I don't need an eight-year-old telling me to wash for dinner."
"You do, too." Stella turned to Harry. "None of the boys like washin' their hands, but me and Miss Ruby don't mind, do we, Miss Ruby?" She paused as if listening to the doll. "Yeah, right. Boys are gross."
"Mom, Stella's got that doll at the table again," Shane pointed out. "She's not allowed to, Mr. Rem. Mom says if Ruby needs to be fed, she has to wait until Stella's had her whole meal first. Stella always remembers about handwashing, but never remembers the no-doll-at-the-table rule."
"It's a stupid rule," Stella grumbled as she got up and carefully deposited Ruby on the windowsill before coming back to the table.
"Is not," Seton assured his s
ister. "Not after you set the table on fire because of Ruby."
"Table on fire?" Harry tried to imagine how a doll could ignite a table, but was at a loss.
"I didn't do it, Seton did. Miss Ruby was just sittin' on the table next to my plate, and he reached across to steal her, and when I grabbed her, we hit the candle."
"It fell," Seton picked up the tale and continued, "And landed on a stack of paper napkins. There's still a mark on the table under the tablecloth." He sounded almost proud.
"And on Miss Ruby. She got burned all over her tummy. So Daddy—" Stella started, then abruptly stopped.
"So after that," Samantha seamlessly explained as she set a platter of meatloaf slices in the center of the table, "Ruby was relegated to the windowsill during dinner, and Seton had to help his sister clean her room for a whole week."
'"Cause Ruby had to be in the hospital to get better, and I couldn't clean my room and take care of her, right, Mom?"
"Right," Samantha agreed.
"But Ruby still can't come to the table." Stella cast a wistful look at her doll.
"And right now, we have dinner, so let's all pretend this isn't the type of family who sets tables and dolls on fire and impress Mr. Remington with our manners. Okay?"
The meal was a cacophony of noise. Grace was said, serving platters and bowls were passed. The kids all ate with gusto and finished long before Harry had even made a dent in his meat loaf.
"Can I be excused?" Stan, the only quiet child at the table, asked.
Samantha looked concerned, but nodded. "Yes, you may."
He stomped away.
"Us, too?" the other three children asked in unison.
"Sure. But you're on cleanup duty. I'll call when I'm ready for you." Grumbling among themselves about the unfairness of cleanup duty, the kids tromped out of the room.
The dining room was plunged into silence, which seemed out of place after all that noise.
Samantha sighed. "Listen to that. . . I know my kids don't really eat as much as inhale their meals, and that if I were a really good mother, I would insist they eat slower, like civilized people. But, between you and me, Harry, very selfishly, I don't. I very much enjoy the short quiet respite after they've finished to do anything that might delay it."
