Counting Stars

by Michele Paige Holmes

  Jane set Mark’s bottle on the counter, grabbed the dishcloth, and wiped at the stains on her shirt. Deprived of his bottle, Mark started howling.

  “How could one little bite go so far?” Jane grumbled as she looked down at the orange splotches. Lifting Mark to her shoulder, she began bouncing in time with her scrubbing.

  Maddie’s cries escalated, so Jane walked over to the high chair and dropped a handful of Cheerios on the tray. Maddie brushed her arms back and forth over the tray, scattering cereal across the kitchen floor. Her face grew beet red and she started screaming.

  “All right, all right,” Jane said. She tucked the dishcloth into the front of her sweats. With her free hand, she reached down and lifted Maddie from her chair. “It’s okay,” Jane spoke soothingly. “You don’t have to eat sweet potatoes anymore. Whoever wrote that article probably doesn’t even have children.”

  The doorbell rang, immediately followed by a persistent knocking.

  Mom and Dad. Thank goodness. With a crying baby on each hip, Jane walked toward the front door. She undid the chain, flipped the dead bolt and grabbed the knob, pulling the door open. She gasped.

  Paul stood on her front step.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Jane felt her heart leap, and it was all she could do to restrain herself from running into his arms. She still held the twins, but their crying ceased to bother her. Paul’s name formed on her lips, and her eyes welled with tears. She’d pretended she didn’t miss him so much anymore, but she had. He looked so good—all tan and healthy. Even his hair was growing back. A Bible verse from a long-ago Sunday School lesson trailed through her mind.

  “And not a hair on their heads shall be lost.”

  A ridiculous thing to think of right now, especially since he was scowling at her.

  “What’s wrong with them?” he demanded in a voice that wasn’t quite Paul’s.

  Jane’s attention was pulled back to the howling twins. Before she could reply, he stepped over the threshold and took Mark from her.

  “It’s all right little guy. Your uncle’s here now. I’ll take care of you.”

  Uncle? The word went screaming through Jane’s mind, snapping her out of the trance she’d been under since opening the door a half minute ago. Her heart plummeted as sadness, anger, and fear threatened to overwhelm her all at once. Paul wasn’t here. Of course not. It was only his brother shown up at last. His negligent, unfeeling brother—

  “Uncle Pete has got you now. Yeah, you’re okay.”

  Jane watched, dumbfounded, as he walked past her, through the living room and into the kitchen. Left with no choice, she followed, but feeling wary about having him in her house, she kept the front door open.

  “This Mark’s?” He held the bottle up in front of her.

  Jane nodded. “Yes, but you can’t just come right in here and—” And what? She watched as he held Mark in the crook of his arm and began feeding him. Almost immediately, Mark quieted, his attention focused on draining the bottle.

  Madison leaned forward, arms outstretched toward the stranger.

  Jane handed Madison a cracker and pulled her back, putting an arm protectively around her. She stared hard at Paul’s imposter. Piercing blue eyes—nothing like Paul’s—stared back at her. How had she possibly mistaken . . . ? How could she have thought . . . ? It didn’t matter now. She just needed to get this space-invading uncle away from the twins and out of her house. Best to be polite and usher him out as quickly as possible. She took a deep breath and stuck out her free hand.

  “Hi. I’m Jane.”

  “So I gathered,” he said dryly, not bothering to take her hand.

  Jane was about to excuse his rudeness and chalk it up to his probably not knowing how to hold a baby and a bottle on the same side, when he ruined it by openly looking her over, frowning, no doubt, at her stained shirt and disheveled hair.

  She tried one more time to be nice. “Listen, it’s almost the twins’ bedtime, and it’s really important they stick to their routine. So why don’t you just put Mark on the blanket over there, and tomorrow we can work out some sort of visitation schedule.”

  He sent her a scathing look. “Visitation? I don’t think so.”

  Jane suppressed a shudder. No wonder Paul hadn’t wanted anything to do with his brother. Why on earth had he involved him in the twins’ custody? Were the ties of blood that strong?

  She handed Madison another cracker and forced herself to stay calm. She’d read that babies could sense a parent’s mood, and she certainly didn’t want the twins feeling any of her anxiety.

  “Please.” She spoke in her soothing therapist voice. “Give Mark to me and leave.”

  Pete ignored her and walked into the family room, settling in the rocking chair. “You know, I’ve got as much a right to these children as you do—more in fact. So you can forget any other silly ideas you have about keeping me away.”

  Jane felt genuine panic begin to set in. What was he talking about? She hadn’t done anything to keep him away. He’d kept himself away—off flying his helicopter in some dangerous corner of the world. A sudden thought occurred to her. What if he’d been discharged from the military because of some mental trauma? Maybe that was the problem. Maybe that was why he’d shown up out of the blue.

  She watched him rocking Mark. He seemed normal enough—though rude—but was it possible he had post-traumatic stress disorder? Jane tried to recall the undergraduate class she’d taken that covered the subject. She couldn’t remember much—except that a lot of veterans from the first Gulf War had been affected by it. What were the chances she was dealing with a discharged, deranged military man?

  Willing her voice not to tremble, Jane spoke again. “The twins really need to get to bed, so it would be much better if we could continue this in the morning.” She moved toward the rocker. “Just hand Mark to me and—”

  “I’ll put him to bed.”

  “No,” Jane said, more loudly than she’d intended. “Please, just—you need to leave.”

  Pete considered a moment. “All right. I can take Mark with me for the night then.”

  “No!” Jane exclaimed. “You can’t take him.” She backed up, pulling the phone from its charger on the wall. She blocked the entrance to the living room. “You have exactly ten seconds to put Mark down and get out of my house before I call the police.”

  Pete shook his head in disbelief. “You are way too stressed out.” He took the empty bottle from Mark’s mouth and lifted him to his shoulder. Mark began to cry. “Still hungry, little guy?” Pete asked. He looked up at Jane. “Hand me that other bottle, will you?”

  She shook her head. “It’s Maddie’s. Ten, nine, eight—”

  “Can’t you make her another one?” Pete asked. “Mark is still hungry. Look at him.”

  “Seven, six . . . I mean it, I’ll call the police.”

  He looked up at her, accusation in his eyes. “Go ahead. Then I can tell them this poor kid is starving. Maybe you ought to try feeding him more often. He might gain some weight.”

  Jane used her thumb to punch nine on the phone. “I do feed him. He has acid reflux and throws up a lot. Now put him down and get out of my house.”

  Madison leaned forward again, her cries escalating.

  Pete smiled at her. “It’s all right, darling. You hungry, too?”

  “One,” Jane said punching the button on the phone. “She was eating when you interrupted us. Now put my son down and get out.”

  Pete’s smile faded. He rose from the rocker. “He is not your son,” he said in a voice so chilling it scared her.

  “I’m the only mother they’ve known, and I’ve cared for them while you’ve—”

  “Served my country. I came home as soon as I could. I’ve been counting the days until I could be with these kids, and first thing, you try—”

  “You never called or wrote,” Jane accused. Madison grabbed for the phone, hitting several buttons at once. Jane pried Maddie’s fingers from the p
hone and held it up out of her reach. “I didn’t have any idea that you wanted to be a part of their lives. I didn’t even know if you were alive, and I certainly didn’t expect—”

  “9-1-1 dispatch. Do you have an emergency?”

  Jane stared at the phone in her hand.

  “Go ahead,” Pete urged, smirking. “Report me. I’m sure my ten seconds are past.”

  She put the phone to her ear. “Hello.” She listened for a moment. “No. There is no emergency. My daughter accidentally pushed the buttons. Sorry to trouble you.”

  Pete’s eyebrows rose and he gave her a look that clearly said he was calling her bluff.

  That, along with the dispatcher’s insistent questions, was all she needed. Jane spoke again. “Well yes, I’d thought about calling the police because a man forced his way into my house,” she explained, surprised to find her voice shaking, more from anger now than fear. “Yes. He’s still here, and he’s holding my son.” She paused, listening again.

  Pete walked to the counter and picked up Madison’s bottle. He gave it to Mark, who began drinking as eagerly as before.

  “No. He isn’t hurting him,” Jane continued. “He’s—he’s feeding him a bottle.” Another pause. “I don’t know if he’s armed.”

  She thought she saw amusement flicker in Pete’s eyes as he shook his head. She listened to the dispatcher’s instructions. “No. I can’t leave. No, I’m not restrained,” she said, exasperated. I just won’t leave my baby. Yes. That’s the address. But as I said earlier, we’re fine. He knows I’ve called you, and I’m sure he’s going to leave right now.”

  Pete walked closer and leaned toward the phone. “Sorry. I can’t talk right now,” he said loudly. “I’m feeding a very hungry baby, but you should know I’m this boy’s uncle and legal guardian.”

  Jane frowned at him as she spoke into the phone. “He claims he is, but I’ve never met him before. He just showed up at my house, walked right in and took my baby. Yes. I’ll wait on the li—”

  Jane gasped as the phone was pulled out of her hand. She watched as Pete hit the end call button.

  “Before the police arrive, we need to get a few things straight, Miss Warner. The first being that my name is Peter Bryant and I am co-guardian—with you, unfortunately—of these two wonderful children. After tonight, I’ll be certain to carry documentation with me at all times, lest you should forget.”

  “I didn’t know—”

  “Don’t lie,” Pete warned, narrowing his eyes. “I can’t tolerate liars, and I certainly won’t allow one to be involved in raising my brother’s children. Even if your mother hadn’t told you about me, you recognized me. I saw it in your eyes when you opened the door. Paul was my twin, and I’m sure our resemblance hasn’t changed that much over the last couple of years.”

  “My mother?” Jane asked. “What has she got to do with this?” She didn’t wait for his reply. “And, yes. I did see similarities, but you still had no business walking right in and taking Mark. You could have at least had the decency to introduce yourself and then ask if you could see Mark and Madison.” Jane stepped around Pete and went into the kitchen. Pointing to the phone she said, “You had better call them back and explain, or we’re going to have a real mess.” She grabbed a bottle of apple juice from the fridge and gave it to Madison. “You’re lucky Mark didn’t start screaming. Babies this age have stranger anxiety. They need awhile to get to know someone new before they trust that person to pick them up or—”

  “They do know me. I spent all morning with them.”

  “You what?”

  “Didn’t your mom tell you?” Pete asked, looking as perplexed as Jane felt. He stood on the opposite side of the counter. “I spent a couple of hours playing with the twins before I went out and worked on your swing set.”

  “You!” Jane exclaimed. “You’re the one who came into my yard? Who poured cement too close to the lilac bush? You’re my—neighbor?” A look of horror crossed her face as realization hit.

  “I’m not too thrilled with the deal, either,” Pete said, scowling at her. “And while we’re on the subject, you’re driving my Jeep. And that’s my sofa over there too.” He nodded to the corner of the family room. “But I’m okay with all of that. In fact, I was trying to be optimistic about the whole situation until this evening when I saw that you’d covered up the fence and chained the gate shut.” He spoke the last as they heard the sound of a car out front.

  Realizing the police were probably outside, Jane tensed. Hadn’t she read somewhere that it was a felony—or at least a misdemeanor—to request emergency services when they weren’t really needed?

  Peter kissed Mark on the forehead and laid him down on the blanket in the family room. “See you soon, buddy,” he said.

  Jane followed him.

  “Good night, sweetheart.” Pete touched Madison’s hair as he walked past.

  Jane sent him a panicked look. Out front she heard car doors slamming. “The gate key is on the counter,” she offered. “You could go out the back, and I’ll tell them you got away.”

  Pete threw her a look of disgust. “You’re joking, right?” Footsteps sounded on the walk.

  Jane turned and watched as he left the kitchen and went through the living room. She saw him raise his arms just before he reached the front door.

  “I’m the man you want, officers. I am unarmed and coming out the front door.”

  Jane held her breath as he stepped through the door. You have to stop this, her conscience demanded. Don’t make him pay for your mistake. Before she could act on her thoughts, she heard Mark gagging. Whirling around, she saw that he was throwing up—or trying to. Peter had placed him on his back, and now Mark was choking on his own vomit.

  All else forgotten, Jane dropped to the blanket, laid Madison down, and scooped up Mark. With one hand she began patting his back while her other hand raised his little arms to open his airway. He continued gagging, and it seemed like forever before a stream of sour milk finally projected from his mouth, splattering across her lap and the blanket. Mark cried, and Jane felt tears running down her own face. She’d never been so scared or so relieved. She pulled him close, rocking back and forth, her head bent close to his. At last he began to calm down.

  “Everything all right, miss?”

  Jane looked up and saw a policeman standing over her. “Y-yes,” she stammered. “He was choking, and I was afraid . . .” Her voice trailed off as she suddenly remembered why there was a police officer in her house. She leaned to the side, looking for Peter.

  “If he’s okay now—” The officer nodded to Mark. “Then I have a few questions.”

  Still holding Mark, Jane got to her feet. She walked past the officer and into the living room. He followed. The room was empty, so she went to the front door and looked outside.

  “That man—the one who came out with his hands up—do you know where he is?” Jane asked.

  “Not to worry,” the officer said, smiling at her reassuringly. “Right now he’s in the back of a patrol car on his way to the station.”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me, Mother,” Jane said again. The last officer had just left, without charging her with anything, thankfully. Jane knew it was fortunate her parents had arrived when they did. Her mother’s explanation had clarified the situation for Jane and the questioning officer.

  Jane ran her fingers through her tangled hair. “I’ve got to go down there. That’s all there is to it. Pete doesn’t have a car and—” She looked at her father. “There shouldn’t be bail to post, should there?”

  “Shouldn’t be, since you’re not pressing charges.” Her father settled on the sofa that Jane now knew belonged to Peter. She looked around the room. What else of his was she using?

  “Mom, could you bathe Mark for me and try to get him to take another bottle? Slowly.”

  “Of course, dear.” Marsha rose from the rocker where she’d been holding Mark. Maddie lay asleep
on the blanket, juice bottle still in hand. “You really shouldn’t give her juice at night, Jane. Her teeth will—”

  “I know, Mother.” Jane pulled her coat from the front closet. “I never do, but I was a bit stressed. First I thought I’d seen Paul’s ghost, then I had this pushy guy in my house. I thought he was going to try to take the twins . . . Why doesn’t anyone get why I was upset?” she asked, feeling angry all over again. She grabbed her purse from the counter. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  “Take your time,” Marsha called.

  * * *

  Jane parked in one of the thirty-minute spaces in front of the police station. She turned off the Jeep and took a deep breath. The whole way over she’d tried to rehearse what to say, but nothing came to mind, except the inevitable “I’m sorry.” And she was sorry—for the fence, for calling the police—even if Maddie had dialed that last one—and mostly for her behavior tonight. Since learning that Paul had appointed joint custody for the twins, she’d been terrified his brother might try to take them away. Tonight, she’d given him reason to. She could imagine a custody hearing with a psychologist testifying about her absurd behavior.

  “Miss Warner is given to extreme mood swings, bouts of hysteria and—” Jane popped a fun-size Three Musketeers bar in her mouth as she entered the police station. “—an unhealthy addiction to chocolate.”

  Chewing quickly, she walked to the counter and waited until the officer there looked up at her.

  “I’m here to pick someone up,” she said, careful not to open her mouth too wide in case she had chocolate on her teeth.

  “Name?” the officer asked.

  “Pau—Peter Bryant.” What is wrong with me? Placing her arms on the counter, she leaned forward. “He was brought in about half an hour ago. But it was all a big misunderstanding. You see, my mother hadn’t told me he was back from Iraq. And I was already worried about this strange neighbor who’d come in my yard while I was at work. So when Peter came over, I wasn’t expecting it, and he just walked right in and—”