Mr. Elliott Finds a Family

by Susan Floyd

  Together, he and Iris put the new linen on the bed. She insisted on hospital corners and placing the pillowcases with the ends tucked in like an old-fashioned sandwich bag without the zip. She didn’t even resemble the disoriented woman of the day before. She was funny and lucid and obviously very much concerned with the welfare of her granddaughter.

  “Beth Ann is a marvelous artist,” Iris said as she sat down to rest in the big leather chair in the corner of Beth Ann’s room and watched him unpack the rest of his belongings. He liked the fact that he and Beth Ann were sharing space. He put his cologne next to her atomizer. His comb next to her brush. His watch next to hers. He stared at his wedding ring and after a moment’s hesitation, pulled it off as well.

  “I haven’t seen any of her work,” he remarked.

  “Sure you have. That’s hers,” she said, pointing to the large watercolor that was right across from the bed.

  Christian remembered noticing it earlier.

  “She did that when she was fourteen.” The pride in Iris’s voice was apparent.

  Fourteen. Christian whistled. Amazing.

  “Glenn said she went to art school?” he asked casually. Now that he fully understood Glenn’s relationship with Beth Ann, he felt as if the other man was an ally.

  “An M.F.A. program in Chicago. Very competitive. She was one of four that year.”

  “Wow.”

  “She’s gained a lot of depth since that.” Iris sighed as she indicated the painting on the wall. “She just doesn’t do it as much as she should.”

  “No time?”

  “Maybe. Maybe not.” Iris suddenly appeared weary. She smiled at him, her eyes far away in thought. “I think she would tell you it was time. Do you want to know what I think?”

  Christian nodded, very much wanting to know what Iris thought.

  Iris said carefully, “I think she worries about everything. And the worry keeps her from painting. If I weren’t an old woman and could take care of Bernie—”

  “From what I’ve heard, you’ve done more than your share of taking care of people.”

  Iris brightened at his words. “Did Carrie tell you that?”

  Christian was at a loss for words. Then, he lied, “Yes, she did. She told me all about you. How you were a botanist before you retired. Did you paint as well?” He distinctly remembered Glenn referring to Iris’s art.

  “Well, I liked to paint,” Iris said. “Until my eyes got too bad. But I was nowhere near Beth Ann’s league. She and Glenn. Two very different kinds of painters, but still very much kindred spirits when it comes to art. Carrie on the other hand.” She looked at him, as if she knew he had lied to her about Caroline, but forgave him. “Carrie and Beth Ann were never alike. Even when they were small.”

  “I’m realizing that.”

  “Were you happy with Carrie?” The question came out of nowhere.

  Christian hesitated. She seemed too alert for him to lie outright. Then he said, “Caroline was always able to make people happy.” He felt good about his hedge.

  “But was she able to make you happy?” Iris’s question was piercing.

  “No,” he answered honestly and then explained. “But I’m a pretty hard person to make happy. I think I’m one of those perpetual pessimists. The glass is always half-empty.”

  Iris nodded, then said, “I think Beth Ann could make anyone happy just by smiling at them.”

  Christian couldn’t agree more.

  THAT NIGHT, Christian lay in Beth Ann’s bed, fully expecting to stay awake. So much had happened since the day before. He’d had no idea he would be sleeping in an antique cherry bed listening to the cows moan in the distance. So much to think about, to process. The least of which was that Caroline had based her entire marriage on lies.

  The heaviness of the night began to weigh on his eyelids. He stared at the painting, almost glowing in the bright moonlight, studying the scene through Beth Ann’s fourteen-year-old eyes. He rolled over, his face in the pillow, inhaling the clean scent of laundry soap and sunshine. The heat of the spring day had cooled and in addition to the rather noisy cows, he could hear the crickets chirping and the hum of the semi-trailer trucks rolling down the distant freeway. He felt as if he was a million miles away from anything real, anything unhappy....

  Christian woke to a curdling scream.

  Dragging his eyes open, he flung himself out of bed, wondering what it was as he stumbled in the direction of it. Highly disoriented, he banged his knee, but somehow managed to make it to the kitchen. Iris was standing frozen in the middle of the room with the flames of the gas stove flaring on all four burners. He quickly turned them off and turned the kitchen light on. Beth Ann, her hair tousled, came rushing in, her sleeveless nightgown askew at the shoulders. Christian couldn’t help but notice how her small breasts pushed against the soft fabric, worn thin from years of wear.

  “What’s wrong?” she demanded, panic crowding her voice, clearly unaware of her state of undress.

  “Nothing. Nothing. Go back to sleep,” Christian assured her, trying the best he could to be a gentleman and look at her face and not the delicate outline of her nipple.

  “Grans? What did you want?” Beth Ann asked.

  “An egg.”

  “An egg, Grans?” Beth Ann’s voice was soft. “What kind of an egg?”

  “A fried egg.”

  Beth Ann looked at the stove and then looked at Christian.

  He shrugged. “They were going full blast.”

  “I told you, Grans, if you want an egg, you can just wake me up and I’ll fix it for you.”

  The confused look in Iris’s eyes broke Christian’s heart. How was it that after just two days with this family, he was so deeply entrenched in their lives that he felt all their breakdowns personally?

  “I didn’t want to wake you. You were sleeping.” Iris looked to him for help.

  “Why don’t you go back to bed, Beth Ann?” Christian offered. “I’ll fix Iris an egg. I could use an egg myself.”

  Uncertainly, Beth Ann studied the man before her, relaxing when he nodded. Even though he was only dressed in pajama bottoms, he looked every inch in charge of the situation. She let her gaze linger on his bare chest, then trail down his flat stomach to where a thin line of dark hair disappeared down into— Her heart fluttered in her throat.

  “Are you sure?” she whispered. “You don’t have to do this.”

  “Go back to sleep.” His voice was gentle, like a deep caress.

  She gave him a questioning look and when he nodded again, she kissed Iris on the forehead.

  “Well, Grans, enjoy your egg. I hope Christian can make them sunny-side up.”

  “My specialty,” Christian said cheerfully, and his gray eyes assured her that Iris would be fine.

  Beth Ann had a hard time getting back to sleep. She could hear murmured conversation punctuated by quiet bursts of laughter. She had to admit that Carrie, whether she’d intended to or not, had married a wonderful man. The ache in her soul seemed to grow larger at the vivid memory of his kiss. Even if he regretted it, it was significant to her.

  CHRISTIAN AWOKE to the sound of movement in the kitchen. He opened his eyes, slowly realizing he had been asleep. He looked at his clock in surprise, hardly daring to believe he had been asleep for four hours, the longest stretch of sleep he had had since Caroline’s death. What was more amazing was the way he felt. Rested. Sort of. He peered out the window. Dawn was just breaking. A beautiful day. He pulled on a pair of comfortable jeans and a white shirt he didn’t even bother to tuck in. He reached for his wedding ring and hesitated. He grabbed instead a small leather notebook that fit perfectly in his shirt pocket. He wouldn’t be caught unprepared when Beth Ann gave him tips about Bernie and Iris. He walked across the living room and pushed open the swinging door, anticipation washing through him when he saw Beth Ann hard at work at the sink.

  “Hello, there,” he greeted. He couldn’t stop his eyes from surveying her small breasts, chastel
y covered by an oversize T-shirt. His imagination supplied the image from the night before. “What’re you doing?”

  She looked up and her elfin smile with the perfect points filled him with relief. She wasn’t going to hold the kiss against him. “Just finishing up the dishes from last night. The pan had to soak. You want to make the coffee?”

  “Sure.” He crossed the kitchen and looked around. “Where do you keep it?”

  “In the freezer. There are two cans. You want to put one scoop from the can with the X on top and three scoops from the can without.”

  “Why?”

  “Why?” Beth Ann stared at him in surprise.

  “Yes,” Christian asked. “What’s the difference?”

  “Oh, the can without the X has recycled grounds.”

  He laughed in disbelief. “You’re kidding.”

  “No, I’m not,” she said seriously. She vigorously scrubbed the pan.

  “That’s why your coffee is so bad.”

  “Did Glenn tell you my coffee was bad?”

  “No, I figured that out myself,” Christian said.

  “Beth Ann, you can’t recycle coffee grounds into the coffee you drink.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it doesn’t taste good. Regular coffee shouldn’t taste bitter. Trust me.”

  “Coffee is expensive,” Beth Ann muttered.

  “I’ll buy you a lifetime supply of coffee,” he said. “Please, let me use four scoops of the good grounds. You can recycle the used stuff in your compost heap.”

  Beth Ann thought for a minute and then said grudgingly, “Okay. Don’t ever let Glenn tell you I don’t compromise.”

  Christian laughed and put four scoops of the fresh coffee into the filter.

  “How’d you sleep?” Beth Ann asked as she flashed him another friendly smile—one that sent a wave of comfort down his back.

  Who but his physician had ever made that inquiry?

  “Good,” he answered honestly.

  “Thank you for getting to Grans last night.”

  “Don’t mention it. That’s what I’m here for.” He poured the water into the coffeemaker.

  “Well. I didn’t mean it to be trial by actual fire,” she said ruefully.

  “Have you ever thought about putting a lock on her door?”

  Beth Ann frowned. “Glenn and Fred have talked to me about that. But I can’t bear to lock Grans in her room.”

  “It’s better than burning the house down.”

  “That’s what Fred and Glenn say.” She snorted. “You men all think alike. Is that your solution to everything? Lock ’em up. No wonder we have so many prisons.”

  Christian backed down from the topic. Obviously a touchy subject.

  “Mommy!”

  Beth Ann instantly made a move to go get her but Christian stopped her.

  “Stay and enjoy the peace, I’ll get her. That’s another thing I’m here for. Any special tricks?”

  Beth Ann shook her head and put the pan upside down to drain. She started clearing away the clutter of toys on the floor. “Not anything you don’t know already.”

  “Potty things?”

  “We potty after we eat breakfast, because she’s already gone in the night.”

  “So diaper change.”

  “Diaper change would be good,” Beth Ann grinned. “You sure you want to do this?”

  “Well, maybe you should do it once, while I look on.”

  “Why don’t you go to her? I’ll be there as soon as I finish picking up all Bernie’s toys so she can have the joy of spreading them around the house again. Those diapers are so heavy-duty, she could wear one for three days and not feel wet.”

  Christian laughed and walked down the hall, already becoming familiar with the creaks of the floor.

  “Mommy!” The cry was a little more insistent.

  When Christian pushed open the door, he was greeted by an anxious Bernie who was standing on her tiptoes at the very corner of the crib. With another inch of height, she would be able to scale the side of the crib with no problem.

  She smiled at him and Christian felt a tug at his heart. With her eyes filled with sleep and her smooth skin the color of peaches, she was adorable. “Mommy?”

  “Mommy’s in the kitchen.”

  “Garden!” She bounced a couple of times, then raised her arms for Christian to pick her up.

  “So did you have a good sleep, sweetheart?” he asked, not being able to help himself as he planted a kiss on her cheek. With a gentle hand, he carefully plucked the sleepy goo from her eyes. She gave him a big hug.

  “Garden!”

  “Garden later, sweetie,” Beth Ann said as she walked in the room. “You’re going to take advantage of your Uncle Christian while he’s here, I can tell.” She indicated to Christian that he should put Bernie on the changing table.

  “Unckiss!” Bernie held one arm out to him as she lay down.

  Christian felt a small spurt of pleasure. His very own nickname.

  “We’re going to change you and then we can go have some breakfast,” Beth Ann said cheerfully.

  Christian noticed everything Beth Ann said around Bernie was upbeat, as if eating breakfast was the most fun thing in the world. He wanted to have breakfast just because of the way she said it.

  “Diapers are here,” she instructed him. “And if these run out, there’s more in the closet. If that supply is down to one package, let me know and I’ll make a trip to the store. Usually, I can find a sale before I run out.”

  He had learned to be an excellent student at the military academy. He pulled out the notebook and began to scribble. “So you’ll go paint after breakfast?” he asked, watching her as she wiped Bernie with quick efficient strokes.

  “Use these wipes, too, if she goes poo in the potty.” Beth Ann’s lips quirked up as he took more notes. “But these don’t flush like toilet paper.”

  “Mrs. Potty!” Bernie exclaimed with a wriggle.

  “Yes. Mrs. Potty. But after breakfast.” Beth Ann rubbed her nose into Bernie’s bare tummy and Bernie chortled with glee. “Toilet paper’s a little rough and she hates it.”

  “Then the diapers go back on.” He made a note.

  Beth Ann laughed.

  “No Pull-Ups?” he asked. He watched television. He knew what was available.

  Beth Ann made a face. “I don’t know. I hear good things and bad things about those. I don’t want to force anything on her. And she’s used to using Mrs. Potty every morning and every night after her bath. Maybe in a few months. We’ll see.”

  Christian nodded and realized with a sinking heart that he wouldn’t be around to see that milestone. Instead of watching this little girl grow, he’d be back in San Diego, hurtling from one meeting to the next and at night, when he finally quit working for the day, he’d be alone in his private wing of the Elliott estate. He shook off the feelings, focusing on the fact he was here, not there.

  When Beth Ann put Bernie down, she immediately went to grab Fluff from between the slats of the crib. Her grip on his ear was deathlike.

  “Why don’t you dress her?” Beth Ann asked. “We usually do that after breakfast—saves on two clothes changes in the morning—but we don’t have to.”

  “Why don’t we wait? After breakfast, you can paint. And I’ll dress her.”

  “Grans will be up by then. She can help, too.”

  Christian could hear Beth Ann’s unspoken words. If she’s having a good day.

  “And Bernie and I will take care of her,” Christian said a little more confidently than he felt. “After all, I know how she likes her eggs.”

  THREE DAYS LATER, Beth Ann stared at the man who had taken over her household with the efficiency of a Marine Corps sergeant. Not that she was threatened by how easily everyone, especially Bernie and Iris seemed to have taken to him. Of course not. He was no threat. She could trust the judgment her family had shown. Children and the aged were by far the best judges of character. Breakfast, as
usual, was a lively affair, but for some reason, even though she knew Bernie and Iris were in capable hands, Beth Ann didn’t want to leave the fun. She didn’t want to go upstairs to the attic and paint while Christian got to play with Bernie and talk philosophy with Iris.

  “Go paint,” he ordered her, as he started to rinse the dishes. Bernie banged on the table in her attempt to swat a fly. “What time do you want lunch?”

  “About noon. Are you sure you can handle this? Maybe I should spend today with you—”

  “Go paint. You’ve shown me everything you can and I think it’s time that you took advantage of the fact that I’m here.”

  She was reluctant to go.

  “Go paint!” Bernie ordered her.

  “Go paint!” Iris echoed with a sly smile.

  “It’s a conspiracy,” Beth Ann grumbled, already dreading the climb to the attic. She grabbed the baby monitor. “I’ll take this just in case.”

  Christian reached over and took it from her with a soapy hand. “If it’s bad enough, you’ll hear the screams. Otherwise, you should just go paint.”

  He stared at her for a long time and she felt as if she was getting lost in the stormy gray of his eyes. The transitions had been almost effortless. Iris was on a streak of good days and Christian had proved himself an adept student when it came to reading Bernie’s moods. He knew that Bernie loved the garden, so since the days were so nice, they spent much of their time there.

  “Trust me,” he said now, with a slow smile that made her heart thud heavily.

  “Okay,” she whispered.