by Norah Wilson
Forget about sisters. It had been so long since April had even one real friend. Oh, she always had lots of people in her life—bosses, co-workers, neighbors, even other young mothers. But none of those relationships had progressed beyond casual friendships because in the back of her mind she knew the status quo could be very temporary.
The thought was like a dark cloud hovering. She reached for her tea, took a big sip, and laughed at something Ocean said. And if her smile came a little harder, no one seemed to notice.
Chapter 11
SCOTT WASHED his hands at the kitchen sink. Flipping the tap off with his elbow, he grabbed a hand towel and dried them.
His gaze went to the window and fields outside. It was great to see the berry fields covered in straw, ready for the winter. The apple orchard…well, that was another matter. The u-pickers would start turning up on Monday. After they’d had a go at the apples, Scott would hire a few pickers to harvest the rest. Some would go straight to market, some would go into cold storage, and some would be pressed for sweet cider. He’d helped with those activities growing up, but this would be the first time he was in charge of it all.
And there it was, right on schedule. The tug-of-war between wanting to immerse himself in the farm—in his family—and wanting to be gone. He knew how that battle would eventually shake out.
But for two months? He could do it.
Grabbing the cutting board and his favorite knife, he went to work on some white onion. He knew he wasn’t cutting them as finely as April would, but they’d do. He looked at the basket of Roma tomatoes beside the cutting board and smiled—they’d be next. At his suggestion, April was planning a huge spaghetti supper tonight. He’d thought he’d give her a head start while he babysat Sidney.
Babysat? He wondered what Little Miss I’m-a-kid-not-a-child would think of that term.
He stuck with a much safer question: “How’s the homework going?”
She looked up from the pages of her textbook. Math. Not his favorite subject, despite the fact that carpentry required hella math. Try to square a wall without knowing the Pythagorean Theorem, or evenly place multiple windows without math skills. But he was pretty sure he could handle the grade five stuff if she needed help. If he knew Sid, though, she wouldn’t need or appreciate help. She was one smart cookie. In fact, she’d shown him how to complete a function table earlier.
Twice.
“Fine,” she said. “It’s almost done. And it’s pretty easy.”
“All of it, or just the math?”
“All of it, but especially the math.”
“Why’s that?” He halted his chopping long enough to glance over at her. “Is it stuff you already learned?”
“No. It’s just easy. School’s kind of boring that way.” She sat up straighter. “Thunderchicken said they have a tutor coming in to see me tomorrow.”
Thunderchicken? “I think you mean Mrs. Thorburn.”
He turned back around to the chopping board so she wouldn’t see his grin. So the kids were still calling her that behind her back—same as they were when he had Mrs. Thorburn in grade five. Call him juvenile, but it still seemed funny.
“Okay, Mrs. Thorburn,” Sid corrected. “Anyway, she said she found someone to give us some math and science enrichment.
“Us?”
“Yeah, there’s another girl who’s pretty good at school too,” Sid said happily.
“What’s her name?”
“Danika Kelly. Do you know her?”
Kelly. Not a common Harkness name. He’d gone to school with a Robert Kelly. Could that be his little girl? “I might know her father. Is he a mail carrier?”
“Yep, he delivers the mail in his car. Danika says it has a flashing light on top, almost like a police car.”
“Cool.”
“Yeah. She’s really nice. She gave me this.” She reached into her pencil case and pulled out a brand new pencil—fresh eraser, never been sharpened or chewed. Purple with yellow happy faces wearing sunglasses dotted along the length of it.
“Sounds like you’ve made a friend already,” Scott said.
Sid shrugged, seeming to pull back into herself. “We’ll see.”
Poor kid. She’d settled in so well and so quickly, he’d almost forgotten how cautious the little girl could be. Any other kid would be ready to declare they’d found their new BFF, but not Sid. Not yet. She was reserving judgment. He couldn’t blame her. How could she do otherwise when it could all disappear at the snap of someone’s fingers?
“So Thunder—I mean, Mrs. Thorburn—found the two of you a tutor. That’s great news.”
“Yep. We’re starting tomorrow. There’s a letter in my backpack for Mom.”
The kitchen door opened and Ember and April burst in, laden with parcels and packages.
“Hey, Mom, look what my new friend gave me.” Sid jumped up to show her the pencil and launched into a report of all the good things that had happened on day two of Douglas Street Elementary School. “Oh, and you know what else? I think every kid in Harkness is planning on coming to our party.”
Our party? For a girl who didn’t trust easily, Sid seemed to be making herself at home here.
“All of them? That’s a lot of kids.” April moved to the counter, nabbed a piece of raw onion and popped it into her mouth. She was smiling. Energized. She’d clearly had a great time with Ember and Ocean.
“Hey, I’m working here,” he said. “Don’t be messing with perfection.”
“Yeah, right.”
“Did you get the Halloween stuff?” Sid asked.
“Did we ever! I hope you’re keen on helping me after supper for the next couple nights, Ladybug. Lots of fudge to be made.”
“No problem. We have to dip candy apples too, right?”
“Right.”
“And you wanted me to help you decorate the Far South Barn, right?”
Before April could answer, Ember jumped in. “Sorry, kiddo. The barn is a big no.”
April glanced from Ember to Scott, her confusion plain. “Why not?”
“No kids allowed until we open the doors on Halloween night,” Scott explained. “No exceptions.”
“Even kids that are staying here?”
Ember laughed. “Oh, Sid, even if you’d been born here. It’s tradition.”
“Rats. I wanted to help decorate.”
April laid a hand on her daughter’ shoulder. “You can help me with the cooking, like I said. But homework comes first—don’t hurry it.”
“I’m just about done. Oh, and that reminds me.” Sid scooted back to the table and pulled the folded envelope from her backpack. She handed it to her mother, then sat back down. “Mrs. Thorburn sent a letter home.”
“Thunderchicken?” Ember said. “She’s still teaching?”
Scott lifted his eyebrows. “Excuse me?”
“Uh…Mrs. Thorburn, I mean. Wonderful lady.”
“I already heard the nickname, Ember,” Sid said, in a very grown-up way.
“Well, it’s not a nice one to repeat,” April said.
“I know. Scott already told me that. I won’t.”
April opened the letter; she read the contents quickly. “Seems you’ve got yourself a tutor.” She smiled. “Faye Silkier.”
“The lady who was here the other night? That Faye?” Sid smiled. “Arden’s g–”
“Well, you probably should call her Mrs. Siliker at school, huh?” Scott said.
“For sure. This is going to be so great. I’m going to text Danika right now and—”
“Finish your homework first,” April said sternly, even as she started to put the grocery items away—some in the fridge, others on the huge counter to be squared away in various cupboards. From what he could see, they’d be eating well in the days to come.
There wasn’t a Standish alive that couldn’t rustle up a mean grilled-cheese sandwich. And, a little-known fact—Scott had worked as a camp cook one winter. Nothing like the kind of meals April put on,
or the desserts she could make, but he could put a meal together. Even bake a little. He watched her unpack several bags of sugar. Probably destined for fudge. His mouth watered at the prospect.
“Funny Ocean never mentioned Faye was going to tutor Sidney,” Ember said.
“Maybe she doesn’t know yet,” Scott said.
“I wonder if she told Arden?” Sidney asked.
Scott shrugged. Heck if he knew. But, what was that little look between April and Ember? “Why would she?”
“I kind of wanted to tell him myself,” Sid said, then shot a look at her mother. “I don’t bother him, Mom.”
“Sweetie, of course you don’t.”
“No way would hanging with you bother Dad, Sid,” Ember said. “He’s not much of a talker but he’s a heck of a good listener.” She smiled. “He used to love to watch me do my homework.”
“Did he watch Scott and Titus do theirs?”
“Sure. But I was better at it than they were, so he watched me more.”
Just like he went to every one of Scott’s football games, and took every chance he got to check out what Titus was working on in the garage. Uncle Arden’s interest had only served to make each of them even better, his attention all the encouragement they’d needed.
But Scott knew where Sid’s worry that she was bothering his uncle came from. The Boisverts hadn’t exactly been the kid-friendly type. Not that they were bad to Sidney, but the older couple were very much of the children-are-to-be-seen-and-not-heard mentality. And that was before Sid got creative with their credit card.
“Well, you can tell Uncle Arden about your new tutor when he gets home. He’s over at Faye’s right now, but that lady knows how to keep a secret,” Scott said.
And Uncle Arden was pretty good at acting surprised.
“So, Scott,” Ember said. “What do you think Dad’s doing over at Faye’s? I mean, again.”
“Playing Scrabble, I think. Though I don’t remember him liking the game when we were growing up. Probably because you always cheated, Ember.”
“Cheated?” She gave an exaggerated huff. “Latin isn’t cheating.”
He wasn’t so sure about that. “Anyway, he seems to enjoy it now. He was over there until almost nine o’clock last night.” He shrugged. “Some men discover golf in their retirement. Maybe Uncle Arden found Scrabble?”
With one final chop, the onions were done. Okay, more of a flourish than a chop. His mouth was watering already in anticipation of the spaghetti.
“Scrabble? Scott I think—” Sidney’s words were cut short.
Scott turned around to see the three females looking at him, with identical grins on their faces.
“You think what?” he said.
“Should we tell him?” Ember asked. She looked at Sid, then April.
Scott looked down at himself. Was there something on his shirt? He raised a hand to his mouth. Something in his teeth?
“Let’s not,” Sid said.
April nodded firmly. “I agree. Let’s not.”
“I haven’t a clue what you three are talking about,” he said, half annoyed.
“And we’re not telling.” Ember grabbed a piece of raw onion.
“My homework’s done,” Sid announced. “I’m gonna go change.” She got to her feet and gathered up her things, precious new pencil packed away in her pencil case. “Then I’ll come down and help you with supper.”
“Why don’t you go out and play for a bit?” April said.
“Maybe you can check out the old tire swing hanging from the second oak tree out back,” Ember suggested.
Sid’s eyes widened. “I didn’t know if I was allowed on it or not.”
“Of course you are,” Ember said. “I mean, if your mom says it’s okay.”
April looked at Scott.
“It’s safe,” he said. “The limb is strong and the rope will hold two adults, let alone one Sid the Kid.”
April nodded. “It’s okay by me, then. But don’t wander further away.”
“Okay!” With all the energy of a happy ten-year-old, Sidney darted out of the room. A second later she was thump thumping up the stairs.
April grabbed an apron from a hook near the stove and hung it around her neck. The strings were so long, she passed them behind her, then back in front, tying them at her waist. God, she was the only woman in the world who could make that look sexy.
“I’ve got the onions chopped,” he announced.
She blinked. “Oh, and how did you do that when I just picked them up at Drummonds?”
“These were in the cupboard.” He gestured to the mountain of onion on the cutting board.
“I thought they must be for something else.”
She didn’t look as thrilled as he’d hoped. And that little line between her eyebrows hadn’t been there when she’d first gotten home from shopping.
This couldn’t be about the onions, could it? Granted, he didn’t chop them as finely as she did, but it hadn’t seemed to matter before. He’d helped her make a meal in that little kitchen in Montreal—plenty of times.
She put her hands on her hips. “I thought that was my job.”
“It is but—”
“Then why are you doing it?”
Ember jangled her keys, no doubt to remind Scott and April that she was still there. “I’ll get the rest of the stuff out of the car.”
“Let me help you,” April said.
“No. I’ve got it. And I’ll take my time so…”
He watched Ember close the door behind her. Jesus, how much trouble was he in? He turned to April. “You’re mad about the onions?”
“No, I’m not angry.” She shook her head. “I’m more troubled.”
“But I used to help you in Montreal.” He’d enjoyed those relaxed times, working together in the kitchen.
“Yes, when we were both off duty. In my personal kitchen, not the Boisverts commercial kitchen.”
“I was just trying to help. I knew you were making—”
“I’m the help. Scott, if you didn’t need me in the kitchen why did you hire me?”
“All this over the onions?”
“It’s not just the onions.” She faced him squarely. “Last night you made the garlic bread. This morning you were up frying bacon before I was out of the shower.”
“I’m just used to doing these things, April. I’m here, so why not help? I enjoy it.”
“I know. I get that. You’re not trying to be anything but your awesome, helpful self. But I’m concerned. Why’d you hire me? Am I…are Sidney and I…is this some sort of pity project?”
Oh, hell. “Of course not. Sorry, April. How about I stay out of the kitchen completely?”
“I’m not saying that.” She walked over to him. “I like having you in the kitchen. And thanks for looking after Sidney after school.”
“Glad to do it.”
“But…” She reached to fix the flap over the pocket on his Levis shirt and smiled up at him. “But this is my job, and I want to do it well.”
“Ah, so that’s it—you think I’m going to screw up the spaghetti sauce.”
“You just diced up a sweet onion, which is really better for eating raw with sandwiches or fresh salsa or something. My spaghetti sauce calls for yellow onions, which are sharp enough to cut through the sweetness of the tomato sauce.”
“I’m an idiot.”
“Oh, the sweet onion would do in a pinch. The spaghetti sauce would be all right, but—”
“But you quite properly take pride in what you do, and all right doesn’t cut it.”
“Exactly.”
“Sorry,” he said. “I know this is nothing like at the Boisverts’. I just have to remind myself that things are different.”
“Not everything, surely?”
She went up on tiptoe and pressed her lips to his. Even with Titus’s warnings ringing in his ears, he closed his arms around her reflexively and drew her against his body, kissing her back. When her hands went aroun
d his back, he wanted so much to maneuver her up against the cupboard and kiss her senseless. But he couldn’t. Damn it all to hell.
He put his hands on her waist and moved back to insert some space between them. “We can’t do this, April.”
“You’re right—Sidney will be back down any minute.” She unlinked her hands from behind his neck, but let them slide slowly, lingeringly down his chest and abdomen as she stepped back.
Scott groaned. Damn, how he wanted her! “That wasn’t what I meant.”
Her eyebrows drew together. “What did you mean?”
Thump, thump, thump.
Two seconds later, Sid was back in the kitchen.
“Off to the tire swing?” Scott asked.
“Nope.” Instead of heading for the door, she reached for one of her mother’s aprons—a light yellow one with wide pockets in the front. Sidney wrapped the strings around herself twice before knotting them in the back. “Actually, I thought I’d work off some of my debt, if that’s okay with you, Mom?”
Debt? Right. The credit card.
“Good idea,” she said. “Get out the chopper. You can start on the yellow onions.”
This would be so good for them, spending time in the kitchen. Back in Montreal, April had confided how she wished she had more time with Sidney.
“Great.” Sid looked at Scott. “What are you going to do with the onions you chopped, Scott?”
“Umm…”
April laughed. “How about we make some quiche?”
“Yes!” Sid said. “Oh, can I take a piece in my lunch?”
“Sure,” April said.
“After the onions, want me to FIFO the fridge?”
“That’d be great, sweetie.”
“Um…what the fridge?”
“FIFO. It’s an acronym for first in, first out,” April supplied. “Whether it’s a fridge or freezer, or dry goods in a pantry, the oldest stuff needs to be rotated to the front and the newest stuff placed at the back, to minimize spoilage.”
“Makes sense,” he conceded. “But why haven’t I heard the term before, given all the time I spent in your kitchen?”
“Prolly ’cause we do it automatically,” Sid said. “Nobody has to talk about it.” She went to the sink, adjusted the taps to the perfect temperature, then began scrubbing her hands.
