by Beverly Farr
The woman reached out to touch Jeff's cheek. Olivia stepped closer, wondering if she should stop her, since Michael was concerned about germs. “So sweet, aren't they?” the woman said. “I'll bet it makes you want to have two of your own.”
Yes, it does. Olivia didn't say anything.
“Nice meeting you.” The woman pushed her cart down toward the carrots.
Michael was right. Everyone noticed twins, and quintuplets would draw a crowd.
Jeff laughed and reached for Olivia's glasses.
She leaned back, out of reach. “What is it with my glasses?”
“Maybe they want to see your pretty eyes.”
Michael was back. He tossed a large box of diaper wipes into the cart. Olivia straightened. “Here's your Dad,” she said, not looking him in the eye. “Linc was sad at first, but they were troopers.”
Michael rubbed their backs, making them smile. “They're great shoppers. Thanks for your help.”
“Any time.” Olivia opened the large refrigerator door and took out a bag of French fries.
“See you around,” he said. He started pushing one cart ahead of him and pulling the other one behind him on his way to the front of the store to check out.
“Wait a minute.”
He stopped and looked at her. “Yes?”
Why was it so difficult? Olivia swallowed. “I'm having a barbecue on Labor day,” she blurted out. “Sixish. Just a few friends from work, no big deal. But if you'd like to come, you're welcome.”
He thought about it for a few seconds. “What should I bring?”
Just your wonderful self. The thought startled her. “Anything you want. Chips. Ice cream. Whatever.” She tried to sound casual and carefree, but her heart was beating rapidly and her mouth was dry.
“I'll do that. Thanks.”
She waited until he was out of ear shot. “Yes!” she whispered happily and hugged the cold bag, which popped under the pressure and sprinkled frozen fries all over the floor.
CHAPTER FOUR
“How do I look?”
Miss Kate glanced up from the laundry she was folding on the couch and eyed him critically. “It's a barbecue, right?”
“Right.” Michael looked down at his starched white shirt and jeans. Mary Ellen had always criticized his clothing choices, but he couldn't go wrong with a white shirt and jeans, could he?
Miss Kate asked, “Do you have any cowboy boots? I've always been partial to a man in boots.”
“No. Sorry.” He hadn't lived in Texas long enough to be able to wear cowboy boots without feeling foolish.
“Then I guess you'll do.”
Michael drawled, “Thank you, ma'am.” and blew her a kiss.
She rolled her eyes. “That's enough of your nonsense. You'd better get out of here before that party's over.”
Michael glanced at his children one last time before leaving. All were playing in the back bedroom with Alexis. They were surrounded by wooden blocks and plastic cars.
“You look great, Mr. Claiborne,” Alexis said. She was being polite. She didn't add, “for a man your age,” but he knew what she thought. He'd seen her boyfriend: a well-muscled twenty year old who wore sleeveless shirts to expose his tattooed arms. She added, “But undo another button on your shirt. Otherwise, you look stiff.”
“Thanks.”
Michael glanced at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. He'd just turned thirty, but he looked older. He felt older. How long had it been since he'd had eight hours of uninterrupted sleep?
“You need to get out more and enjoy yourself,” his mother had been saying lately. She thought he should marry again. Which, given his history, wasn't a pleasant prospect.
He grimaced as he brushed his teeth. It's just a party, he reminded himself. He wasn't looking for a wife. He just wanted to relax, meet new people, have fun. But he hadn't been to a party by himself in years.
That was another thing to blame Mary Ellen for. If she hadn't left him, he wouldn't be in this mess, having to readjust to being single. Not that he missed their arguments and her sulks, but at least he had known what to expect.
#
Shannon and Dan came early to help Olivia set up the tables in the backyard. Shannon sliced tomatoes and onions in the kitchen while Dan started up the grill.
Olivia filled a cooler with soft drinks.
“So, how's it going with Larry?” Shannon asked. The knife made a whacking sound on the cutting board as she diced the onions.
“We've been out together a few times.”
“And?”
Olivia shrugged. “He’s a nice guy.”
“Damning with faint praise?”
“Not that bad.”
“Has he kissed you?”
“Once.”
“And?”
Olivia walked to the refrigerator to get mustard and ketchup. She wasn't sure what she felt about Larry. It was too soon to tell. “It wasn't much more than a peck. He's taking things slow, which I appreciate. If there's one thing I can't stand, it's a guy who thinks I owe him a hop in the sack after a free meal.”
Shannon laughed. “Sweetheart, you channel the aura of Doris Day. A guy would have to be a complete jerk to attack you.”
“Believe me, they're out there.” That was one of the reasons she’d signed up with the Christian dating service. She hoped it would increase the odds of finding a man who had the same dating standards that she did. She had been brought up strictly: no sex before marriage, total fidelity afterwards.
Shannon rinsed the knife off and washed her hands. “So, is Larry coming tonight?”
“No, he's out of town.” Which was good. She sensed that Larry might like her more than she liked him, and a little breathing space was a good idea. She put her hands on her hips and surveyed the food on the kitchen counter. “Have I forgotten anything?”
“Buns, veggie tray, potato chips, pickles, potato salad, baked beans, coleslaw, watermelon. Nope, it looks like a traditional American barbecue.”
Olivia bit her lip. “Is it too boring? Should I have planned something a little more exotic?”
“Like lamb kebabs with grilled summer squash?” Shannon shook her head. “People like food they recognize. And plenty of it.”
Olivia wasn't convinced. “I can make some guacamole to put on the hamburgers.”
Shannon took her by the shoulders, turned her around and pushed her toward the back door. “No. No more cooking. Your only job now is to stand around, looking gracious.”
Easier said than done. Olivia paused on the steps to the backyard. “Does my hair look stupid?” She raised her hand to the braid that was wrapped around her head in a crown. An hour earlier she thought it looked nice, but now she wondered if she looked like someone's grandmother.
“No, it looks pretty and cool. And in that skirt, your waist looks about eighteen inches around. I'm totally jealous. Even when I'm not pregnant, I never looked so good.”
Dan slid up behind Shannon and pinched her, making her squeal with surprise. “I beg to differ,” he said with a grin. “You look good now.”
“Stop it.” Shannon slapped his hand away and twisted around to examine her backside. “If you got barbecue sauce on me, I'll kill you.”
But she smiled as she said it, and Olivia watched their loving interplay with a twinge of envy. Dan and Shannon had what she wanted: a marriage that was friendship, respect and romance, all rolled together. Did they have any idea how rare that was?
Her parents had been equally compatible, so she’d grown up thinking that was the norm, until life taught her otherwise.
Sometimes she feared that John had been her one and only chance for a happily ever after and that she’d never get married, never have a family.
Was it unrealistic to hope that two wonderful men would find her wonderful?
But even though it might never happen, she had to try.
Olivia looked around the backyard. Did she have enough chairs or too many? “What time is it?”
Dan checked his watch. “Six o'clock on the dot.”
Olivia looked up the driveway. “No one's here yet. Do you think we should bring the food out now or wait?”
Shannon smiled. “Quit worrying.”
She was right. No one really wanted to hear her rattle on about her fears. And it was just a minor case of stage fright, anyway. She stood straight and took a deep breath. What's the worst thing that could happen? The hamburgers would burn, the hot dogs would be ice cold, the card tables would flip over in the wind, mosquitoes would bite everyone, and only three people would show up. Olivia smiled. Not to worry. She could handle that. Piece of cake.
She smiled at Shannon. “I love barbecues.”
“That's the spirit.”
An hour later, Colbie Caillat songs were playing from speakers attached to her mp3 player. Four more couples and seven singles had arrived and were milling around, holding paper plates and sipping from aluminum cans. One group was discussing movies and another was arguing about politics. My party's a success, Olivia thought happily as she tucked a stray piece of hair back up under the braid. All I need now is Michael Claiborne to arrive.
Suddenly two hands covered her eyes. “Guess who?”
Olivia's heart sank. “Larry.” She made herself smile as he lowered his hands and she turned around to greet him. She could smell his aftershave. It was a little too citrusy for her. “I thought you were out of town.”
He put his arm around her waist, giving it a quick squeeze. “I came back early.”
Over his shoulder, she saw Michael, walking up her driveway. Had he seen Larry put his arm around her waist? “Excuse me,” she said quickly, breaking away from Larry and hurrying to follow after Michael, who had seen her and turned away.
Please don't go. “Michael!”
He turned around. “Yes?”
His eyes focused on her hair, her sleeveless blouse, the flowered skirt, her sandals. She had no idea what he was thinking. She twisted her hands together. “There's a hamburger with your name on it. Are you going to join us?”
Michael said, “No. I just dropped by to say I can't come.”
“Oh.” If that were true, then why was he wearing a freshly pressed shirt and carrying a carton of chocolate ice-cream? Olivia lifted her chin. “Why not?” She knew it wasn't polite to ask, but she refused to let him leave without telling her something, even if it was a polite lie.
He held the ice-cream carton out to her. “I'm sorry.”
No excuses, no explanations. She took the ice-cream. “Thank you.”
He nodded, then turned and walked back up her driveway. Out of her life.
Olivia told herself it was ridiculous to be so disappointed. She had a yard full of guests. One less shouldn't make a bit of difference. But it did matter. She liked Michael and wanted to get to know him better. She clenched her teeth.
“Are you okay?” Larry asked.
He sounded concerned. “I'm fine,” Olivia lied. “Just a little thirsty. Would you please get me a coke and a cup of ice?”
“Sure thing.” He headed toward the cooler.
“Who was that?” Shannon asked. Her tone said, who is that tall, lanky, great looking guy and why haven't you told me all about him before?
“My neighbor Michael Claiborne.”
“And?”
She knew what her friend wanted to hear, but she wasn't going to cooperate. She answered in clipped tones, “He can't come to the party tonight. Maybe he couldn't get a babysitter.”
Larry returned with her drink. “How many children does he have?”
Olivia wished she could put the cool can up to her forehead where a raging headache had started. “Five.”
Larry whistled. “That's disgusting. In this day and age, no one should have more than two.”
Shannon raised her eyebrows, but didn’t say anything. Her baby would make four for them.
“You’re worried about over-population?” Olivia asked carefully.
“Yes, I think it’s a serious problem. And I’m going to do my share by not having any.”
Olivia looked at him closely. “You don’t want children?”
“No. Do you?”
“Yes. Eventually.” Although whether God would make that work, she didn’t know.
Larry looked at her, eyes narrowed at her fervent response. She sensed that he wouldn’t be asking her out again.
Not a great loss. She felt worse about Michael not coming to her party than never seeing Larry again. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly to regain her focus, to center herself. This was her party and she had a job to do. “Who needs another hamburger?” she asked cheerfully and made herself smile.
#
OCTOBER
“Are you seeing anyone?”
Michael didn't answer. His mother had restrained herself as long as possible, he thought. He should be grateful. She hadn't said a word about his social life when he met her at the airport gate and they collected her luggage. She had very nicely waited until they were driving home to start the interrogation.
“I asked if you were dating anyone.”
He knew her well enough to know that she'd keep on asking until he answered. “No, I'm not,” he said flatly, “and I have no intention of dating anyone. I'm too busy.”
Jana Claiborne pursed her lips together. “You'd make time if the right girl came along.”
He wondered what his mother's version of the right girl was. “What woman in her right mind would take over as mother to quintuplets?” he asked. He took the exit to I-635 and merged into the ongoing traffic.
Just look at my stomach. It will never be flat again. I hate you and I hate these babies.
Michael's hands tightened on the steering wheel. It still hurt to remember. “Mary Ellen didn't even last a week after they came home from the hospital,” he reminded.
“Mary Ellen wasn't the motherly type.”
That was the understatement of the year. If it hadn't been for his mother moving into the house and taking charge, he didn't know what he would have done. He'd never changed a diaper before, let alone given a baby a bath. His mother was the one who organized the volunteers from church and started the babies on a strict feeding schedule.
Mary Ellen took absolutely no interest in the children, except when a television camera was rolling. They’d been highlighted briefly on a local news channel, but Mary Ellen was annoyed that they didn’t get more media attention.
As long as we were having a litter, we should have had nine. Nobody cares about quintuplets anymore.
Michael glanced over at his mom. “It was difficult enough to find someone I could pay to take care of the kids during the day.”
“Isn't there anybody nice at your church?”
Michael shook his head. He didn't want to tell her he had only gone to church twice since he'd moved to Dallas. Taking care of five babies made church attendance dicey and he hated having to ask for help. It hadn't been as bad in Denver, in the congregation where he’d grown up. He had friends there, and people knew him. But here in Dallas, he didn’t know anyone.
“Tell me about Miss Kate,” his mother said optimistically. “You said she's a widow?”
“She's at least sixty, Mom.”
She took that in stride. “But didn't you mention another girl who was helping you?”
“Alexis. Her granddaughter. She's nineteen.”
She considered the information. “I was married at nineteen.”
Michael didn't say anything. If his mom wanted to match make, there wasn't much he could do except ignore it. “You won't recognize the kids,” he said, changing the subject. “They've gotten so big. Wash weighs twenty-two pounds.”
Jana Claiborne looked at him with concern. “That sounds big. What are you feeding him?”
“Cheesecake,” he said, then at her look of disapproval, laughed. When they were born, everyone worried that they weren't gaining enough weight. “Don't worry, Mom, he's eating normal food, I prom
ise.”
She sniffed. She didn't think he was funny.
Michael sighed. If his mother wasn't worrying about his love life, she'd worry about the grandbabies. He shouldn't be surprised. She had helped so much in the beginning, it was difficult for her to believe that he was now a capable, seasoned parent.
It was going to be a long two weeks.
#
Olivia was walking around the neighborhood on a Friday evening when she saw Michael's truck parked half a mile from his house. At first she wondered if he'd had car trouble, but as she approached, she saw that he was slumped over the steering wheel, not moving. Her stomach tightened with fear. Please, God. Not him, too. She ran over to the truck and knocked on the driver's side window. Please don't let him be dead.
He opened his eyes and looked at her without recognizing her. Then he sat up straight and rolled down the window.
“Are you okay?” She searched his face with concern, looking for signs of illness. He'd gotten a haircut recently and his close cropped hair made the features of his face more noticeable. There were gray circles of fatigue under his eyes.
“I'm fine. I was sleeping.”
Relief washed through her. He was fine. Thank goodness. “I'm so gl--” she caught herself. Just because she was happy he wasn't ill didn't mean she should gush over him. If he wanted to sleep in his car that was his business, and she should leave him alone. But her curiosity got the better of her. She leaned toward him. “Why are you sleeping in your car?”
“My mother kicked me out.”
His answer was so unexpected, it disoriented her. “I beg your pardon?”
“My mother is visiting. She told me to find a hotel room and get a good night’s sleep.”
That was probably a good idea. “Have you ever slept eight hours straight since your kids were born?”
He yawned. “If I have, I don’t remember.”
“But you decided to sleep in your car instead?”
“It’s cheaper.”
Olivia was amused. There was a fine line between frugality and stupidity. What kind of rest would he get, all twisted up in a truck?
