The Mischievous Mrs. Maxfield

by Ninya Tippett

  “Not really,” I admitted with a sigh. “She’d replied to one email and that’s about it. Hasn’t she been by to see you?”

  The silence and the quick shake of Riley’s head were answers enough.

  My heart clenched with the need to do something—anything—to lift the dark clouds that hung low and heavy on the kid’s head but I was in a precarious position of being an intruder.

  It’s a fight you can have with Layla in another time. For now, feed the kid.

  “Anyway, since you missed my party, I thought I’d bring some of it to you,” I said brightly, ignoring my not-so-smooth steering of the conversation to a less-gloomy subject. “I brought you a plate but if you’re up for it, I think we should move you out to the living room and you can sleep on the couch instead. It’s warmer out there. At least until we get your radiator fixed.”

  I watched as Riley’s eyes scanned the room and fell on the plate piled high with food. His eyes widened and he swallowed visibly.

  “I can stay in the living room,” he said as he pushed down his covers. He was in an old pair of dark blue pajamas and a threadbare white shirt. “I don’t want you to be cold in here.”

  “I don’t either so grab your pillow and I’ll grab the comforter and the plate,” I instructed as I tucked the flimsy duvet under one arm and waited for him to slip down the bed and pick up his pillow.

  I followed behind his slow trudging, swiping the plate as I passed it before we stepped out to the living room.

  Riley made it a few steps into the living room when he stopped abruptly, causing me to nearly run right into him if I hadn’t caught myself.

  “Who is he?” he asked, darting a wary look at Brandon who had turned our way.

  I set the plate down on the coffee table and went to pick up some random clutter from the couch before depositing Riley’s comforter in it. “That’s my husband, Brandon.”

  Riley’s head swung back to me, his eyes large and anxious. His voice though came out a raspy whisper. “Your h-husband? Is he like... him?”

  It instantly dawned on me why the kid looked frightened.

  Trust Don LeClaire to ruin the ideals of a young boy about what husbands should be.

  “No, no!” I said with a laugh, shaking my head, earning a questioning frown from Brandon who hadn’t heard what Riley said.

  I took the pillow from him and patted it nicely on one end of the couch. “Brandon’s very nice—a little stuffy on occasion—but very nice. He’s smart and he’s very kind—a little too kind, if you ask me. But he’s a cool guy. Funny too, and he doesn’t even know it sometimes.”

  Riley didn’t say anything as he glanced back at Brandon who gave him a crooked smile and a little wave. “Hello, Riley. Nice to meet you. Hope you’re feeling better.”

  The boy’s eyes darted between Brandon and Danny who was still cradling his beer with one hand and cramming his mouth full of food with another.

  This kid has a long way to go when it comes to trust. Can’t say I blame him.

  “Riley’s room was a little chilly so I thought I’d move him out of here until we can have the radiator looked at,” I said, looking directly at Danny. “Hope you don’t mind if he’s taking up room in front of the TV.”

  “Not much showing on it anyway since we’ve got no cable,” Danny answered with a half-shrug. “I’ll have a buddy of mine look at the radiator tomorrow. Been meaning to do that but I’ve been busy.”

  “It’s all good,” I said as I motioned Riley over to the couch and set the food in front of him. “I have a buddy too who owes me a couple of favors. I can have him drop by and look at it. He’s fixed up the heating in my house before.”

  Danny’s eyes narrowed at me and I held his gaze steadily.

  He knew what I was about—I didn’t really have a buddy and it cost me a couple hundred bucks when the heating in my house died just right around spring—but I wasn’t going to back down for Riley’s sake and I hoped Danny knew it.

  After a long pause, Danny nodded. "Sure. Send him over."

  "Thanks, Danny." I beamed at him, happy with my small victory.

  I took a seat next to Riley as the boy started to eat.

  We both looked up when a shadow fell over us, finding Brandon standing next to the couch. He set down a fresh glass of water on the table and tucked a couple of the balloons in a corner crevice of the couch.

  Brandon smiled down at the boy and knocked the balloons gently with the back of his hand. "Sorry, they're kind of girly. It was her birthday party, after all."

  I snorted. "They're blue, yellow and purple. I made sure not to take the pink, flower-shaped ones."

  A small, amused smile crooked on Riley's mouth. "You didn't have to bring me balloons. I'm not six, you know?"

  I wiggled my brows in feigned fascination. "Oh, right. Twelve is so grown up."

  Riley chortled and glanced at Brandon. "She's a funny lady."

  Brandon grinned and nodded. "I think so too."

  I glanced over my shoulder at Danny who was still in the kitchen, sipping his beer and watching us.

  My initial hostility to the man had somewhat ebbed, to my own surprise.

  Oh, I still wasn't a big fan of his coping mechanisms.

  But in a way, I realized that even though Danny Anderson was looking for the way back to a happier life at the bottom of a bottle, he wasn’t as completely drowned in it as my father had been.

  He was still sipping the same beer he had been halfway through when he opened the door to us earlier, and he practically forgot about it while he was joined in on an animated conversation with my husband about matters that he was still clearly passionate about.

  Clearly, the bottle substitutes what he’s sorely lacking right now—a purpose.

  My father drank because after over a decade, what had started as a distraction became an addiction, and I wasn’t old or bold enough then to make him do something else with himself. I’d just tried to stay out of his way.

  Maybe if someone had pried the bottle off his hands and instead shoved him my lunch box so he could pack it up for me to take to school, he might have remembered that he was something else other than a miserable drunk. He might have remembered he was a father and that the little girl flitting in and out of his house wasn’t a phantom but his own flesh and blood.

  It was too late for my father.

  He’d let the alcohol eat away at the last bit of his heart and humanity until he was ultimately just a shell of a man.

  Danny might just have a chance—and for Riley’s sake, someone had to give it to him.

  "Don't just stand there, Danny," I told him with a smile. "Grab your plate and join us."

  His hesitation was obvious but he shrugged and swiped his plate on his way toward us.

  Just because they’re called second chances, doesn’t mean they can’t take more than a few tries.

  We’d stayed about a little over an hour at the Anderson residence, eating and talking with both uncle and nephew, before we went on our way.

  Riley had drifted off in the couch, after a hearty meal, and Brandon and I thought he’d fallen asleep so we got up on our feet.

  The boy’s eyes fluttered open though and when he realized we were leaving, he dashed back to his bedroom, leaving Brandon, Danny and I staring at each other, puzzled.

  He came out a minute later, clutching a thin hardbound with a slightly worn book jacket over it.

  He handed it to me and said, “Happy birthday, Charlotte. It’s not new but it’s a really nice book.”

  I glanced down at the poor old thing as it dawned on me that Riley had just given me a gift. “It’s a book of constellations.”

  “When you look at the stars and they don’t make sense, this book will help you,” Riley said and I looked back up at him to see him smiling sheepishly, wringing his hands together.

  Tears pricked at the corner of my eyes and I bit my bottom lip to keep it from quivering. “Thank you, Riley, but wouldn’t you like to kee
p it though?”

  The boy shook his head. “I know all the constellations already.”

  I caught Brandon and Danny looking at us, the first wearing a tender smile and the second sporting a surprised expression, but it was Riley’s earnest blue eyes as he waited for my answer that knocked my heart around inside of me.

  Here was a boy with very little in life, gifting me with one of his few prized possessions.

  I pressed the book close to me as I bent down to wrap Riley in a tight hug. “Thanks, buddy. I’m sure I’d love it.”

  “Thanks for coming to see us,” Riley murmured back before pulling away slightly to smile at me broadly. “And for the nice meal.”

  I could tell there was a thank-you lodged somewhere in Danny’s throat when he nodded at us in a wordless gesture but I didn’t press it.

  “I fear that whatever I got you for your birthday present is never going to surpass that book the kid gave you,” Brandon said with a rueful smile as we drove back throughout the city, with him manning the wheel this time.

  I grinned at him and reached out to hold his hand resting by the gear shift. “I’m sure you have nothing to really worry about. I’d love anything you give me. That was just different.”

  Brandon glanced at me with a knowing look. “You see yourself in Riley, don’t you?”

  I shrugged. “Maybe, but then I often see a little bit of myself in everybody. The parallels don’t always have to be obvious.”

  Brandon smiled and lifted my hand to his lips for a light kiss. “That might explain why you understand most people, no matter what their station or situation is.”

  “I know I’m only twenty today,” I said quietly as I leaned my head against the car window. “But I’ve had many days in my life when I felt like I was a hundred years old.”

  “Thinking about it makes me a bit angry but I know that you’d be a different person if not for those days,” Brandon said softly, his fingers curling around mine as he settled our entwined hands on his lap. “I can’t give you back the time you’d lost then, growing up quickly when you should’ve still been a child sheltered from the world, but I can at least do my best to make sure that every day, for the rest of our lives, you can be young and happy.”

  I grinned at him as I squeezed his hand. “And I’ll do my best to shrink those years between us—that you would feel no older than I do. We’ll do our best to kiss, laugh and love away the years ahead of us.”

  There were no more words said between us after that but the comfortable silence in the car as Brandon drove us another twenty minutes to our destination was just as reassuring.

  “What are we doing here?” I asked as Brandon helped me out of the car.

  We were parked along Commonwealth Avenue in Back Bay, one of Boston’s most elite neighborhoods which featured some of the city’s oldest and most expensive town homes.

  I knew this because it was somewhere I’d spent many late afternoons and early evenings strolling along when I avoided coming home years ago.

  “I’m giving you your birthday present,” Brandon said with a mischievous smile as he tugged me forward from where I’d become rooted on the pavement.

  “What could my birthday present be possibly doing in poshest part of town?” I asked warily, refusing to take any step further.

  Brandon sighed and shrugged. “It’s a bit hard to have it somewhere else considering its foundation is soundly set in the soil here.”

  I swallowed, daring a glance at the row of brownstones in front of us which were softened by the streetlight. “You didn’t just buy me a house.”

  He pressed his lips together in an unsuccessful attempt at fighting a smile. “I did just buy you a house. Well, it’ll be our house.”

  My throat went dry as I turned my eyes back on impressive sight in front of us.

  “This... this is the, um, the Commonwealth sisters,” I stammered, motioning to the pair of town houses in front of us which were a bit of a local real-estate celebrity.

  They were both huge mansions, just like the rest of their neighbors along the street, but they caught the eye with their elegant Parisian architecture that featured a limestone facade ornate with elegant carvings that nearly glowed in the light. The style was more late Baroque, graceful yet lavish. Both had a small, immaculate front yard closed off by a low, black wrought iron fence. Either house eloquently conveyed a status of elegance, wealth and charming whimsy.

  “Only one was for sale but I didn’t think we needed both houses,” Brandon said with a teasing smile as he looped my arm through his and nudged me out of my spot. “It’s got great bones but it’ll need some work and updating.”

  I nodded distractedly. “It’ll be a good project to give Nicole. People are interested enough in us that they’ll care who our interior designer is. It’ll get her name out there.”

  “It’s just never solely about you, is it, Charlotte?” Brandon mused as he brushed a kiss on the top of my head. “Let’s go inside. I hope you like what you see.”

  Walking into the house felt like floating through a very lucid dream.

  The house wasn’t occupied or fully furnished but most of the lights were on inside, softly bathing the reserved opulence of the interior in a light golden glow.

  Still speechless, I followed Brandon as he led me up the beautifully carved wooden staircase to the second floor, into what seemed like the main sitting room.

  Since it was bare from any furniture, it felt more like a ballroom with the rich wood panels, the French-style screened fireplace which was already slowly burning some wood, and the antique crystal chandelier that hung dramatically from the Rococo plaster ceiling. The dark hardwood floor gleamed in the light coming from the three floor-length arched windows that filled the front wall of the room.

  It felt familiar to me, having lived in Paris for a few months, yet it still felt like another world.

  While Brandon’s penthouse was luxurious, it lacked the charm and splendour of a historical and architectural gem such as this house.

  “I have a midnight picnic and a grand tour planned out but I’m holding my breath to know what you think of the place first,” Brandon said as we came to a stop in the middle of the room. Our hands broke away from each other as I continued to wander about, gazing wide-eyed at everything while Brandon stood and waited for my reaction.

  “I can’t believe this is ours,” I murmured, finally giving in to the ridiculous smile I could feel stretching across my face. I whirled around and faced Brandon who had a sheepish smile on his own face. “It feels surreal, I’ll admit, but it’s lovely, Brand. I love it.”

  He drew me into his arms and kissed me softly, his fingers lightly grazing the side of my face. “Never would you have to press up your nose against the window and wish for a life where you have a safe and happy home, loved and cherished by a husband who adores you and the many precious children you’ll have together.”

  There was no helping the tears that rolled down my cheeks as I laughed and cried at the same time.

  Never in a millions years did I ever imagine I would find something like this. Sometimes, fate has something better in store than your fanciful dreams.

  I slid my arms around Brandon’s neck, leaning against him as he bent his head low to press kisses across my damp cheeks before catching a runaway tear that caught on the bow of my upper lip.

  “I hope you’re crying because you’re happy,” he murmured with a lopsided smile, his arms tightening around my waist.

  “Of course, I’m happy,” I choked out, blinking my tears back and repressing the sobs rising from inside of me. “Not just because of the house, or the amazing birthday I had, or the fact that we could afford to celebrate one—I’m happy because for the first time in the last twenty years, I don’t feel alone like I did before, simply tallying a number that no one cares about but me. This time, it matters. You and everyone else made it matter and I... I can’t believe how much it means to me, h-having convinced myself all this time th
at it... it meant nothing.”

  I was sobbing my heart out now but I couldn’t stop.

  It wasn’t until the flood gates burst open that I realized how much of it I held back, forced down by my sheer will to stay happy even when I didn’t have a lot of reason to be.

  Twenty years of surging through life with hardly a pause or a backward glance‚ like someone on the run, not caring if my feet blistered and bled as long as I got far enough away—from the empty house long abandoned by my supposed family, from the weary ache gnawing at my body and soul because I couldn’t, wouldn’t, stop running and fighting, from the cold wash of realization that drenched me when I stopped for a second and realized how utterly alone I was.

  No more. Take a deep breath, rest your feet and let the wounds heal. The next time your feet touched the ground, it’d be to dance and play.

  “I love you,” Brandon whispered, his voice soothing and tender against my small, gasping sobs. “There will never be a day in my life that you won’t matter to me. You’re as vital to me as the next breath I take.”

  “I love you, too,” I said as I lifted my head to stare into his warm hazel eyes. “I don’t have the pretty words to say how much because I don’t think I can measure it. It’s just here, in my heart, where I keep you.”

  We kissed for several minutes, perhaps forever, but the crackle of a burning log brought us back to reality.

  Brandon grinned as he turned me within his arms to point at the picnic basket laid out near the hearth, next to a folded knit blanket. “Freddy got here ahead of us to bring the food and get the fire started. The heating isn’t fully on around the house yet so I thought we could keep warm by sitting close to the fire.”

  I followed Brandon and watched as he shook out the blanket and laid it carefully down on the floor.

  My heart clenched with something fierce while a familiar desire stabbed at my loins, watching the play of shadows on the planes and angles of my husband’s face and the shades of copper that glinted through his hair.

  “I’m hungry,” I said in a strained voice. “Not for food but... something else.”