PART-TIME WIFE

by Susan Mallery

  "Where does the sports equipment go?" she asked.

  "There's a closet under the stairs," C.J. told her.

  She found the door and opened it. The storage space had a slanted ceiling, but the floor space of a small room. It was empty. "Ah, I see you like to keep it clean in here and not in the rest of the house. It makes perfect sense now. Why didn't someone tell me?"

  C.J. grinned, Danny giggled, even Ben forgot to scowl. Together, the four of them walked into the family room. Jill saw her suitcase sitting there. "Where do I sleep?" she asked, realizing she hadn't seen a guest room.

  "Here," Danny said, pointing to a door at the far end of the family room.

  She walked around him and stuck her head inside the cheerful bedroom. Big windows looked out onto the backyard. The white wicker furniture looked new. There was a bright yellow bedspread on the double bed, and she could see the entrance to her own private bath.

  This was by far the cleanest part of the house.

  "Dad says we're not allowed in here," Danny said. "Mrs. Miller lived here before she had to go away. Now you live here."

  Jill thought about pointing out the fact that her stay was temporary but figured the boys had been through enough today. Instead, she carried her suitcase into her room, then tried to figure out what should be done first.

  "Danny and C.J., you two start sorting laundry."

  The boys stared at her blankly, identically confused expressions drawing their mouths into straight lines.

  "Clothes," she said, pointing to the piles around the laundry room and flowing into the hallway. "Sort them. By color. One pile for whites. One pile for darks, one for lights and another for jeans."

  A lock of medium brown hair fell across Danny's forehead. He was the only one of the Haynes males she'd seen who didn't have dark hair and eyes. "Those piles are going to be huge. They're going to reach the ceiling."

  She looked at the mounds of clothing. "Oh, probably, but do the best you can. Ben, I'd like you to help me in the kitchen. We're going to load the dishwasher and try to figure out what color the counters are."

  "I know what color they are," C.J. said. "They're white."

  She leaned over and wrapped an arm around his neck. Rubbing her knuckles against the top of his head, she said, "I know they're white. I was just being funny."

  The boy giggled and wiggled, but didn't move away. Her chest tightened in sympathy as she wondered when they had last been hugged by a woman. It couldn't be easy growing up without a mom.

  She released C.J. He and Danny went to work on the clothes. Ben followed her into the kitchen, and with only minor grumbling began loading the dishwasher. Jill sorted through cereal boxes, figuring out which were empty and which just needed to be put away. There were piles of food. Bread, chips, jars of salsa. A melted carton of ice cream had spilled on, then stuck to, the counter. She wet a cloth and set it over the mess. Maybe by that night it would have loosened up a little.

  From the family room came muffled sounds of a battle being waged. C.J. and Danny were tossing more clothes than they were piling, but the work was getting done. Ben made the flatware dive-bomb the dishwasher. The childish sounds brought back memories of being with her two stepdaughters. She shoved the last box of cereal onto the top pantry shelf and wondered what they were doing now. Did they ever think of her or miss her? She still remembered how hard it had been to lose them. Even after her divorce from Aaron, she'd wanted to see the girls. She'd tried to call them, but their mother said to leave them alone. Jill had quickly found out she didn't have any legal rights to visitation, and when she'd pushed the matter, Patti and Heather had phoned her directly and told her to stop bothering them. They had a mother, they didn't need her.

  The words still had the power to wound her. She hadn't tried to take their mother's place in their lives. She'd just wanted to love them. Was that so bad? It must be a horrible crime because they'd never forgiven her for it.

  "You got a husband?" Ben asked.

  She spun toward him. He was stacking plates in the bottom of the dishwasher and had his back to her. "No. I'm not married."

  "Got any kids?"

  "No. Of course not. If I had children, I would be with them."

  He looked up at her. "Why?"

  "I just would. I wouldn't—" She had started to say, "leave my children," but clamped her mouth shut. Craig had told her that the boys' mother had left them.

  Without thinking, she crossed the room to stand next to him. She reached out to touch him, then had second thoughts. Her hand hung awkwardly between them. At the same moment she moved closer, he started to straighten. A lock of dark hair fell onto his forehead. She reached up and brushed it back. Ben stiffened, but didn't move away.

  She smiled, then frowned. She was looking up. "My word, you are taller than me!"

  He grinned. Once again, he reminded her of his father. If he could just lose a little weight, he would be a good-looking kid. She wondered what Craig would think if she tried to help Ben with his problem.

  By the time Ben had filled the dishwasher and stacked up the dishes for the next load, she'd found out there was no fresh food in the house. Actually there was very little to eat at all. When she commented on the fact, Ben told her that his father had meant to go shopping that day, but he'd been called to work.

  "He's on some secret assignment," he said. "He can't talk about it."

  "You must be very proud of him. Not many people get to make a difference every time they go to work."

  Ben seemed startled by her compliment, then he smiled slowly. "Yeah, I am proud of my dad." Then the smile faded. Was he thinking of all the times his dad was gone?

  "I don't suppose he mentioned when he'd be home," she said.

  Ben shook his head. "There's phone numbers on the wall." He pointed to a bulletin board stuck above the telephone.

  Jill walked over and stared at them. There was the number for the police station, a doctor, then a list of men. Travis, Jordan, Kyle and Austin.

  "They're my uncles," Ben offered. "Except Austin. He's not really but we call him Uncle because we've known him forever."

  It must be nice, she thought, thinking of her own scattered family. She'd been an only child and her parents had split up while she was still in grade school. She'd spent the next seven years being shuffled between one household and the other, never really feeling settled or wanted in either.

  "We're done!" Danny announced.

  She looked into the family room and saw four mountains of laundry. "That's got to be twenty loads," she said in awe.

  "It'll take forever," Danny said.

  "Maybe not forever. Maybe just until you're in college."

  He giggled at the thought.

  She made the boys soup and sandwiches for lunch. There was just enough food to get them through the day. She didn't want to go grocery shopping without talking to Craig and finding out what her budget was. While the boys ate, she put in the first load of whites.

  "I can do it loud," C.J. said, then slurped his soup.

  "That's nothing," Ben said, and proceeded to prove his point.

  There was laughter and more slurping. She bit back a smile. These boys were different from her stepdaughters, but she liked them. They were alive and made her feel the same way. That was something she hadn't enjoyed in a long time.

  After a few minutes, the slurping became annoying. She didn't want to tell them to just stop. Better to condition them into following the rules. Easier for everyone in the long run.

  "Are you three having a slurping contest?" she asked as she closed the laundry room door behind her.

  "I'm winning," Danny said.

  "Are you? Oh, that's too bad. Whoever comes in last gets the largest serving of ice cream for dessert."

  Silence descended like night at the equator. Instantly and irrevocably. She had to fight back her smile. Ah, the power of dessert. It was a lesson she'd learned well. There was one last carton in the freezer, so she could make good on her pr
omise. She looked at Ben and thought it might be better to get low-fat frozen yogurt next time.

  C.J. glanced up at her. "You tricked us, Jill."

  "I know." This time she allowed herself to grin. "Being a grown-up is pretty cool."

  * * *

  It was nearly midnight when Craig opened the front door and stepped into the house. Jill's car was still in the driveway. He'd forgotten to give her the garage door opener so she could park her Mustang inside. He'd also forgotten to discuss the details of her salary, give her money for food or talk about days off. He'd left in a hurry because he'd been late. And because he'd been afraid she would change her mind about taking care of the boys. Frankly, he couldn't have blamed her.

  He closed the door behind him. There was a nightlight at the top of the stairs, and the house was quiet. Everyone had survived. Relief swept over him, and with it, guilt. Just because he didn't know what to do about his boys didn't mean he could avoid them. He had to take responsibility. Sometimes, though, it was hard being the only one they could depend on.

  He glanced at the living room, then did a double take. Where there had been piles of junk sat only furniture. The dining room was the same. He moved to his right, down the small open hall and glanced into the kitchen. The counters were clear, the sink clean, the trash can empty. Beyond, in the family room, most of the toys and sports equipment had been picked up. The videotapes were off the floor and the few piles of laundry left had been sorted by color.

  He moved farther into the room. The TV was off, but lights were on. Jill lay curled up asleep at one end of the sofa. All around her were piles of clean, folded laundry. He didn't know whether to wake her up or leave her in peace. He'd never thought of the sofa as particularly comfy, but she was a lot smaller than he.

  Before he could decide, she turned her head toward him and opened her eyes. The bright green color surprised him. He'd forgotten the intensity of her gaze. Then she smiled. His body reacted with all the subtlety of a freight train crashing into a brick wall. Blood flowed hot and fast. His breathing increased and an almost unfamiliar pressure swelled in his groin.

  "You're home," she said, her voice low and husky. "I wondered if you would be. I almost called the station, but I didn't want to bother you. Is everything okay?"

  "Fine." He motioned to the folded laundry. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you do all this work. I really was going to call a service."

  "You still are." She sat up and stretched. The hem of her sweatshirt rode up, exposing the barest sliver of bare belly before descending and hiding all from view. "I don't mind doing the laundry and cooking, but I'm scared to go into the boys' bathroom. I think they've invented some new fungus, and I don't want to have to battle it."

  "I'll call on Monday," he promised.

  She shifted so she was leaning against the arm of the sofa and rested her chin on the back. "I already did. They'll be here at ten. Are you hungry?"

  His stomach rumbled at the question. "I guess I am. Come to think of it, I didn't have time to eat today."

  She rose to her feet. She must have been asleep for a while. Her hair was all spiky, and it reminded him of their encounter that morning. When she'd been in her robe … and nothing else.

  The mental image did nothing to alleviate his now-painful condition. Nor did he want it to. It had been far too long since he'd desired a woman. He didn't have to do anything about it with Jill. In a way it was enough to still be able to feel something.

  "Don't be too impressed," she said, leading the way into the kitchen. "It's just pizza. There isn't much here, but I didn't want to go grocery shopping without talking to you first."

  "I'm sorry about that, too. I just took off and dumped everything on you. I'd meant to discuss some things, but I had to go in and…" He gave her a halfhearted smile and rubbed the back of his neck. The pain there was pretty constant, the sort of nagging ache brought on by too much stress and too little of everything else.

  "Don't worry about it," she said. She opened a box on the counter and slid three slices of thin-crust pizza with everything onto a plate. Then she put it into the microwave oven to heat and opened the refrigerator. "Water, milk, soda or beer?"

  "Beer."

  She took the bottle and untwisted the cap. "Have a seat," she said, handing him the drink and motioning to the kitchen table. She poured a glass of water for herself.

  He stared at it for a moment. "I'm trying to remember the last time I saw this kitchen so clean."

  "Judging from the number of dishes we put through the dishwasher, I would say some time last Christmas." She held up her hand before he could speak. "Don't apologize again. I understand. But we do have a few details to work out."

  He settled in the seat at the head of the table and gratefully drank his beer. She pulled the pizza out of the oven and gave it to him, then took the chair opposite his. While he ate, they discussed her salary, the grocery budget, the kids' schedules for school and sports.

  "Danny and C.J. need to be picked up but Ben takes the bus," he said, then bit into the third piece of pizza.

  She sat cross-legged on the kitchen chair. Just looking at her folded legs made his knees throb. She'd run her hands through her hair, but there were still spiky tufts sticking up. Most of the lights in the house were off. Only the lamp in the family room and a small light over the stove illuminated the kitchen. In the dim room, her pupils were huge, nearly covering her irises, and her eyes looked black against her pale skin.

  Her small hands fluttered gracefully as she moved. She made notes on a yellow pad, detailing where to pick up whom and what foods made the boys gag.

  "I'm not a fancy cook, but pretty much everything I put together is edible," she said.

  "That's all we require."

  She glanced at him. "This has been hard on you, hasn't it?"

  "Yeah." He took a swallow of beer and set the bottle on the table. "Since Mrs. Miller left there's been four different women in here. I guess she spoiled us. I didn't think it would be that difficult to replace her, but I was wrong."

  "Well, you've got another five weeks until you have to think about that."

  He raised his eyebrows. "What happened to our one-week trial?"

  She shrugged. "I spent the day with the boys, and I think I can handle it. Unless they don't like me, I can't think of a reason why I can't stay the agreed time. At least it will save you from having to look for someone instantly."

  "I think I've interviewed nearly every nanny in a fifty-mile radius."

  He supposed he could have put the boys in some kind of day-care program and then just hired sitters for the weekends, but that never seemed to work out. He had to coordinate meals, cleaning, food shopping. It was easier to find one person to do it all. He was fortunate enough to have the money to pay for outside help. Every day he saw people who survived on much less.

  "Now you get a break," Jill said. "Besides, staying here gives me some time, too. When Kim and her husband come home from their honeymoon, the last thing they'll want is a houseguest. I was going to have to look for my own place anyway. I haven't decided if I want to stay here or go back to San Clemente." She looked at him and smiled. "Now I don't have to."

  Intellectually he knew his boys were sleeping upstairs. There were neighbors across the street and next door. He and Jill were hardly alone. Yet he couldn't shake the feeling of the world having been reduced to just the two of them. In the brief silences of their conversation he could hear the soft sound of her breathing. Despite his best effort to keep his attention above her shoulders, his gaze was drawn again and again to her chest. Not just to stare at her breasts, although they stirred his imagination, but also to watch her breathe. She wasn't like any woman he'd ever dated. Of course, he was getting old and there was a chance he couldn't remember back that far.

  He studied her hands on the glass. Her slender fingers made random patterns in the condensation. Her nails were short and unpainted, but still feminine. He couldn't get over how small she was,
every part of her perfectly proportioned, but little. Krystal had been tall, nearly five-nine. Most of the women he'd dated had been tall, as well.

  "I didn't know how you wanted to handle discipline with the boys," she said.

  "Ben's already been a problem?"

  She raised her eyebrows. "Why assume it was him?"

  "C.J. is very charming and fun-loving. Like my brother Kyle. He prefers to get his way by cajoling. Danny is going to be shy for the first couple of days, which leaves only Ben."

  Ben had also been a problem in the past. Craig grimaced as he remembered the reports from Ben's teachers. The boy was sullen and uncooperative. His grades continued to be good, but he didn't participate in group activities.

  "I did convince him to behave," she said, then stared down at the table. "But I'm not sure you'll approve of the method." She glanced up, her gaze sheepish. "I didn't know if you did time-outs or sent the boys to their rooms, and I was afraid if I demanded he do something, he wouldn't. He's even taller than me."

  "So what did you do?"

  "I challenged him to an arm-wrestling match. If I won, he had to do what I said. If he won, he got to watch TV for the rest of the weekend." She paused and took a sip of water. "I don't know if it's right or not, but when kids get old enough, I like to work out a compromise with them. Time-outs, then removing privileges. I make deals, because that's a part of life. No one gets everything all the time."

  He was intrigued. And impressed. "Did you win?"

  She smiled slowly. "Yes, but at first I was afraid I wasn't going to. For what it's worth, he was a very gracious loser."

  "That's something." The pain at the back of his neck got worse. He rubbed it, wondering when it was going to go away. Probably about the time he got his life together. Like in the next century or so.

  "What's wrong?" she asked.

  "Nothing. Just stress."

  "Do you want some aspirin?"

  "That would be great."

  She walked across the family room and into her bedroom. When she returned carrying two pills in the palm of her hand, he felt another flash of pain that had nothing to do with the tightness of his muscles. This one involved his soul.