The Trick To Getting A Mom. Amy Frazier

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СКАЧАТЬ her mother messed up and Kit has to help her out. She’s not happy about it, and she can’t wait to leave. Alex, honey, it’s hard to make friends with a person who has no intention of sticking around.”

      Sliding off the chair, Alex threaded her tiny fingers through Sean’s big ones. “Maybe she’d stick around if she had friends.”

      It was hard to argue with a child’s simple logic.

      He didn’t try. Instead, he led her down the corridor to where the rest of the family stood in front of the large nursery window, behind which the plastic bassinets were empty, except for one. It seemed Eric Aaron had center stage to himself tonight in this small coastal hospital. Better he should be in the spotlight than his Uncle Sean.

      Lifting Alex up so she could see her new cousin, a flood of memories washed over him. He’d stood at this very window and gazed down at the pink bundle he and Jilian would take home. Alex.

      He felt a pang of guilt now, that he’d been less consumed with love or awe at that time and more worried about how two nineteen-year-olds and a newborn were going to make it on their own.

      Near the end of senior year, when Jilian had told him she was pregnant, he’d had to turn down a scholarship to Brown to do the right thing—to promise to love, honor and cherish her. He’d managed the honor part, no sweat, and he’d worked on cherish. But, regretfully, love came too late.

      “So you’re going to help your Uncle Jonas and me work on the pound tomorrow while your dad’s pulling traps.” Pop stood next to him, talking to Alex.

      “Sorry, Pop Pop.” Alex rubbed her eyes. It was past her bedtime. “Seafaring Cecil’s in town, and she said I could help her. We’re gonna get her yard sale stuff ready for the junk man.”

      “Reality check.” Sean set Alex firmly back on the floor. “We talked about this earlier. You’re to stay with Pop Pop and Uncle Jonas and work on your school assignments.”

      Alex covered her ears and closed her eyes.

      “What’s going on, skipper?” Pop ruffled Alex’s hair. “You want to throw your grandpop over for some old travel writer?”

      “She’s not old.” Scowling, Alex raised her voice. “She’s cool. And she’s only here for a little bit, and she promised to autograph my books.”

      The others turned as one, their attention diverted from the baby to Sean and Alex. Mariah shot Sean a what-have-you-gone-and-let-your-daughter-do-now look.

      “Alex, enough.” He pulled her hands from her ears. “You’re overtired, and it’s time for bed. We’re going.”

      Alex yanked hard on his hand. “But I want Kit to watch me tomorrow! Not Pop Pop and Uncle Jonas!” She shouted so loudly, Eric let out a high-pitched yelp behind the plate glass.

      “McCabes, out. Now.” Adele stormed down the corridor.

      “Sheesh,” Noah muttered, slouching past Alex. “Why’d you hafta ruin it for everybody?”

      Unabashed, Alex stuck her tongue out at her cousin.

      Brad patted Sean on the back as he and Mariah herded his brood down the hall. “Hang in there, buddy.”

      “Hold the elevator.” Trying not to grin, Pop followed.

      “Be good.” Jonas tweaked Alex’s nose in passing. “See you tomorrow.”

      “Nuh-uh,” Alex muttered almost inaudibly.

      “What did you say?” Alone in the corridor, Sean knelt on one knee before his daughter.

      Alex refused to speak. This was so unlike her. Normally, she told him far more than he needed to know. She didn’t argue with him. And she loved spending time with Pop and Jonas.

      Sean tilted her chin so that she had to look at him. “I won’t have bratty behavior.”

      “I’m not a brat,” Alex muttered.

      “But you’re behaving like one.”

      “Then you’re behaving like one!” she wailed. “Seafaring Cecil’s our favorite. But now she’s right here, you won’t let me be nice to her. You’re just a big phony!”

      “You’ve crossed the line, Alex. I won’t tolerate disrespect.”

      “But everybody’s disrespecting Kit!” she cried.

      Sean gritted his teeth. “Kit is no concern of ours.” She certainly wasn’t if she could drive this ugly wedge between him and his daughter, between him and his family.

      “But Daaaad—”

      “Not a word, Alex. I mean it.” Picking up his daughter like a sailor’s duffel, he headed for the elevator.

      Alex withdrew into silence and became stiff in his arms, clearly showing her displeasure, clearly shutting him out.

      SOMETHING WASN’T RIGHT.

      Kit pushed open the front door to Babe’s rental. She could have sworn she’d locked the tiny house. But then nothing worked in this place. The long Maine twilight cast the sparse furnishings in gloom, making them appear shabbier, if that was possible. Babe had always rented, and she’d always rented furnished. She used to say that as long as she had a springy double bed, she was home. She always told Kit things Kit knew other mothers didn’t share with their daughters. Shouldn’t share.

      The faint odor of a man’s cheap cologne hung in the air. Was it new—an unsettling thought—or just a lingering reminder of Ed Crenshaw?

      Sean didn’t wear cologne.

      He smelled of the sea and of shirts hung out to dry in the tangy salt air. He smelled like a man who worked out-of-doors for a living ought to smell.

      She moved her foot to feel for the backpack with her flashlight where she’d left it beside the front door. The pack and her sleeping bag were her only luggage. She traveled light.

      Hairs rose on the back of her neck as she suddenly realized that her things had been moved from one side of the door to the other. Flattening herself against the wall, she listened intently. Nothing. Not a sound except crickets chirping beyond the front screen door.

      Sliding slowly down the wall, she fumbled in the outer pocket of her backpack for her flashlight—weapons grade, she’d called it when she’d bought it—but didn’t turn it on. She had a cell phone, but the battery was dead. Besides, who would she call? The police? She’d never considered the police on her side. No, the heavy flashlight would have to do.

      She scanned her surroundings. The house was minuscule. Kit hadn’t noticed—or felt—anything amiss when she’d clambered over the yard sale mess on the porch. The front door opened directly into a living space that elled on the left into a kitchen and eating area. In daylight she could see the entire area from where she stood. Her eyes now accustomed to the dusk, she detected no out-of-place shape or movement.

      But she sensed something—or someone.

      Straight СКАЧАТЬ