Matt's Family. Lynnette Kent

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СКАЧАТЬ PRETTY, Mommy!”

      “Thanks, Jenny.” Kristin patted her younger daughter’s blond head and stepped back from the counter to survey the results of her morning’s work—a three-layer chocolate cake, iced with butter-cream frosting and decorated with an American flag. “I think so, too.”

      The real question was whether her mother-in-law would agree. For the first time in eight years, Matt’s mother had allowed Kristin to contribute to the family’s Memorial Day picnic menu. A bowl of potato salad waited in the refrigerator, as picture perfect as she could make it. Her cake looked professional, if she did say so herself. Surely even Mrs. Brennan would be pleased.

      Running footsteps sounded in the family room. Eight-year-old Erin dashed into the kitchen, sun-streaked hair flying. Her perpetual shadow trotted close behind. Buster—a dog of mixed ancestry—was nearly as tall as Erin when he stood on his hind legs, and weighed more. He followed her as far as he was allowed and slept at her feet every night, a long-haired, black-and-white bodyguard.

      “Hey, Jenny, look what I found under my bed!” Erin waved a purple stuffed toy.

      “That’s mine.” Jenny climbed off the stool at the counter. “Give me my dragon back.”

      “I found it, I get to keep it.” Erin held the dragon above her head.

      Jenny jumped, but couldn’t reach. “Mommy, tell her to give me my dragon that Daddy got for me!”

      Kristin picked up the cake and held it protectively. “Erin, give Jenny her dragon. You’ve got one of your own.” As she pivoted toward the other side of the kitchen, a warm, furry form wrapped itself between her ankles.

      “Buster!” She shuffled her feet, trying to step free. The dog gave a loud yelp as her bare heel came down on his paw. Kristin jumped, shifted her weight…and lost control of the cake. With a slurp, the plate tilted inward, pressing the American flag into the front of her shirt.

      Jenny gasped. “Mommy, you hurt Buster!” She broke into tears.

      Kristin stood frozen, eyes closed in horror, hands holding the plate against her chest.

      Jenny cried louder, working up to a real tantrum. Kristin finally jerked herself into motion and eased the cake back onto the plate. “Hush, Jenny, love. Let’s look at Buster’s paw, okay?” She set the plate on the counter, then knelt in front of the dog, who immediately licked at her shirt. “Which paw did I get, Buster? This one?” He wagged his black-and-white plume of a tail as she checked all four feet. “He’s fine, Jenny. Don’t worry.”

      Erin stared at her from the end of the counter. “Mommy, you’ve got icing all over you!”

      Kristin sighed. “I know.” The top of the cake looked like a bomb crater. So much for her perfect Memorial Day dessert.

      She was whipping icing and wiping tears out of her eyes when Matt came through the door. “Hey, Kris—whoa! Did a hurricane blow through?”

      Kristin glanced at his immaculate uniform, around the wrecked kitchen, at the ruined cake and her filthy shirt, and blinked back more tears.

      “I had a problem with the cake, that’s all.”

      He frowned. “I thought you were making potato salad.”

      “I did.” She added more sugar to the bowl. “I said I’d bring dessert, too.”

      “That doesn’t leave much for anybody else to cook.”

      She shook her head. “Of course it does. Sarah and Luke are bringing a green salad and baked beans. Your mother and dad are supplying the hamburgers—”

      Matt raised his hands in surrender, laughing. “Okay, okay. I just meant you shouldn’t work so hard.” He skimmed a dollop of icing off her neck and sucked it off his finger. “Mmm. You taste wonderful.” The kiss he placed under her ear sent a sweet shiver down her spine. “Are the girls ready?”

      “Not yet. I’ll be finished in a few minutes.”

      “I’ll get them dressed.” He headed for the stairs. Kristin thought about calling him back—the girls weren’t exactly cooperating today. But they liked going to their grandparents’ house. Maybe they wouldn’t put up a fuss. If they did, Matt could handle it. Right?

      Thirty minutes later, with a smooth, plain coat of icing on the cake, Kristin hurried down the hallway to the bedrooms. She peeked into Jenny’s and found it empty. But the outfit she’d ironed earlier this morning—the one Matt’s mother had given them—still lay on the bed. What was Jenny wearing?

      Erin’s nice clothes lay crumpled on the floor of her room. She picked them up. “Girls? Matt? Where are you?”

      “We’re in the bathroom, Kris.” His voice sounded tired.

      She pushed open the door of the big yellow bathroom. Matt sat on the floor with his elbows propped on his bent knees, a spray bottle in one hand, a comb in the other. Facing him stood Erin and Jenny, wrapped in their towels, both with wet, tangled hair.

      “What’s going on? Why aren’t you dressed?”

      Matt ran a hand over his head, then simply looked at the girls. Erin stuck out her lower lip. “It hurts when he combs my hair.”

      Kristin sighed. “Erin, you say it hurts when I comb your hair. We’re as gentle as we can be. Your hair has to be combed. Did you use the untangler spray?”

      Saying nothing, Matt held up the bottle.

      She took it from him. “Okay, I’ll spray it again. I’ll do your hair, Erin, and Matt can do Jenny’s. We only have a few minutes to get ready.”

      But Jenny backed up against the vanity. “My hair hurts, too. And he got soap in my eyes.”

      Jenny always complained of soap in her eyes when Matt was in charge of bath time. This wasn’t a real grievance. This was mutiny, plain and simple.

      And the grimness in Matt’s face, a despair he was trying his best to hide, testified to the mutiny’s effect.

      Kristin fought down a surge of irritation. “Well, we could stay home and let you both sit in your rooms with tangled hair. But that would disappoint Grandmom and Granddad, who are looking forward to seeing you.” She held out her hand to Matt.

      He slapped the comb onto her palm. Getting neatly to his feet, he stepped by her to the door. “I’ll change clothes,” he said quietly. And was gone.

      “I’ll comb hair.” Kristin turned Erin around with a firm hand. “And I don’t want to hear any complaints from either of you. We’re going to be late, as it is.”

      And they were. By the time they got the girls settled in the car and fought beach traffic, they were a long, tense, forty minutes late.

      Wishing the afternoon were already over, Matt parked the van in his parents’ driveway and released the door lock. As if they’d been freed from jail, Erin and Jenny ran through the grass and around the back of the house to the deck on the beach.

      When he СКАЧАТЬ