A Mother's Wish / Mother To Be: A Mother's Wish. Karen Templeton

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      Winnie twisted around, at least as shocked as he. Then she sighed. “I had a blast today, Aidan. I really did. But it wasn’t easy.”

      “No, I don’t suppose it was,” he said, appalled to discover how badly he wanted to hold her. To rub her back and tell her it would be okay. “Well, then. Is eight too early?”

      “No, eight’s fine—”

      “I’m going t’do better, Winnie. With Robbie, I mean. Whatever’s still goin’ on inside my head, Robbie’s only a child. And I know he needs to be getting on with things. With bein’ a boy, enjoying life. If y’know what I mean.”

      After a moment, she crossed her arms, shivering slightly, her eyes soft with concern. “This is only a suggestion, okay? But Flo was talkin’ about the Day of the Dead, about how it’s not morbid at all, but instead a way to celebrate those who’ve gone on. So maybe, I don’t know…you should think about you and Robbie holding some kind of vigil for June? Because maybe remembering will help ease the pain? Because…because if I were her, I sure as heck wouldn’t be happy knowing that you and Robbie weren’t.”

      A sudden gust of woodsmoke-laced air made Aidan’s eyes burn, a shiver lick at his spine, even as those guileless eyes did their best to melt something long frozen inside him. “Y’might be on to something at that,” he said with a jerk of his head, then added, “It’s dipping into the t’irties tonight, are you sure you’ve got enough firewood?”

      Winnie’s mouth pulled into a small, damnably understanding smile. “Plenty, thanks. So…see you tomorrow,” she said, slipping inside the house and shutting the door before he could make any more of a fool of himself than he already had.

      Dad’s footsteps were so soft outside Robbie’s room he barely got his thumb out of his mouth in time. He knew he was way too old to be still sucking his thumb, but sometimes it made him feel less jumpy inside—

      “Laddie?” Dad whispered, right by his bed. Robbie rolled; in the dark, Dad was a big blob, the light from the hallway making this weird glow all around him. “Ah. So you’re not asleep.”

      Robbie shook his head, and Dad sat on the edge of his bed, making Robbie tumble toward him. They both laughed, a little. Then Dad leaned over him with his hands on either side of Robbie’s shoulders, making him feel safe. Now he could see his face, even if his hair hung down in his eyes. He was smiling. Sorta.

      “Y’had a good time tonight, didn’t’ya?”

      Robbie nodded. “It was…”

      “What?”

      “It kinda reminded me of before. With Mom.”

      “I know. It did me, too.”

      “Winnie’s really funny, huh?”

      “That she is,” Dad said in a strange voice, then pushed Robbie’s hair out of his face. “I’d forgotten how good it felt to laugh. To be a little crazy.”

      A little crazy? Before Mom got sick—even after, until she got really bad—Dad and Mom used to go nuts, cracking each other up all the time. Robbie remembered sometimes laughing so hard his stomach would hurt. Tonight was the closest he’d come to feeling like that in a really long time.

      Dad’s mouth got all twisted. “It’s been hard on both of us, this last year,” he said, and Robbie nodded, not sure what he was supposed to say. But Dad wasn’t finished. “It occurs to me that maybe I’ve fallen down on the job in my duties as a father. It wasn’t something I did on purpose, I just…” He let out a big breath. “I just want you to know, you can talk to me. About…anything a’tall.”

      “About Mom, you mean.”

      “Yes,” he said, smiling a little. “About Mom.”

      Robbie frowned. “I didn’t think you even thought about her all that much.”

      “Oh, Robbie,” Dad said on another breath, this one even longer, “I think about your mother all the time. But it’s been hard for me to talk about her because it hurts so much. Do y’see?”

      “Yeah, I guess.”

      “But that doesn’t mean you can’t talk about her. To me, I mean. To be honest, I don’t think Mom would be very happy about the way I’ve been acting since she died.”

      In the dark, Robbie felt his eyes open wide. He couldn’t remember Dad ever coming right out and saying that Mom had died. In a way, he felt like this big rock had rolled off his chest…only to get stuck in his throat. Part of him wanted to tell Dad everything, about how he sometimes felt like Mom was in the Old House, about how he missed the way Mom would sing, really badly and so loud birds would fly up out of the trees. About how he remembered the time she burned the stew she was trying to make and the whole house got full of smoke and how much he missed the way they used to laugh all the time.

      But he couldn’t get the words past that dumb rock.

      In the dark, he saw Dad’s eyes go all shiny. Then he nudged Robbie over so he could lie down beside him, holding him against his chest.

      “It’s okay if you’re not ready, laddie,” Dad whispered into his hair. “But whenever you are, I’m right here, I promise.” He kissed Robbie’s forehead. “How’s that?”

      His eyes watery, all Robbie could do was nod.

      The next morning, Winnie came out of the bathroom to find Annabelle whining in great excitement at the bottom of the front door, followed by the muffled sounds of somebody messing about with tools and such out front. Momentarily forgetting she was only wearing Ida’s ratty old chenille robe, she swung open the door to an arctic blast that swirled inside like a cat looking for someplace warm.

      Madly toweling her hair before it froze, she called out, “It’s not even eight yet, so don’t tell me I’m late!” Then she frowned. “What are you doing?”

      From underneath the hood of her truck, Aidan mumbled something about going into town early for the part, there’d been no need for her to go, too, before he popped into view, slamming shut the hood. He was all woodsy today, in a checkered jacket and cute little beanie pulled down over his waves, which she realized—too late—only made his jaw look even sharper and his mouth even more…eyecatching. “I’m just now done, actually. So you can be on your way anytime you like, the truck’s ready to go.”

      Okay, by rights she should be leaping about with great joy, hallelujah, praise the Lord. Instead she squeaked out, “Really?”

      Aidan frowned at her. She was finally beginning to understand that frowning was his normal expression, not to take it personally. “I t’ought you’d be pleased. Because this way you’ll be home before dark?”

      Suddenly aware assorted important bits on her person were about to flash freeze, Winnie held up one finger and ducked inside to yank on some ten-odd layers of clothes, all the while reminding herself that if her reaction to Aidan last night as he stood there, looking contrite as hell and far sexier than was good for either of them, was any indication, she should be down on her knees in gratitude. Especially as those assorted important bits began to defrost and remind her—rudely—exactly how much time had passed since they’d СКАЧАТЬ