Adventures In Parenthood. Dawn Atkins

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СКАЧАТЬ with Howard and Brianna gone, you’ll be even busier.”

      “We’ll adjust. The girls love the caregivers at Bootstrap. And if they have any problems, I’m right there.”

      Not racing reindeer in Norway. She got his point. Still.... “Have you thought about what a sacrifice this will be? You’ll have no free time, no social life. You date, right?” There’d been the girlfriend at the girls’ first birthday party, but he’d come alone to the last three.

      “Not at the moment.”

      “Because you’re too busy, right? Now it’ll be worse.”

      Dixon sighed. “Like you said, people juggle their schedules.”

      “You shouldn’t be the only one. That’s my point. We have to be fair.”

      Everyone feels like that. You learn together. Brianna’s voice in her head spurred her on. Scout began the tanklike rumble of her feline version of you-go-girl.

      “What if we take turns?” she said. “You should start, since you know the girls better. I’ll have time to get my schedule in order.”

      Her mind raced over what lay ahead. After the podcast, she had Primal Quest Camp the next weekend. It was a big deal to be chosen for the training for the premier adventure race in the West. ALT had been jazzed by how much visibility their products would get among elite outdoor sports people. Not long after that was Utah Adventure Fest, which would decide the ALT sponsorship once and for all. Sometime before that, she and her partner, Neil, had to schedule a trial run to shake down their equipment.

      At the moment, all that effort seemed far away and totally beyond her. She felt like rabbits were jumping up and down on her diaphragm.

      Dixon, meanwhile, filled his glass to the rim and topped hers, clearly preparing for a fight. He gulped half the glass—for courage?—then met her gaze. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do. In theory, it sounds fair.”

      “But...?” She tightened every muscle, braced to defend her plan, herself, and the life she’d offered to share with the girls.

      “But the girls are so young. They need people and places they can count on. They don’t have the resilience to cope with musical-chairs parents.”

      “Musical chairs? Come on. Divorced parents work out shared custody and the kids do fine. They often thrive because they have the parent’s full attention when they’re with them.”

      “We’re not their parents, Aubrey. They’re not bonded to us. That builds over time as they learn we’ll be there whenever they need us.”

      “And you don’t think I can do that.” Her mind jumped to the time Howard hadn’t trusted her to babysit the girls.

      “I didn’t say that. Shared custody can also mean constant strife and confusion. I’ve seen it with friends, and hear about it with some of our clients.”

      “We won’t be like that. We weren’t married. We don’t have built-up resentments. I live an active life. They need to see that, be part of it, learn to be open to new experiences.”

      “They’re four, Aubrey. Give them a few years before they wrestle alligators or wing-walk a biplane.”

      “I’m not saying that. Don’t exaggerate.”

      “You can be their role model without being their guardian. You’ll visit a lot. Later on, you can take them on trips.”

      She stared at him, breathing hard, fighting to be sensible, to not make promises she might not be able to keep.

      “Look, we’re both upset,” Dixon said, sounding suddenly exhausted. “We want to do all we can for the girls, but we can’t get too ambitious, because if the plan flops, the girls will pay the price.” His eyes searched hers for agreement. “My plan’s easy. Yours is hard. How much of your schedule can you actually clear? Don’t things change a lot?”

      All the time. Even before the ALT endorsement was a possibility, she’d been swamped. When she wasn’t on an adventure, she was planning one, or doing a podcast, booking guests, doing research, on and on. The simple promise she’d made to herself to visit more often would have been tough enough to manage without ALT in the picture.

      And now she thought she could share custody?

      The truth finally cut through her muddy thoughts. She was fighting Dixon out of guilt and ego, not in the best interests of the girls.

      That was wrong.

      The girls trusted Dixon. He knew them better than she did. He knew their routines. Aubrey could learn, but in the meantime, she would disappoint them, and they’d had more disappointment today than anyone should have in a lifetime.

      “You’re right. You should be their guardian,” she said softly. “That’s best for the girls. I’ll stay as long as I can after the funeral.” She’d see if she could slow down things with ALT. Maybe they could use an adventure race later in the year to test the sponsorship. “Like you said, I’ll visit a lot. Take them on trips.” She would be a bright light, a shot of fun. She would open their eyes to the world.

      “I think it’s the right thing to do,” Dixon said, sympathy in his gaze.

      So why does it feel so wrong? She felt like she was letting everyone down—the girls, her sister, herself. Embarrassed by her emotions, she jumped up from the sofa. “I need water. You?”

      “No, thanks.”

      In the kitchen, she grabbed a water glass, then threw open the freezer door for ice. Spotting a bag, she tugged at it, which caused a casserole dish to fall out. Clumsy from exhaustion, she didn’t get out of the way in time and the corner slammed onto her foot. Her instep and toes shared the brunt of the blow. She yelped as pain shot through her, grabbing her foot.

      Dixon was there in a second. “What happened?”

      “A casserole attacked me,” she ground out.

      “Let me take a look.”

      She started to hobble toward the kitchen table, but Dixon swung her into his arms like he had that night in Mexico. For an instant, she felt the same thrill, her pain erased.

      Dixon carried her to the sofa and lowered her to the cushion. He sat and set her injured foot on his lap, then clicked on the high-intensity reading lamp on the side table. He touched her instep, which had puffed up and was turning purple.

      “Ouch.”

      “Can you flex your foot?”

      She did. “Ow. Damn. That hurts.”

      “Doesn’t seem broken,” Dixon said, then touched her big toe.

      “Ouch. Stop. You have no bedside manner.”

      “It’s hard to know with toes. I’ll tape it and get ice for the swelling.” He slid out from under her injured foot and went to the kitchen.

      While she waited, their time in Mexico filled her mind.

      It СКАЧАТЬ