Second Thoughts (3 page)

“Yes,” she said
as straightened in her chair. She smoothed Christopher’s hair on his forehead. “You and your daddy have that same curl. Guess it runs in the family.” She pointed at his feet. “Uh, Chris.”

He looked, nodded. “Breaked a shoelace.”

“Broke. Which one?”

“The black one.”

“Does the other blue one have a lace in it?”

“Yeah.”

“Then go put the other blue one on.”

He seemed to think about it, then shrugged. “Sure.”

Connie had time to set the table and crack eggs into a bowl before Derek showed. His limp had disappeared, and there was only a small scrape near his right elbow. His dark hair glistened wetly. He’d shaved but had apparently decided to forego the hair dryer this morning.

His neat gray slacks bore no sign of having recently resided inside a suitcase, and his powder blue polo shirt hung nicely from well-developed shoulders. He always had worn his clothes well. She looked away, annoyed because she’d noticed.

The twins hadn’t given her time to get dressed this morning. She was conscious of the borrowed robe and how it hung on her. Not giving the length of it a chance to trip her, she’d hitched it up before belting it, and a fold of fabric hung over the tie belt. Her little red and black kimono would’ve been okay with the kids, but its hem didn’t quite reach her knees, and it fell in a deep vee she couldn’t alter no matter how tightly she pulled it around her. No way was she going to show off that cute little number to her ex-husband.

Chris returned, wearing matching blue tennis shoes. The black one now rested in the middle of his bedroom floor, she was sure.

Derek came to stand next to her. “Er, I was going to do that,” he said, eyeing the bowl of eggs she was working on.

She glanced sideways, annoyed with him now instead of herself, and feeling better for it. “They’re just eggs, Derek. What can I possibly do wrong with scrambled eggs?”

“For one thing, you can get the pan too hot.” He removed that skillet from the burner and put another one on it. “And they’re better cooked in margarine.” Turning back, and without asking permission, he took the fork from her and stirred the egg mixture. “Did you put anything else in here?”

She didn’t answer. He gave her a curious look. “No,” she snapped.

He looked at Christopher. “Sounds like I’m in the doghouse.”

Competing with Abbie’s rattle and Andy’s jabbering, the kitchen TV was on, broadcasting a news program. Derek’s head jerked toward it, and he put one hand out to cover Abbie’s and her rattle. She looked up and giggled, then patted his hand with her free one. Though not as noisy, this game was apparently as much fun as the other one.

“…twice in the last twenty-four hours, and apparently by the same group of three men. The exact figures were not available, but last night’s take was estimated to be a small one, and it’s thought this morning’s loss would be even less. The clerk has—
”

Evidently tiring of the one-sided patty-cake game, Abbie’s voice joined and then quickly surpassed her brother’s. Derek reached for the remote control and punched up the volume, but the program broke for a commercial. He thumbed the mute button and replaced the control on the counter.

“That must’ve been the convenience store I passed last night, maybe just a couple miles or so from here. Robbery must’ve just happened because there were flashing lights, big crowd, a lot of commotion.” His face was grave as his gaze remained on the TV screen. “That’s too close.”

Connie wasn’t comfortable with the proximity either. She was also puzzled. “But why hit the same place twice? That doesn’t make sense. Seems like the motive might be harassment instead of profit.”

Christopher reached for the remote control. He’d been watching the screen, paying little attention to the discussion. Sound once again issued from the set.

“
…standing in for Derek O’Reilly. Nate, it’s all yours
.”

Connie watched and listened, then frowned at the TV and at Nate. “Why isn’t Rachel on for you, like she usually is? She’s better than this guy, whoever he is.”

“She’s in New York. Nate’s the best they could get on such short notice.”

She gave him a surprised look. “Short notice? You gave them short notice for a fishing trip?”

He shrugged without returning her gaze. His attention remained on the man who was explaining high pressure and low pressure areas. “I had the time coming, and I’d scheduled the trip a long time ago. Somebody must’ve gotten their wires crossed.”

“It’s a news program, and somebody got their wires crossed?”

“He’s not as good as you are, Unca Dare. He smiles too much. Makes him look phony.”

“Thanks, partner. You’re good for the ego.” Derek laughed and ran his hand through Christopher’s hair.

“And somebody also got his dates crossed,” Connie said. “He planned his short-notice fishing trip ten days too early.” She realized how peevish she sounded, but she was still resentful about the way he’d pushed himself into the household last night.

With his hand still in Christopher’s hair, Derek looked at Connie. “Yeah, uh, I’ve been thinking about that—”

“And he also got his skillet too hot to cook the eggs. I did that well on my own.”

Derek uttered a mild expletive, looked quickly and guiltily at Christopher, then removed the hot skillet from the flame.

“You’re running out of room for your skillets,” Connie said to his back.

He turned, gave her a look that said she was pushing it, then turned back to replace the original and now cooled skillet atop the burner. This time, he switched the flame off before he again faced her. “May I talk to you for a minute? Then we’ll do the eggs.”

She frowned. She had a strong suspicion she wasn’t going to like this. “I guess so.”

“You need to learn to control your enthusiasm,” he said wryly. He got the tub of margarine from the refrigerator and put a loaf of bread on the counter. “I may be ten days early, but I don’t see why I can’t still spend the weekend here as I’d planned.”

“Oh, no, you don’t.”

“That way, Chris and I can still get our fishing in, and—”

“No.”

“And I can give you a hand with the kids—”

“No.”

“They’ve got to be quite a handful. And this way I won’t lose my vacation time—”

“No.”

Derek switched the TV off. “Chris, do you think you could play with the twins in your room or theirs for a few minutes, and let Aunt Connie and me finish our discussion?”

“Sure,” Chris said agreeably. Unlike their earlier conversation, he’d been following this one with rapt attention. He pushed himself off his chair and collected a rattle in each hand. He looked up at Derek. “But you’re going to win, aren’t you, Unca Dare?” He directed an imploring look at Connie. “I want him to stay, Annie Connie. Please?”

Floored, Connie blinked. “Of all the—”

“I didn’t set that up,” Derek said quickly. “Chris just wants—”

“Talk about stacking the deck.”

“I didn’t set that up,” he repeated with vehemence. “Give me some credit.”

She unfastened Andy’s tray and got him in the crook of her left arm. She reached for the other highchair and Christopher unhooked the tray for her. She swooped up Abbie, balancing her on her other hip. “I’m going to dress the twins. You do what you want to do.” She dodged around the table. “And don’t save any breakfast for me. I’m not hungry.”

“I think I’m in the doghouse, too, Unca Dare.” Christopher’s voice sounded like there were tears lurking behind the words.

Connie stopped. Chris wanted to go fishing with his uncle, that was all. Derek was one of his favorite people. She was annoyed with Derek, but punishing Chris. She felt about two inches tall.

She breathed deeply, then turned. “No, Chris, you’re not in the doghouse. And I’m sorry I got upset.” She took in another long breath. “Of course Uncle Derek can stay, and the two of you can go fishing. Your mom and dad would have no objection, so I don’t either.”

Christopher didn’t look convinced. The tears were still quite close. The babies were heavy, and it was awkward holding both of them. She knelt and put them on their feet. They toddled off in different directions, but she noted that Derek’s gaze followed the one who’d wandered behind her. She held her arms out to Chris. “Come here, honey.”

His eyes cleared, but he still looked uncertain. He came to her and allowed a hug, then drew back. “Will you eat eggs with us?” He looked hopeful, but hesitant.

The kid drives a hard bargain, she thought. An apology wasn’t good enough; she was going to have to prove her change of heart.

“Unca Dare makes scrambled eggs real good,” Chris coaxed, as if aware he almost had her. “They’re not all dry and crusty and brown on the bottom like yours.”

“Uh, Chris,” Derek said.

But Connie just laughed. “Really good,” she corrected. “And if they’re that good, then tell him to make enough for me, too.”

Chris rewarded her with a beaming smile. Connie was struck by how much the child resembled Derek. Inwardly, she winced at the strong and sudden tug on her heartstrings.

* * *

The twins were napping when Derek and Chris returned from their shopping trip. Connie met them at the door and put her forefinger to her lips in a shushing motion. Derek carried the box containing the new cot into Christopher’s room, elaborately tiptoeing. Chris deposited a grocery bag on the counter of the corner bar and followed his uncle, mimicking his walk. One side of the boy’s red knit shirt had ridden up to his elbow, which lent a lopsided look to his gait. Connie went back to her magazine.

Derek quickly reappeared. “Wish me luck sleeping on it. I didn’t buy it with comfort in mind. I chose the one with the easiest assembly instructions.”

“Build it now, Unca Dare?” Christopher entered the room so fast he almost ran into his uncle.

“After dinner, partner. Give me a few minutes.” Stooping, he smoothed the boy’s shirt down. “Why don’t you go practice that computer game you showed me this morning?”

Chris looked disappointed, but he swallowed it. “Okay,” he said, and then was out of the room as fast as he’d entered it.

“Great kid.” Derek smiled fondly, watching the boy’s exit. He shook his head and chuckled. “Endless energy.”

“Uh-huh. Except the energy doesn’t extend to brushing his teeth, washing his face, or even dressing properly.”

“So I’ve noticed.” He opened the liquor cabinet and held up a vodka bottle with a questioning look. She shook her head. He rummaged in the grocery bag and withdrew a jug of her favorite grapefruit juice, then held it up with a second questioning look.

She looked at it, reconsidering, then nodded. “Okay. Thanks.”

He left with the ice bucket. She heard the noisy rattle of ice cubes, then he returned, mixed two drinks and crossed the room to hand her one. She sipped, and then looked up in appreciation. “You haven’t lost the knack. You can still make an excellent drink without measuring anything.”

Connie was sitting in the charcoal-gray recliner with her feet up. He took the end of the gray and white striped sofa, stretched his legs out and crossed his ankles. “Thanks to my years at bartending. I did everything waiting for my big break.”

“I remember.”

“I smelled something cooking in the kitchen. What is it?”

“Macaroni and cheese.”

“Umm. I like the way you make that.”

“That’s one of the few things I made that you liked. Or would even eat.”

He was silent for a moment, and she wondered if he was going to do the gallant thing and refute that statement or the wise thing and let it go.

“That’s because it was one of the few things you made that was actually edible,” he said mildly.

She’d taken a sip of her drink. She laughed, causing herself to choke, and he grinned.

“It’s good to see you again, Connie, and to hear you laugh. It seems strange to be sitting across the room from you like this, yet it feels natural, too.”

Connie looked down at her drink, saying nothing. She couldn’t have said it better, but she didn’t want to turn this into…

She frowned to herself, unable to finish the thought. Turn it into what?

“You’re just as pretty as I remember,” he said. “Still a perfect ‘five-foot-two, eyes of blue’. And I notice you let your hair go back to its natural color. You never liked auburn, but red looks good on you.” He flashed bright white teeth in a quick grin. “Matches your fiery temperament.”

He waited, probably for a reaction. When he got none, he went on. “And you lost some weight. Maybe eight or ten pounds. You couldn’t weigh more than a hundred and five right now, tops.”

She wore an oversized white t-shirt and loose-fitting navy shorts. The only other garment he’d seen her in was the too big, shapeless robe, yet he’d accurately guessed her weight. Apparently, he’d gotten quite an eyeful last night, despite the bubbles.

He gave her a long, slow-building grin, and she knew he’d read her mind. She returned his gaze, but not the grin.

After a leisurely sip from his drink, he introduced another topic. “Kristy told me you were teaching first grade last year. How’d that go?”