A Ready-Made Family

Howie shook his head at Lia. “You don’t get it, Mom.”

“I guess not.” She caught Jake’s eye and lifted an eyebrow. “Seeing as you’re the man with so much stinkin’ entity experience, how fast does this remedy work?”

Jake sniffed himself. “We stay in as long as it takes.”

Howie leaned forward to get a whiff. “I smell tomato juice.”

Lia took a pitcher of water and poured it over her son’s sandy-colored head. “You’re going to have pink hair.”

Howie wasn’t sure how to take that news. “Jake, too?”

“His hair is dark. The tomato won’t stain as much.”

Jake passed her a bottle of shampoo. Lia snapped it open and squeezed out a dollop. She began massaging the lather into Howie’s hair and scalp, but he pushed her away. “I can do it.”

“Want to wash mine?” Jake’s question seemed serious—until Lia detected the smile in the laugh lines carved around his eyes. He had a very masculine face—strong bones, blunt features, a firm jaw bristling with a five-o’clock shadow. His dark hair was peppered with gray.

“I’m sure you’re capable.” She collected the cans and can opener. “I’ll leave you two to finish up. Howie, rinse off thoroughly. I don’t want to find sticky tomato juice behind your ears.”

Jake saluted. “We’ll proceed accordingly and present ourselves for inspection, ma’am. Right, Howie?”

“Yes, sir.” Howie saluted with a sudsy hand.

Lia smiled at them. “Here are your glasses, Howie.” She placed the spectacles on the surround of a chipped white sink of fifties vintage and caught sight of herself in the mirrored medicine cabinet. Her hair was as fuzzy as a played-out Barbie doll’s. The touch of lipstick and mascara she’d applied that morning was long gone. She looked bone-tired and at least ten years older than thirty-two.

She turned her face aside. Some days she felt that old. But not right now. Being around Jake was rejuvenating. He put out a lot of rugged male energy. Her spirits perked up and her body responded whether or not she wanted it to. Even though she was usually not focused on that stuff, him being half-naked most of the time was mighty distracting.

The girls were hovering outside the door to the bathroom. “When can we leave?” Sam asked.

Kristen tugged on Lia’s hand and said plaintively, “I’m hungry.”

Lia mouthed, “Quiet,” and hustled both of them toward the kitchen. The stone house was small—two bedrooms, one bath, with a fairly roomy kitchen that opened onto an L-shaped dining and living room area. Though neat as a pin, the kitchen showed the wear and tear of time on the scuffed linoleum, ancient fixtures and stained ceramic sink. A pair of faded print curtains hung in the window that overlooked the new garden and the stand of evergreens that crested the riverbank. Altogether, it was a homely but homey place. Lia wished she could curl into a fetal position on the sagging plaid couch and sleep for the next twenty-four hours.

The shower was running. Jake shouldn’t have been able to overhear, but Lia spoke quickly in a low voice nevertheless. “Samantha, we will go as soon as we can.” Even though I don’t know where we’re going. “Krissy, baby…” She sank onto her heels and gave her youngest a quick hug. “Dinner’s coming. Eat a few animal crackers to tide you over.”

The box of cookies hung from a string wound around Kristen’s finger. Her stuffed rabbit, Cuddlebunny, was clutched in the other hand. “They’re gone.” She was on the verge of tears, a sure sign that she was overtired. “Sam ate ’em all.”

“I did not.”

“Did, too! I said she could have one of the elephants and she taked a big handful.”

“Girls, shhh. It’s okay.” Lia pinched between her eyes. “I won’t let you starve.” She looked at Jake’s cash on the table and thought of the food he’d placed just so in the almost bare cupboards. At the store, she’d counted out her remaining coins to pay for the animal crackers. There was still her credit card, but they could be tracked through that. She didn’t want to use it unless she had no other choice.

One look at Kristen’s welling eyes said that point may have been reached. Lia’s head drooped. She put a hand on the floor to steady herself. Running away from home in the Grudge with less than four hundred dollars in cash had been a foolish decision but necessary. Absolutely necessary.

Except where did they go now?

“Help yourselves,” Jake said from the hallway.

Lia pulled herself together and stood on shaky legs. Weak from hunger, she told herself. Not just weak.

To Jake, she said, “I’m sorry. You know children. Or maybe you don’t. They get weepy when they’re hungry and I—” She let out a choked-off laugh. She was feeling kind of weepy and hopeless herself.

Even though he spoke easily, Jake’s grip tightened on the towel he’d draped around his shoulders. “No problem. I’ll get dressed and we’ll make dinner.”

Lia opened her mouth but didn’t speak. She was in no position to refuse. “You’re being very kind, considering how we barged in on you.” Their eyes met and she cringed inside, reading his expression as pity. She didn’t want pity. She wanted respect. Independence.

But first, dinner. “Thank you.”

After a nudge, Kristen and Sam chimed in. “Thank you, Mr. Robbin.”

He brushed off the gratitude in his abrupt way. So much like Rose. “All of you—call me Jake,” he said before disappearing into one of the bedrooms.

“I NOTICE YOUR MOTHER isn’t here,” Lia commented in the careful tones of a guest bent on making polite conversation. “I know Rose has been caring for her for the past few years.”

Jake rolled a beer bottle between his palms. He was sprawled in one of the Adirondack chairs they kept around for the cottage guests—when they had any. The grill smoked nearby as the charcoal cooled. He’d given Lia a choice of hamburgers or fresh-caught fish. She’d chosen the fish, to her offspring’s displeasure. They’d been polite about eating at least some of it and had filled up on corn on the cob and the biscuits Lia had produced after scouting his kitchen for flour and baking powder.

Jake met her inquiring eyes. “Maxine…uh, my mother is in the hospital.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Nothing too serious, I hope.”

“She got overwrought and her emphysema worsened.”

“Too much wedding excitement?”

“In a way. More a case of the wedding demanding too much of my sister’s attention. If you knew our mother, you’d understand.” While no one in their household had ruled the roost but Black Jack, his mother had become passive-aggressive to get her way. Particularly with Rose.

Jake glanced at Lia. “Or do you know? I forget that Rose might’ve confided in you about the history of our family.”

“She told me some of it. But not everything. Not even close.”

“That sounds like Rose.”

After a minute of silence, Lia cleared her throat. “Will your mother be home soon?”

“Not right away. She’s being moved to a care facility. They want to monitor her for a while longer. Of course, she’s putting up a fuss, but making her stay was the only way for the newlyweds to get a honeymoon. If she was here, she’d have insisted that Rose stick around to look after her.” Jake was bemused by his loose tongue. After the goings-on of the wedding, he’d been looking forward to solitude. But having Lia and her kids around wasn’t so bad. “I was never much good at that sort of thing—caretaking. No patience.”

“You were great with Howie.”

“I’ve worked at staying calm under pressure.”

“In the Army, huh.” She did a marching-in-place gesture that made him smile. “All that discipline.”

He nodded.

“Well,” Lia said after a minute, searching for another topic when he would have been fine to sit with her in silence, “family illness hasn’t been an issue for me. My parents are young yet, in their midfifties.” She looked down and picked at a fingernail. “We’re not close.”

“How come?” he asked after a beat. Talking like this made him slightly uncomfortable. He didn’t believe in revealing your feelings to passing strangers—or even lingering strangers. Hell, he didn’t even talk to his own brother. He’d tried to stay in touch with Gary after the prison sentence, but there was too much anger and resentment there. Jake and Lia had found ways to straighten themselves out. Gary was a casualty.