Adventures In Parenthood

Aubrey had absorbed the advice to her bones.

Because her mom had died of breast cancer, Aubrey had always feared that the disease ticked away inside her, marking off the months, weeks, minutes she had left. It was part of what drove her so hard. Do it now. Don’t waste a second. Do it before cancer blooms in you like a toxic flower. Brianna worried about cancer, too, but more quietly.

Scout meowed, eager to go. Aubrey unzipped the hard-sided carrier so her cat could jump in, closed it, put the strap over her shoulder and got out of the car, wincing as her new scabs protested the change in position. She had a bruise the shape of Scandinavia on her hip, along with scrapes from falling on the ice during the race. Reindeer were unbelievably fast, and the hairpin turns had scared the crap out of her. She’d squealed and yelped the whole way, but she refused to be embarrassed.

The whole idea of her blog was to be real—to share her worries and fears, her mistakes and pains. If Aubrey could do it, her readers would see that they could, too, shrieking all the way.

She slipped the gift-bag loops over her wrist, lifted her well-scuffed roller bag out of the cargo hold, tucked the flowers under one arm, grabbed the handle of the small ice chest in her other hand and trundled up the walk, Scout hanging at her hip.

The gift bag held in-line skates for the girls, who were just old enough to have the required balance. She’d bought boy skates—dark blue and much cooler than the babyish pink ones for girls. Why did manufacturers infantilize girls? She’d done a blog rant on the topic around Christmas time that three major news outlets had picked up.

She had her mountain bike with her, so she’d ride bikes with the girls while she was here. She’d bet money Howard had installed training wheels she’d have to take off.

Her sister’s neighborhood was modest, the house small, but so well cared for it practically glowed. With its sunny yellow paint, friendly porch swing, and crowd of bright flowers in brass pots, the place matched Brianna’s personality. Her sister made a house a home, for sure.

Aubrey glanced back at her car—an XTerra she’d chosen for its rugged versatility. Her tough, mud-spattered vehicle and her sister’s cozy, flower-bedecked house reflected their different styles. Aubrey was the restless soul, Brianna the settled heart.

At the door, she saw someone had left a foil-covered cake pan on the mat. Maybe Aubrey had beat them home. That was fine. The babysitter—Jessica, who lived next door—was probably there with the girls. If not, Aubrey had a spare key.

She knocked, smiling in anticipation, expecting her nieces.

But it wasn’t the twins who stood in the doorway. It wasn’t Brianna or Howard, either. It wasn’t even the babysitter.

It was Dixon. Howard’s brother. Her heart lurched like it did each time she’d seen him since the humiliating incident at the wedding.

He was good-looking, for sure, with strong features—a straight nose, square jaw, generous mouth and serious eyes so dark they seemed black. He was built like a tennis player—tall and lanky with broad shoulders and long, strong arms—and he moved with an athlete’s grace.

In a flash, she remembered him carrying her down the hall to her hotel room. He’d slapped in the key card, then kicked the door open so hard it slammed into the wall. It was as if he wouldn’t let any barrier keep them apart. She’d felt a thrill that totally erased the pain of her ankle.

Except instead of throwing her on the bed and making love to her, he’d put ice on her ankle and left, shutting the door he’d so hotly kicked in moments before with a soft click. Damn. Just thinking about it pissed her off again.

“Aubrey?” He sounded surprised and not happy to see her.

Ouch. “I’m early,” she said, though she had every right to visit her sister whenever she wanted. “They’re not back?”

“No. They’re not.” The words seemed to desolate him. She noticed his eyes were bloodshot, his jaw rigid, his mouth grim. Something’s wrong.

He glanced behind him, then pulled the door closed, joining her on the porch. “The girls are eating,” he said as if that were a legitimate reason to keep her outside. What the hell was going on? He seemed shaken, as if he’d heard terrible news. Terrible news he was about to share.

A chill washed over her. Scout gave a mournful yowl, either picking up Aubrey’s tension or wanting out of the carrier. Aubrey set it down, along with the gift bag and the ice chest, taking the flowers from under her arm. Three daisy petals drifted to the porch, white on white, snowflakes landing on a drift.

“What’s the matter?” she asked faintly.

“I tried to reach you, but I got voice mail. I left a message.”

“I lost my phone. For God’s sake, tell me what it is.” Goose bumps moved in a wave down her body. She felt colder than when she’d tumbled over the crusted snow pack on that final turn in Norway.

“You should sit.” He motioned at the porch swing. “It’s bad.”

“Just say it.” Her legs wobbled, so she stiffened them, refusing to give in to weakness.

“Brianna and Howard were in an accident coming back from Tahoe.”

She gasped.

Dixon swallowed, as if it would take effort to say more.

“And...?” she prompted him. Get it out. Tell me. Her heartbeat echoed in her ears.

“They were killed.”

“No. No.” Her insides froze. Her brain locked down. That couldn’t be right. Was this a joke? Had her ears tricked her? They were buzzing now. “What? They...what? No.”

“The doctor said they didn’t suffer. Their necks... It was quick.” He snapped his fingers. She saw he was blinking a lot. He was going to cry? Stable, solid Dixon Carter? Oh, God. It was true. This was no joke.

“They’re dead? Brianna’s dead? No. No. No. No.” She shook her head violently. Her wobbly legs went liquid and she staggered, one foot landing in the middle of the foil-covered pan. Gooey liquid leaked over the sides. She smelled tuna fish and Lipton soup. Tuna casserole? Who even made that anymore, let alone gave it to someone? was her stunned thought.

Focus. Think. What did he say again? I can’t breathe. I feel sick. I can’t throw up in front of Dixon. I can’t move. It was like someone had shoved a pillow onto her face, punched her in the stomach and tried to electrocute her all at once.

Dixon caught her arm to keep her upright. She gasped for air.

Don’t faint. Don’t puke. Don’t lose it.

But she seemed to be dissolving from the inside out. The terrible sound of a human in agony filled the air. As Dixon pulled her into his arms, she realized it was coming from her.

Her heart was shredding, her lungs bursting, her brain going blank. Brianna was gone...lost...forever. Aubrey would never see her sunburst smile, feel her hug against her heart, know she was there, sharing their twin souls.

When she finally realized she was bellowing in the man’s ear, she made herself stop and backed out of his arms.

She had the wild urge to run, to escape, to do something big and physical. She’d felt this way when their mother died. She’d run to the park, taken the obstacle exercise track through the trees for endless hours until her legs had given out and she’d collapsed on the grass, fighting for oxygen.

It hadn’t helped. The heartbreak had followed her. She knew there was no use running now, so she sank onto the swing. It rocked forward, toppling the ice chest, so the lid fell off. Ice spilled and the gold foil on top of the champagne emerged. She saw she’d dropped the flowers, too. Red roses and white daisies. Fresh and romantic. She’d been so happy when she’d bought them, so eager to celebrate her own news and Brianna’s anniversary. Now the flowers seemed fragile, damaged, ruined.

“There must be a mistake. It can’t be,” she said. Maybe she couldn’t run, but there had to be some escape from this horror.

“I’m sorry.” He crouched in front of her, steadying the swing with his hand, as if he sensed her dizziness.

“When?”

“A couple of hours ago. The hospital called me at work. I arranged to have them flown here for the funeral.”

“The funeral. I can’t... I don’t... A funeral?” She squeezed her eyes shut. “The girls!” Her eyes flew open. “Do they know?” Ginger and Sienna had lost their parents. Another wave of horror washed over her.

“Not yet.” He cleared his throat. “I wanted to explain it properly. I called a counselor at Bootstrap for advice, but she hasn’t picked up the message. They’re eating now and—”

The door burst open. “Uncle Dixon—” Sienna stopped short when she saw Aubrey on the bench. “Aunt Aubrey?” Sienna surveyed her with the same blue eyes Aubrey herself had. Her hair was the same strawberry-blond, straight and shiny, though not as sun-bleached as Aubrey’s.

“It’s me.”