Adventures In Parenthood

“You came already!” Ginger’s eyes went wide. They were dark like her father’s and mother’s, and her wheat-colored hair curled like Brianna’s.

“I did,” she said shakily. Get it together. Calm down. The girls don’t know. Don’t scare them. Be strong for them. A band of ice water—as if she’d stepped into a mountain stream—gripped her rib cage and there seemed to be a golf ball stuck in her throat.

Sienna spotted the casserole with Aubrey’s footprint in the foil. “Eww. Someone stepped in it.”

“I did.” Aubrey lifted her foot as proof, glad of the distraction. “Sorry.”

Sienna bent to study the blob that had squirted out. “It’s good you wrecked it. It’s got peas.” Sienna made a face. “Everything Ms. Wilder makes has peas. Yuck. Jessica hates it, too, but we can’t agree with her because it’s not polite.”

“You dropped your flowers.” Ginger picked them up, then noticed Scout’s carrier and got down to look through the mesh window. “Hi, Scout.”

The cat meowed a greeting. Scout loved the girls, tolerating their aggressive attention, even as toddlers, when they would haul her around like a stuffed animal. Most cats would have hidden under a bed, but Scout was made of tougher stuff.

“Can I take her out, Auntie Aubba?” Auntie Aubba had been Ginger’s toddler name for Aubrey. Aubrey loved that she still called her that.

“In the house...sure.” Aubrey pretended to cough to hide her shaky voice. Ginger’s innocent eagerness was painful to hear.

“I get to do it, too,” Sienna said, grabbing the handle while Ginger put the strap over her shoulder. “You have the flowers.”

“You take the flowers. I thought of Scout first.”

The two girls had a tug-of-war, but managed to get the carrier and the flowers into the house, only losing a few more petals. They were so excited, so lighthearted, unaware of the dark train roaring from the tunnel to plow into their tender lives.

“Guess we should go in,” Aubrey said, putting the lid on the ice chest, picking it up, along with the gift bag and her roller bag handle.

Dixon stopped her with a warm hand on her arm. “You need a minute out here?”

She shook her head. “Let’s get this over with.” She preferred to remove bandages with a quick rip, not a slow, agonizing tug.

“I don’t want to tell them yet,” Dixon said. “I’ll try Constance again.”

She didn’t see the sense in that, but she didn’t want to argue with the man. She’d hardly absorbed the news herself. Dixon grabbed the ruined casserole and held the door for Aubrey, who walked into the house on legs gone numb. At least she no longer felt her Norway scrapes.

In a glance, she surveyed the living room, with its overstuffed sofa and love seat in a floral pattern, the jewel-toned area rug on the polished oak floor, the play corner with toys in bright buckets. Such a happy place. Such a happy family.

Gone now. A gloom seemed to fall over the room, dimming the colors, making the toys shabby, the furniture cold.

She turned to Dixon, and their eyes met. He looked sad and lost. Exactly like her. She turned to the girls and dropped to her knees. “I need hugs.” She held out her arms, hoping she could keep from crying. Sienna gave her a quick, hard squeeze. Gymnastics and martial arts had turned the girl into solid muscle.

Ginger wrapped her thin arms around Aubrey’s neck and clung to her, giving Aubrey time to breathe in her feather-fine hair, which smelled of bubblegum shampoo, French fries and the sweet salt of little-girl sweat.

When Ginger let go, Aubrey wanted to say, I love you, I missed you, I’m so glad to see you, but her throat was too tight.

“Why are you crying?” Sienna asked, staring at her with her sharp blue eyes.

“I’m just happy to be here.”

“Happy doesn’t make you cry,” Sienna insisted.

She wears me out, Brianna had said about Sienna. She won’t let any question go unanswered. She probes and pokes and demands. Just like you used to.

“Better let Scout out,” Aubrey said to shift Sienna’s attention.

Ginger was already at the zipper.

“No fair,” Sienna said. “You carried her. I get to unzip.” Sienna was clearly the take-charge twin.

The carrier open, Scout jumped out and shook herself indignantly, wiggling each paw, then her tail.

“She prefers to come to you,” she reminded them.

“We know,” Sienna said. The girls sat poised, hands out, eyes so eager Aubrey had to smile. Scout obliged them by delicately sniffing their fingertips, then rubbing her cheek against them.

“She remembers us,” Ginger said. “She’s showing us she loves us.”

“She’s putting her smell on us,” Sienna said. “It’s animal in-stink. That’s what Jessica says. Cats and dogs are animals. They don’t do people things like cuddle and kiss and love.”

“Scout does,” Ginger insisted. “Look in her eyes. That is l-o-v-e, love.”

Aubrey remembered a similar disagreement with Brianna, who’d been convinced that the ducks at the park recognized them, while Aubrey was certain they only saw bread crumbs. Brianna had always had more heart than Aubrey.

The night their mother died, Brianna had held their mother’s hand and whispered to her. Brianna had been there, brave and strong. Aubrey had run away. It still shamed her.

Scout jumped onto Aubrey’s lap. The cat stayed close when Aubrey was upset, purring wildly as if to soothe whatever ailment Aubrey suffered.

“Will she do her tricks for us?” Ginger asked.

“She’s got to get familiar with your house first.” Scout could give a high-five, fetch things, drink from a glass and play dead.

Aubrey’s thoughts began to buzz like angry bees. It can’t be true. Brianna can’t be dead. The girls can’t go through this. Please, no, Brianna. We can’t go on without you.

“You okay?” Dixon asked softly.

“I’m fine.” She forced a smile, then turned to the girls. “How about you open your gifts?” She plopped the bag between them, delaying the bad news a little longer.

The girls reached in from opposite sides of the sack, orange hair against wheat, then lifted out the boxes, looking through the clear plastic at the contents.

“Rollerblades,” Aubrey said. “What do you think?”

“Cool,” Sienna said.

“It’s too hard for us,” Ginger said, scrunching her nose. “Remember that big kid in the park with blood all down his arms?”

“We’ll get pads for your elbows and knees,” Aubrey said. “You’ll wear your bike helmets, too. You’ll be safe.”

“Daddy took the helmets back. He didn’t know what you were thinking,” Sienna said. “The bikes are put away for when we’re bigger.”

“You’re big enough,” she said, irritated by Howard’s attitude. “You girls are gymnasts. You have crazy balance. People on my blog told me a cool way to learn. Easy-breezy.”