Adventures In Parenthood

“Easy-breezy?” Ginger repeated eagerly.

“Easy-breezy. I brought my bike, so once you learn, we can ride together in the park. Won’t that be fun?” Her voice cracked, but she had to give them something to look forward to, something to soften the coming blow.

She glanced at Dixon, who looked totally bereft. They had to get this over with. Her mouth was so dry she wasn’t sure she could get out the words. “Listen, girls, we need to talk to you about—”

“First, ice cream,” Dixon blurted, cutting her off. “Your aunt came early, so we should celebrate. Help me scoop, Aubrey.” He grabbed Aubrey’s arm and stood, pulling her up with him.

“Ice cream?” Sienna stopped tearing into the box and stared at Dixon. “But we already had milkshakes. Ginger will upchuck.”

“We’ll make it small, just a taste. Because your aunt surprised us.” He headed for the kitchen, pulling Aubrey by the arm, Sienna’s suspicious eyes burning holes in their backs.

“Ice cream? Really?” Aubrey whispered, once they reached the kitchen. “You want them to link ice cream with their parents’ death?”

“I need to try Constance again. She’ll know the best approach.” He pushed buttons on his phone.

“We don’t need an approach, Dixon. We should tell them flat out. Use simple words. They’ll react, and we’ll try to give them comfort.” Dixon wanted magic words, but there were none. She’d learned that when her mother died.

At least you were eighteen. They’re only four.

She clenched her fists, dug her nails into her palms to keep from crying.

“Bowls are to the left of the sink,” Dixon said, the phone to his ear. “Chocolate chip for Ginger. Strawberry for Sienna.”

She opened the freezer, the blast of cold air pleasant against her face, where nervous sweat had trickled down her temples. The freezer was jammed with plastic containers and big Baggies, each labeled with a dish—lasagna, chicken cacciatore, Chinese noodle casserole.... It looked like Jessica’s mother had been helping out the bachelor babysitter.

Rummaging around, she found the ice cream and scooped out servings for the girls, sheepishly aware that he had known their favorite flavors, while she had no clue. Aubrey wasn’t part of the girls’ daily lives the way he was, and it was her own fault.

In the background, she heard the girls putting on their rollerblades. When she’d finished scooping, she stared at the family photos on the fridge—the girls with Mickey Mouse at Disneyland, the family playing miniature golf, the twins in leotards on the balance beam, doing a kata in martial arts gi.

She should have been here more, been part of all this. Don’t wallow. You’ll spend more time. You’ll pay more attention. You’ll—

She felt an icicle stab to the heart. Who will raise the girls?

Aubrey or Dixon. They were the only choices. Dixon’s mother, Lorraine, was older and traveled a lot, according to Brianna. Just like you, Aubrey thought queasily.

How could Aubrey manage it? She couldn’t move the girls to L.A. where she shared a tiny apartment with an actress-slash-cocktail waitress. She would have to move to Phoenix. And what about her travel, all the promotion she’d have to do if she got the sponsorship?

Anxiety sent an acid wash down her throat like a gulped shot of tequila, no lime or salt to ease the way.

“Voice mail,” Dixon said with irritation. “I’ll try again later.” He slipped the phone into his pocket. Dixon lived here. He worked at Bootstrap, where the girls went for day care. He knew their ice cream preferences and a whole lot more about their lives.

Dixon would be the choice. No question.

What would Brianna want? Wait. Was there a will? Didn’t people list guardians in wills? Aubrey sure hadn’t seen a will. Had Dixon?

“All set?” Dixon picked up the bowls.

Aubrey felt woozy, like the stormy drift dive in the Bahamas before they’d sunk below the waves. Dixon looked just as green, as if he stood on the same rolling deck.

“Hang on.” She stopped him with a hand on his arm. “We need something more.” She ducked into the refrigerator for a can of whipped cream and a jar of maraschino cherries. As she squirted the cream and dropped the cherries, her hands shook. So did Dixon’s holding the bowls. The resulting mounds were lopsided, the cherries sadly off center. “Good enough.”

In the family room, the girls were holding on to each other trying to balance on their skates, sliding forward and back, waving their free arms wildly.

“Ta-da!” Aubrey said. “Ice cream sundaes!”

Dixon set them on the table. “Have at it, girls.”

“But we’re not allowed to eat in here,” Sienna declared, staring at the heaping, messy bowls. “And you said just a taste.” She paused. “Where are Mommy and Daddy? They promised they’d be here by supper.” Her voice was sharply alert.

Aubrey looked at Dixon, who closed his eyes briefly, then gave her a slow, resigned nod. It was time to tell them. “Sit down, girls,” he said dully.

Still holding each other up, the girls clumped to the sofa, and sat, skates dangling from their skinny legs like moon boots. Already scared, they stared at Dixon and Aubrey with wide eyes. Dixon pushed the table to the side, making room for him and Aubrey to kneel in front of the girls.

“You asked about your parents...” Dixon started. “We...your aunt and I...need to talk to you about...them.”

Looking into their still, wan faces, so vulnerable, so terrified, Aubrey couldn’t stand it another second. “They were in a car accident.”

Both girls gasped.

“They didn’t make it,” Dixon added quickly.

“What didn’t they make?” Sienna asked in a tremulous voice.

“He means they died. The accident killed them.”

“But it didn’t hurt,” Dixon said. “They didn’t have any pain.”

“What? No! You’re lying!” Sienna’s shrill cry, echoing Aubrey’s first reaction, pierced like a hot spike to her heart.

“It’s true,” Aubrey said. “I wish it weren’t, but it is.”

“They’re in a hospital in Nevada,” Dixon said, “but they’ll be flown down to Phoenix for the funeral.” He paused. “That’s a church service where people get together and talk about the dead person and—”

“Everybody knows what a fun’ral is,” Sienna said. “We had one for our gecko that died.”

“Are they getting fixed up at the hospital?” Ginger asked, clearly not grasping what Dixon meant. This was so hard. Aubrey wanted to pull the girl into her arms and erase her pain, but there were no magic hugs any more than there were magic words.

“No. It’s just their bodies,” Dixon said. He had to clear his throat to continue.

Aubrey put a hand on his arm to support him. “Their spirits are gone. In Heaven.”

“With Grandma Hanson and Grandpa Carter?” Ginger asked tremulously.

“And Grandpa Metzger,” Aubrey threw in, though she had no idea how Heaven worked or if her father would be there to greet the daughter he never knew he’d had.

“I don’t believe you!” Sienna’s voice broke, her anguish ringing in Aubrey’s ears.

Oh, sweetie, I know, I know. It hurts so much, so very much. She was too young for so much suffering.