A Mother's Wish / Mother To Be: A Mother's Wish

After a moment, Winnie nodded again, hoping to make it back inside before the tears fell.

“So you’ll be leaving in the morning?” she heard behind her.

“I suppose. Now if you’ll excuse me, it’s been a long day—”

“Watch out for the electricity, it’s a bit dodgy.”

Winnie turned, thoroughly confused. “Uh, yeah…Tess already told me—”

“And I assume you have a cell phone?”

“Charging even as we speak—”

“Give me your number, then,” Aidan said, digging his own phone out of his pocket.

“Why?”

“You’re on my property, I’m responsible for your welfare. So just give me your number, damn it.”

Shaking her head, Winnie stomped inside, fished a pen out of her purse and scribbled her number on a Burger King napkin from a pit stop in Moriarty, then went back outside and handed it to him.

“Then you better give me yours, too. Just in case a herd of rabid raccoons storms the house during the night.”

She thought maybe his mouth twitched. “505-555-2076.”

She scribbled it on a second napkin, although since she had a mind like flypaper she’d already memorized it. After that they stared each other down for another couple of seconds until Aidan finally opened his door and climbed into his truck.

“Hey,” she called over before he could shut his door.

“What?”

“I may have made some really, really dumb choices in my life, but something tells me choosing you and June as my baby’s parents wasn’t one of them.”

Then she went inside, thinking, Chew on that, buster.

Some time later, sitting on the bed in a pair of seen-better-days sweats, the tub of cheesecake ice cream rapidly vanishing as she stared at the flames belly-dancing in the fireplace, Winnie realized she’d stalled out at O-kay…now what?

By rights, she supposed she should at least be a little spooked, out here in the middle of nowhere all by her lonesome, with nothing but a lazy dog—she cast an affectionate glance at Annabelle, smushed up against her thighs—to protect her. But Winnie had never been the spookable sort. Not by things like slasher movies or ghost stories or things that went bump in the night, anyway.

Nor was she generally prone to boredom, since having lived most of her life in her own branch of nowhere she’d learned early on how to keep herself occupied. There’d always been people to see, fat to chew, businesses to keep tabs on, ailing grandmothers to tend to…even if by the end of Ida’s illness Winnie’s biggest fantasy centered on not having one blessed thing to do.

Well, honeybunch, she thought, setting the melting ice cream on the nightstand and curling forward to hug her knees, wish granted. Because here she was, with nothing and nobody to tend to.

Except her own thoughts.

Like about how being absolutely alone like this made her realize just how absolutely alone she was.

Now that was spooky.

Not that her family life had been any Waltons episode, although you’d think the way Ida’d watched those damn DVDs over and over, something would’ve rubbed off on her. But apparently they had rubbed off on Winnie, who still believed, deep in her heart, that families like that existed, somewhere. Families where all those binding ties held you up. Not tripped you up.

And coming here, seeing Robson…

The funny thing was, she thought, blowing her nose into another napkin, it wasn’t like she’d laid eyes on Robbie and immediately fallen in love with him. Oh, she’d felt a definite pang of something, she just hadn’t defined it yet. Curiosity, maybe. Combined with a little shock. But mostly she’d thought, Wow. That’s my kid.

And speaking of pangs…was it just her, or was Aidan seeing her appearance as much of a threat to him as to his son? Why she should think this, she had no idea, but all told she supposed it was just as well she was leaving. A body could only take so much weirdness at one time—

“Oh, Lord!” she yelped at the sudden knock on the door. She glanced at the dog, who yawned and snuggled more deeply into the soft, welcoming mounds of comforter, rolling one eye in Winnie’s direction. I stay here, keep the bed warm for you, ‘kay?

“Sure thing, wouldn’t want to disturb you,” Winnie muttered, before, on a profound sigh, she crawled out from underneath the nice warm covers to creep across the bare floor in sock-clad tootsies.

“Who is it?” she yelled through the—thankfully—solid front door.

“Florita Pena,” came a warm, richly accented voice. “Mr. Aidan’s housekeeper? I’m…jus’ checking to see if you have enough towels and…things?”

Hmm. The woman sounded harmless enough. Then again, some people might’ve thought her grandmother was harmless, too. If they were deluded or drunk enough. Steeling herself, she opened the door to a middle-aged woman in tight everything, like a drag queen doing a bad Rita Moreno impersonation.

Winnie was guessing the whole linens thing was just a ruse.

“Does your boss know you’re here?” she asked the housekeeper.

Wide, very red lips spread across a heavily moisturized face. “Do I look like I jus’ fell off the truck?”

“I’ll make tea,” Winnie said, holding open the door, taking care to keep her tootsies well out of range of the four-inch stilettos.

“And where the hell have you been?” Aidan hurled at his housekeeper when she “sneaked” back in through the kitchen door. “As if I couldn’t guess.”

Shucking off her gold leather jacket and hanging it on the hook by the door, Florita slid her eyes to his. She’d pounced on him like a cat on a lizard the moment he’d returned from his earlier visit to Winnie, although he hadn’t been able to fill her in properly until after supper, when Robson had gone up to his room to do homework. She’d listened, said little—which should have set off alarms—then vanished the minute Aidan’s back was turned. Now she shrugged. “My name’s not Cinderella, big shot, I don’ have to explain my comings an’ goings to you. I jus’ decided to check this chick out for myself.”

Then, because she was Flo, she grabbed a sponge and started to wipe down already sanitized counters. “And?” Aidan said with exaggerated patience.

“She’s got cojones,” she said at last, bony shoulders bumping. “It took guts, her coming here like this.”

“And…?” he said again.

Crimson lips pursed. “I think she knows nothing’s gonna change, no matter what. But I also think she felt she had to do this, you know? Like she heard a voice, maybe.”

The Irish with their superstitions have nothing on the Latinos, Aidan thought, muttering, “Doesn’t mean we’re hearing the same voices.” When Flo didn’t reply, he said, “Jaysus, Flo, the woman’s already changed her mind twice about what she wants, once when Robson was still a baby, the second time barely two hours ago. Winnie Porter’s as unstable as a three-legged table. If not downright crazy, coming here without even knowing if we were around or not.”

“Just because she did something crazy doesn’t mean she is crazy,” Flo said, but she didn’t look any too sure of that.

“Surely y’don’t think I should let her see him?”

“I don’t know, boss. An’ anyway, it’s not up to me.”

Aidan released a breath. “Winnie swore up one side and down t’other she wouldn’t tell Robbie who she was, but what’s to prevent her from having another change of heart? All it takes is one slip, and the damage is done.”

Rinsing out her sponge at the stainless steel sink, Flo tossed him a wordless glance over her shoulder.