Part-Time Wife

“You must be very proud of him. Not many people get to make a difference every time they go to work.”

Ben seemed startled by her compliment, then he smiled slowly. “Yeah, I am proud of my dad.” Then the smile faded. Was he thinking of all the times his dad was gone?

“I don’t suppose he mentioned when he’d be home,” she said.

Ben shook his head. “There’s phone numbers on the wall.” He pointed to a bulletin board stuck above the telephone.

Jill walked over and stared at them. There was the number for the police station, a doctor, then a list of men. Travis, Jordan, Kyle and Austin.

“They’re my uncles,” Ben offered. “Except Austin. He’s not really, but we call him Uncle because we’ve known him forever.”

It must be nice, she thought, thinking of her own scattered family. She’d been an only child and her parents had split up while she was still in grade school. She’d spent the next seven years being shuffled between one household and the other, never really feeling settled or wanted in either.

“We’re done!” Danny announced.

She looked into the family room and saw four mountains of laundry. “That’s got to be twenty loads,” she said in awe.

“It’ll take forever,” Danny said.

“Maybe not forever. Maybe just until you’re in college.”

He giggled at the thought.

She made the boys soup and sandwiches for lunch. There was just enough food to get them through the day. She didn’t want to go grocery shopping without talking to Craig and finding out what her budget was. While the boys ate, she put in the first load of whites.

“I can do it loud,” C.J. said, then slurped his soup.

“That’s nothing,” Ben said, and proceeded to prove his point.

There was laughter and more slurping. She bit back a smile. These boys were different from her stepdaughters, but she liked them. They were alive and made her feel the same way. That was something she hadn’t enjoyed in a long time.

After a few minutes, the slurping became annoying. She didn’t want to tell them to just stop. Better to condition them into following the rules. Easier for everyone in the long run.

“Are you three having a slurping contest?” she asked as she closed the laundry room door behind her.

“I’m winning,” Danny said.

“Are you? Oh, that’s too bad. Whoever comes in last gets the largest serving of ice cream for dessert.”

Silence descended like night at the equator. Instantly and irrevocably. She had to fight back her smile. Ah, the power of dessert. It was a lesson she’d learned well. There was one last carton in the freezer, so she could make good on her promise. She looked at Ben and thought it might be better to get low-fat frozen yogurt next time.

C.J. glanced up at her. “You tricked us, Jill.”

“I know.” This time she allowed herself to grin. “Being a grown-up is pretty cool.”

* * *

It was nearly midnight when Craig opened the front door and stepped into the house. Jill’s car was still in the driveway. He’d forgotten to give her the garage door opener so she could park her Mustang inside. He’d also forgotten to discuss the details of her salary, give her money for food or talk about days off. He’d left in a hurry because he’d been late. And because he’d been afraid she would change her mind about taking care of the boys. Frankly, he couldn’t have blamed her.

He closed the door behind him. There was a night-light at the top of the stairs, and the house was quiet. Everyone had survived. Relief swept over him, and with it, guilt. Just because he didn’t know what to do about his boys didn’t mean he could avoid them. He had to take responsibility. Sometimes, though, it was hard being the only one they could depend on.

He glanced at the living room, then did a double take. Where there had been piles of junk sat only furniture. The dining room was the same. He moved to his right, down the small open hall and glanced into the kitchen. The counters were clear, the sink clean, the trash can empty. Beyond, in the family room, most of the toys and sports equipment had been picked up. The videotapes were off the floor and the few piles of laundry left had been sorted by color.

He moved farther into the room. The TV was off, but lights were on. Jill lay curled up asleep at one end of the sofa. All around her were piles of clean, folded laundry. He didn’t know whether to wake her up or leave her in peace. He’d never thought of the sofa as particularly comfy, but she was a lot smaller than he.

Before he could decide, she turned her head toward him and opened her eyes. The bright green color surprised him. He’d forgotten the intensity of her gaze. Then she smiled. His body reacted with all the subtlety of a freight train crashing into a brick wall. Blood flowed hot and fast. His breathing increased and an almost unfamiliar pressure swelled in his groin.

“You’re home,” she said, her voice low and husky. “I wondered if you would be. I almost called the station, but I didn’t want to bother you. Is everything okay?”

“Fine.” He motioned to the folded laundry. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you do all this work. I really was going to call a service.”

“You still are.” She sat up and stretched. The hem of her sweatshirt rode up, exposing the barest sliver of bare belly before descending and hiding all from view. “I don’t mind doing the laundry and cooking, but I’m scared to go into the boys’ bathroom. I think they’ve invented some new fungus, and I don’t want to have to battle it.”

“I’ll call on Monday,” he promised.

She shifted so she was leaning against the arm of the sofa and rested her chin on the back. “I already did. They’ll be here at ten. Are you hungry?”

His stomach rumbled at the question. “I guess I am. Come to think of it, I didn’t have time to eat today.”

She rose to her feet. She must have been asleep for a while. Her hair was all spiky, and it reminded him of their encounter that morning. When she’d been in her robe…and nothing else.

The mental image did nothing to alleviate his now-painful condition. Nor did he want it to. It had been far too long since he’d desired a woman. He didn’t have to do anything about it with Jill. In a way it was enough to still be able to feel something.

“Don’t be too impressed,” she said, leading the way into the kitchen. “It’s just pizza. There isn’t much here, but I didn’t want to go grocery shopping without talking to you first.”

“I’m sorry about that, too. I just took off and dumped everything on you. I’d meant to discuss some things, but I had to go in and…” He gave her a halfhearted smile and rubbed the back of his neck. The pain there was pretty constant, the sort of nagging ache brought on by too much stress and too little of everything else.

“Don’t worry about it,” she said. She opened a box on the counter and slid three slices of thin-crust pizza with everything onto a plate. Then she put it into the microwave oven to heat and opened the refrigerator. “Water, milk, soda or beer?”

“Beer.”

She took the bottle and untwisted the cap. “Have a seat,” she said, handing him the drink and motioning to the kitchen table. She poured a glass of water for herself.

He stared at it for a moment. “I’m trying to remember the last time I saw this kitchen so clean.”

“Judging from the number of dishes we put through the dishwasher, I would say some time last Christmas.” She held up her hand before he could speak. “Don’t apologize again. I understand. But we do have a few details to work out.”

He settled in the seat at the head of the table and gratefully drank his beer. She pulled the pizza out of the oven and gave it to him, then took the chair opposite his. While he ate, they discussed her salary, the grocery budget, the kids’ schedules for school and sports.

“Danny and C.J. need to be picked up but Ben takes the bus,” he said, then bit into the third piece of pizza.

She sat cross-legged on the kitchen chair. Just looking at her folded legs made his knees throb. She’d run her hands through her hair, but there were still spiky tufts sticking up. Most of the lights in the house were off. Only the lamp in the family room and a small light over the stove illuminated the kitchen. In the dim room, her pupils were huge, nearly covering her irises, and her eyes looked black against her pale skin.

Her small hands fluttered gracefully as she moved. She made notes on a yellow pad, detailing where to pick up whom and what foods made the boys gag.

“I’m not a fancy cook, but pretty much everything I put together is edible,” she said.

“That’s all we require.”