Читать книгу A convenient proposal - C.J. Carmichael - Страница 10

AFTER MICK HAD GONE INSIDE to check on Billy and Amanda, Kelly returned to her truck. Instead of heading to her basement apartment on the other side of town, she cruised back to the highway, almost instinctively drawn to the Larch Lodge Bed and Breakfast, which Cathleen had renovated several years ago.

Cathleen and Dylan wouldn’t be there. They’d flown to Vegas for a delayed honeymoon, leaving Poppy O’Leary to run the place for the week. Seventy-year-old Poppy had been staying there for about six months now, working on her family tree and a treasury of favorite recipes. During the weeks after the shooting, when Kelly had been a guest at the B and B, too, she and Poppy had become quite close.

Kelly eased off the accelerator and coasted the final yards of the laneway. Now in full view of the house, she could see Poppy’s mop of artificial-red curls as she worked at the kitchen sink in front of the window. Probably she was organizing tomorrow’s breakfast for the guests. Three unknown vehicles were parked, along with Poppy’s red Tracker, at the side of the house. Kelly left her truck at the end of the line, then headed for the side veranda.

“Poppy?” Kelly stuck her head inside the door. Cathleen’s dog looked at her lazily, managing only a slight wag of his tail. Curled up beside him was a beautiful white cat, the latest addition to Cathleen’s menagerie. Dylan had adopted Crystal shortly after his mother’s death, and Crystal had promptly adopted Kip as her closest buddy. A relationship Kip tolerated but obviously did not enjoy.

“Kelly! I was hoping you’d show up. Come on in and sit. I’ve got a new muffin recipe for you to sample.”

Poppy’s solution to every problem was food. Which was ironic given that the common Shannon family reaction to stress was an aversion to eating. Kelly knew she’d dropped pounds since the shooting, and Cathleen was just now regaining the weight she’d lost during the two years she and Dylan had been estranged. Then there was Maureen, who’d looked not only too slender at her last visit, but too pale, as well. Of course, only six months had passed since her husband’s death.

“You must think we Shannons are a sorry bunch.” Kelly tore the paper liner off the still-warm muffin. She could see sunflower seeds and raisins peeking out from the golden-brown crust. The aroma of honeyed spices was enticing.

“Every family has its hard times.” Poppy took a glass measure and poured in milk. She popped the milk into the microwave to heat, then mixed a paste of cocoa and sugar in Kelly’s favorite ceramic mug.

Bless her heart, she was making the hot chocolate that Kelly loved.

“I was looking at the cottonwoods on Memorial Drive today, and thinking.” She could see the dark trunks in her mind’s eye, the bare winter branches reaching, almost desperately, to the sky.

“When you were in Calgary?”

Poppy knew about her weekly sessions with the RCMP counselor.

“Yes. I really feel for those war vets coming home and having to deal with the atrocities they’d seen and participated in overseas.”

“Times were different then. The men knew they’d done their duty for their country. On their return, they were treated like heroes.”

“Do you really think it was that simple, Poppy?”

The microwave beeped, and Poppy took out the steaming milk. “No,” she admitted, “I guess not.”

“Compared with what they went through, my experience is pure Little League.”

Poppy set the mug of hot chocolate in front of her. “It doesn’t feel Little League, though, does it?”

Kelly pressed her lips tightly together and shook her head. With both hands she cupped the warm mug. In the end, despite the appetizing aroma, she’d been unable to stomach the muffin. This she could handle. She took a sip, and the creamy, warm liquid glided down her throat.

“You take everything so much to heart.” Poppy’s old eyes contained warmth and compassion—benefactions Kelly knew she didn’t deserve, but craved so desperately.

Poppy laid a hand on her arm. “You’re such a softy, aren’t you, love. And your sisters have no idea. They see you as strong and stalwart.”

“I am strong. I’m the youngest, but I’ve always looked out for Cath and Maureen. They tease me about being a mother hen….”

“Those two! They’re so impulsive and confident. They don’t know how it feels to be otherwise. I’m sure they’ve never even guessed how badly your father’s desertion hurt you.”

“Oh!” It was unbelievable how Poppy always honed in on the important things. Kelly had spoken of those feelings to no one. Not even to her mother when she’d been alive. Now Kelly regarded this amazing woman with a touch of awe.

“How can you understand us so well, when you’ve only known us such a short time?”

Poppy’s hand tightened on Kelly’s forearm. “My dear Kelly, it isn’t hard. You were a sensitive child, living in a house full of self-assured, outgoing women. It’s not that they didn’t love you to death. From all I’ve heard about your mother, I know she did, and your sisters still do. They just aren’t equipped to understand….”

Tears again were too close. Kelly sipped more liquid, then found herself wanting to tell Poppy more. “I was just a baby when Dad left. I didn’t even know him. How could I miss him?”

Poppy leaned back in her chair. She was quiet, but Kelly didn’t mind the silence. Her head was too full of her own thoughts.

She knew the story of her father’s restlessness, recounted endlessly by her elder sisters when they were kids. After each baby was born, he’d left their mother for a while, always to return about a year later.

Except the last time.

“What was wrong with me, Poppy? How come he didn’t come back for me, like he did for the others?”

“Oh, love. He missed so much, your dad.”

But what he’d missed had been by his choice. That was what was so hard for Kelly to accept. As a kid she’d made up stories to take that choice away. He’d been in an accident and suffered from amnesia…. He’d been arrested for a crime he hadn’t committed and didn’t want them to know he’d been sent to jail….

Of course, as an adult, and a cop, she could no longer delude herself. She knew the statistics on how many men walked away from their families, never to be heard from again. These things just had to be accepted.

“Poppy, I had a happy childhood. And even though we didn’t have a father and money was kind of tight, we were much better off than so many children I see in my line of work.”

Which brought her thoughts back to Billy and Amanda. And to their uncle, whose sad face had been haunting under the glow of the streetlight. His intentions were good, but what could he really do to help the situation?

What could any of them do? Kelly swallowed the last of her cocoa. She wished she could curl up here all night, warm and cozy in Poppy’s kitchen.

“Would you like to stay over, love?” Poppy asked, reading her mind yet again. “The rooms are full, but there’s the pullout couch in the study.”

“Thanks, Poppy, but I’d better get home.” When she woke in the night, as she always did, it was better not to have to worry about waking anyone else. Besides, once Poppy left the room, the magic of this place was gone.

“I guess it’s time I was leaving.”

“You didn’t eat your muffin. Shall I wrap a few for your breakfast?”

Kelly didn’t have the heart to say no.

SHARON WAS TOTALLY WASTED. At least a half-dozen empty bottles of beer were strewn on the floor. Mick could hear her snoring on the sofa as he stepped out of the children’s room. He was thankful they’d finally fallen asleep. Amanda had dropped off quickly, but poor Billy had been full of his usual questions.

Where was his dad, and how long would he be dead? The kid just couldn’t seem to grasp the concept of forever. Which was maybe a blessing.

Mick stepped over some scattered building blocks on his way to the bathroom. The sink was a mess. He cleaned it, then grabbed the laundry basket Sharon kept next to the tub. Full again.

This house didn’t come with a washer or drier, and Sharon wasn’t often capable of making it to the Laundromat, so he’d started doing the family’s laundry at home. If he left now, he’d get a load done before bed, but he hated to go with Sharon passed out like that.

What if there was a problem with one of the kids during the night? Sharon might not hear them.

He returned to the kitchen, where a box of sugarcoated cereal and two dirty glasses gave him a good idea of what the kids had eaten for dinner. He picked up one of the plastic tumblers and sniffed.

Cola.

Opening the fridge, he saw a carton of milk, unopened. The liter of cola, however, was almost all gone.

Well, he couldn’t blame the kids. If he were five, he supposed he’d make the same menu choices.

But what was Sharon eating? As far as he could tell, these days her diet was purely liquid.

Halfway through cleaning up the kitchen, Mick collapsed onto one of the chairs.

What the hell was he going to do?

From the living room came a protracted groan. Good, Sharon was waking. He put on a pot of coffee and popped two slices of whole wheat bread into the toaster.

“Oh, God…what time is it?” Sharon’s voice held a touch of panic.

He went to check on her. “Almost ten. How do you feel?”

Sharon could be a pretty girl when she made an effort, but booze and a general disregard for cleanliness did not bring out her best attributes. Mick felt like throwing her in the shower. Instead, he held out a hand and pulled her into the kitchen.

“Did the kids have dinner?” Sharon asked, sinking into a kitchen chair.

“Dry cereal and cola.”

“Good.”

Mick caught the ghostly flash of her sardonic smile.

“This isn’t working out, you know,” he said. He put a mug of black coffee in front of her. “Drink this. Then eat some toast.”

She pushed the plate away. “I can’t. Just the smell makes me nauseous.”

“Too bad. Your body needs food.” He slid the plate back to her, watching as with shaking hands she lifted the mug to her mouth.

“You must be getting sick of baby-sitting us, Mick.”

“I’ll do what I’ve got to do. But you have to start feeding those kids right, and getting them to bed at a decent hour.” He thought about Kelly Shannon’s comment about their pajamas. “And put them in their snowsuits when they go outside to play.”

“I know, I know.” Sharon closed her eyes and rubbed at her forehead.

“I’m serious. They’re going to get sick.”

“I’m trying, Mickey. I’m doing the best I can.”

He believed her. The best she could do was worthless, though, as long as she was drinking. “You need to get back on the program, Sharon. The way you did before Amanda was born.”

When he’d found out his brother and his wife were expecting their second child, he’d all but dragged them to that first meeting, worried about what Sharon’s drinking could do to her unborn child. It was still a miracle to him that Billy had turned out so normal.

His suggestion had Sharon crying now. “I can’t go, Mickey. I can’t stop drinking with Danny gone. It’s too soon. I’m not ready.”

“Sure it’s hard, but you’ve got to be strong. You’ve got to think of your kids.”

The tears came faster; Sharon’s sobs hiccuped, then intensified.

“I can’t do this. I’m so alone….”

He reached over to stroke her head. “I’m here, Sharon. I’ll help you.”

“I don’t see how you can.”

“I’ll take you to the meetings, help you with the kids.”

Sharon shook her head. “And what about the new one?”

“Huh?”

“I’m pregnant, Mickey. The new baby will be here in seven months.”

MICK DIDN’T DRINK. There was too much alcoholism in his family. His mother and his brother. Probably his father, too, although unlike his half brother, Danny, he’d never figured out exactly who that was.

So Mick did what he always did when he couldn’t sleep. Sat in his darkened living room and stared out the large picture window. A nearby streetlamp cast a dull yellow light on the road and the houses beyond, but it didn’t really matter, because Mick wasn’t paying any attention to the view. The problems of his brother’s family were too heavy in his mind.

What the hell was he going to do about Amanda and Billy? Kelly was right; the situation was poised for disaster. With his years of journalism, it was all too easy to imagine his family in the headlines again.

Two Children Killed In House Fire. Mother too drunk to call 911….

Children Hospitalized For Malnutrition. Mother currently under police investigation….

If only Danny hadn’t died. The family had finally been doing okay. Sharon hadn’t fallen off the wagon once since Amanda’s birth. Danny’s job with Max Strongman had lasted over a year—his longest period of steady employment ever.

Then Mick thought of the stash of illegal drugs the police had found in one of the barns when they’d searched the Thunder Bar M after Danny’s death, and knew he was fooling himself. Danny hadn’t been as rehabilitated as he’d hoped.

The red light on his answering machine caught his eye, but he just turned away. If it was work, they’d try his cell. As for his friends, well, he no longer had time for the mountain biking and cross-country skiing that had formerly occupied his non-working hours. He’d given up all his leisure activities to look after Danny’s kids.

And Kelly was right again. It wasn’t enough. Especially now that there was a third child on the way. To think of how much drinking Sharon had been doing these past two months made Mick sick. She’d promised she would shower in the morning and get ready for him to take her to the doctor. Later in the week, he’d try to convince her to go back to AA.

But that was all he could do for her. And in his heart he knew it wasn’t enough.

So what were his options?

Mick stretched out his legs and leaned his head back. The most obvious solution was one he could hardly bring himself to think about, let alone seriously consider.

He could marry Sharon and take responsibility for his brother’s family.

Every cell in his body, though, protested that route. That he didn’t love Sharon, had never even liked her, wasn’t the main problem. He didn’t see how he could partner up with a woman he couldn’t respect. His mother had been a drunk. He couldn’t, just couldn’t, marry another one. Especially one who put the bottle ahead of her children.

But if he didn’t marry Sharon, where did that leave him?

As Kelly had said—God, every point the woman had made had been bang on—he didn’t have the time to look after them himself. He supposed he could seek custody, then hire a nanny.

But those kids needed permanence—a family, a home. He loved them as if they were his own. Wanted them to have everything he and his brother had never had.

A mom and a dad. Regular bedtimes and mealtimes. Clean clothes, and a cake and a few gifts on their birthdays….

The more he thought about it, the more Mick came to realize that his first instincts had been right. Marriage was the solution. Just not to Sharon.