Читать книгу Adventures In Parenthood - Dawn Atkins - Страница 10

CHAPTER TWO

SIX HOURS LATER, Aubrey parked in front of the Craftsman bungalow where her sister lived. Thank God she hadn’t fallen asleep at the wheel. Scout had sensed her drifting a couple of times and meowed in warning.

Whew! Made it. Cheated death again.

She smiled at the thought. She always said that to herself when she’d met a difficult physical challenge. It meant she’d pushed past fear and doubt, taken the risk, the leap and made it out alive. She always felt amazing afterward. Her nerves tingled, her skin hummed. Colors were brighter, the air fresher, smells so much sweeter.

Her adventures weren’t always death-defying. More often, they were mental risks. Each win was a step up the ladder, a notch on her belt, a memory added to the stack. If she died tomorrow, she’d have enjoyed every minute to the fullest.

Shake every thrill from life. That had been her mother’s advice to her and Brianna. She’d made them both promise to do it.

Aubrey had absorbed the advice to her bones.

Because her mom had died of breast cancer, Aubrey had always feared that the disease ticked away inside her, marking off the months, weeks, minutes she had left. It was part of what drove her so hard. Do it now. Don’t waste a second. Do it before cancer blooms in you like a toxic flower. Brianna worried about cancer, too, but more quietly.

Scout meowed, eager to go. Aubrey unzipped the hard-sided carrier so her cat could jump in, closed it, put the strap over her shoulder and got out of the car, wincing as her new scabs protested the change in position. She had a bruise the shape of Scandinavia on her hip, along with scrapes from falling on the ice during the race. Reindeer were unbelievably fast, and the hairpin turns had scared the crap out of her. She’d squealed and yelped the whole way, but she refused to be embarrassed.

The whole idea of her blog was to be real—to share her worries and fears, her mistakes and pains. If Aubrey could do it, her readers would see that they could, too, shrieking all the way.

She slipped the gift-bag loops over her wrist, lifted her well-scuffed roller bag out of the cargo hold, tucked the flowers under one arm, grabbed the handle of the small ice chest in her other hand and trundled up the walk, Scout hanging at her hip.

The gift bag held in-line skates for the girls, who were just old enough to have the required balance. She’d bought boy skates—dark blue and much cooler than the babyish pink ones for girls. Why did manufacturers infantilize girls? She’d done a blog rant on the topic around Christmas time that three major news outlets had picked up.

She had her mountain bike with her, so she’d ride bikes with the girls while she was here. She’d bet money Howard had installed training wheels she’d have to take off.

Her sister’s neighborhood was modest, the house small, but so well cared for it practically glowed. With its sunny yellow paint, friendly porch swing, and crowd of bright flowers in brass pots, the place matched Brianna’s personality. Her sister made a house a home, for sure.

Aubrey glanced back at her car—an XTerra she’d chosen for its rugged versatility. Her tough, mud-spattered vehicle and her sister’s cozy, flower-bedecked house reflected their different styles. Aubrey was the restless soul, Brianna the settled heart.

At the door, she saw someone had left a foil-covered cake pan on the mat. Maybe Aubrey had beat them home. That was fine. The babysitter—Jessica, who lived next door—was probably there with the girls. If not, Aubrey had a spare key.

She knocked, smiling in anticipation, expecting her nieces.

But it wasn’t the twins who stood in the doorway. It wasn’t Brianna or Howard, either. It wasn’t even the babysitter.

It was Dixon. Howard’s brother. Her heart lurched like it did each time she’d seen him since the humiliating incident at the wedding.

He was good-looking, for sure, with strong features—a straight nose, square jaw, generous mouth and serious eyes so dark they seemed black. He was built like a tennis player—tall and lanky with broad shoulders and long, strong arms—and he moved with an athlete’s grace.

In a flash, she remembered him carrying her down the hall to her hotel room. He’d slapped in the key card, then kicked the door open so hard it slammed into the wall. It was as if he wouldn’t let any barrier keep them apart. She’d felt a thrill that totally erased the pain of her ankle.

Except instead of throwing her on the bed and making love to her, he’d put ice on her ankle and left, shutting the door he’d so hotly kicked in moments before with a soft click. Damn. Just thinking about it pissed her off again.

“Aubrey?” He sounded surprised and not happy to see her.

Ouch. “I’m early,” she said, though she had every right to visit her sister whenever she wanted. “They’re not back?”

“No. They’re not.” The words seemed to desolate him. She noticed his eyes were bloodshot, his jaw rigid, his mouth grim. Something’s wrong.

He glanced behind him, then pulled the door closed, joining her on the porch. “The girls are eating,” he said as if that were a legitimate reason to keep her outside. What the hell was going on? He seemed shaken, as if he’d heard terrible news. Terrible news he was about to share.

A chill washed over her. Scout gave a mournful yowl, either picking up Aubrey’s tension or wanting out of the carrier. Aubrey set it down, along with the gift bag and the ice chest, taking the flowers from under her arm. Three daisy petals drifted to the porch, white on white, snowflakes landing on a drift.

“What’s the matter?” she asked faintly.

“I tried to reach you, but I got voice mail. I left a message.”

“I lost my phone. For God’s sake, tell me what it is.” Goose bumps moved in a wave down her body. She felt colder than when she’d tumbled over the crusted snow pack on that final turn in Norway.

“You should sit.” He motioned at the porch swing. “It’s bad.”

“Just say it.” Her legs wobbled, so she stiffened them, refusing to give in to weakness.

“Brianna and Howard were in an accident coming back from Tahoe.”

She gasped.

Dixon swallowed, as if it would take effort to say more.

“And...?” she prompted him. Get it out. Tell me. Her heartbeat echoed in her ears.

“They were killed.”

“No. No.” Her insides froze. Her brain locked down. That couldn’t be right. Was this a joke? Had her ears tricked her? They were buzzing now. “What? They...what? No.”

“The doctor said they didn’t suffer. Their necks... It was quick.” He snapped his fingers. She saw he was blinking a lot. He was going to cry? Stable, solid Dixon Carter? Oh, God. It was true. This was no joke.

“They’re dead? Brianna’s dead? No. No. No. No.” She shook her head violently. Her wobbly legs went liquid and she staggered, one foot landing in the middle of the foil-covered pan. Gooey liquid leaked over the sides. She smelled tuna fish and Lipton soup. Tuna casserole? Who even made that anymore, let alone gave it to someone? was her stunned thought.

Focus. Think. What did he say again? I can’t breathe. I feel sick. I can’t throw up in front of Dixon. I can’t move. It was like someone had shoved a pillow onto her face, punched her in the stomach and tried to electrocute her all at once.

Dixon caught her arm to keep her upright. She gasped for air.

Don’t faint. Don’t puke. Don’t lose it.

But she seemed to be dissolving from the inside out. The terrible sound of a human in agony filled the air. As Dixon pulled her into his arms, she realized it was coming from her.

Her heart was shredding, her lungs bursting, her brain going blank. Brianna was gone...lost...forever. Aubrey would never see her sunburst smile, feel her hug against her heart, know she was there, sharing their twin souls.

When she finally realized she was bellowing in the man’s ear, she made herself stop and backed out of his arms.

She had the wild urge to run, to escape, to do something big and physical. She’d felt this way when their mother died. She’d run to the park, taken the obstacle exercise track through the trees for endless hours until her legs had given out and she’d collapsed on the grass, fighting for oxygen.

It hadn’t helped. The heartbreak had followed her. She knew there was no use running now, so she sank onto the swing. It rocked forward, toppling the ice chest, so the lid fell off. Ice spilled and the gold foil on top of the champagne emerged. She saw she’d dropped the flowers, too. Red roses and white daisies. Fresh and romantic. She’d been so happy when she’d bought them, so eager to celebrate her own news and Brianna’s anniversary. Now the flowers seemed fragile, damaged, ruined.

“There must be a mistake. It can’t be,” she said. Maybe she couldn’t run, but there had to be some escape from this horror.

“I’m sorry.” He crouched in front of her, steadying the swing with his hand, as if he sensed her dizziness.

“When?”

“A couple of hours ago. The hospital called me at work. I arranged to have them flown here for the funeral.”

“The funeral. I can’t... I don’t... A funeral?” She squeezed her eyes shut. “The girls!” Her eyes flew open. “Do they know?” Ginger and Sienna had lost their parents. Another wave of horror washed over her.

“Not yet.” He cleared his throat. “I wanted to explain it properly. I called a counselor at Bootstrap for advice, but she hasn’t picked up the message. They’re eating now and—”

The door burst open. “Uncle Dixon—” Sienna stopped short when she saw Aubrey on the bench. “Aunt Aubrey?” Sienna surveyed her with the same blue eyes Aubrey herself had. Her hair was the same strawberry-blond, straight and shiny, though not as sun-bleached as Aubrey’s.

“It’s me.”

“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.”

“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.

“I’m calling Mommy.” She lunged off the couch and tromped, headlong in her skates, to the kitchen, where she grabbed the phone.

“I want my mommy and daddy,” Ginger said, big tears rolling down her cheeks.

“I know you do.” Aubrey held out her arms, but Ginger pushed off the couch onto Dixon’s lap, her knees bent, skates behind, and sobbed into his shoulder with all her might. Dixon was more familiar to her, so it made sense she’d go to him over Aubrey.

It’s done. They know. The worst’s over.

But that wasn’t true. Aubrey’s mother’s death had been a boulder dropped in a pond, but grief had rippled outward for months and months, each wave a fresh blow. She’d feared it would kill her, then wished it would. Instead, she had had to endure the pain, day and night, on and on, as had Brianna. Would it be easier because the girls were so young, or harder? She had no idea.

Sienna stood by the phone, wobbling in her skates, so Aubrey went to help, steeling herself the way she did when she faced an impossible-looking rock climb.

“Mommy, call me back...please,” Sierra said into the handset, her voice frantic, her eyes jumping here and there, like a trapped bird desperate to escape a cage. “It’s an emergency.” She put the handset in its dock, then stared at it, willing it to ring.

“I know it’s hard to accept, Sienna.” Aubrey racked her brain for soothing words. “I can hardly believe it and I’m way older than you. It’s a terrible shock. It takes time to get used to, but we’ll do it.”

Sienna’s lip trembled, her face slowly crumpled.

“We’ll help each other.” Aubrey held out her arms.

“Leave me alone!” Sienna turned and hop-tromped down the hall, slamming the bedroom door so loudly the living room windows rattled.

Now what? Go to her or leave her be?

In a flash, she remembered holding Sienna the day she was born. Brianna had thrust the tiny bundle of a baby at her. Aubrey had cupped her hand around Sienna’s delicate skull, examined her tiny fingers, fragile as twigs, looked into those clear trusting eyes and panicked. Here. She’d tried to hand the baby back to Brianna. I’m scared I’ll break her.

But Brianna refused to take the bundle. She looked at Aubrey, her eyes glowing with a new fire. Everyone feels like that. You learn together.

That flash of memory, hearing Brianna’s voice again, felt like a gift to Aubrey and calmness washed through her. Go to her. Shared pain is less pain. Brianna and Aubrey had gotten each other through the terrible times, after all.

At first, Aubrey hadn’t understood that. When the minister’s wife had said, You’re so lucky. You have each other, it had been all Aubrey could do not to smack her. They’d lost their mother, their only parent. Lucky was the last thing they were.

Soon enough, she saw the truth in those words. They’d comforted each other like no one else could have. She would do her best to comfort Sienna. You’ll learn together.