Her Unexpected Family. Ruth Herne Logan
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noted from her chair.
It was beyond annoying to have an older sister who prided herself on being right, especially when it was true too much of the time. “At this moment I don’t like anyone.”
“Mmm-hmm.” Kimberly jotted something into the laptop, and said, “Invite him to my wedding.”
“Not gonna happen.” She looked down at Rory, still massaging the ache out of her left foot. “Thank you.”
A big woof sounded from outside.
Mags had been sound asleep, curled in a tiny ball on the carpet, but when Drew Slade’s German shepherd barked, she sprang up, raced to the door and stood on her tiny back legs, pawing.
“Come on, Mags.” Drew came through the door, let the little dog out then slid the door shut. “Cold and getting colder. They said snow in the mountains.”
“And so it begins.” Emily lolled her head back and waved to him. “Hey, Drew.”
He smiled at her, winked and walked across the floor to Kimberly. “You can tell it’s a sure thing when your future wife doesn’t even bother to get out of her chair to greet you with a kiss.”
Kimberly hit one last button, set the computer aside and gave him the kiss he sought.
Emily pouted inside.
She had thought she’d had that once. What was it that made someone fickle? To want something else, someone else? Was it her lack or his selfishness? Or both? Or had she fallen for the glitz of the whole thing? There were many questions and not enough answers.
“Hey.” Rory squeezed her foot as Drew and Kimberly moved into the kitchen to find food and discuss their upcoming wedding. And probably kiss more. “Don’t look back. Gaze forward. Remember that awesome Einstein quote?”
She made a face and Rory laughed. “There are only two ways to live. One is as if nothing is a miracle. The other is as if everything is.”
“Perspective.”
“Yup.” Rory switched feet. “With Dad’s problems, I have to push myself to remember we’ve had him all our lives. How blessed we were to have both parents, a home, heat, clothing.”
“You’re so much better than I am,” Emily remarked. “Take my feet, for example. If you’d come in with sore feet, I’d have said ‘Wow, go soak in a tub. That’ll help.’”
Rory smiled up at her. “So does this.”
“You make things personal. Maybe that’s part of my problem. Maybe I don’t make things personal.”
Rory sighed and gave her foot a smack.
“Hey!”
“You don’t have a problem. You’re a wonderful person. The worst thing you did was fall in love with the wrong person because he pretended he was the right person.”
“You’re letting me off too easy,” Emily replied and when Rory started to argue, she held up a hand. “I was kind of young and shallow, Rory. I can own it now. When Christopher started courting me I was at the top of my game. I’d been Miss New York, I aced college, I was ready to move on to the next perfect step. Marrying a rich guy, falling into an amazing job as a department store buyer and living in a mansion made me feel like a princess. I liked it. So I can’t lay all the blame at his feet.”
“Lots of girls want to be princesses,” Rory told her.
“But not you. Never you. Why?”
Rory shrugged. “Not my thing. I’m not the gilded type, I guess. But in spite of why you came home last year, I’m glad you did. Handling Dad’s illness is a whole lot easier for me when we’re all in this together.” She stood up and kissed Emily’s cheek. “I’m subbing tomorrow in a first grade classroom, so I’m heading up to bed. Good night, Em.”
“Good night.”
The murmur of voices in the kitchen told her Drew and Kimberly were deep in discussion. She was just about to go to bed herself when her phone buzzed. She pulled up a text from Grant and sighed. He’d sent her a picture of Timmy and Dolly, sleeping, tangled in covers, sharing a bed. And under it Grant had typed, Unusual moment of peace, now recorded for posterity.
Something sweet and gentle curled inside her. She sent back a single-word reply. Precious.
She went to bed, smiling, the image of those two sweet children blending with Einstein’s words.
“Well, don’t you look handsome,” Aunt Tillie remarked the next evening. “Percy, don’t Grant look handsome tonight?”
Uncle Percy grunted, unimpressed, but when Timmy saw him dressed in a turtleneck and a sport coat, he frowned. “I go bye-bye, too.”
“Not this time, little man. Daddy’s got to go see more people about Auntie’s wedding.”
His words didn’t impress the toddler. “I go bye-bye wif Daddy.”
Grant squatted down, hugged the toddler and shook his head. “No can do, Daddy’s got some things he has to do. Aunt Tillie and Uncle Percy are with you tonight.”
“I go!” Dolly crawled across the dining area, grabbed a kitchen chair leg, hauled herself up and stomped a foot. “I go!”
“Not you, either, button. And on that note...” He gave Dolly a kiss, kissed Timmy again and left his aunt with two squalling children. “Sorry.”
She waved him off, calm as ever. “This is all for your benefit, Grant. They’ll be fine in two minutes. You’ll feel guilty all night while they play and laugh and giggle and eat mac and cheese. Go, get this done, and Christa will be thrilled.”
He walked to the garage, torn. He’d gotten a lecture today from Dolly’s occupational therapist, reminding him that she needed to work on skills daily, but that was easier said than done. Dolly had become an expert at refusing to do the simplest tasks, which meant her motor skills were dragging even further behind.
Was Aunt Tillie right? Were they really fine in a couple of minutes while he wore a mantle of guilt all evening? He drove to the lodge, saw Emily’s SUV then felt guilty for looking forward to the evening. He got out, crossed the couple of spaces to her car and opened the door for her.
“Thank you!” Her bright smile warmed him, and that only made the guilt mount higher. “How was your day?”
His day had been fine until fifteen minutes ago, and he didn’t want to lay all that at her door, so he shrugged. “It was okay. Yours?”
She studied him, then shook her head. “You’re worried about something. If it has to do with the wedding, spill it now.”
“It’s not about the wedding.” And then, ten seconds after deciding not to lay it at her door, he recounted the kids’ antics. She nodded, frowned in sympathy then laughed out loud.
He tucked his neck deeper in his coat, aggrieved. “It wasn’t one bit funny when two little kids were crying because they miss their daddy and I’m too busy to be with them.”
“It is kind of funny,” she insisted. “Because Tillie is right. I told you I worked in a children’s home during college, and this is textbook toddler attachment stuff. We even started messaging pics to the parents five minutes later to prove our point. They’re fine, they’re just experts at pushing the guilt button. They don’t like the moment of separation, and boy, do they let you know it. I bet if Aunt Tillie was to send you a picture right now, it would be of two happy, healthy, goofy kids playing or eating and having the time of their lives.”
“Which is exactly what they say at day care, too.” He worked his jaw, then shrugged one shoulder. “I’m a pushover