The Third Mrs. Mitchell. Lynnette Kent
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Rose took a breath to protest, but the words wouldn’t come. Not when she was standing here face-to-face with Pete Mitchell, remembering how her parents had badgered her into getting a divorce. She recalled her dad’s calm, rational arguments, delivered nonstop until she couldn’t seem to think on her own.
“I’m sorry for your sister,” Pete said, breaking into her thoughts. “Sounds like she could use at least one person on her side. And not,” he said, with a pointed look at the clippers, “just to do the yard work.”
“I am on her side!”
He tilted his head. “Are you? Better be sure, Mary Rose. Looks like the stakes are pretty high. There are two kids involved.”
“I’m aware of that. Kate and Kelsey and Trace are the only people who matter in this situation.” Who was she trying to convince? Why did it matter what Pete Mitchell thought, anyway? “Have a good Saturday.”
“You, too.” He straightened up away from the Jeep and walked back to the driver’s side, giving her a chance to stare at his tight butt and the long length of tan legs left bare by his gray cotton-knit shorts.
Mary Rose swallowed hard. Falling in lust with a gorgeous guy—this gorgeous guy—had caused her enough trouble for one lifetime. She did not intend to make the same mistake twice. Besides, there were enough people in this family making mistakes already. Somebody needed to think straight. To stay in control.
Over the last ten years, Mary Rose had made staying in control her specialty.
When she stepped into the house through the front door, Kate was coming down the stairs. “What happened? They’ve locked themselves in their rooms and won’t talk to me.”
Mary Rose told her what Pete had said. “L.T. is behaving like an idiot.”
Kate sat on a step, folded her arms on her knees and curled over until her face was hidden. “I don’t know how to make things better.”
“I don’t think that’s your responsibility.” Sitting beside her, Mary Rose put an arm around Kate’s thin shoulders. “You’re not the one who messed them up to begin with.”
“Mama says—” Kate took a deep breath, but didn’t continue.
“I know what she says. But she wasn’t there, Kate, and she doesn’t know everything. You did the best you could, and L.T. left anyway. So now we just have to figure out how to help Trace and Kelsey get past this.”
“How can I, if they won’t talk to me?”
“That’s why I’m here.” Mary Rose got to her feet. “I’m just the aunt, so it doesn’t matter what I think. Let’s see if they’ll talk to me.”
She knocked on Trace’s door first, though it was farther down the hall than his sister’s. The bass vibrations rattling the door panel suggested that any sound short of a major explosion wouldn’t get through to the boy inside. A twist of the knob demonstrated that he had, indeed, locked himself in. Mary Rose went back to Kelsey’s door.
No loud music here, though the floorboards were shaking from Trace’s stereo. “Kelsey, it’s Mary Rose. Can I come in?”
She waited through a long silence.
“I’m not feeling good,” Kelsey said finally. “Later, okay?”
“You think you’ll be feeling better about this later?”
Another extended pause. “Aunt M, I don’t want to talk about it.”
“So we can talk about something else.” Perhaps the smell of whiskey on Kelsey during that hug at the soccer game Thursday.
She caught her breath. Only two days ago? Surely she’d been through at least a week’s worth of upheaval already. First Pete Mitchell, and then the kids, and Pete Mitchell again…
After a minute, the lock clicked and the door swung back. Kelsey stood in the opening, blocking access to her blue-and-white bedroom. “Talk about what?” She looked altogether too tired and stressed for a fifteen-year-old.
Mary Rose winked at her. “Have you seen the new Brad Pitt movie? The man is totally awesome.”
That got a small laugh. “Yeah, last weekend.” The girl backed up and allowed Mary Rose into the room. “Matt Damon didn’t exactly suck, either.”
“And Damon’s still single.” Mary Rose sat on the end of the bed. “A definite advantage.”
“Or how about Pete Mitchell?” Kelsey cocked her head and lifted a knowing eyebrow. “I thought he was extremely hot. For such an old guy.”
Mary Rose felt a wave of heat wash over her, starting at the crown of her head and going all the way to the tips of her toes. “P-Pete Mitchell?”
“He said he was a friend of yours. I could stand to have such friends.” She closed her eyes. “Those shoulders!”
“Um, yeah.” Pete did have great shoulders. And the most intense silver eyes… “I knew him a long time ago. We, um, dated for a summer.”
“And you let him go? Dumb, Aunt M. Really dumb.”
At least Kelsey was talking to her, even if the subject was just about the most uncomfortable one imaginable. She managed a casual shrug. “Pete was too old for me back then—he graduated with Kate. You should stick to guys your own age.”
Kelsey slumped onto the other end of the bed. “Like my social life isn’t already a total disaster.”
“Want to tell me what happened?”
“Ryan said he wanted to date other people, that he was bored.” She glanced up, her brown eyes brimming with tears and anguish. “That I was boring. And the next week, he’s going steady with Trisha Reynolds. A cheerleader.”
Mary Rose let a moment pass. “I think this guy sounds like somebody you’re well rid of.”
“Oh, sure, if I enjoy Trisha rubbing my face in it every day during algebra. And if I enjoy going to parties by myself and not having a date for the prom.”
“Being single isn’t a bad thing, Kelsey. It’s nice to run your own life without having to consult some man about what you’re doing every minute.”
Kelsey sat up against the pillows. “But you date, right? You’ve been dating the same guy for a long time.”
“Well, yes.” Mary Rose went to the window and stared down into the tops of the ligustrum bushes she hadn’t finished trimming. “Martin Cooper. Most people call him Marty.”
“Are you in love with him?”
How did this get to be such a difficult conversation? “I care about him, of course. He’s a very nice, dependable guy.”
“Has he asked you to marry him?”
“Um…yes.”
“And are you?”
A reasonable question, one she should be able to answer. “I don’t know.”
“How could you not know? Either you want to or you don’t.”
“When you’re older, it’s not quite that simple. I’ve been on my own for quite a while. I’m used to living alone, and doing what I want when I want to. Being married means having to consider somebody else all the time.” She laughed and turned back to the room. “Maybe I’m too selfish these days to get married.”
“But I want to be your bridesmaid. You have to have a wedding so Kate and I can choose our dresses.”
Mary Rose decided to steer the conversation into safer waters. “What color would you choose?”
Kelsey cuddled a pillow against her chest. “Anything but yellow. I look horrible in yellow. I think everybody does, don’t you? She was wearing