Secret Christmas Twins. Lee Tobin McClain
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head was spinning. How had Kimmie gotten it so wrong, telling her the mean brother never came to the farm? And it sure seemed like Kimmie’s grandmother, the “Mama” Papa Andy had spoken of, had passed on. Obviously, Kimmie had completely lost touch with her own family.
In front of Erica, a steaming bowl of vegetable soup sent up amazing smells, pushing aside her questions. She’d been so focused on feeding and caring for the twins during four long days of travel that she’d barely managed to eat. The occasional drive-through burger and the packets of cheese and crackers in the cheap motels where they’d crashed each night couldn’t compare to the deliciousness in front of her.
“Go ahead. Dig in. I’ll hold the little one.” Papa Andy lifted Mikey from her lap and sat down, bouncing him on his knee with a practiced movement.
Erica held her breath. With the twins’ developmental delays came some fussiness, and she wanted to avoid questions she wouldn’t know how to answer. Wanted to avoid a tantrum, too.
But Mikey seemed content with Papa Andy’s bouncing, while Teddy plucked cereal from the wooden high chair tray and looked around, wide-eyed. The babies cared for, Erica scooped up soup and ate two big pieces of buttered corn bread, matching Jason bite for bite even though he was twice her size.
When her hunger was sated, she studied him from under her eyelashes and tried to quell her own fear. Kimmie had been afraid of her brother’s wrath if he discovered that she’d gone back to drugs and gotten pregnant out of wedlock. And she’d feared disappointing her grandparents. That was why she’d become estranged from the family. She hadn’t said it outright, but Erica had gotten the feeling that Kimmie might have stolen money from some of them, as well.
None of that was the twins’ fault, and if Kimmie’s family history were the only barrier, Erica wouldn’t hesitate to let Jason and Papa Andy know that the twins were their own relatives. She wasn’t foolish enough to think she could raise them herself with no help, and having a caring uncle and great-grandfather and more resources on their side would be only to their benefit.
But Kimmie had said Jason would try to get custody of the twins, and seeing how authoritative he seemed to be, Erica didn’t doubt it.
Kimmie hadn’t wanted her brother to have them. She’d insisted there were good reasons for it.
Erica wished she could call and ask, but Kimmie wasn’t answering her phone. In fact, she’d left a teary message two days ago, saying she was moving into a rehab center. She’d assured Erica that she was getting good care, but might not be reachable by phone.
Now that Erica was sitting still, for the moment not worried about her and the twins’ survival, sadness washed over her. For Kimmie, for the twins and for herself. With all her flaws, Kimmie had been a loving friend, and they’d spent almost every moment of the past month together. Like a vivid movie, she remembered when Kimmie—addicted, terminally ill and in trouble with the law—had begged her to take the twins.
“I know it’s a lot to ask. You’re so young. You’ll find a husband and have babies of your own...”
“No, I won’t,” Erica had responded. “But that’s not what’s important now.”
“You have time. You can get over your past.” Kimmie had pulled a lock of hair out of Erica’s ponytail. “You could be beautiful if you’d stop hiding it. And you need to realize that there are a few men out there worth trusting.”
Remembering Kimmie’s attempt at mothering, even at such a horrible moment, brought tears to Erica’s eyes even now, in the bright farmhouse kitchen. Erica wouldn’t get over her past, wouldn’t have kids of her own, as Kimmie would have realized if she hadn’t been so ill.
But Erica had these babies, and she’d protect them with her life. They were her family now.
The old black wall phone rang, and Papa answered it.
“Yes, he’s here.” She listened. “No, Heather Marie, he’s not coming out again in the storm just because you forgot to buy nail polish or some such crazy thing!” He held the phone away from his ear and indistinguishable, agitated words buzzed out from it. “You saw a what? A dog?”
Jason took one more bite of corn bread, wiped his mouth and stood. He might have even looked relieved. “It’s okay, Papa. I’ll talk to her.”
Papa narrowed his eyes at him. “You’re an enabler.”
Jason took the phone and moved into the hall, the long cord stretching to accommodate. Minutes later he came back in. “She thinks she saw a dog out wandering on Bear Creek Road, but she was afraid if she stopped she couldn’t get going again. I’m going to run out there and see if I can find it.”
“And visit her? Maybe get snowed in? Because that’s what she wants.”
Jason waved a dismissive hand. “I don’t mind helping.” Then he turned to Erica. “We have to talk, but I’m sure you’re exhausted. We can figure all of this out tomorrow.” He left the room, a giant in sock feet. Moments later, a chilly breeze blew through the kitchen, and then the front door slammed shut.
A chill remained in Erica’s heart, though. She had the feeling that Kimmie’s big brother would have plenty of questions for her when he returned. Questions she didn’t dare to answer.
* * *
It was almost midnight by the time Jason arrived back at the house. Exhausted, cold and wet, he went around to the passenger side to get leverage enough to lift the large dog he’d finally found limping through the woods near Bear Creek.
He carried the dog to the house and fumbled with the door, trying to open it without putting down the dog.
Suddenly, it swung open, and there was Erica, her hair glowing like fire in the hallway’s golden light. “Oh, wow, what can I do?” She hurried out to hold open the storm door for him, regardless of the cold. “Want me to grab towels? A blanket?”
“Both. Closet at the top of the stairs.”
She ran up and came back down and into the front room quickly, her green eyes full of concern. Her soft jeans had holes at the knees, and not the on-purpose kind teenagers wore.
After she’d spread the blankets on the floor in front of the gas fireplace, he carefully set the dog down and studied him. Dirty, yellow fur, a heavy build: probably a Lab-shepherd mix. The dog didn’t try to move much but sighed and dropped his head to the floor as if relieved to have found a safe haven.
“Go take off your wet things,” Erica ordered Jason. “I’ll watch the dog.”
“The twins are asleep?”
“Like logs.”
Jason shed his jacket, boots and hat, got two bowls of water and a couple of thin dishrags, and came back into the warm room. It hadn’t changed much since he was a kid. He half expected his grandmother to come around the corner, bringing cookies and hot chocolate.
But that wasn’t happening, ever again.
“Was he in a fight?” Erica asked. She was gently plucking sticks and berries out of the dog’s fur. “His leg seems awful tender.”
“I’ll try to clean it and wrap it. He’s friendly, like he’s had a good home, though maybe not for a while.” He put the cold water down, and the dog lifted his big golden head and drank loud and long, spilling water all over the floor.
“He’s skinny under his fur,” Erica said. “And a mess. What are all these sticky berries on him?” She plucked a sprig from the dog’s back, green with a few white berries.
“It’s mistletoe.” Made him think of Christmas parties full of music and laughter. Of happy, carefree times.
Erica didn’t look at Jason as she pulled more debris from the dog’s fur. “Then that’s what we’ll call him. Mistletoe.”
“You’re naming the dog?”