Mr. Elliott Finds A Family. Susan Floyd
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just a little.” Beth Ann handed her a half-used bar of hotel soap. “Scrub, scrub, scrub.”
“Scub, scub, scub.”
After Bernie finished rinsing, the window was cracked slightly to ventilate the room, and the evidence of her latest achievement was properly flushed away. Then Bernie ventured to him, staring up at him with great blue eyes, the exact same color as Caroline’s, fringed with the darkest, longest eyelashes he had ever seen. She placed a chubby, still damp hand on his thigh, leaned forward and informed him, “I pooped in Mrs. Potty.”
Christian had never been so touched in all his years. He could see her earnestness and smell the strong soap that mingled with her baby scent. Her plump cheeks just invited a touch or a pinch. What did one say to capture the significance of the occasion?
“Sweetie,” Beth Ann interrupted, steering Bernie away from him. “I think he knows.”
Christian wasn’t sure he liked Beth Ann’s not-so-subtle attempts to keep distance between himself and the toddler.
“But poop!” Bernie was obviously proud of her accomplishment. She then tilted her head and batted her eyelashes at Beth Ann. “Garden? Sun says hello.”
Beth Ann looked out the window. “You’re right. The sun does say hello. Okay. Where’s your jacket? Go get your jacket and we’ll go out in the garden.” Christian thought she looked relieved, using the excuse to take Bernie to the garden as a way to avoid their inevitable conversation. Bernie went to find her coat, her feet pounding on the hardwood.
“Beth Ann!” came the plaintive wail from across the hall.
Christian watched as Beth Ann stood still, her face torn as she was pulled in two directions. If he noticed her glow before, now he saw the haggard dark circles under her eyes, the fine lines that would deepen with age, the tightness around her mouth. Why did he suddenly want to kiss that mouth, soften the edges—
Bernie came back, dragging her coat across the floor, a chubby fist clutched around a sleeve.
“Let’s go check on Nana,” Beth Ann said, grasping Bernie’s wrist.
Bernie fell to the floor, coat and all, legs splayed in a skater’s death spiral. Christian blinked and watched her face shrivel up again. He braced himself for the inevitable onslaught.
“No! Garrr-dennn!”
“We need to check on Nana,” Beth Ann insisted as she tried to untangle Bernie from her coat.
“Beth Ann?” The frail voice was even more panicked.
Christian watched the display unfold before him, feeling rather like a guest on a rambunctious talk show. Bernie was spread-eagle on the floor, screaming as if she were being tortured. Beth Ann was trying to get her to stand up, and Iris was across the hall wailing in distress.
“Cavalry is here!” a cheerful voice announced as the door banged open.
“Glenn!” Beth Ann looked up in relief, and Christian felt a small twinge of jealousy, as her face relaxed into a smile welcoming the new guest.
“Beth Ann!”
“Garrrdennn!”
The tall, handsome man, with classic features and a smile that would make any woman’s heart throb, brought that green twinge up several notches as he gave Beth Ann an affectionate smooch on the cheek, then turned toward Bernie with a playful growl. “And who’s this doing all the screaming?” He swooped down and picked up Bernie who stopped midcry as her world spun crazily around her.
He hung her upside down, then placed exaggerated kisses all over her face until she giggled with laughter.
“Oh, Pop-pop!” she said with such adult exasperation that everyone laughed.
Two more notches on the green scale.
“Beth Ann!” The wail came again.
“Excuse me,” Beth Ann said hurriedly.
“Looks like I came at the right time, sweetheart,” Glenn said with certain affection.
Off the charts. The green scale no longer was an adequate measure of the envy Christian felt. He stared at the tall man, nearly the same height as himself, and grudgingly admitted that some women might find him attractive, if they liked the blond ski instructor type. With Bernie propped on his right arm and his left hand massaging the nape of Beth Ann’s neck, Glenn looked like a welcome member of this little family. Glenn gave Beth Ann a quick kiss on the top of her curls. “Go to your charge. I’ll take care of this rug rat.” Glenn renewed his tickling of Bernie who screamed with laughter.
Beth Ann looked at Bernie and Glenn, then at Christian. “I’ll be right back. Help yourself to the coffee.” She gestured toward Christian. “Oh, by the way. This is my friend, Glenn. Glenn, that’s Christian Elliott, Carrie’s husband.”
And then she was gone, her escape seeming well-timed.
CHAPTER THREE
BETH ANN could have kissed Glenn. On an average day, Beth Ann felt as if she were coming apart at each joint in her body. Now, she realized it was tension alone that held her together. If Glenn hadn’t come when he had, she wasn’t sure what she would have done. She didn’t want Christian’s software company, his contracts, his presence. She didn’t want any ties to Carrie’s other life, any reminders that would make Bernie wonder when she was older why she wasn’t good enough for Carrie or for Carrie’s husband.
Beth Ann was covered by a cold sweat. Asking questions that were uncomfortably dangerous, Carrie’s husband was too threatening to her insulated world. She had tried to make herself believe that if the adoption were finalized, she would be able to greet Carrie’s husband with the hospitality he deserved. But she knew that wasn’t the case. Carrie had made things too difficult for Beth Ann to be honest, much less hospitable. Put on top of that the unthinkable—Bernie inheriting a software company! It gave Beth Ann a headache just considering all the implications.
“Beth Ann? Is that you?”
“Yes, Grans. It’s me.” Beth Ann pasted on a smile and then walked in to Iris’s bedroom, still the same after twenty-some-odd years. Beth Ann remembered the first time she’d seen the room. She and Carrie had been there just a day, dropped off hastily by Carrie’s father, her stepfather. She’d thought it the most beautiful room she had ever seen. It smelled like fresh lavender, and the nightstand and vanity were draped in delicate lace. She had been ten then, Carrie just six. She had stood in the door and admired Iris’s bed, a dark mahogany four-poster, also draped in an intricately crocheted spread.
“Not tired?” asked Iris, old even then.
A ten-year-old Beth Ann wordlessly shook her head.
“Is Caroline sleeping?”
“We call her Carrie,” Beth Ann corrected her.
“Then I will call her Carrie, too,” Iris said softly. “It’s been a long day.”
“I’m not tired,” Beth Ann replied politely.
“Well, I am. Why don’t you sit on the bed with me and keep me company, while I finish this little drawing for your mother.”
Beth Ann reluctantly climbed up to sit stiffly on the bed. Her hand traced the pattern on the bedspread.
“Do you like it?” Iris held up a pen-and-ink drawing of a wildflower.
“It’s pretty.”
“I can teach you how to do it.”
“My mom’s the best artist in the world. She said she would teach me.”
Iris nodded. Then she stated gently, “Your mom’s pretty sick.”
“She’s going to get better,” Beth Ann said defensively.