Mother's Day Miracle and Blessed Baby. Lois Richer
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No, I suppose not. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Can you get up?”
Dimly Wade realized that sometime during their conversation he’d flopped down onto one of the kitchen chairs. His eyes noted the places where fire had singed the flooring, and he shivered at the thought of what might have happened.
“Wade?”
“What?” He blinked and refocused on her, forcing his mind to function. “Oh. Get up? Why?”
“You need a shower and something to eat, for one thing. You can have that at my place. The water heater’s turned off here. The firemen said it was better that way. Come on.”
He managed to get up and stumble to the back door, grateful for her calm even voice and the gentle hand under his arm. His brain couldn’t take it all in. It was like a bad dream.
A pile of charred bits of fabric lay outside the back door. Wade stopped in his tracks and stared. He couldn’t seem to move his eyes away, couldn’t stop imagining the scars…
“Wade, listen to me.” Clarissa turned his face toward her, her palms cool again his cheeks.
She felt good, he decided. Soothing. He didn’t even try to free himself. Her flower-soft fragrance tickled his nose. Roses, he thought. Or lavender maybe. Something like his mother would have worn.
Her eyes were clear and calm. “You have to get out of here now, Wade. Everybody is fine. They’re okay. Come on, let’s keep going.”
He moved on only because he knew she would nag him until he did. He walked across the grass, and into her yard with its pretty flowers and trim grass, marveling at the contrast between the two houses. His fingers curled around her small soft hand. Such a tiny hand to be so competent.
“I’m fine,” he mumbled when her other hand slid under his arm. He forced his rubber legs to move one foot in front of the other.
“Of course you are. Three steps up now.” There was a hint of amused mockery in her quiet tones.
“I’m just worried about the kids. My boots—”
“Are fine.” She urged him inside. “Sit down here and drink this.”
He took the cup from her fingers and sipped the dark steaming brew. “I don’t take sugar.”
“Today you do. Drink it.” There was no room for argument in that prim order.
Wade drank, his mind picturing that awful scene again.
“They’re fine, Wade. See, there’s Pierce working on his birds in the front yard. And Tildy’s sitting out there, too. With Ryan Adams. Lacey’s over in the park. You can just see her red shirt through the trees.” She pointed.
Wade followed the direction and caught sight of Lacey’s favorite blouse. “Jared?” he choked, his heart swelling with relief.
“I’m right here. I’m trying to fix this stupid—uh, broken cupboard.” Jared came to stand before his uncle. He frowned. “You don’t look too good, Uncle Wade.”
“That’s funny. I feel fine. Just fine.” Wade noticed his sister’s distinct features in the tall boy and felt the guilt wash over him again. He was growing up so fast. “Are you all right, son?”
“Of course. We all are. Clarissa’s taking care of things. That’s okay, isn’t it, Uncle Wade?” Jared’s face contorted with worry. “You’re not mad that we got her? Tildy didn’t mean to do it, you know. It was an accident.”
“I know. No. It’s perfect. Okay, I mean.” Wade glanced around with bleary eyes, noting the sparkling kitchen, the yeasty fragrance of fresh baked bread, the utter hominess of it all. No matter what he did, his kitchen had never looked like this. He noticed Jared’s frown and refocused.
“It’s just fine,” he repeated, then stopped when his stomach began a low but very audible rumbling.
“Jared, will you show your uncle where the shower is? And here are some fresh towels. As soon as he’s ready, we’ll have dinner.” Clarissa smiled, her eyes meeting Wade’s. “Go ahead. Everything is all right. I’ll watch them for you. We’ll talk later.”
Wade followed Jared up the stairs, easing up on the balustrade when he felt it give under his weight.
“Another thing to be fixed,” he muttered, trying to smother a yawn. “This house sure needs a lot of catch-up work.”
“You should have let me help you finish MacGregor’s roof last night,” Jared told him, frowning. “I can do stuff. Besides, you can’t work morning, noon and night, Uncle Wade. Nobody can. You’ll burn out. I heard the teachers talking about it.”
“I’ll do whatever it takes to make a home for you kids. I promised your mom, and I’m not breaking that promise.” Wade let himself be led into the bathroom. He accepted the armload of towels and listened as Jared explained the old-fashioned shower.
“Make sure you keep that curtain in the tub or Clarissa’s place will be flooded,” the boy ordered, frowning up at him as if he wasn’t sure Wade understood.
“Uh-huh. Curtain inside. Got it.” Wade repeated the words mindlessly, unable to hang onto any thought other than that the kids were all right.
After a long searching look at his uncle, Jared left the bathroom, apparently satisfied that Wade could manage on his own. Wade grinned at such consideration, but decided it was rather endearing coming from the boy.
He stripped off his clothes, fully conscious of how much dust he was leaving in the pretty lavender-and-white bathroom. He’d spent the sunrise hours of this morning replacing hundred-year-old attic shavings with insulation so that the owners could move in right away. Most of the dust had settled somewhere on him.
As he felt the warm sting of the water trickle over his aching body, Wade closed his eyes and searched for an answer.
Please God, what should I do now? I can’t give up Kendra’s kids. I just can’t. I promised her.
Sometime later, Wade didn’t know how long, the water grew cool, then the chill of it finally penetrated to his brain. He turned the taps off and grabbed a towel, rubbing himself fiercely to warm up.
Someone, Jared maybe, had set some clean clothes on the toilet seat. He pulled them on automatically, barely noting the newly replaced buttons and carefully stitched tears.
Then he sat down to think.
He had to do something. Figure out something. He wasn’t going to lose Kendra’s kids. Not now. He’d promised and, no matter what it cost, this time he was keeping his promise. He wasn’t going to mess up again, social worker or no.
His eye caught sight of the silk lavender bathrobe hanging on the back of the door. Clarissa was a lavender kind of woman. Her pale skin and silver-streaked hair would look perfect in the color. A pair of slippers lay on the floor, and he imagined her padding around this old house in the morning.
He’d seen her several times when he’d risen early. She always put out birdseed first thing. Then he’d catch the hint of fresh brewed coffee and pretty soon she’d be sitting at the table by the bay window, sipping it as she watched the birds peck at their meal. It took her a long time to wake up, but eventually she’d move, and Wade would catch the aroma of frying bacon or grilling sausages.
Now that the weather was warmer, she’d begun eating outside, sharing her breakfast with whatever came along. Then she’d pull up a few weeds, water her garden, finish her coffee and undo her hair.
Wade always liked watching her brush out her hair, though he felt a bit embarrassed, like a Peeping Tom or something. But once she undid that knot on top, he couldn’t tear his eyes away. He would never have believed her hair was so long, not when she wound it up on the top of her head like that. Free and cascading down her back, it flowed well past her waist in a river of sparkling silver.