The Marine's Family Mission

When that had happened, Emmy had had the chance to teach him how to hold Kit, heat a bottle, change a diaper and burp the baby. She’d taught the jiggle-and-walk to use when Kit was unhappy, and she’d even tutored Declan through Kit’s bath in the kitchen sink.

Because Trinity fancied herself an expert on her brother she’d added her instructions wherever she’d thought Emmy had overlooked anything. And when it came to Emmy teaching him Trinity’s routine, the three-year-old had insisted that she could do everything herself.

“At least she tries to,” Emmy had told Declan, humoring the little girl. “But sometimes she needs a little help,” Emmy had stated, demonstrating when it came to taking clothes off and putting on pajamas, reminding to go potty and brushing teeth.

But now Kit was asleep and Trinity was in bed, and it was just Emmy alone with Declan Madison.

And while no, she hadn’t had any flashbacks or anxiety, she also wasn’t comfortable being with him. Her stomach was tied in knots. Between that and their history, she knew she was not being very welcoming. But it was the best she could manage. And honestly, she didn’t think he had any right expecting anything more from her.

And his solemn and withdrawn attitude wasn’t making things any easier.

Not that any of it mattered. One way or another she just had to get through this. They both did.

“Now I can finally show you the basement,” she said as she joined him in the hallway, closing Trinity’s door all but a crack, hoping he would go down there and not come up again until tomorrow.

“I nearly grew up here. I know how to get to the basement and what’s down there—unless Mandy changed things up.”

“Oh sure...” Emmy said, feeling stupid for having spent the evening being a bit of a tour guide throughout the house. So why hadn’t he pointed that out to her at the get-go? she thought, not appreciating what seemed misleading by omission.

But all she said was “I wasn’t thinking about you knowing the place probably better than I do.”

Declan didn’t say anything as he waited for her to lead the way downstairs to the main level.

As she did, she wondered if being here was actually the reason for his somber attitude.

“It’s gotten better, but when I first moved in after Mandy died, it was hard—to me, this was her house, her furniture, where I’ve seen her most for the last four years... But for you... I guess I wasn’t thinking about all the memories you must have of this place...of being here with Topher.”

“Mandy redecorated. It doesn’t look anything like it did when we were kids,” he answered without any inflection.

“Still, it’s where you grew up with Topher, and now...it can’t be easy.”

Declan didn’t respond at all to that. It left Emmy wondering if she was right. Or not. At any rate it didn’t seem as if she’d hit on the root of whatever was going on with him.

The silence felt awkward, though, so as they reached the entryway she felt the need to fill the gap.

“Since they built the new garage, Mandy was turning the old one into a guesthouse. She wanted a place for me or for Mom and Dad to stay when we came. It isn’t quite finished yet and there isn’t any furniture, but you could stay out there if you wanted...”

They were passing in front of the sofa where she’d slept for two weeks. She hadn’t been able to bring herself to sleep in Mandy’s bed until she’d rearranged the room. Seeing the couch made her remember that.

As much as it pained her to make the offer when she really wanted Declan to vanish into the basement as often as possible, she forced herself to say, “If it will bother you to use the basement bedroom, you could sleep on the couch...”

“I stayed in the basement bedroom the last time I was here,” he said, again flatly.

And again he left dead air as they passed through the living room and moved on to the kitchen.

Emmy struggled for something more to say. “Later on I’ll have the guesthouse—that’s what Mandy called it—finished, so maybe I can bring the kids for weekends or on vacations to spend some time here. I want the farm to be familiar to them, for it to seem like home as much as it can when I’ll have them living in Denver. Maybe Mandy and Topher won’t mind so much that the kids won’t grow up here if I can at least bring them for visits...”

Declan had been a great conversationalist when they’d initially met in Afghanistan and again at the reception. Even when he wasn’t talking, he’d seemed engaged and interested in everything she had to say. But now it was like she was talking to a brick wall. It only made being with him worse. If he doesn’t want to be here, why doesn’t he leave?

But she didn’t say that. She reminded herself that she needed his help. Damn him anyway!

When they reached the kitchen, Emmy opted for abandoning the small talk and simply returning to instruction—maybe he saw himself as her employee. If that was the case, fine, they’d just talk business.

“Mom and I have been trading off nights walking Kit—I know, since he’s sleeping now, it seems like he’ll just stay that way till the morning, but he won’t. He’ll wake up for a bottle somewhere between ten and eleven and after that he’ll be fussy and he won’t go back to sleep. And he won’t even be happy just being held. He has to be walked and rocked and patted and jiggled until he’s hungry enough to take another bottle—which will be somewhere between 2:00 and 3:00 a.m.—and then he’ll fall asleep again.”

“Yeah, your mom told me that. I said I thought I could take her shifts so you could sleep every other night the way you were with her here.”

He could have said that before she went into the whole spiel.

Again, she wondered if he liked making her feel dim.

Emmy didn’t say anything, though. She merely finished what she’d been about to tell him. “Mom took last night and let me sleep, so I can take tonight. That’ll give you tomorrow to get more used to handling him before you have him on your own.”

“Okay.”

One word.

“I have to clean the kitchen, but if you want to go down and unpack and get to bed early or something—”

“I can help.”

“With the dishes? But you came after we’d finished—you didn’t even eat.”

He shrugged a broad shoulder. But said nothing.

She just wanted him to go away despite the fact that he was eye candy. But without waiting for instruction, he merely went to the kitchen table and picked up the dishes, then took them to the sink.

Emmy tried not to sigh and gathered the rest of the silverware and glasses.

“I do have to get Kit’s formula ready for tomorrow—I guess you could learn how to do that,” she said resignedly. She lapsed into silence of her own as she rinsed the dishes, loaded the dishwasher and then got out what she needed to mix the infant formula and fill bottles.

She had no idea exactly how long they went without talking, but it seemed like forever before he said, “So how are you going to follow around the Red Cross to take pictures and raise two kids?”

“I don’t do that anymore,” she said, just about as flatly as he’d answered her questions earlier. And without offering additional explanation the same way either.

“Really? You said you loved that job—that it was better than when you were a freelance photographer taking pictures of the destruction of war or natural disasters because you got to take pictures of people trying to do good, getting things done.”

She had said that. And it had been true. For a day and a half more after they’d had that conversation.

“After the school bombing I...I just decided... I don’t know... When I first started my career, it was exciting to be in the thick of things—that’s why I chose photojournalism. But a few years of that and I wanted to look through my viewfinder and see more positive images—so I went to work with the Red Cross. But I was with them for almost six years and...” She shrugged as if the latest career alteration wasn’t a big deal. “Then I wanted to see and be a part of things that weren’t anywhere near the thick of anything. When I got home from Afghanistan, I just...stayed. Now I take mostly wedding photographs with a few engagement or retirement parties thrown in, and the occasional shoot for a new baby.”

“Pretty pictures.”

“That memorialize the happiest times in people’s lives rather than the—”

“Ugliest.”

Like everything else he’d said since yesterday, his tone was matter-of-fact. But still it somehow irritated Emmy, making her feel guilty and embarrassed. And weak.

She was on the verge of defending herself when Declan said, “Lucky for Trinity and Kit—now you’ll be around for them. Mandy probably wouldn’t have been able to make a guardian of someone like me, who’s halfway around the world for who-knows-how-long at the drop of a hat.”

So he hadn’t been judging her, she’d just done that to herself. She was glad she hadn’t launched into the justifications she’d been about to fire off.

Instead she merely muttered, “Yeah, lucky. If I hadn’t quit before, I would have had to now.”

“How do you feel about...you know, instant parenthood?”

“I’m okay with it,” she said succinctly. “It’s strange—I’ll admit that. But I love those little buggers and...” She shrugged again. “I’m adjusting. I’ll always do my best for them.”

“Just like that?”

“Yes,” she said with resolve. Not that it had been so simple to accept such a huge responsibility. But she’d promised her sister. So she didn’t allow herself to think about the way she used to envision her life.

“Even while Mandy was still alive, my course changed suddenly. Again...” she added. “I needed to...embrace that and make new plans—”

“For your career again?”

“No, for my personal life.” But she wasn’t about to say more on that subject. “Then this happened and...now the kids will be a part of everything I do from here on. And when it comes to them, now that Mandy and Topher are gone, I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

She thought she could feel his eyes on her, and as she finished prepping to make the formula, she stole a glance to see if she was right.

She was. He was staring intently at her.

Then he said, “Thanks for that.”

There was genuine gratitude in his tone that surprised her.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” she repeated, meaning it.

Then she turned to making formula and tutoring him, explaining that anything left after twenty-four hours—even under refrigeration—had to be thrown out when he asked why they didn’t make a larger quantity.

Once the bottles were filled, he put them in the fridge while she cleaned that mess and started the dishwasher, both of them silent again.

Into that silence he said, “Tomorrow is Sunday. I don’t know if you go to church or—”

“No, but if you want to, feel free.”

“Church attendance is an ‘only in the right time and place’ thing for me and Northbridge is never either of those,” he said acerbically.

“You don’t like Northbridge or you don’t like the church here?”

“Both.” His tone was flat again, definitive, but he didn’t explain why he disliked his hometown—and the church here. Instead he went on without revealing anything. “I need to see all the damage to the farm so I know what we’re up against. Why don’t we do that tomorrow?”

“Sure. But we’ll have to take the kids out with us—Sundays are the hardest time to get babysitters and Mom couldn’t set up one for tomorrow.”

He was back to making no comments, but he did raise an acknowledging chin.

That seemed to be the end of his efforts because he took a breath, exhaled and said, “If there’s nothing else to do tonight, then I think I’ll turn in.”

Emmy again gave what she was getting and only nodded, watching him as he went toward the door to the basement.

And while the first thing she thought was that he still had a great butt, the second thing to register again was his limp.

“Uh...” she said.

He stopped and turned halfway around to look at her.

“Are there things you can’t do around the farm?” she asked with a slight lowering of her gaze to his leg.

“No.”

Once more his tone was flat, definitive, and this time with a warning not to ask him that again.

So okay, she wouldn’t explore it.

She only said a curt “Tomorrow, then.”

And for that she received nothing, not even another raise of that sculpted chin of his before he went to the basement door and finally disappeared down the stairs.

Oh, this is going to be loads of fun, Emmy thought, trying all over again to resign herself to living and working with the guy she no longer had even the slightest illusion of any rapport with.

Which was good.

No illusions that he liked her was good.

So why did the reality of that rub her so wrong?

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