The Bonus Mum

Chapter Two

Whit opened the refrigerator and stared at it blankly. He’d bought a truckful of groceries. The fridge was full. He just couldn’t seem to find anything to eat.

At least anything that didn’t involve cooking and dishes and cleaning up.

“What are you hungry for, you two?” He called out to the living room, and then wondered why he’d asked.

The answer came in joyous unison. “Mac and cheese. From the box.”

Followed by, “And don’t burn it this time, Dad.”

He still had two boxes, thank God. All the green stuff he’d bought was going to waste. But the sugary cereals, the mac and cheese and the ice cream—after two days, he was nearly out of those. He could probably feed the kids on five bucks a day—if they had their way. Instead he’d spent better than $500 on stuff that was good for them.

Why wasn’t that in the parenting rule book, huh? That short of putting an eleven-year-old in a coma, there was no way to get anything fresh and green down them without a war that involved pouting, door slamming, dramatic tragic looks, claims of being misunderstood, claims of being adopted, claims of child abuse...and...that torture could go on for hours. Sometimes days.

He scrounged for a pan, and filled it with water. Read the directions on the mac and cheese box for the millionth time. When he turned around, Lilly was leaning on the blue-and-white tile counter.

It was a trick, since he knew she hadn’t come in to help. He was in trouble. He just didn’t know over what. And the truth—which Lilly possibly knew—was that he’d do anything she asked. Anything.

He was terrified of both daughters, but Lilly more than Pepper. Lilly had stopped talking after her mom died. She’d just lain there, in that hospital bed next to her sister, but where Pepper would cry and shriek, Lilly just carried that silent look in her eyes. Grief too deep to understand, grief that made her go still, as if in any motion, no matter how tiny, could tip her over the edge. She couldn’t take more.

Eventually Lilly started talking again, but it went on and on, that grief of hers. She answered questions, and talked about things like school and dinner, but it was months before she volunteered anything. Months before that unbearably sharp grief started to fade. Months before he won a real smile—and he’d done everything but stand on his head and grovel, to bring her beautiful smile back.

“What?” he said, when she kept leaning there, looking at him, kind of rolling her shoulders.

“Nothing. I was just thinking....”

That was the other problem with Lilly. Pepper, thankfully, said anything that was on her mind. It came out like froth; he never had to work to figure out where her head was. But Lilly was the thinker, the one who stored hurts on the inside, the one who never said anything he could anticipate. Nothing in the universe could make him feel as helpless as Lilly.

And he’d have to kill anyone who dared cause her any grief again.

“Didn’t you think she was pretty?” She asked him as if his answer was of no consequence, while idly scratching the back of one knee with a slipper.

“The lady?”

“Rosemary, Dad. You heard her name. And yeah. Didn’t you think she was pretty?”

“Sure.”

Lilly rolled her eyes. It was a default response when Whit did something inadequate on an eleven-year-old’s terms. “Something’s wrong with her.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. But she’s pretty. And she’s spending Christmas all by herself. And she’s working, she showed us some stuff on orchids. But you’d think it was July or June or something. There’s no tree or presents. No stuff. No lights.”

“Maybe she’s of some other religion.”

“You mean like Buddhist or Muslim or something? No. It’s not that.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I know.” Another default answer, usually accompanied by, “I’m a girl and I know. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Maybe she’s Jewish?”

“Dad. We know five Jewish people. And they do Christmas with presents and trees just like we do. Except that they get to do their Hanukkah holiday, too, so they get even more presents. In fact, I was thinking about turning Jewish.”

“Were you?”

“Hey, people fight wars all the time over religion. I think they should stop fighting wars and concentrate more on giving presents. Especially presents for their kids.” Possibly out of boredom, she plucked a raw carrot from the glass of carrots and celery on the counter. It was the first time he’d seen her eat anything nutritious since they’d come up here. “But back to Rosemary. The thing is...she’s our neighbor. In fact, as far as I can tell, she’s our only neighbor up here. At least the only one we know about. So maybe we should do some Christmas stuff with her, so she’s not alone.”

“Honey, she may be alone by choice. She may not want company or neighbors around.”

“Well, then, why were her eyes sad?”

The water started to swirl and bubble. He dumped in the dry pasta, asked Lilly to get some milk and butter from the fridge and called Pepper to set the table. Then he did what he always did when he needed a diversion. He called dibs on the TV as of eight o’clock.

That immediately raised the decibel level in the great room to rock concert levels...and for sure, diverted Lilly.

But Rosemary’s face flashed back in his mind. She did have sad eyes. At first...well, at very first, he’d only seen his girls, because he’d nearly had a heart attack about their bear encounter. No matter what they’d claimed on the phone, he had to see them both in flesh and blood to breathe again.

Still, the minute he realized the kids were both fine, he swiftly turned on Rosemary. First, he noticed her vibrancy. With three females in the same room, naturally all three of them were talking at once, with volume, and were all in constant motion besides. But over and above his twins’ chatter, he caught...the energy of her. The life-lover zest.

Her build was lithe and lean, a woman comfortable with her body, used to doing physical things and spending time outdoors. Even in December her nose had a hint of sunburn, with a thin spray of freckles.

Her eyes were faded blue, the color of a hot sky in summer. She wore her hair grass-short and styled wash-and-wear, not all that much different than his, but no one would ever mistake her for a guy. Everything about her was soft and female. The long sleeved T-shirt in navy blue, the battered-soft jeans, the sculpted fine bones in her face. None of her clothes were fancy but distinctly feel-good styles, easy to move in, easy to live in. She wore no makeup—of course, since she lived alone, why would she paint her face? But it was more than that. Her skin had that wind-fresh, sun-friendly wholesome look. Her breasts were small and pert; her hips barely held up her jeans. There was no vanity in her. No embellishments. Just...beauty.

The real kind of beauty.

The kind that rang his chimes. Only no one—real or not—had rung his chimes since Zoe died.

Sooner or later, he figured he’d get his libido back. He’d always been overcharged, not under, but Zoe’s death seemed to kill something off in him.

He’d never identified it that way. Never thought of it at all.

Yet one look at Rosemary, and his libido showed up and started singing bass. With drums.

And yeah, the sadness in her eyes touched him—maybe should have warned him. But that sadness wasn’t her. It was about something that had happened to her. And...

“Dad! You’re burning the mac and cheese again!”

He glanced down at the pot. How had that happened again?

By the time they sat down at the table, Whit realized that something was up. A father of twins learned some things the hard way. Two children were just two children—but twins were a pack. Like wolves. Or badgers.

Especially like badgers.

“Listen, Dad.” Pepper shoveled in the mac and cheese, but took time to offer him a beguiling smile. She was always the troublemaker.

“I’m listening.”

“We’re really happy up here. It’s awesome and all. And we know you want us to forget Mom this Christmas.”

He frowned. “No. No, you two, not at all. I just thought this Christmas would be extra hard without your mom. By next year, we could do the holiday completely differently. Make a point of remembering your mom, in fact—like making some of her favorite holiday dishes. Remember her strawberry pie? Or putting the tree in the corner where she thought it looked best. I don’t ever want you to forget your mom, I just—”

“Dad, wind it up.” Pepper again, using her impatient tone. “We’re okay with all that. You don’t have to go on and on.”

“But here’s the thing.” Lilly, always the pacifier, jumped in when she thought her sis was being abrasive. “We don’t know Rosemary very well. But she’s alone. And we’re alone this Christmas, too. Like you said before, maybe we’d be an intrusion. But maybe not. I mean, what if we just—like when we’re cutting down our own tree tomorrow—cut one down for her, too?”

Pepper started her fidgety thing, dropping a napkin, then her fork. “And then we could just bring her the tree—and see if we’re in her way or if she really needs to work or something. Because maybe she really wants some company around. Especially us girl company. She said she loved girl talk.”

“It’s not just that,” Lilly interrupted again. “You know when I was little—”

“As compared to your being an old lady now?”

“Quit it, Dad. We’re having a talk. No joking.”

“Okay, okay.”

“When I was little, I remember the neighbor who came over for Christmas. Mom said she was alone because she lost her husband. So she asked her over for Christmas dinner. Mom said, and then you said, that Christmas isn’t just about presents. It’s about people being together. Sharing something good.”

“Sometimes you two worry me. You have this tendency to use things I’ve said against me.”

“Come on, Dad. We can take Rosemary a tree tomorrow, right?”

Whit couldn’t imagine how they could just show up at Rosemary’s back door with a tree out of the complete blue. But at least temporarily, he couldn’t figure out a way to say no that would make sense to the girls.

* * *

Rosemary bent over the corkboard. Heaven knew how she’d gotten hung up on the sex life of wild orchids in South Carolina. The subject would undoubtedly bore most people to tears. But when she needed her mind off stress, she’d always been able to concentrate on work.

Her stomach growled. She ignored it. She was pretty sure she’d ignored it a couple times before this.

It had taken quite a while to completely fill the corkboard on the coffee table. She’d pinned photos of local orchids—and their names and location—until the entire space was filled. Some of the names were so fun. Little lady’s Tresses. Small whorled pogonia. Yellow fringed orchid. Crested coralroot. Downy rattlesnake plantain.

Absently, she picked up her coffee mug. It was cold, and since it was also the last in the pot, it was thicker than mud. She still swallowed a slug.

She’d never planned on turning into an egghead. It was all sort of a mistake. When she’d cancelled the wedding, escaped from George (as she thought of it now) the two-year grant from Duke had struck her as a godsend. She could make a living—or enough of a living—and seclude herself up here.

The goal hadn’t been to get a Ph.D. She’d never wanted a Ph.D. She just wanted to work so hard she could forget about everything else for a while. Until she put her head back together. Until she figured out what to do with her life. Until she could analyze exactly what had gone so bad, so wrong, with George.

Mostly she had to figure out how she could have been so stupid.

She leaned forward, studying the photo of the small whorled pogonia. A white lip hung above the five green leaves. The species was teensy. It was hard to find, hard to notice. And it was probably the rarest orchid near the eastern coastline—which made it one of her treasures.

That was the thing. It wasn’t about academics. Or getting a Ph.D. It was about...survival. Why did some species fail and others thrive? How could a fragile, vulnerable orchid like this conceivably survive in such a hostile environment?

Not that she thought of herself as vulnerable. Or that she feared she couldn’t survive the mess she was in.

It was just that everybody believed the old adage that only the strong survived. Because it always seemed to be true. Except with these fragile orchids.

There had to be a reason. A logical explanation. Something in delicate orchids that enabled them to survive, when far tougher species died out.

A sudden knock on the door almost made her jump sky-high. A spit of coffee landed on her sweatshirt; she set the mug down, went to the door.

The twins huddled together like bookends, a platter in their hands covered with tin foil. “Hi, Rosemary. We can’t stay. We can’t bother you.”

“But we made some brownies to thank you for saving our lives yesterday.”

Clearly their opening lines had been prepared.

“The brownies,” Pepper added, “have some mints and some cherries on the inside. We didn’t sample any of these, but we’ve made them this way before. Honest, they’re really good. Although we usually put in marshmallows, only this time, we didn’t have any marshmallows so we couldn’t.”

Lilly’s turn. “We were trying to make it red and green on the inside. You know. Like to be Christmasy.” She took a breath. “Dad said we absolutely can’t bother you. So we’re leaving right now, this very instant.”

She noticed the golf cart behind them. Saw the hope on their faces, no matter what they said. “You can’t even come in to sample a brownie? That’s an awful lot for just me to eat by myself.”

“I don’t think we can. No matter how much we want to.” Pepper let out a massive sigh.

“Hmm. What if I call your dad and asked him myself if you could stay awhile?”

“Oh.” Both girls lit up like sparklers. “Yeah. If you call him, it’ll be okay.”

There ended her bubble of solitude. She called Whit first, so he knew the girls were safely with her, said they wanted to share a brownie with her, and she’d have the girls call when they were headed home. It wouldn’t be long.

Just that short conversation invoked symptoms she’d suffered when she met him yesterday. It was as if she’d been exposed to a virus. She felt oddly achy and restless, hot—when there was no excuse in the universe to react like a dimwit toward a perfect stranger.

But the girls distracted her from thinking any more about their father. The first priority was testing the brownies—which were fabulous. Both girls could somehow eat and talk nonstop at the same time.

Pepper went first. “Our dad thought we couldn’t handle Christmas at home. But we both know he’s the one who can’t. He hasn’t been out one single time since mom died. You know what that means?”

Rosemary was afraid to answer. “How about if you tell me what you think it means.”

“It means that he’s trying to be there for us 24/7. Rosemary, he’s driving us nuts. He wants us to do things together all the time.”

“And that’s bad?” She might not have a chance to think about Whit in connection with herself, but if the conversation was going to be all about him...well there’s not much she can do about it. She reached for a second brownie, feeling self-righteous as the devil herself.

“It’s not bad. Because we love him. But can you picture a pajama party with seven girls and my dad trying to fit in?”

“Um...no.”

“Everybody in our class at school likes going to the movies. It’s like a couple miles, though, so if the weather’s good, we walk. Otherwise one of the moms drive. But Dad, when it was his turn, he wanted to go inside with us. He sat in the back. Like the kids wouldn’t know he was there?”

“Um...” Rosemary eyed a third brownie.

“We know he’s lonely. He really loved our mom. He just can’t seem to get over it. But it’s been a year. I mean, we miss her, too.”

Lilly said softly, “I think about her every day.”

“I do, too!” Pepper said defensively.

“But really, we would have been fine just being home for Christmas. Then we could have had friends over. Or gone to their houses. See the Christmas movies and all that. So...” Lilly looked at her sister.

“So...” Pepper picked up the refrain.

“So...we were wondering if you would do some things with us. I don’t mean every second, like when you have to work and stuff. But we’re going to do a tree. And make some ornaments. Bake some cookies. It’s stuff we’re already doing, so we’re not asking you to work. We’d just like you to be, well, another person.”

“She is another person, stupid.” Pepper, naturally.

“I know that, numbskull.” Lilly turned to her again. “I meant, so Dad could see he didn’t have to be hovering over us all the time. That it’s okay. We’re eleven. Practically adults. We don’t need a parent in the same room with us every single minute.”

“Besides, we want you there for ourselves. Because I’m sick of this hairstyle. And we’ve been arguing about how it’d look best. Lilly thinks we should both grow it way long. I think we should go short, and like, with spikes. You could help us with an opinion.”

Lilly took her plate to the counter. “We wanted to bring you a tree. We’re cutting down our tree tomorrow, so we told Dad, why don’t we get one for Rosemary, too? But he said we had no way to know if you even wanted one. Don’t you want a Christmas tree?”

Every direction she turned, she seemed to face the gruesome problem of taking sides. And all their dad conversation was prickly—they kept relaying things that were private and none of her business. Even their enthusiasm at being around her was touchy—they were fun; she really wouldn’t mind visits from them now and then. It wasn’t as if she’d had a choice to spend the holiday alone. But Whit might not appreciate a stranger in the middle of their private holiday, no matter what the girls thought they wanted.

“Where did you get the golf cart?” she asked, hoping for a diversion.

“It was in the shed with the Gator. It came with the property. It’ll go a few miles, like four or something, and then you just plug it back in. Dad won’t let us drive the Gator, but he said we could use the cart to carry the brownies to your house and then come back.”

“You weren’t scared you’d run into your bear again?”

“A little. But we can go pretty fast in the cart. And we brought cookie sheets to make noise. We read a bunch about bears last night. Mostly it’s like the stuff you told us. If a person doesn’t do something that upsets him, the bear’s really not interested in humans anyway.” Pepper was about to jump up from the table, when her sister gave her a finger point. She rolled her eyes, but grabbed her dish and took it to the counter. “Anyhow, I know we’re supposed to go home, like now, but could you just show us your darkroom really quick? Show us how you make pictures?”

That sounded like a fine idea to Rosemary.

And the kids had a blast. The three were crowded in the small space, and the girls seemed entranced with everything.

“The thing I’m confused about,” Pepper said, “is why you’re making your own photographs. I mean, couldn’t you just get a digital camera? Or a phone where you could take pictures?”

“I could do both those things—and sometimes do,” Rosemary explained. “But when I do these myself, then I own those photos. It’s a legal thing. I’m responsible for the research and the work, so I wouldn’t want anyone using my photos without my permission. It’s like a protection.”

“I get it.” Lilly then had questions about the house—why it was so big and interesting, and was it really old, and how did she make the darkroom?

“The lodge has been in the MacKinnon family for generations—so lots of family members used it for summer getaways and vacations and holidays and just family gatherings. It was always kept pretty rustic, but when I knew I was going to be staying here for quite a while, I put in electricity and ran cable wires and all that.” She motioned. “This used to be a utility room. It already had a sink and rough shelves. But when I set it up as a darkroom—well, one problem is that everything has to be put away perfectly—because once you’ve turned out the lights, you have to find what you need in the dark.”

“So we can turn out the lights?” Lilly asked.

“Sure. But first let me show you what certain things are used for.” The blackout shades had the obvious purpose. The extractor fan sucked out the chemical odors. She pointed out the safelight. And next to the old sink was a long “wet bench” made of something similar to Formica. “That’s where the developing trays go—where you’re developing the photos...and at the far end, there’s a squeegee to remove excess water from the prints.”

“This so beyond awesome,” Lilly said.

“What’s this stuff?” Pepper said as she pointed.

“All large bottles of solution are stored on the floor. Every single thing that’s used in here has a place. And no matter how tired or busy I am, it all has to be put back in that place before I leave—or I’d never find it in the dark the next time.”

“Well, that’d probably be too hard for me,” Pepper admitted. “Dad says I shed stuff every place I walk, like a dog sheds fur.”

“So what’s that?” Lilly didn’t want to listen to her sister. She wanted to hear Rosemary.

“Okay...on the other side of the room—and I know it’s hard for the three of us to operate in this narrow space, but when I’m by myself, it’s not so bad. So this is an enlarger. It does just what it sounds like. Makes the prints larger. It might make them blurrier, too—so you can’t just ask it to enlarge something and then go take a nap. You have to watch the process.”

“Rosemary?” Lilly again. “Could we do this with you sometime? If we didn’t move and didn’t get in your way and didn’t do anything wrong? If we just watched?”

“Sure. If it’s okay with your dad. And you guys are only going to be here for a week, aren’t you?”

“We’re not sure exactly. We think we’re going home a day or two after Christmas, but Dad only promised that we’d be home by New Year’s Eve, because we’re sleeping over with a bunch of girls from school.”

“We’re going to stay up all night and have popcorn and stuff.”

“Sounds like great fun.” She heard a vague sound, turned her head, and abruptly realized that someone was knocking on the front door.

She hustled out, glanced out the peephole and felt her stomach jump five feet. She yanked open the door at the same time she looked at her watch.

“My God, Whit. I’m so sorry. I swear I didn’t realize how much time had gone by.”

“It’s not a problem, except that when you gave me your cell number—”

She nodded. “I never heard it ring. I’m sorry. I think I left it on the fireplace mantel. And we were in the back of the house, the darkroom.”

“Like I said, it’s okay. But I did figure by now you’d need rescuing.”

She did. Not from his girls. From him.

The minute he walked in the room, she suffered from a cavorting heartbeat and instant noodle knees, annoying her to no end. So he was a hunk. So he was so brawny he made her feel like a sweet little Southern belle. So he had the sexiest eyes this side of the Mississippi.

It was just attraction.

Last she knew, that problem was embarrassing but not fatal.

The kids leaped on him as if he’d been missing for six months. “Dad! Rosemary took us in the darkroom, and showed us all about the enlarger and the paper safe and the squeegee panels—”

“And where you keep the chemicals and the big extractor fan and solution and stuff—”

Since Whit was getting pulled inside, Rosemary interrupted with the obvious. “Would you like some tea or coffee? I’ve got both.”

“Coffee, definitely, if it’s not too much trouble.”

By the time she brought two mugs back in, the girls had yelled for permission to play games on her iPad, and they’d taken root on the floor with couch pillows behind them. Whit, hands in his back pockets, was circling the corkboard display on the coffee table.