Adventures In Parenthood

“No! Leave it open!” Ginger called. “We need the line of light!”

The door cracked. “Sorry,” Aubrey called from the hallway.

“You girls need to be kinder to your aunt,” Dixon said. “She lost her sister, and she’s sad, too. In the morning, I want you to say you’re sorry.”

Sienna didn’t respond, and he didn’t feel like pushing it.

“Now get some sleep,” he said. Sleep would help. But from the doorway, he saw both sets of eyes staring at him, wide-awake.

Please let them sleep, he silently prayed. It’s their only escape.

Their wide eyes still haunting him, Dixon headed for the living room to talk to Aubrey, uncertain how emotional she would be. He’d been startled when she’d fallen against him on the porch. She’d always had such a sexy swagger. She was more fragile than she let on.

They all were. He felt raw, like the skin beneath a blister, sensitive to the air. And the girls were on the brink of hysteria every minute. They would all have to be careful with each other. That was all there was to it.

* * *

HER VOICE HAD made the girls cry. The sting of that shame threatened to level Aubrey, but she forced herself to forget it, to stay busy. She wasn’t ready to sink into the sorrow that awaited her. She grabbed her roller bag to get settled in the guest room.

Except there she saw Dixon’s suitcase open on the floor beside the computer desk, and smelled his cologne. Of course he’d be here. He’d been staying with the girls.

“You can have this room.” His voice floated from the doorway, and she turned to find him leaning against the doorjamb.

“No, no. I’ll use the other bedroom.” She started to pass him, but he stopped her with a gentle hand on her arm. “But that’s Howard and Brianna’s room. It might be difficult for you.” He held her gaze. She’d forgotten how intense his dark eyes were, how they pulled you in, turned everything else into a blur. At the wedding, it had been the way he’d looked at her that had convinced her to drag him onto the dance floor, then out to the beach, to get more of those eyes on her.

“I’ll be fine,” she said. She had to be.

“You sure?”

She blew out a breath. “Truthfully? I’m not sure about anything. For now, let’s go with fine.”

“I’m sorry about that nonsense over your voice. I asked Sienna to apologize.”

“There’s no need for that.” She threw back her shoulders, hating that Dixon had noticed her hurt. “I understand completely. Brianna and I went through that after Mom died. One of us would use one of her expressions and it felt like a sucker punch.”

“Still, Sienna was harsh.” He frowned. “They usually don’t pick on each other so much, either.”

“That’s normal. Brianna and I had a terrible fight when we got back from the funeral over a borrowed sweater. We were taking out our anger about Mom dying on each other. That’s what the girls are doing, I’m sure.”

“That makes sense.” His gaze gentled.

“It won’t last long. It didn’t with me and Brianna. In fact, we got a lot closer, leaned on each other more. We were all we had.”

“It must have been hell to lose your mother so young.”

“At least we were nearly adults. The twins are so little.” Her eyes stung, but she refused to crumble like she had on the porch. It was strange. They hardly knew each other, but they’d been forced into an intense intimacy.

“I hope Ginger and Sienna will get closer, too,” Dixon said.

“I’m sure they will. And they have you and me, too. And your mother.”

“She doesn’t visit much.”

Brianna had told her as much. “Actually, the last time I talked to her, Brianna said she wanted to look for our father’s relatives. He was estranged from his family.”

“Do you want that?”

“If the girls have more relatives, it would be good for them.”

“It would,” Dixon said.

“Maybe I’ll see what I can find. Later on...after we get past all this.”

“Sure.”

Standing so close, she couldn’t help but respond to how male he was—broad and strong, with straight, square features. He’d rolled up the sleeves of his chambray shirt, revealing muscular forearms. There was something sexy about that look.

Dixon was sexy, period.

For one second, she wanted to reach for him, go to bed with him, stop fighting so hard to keep her head above the waves of grief that threatened to engulf her. He would be her life raft. She would be his.

A soft sound escaped her lips. Dixon’s breath hitched and twin candle flames lit in his dark eyes, just as they had that night in Mexico.

When the band had quit playing, she’d kicked off her heels, grabbed Dixon’s hand and snatched a nearly full bottle of good champagne on the way to the beach, running, laughing, feeling lighter than air....

Now Dixon’s breathing shifted, he tilted his mouth closer.

Why not?

They could open up a sliver of time to escape, to hide out in each other’s arms.

“We have things to discuss,” Dixon said, flipping the switch, making them both blink in the sudden harsh light of reality.

It took her a second to adjust, but she knew he was right. This was no time to escape. “Let me put away my things, and I’ll meet you in the living room.”

She rolled her bag down the hall. Stepping into the room was almost too much for her. The space was full of Brianna’s happy energy, and it smelled of her perfume—Joyful, a perfect word for her sister. Every surface held framed photos of the couple and their girls.

She remembered Brianna showing her the room, gleefully dancing from item to item—the curtains and pillows she’d made, the antique bureau she’d refinished to match the headboard. She’d been so proud, so happy.

How can you sleep here, with Brianna’s lost happiness swirling like smoke, burning your eyes and searing your throat?

Aubrey braced herself against the bureau, closed her eyes and silently recited her mantra: you are stronger than you know. Trust your training. Trust your will. Trust your courage. The only obstacles are your own doubt and fear. Conquer yourself and you conquer all.

After a beat and a breath, strength poured through her. It worked. It always worked, and it always surprised her.

Fix this. First, the pictures. One by one, she turned them facedown. Next, the sheets. She got fresh ones from the hall linen closet and remade the bed. Finally, she misted the air with her own spicy cologne, overriding her sister’s airier scent.

Whew. Better. It’s just a room now, not Brianna’s cozy nest.

She gave the bathroom the same treatment, placing Brianna’s hair stuff under the sink and claiming the space with her own toiletries.

After that, she splashed water on her face and pulled her hair into the ponytail she wore for physical challenges. That seemed right. This was the biggest challenge of her life—coping with Brianna’s death and deciding what was best for the girls. With a last calming breath, she went to meet Dixon.

He was on the couch working on his laptop. When he saw her, he set the computer on the table and stood. “You all right?” he asked, searching her face so closely she felt...exposed.

“I’m fine.” She ducked his gaze and went to sit on the sofa. Rafe had given her space, at least. Of course, they’d rarely spent quiet time together. They were always doing something outdoors—kayaking, hiking, skiing or diving.

Dixon sat beside her, legs angled toward her, watching her face. She guessed you could get used to so much attention. It was like he really cared about her. It was probably just his way. He likely read the backs of cereal boxes, too.

“It’s all set with the Reno funeral people,” he said. “They’ll fly them to Phoenix tomorrow.”

“That’s good. How did you even know what to do?”

“A social worker at the hospital explained the procedure. It was mostly a blur. We’re due at the mortuary at nine to choose flowers and the casket and all. Just now, I called our minister and we’ll meet him at the church after that to plan the funeral.”

Flowers...casket...funeral. The words echoed in her head.

“We’re supposed to post the obituaries on the mortuary website so people can write their condolences. We’ll need to choose photos.”

“Photos...right.” She had to write her sister’s obituary. Obituaries were for old people, not young mothers.

“I figure we’ll have the funeral on Saturday.”

“Saturday...? Wait... What about the anniversary party? We have to tell people!” She started to get up.

“It’s done. I had Brianna’s friend Rachel call everyone. We already had caterers coming. It seemed smart to use them. We’ll take the words off the cake—” He stopped abruptly, his jaw muscle twitching, clearly struggling against sadness.

“That’s very...practical.” What else could she say? “Plus everyone was already planning to come.” She gulped. “I don’t know what I’m saying.”

“Me, neither. Believe me. My mother should be able to get here by Saturday. She’s on a cruise. I had to leave word for her.”

“Will she want to stay here?”

“She prefers hotels, which is better for all of us. I love her, but there’s always drama and it’s always about her.” Aubrey had enjoyed Lorraine at the wedding. She was lively and funny and full of stories.

“Is there anyone else we should notify?”

“She’ll get the word to our father. If we’re lucky, he’ll send a card. We don’t know any of his relatives.” Anger and hurt flared in his eyes. “Mom’s mother died three years ago. Grandpa’s in an assisted living place with dementia. There are cousins we don’t know.” He shrugged. “Everyone who needs to know knows. The rest can read it in the paper.”

“You’ve done a lot.” She’d barely accepted the news, and Dixon had been making arrangements. “I feel bad this has been on your shoulders.”

“I had a couple hours’ head start. You’re here now. We’ll do the rest together.”

“Right. So we have to pick photos and write the obituaries...” she repeated, trying to get up to speed, to contribute to the process. “What else?”

“Decide the music and who should speak and in what order.” He studied her face. “You look dead-tired. We can go over all the funeral stuff tomorrow.”

“Sounds good. It’s mostly jet lag,” she said. “I flew in from Norway early this morning for a meeting in L.A., then drove straight here.”

“No wonder you’re wiped out. Go get some sleep.”

“I’m too wired for that.” She smiled sadly. “But I could use a drink.” Her gaze snagged on the ice chest on the floor beside the table. She opened it and took out the champagne, melted ice dripping from the bottle. “Might as well drink this, right?”

“Why not? Sounds practical,” he said with a weary smile. “I’ll get glasses.”

She picked up the flowers. “I should put these in something.”

In the kitchen, Aubrey opened cupboards until she spotted a crystal vase on the top shelf. She was too short to reach it, but Dixon was plenty tall.

She turned to ask for his help, but he was looking at the fridge photos. “This was before they got married.” He tapped a shot of Brianna and Howard at a picnic table. Brianna grinned at the photographer. Howard stared at Brianna with pure adoration. “They thought they had a lifetime together,” Dixon added gruffly.

Aubrey remembered the margarita-stoked conversation she’d had with Brianna when the girls were babies. I just want to get them through college, you know? she’d said. High school was too soon. I wasn’t ready. My core wasn’t solid yet.

You won’t get cancer, Aubrey had insisted. You live a seatbelt life, totally strapped in. Of all the words she could have chosen. Seatbelts hadn’t saved Brianna this time.

“I can’t believe she’s gone,” Aubrey said, unable to hide her sadness. “It’s like I lost half of myself. There was so much I should have told her.” I’ll be here more. I miss you, too. I’m sorry I let you down.

“I know what you mean,” Dixon said, his voice husky with emotion. “The last time I talked to Howard I bitched about a report he forgot to finish before the trip.” His eyes were watering now.

“You didn’t know it would be the last time.”

“Howard was the one who raised me after Dad left. I was ten. He was fifteen. I was wild as a kid.”

“You were wild?” He’d seemed like a straight arrow to her.

“Mom blamed me for Dad leaving. I’d been screwing up in school, getting in trouble, but after he left, I ran off the rails. Mom worked days and went out nights, but Howard stayed on me, kept me out of jail and in school. I owe him so much...” His jaw muscle worked. “Working at Bootstrap was a way to pay him back.”

“I’m sure he knew how grateful you were.” Her words seemed so hollow in the face of the pain Dixon was feeling.

“I can’t remember his voice.” Dixon forced the words out. “Or see his face. That’s what’s killing me.”

“I know what you mean. You feel so...alone.”

“Yeah. Alone.”

Then she remembered something from back when her mother died. “The voices and memories come back,” she said. “A grief counselor told us that the shock blanks out your brain for a while. Over time, it all comes back.”

“It does?”

“It happened for me in dreams first. After a while, the happy memories covered over how sick Mom was at the end, and that’s how I remember her now.”

“That’s good,” he said. “I’ll look forward to that.”

She could tell he was about to break down. So was she. “This is so hard.” Dixon must have sensed that she was crumbling, and pulled her into his arms, tucking her against his chest. They held each other tightly, as if for dear life, against the storm lashing them both.

Dixon smelled like citrus and starch, and his heart thudded steadily beneath her cheek, saying, I’m here, I’m here, I’m here.

She rested against him, calming herself, breathing in time with Dixon, sharing the same sorrow, the same pain. They stood, swaying slightly, for a long time. Gradually, another feeling took over—this one more primal.

Desire.

She wanted him. Of all the wrong times to react like that. All the turmoil had her riled up, of course. Her emotions flitted like fireflies lighting her up here and there.

Dixon jerked, so she knew he’d been struck, as well. He let her go as if she’d scalded him. “We were getting glasses and a vase.” He cleared his throat.

She reined herself in, a little irked at how easily Dixon had backed off. He never let physical needs rule him. She admired that...and resented it, too.

“Could you reach that?” She pointed up at the vase.

Dixon retrieved it and filled it with water. She put the flowers inside, feeling his gaze on her as she worked. When she looked up and caught him staring, he colored, then moved to the cupboards. “I think the champagne glasses were...here.”

They were. When Aubrey reached in to help, she startled Dixon, who pulled back, knocking three glasses off the shelf. Aubrey nabbed two in the air. Dixon caught the third.

“Not bad,” she said, holding out her hand for his glass. When he gave it to her, she started an easy juggle, careful to compensate for the uneven weight of the flutes. A rush of pleasure hit her. She loved demonstrating a skill. Careful...watch it...easy...easy. She shifted her body to even the arc. Concentrate. Don’t get cocky. She juggled a few more seconds, then quit while she was ahead, catching the glasses one by one.

“Wow,” Dixon said.

She bowed, a faint surge of hope rushing through her. Life would go on. She would smile again, go on new adventures, learn new skills. Grief wouldn’t take her down for good. “I took juggling during my circus adventure last year.”

“You ran off with the circus?”

“I ran to the circus. Off-season. For training. I took juggling, trapeze, unicycle and lion taming.”

“In a cage, with a chair and a whip?”

“That’s the idea. The trainer was there, but it was still terrifying.”

“Is that your criteria for an adventure? Terror?”

“That’s part of the challenge, yeah.”

“Feel the fear and do it anyway?”

“In the end, yes. The secret is going in prepared. I read, talk to experts, take classes, and practice what I can. After that, it’s mostly self-doubt you have to conquer.”

He didn’t seem convinced.

“The trapeze scared me more than the lion. Trusting a stranger to catch you?” She shivered at the memory. “It was so worth it. The thrill of flying. I gave the girls an indoor trapeze set for their birthday.”

“I remember.”

“Did they ever set it up?”

“Not that I saw.” He seemed to be fighting a smile.

“What? You thought it was a bad idea, too? Howard’s a worrywart. The girls are gymnasts, for God’s sake. They know balance cold. I asked people on my blog about the right age for various skills.”

“You trust anonymous posters?” His lip quirked again.

“They’re not anonymous to me. They’re very knowledgeable. One of them told me about a quick way to teach kids to ride a bike. You put them on a slight slope so the momentum keeps them from wobbling, and, boom, they’re cycling. I’ll teach the girls while I’m here.”

Dixon didn’t react to her words, and she suspected he didn’t think her plan would work. She didn’t want to argue about it, so she was happy when he peeled away the foil from the champagne and popped the cork. A mist of bubbles drifted out.

“It’s weird to hear that pop and feel sad instead of happy,” she said. “It’s like when someone tells you a joke when you’re crying. It hurts.”

“Colorful way to put it.” Dixon filled their glasses and handed her one.

The champagne glowed golden, looking almost magical. “What the hell, it’s still champagne.” She raised her glass. “Cheers.”

“Cheers,” he repeated, but he sounded sad, too.

Despite how bittersweet the moment was, Aubrey relished the bubbly sting and the warmth in her stomach.

“Shall we?” Dixon motioned toward the living room, and they returned to the sofa with their drinks and the bottle.

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