At the McCarey ranch, Jessie and Stephen huddled together in the living room, intently studying documents. Jessie quizzed: “Is there anything I can do, legally?”

“Well, Jess, the actions of the board will be based on their belief of what’s in the company’s best interests … financially. If the board chooses Buchannan over you for the chairman’s position, you might possibly file something like a discrimination suit. It’s a new concept, and I’ll have to research to see if it’s appropriate.”

“Really? That seems a bit over the top. I don’t know …” Jessie hesitated, listening to sounds emanating from the kitchen area.     ”Hey, I believe I hear the rest of our army back from town. Let’s get Bo in on this; sounds like he’s gabbing with Jason in the kitchen.”

“Bo??! Great! Didn’t know he was back yet – when did he get home?”

“Jason drove up from his Tulsa office and picked Bo up at the airport last night. He came as soon as he could. Let’s go see what that crazy pair is up to.”

Jessie hurried into the kitchen, followed by Stephen, where she, then Stephen soundly embraced their nephew.

“Bo! So good to see you, kiddo! And what has my orneriest…er, most industrious… nephew been up to?”

“Keeping busy with the law firm. Just in case you haven’t heard, Uncle Steve, D.C. is a slightly hectic place!”  He laughed.

“Well, good you could be here to help us decide what Jessie’s best action plan should be. Jess, I’ll always support whatever you do. We may not be able to legally force the board to put you in the chair position, but we can make their lives miserable.”

Jason cut in: “You’ve got my support, Sis. And hey, if all this crap doesn’t go well, I’ll appoint you C.O.O. of my company, whadda-ya-think of that?”

They all laughed, and Jessie said, “Well, that’s mighty generous of you, brother, but I’ll have to decline. I think I’d like to give the board and Mr. Buchannan, in particular, a bad time.”

Bo looked at Jessie: “Aunt Jess, I’ll help with the legal research.…”

Jessie reached over and grasped Bo’s hand. “I have a special request of you, sweetheart.”

Two days later, in the McCarey Oil Company conference room, several men were standing around, talking quietly. Bradford Buchannan moved about from member to member, stumping like a politician with an oversized smile, shaking hands.

To one: “Hello, John, I need to discuss those operations details we spoke about.” Then, turning to another: “Bill, I think you understand how instrumental I was in that refinery coup.”

“Kendall, I hope I can count on you today…?”

Kendall Brackman, the Senior Vice President of Operations, replied: “I’m hesitantly backing you as Chairman, Bradford. If things were different, I might approve Jessica Trenton for that job. She’s extremely knowledgeable about the oil business and is tough. She performs well in negotiations. I just don’t think it’s the time….”

Norman Whitfield, another vice-president added, “That’s right, Bradford. As for myself, I know I need a couple more years’ offshore operations experience, or I’d be stomping for CEO. If Jessica does somehow get majority board approval, I’ll support her. I value her expertise and can learn a lot working with her.”

Buchannan puffed up. “Well, I see she’s seduced the two of you with her polished appearance. But that’s simply not enough to run this company.”

Kendall appeared irritated. “That’s pretty mean-spirited. You surely know Jessica Trenton is a capable woman.”

“Well, if it weren’t for her brother’s influence, she wouldn’t even be a member of the board.”

“I think you’ve got that backward. We weren’t here at the start of this company. There is a lot more to Jessica and Ben’s working ‘arrangement’ than meets the eye.”

“What are you talking about?”

Norman replied: “Well, just a theory of mine, but I believe Jessica was the real initiator of this company. I’ve never known Ben to make a major decision without a closed-door meeting with his sister.”

Buchannan seemed ready to speak again when he heard murmuring. The cause: Jessie was striding confidently into the boardroom. Dressed in an attractive, expensive-looking dark suit and flanked on each side by Stephen and Bo, she seemed contented and relaxed. The members politely nodded toward Jessie, then began to find seats at the conference table. The low talk died down as Jessie motioned to Kendall Brackman for his attention.

Mr. Brackman asked, “Yes, Mrs. Trenton?”

“Gentlemen, before we begin, I’d like to ask that we allow a couple of ‘outside’ people in the meeting today. I’m sure you probably recognize these members of my family — the Honorable Stephen McCarey, Chief Justice of the Missouri Board of Appeals, and Robert (Bo) McCarey, a prominent attorney in Washington, D.C. I’ll defer to Mr. Brackman’s handling of procedure at this time, if there are no objections to my family continuing in this meeting?”

Mr. Brackman smiled and replied: “These gentlemen have both worked for and been an influential part of McCarey Oil. I have no objection; how about any of the rest of you?”

A few murmurs stirred. Glancing around at each other uncomfortably, they talked quietly, but no one said anything formally. Buchannan whispered to the gentleman on his right: “Well, I see she’s armed with enough legal counsel.”

After a couple of minutes, Philip Davis motioned to Kendall. When Kendall acknowledged him, Mr. Davis said: “I don’t think we should have a problem with McCarey family members attending, even though it is out of the norm for our board’s procedures. Let’s consider Mrs. Trenton’s position in this company, and… respect to the McCarey family at her brother’s passing. Wouldn’t you all agree?”

All look around at each other. Eventually, each nodded affirmatively.

“Thank you.” Jessie smiled warmly and indicated to Bo and Stephen to take the seats next to her.

Mr. Brackman began the meeting: “All right, let’s get to the business at hand. As you are aware, we are here today to select a new CEO for McCarey Oil Company. Though it must be affirmed by a majority of stockholders, our recommendations are generally approved. Bradford Buchannan has graciously filled in in Ben’s stead since his death last month. However, because of our stock position and the influence on our corporation’s credibility, we should appoint a permanent Chief Executive Officer right away. I will accept nominations at this time, but would first like to indicate my personal preference for Mr. Buchannan’s continuance as Chairman and CEO.”

When there were a few surprised murmurs he added: “I intend to retire soon, so I am not in the running. Do I hear other suggestions?”

Norman Whitfield spoke: “I would like to nominate Jessica Trenton.”

Several members began to whisper nervously to each other, but no one else spoke. Kendall Brackman then asked: “Are there no other nominations?”

Another pause. When no other suggestions were made: “Okay; let’s take a preliminary vote.…”

Jessie stood and nodded to Mr. Brackman. “Mr. Vice Chairman, since I have been nominated, would you please allow me to again, briefly address the group?”

“I believe that would be in order. I defer to Mrs. Trenton, after which, we’ll hear equally from Mr. Buchannan.”

Jessie advanced to the head of the table. “First, and foremost, I’d like to say it has been a real pleasure working with you. And watching McCarey Oil Company grow to its success has been the most rewarding experience I could ever have imagined. I was but a headstrong teenager when our family started this company in 1914. We had whimsical dreams but never could have predicted the global destiny of this company. We’ve survived two world wars, and I’m proud of our contributions to the defense of our great country. We survived a terrible depression, one that left many out of work and emotionally bruised. But while other companies had massive layoffs, we took care of our employees.”  She paused.

“People have asked me how I could put my life ‘on hold’ and devote myself to this company. McCarey Oil and its employees have been my extended family, my life, for all these years. The job hasn’t been a chore for me; it’s been thrilling! Why, developing processes and equipment like magnetometers, heat-sensitive photography, our special-technique rotary drilling … I never tire of learning about this business! Frankly, I wouldn’t have missed this for anything!”

Bradford Buchannan pretended to read over some notes in front of him. Jessie’s eyes began to fill with tears, and several members nervously looked around. She steadied herself and continued.

“I hope that because of the diligent way I have labored with Ben for this company, you will lend some credence to what I am about to suggest.”

The room became uncomfortably silent, and she paused, dramatically, for a long few moments.

“I would like for you to seriously entertain the idea of a McCarey family member remaining at the helm of McCarey Oil. Because this company has historically been associated with Ben McCarey, keeping a McCarey as Chairman should retain the stockholder and marketer confidence we’ve developed over the years. Our stock price dropped several points this week, and we must carefully consider the effect our decision today will make on our company’s future.”

Murmurs began around the room. Buchannan whispered under his breath: Well, here it comes! Several members looked uncomfortable.

Jessie picked up a glass of water from the credenza and took a sip before continuing: “I would like to strongly suggest that you consider … that my nephew, Robert, be elected as Chairman of the Board and Chief Executive Officer. The most effective person to replace Ben McCarey is Ben’s son!”

Several members murmured as she paused again. Bradford Buchannan appeared completely stunned.

“As Mr. Brackman mentioned, Bo worked for our corporation several years ago and has a good feel for the operations. That, coupled with his political clout and legal experience, should wield a great influence for McCarey Oil. I have convinced him to consider leaving his extremely lucrative law office in D.C. and accept our President and CEO position. That is … if he is offered the job.”

As everyone appeared stunned, she returned to her chair. Kendall Brackman moved to the head of the table.

“Bradford, we’ll hear from you now, after which, we’ll put the nominations to a vote.”

1960

Jessie groggily raised her head from the pillow. Yes, that is the phone ringing. She wearily rolled out of bed to answer it, and, hearing MaryBeth’s worried tone, snapped to attention.

“Jessie, Ben’s real bad. The doctors don’t think he’ll make it through the night.  Please come.”

Telling MaryBeth she’d be right over, Jessie reached into the closet, grabbed slacks and a shirt, and dressed as quickly as possible. She combed her fingers through her hair as she exited the kitchen, snatching her purse off the counter, and ran down the path to her car.

Jessie raced to the hospital, oblivious of her speed. Nothing mattered now except that she reach Ben in time.

When she entered his room, Ben’s eyes were closed and MaryBeth was sitting next to him.  Jessie tiptoed to the bed and, taking one of his long but now-thin hands in hers, whispered,  “How you doing, big guy?”

Ben stirred; his eyes flickered for a moment before opening. When he saw Jessie standing close, he smiled.  “Hi, kiddo,” he replied, before dozing back off for a few minutes.

Jessie couldn’t believe how such a hulk of a man could have shriveled up like Ben had done in the past months.  He’s just so weak …

“Bo was here yesterday,” Marybeth whispered.

“That’s wonderful.  But I suppose he had to get right back to his hectic office?”

“Yes, he had an extremely important client meeting, and we didn’t know how long all this was going to last, so Ben ordered him back to D.C.  He took the red-eye flight late last night.”

“Sounds like Ben.  Always thinking of others.”

“Yes, Jessie.  It was the sweetest reunion.  Ben seemed so thirsty, but he had trouble swallowing. Wish you had seen Bo feeding his father ice chips.  I’m so glad they had that time together.  He’ll call today to check in and hopes to fly back again tomorrow.”

When Ben woke again, Jessie sat next to MaryBeth, very still, her eyes full of tears. He reached over and patted Jessie’s hand, watched as tears silently slid from her big green eyes, falling to her cheeks.

“It’s time, kid; you’ve got to let me go.”

MaryBeth began to sob quietly.

“I know,” Jessie replied, “but it’s hard, Ben.”

“I’m going to a better place … you know….” Ben tiredly faltered. “We’ve had some great adventures, haven’t we, kid?”

“Sure have—you and I have been the best team.”

Ben motioned for MaryBeth to come closer.  He clutched her hand and kissed it. “I’ll always be with you, darling, remember that?”

MaryBeth nodded.

“It’s awful nice, having my two best girls here with me.” He closed his eyes and dozed, fitfully, for some time. When he seemed to rest, the girls relaxed a bit.

About six a.m., the monitor began to buzz.  MaryBeth buried her face against Ben’s chest as a nurse rushed into the room to check her husband’s vital signs.  The nurse shook her head sadly and discreetly left the room.

Jessie cradled her arms around MaryBeth, and together they rocked until they had cried themselves out.

Bradford Buchannan pitched pensively in the massive oak chair at his executive desk, contemplating the phone call he’d just received. It came from Ben McCarey’s secretary, relating the grave news that Ben had died earlier that morning.

Buchannan decided to capitalize upon this immediately. He’d call each of the directors on the board personally:  Though the news was sad, the receiver might identify in a positive or sympathetic manner with the bearer.  He began with Kendall Brackman, the assistant chairman, and pointedly mentioned that an emergency board meeting could be called. Kendall agreed, and they set a time. Buchannan told Kendall he’d handle getting the meeting news to the board members.

Jessie swiveled her chair around behind her desk, so she could view the brilliant autumn scenery outside her window. The park was lovely this time of year—a myriad of shades:  yellow, gold, rust, and red, intermingled with the few remaining greens. As the breeze stirred, leaves quietly danced through the striking complementary brilliant blue of the sky.

How Big Spring had grown! It looked much more like a city now, though still smaller than Tulsa. Business buildings stretched for blocks. Coming into the city from a distance, she knew, visitors were surprised by the panorama of skyscrapers unexpectedly erupting like wildflowers on the prairie.  With its taller height, the McCarey Oil building stood out.

She drifted back, revisiting many of the fine things that had come to Big Spring and how influential this company and her family had been. The McCarey family had helped finance the new school and hospital buildings; the community center, where renowned artists performed; the large library, with its renaissance-inspired gigantic clock face joyfully booming out musical time for everyone within earshot.

Jessie relished what really made their family’s success so sweet: sharing their wealth with others. The past few years, she’d often stayed behind the scenes in benevolent ventures, so she wondered if other people remembered that about her.  I hope the community doesn’t think I only care about money.  Oh well … she sighed.

She gazed outside for some time, then back toward her desk, where an assortment of pictures of Jake and her close-knit large family were prominently displayed.

She reminisced back to the beginnings of McCarey Oil Company and tried to visualize the dusty roads, the lean-to buildings. Their family built this company, and she was grittily resolved to keep a family member at the head for as long as she could. Now that Ben was gone, she would call on the rest of the family for some support and innovation.

Jessie picked up the phone and visited with Stephen, Jason, and Bo, asking each of them to meet with her at the ranch on Saturday afternoon. Stephen said he would arrange to fly in from a meeting in New York, and she promised to pick him up at the airport.

Images of Buchannan trying to suck in the board kept entering her head. He’d convinced them to have him “temporarily” sit as Chairman until a decision could be made on the permanent appointment. Jessie knew what his intentions were: mainly to keep her from the Chairman’s desk and himself in it.

What a dipstick!  What was that ridiculous statement he’d made? Something about ‘continuity of authority’ or something about as pompous. He must certainly be insecure if he was afraid of her. Of course, she did have an influence with the other managers. But why shouldn’t she? She knew this company inside out, had struggled to build it.

I’m the one who took the responsibility (and heat) for that strategic financing during the depression of the railroad spur and the monumental pipeline construction, not to mention all the risky overseas and offshore drilling investments through the years. Why the heck shouldn’t I run this company?

Anyone who had been with McCarey Oil any time at all should realize her power behind the throne. Ben knew it and accepted it and appreciated her for her strengths.  What is the matter with some of these other men?  Women, too, for that matter (after all she’d done to promote them)? Look at Joyce Hiffler—she, of all people, should be pushing for me to take the helm—after all, she’s one of those who’ve begun pushing for women’s equality! She’s ambitious as heck, but a conniver, not a team player.

Jessie’s first impression of her—that she was a backstabber—held over the past two years Joyce had been with the company. Jessie tried on several occasions to work with her, giving her the benefit of the doubt, but with no success.  Joyce constantly tried to upstage the other women on her projects and wasn’t well received by any of them.  Jessie’s only consolation: that she wasn’t the one who’d hired her.

Ben was right. We should have stayed private. This company was just growing too big. There were so many personnel and other decisions to be made that, years ago, they’d lost the individual contact with many of the people in the organization, ultimately delegating the hiring to Human Resources staff.

She sighed, just a sign of the times.

Before she left the office, Jessie had forced herself into a sense of calm, and a deliberate plan of action formed in her mind. She smiled at Marsha, who had worked as Ben’s secretary and was now hers, when she passed Marsha’s desk in the outside office.

“Have a good evening, Mrs. Trenton,” Marsha encouraged.

“You have a nice evening, too, Marsha. And thank you, I will,” she responded purposefully.

Marsha looked at Jessie intently, trying to read her thoughts. Then she smiled reassuringly. Jessie looked confident, and Marsha hoped fervently that she would be able to handle the board meeting next week.

“If anyone can, she can,” Marsha said quietly to the steno sitting across from her.

The next morning, Marsha came in to the office about half past six and found Jessie already at work at her desk.

“Good morning, Mrs. Trenton, I had hoped to get here early and make your coffee for you.”

“Thanks, Marsha. That’s a nice gesture, but you’re not expected to do that.  I made some about half an hour ago.  And also … since you’ll be working exclusively for me now, I’d like for you to call me ‘Jessie.’  Would you be comfortable with that?”

Marsha registered delighted surprise on her face and nodded approvingly.

“Maybe you’d like a cup of that coffee before we get started? Whatever are you doing here at this hour, anyway? This isn’t a sweatshop.”

Marsha beamed at Jessie. She was the nicest boss Marsha could imagine. She already felt that Jessie treated her like an important member of the staff.  Marsha certainly admired Jessie’s respect of other people in the office, and this simply re-established that opinion.  Too bad a few of the other managers can’t act this way.

“I wondered if there’s anything in particular I can help you with, especially the board meeting coming up. Thought you might have a lot of work to prepare for that …”

Roger Clayton suddenly stuck his head through the outer door. “Hi, girls, how’s it going this morning?” He grinned like a kid scrambling through a candy box.

Roger, now V.P. of Financial Services, was a favorite with the secretaries in the executive suite. Always so cheerful; friendly to the point of being flirtatious, but the secretaries knew Roger was only teasing them and joined in his banter. Roger actually thought of the ladies like they were his kids, often bringing them flowers or pastries. The steno pool reciprocated by totally spoiling him, immediately waiting on even his most trivial requests.

Marsha giggled and responded, “Just fine, Mr. Clayton. How are you?”

“Fine, myself.  Just fine.  Jessie, can we get together for a while this morning?  I’d really like to talk to you about yesterday’s meeting.”

“Of course, Roger, whenever you’re free.”

“How about now?”

“That’s fine. Grab a cup of coffee and sit down.”

Jessie and Roger began to discuss the upcoming board meeting. After they talked awhile, it was evident Roger felt concerned about how extremely difficult this was for her, right after Ben’s funeral and all. Blast them all!  he thought. They should be more respectful to her.

“Roger, I’m okay—I know what you’re thinking.”

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t give me that. I know you’re worried about me, but I’m handling this. It wasn’t sudden or anything; I had faced up to this weeks ago—it was Ben’s time.  I couldn’t see him suffer any more.”

“I know, but the buzzards could have waited a few.…”

Roger was interrupted by Marsha’s buzz at Jessie’s desk. When Jessie pushed the intercom button on her phone, Marsha explained the intrusion:  “I’m sorry to disturb you, Mrs. Trenton … er … Jessie, but you have a phone call I thought you might like to take.”

“Who is it?”

“A lady from the New York Sentinel, a Miss Stevens. She said she heard about what’s happening at our company from some woman named Loretta Wingett—Wingate, or something—who’s the national chairman of the Women’s Rights Society. She wants to ask you about an interview.”

“Roger, if you don’t mind, I think I’ll take this call.”

“Go right ahead, Jess. You need all the good publicity you can muster.  I’ll wait outside till you’ve finished your call.”

“No, please stay.  I need you in on everything.”

The following Thursday, Marsha appeared at the door of Jessie’s office to announce the arrival of Ms. Loretta Wingett, along with Ms. Laurie Stevens, the reporter who had telephoned. Jessie asked her to show them in, then stood and extended her hand to each.

“Please sit down, ladies. May I offer you a cup of coffee or tea?”

When they both accepted tea, Jessie moved to the credenza to pour for them from the steaming container Marsha had ordered earlier.

Jessie smiled as she sat down. “What would you like to know about me?” she asked.

Loretta Wingett hesitated for a minute as she took in the surroundings: expensive wood paneling, massive heavy desk, book shelves, Italian leather chairs.  Stunning view from the ornate window.  She was impressed with Jessie’s selection of office décor (though it leaned a bit toward masculine) and said as much to Jessie.

“Thank you.  Ben’s lovely wife chose the furniture and drapes for me, as well as those of my brother’s office, also.  Ben and I agreed on furnishings; our offices are similar. We enjoy things MaryBeth selects for us—she has such wonderful taste.”

Loretta cleared her throat and ventured, “Mrs. Trenton, I’ve heard quite a lot about the selection of the Chairman of the Board of this company. It appears you’ve got your hands full, with the comments I’ve been hearing.”

“Really?” Jessie cocked an appraising eyebrow.

“Well, now that your brother is gone, it’s obvious that the Board is going to try to railroad you out of the chairman’s position. And from all the research we’ve done on you, I think you’re the most capable candidate for the job.”

“Thank you for your commendation, but the decision is still up in the air. I am only one of several vice presidents, so McCarey Oil has many candidates quite capable of handling the CEO position.  We may have a big shakeup of management restructuring before we’re through.”

“Well,” Loretta continued, “I’m hearing that you’re in for a big fight, and I think you should ‘come out with both barrels blasting.’ Let the McCarey Oil Company board see what you’re really made of!  Our organization would like to assist you in your fight.”

“What do you base your opinions on?  How much do you know about this organization?” Jessie asked directly.

Jessie noticed Laurie move around nervously in her chair.

“I’ve done some research, or, rather, Ms. Stevens has researched your company. We then contacted several of the local businesses and asked questions about the early startup of the operations of McCarey.  Most people around here have a very favorable opinion of you.”

“Yes?” Jessie nodded for her to continue.

“Generally speaking. However, some of the male occupants of this city feel that you are ‘way outta your league’ to try to take over as Chairman of the Board. I totally disagree, and I’d like to help you, with our organization’s backing, to force the board to consider you as head.”

“Force the board?”

“Right! You can’t let them railroad you out of this position. You can do a great deal for our organization, and the women’s movement in general, if you defeat the board’s rejection of you as Chairman.”

“You assume, then, that I won’t get their cooperation?” Jessie asked quietly.

“It doesn’t appear so, from what I’ve gleaned. Laurie talked to another reporter, with the Oklahoma City Register. Bradford Buchannan interviewed with their paper last week. An article will be forthcoming shortly. He apparently thinks he has more influence with your board than you do.”

Laurie interjected: “Um … I spoke with several others of your former managers, Mrs. Trenton. Tom Brigance, for example. He told me that he held you in the highest esteem and would not have left McCarey Oil if he hadn’t been offered a very lucrative vice president’s position at the firm he moved to. I believe that you have more influence here than Mr. Buchannan.”

“Well, I don’t agree,” Loretta added. “I think you’ve got a real struggle on your hands, and if you don’t get some help, you may get ’shot outta the saddle,’ as they say around here.  I’ve heard Buchanan referred to as a tough old bulldog.”

Jessie’s glance narrowed as she studied Loretta. Her smug expression made Jessie feel queasy. Jessie surmised that Ms. Wingate’s opinion of Oklahomans probably wasn’t very high. Does this woman believe we’re all ignorant and uneducated?

“So, you think I need your organization to come in here and intimidate our board—is that what you’re saying?”

Laurie looked intently at Jessie, apparently sensing that this interview wasn’t going well.

“Yes, I think we’re just what you need right now!” Loretta committed to her faux paux.

“Well, I appreciate your time, ladies, but I believe I’ll handle this situation in my own way….”

“You mean you’re not going to take advantage of my offer!!?” Loretta asked incredulously.

“No, I believe that your organization can be helpful, but after specific incidents, gained a bad reputation for turning people off.  I realize your goals of equality for women are well-intended; however, I sometimes disapprove of your methods.”

“Whatever do you mean?”

“When emotional intensity is high, certain people sometimes engage in non-productive efforts to change another person’s or organization’s opinion. When this type of emotion is vented contemptuously, it is usually ineffective, and that is how I perceive some of your past experiences. I don’t want to be considered just another of those angry women.”

Loretta hesitated, apparently perturbed.

“So you feel we would not be effective in helping you?”

“Ms. Wingate, it is never easy to move away from ineffective fighting toward a firm assertion of what is and is not acceptable to us, particularly a woman in a man’s business realm. However, I feel that by the time of the board meeting, I will have done what I can to persuade the board of my competence. I believe that women must show their abilities by their experience, not by making an issue of the fact that they’re women.  Regardless, I will have resolved this conflict within myself, and I will deal with whatever decision the board makes.”

Loretta face twisted into an openly sour expression. “You’re making a big mistake!”

Jessie hesitated, contemplating the most diplomatic way to respond.  However, her irritation overrode diplomacy.

“I don’t think so, MS. Wingate. And I’m finished with this interview.”

“Well, I can’t believe you’re …”

“Good day, Ms. Wingate.  Ms. Stevens, under the circumstances, I don’t have any statements to make to the press right now.”

Loretta jumped from her seat and started toward the door.  “You’re making a mistake, a big mistake.”

When Laurie hesitated, Loretta looked back and said, “Come along, Laurie, I don’t believe we’re welcome here.”

Laurie replied, “Please go ahead without me, Ms. Wingate. I’d like to speak with Mrs. Trenton, alone, if she’ll spare me just a moment.”  Laurie looked appealingly at Jessie.

“I really don’t have anything to say from a woman’s movement point of view, Ms. Stevens…”

“I can see that, Mrs. Trenton, but if you’d  extend me a few minutes, I’d like to hear a little more about you.  I want to write an objective article, exclusively from a reporter’s point of view.  I believe you’ll think my approach will be fair.”

Jessie scrutinized Laurie’s expression.  She finally decided that Ms. Stevens looked sincere.

“All right, I’ll talk with you. I don’t believe you had an ample opportunity to speak …”

Loretta stared indignantly at Jessie and then marched out of the office.

“Would you like another cup of tea, Ms. Stevens?”  Jessie asked.

“Yes, please. And it’s Laurie.  All this ‘Ms.’ stuff is getting to me.” Laurie laughed. “And thank you, Mrs. Trenton, for giving me a chance at a real interview. I realize that this meeting was originally Ms. Wingate’s idea, but I have to tell you, the more I’ve been around her the past few days, the more I have regretted coming with her. I have a completely different viewpoint of your board’s situation and your position than she does, and I’d appreciate a chance to get to know your opinions firsthand.”

“Please call me Jessie. What would you like to know, Laurie?”

“Everything!”  Laurie smiled. “I know I said only a few minutes, earlier, but I’d really like to get to know the real you, how you started this company, and how you’ve been so successful. I really admire what you’ve accomplished, and I think our readers would enjoy hearing about your life.”

“Well, that’s very flattering, Laurie, but I’m not sure where to start.…”

“At the beginning, please!” Laurie asked enthusiastically. “I hope my article might give you a little extra support during the next few weeks. I promise to let you read every word I write before it’s published.”

“Do you have that kind of editorial clout?”

“Well, I don’t, but my supervisor does. If you’ll tell me your thoughts, I’ll write a draft and discuss it with him. He’s usually very good about giving me freedom when I’m really onto something I’m excited about, and I think yours will be a great human interest story.”

“All right, I’ll tell you what I can remember, but I warn you, this may take awhile,” Jessie joked.

“I don’t have to be back in New York right away, Mrs. Trenton.  If you have the time to spare, I’ll stay over as long as it takes.”

As promised, Laurie Stevens provided a copy to Jessie’s office as soon as she completed her feature article. She added a note, saying that if Jessie wished to change anything, to pencil in her suggestions and call her. She assured Jessie that her boss approved the copy just as written. Jessie asked Roger to stop by her office and she read to him:

Mrs. Jessica Trenton is, without question, the most qualified candidate to head the staff of McCarey Oil Company. She is to be admired for the unheard-of success that she has achieved, in spite of the fact that this industry characteristically shuns women managers. In fact, when McCarey Oil Company was organized in 1914, the industry rejected women employees altogether…

The copy went on for several pages.  After she finished reading, Jessie asked: “Roger, can you believe this? It’s so flattering, I’m … embarrassed.”

“It’s not exaggerated one bit, Jess. It appears Miss Stevens has a good insight into your personality and abilities. I think this article could be very influential with our stockholders, and, ultimately the board.  You let her publish it, without a change, you hear me? It’s excellent, just as it is.”

“I don’t know, Rog— don’t you think it’s a little much!!?”

“Not at all. Why can’t you accept compliments when they’re sincere, Jessie?”

Jessie hesitated for a while, re-reading parts of the article.  Finally: “Okay, I’ll let it rip.”

“Good girl. Write her a note, giving your approval, then hand me that copy.”

When Jessie looked questioningly at him, he teasingly added: “I’ll call Miss Stevens myself, before you have a chance to change your mind.”

A few days later, Bradford Buchannan was busy at work in his office at McCarey Oil.  His secretary appeared at his open door.

“Sorry to bother you, Mr. Buchannan, but thought you might like to see this.”

She handed a copy of the New York Sentinel to Buchannan, pointing to an article she’d circled. Stepping just outside the door, she waited quietly, eavesdropping with one of the stenos for a few moments. From inside they shortly heard the expected expletive:  “Damn, Damn Damn!”

The two women giggled.

Nona should have been happy at Brenna’s revelation. But while Brenna was out with Nick, Paul had called to talk to his mother. Ashley had brought the cordless into Nona’s room.

“So, what have you been doing this weekend, dear?” she’d asked him.

“I went out with Marie again last night,” he reported. He’d met Marie at a singles dance after making up his mind to start dating again. This was their fifth date. They seemed to get along really well. “She wants to meet you. I told her it’s a little awkward right now . . . because of where you’re staying. But as soon as you’re back home, I promised her I’d bring her over to meet you. With your permission of course.”

“Certainly, dear. So, should I assume this Marie is someone special?”

“Well, it’s too soon to tell, but she certainly seems to be. I’ve had a few other dates, too, though. I’m having coffee at the new coffee shop with a woman named Vikki tonight. This’ll be our second date. I don’t think I like her anywhere near as much as Marie, but before I settle into an exclusive relationship with Marie, I thought I’d better make sure I’m not turning my back on something even better.” He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial tone. “Dating’s fun. I was dreading getting back in circulation, but it turns out that dating’s an adventure.”

“Since when are you an adventurer, dear?”

“People change!” Paul said indignantly. “We all grow and change.”

“Well, I certainly hope so.”

They’d talked awhile longer. Paul gave Nona every indication that the only thing keeping him from getting more serious about Marie was the fact that dating was such fun.  Now here was Brenna, saying she was still in love with him . . . but she had two rivals for any claim she might want to make on Paul: Marie and the dating scene. Nona didn’t think her chances looked too good.

“I think Paul’s entered his midlife crisis a few years early,” Nona told Brenna. “He’s dating and enjoying it. Doing the bachelor thing.” She said nothing about Marie.

“He might grow tired of it,” Brenna speculated.

If he does, that’s all the more reason to settle down with Marie, Nona thought. But aloud, she said only, “We’ll see.”

“Are you home for the day?” Ashley asked.

“I think so,” Brenna said, looking at her watch. It was past four. Even if someone called about a house, they wouldn’t likely want to go out and look at it now.

“Can you drive me home, then?” Ashley asked. “I have a lot of homework that’s not done yet, and I never can seem to get much of it done when I’m here.”

“I know. Sammy’s a handful to keep an eye on . . . now there was a mixed metaphor if I ever committed one.”

“We’re studying those in English right now,” Ashley said.

“We’re going to run Ashley home,” Brenna said to Nona. She would take the boys with her, of course. “You need anything before we go?”

“I’ll be fine, sweetie.”

“You need anything from the house?” Brenna had made many stops at Nona’s house for books, makeup, clothes, and other items Nona had wanted.

“You wouldn’t mind?”

“Did I offer?”

“I always hate to impose.”

“In what way are you imposing? I pass within five blocks of your house on the way home. What’s a little detour?”

“Well, if you wouldn’t mind, there are two things I’d like.” Nona already had her cassette recorder with her, and now she wanted a particular comedy tape she had at home. She also directed Brenna to go into her bedroom closet and look among the things on the second shelf for a blue cassette in a soft poly box.

Brenna left the cordless phone with Nona. Her cell phone number was written on a piece of paper that remained at all times on Nona’s nighttable. “Call if you need me,” Brenna said. Then she herded the kids and Ashley into the car and started for Ashley’s house.

They had only been gone five minutes when Nona realized she had to pee . . . and had had to for some time already. She’d been busily talking to Kyle and hadn’t wanted to chase the boy out of the room. He seemed to relate to her more easily than to anyone else, and she hoped she could ultimately do Brenna some good with him.

Now the need was stronger. I’ll wait till Brenna gets back, Nona thought, so I don’t have to have a bedpan full of pee sitting next to the bed for long. But time dragged on, Brenna wasn’t home yet, and Nona had to go badly. She reached under the bed for the bedpan . . . and couldn’t find it. Kyle must’ve kicked it farther under when he was standing next to the bed. It had happened before. Nona lay flat, maneuvered to the very edge of the bed, and reached as far under as she could. But although she stretched as far as she dared without risking falling out of bed, she couldn’t connect with the bedpan.

Now she was jiggling as she lay there. Her need was urgent. Where was Brenna? She hardly wanted to call Brenna’s cellphone and rush her just for this.

Brenna was delayed by a combination of factors. First, Ashley couldn’t get into her house. She didn’t have her key, and her mother, who was supposed to be home, wasn’t. Ashley finally found the neighbor who had the key and got in that way, but till she was safely inside, Brenna wouldn’t leave her.

Then, as they were driving toward Nona’s house, Sammy decided he had to pee. Now! “We’re almost to Nona’s house. Can’t you hold it a few minutes?” Brenna implored. But Sammy insisted it had to be now, and so Brenna was obliged to pull into a gas station and let him use the men’s room.

Then she had trouble finding the comedy tape Nona had specified. The blue tape in the soft poly box was right on the closet shelf where it was supposed to be, but the other tape wasn’t anywhere to be found. Brenna finally had to give up; she’d been gone for forty-five minutes now, and she didn’t like leaving Nona alone that long. What if there were an emergency?

Driving as fast as was prudent, Brenna and the boys hurried home. The weather was beautiful, warm for November, though with the sun sinking, the air was rapidly cooling. “I want to play in the backyard,” Sammy said as Brenna pulled into the garage.

“Kyle, would you please stay in the backyard with Sammy?” Brenna asked. “I’d appreciate it. I have to get dinner started as soon as I check on Grandma.” So the boys went out the garage’s back door, heading for the swing, and Brenna went into the house.

She found Nona in a puddle. The sheets were wet. Nona’s clothes were wet. And Nona’s face was wet with tears. Embarrassed by the accident, and dismayed that Brenna would have to clean up the mess, Nona had cried and was still sniffling.

Brenna tried to make light of the situation. “It’s nothing,” she said. “I’m raising two kids. Kids have more than their share of accidents. It’s only six months or so since Sammy last wet the bed. No big deal. Let me get these wet clothes off you, and then I’ll go and get a washcloth.”

She helped Nona undress and then wrapped her in a light blanket that was folded at the foot of the bed. “Just till I get you washed off. Just in case the boys come in from out back,” she said.

Brenna gathered up the wet clothes and carried them straight down to the basement laundry room. She stopped only to close the guest room door. Maybe if the boys came in, they’d see the closed door and keep out of the room, sparing Nona embarrassment. She started the washer and dropped the clothes in, figuring she’d soak them till she added the sheets, then start the wash cycle.

There was a pile of clean rags . . . towels that had seen better days . . . on a shelf above the washer. Brenna figured these would be better than an itty-bitty washcloth for cleaning Nona off, so she dunked two of the old towels into the washer and wrung them out, then grabbed a third towel, a dry one, and headed back upstairs.

Meanwhile, Paul arrived at the house unexpectedly. The day before, when he’d had the boys, they’d told him how bored Grandma was these days. “Why don’t you come and see her more often?” Sammy had asked. “Isn’t she your mommy?”

Chagrined, and finding himself in the neighborhood, Paul had determined to drop in and visit with Nona. So now he pulled into Brenna’s driveway. The garage door was open; Brenna’s car was there.  Paul walked up to the front door and rang the bell.

Nona, in the guest room with the door closed, didn’t hear the bell. Brenna, still down in the basement and standing next to the filling washer, didn’t hear the bell either. And of course the boys, out in the backyard, were oblivious to their father’s arrival.

Paul became worried. Nona couldn’t answer the door, of course, but she was home. Why didn’t she hear the bell and yell to someone else to answer the door? Why didn’t anyone else hear the door in the first place? Brenna was home—her car was there. Surely the boys were home. They weren’t likely visiting friends so close to dinner. Why wasn’t anyone answering the door?

Paul remembered the incident that had brought his mother to stay at Brenna’s house in the first place. Surely nothing like that had happened again! And yet, if nothing was wrong, why wasn’t anyone answering the door? He rang the bell a third time, but still nobody answered. He debated: Should he ring again . . . and risk wasting precious time? Should he let himself in . . . a risky maneuver if there was an intruder in the house? Should he go to the nearest payphone and call the police? At length he fished his keychain out of his pocket.

While Paul was debating a course of action and then fishing for his keys, Brenna was making her way back upstairs with the three towels. By the time Paul got the front door open, Brenna was up in Nona’s room. Paul tiptoed as sneakily as he could through the first floor of the house, looking for intruders, for his family tied up by a burglar, even for dead bodies. He didn’t know what to expect. Meanwhile Brenna began shifting Nona around on the bed, so she could get the wet sheets off. Nona remained wrapped in the blanket, grateful that the boys were still outside.

Reaching the foot of the stairs, Paul thought he heard noises coming from the guest room. Creeping even more stealthily than before, he approached the guest room door, wondering what to use for a weapon. He should have picked up a vase in the living room; beaning an intruder wasn’t as effective as shooting, but he didn’t happen to own a gun, and any defense was better than none.

As Paul approached the guest room door, the odor of urine assailed his nostrils. When he peeked around the corner of the doorway, he saw quite a different scene than he had expected to. Brenna was removing wet sheets from under Nona, getting wet herself in the process, while Nona huddled miserably inside a blanket. Paul watched for a minute more, while Brenna prepared to help Nona clean herself off. Then, before his mother realized he was there, Paul quickly stole back down the stairs. He wanted to leave before she removed the blanket and exposed herself to his view. He also wanted to spare her the embarrassment of knowing that he knew she’d wet herself.

His first thought was, Thank God she’s at Brenna’s—what would I have done if that had happened at my house?! His next thought was, Why should Brenna be wiping urine from my mother, changing my mother’s wet sheets, handling my mother’s wet clothes? Why should Brenna even have to make the bed up? Normally that was one of Ivy’s chores. Brenna hardly ever had occasion to even open the linen closet.

Suddenly Paul was very ashamed of himself. Brenna shouldn’t have had to deal with this problem . . . or with Nona’s presence at all. Nona was his mother. Why hadn’t he overruled Julianna’s objections? Why hadn’t he insisted Nona stay with them?

She’d been at Brenna’s for over a month now. Over a month of Brenna taking care of his mother. Over a month of inconvenience. Over a month of Brenna putting herself out for his mom. For all he knew, it might have been a month of bedwetting, too. Who knew just what Brenna had been putting up with?

A sudden wave of warmth for Brenna overwhelmed him. He tried to imagine Marie doing for Nona what Brenna was doing. He simply couldn’t picture it. He drove away from Brenna’s at a rapid pace. He was too upset to think. He was too ashamed to drive carefully. Coming around a corner, he missed hitting a pedestrian by inches. He’d never even seen the man.

He didn’t see the silver Infiniti following him either.

Kyle tired quickly of watching Sammy swing. There was a rubber ball lying under the big tree, and for a few minutes Kyle amused himself by throwing the ball against the garage and catching it, but that grew old fast. Finally Kyle said, “C’mon in. I want to go inside now.”

“Please can I stay out a little longer?”

“Now.”

“Why don’t you like me, Kyle?”

“Because.”

“Because why?”

“Just because. Let’s go,” he snarled. “I’m sick of watching you. I want to go in. Move it.”

“You’re being mean. I’m telling!” Sammy squealed, heading for the house. But his intentions got left by the wayside when he saw the scene in his grandma’s room.

The wet clothes were soaking in the washer, of course, and Nona was dressed again by now, but there was a pile of urine-reeking sheets just inside the door of the room, and the bare mattress showed a huge wet spot. “No, Gamma, no!” Sammy shrieked. “Don’t die! Don’t die! I love you!” He ran across the room and flung himself on the bed, mindless of the wet spot, as he hugged Nona, squeezing her far more strongly than she would have thought possible.

“I’m not going to die!” Nona said, amazed at the outburst.

“Why don’t you boys leave us alone for a few minutes,” Brenna suggested, concerned about Nona’s dignity in the face of the evidence.

“Gamma’s gonna die!” Sammy shrieked.

“No, I’m not!” Nona said firmly.

“Grandma’s fine. She just had a little accident,” Brenna said.

That pronouncement set Sammy off in a fresh round of wailing.

Brenna approached the bed, sat down prudently at the edge of the wet spot, and began rubbing Sammy’s back. “Talk to me, honey, talk to me. Why do you think Grandma’s going to die?”

The distraught boy didn’t answer.

Brenna repeated the question, speaking just a little louder, a bit more forcefully, in order to command her young son’s attention: “Why do you think Grandma’s going to die?”

“Because she had an accident!” Sammy wailed. And then, a second later, he added, “Like Gampa.”

A few weeks later, Jessie worked late at the office. Strange … but she thought she heard the outside door. She glanced up just as Jason fretfully materialized in the doorway.

“Well, this is a nice surprise, kiddo. What brings you to the office?”

Jason looked soberly at Jessie. “Jessie, it’s Papa. He’s real bad sick. The Doc thinks he’s had a stroke. You better come right away.”

Jessie jumped from her chair and grabbed her coat. As they hurried down the steps, she asked Jason what had happened. Jason protectively held her arm as she descended the steps from the office. “Careful, now,” he said. “I’ll explain it on the way. Can we take your car?”
”
Sure, it’s just across the street.”

Jason explained: “It’ll be faster than the old truck.”

When he opened the passenger door for Jessie, she handed him her car key. As they were en route toward the McCarey home, Jessie asked: “When did it happen?”

“About an hour ago. Fortunately, today I was workin’ on those fences on the west end. He was supposed to be up soon to talk to me. When he didn’t show up in a little while, I went back toward the house and found him lyin’ on the ground. I think he passed out and fell off his horse. We hurried after Doc but he hasn’t been able to do much for Papa.”

When they arrived at the house, Jason ran around to open the car door for Jessie and took her arm again as they went up the steps to the house. As they entered the house, Doctor Blanchard stopped them.

“Sarah, you should know … your father’s paralyzed on his right side. This was a bad stroke, and I’m afraid there’s not much I can do for him. I hope he’s strong enough to weather it, but I just don’t know. The way Kathleen describes he’s acted lately, I think he’s already been having some mild ones. I’m going on home for a while, but if you need anything, please send for me.”

Jessie nodded and patted the doctor’s shoulder as she moved past him toward the hallway. Jason and Jessie walked down the hallway to their parents’ bedroom. They found their mother sitting beside Gus. Jessie hugged her mother before kneeling beside her sleeping father.

“Papa, it’s Jessie. Can you hear me?”

Gus slowly opened his eyes and looked over at her. “Jessie, my darlin’, where have you been?”

“Papa, at home, with Jake. But I came by here to see you all just a few days ago, remember?”
“You sure you haven’t been gone a long while? I’ve missed you.”

Jessie looked at the anxious faces of her mother and brothers sitting around the room.

“No, Papa, I’d never go far and leave you; you know that,” she humored him.

“Well, I think I’m goin’ away, Darlin’. I’m goin’ away.”

“Sh…” Jessie whispered, “you just need to rest, that’s all, Papa, please rest now.”

She took his hand as he drifted back off to sleep. Ben fetched another chair for her, and they sat next to the bed all night.

As the morning sun filtered through the window, Jessie woke to find her head lying on the bed next to her father. Her mother and brothers sat upright, still asleep. Jason struggled awake and looked over at her.

“How does he seem, Jess?”

Jessie grasped her father’s hand and found it cool to the touch. She jerked upright and touched his face – cool, also. She laid her head on his chest to see if she could detect his breathing or hear a heartbeat, but there was none.

She looked over at Jason as tears formed in her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. Jason struggled emotionally for a few minutes, then said: “We have to wake the others and tell them he’s gone.”

Jessie thought it fortunate the weather was fair the day the family buried Gus McCarey. They were all in so much grief; she knew it would have been unbearable if the weather had been rainy and gloomy.

Jake walked with his arm in hers as they followed their brothers up the hill toward the clearing they had chosen earlier for a family graveyard. Ben escorted their mother, who was a bit more composed since her earlier crying had ceased.

The day before, a friend of the family had dug the grave next to their grandmother’s. Gus’s sons and a couple of ranch hands slowly and solemnly carried the coffin to the spot and gingerly laid it down, then moved it over to the opening and lowered their father’s casket into it.

Many neighbors and friends attended the short memorial service to express their condolences and leave flowers. When the minister concluded the service, Jessie turned to see Samm Mann standing at a distance, outside the gathering.

Jessie left Jake to talk with her family and friends, walking over to Samm. He spoke with her briefly about the good life their father had enjoyed. “Little dove, your father is now free, some place above, riding the wind with the Great Spirit.”

She looked up into his warm brown eyes. Samm had such a pragmatic, calming effect on her; she felt strangely comforted.

Jessie walked like she was in a daze over the next weeks. Maybe she was selfish; she knew the others were hurting, too, and tried to keep up a good front, but she felt she was feeling the loss of Gus more than the others. Jessie had had a special bond with her father. To her, he was the only person who loved her unconditionally—just as she was, pocks and all, and her papa had never tried to change her or make her into someone she wasn’t. The thought that she’d never see him again was sometimes overwhelming.

Jake watched Jessie intently. He knew she was suffering but was frustrated at his inability to help her. He urged her to take some time off work, but she wasn’t receptive to that suggestion: She seemed to work harder and longer at night. Ben had told Jake earlier that she’d been fighting with one of the managers the day before about the proposal of purchasing another refinery, to ease production limits at the one they’d built west of Tulsa.

Jake really worried when Ben related a particularly heated ‘discussion’ Jessie had started with William Masterson, the Finance Manager. Apparently right afterward, Jessie headed straight to her office and laid her head on her desk. When Ben asked if she was all right, she replied that she had a bit of a headache. But Ben noticed she looked a little unsteady later, when she stood up from her desk. Apparently she’d recognized the worried look on his face and berated him: “I’m okay, Ben, just a little tired.”

“Just a little tired?”

“Yes, especially of Mr. Masterson.” She grinned. “But I made sure he was ‘plum hacked’ after our little chat!” They both laughed out loud.

Jake, like Ben, thought to himself that she was awfully good at throwing a conversation off the point at hand—probably a maneuver she’d picked up from that lawyer she’d worked for earlier. He decided to stay as close to home as he could for a while. He assigned his most reliable employee, John Bellows, to his important Dallas route and made more of the shorter runs himself.

The next morning, Jake needed to make a delivery run to Duncan. Should only be gone a few hours. He was looking forward to seeing Elias Miller again. The two had become fast friends and Jake enjoyed this route as more than just business. When Jake finished checking his delivery invoice, Elias usually invited him out for a cold drink. Jake’s normal reaction would have been to accept, but this time he thanked Elias and explained that he needed to be getting right on home today.

As soon as he touched his plane down on the rough runway outside Big Spring, Jake saw Jason waiving frantically to him. Jake cut the engine and barely stopped the small plane before hopping out.

“Thank God, you’re home!” Jason yelled.

“What’s wrong, kiddo?”

“It’s Jessie—come quick! She’s hurting, bad, and the Doc’s there with her!”

They ran to the car Jason had driven and raced back to the house. When they arrived, Kathleen, Maggie, Ben, Tom, Stephen, and Matt were all assembled. The concern was easily discernable.

“How is she?” Jake asked.

Kathleen walked over to him, pulled him close, and held him a few moments. Then:  “She’s lost the baby, Jacob, I’m sorry.”

“Lost … oh no, oh no, what happened? Is she going to be okay? Oh God, I shouldn’t have left her today!”

“Sh..,” Kathleen whispered, “There was nothing you could have done. You can’t stay with her every minute. The doctor said that, I think, the pla…pla…centa quickly separated from the inside of her womb, so there was nothing to stop her from delivering.”

“But it’s too early—she’s not due for weeks!”

Kathleen softly answered, “Yes, it is too early. The baby only lived a short while.”

“Doc said his little lungs was just too weak!” Matt sobbed outright.

“His? You mean I had a son? We had a son?”

Kathleen nodded.

“I want to see Jessie!”

Doctor Blanchard came into the room from the bedroom with a grim look on his face.

“I need to see her!” Jake exclaimed.

“Just for a moment, son; she’s very weak from the delivery.”

“I’ll be quiet, I promise—just let me see her.”

The doctor nodded toward the doorway, and Jake quickly entered the room. He knelt next to the bed, finding Jessie pale and nearly asleep. He quietly picked up her hand, gently kissing it.

Jessie stirred and turned toward him. “Jake ..?”

“Yes, darling, I’m here.”

She cried. “Jake, I’m so sorry; I lost our baby.”

“Sh… you just rest, now. You’ve got to take care of yourself.”

“I let you down, Jake. I’m so sorry.” She began to sob uncontrollably.

Jake leaned over and took her in his arms. “Please, Jessie, don’t cry. It’s not your fault…”

“He was so little! I felt him move just this morning. I’m so sorry, so sorry. Jake …!” she moaned; then lost consciousness.

“Doc! Doc! Please come in here!” Jake yelled.

The doctor rushed back in and, taking her pulse, looked anxious. “Jake, I need to examine her. Tell Kathleen I need her to help me.”

Jake nodded numbly and ran back into the living room. He told Kathleen what the doctor had said, and Kathleen hurried back to her daughter.

Jake sat down and put his head down into his hands. Soon, he began to cry, and, exasperated, staggered out to the porch. The others sat, mute, as if they were paralyzed.

A few minutes later, the doctor came out of the bedroom, carrying a rubber tube and a needle. “Boys, Jessie’s started hemorrhaging—badly! I slowed the flow somewhat, but I need to try a blood transfusion. I recall that it seems to work best if the blood comes from a family member.”

Immediately five pairs of hands began to roll up their sleeves and hold out their arms.

When the doctor felt Jessie was stabilized, he told a relieved family he believed she would make it. “She’ll probably be very weak for a few days, so she’ll sleep a lot. Keep a close watch on her and call me if anything changes.”

Jake, grateful Jessie was doing better, walked the weary doctor to his car and asked, “What can I do for her?”

“Just stay with her for a few days and see if you can get her to eat something when she wakes up. And be patient with her, Jake.”

“Yes, Sir, I will.”

Kathleen came outside onto the porch. The doctor looked sadly at her, then at Jake, and said, “You’ll need to arrange for … the burial …”

Kathleen nodded, and the doctor patted Jake’s shoulder before leaving. Kathleen took Jake’s arm. “Sweetheart, would you like to see the baby?”

“The baby…oh, yes, please.”

They walked back inside, and Kathleen disappeared into the extra bedroom. She and MaryBeth returned with a small bundle. His sister-in-law gently handed Jake the tiny form and watched tearfully as Jake slowly pulled back the blanket she had wrapped his son in. He gazed down at the tranquil form and gently touched the fine, dark hair and still-warm pink cheeks. The baby looked like he was asleep. Jake unwrapped him a bit more and clutched one of the tiny, tiny, hands in his own large ones.

“How could he still be warm?”

“After everyone had held him, I laid him in a basinet next to the fireplace, Jake,” MaryBeth explained.

“That’s just the way Sarah looked when she rocked him, Jacob,” Kathleen added.

“What color are his eyes?”

“They’re dark, like yours. He’s got your coloring. Sarah snuggled him and said he was a ‘little Jake’. He cried, just a weak little cry, and then he was gone. The doctor did everything he could to try to revive him, but the baby was just too weak.”

“I should have been here for her. I should have been here!” he berated himself.

“Jake, there was nothing you, or anyone else, could have done to prevent this. The doc said he doesn’t know what causes this kind of thing—medicine just isn’t advanced enough.”

Jake continued to hold the precious package, gently moving back and forth. The others silently sat and watched for hours as he held the little form and rocked.

Kathleen stayed by Jessie’s bed, watchful as Jessie slept through the night, from exhaustion and the sedative the doctor had given her. When daylight filtered through the curtains, Kathleen came to Jake and gently took the baby from him.

“I’ve been making some things for him, Jake—I’ll dress him in one of the little gowns. Tom, run down and ask Mr. Peterson if he can put together a small coffin this morning. We should have the burial right away. And Ben, ask the pastor if he could please come over.”

Jake looked at Kathleen with astonishment. This is where Jessie gets her strength.

Doctor Blanchard thought the procession up the hill toward the small cemetery was the saddest he’d ever seen. Ben and Tom carried the miniature coffin as Jake followed with the others.

Their pastor spoke briefly about their little angel’s flight into heaven and that he was now in the loving arms of Jesus.

After they gently interred the tiny container in the opening close to his grandfather, Kathleen covered the little grave with flowers. She cried silently: How Gus would have cherished this child. Watch over him, my darling.

Maggie stayed with Jessie while the others attended the funeral. Afterward, either she, Jake, or Kathleen sat round the clock with Jessie.

Later, as Jake sat next to their bed, where Jessie lay, he was somewhat grateful that Jessie had slipped in and out of consciousness during the funeral. It would have been too much of an ordeal for her in her condition—she’d been through so much.

Once, when she partially regained consciousness, Jessie screamed out for her baby. Kathleen, sitting next to her, wrapped her arms around her daughter, stroking her hair and soothing her like she had when Jessie was a little girl.

“Mama!”
“I know, dear. I’m here.”

Jessie drifted back off again and again for the next two days. When she finally woke up, Maggie was nearby. “Jessie, can I get ya somethin to drink or eat?”

“Maybe just a drink of water; I’m awfully thirsty.”

“How bout I fix you’s some breakfast?”

“No, thank you. I’m not hungry.”

That was all Jessie would say for days. No one could persuade her to eat. She slept fitfully and often would dream and wake up crying. Jake was about at his wits’ end, afraid she was really ill, and didn’t know what to do.

Finally in desperation, Jake drove to Ben and MaryBeth’s house, to talk with his sister-in-law about Jessie. “I feel this is all my fault, MaryBeth. She told me she didn’t know whether she wanted children.”

“Jake, don’t blame yourself for this. You need to be strong now, for Jessie. And I think you need to know that Jessie’s reason for not wanting children didn’t have anything to do with you. She cherished the idea of giving you this child. And you know how she dotes on Bo, she really loves children. I think … she was just afraid she wouldn’t be a good enough mother. She never felt she had enough patience; that’s why she didn’t want to become a teacher. Perhaps she simply didn’t have the confidence in her own ability. That’s why I believe she told you she didn’t want children. But you’ve got to put this behind you and think of your future together.”

He nodded numbly and, gently kissing her forehead, bade goodnight to MaryBeth and Ben.

The next day, Kathleen asked Jason to drive her and MaryBeth to see her daughter. When they reached Jessie’s lovely house, Maggie was anxious and relieved to see Mrs. McCarey.

Kathleen entered the bedroom and quietly took her daughter’s hand. “Sarah, sweetheart, now you listen to me. I know this has been hard for you, but you’ve got to eat, so you can get better. Everyone is worried about you. Jake’s about crazy with fear. I called on Marybeth this morning. She’s been asking and asking about you. She’s here to see you, and we brought Bo with us. May I have them come in?”

When Jessie nodded mutely, Kathleen moved to the door and motioned her fingers in a partial wave into the next room.

Marybeth quietly approached, clutching Bo’s hand in hers. She smiled and bent down, gently kissing Jessie’s cheek.     But not Bo. In his exuberant childishness, Bo immediately hopped right up on Jessie’s bed.

His mother had explained to the child as best as she could that Aunt Jessie’s baby had gone to heaven and she was very sad. Bo laid his sweet little face right next to Jessie’s and rubbed his cheek against hers. He clumsily patted her face with his plump little hand and said very solemnly, “P’ease don’t be sad, Anty Wessie. I wuv you.”

Jessie felt a tidal-wave of emotion break, and she sobbed as she clutched and held him tightly against her.

In a few moments, Jessie noticed that MaryBeth began to wheeze. “I’ve given you a bad scare, haven’t I? You don’t need to be worrying about me—you’ll make yourself sick.”

“Jessie, you’re my dearest friend, how could I not worry? But if you don’t want me to worry…” and she had to stop to cough “… get up out of that bed and get better.”

“You need to take care of yourself!” Jessie exclaimed.

“I know this is a bad time to say this, but there probably isn’t going to be a good time, so I’ll say it now. You know how sick I’ve been; my asthma keeps getting worse. I want you to promise me, and I mean, promise me, that if anything happens to me, you’ll take care of Bo.”

“You’re going to be fine, just fine, don’t talk like that! The Doc has been asking for treatments from some specialists …”

MaryBeth uncharacteristically cut her off, “Bo needs you, and you know it. Even if I get better, I can’t give him what you can. You know how he dotes on you; he’s wanting to learn to ride the horses and all kinds of things that I can’t do. Especially with ‘Aunt Wessie.’ You promise me you’ll get better … for him?”

Jessie looked at her friend’s sad face. “Yes, I’ll get better for Bo. And for you all – if you’ll stop worrying about me.”

When MaryBeth sighed and her breathing seemed to relax, Jessie added: “Is Jake still here?”

MaryBeth nodded ‘yes,’ and Jessie requested: “Ask him to come in, will you, please?”

MaryBeth smiled as she carried Bo from Jessie’s room.

One evening a few days later, Jessie drove out to the ranch to see her mother. With the windows down, the fresh air felt good as she slowly took in the haunting beauty of the scenery. As she parked her car next to the house, she noticed a strange car in the road. Curious, she sauntered up the stairs of the veranda.

The front door was open. As she reached for the handle of the screen door, dimly through the screen, she could make out a tall military officer in uniform, sitting next to her mother. Tom, Jason, Matt and Ben were there, also. She tentatively stood at the door for a moment, then opened it and walked in. Thinking it must be a messenger with news, finally, that they’d found Josh’s body, she braced herself.

Suddenly, the uniformed man turned around, and she found herself looking into the smiling face of her thin, pale, but alive brother! For a moment, she felt she might faint, but Josh quickly grabbed her, embracing her so long and hard Jessie thought he would crush the breath from her. As she turned to her mother, happy tears fell from all in the room.

“We’ve been calling you about our news, but guess you were already on the way here.”

Later, over a joyful reunion of the entire family, Josh related to everyone how he’d survived the last months. He’d overpowered a German officer in a prison camp and then was led by some French sympathizers to refuge. On the run for more than a month, he’d hid for days in a shed (little food, no bath, soap, decent clothes). In one farmhouse, he lay, breathlessly, while German soldiers stabbed bayonets through a false ceiling, barely missing him.

Josh told the family that what kept him alive was thinking about them back home and how worried he knew they’d be. He’d had to survive.

Josh had another surprise for the McCareys—he was no longer a bachelor! Later on, he’d finally struggled his way back to Michelle, and they were joyfully married. But Josh was exhausted from his trek and wounds and soon came down with a severe fever that lasted weeks, keeping him bedfast and often delirious. Michelle’s family tended to his wounds and sickness until they were able to notify the appropriate American authorities. Lost military paperwork further delayed the reports.

Josh also told them the exciting news that Michelle was expecting! Michelle would travel all the way from France to Oklahoma as soon as Josh could get the appropriate papers filed. Jessie and her brothers couldn’t wait to meet their new sister-in-law and little niece or nephew!!

She brushed away her tears, thinking: After so much tragedy, it seems only fair that the McCarey family has some good news!

Though Paul wasn’t rigid and unyielding, neither was he mercurial. His moods, his thinking, his plans, his attitudes were usually pretty stable. Lately, though, he found both his emotions and his attitudes to be decidedly changeable. To a certain degree, these fluctuations had begun when he left Brenna, but it was after the breakup with Julianna that he really found himself riding through a thrill ride of continual surprises.

He hadn’t expected to call up strangers, hadn’t planned to take mock surveys, and certainly hadn’t pre-planned the line of questions about re-igniting old relationships. As a man who usually knew his own mind, he was stunned to realize some part of his mind or heart must have been thinking of the possibility of re-cementing things with Brenna.

Yet Monday morning, as he left for work, he was firm in his resolve to do no such thing. A night’s sleep, combined with the prospect of a busy week ahead, with little time in it to sit back and feel alone, left him believing that old relationships were best left in the category of History. It would be foolish to attempt to reconcile with Brenna.

f it hadn’t worked the first time—even granted that they’d broken up under extraordinary pressures—why should he think a second try would net any better results? Yes, he had left because of Julianna . . . but surely there had been other reasons, too. Surely he wouldn’t have left Brenna for another woman if things at home had been satisfactory. Why return to a woman who had let him down before?

Yes, he was thinking of her more warmly these days, but wasn’t that just because distance and time had erased the sharp edges of memory? All the habits that had grated on him, all the flaws in the marriage . . . they were easy to forget about now, but if he and Brenna were to get back together, it would all be the same as before, he told himself. And was it really Brenna he missed—or was he merely feeling too alone and reaching out to the most familiar source for the company he wanted?

As he drove to work, he firmed his resolve to seek companionship elsewhere. Being both a man of action and an organized person, he got right to work on the problem. Once at work he checked his calendar. No, he had no one coming in right away, nor was he due in court or anywhere else. He immediately took a piece of paper, divided it in half, and made two lists for himself.

One was a list of all the faults and traits that had annoyed him in Brenna. The other was a list of Things To Do. He started the first list with Smothers me. She certainly had been oversolicitous, overprotective, over-worrisome. But would she still be that way, now that Kyle was home? he found himself wondering. Then he shook off the thought and wrote, Too independent. He felt guilty after writing that one. After all, he’d never really wanted a clinging vine, and if Brenna was a tad more independent than he’d bargained for, that could hardly be counted as a flaw. It wasn’t like she made solo decisions about important family matters on which he ought to have been consulted.

Jumping to the other half of the paper, he wrote, Call people—tell I’m avail. That meant blind dates, a thought that made him shudder, but hadn’t his cousin Lou met his wife through an arranged date? And didn’t Jon talk about a buddy of his who was happily married as the result of a “fix-up” Jon’s wife had maneuvered? Then he wrote, Look into PWP and singles dances. He hated the thought, but he detested the prospect of singles bars, and you had to go somewhere if you wanted to meet a woman. Unless you were content to rely on blind dates. No, he would look into organizations and dances for singles.

Paul made a few more notes on the first list. That list’s purpose was to dissuade him from even thinking of going back to Brenna, but he found the list was shorter than he thought it ought to be. Surely there were more negative things about Brenna than that! He dredged a couple of annoying incidents out of caves deep in his memory, but he realized he was really nit-picking now.

Nonetheless, he remained strong in his determination not to approach Brenna with any thoughts of reconciliation. It would be an error. He was still sure of it, even if he couldn’t spell out the reasons as compellingly as he’d hoped to. He began scrawling notes on the other list as quickly as if a fire were licking at his writing hand. It moved rapidly across the page, listing such items as dining out more often and favoring restaurants where other singles ate, going to the coffee bar even though he didn’t care for coffee in the evening, and even joining a church with an active singles department, despite his distinct lack of religious convictions.

Some of his ideas verged on desperation moves, but he wrote down every one that occurred to him, no matter how loony or goofy it seemed. Then he strained to think of more items for the other list, determined to bolster his resolve.

By the time he was done, by the time he was convinced there was nothing more to add to either list, he had a few laughable or utterly ridiculous items on both lists, but he had conquered his temptation to make any overtures to Brenna. What’s more, he was ready to go out and meet new women and find his future in unexplored quarters.

Not that he didn’t see Brenna with some frequency. In fact, it was the very fact that he kept encountering her that gave her such a prominent place in his mind. Every time he went to get the boys and take them out, there was Brenna.

One Saturday, as he drove to the house, a silver Infiniti followed at a discreet distance. He didn’t notice the car or the driver; he was too wrapped up in his own thoughts, principally having to do with his plans for the boys that day. As he made his way sedately down the road, the car followed him, not for the first time, the driver curious as to how he was spending his days.

Only when he’d pulled into Brenna’s driveway did the Infiniti speed up and roar angrily down the road.

“His wife!” Julianna spit the words out, aloud, between clenched teeth, over the classical music she was angrily blasting from her cassette deck. “No wonder he hasn’t come crawling back on his hands and knees. He’s sniffing after his wife again.”

But it wasn’t Paul who was in pursuit of Brenna at the moment. It was Nick. Nick seemed quite smitten, and for four weekends in a row he’d made the trip to Riverton to see her, staying at a nearby motel. As an artisan, he had an eye for beauty in unexpected places, and he not only took Brenna out to dinner, to the movies, to miniature golf, and other conventional dating venues, but he took her out on photographic expeditions as well. As they traversed the familiar area, she saw old sights as if she’d never viewed them before. Even the ones she knew by heart were revealed as having a visual appeal she’d formerly not recognized. Nick pointed out examples of gracefulness, interesting angularity, and other such beauty in places where she’d never thought to please her eyes before.

Nick was able to spot grace in the sweeping curve of a support beam under a highway underpass, to find perfection in an unusually smooth pebble, to find stark beauty in two sharply defined branches crossing each other at a sharp angle. He shared his observations with Brenna, who was enraptured with his ability to find wonder in that which she found plain, boring, or simply too familiar to be observed.

Their time together was broken up by business; when they went out on afternoon jaunts, she listened intently for her cellphone in case whoever was watching Nona and the kids called or a real estate client needed her.

Nona was still in Brenna’s guest room. She had said it would only be for a few weeks, but it was clear that she was still far from ready emotionally to go home yet. And of course, she still needed looking after anyhow, since she wasn’t allowed to walk. Someone had to bring her her meals, and her toothbrush, and new books to read. Someone had to empty the bedpan they kept under the bed. Someone had to be there for whatever else she needed. Why hire a nurse or companion? It might as well be family. Or Ivy, Ashley, or Kim.

Nona apologized profusely, asking over and over, “Are you sure I’m not imposing?”

But Brenna said, “You’re family, so just shut up and make yourself at home for the duration. I promise that if you’re not out in five years I’ll serve you with a dispossess notice.”

“At least let me pay for the grandma-sitters,” Nona said. And Brenna had allowed her.

When Brenna was out with Nick, she worried when her cell phone rang. Was something amiss with Nona . . . or the boys? But so far, all the calls had been business. And there had been plenty of them. But even with the interruptions, Brenna and Nick managed to have a good time.

Nick, of course, urged her to ignore the ringing phone, or even not carry it with her at all. “Blow it off!” he kept telling her. “So a client has to wait a day to go househunting . . . it won’t be the end of the world.”

“They’ll call another agent, and I’ll lose a sale.”

“Do you make a sale every time you go out?”

“No. Of course not.”

“Then how do you know this call will pay off? How do you know it won’t be four days wasted?”

“I don’t, but . . . that’s the nature of the beast. That’s what this business is like. Do you know that every sculpture will sell?”

“Well, pretty much. Most of them do. But when I don’t feel like working, I take a day off.  I’m not a slave to my work.”

“But you’re not in business. The arts are different. I have to carry my phone. And if someone wants to go out on a call, I have to take them or risk losing a sale. Besides, it might not be business. Suppose there’s a problem at home?”

Despite her arguments with him, however, she was awed by his carefree attitude. An attitude that, she had to admit, she would have labelled “irresponsible” rather than “carefree” just a month ago.

One day, he said he was taking her on a picnic. The weather had turned cool; it hardly seemed the time of year for a picnic. “Bundle up,” he advised when she commented that November was hardly picnic season.

He took her to a secluded spot she’d never been to, at the farthest reaches of an industrial park that housed a number of companies. There was a waterfall that Brenna hadn’t even known existed there . . . and she was a long-term Riverton resident. “How did you find this spot?”

“I wandered and discovered it.  You have to be a bit of an explorer, an adventurer, don’t you agree?”

Obviously Brenna wasn’t enough of an explorer or adventurer, or else she would have found this spot on her own. Bypassing the question, she instead asked, “How did you get permission for us to picnic here?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “Permission? We’re not hurting anything. We’ll leave the grounds clean. We don’t need anyone’s permission.”

Brenna put down her fried chicken. “We’re trespassing! We’d better leave and picnic somewhere else.” She was sitting on a much-folded blanket, which was shielding her from the chill of the late-autumn ground. She got up and stuffed it into one of the shopping bags they’d brought.

“Sit down!” Nick laughed.

“But we don’t belong here! What if someone comes along?”

“Who’s going to?”

“A security guard?”

“Then we’ll leave. If we can’t talk him into letting us stay.”

“What if he arrests us?”

“For picnicking?” He laughed again.

“For trespassing!”

“You worry too much, Ms. Proper. The worst he would do is ask us to move. So . . . we’d move. But why disrupt our picnic now? Nobody’s going to bother us. I’ll bet you. Five dollars says we get to finish our picnic undisturbed.”

“Oh, no. You’ve probably fixed it with the guard already . . . and I’ll lose my money.”

“Scout’s honor . . . I haven’t fixed anything with anyone. But if you want, I’ll bet you for something other than money.”

“What?”

“If you win . . . you can name your forfeit. And if I win . . . you have to marry me. You got away from me once. I’m not going to let you get away from me again.”

“Marry you?!”

“Yeh. Marry. You know . . . it’s this ceremony, usually performed by a clergyperson but sometimes by a Justice of the Peace or court clerk. Two people become a couple. You must have heard of it before.” His eyes were twinkling.

“Get serious.”

“I am serious.” Suddenly the twinkle was gone. “I always loved you. I still do.  You slipped away from me once. I don’t want to lose you again.”

“But we haven’t been dating that long . . . .”

“If you count our college dating . . . it’s cumulative, you know . . . we’ve been dating—how many years is it since our freshman year?”

“Too many to count,” Brenna groaned. “But seriously . . . .”

“I am serious. I told you that.”

“You can’t be. We don’t know each other that long this time around. And I’m not the same woman I was in college.”

“No, you’ve grown even more serious. More responsible. But I don’t think it’s too late to save you. There’s hope yet. Dr. Nick has the cure. I’ll marry you and rescue you and sweep you away to the land where life is fun.”

“What if I told you I like my life—and myself—just fine the way things are?”

“I wouldn’t believe you. You’ve been having too much fun with me.”

“Yes. It’s been fun. It’s been great fun. But it’s . . . well, it’s been like time out. Time out from life. A vacation. But I couldn’t live like this three-hundred-sixty-five days a year.”

“How about three-hundred-sixty-four, then? I’ll give you a day off . . . for bad behavior.”

“I’m serious.”

“I know. That’s the problem.”

“Look, Nick . . . this has been great fun. And I can’t deny that I’m attracted to you in part because of your carefree attitude. It’s a change, it’s a break. It’s a wonderful vacation. But it’s not a life.”

“It is. I live this way.”

“Okay, it’s not my life. You can live that way. I can’t.”

“But you admitted yourself you’re attracted to my carefree attitude.”

“Yes, I am,” she admitted. “But for all the wrong reasons. And that’s not fair to you. Look, I’ve been under a great deal of pressure in the last . . . well, the last four years, really. Ever since Kyle was abducted. And now, since he’s back . . . well, it hasn’t been easy lately, either. It feels like I’ve just traded one set of problems for another.

“You came along, with your carefree, irresponsible ways, and you offered me a respite. It’s been fun dating again. It’s been fun getting out of the house. You’ve been a cool, fresh breeze airing my life out. And the very traits that make you unsuitable as a permanent mate have certainly been a great attraction. But I couldn’t live like that.

“You remind me of the old days, too. College, when failing an exam was my biggest worry, not whether my son would ever be returned, or whether he’ll ever call me ‘Mommy’ again, or remember having lived with us before the kidnapping. Days when I worried whether I had enough money for a pizza, but I didn’t have to worry about why my younger son seems absolutely terrified of sirens, or what’s the story with his bladder. No doctor can seem to find the problem—we’ve been to two of them now, and they both feel it’s emotional, but I can’t get to the bottom of it.

“Going out with you takes my mind off my problems, but that’s only a temporary solution, and marrying you won’t solve any of the problems. Kyle will still call me ‘Em’ because he won’t acknowledge me as his mother. Sammy will still go running for the bathroom every twenty minutes. The legacy of Kyle’s abduction will still remain with us . . . and so will whatever Sammy’s problem is. And on top of it all, I’ll have to worry about your lack of responsibility. It’ll drive me up a tree.

“Then, too, you’ll be forever urging me to run off with you to Timbuktu or someplace and abandon my real estate—”

“I can support you,” Nick said. “You won’t have to work anymore.”

“It’s not only about money. It’s about satisfaction. It’s about independence. It’s about pointing with pride to something I’ve accomplished. And feeling good about being able to help people sell their houses or buy the right new homes for themselves. I work for money, yes, but not for money alone.”

“Doesn’t love enter into your Grand Plan?” Nick asked, taking Brenna’s face between his hands.

“Yes, it does,” Brenna said, looking him straight in the eyes. “That’s another part of the problem. I don’t think I love you. Why didn’t you ask me to marry you back in college? That was the only reason I broke up with you—because you wouldn’t marry me. I loved you then. But you’re a few years too late.”

“What can I say or do to change your mind?” Nick returned her gaze unwaveringly.

“Absolutely nothing.” Brenna was the first to look away. “Maybe you’d better take me home.”

“You’re back early,” Nona observed, when Brenna stuck her head in the guest room. “Come sit and talk if you’ve got a minute. You look like a woman with a tale of woe. Want to unburden yourself? I’ve got a good ear . . . and I’m not going anywhere right now.”

Brenna chuckled at that. Ensconcing herself on the bed beside Nona, she said, “Nick asked me to marry him.”

“And?”

“And I turned him down.”

“Why? I thought you said he was the love of your college years.”

“You know the expression: That was then; this is now.”

“You’ve been having a pretty good time with him. Are you sure you don’t love him? Or that you won’t grow to love him?”

“Yes. I’m sure.”

“Even if you went out with him a few more months? Without committing to anything? You really do need companionship, sweetie, and he seems like a nice guy. Why don’t you give it a chance?”

“Because I realized something while I was talking to him.”

“What’s that?”

“I’m still in love with your son.”

Jake paced, waiting for the operator to fuel his plane. He was completely frustrated about not getting that Tillman contract. Things were really tight lately, and he needed that contract. What would he tell Jessie? She had been so successful, he was more than a little intimidated by the amount of money she made.

He was tempted to stay over tonight and get rip-roaring drunk, rather than fly home with disappointing news. Then he remembered he’d promised his wife he’d be in early tonight —he’d already been gone for days. He sighed, loaded up his supplies, and turned his plane toward home.

At the McCarey office in Big Spring, Jessie kept musing about the expression on Jake’s face when he’d left for Dallas. He was so intent on getting that new contract. It had been rough keeping his transport business going. She knew Jake was so proud—it would kill him if he had to give up the routes and start working for someone else. She didn’t really care whether he made money or not—just as long as he was happy. But being Jake, he needed his business. She could certainly relate to that.

Losing this one contract wouldn’t break him—she was confident in his ability to sell his service to other clients. Regardless, she determined to cheer him up and encourage him. He’d be home tonight—maybe she could do something special to fire him up.

Jessie stuck her head in Roger’s office, saying she was taking off a little early today.

When she arrived home, she found Maggie scrubbing the kitchen. Jake had insisted they hire a housekeeper, soon after they moved into the house they’d built. Jessie’s first thought was of Maggie, whose husband often struggled to find work. Jessie hired Maggie to come each afternoon, cleaning and starting dinner for her. Maggie was a tremendous help, so both she and Jessie benefited from the arrangement.

“You can go on home for the day, Maggie. Jake will be home this evening, and I want to make dinner for him myself.”

“I can help you with it a’fore I go, Miz Jessie.”

“No, that’s all right—surely you have something you need to do this afternoon?” When Maggie hesitated, Jessie teased, “Can’t I just give you a little time off once in a while?”

“Yes, I got things to do if you’s sure; I wanta look at that reader with my boy that you give me. Thankee, Miz Jessie. And for lettin’ me bring Jasper here when he ain’t in school.”

“You know we love Jasper! He’s always welcome. Now, I’ll see you tomorrow, Maggie.”

As Maggie left, Jessie looked in the icebox to see what she could prepare for dinner. After she peeled fresh carrots and potatoes, she surrounded a roast with them in a large pan and placed it in the oven.

Later Jessie pulled out baking ingredients and stirred them together for a chocolate cake—Jake’s favorite dessert. She buttered and floured the cake pan and poured the mixture in it. Wow; I can still do this. It had been so long since she’d really cooked, she was a bit afraid she’d forgotten recipes. She tossed a salad, put it in the icebox, and then placed the cake in the oven, also. In the bread box, she discovered a fresh loaf baked that morning. Thanks, Maggie, you’re a sweetheart.

She thought the cake would take about an hour to bake. That would give her time to take her bath. She put two large kettles of water on the stove to heat, then carried several buckets to the beautiful porcelain tub Jake had brought her from New Orleans. She poured enough of the boiled water in to warm the bath. She had a part of a bucket left, which she set next to the tub.

Jessie dribbled some fragrance into the water, slipped out of her clothes and into the bath. Ooh, the water feels great! She loved her bath and especially luxuriated in a soak after a long day. She shampooed her hair, rinsing it with the remaining water in the bucket. Boy, she was glad Jake built the kitchen around the well pump. It was wonderful to be able to get water without having to go outside like a lot of people did.

Though it was not as nice as some folks’ homes she knew, she really treasured this house. It wasn’t fancy; but Jake ensured it was well-built; filled with heavy, masculine-looking furniture. Rustic, yet with the immediately comfortable, welcoming atmosphere she wanted their visitors and guests to experience.

Knowing she mustn’t dawdle too long, Jessie dried off and slipped into baggy, comfortable pants and one of Jake’s shirts. She checked the oven for her cake—nearly done—then emptied the bathtub. By the time she was finished, the cake had risen; ready to come out of the oven. She ambled back to the dining room, poured herself a tiny glass of sherry, and looked over some notes she’d brought home from her office.

A little later, she thought it would be about time for Jake to be getting home; she checked the roast—it was adequately cooked, so she turned off the oven and left it inside to stay warm. She hoped Jake wouldn’t be long. She leaned over the stove, fluffing the moisture out of her hair.

She refilled the tub, then started the water kettle on the stove to heat Jake’s bath when he got home. Usually he was very tired after a long flight, and Jessie thought Jake might need some special attention if he didn’t get that Tillman contract. He worked hard, yet was so hard on himself.

Jessie entered her dressing room and brushed out her hair till it was soft and shiny. Thinking of Jake again—she should spoil him a little tonight—what could she do to cheer him up? Prowling through her bureau, she spied a very sheer gown and robe that matched—a present from Jake. It was lacy and bright red, and probably most folks would consider it a little bold for a married woman, but because Jake had bought it for her on a trip to San Francisco, she loved wearing it.

She dusted a peach-colored powder on her face and a light touch of red lipstick. No other makeup—Jake didn’t like her to look overdone, and besides, the apparel she was wearing was racy enough. The last touch: a dab of Jake’s favorite perfume to the throbbing pulse at her neck.

Jake was true to his word: Jessie shortly heard a plane overhead. She carried the hot water she’d heated to pour in his bath and made him a cold drink. When he entered the kitchen, he appeared pleasantly surprised at her attire. He stood motionless, staring at her.

“Maggie’s gone for the evening,” she whispered as she ran her hands through the hair on the back of his neck.

Jake fumbled for what he’d intended to say. After a few moments: “Jess, uh … I didn’t get that …”

“Sh…h,” she murmured, then tiptoed over and gave him a long, lingering kiss. “You’ll get the next one. Guess what? I wanted to cook your dinner myself, just to see if I could still do it. Are you hungry?”

“You know it,” he said, as he buried his face in the soft hair at her shoulder.

She put her arm around his waist and led him to the bathroom. “I think first I should give you a bath.”

“Oh really?”

“Yes, really.”

She dropped her robe and stood in only the sheer gown. Guiding him to sit down, she pulled off his boots, then slowly peeled off his socks, shirt, and pants and motioned him into the tub.

“I love that color on you, Jess. It really brings out the cinnamon highlights in your hair.”

“Well, thank you, sir,” she replied coyly. “A certain gentlemen friend of mine bought it for me … with I believe,” she whispered facetiously, “risqué thoughts in mind … if you know what I mean.” She winked at him.

He laughed and sighed at the feel of the warmth of the water when he submerged. Jessie had him lean back, then shampooed and rinsed his hair.

While he finished his drink, she soaped his back, slowly and lovingly, his shoulders, feet, every part of him. Then she bent over him and began kissing his face, slowly and deliberately, first his eyes, temples, his jaw line—slowly, then circling around and around his mouth until finally, in desperation, he grabbed her and pressed his mouth to hers. Roughly hauling her up, he pulled her into the tub on top of him.

“Jake!” she giggled, but cared less that she was soaked.

A little later, she remembered the roast. “We better go eat before it’s completely cold,” she sighed.

They dried off and strolled to the kitchen, clad only in towels. Jessie dished food onto plates on a tray and handed it to him. He followed her obediently to the bedroom. She began to feed him, alternately taking bites herself and suggestively tempting him all the while. After most of the meal was finished, he’d had enough of the teasing and shoved the plates over onto the bureau.

He laid her back onto the bed and then slowly kissed her. Towels silently dropped to the floor.

“Don’t you want cake?” she mocked. His answer was to begin to urgently kiss her neck. Jake Trenton knew how to make her lose her control over reality.

Jessie began a mental note to herself. Tonight was all right, but they probably needed to be careful over the next few days.

She meant to ask him if he was tired. “Jake …” she started, but he was swept up in her warmth. He moaned against her neck, “Oh, sweet Jessie!”

She also was lost – could think of nothing for the moment except that she never wanted him to pull away from her—she wanted to feel like part of him.

She didn’t have misgivings until the next day, when she felt the intense pain in her side that usually signaled she was ovulating. She had checked her cycle on the calendar she dutifully kept, and felt this a ‘safe’ time. But the pain was early!!

She tried to put it out of her mind, but three weeks later, she knew. Although only a few days late, she knew. She scolded herself: Why wasn’t I more careful?

She made an appointment to see Dr. Blanchard, but his exam would only confirm her suspicions. “Well, Mrs. Trenton, you’re going to be a mother,” the doctor validated.

Jessie drove home that evening wondering how she would tell Jake. She didn’t think he would be upset; they’d discussed this before and he hadn’t seemed adverse to the idea of having children. But Jessie wasn’t sure how she felt about it. Actually, she felt like … crying. All the way home, she struggled with the words she’d use to tell him.

Maggie was busy polishing the furniture when Jessie reached home. Jessie followed her around, moving things out of the way for Maggie as she was dusting. Jessie often would start helping when she needed to talk, so Maggie looked piercingly at Jessie. “Is ever’thin okay, Miss Jessie?”

“Yes, Maggie. Why do you ask?”

“Well, you jest seem kinda thoughtful, that’s all.”

“I do need to discuss something with Jake, but it’s nothing for you to worry about. And … Maggie, you should know you don’t need to call me ‘Miss.’ We’ve been friends for a long time …”

Maggie sensed there was more, but she didn’t push her. When Jessie wanted to talk, she would.

“What would you like for dinner … Mm … Jessie? I’s got blackburry cobbler bakin’ in the oven—you’s favorite. I’ll fix whatever you would like.”

“Oh, I’m not very hungry, Maggie, everything you cook is always delicious, so I’ll eat anything. I have to admit that hot pie sounds good.”

“Well, it’s awhile a’fore dinner, so why don’t I jest get you a piece of it right now?”

Jessie smiled – sweet, dear Maggie. Her friend spoiled her so. “Maybe just a bite.”

Jake was late arriving home that evening from a week-long trip to Dallas. He found Jessie in the kitchen, twiddling a fork in her cold cobbler.

“Hope you saved some of that for me, Darlin’,” he teased.

“You’re lucky there’s any left. I’ve already had three pieces, though why, I don’t know. I’m not a bit hungry.”

Jake scrutinized Jessie—it was unusual for her to binge on food. Something must really be bothering her. He observed for quite a while, but she didn’t volunteer anything. Finally: “Okay, the jig’s up—what’s going on?”

“Whatever do you mean?”

“Don’t give me that—you’ve got something on your mind. Are you mad because I’m so late tonight?”

“No, of course not, Jake. I know those trips take up a lot of your time. It’s nothing, really.”

“Nothing, huh?”

“Well….”

“Well, what? You’re worrying me, Jess.”

“Well, if you must know …” Jessie took a deep breath, “you’re going to be a father!”

“Wha .. what?” After a moment, Jake’s face lit up in a huge smile.

Jessie looked blankly at him, not knowing what to say. She wanted to be happy about this, but thoughts of the business kept entering in. Would she have to give up her career?

Jake noticed the look and, trying to determine how she felt, asked tentatively, “Are you happy about this, Jessie?”

“I … of course, Jake, I know I should give you a family. I’m just concerned about how I’ll be able to work with the baby and all.” As he looked down at her face, a tear slowly formed and ran down her cheek. She tried to brush it away quickly, but not before Jake saw it.

Oh God, what have I done? He moaned. She’d told him she didn’t know whether she wanted kids … they should wait until she was ready. Why hadn’t he been more careful?

“Jessie, Honey, please don’t cry. We’ll work this out somehow—don’t worry. You can work or stay home or whatever it takes for you to be happy.”  He brightened: “We can find a nanny or something! And I’ll help, too—even … change diapers, anything! Please don’t be sad!”

From the next room, Maggie overheard their conversation. She normally wouldn’t eavesdrop, but worried about the way Jessie had acted all evening, she’d made excuses about work to be done and stayed later than normal. Now this revelation was more than she could stand.

She scurried into the kitchen and announced, “No, you ain’t gonna hire no nanny, Mr. Jake. I gonna take care of that baby for y’all.” Then to Jessie: “Don’t you worry, Missy, you know I will love that little’un like it was my own, so you jest stop worryin’. Ever’thing will be jest fine.” Her smile stretched across her happy face.

“Well, you’re so busy with the housework and all …”
“No, I ain’t. You and Mr. Jake is so neat, it ain’t no trouble ’tall to take care’o this place. And that sw-e-e-t baby will be a lot o’company for me. ‘Specially since Jasper in school now.”

“That’s wonderful, Maggie,” Jake answered. “And Jessie, you can talk to Ben and work out a schedule for the office—maybe you can come in later in the day, or whatever … you’re the boss, after all, you can set your own schedule. Ben will handle the rest!”

Jessie smiled. She knew Maggie would love the little one and spoil him or her so—she was the kindest, gentlest soul. Maybe this would work out after all.

“Will you promise to continue your reading and lessons when the baby’s napping?”

“Yes’um.”

Ben was ecstatic when Jessie relayed her news: “Of course, Sis, we’ll manage. You take as much time as you need; when the baby comes, plan to stay home awhile if you want. I’ll come by to discuss the important things with you. And to see my new little niece or nephew!! Naturally, I’ll have a hard time filling your shoes, but don’t worry about it – if I need you, I know where to find you. Just be happy and enjoy this time with Jake.”

Jessie launched into work at the office. She occasionally drove out to the sites and asked advice of her brothers about the latest developments. She wanted to complete as many of the current projects as possible, so that when the baby came, she could devote time to the little one.

She began to eat more regularly and took a long walk each evening, down toward the river. Even though it was getting a bit colder, she bundled up and enjoyed the fresh air and wild beauty of Mother Nature’s countryside. She read a booklet from Dr. Blanchard’s office on expectant mother’s care; like everything she had always done,  she wanted to do the best at being a mother that she possibly could.

She noticed Jake was coming home earlier lately. I guess this is really for the best—he’s so happy.

Once the baby started moving inside her, Jessie knew for sure that this was right; the maternal instinct took over and she grew increasingly happy that she was going to have this special child – hers and Jake’s. She started thinking about names and wondering whether this little person would be a boy or girl. If it was a boy, she hoped he would look exactly like his handsome father. If it was a girl, she wanted to name her Mary Susan after her beloved grandmothers.

She was amazed at the feeling she began to develop for this tiny life inside her. Jessie became very protective of the little one and careful about everything she did, especially driving. She reduced her trips to the sites and asked Jason or Matt to exercise Blackie with a ride occasionally. But often she’d find herself at the barn, stroking her beloved riding partner with a soothing voice: “After the baby comes, it’ll be me and you again, okay, fella?”

Nick called Sunday morning. He had spent the night at Chaz’s house and wanted to have breakfast with Brenna. Could she get away? It was early—not even eight o’clock yet—but Brenna had already had breakfast. “Well, I remembered you were an early riser; that’s why I took a chance on calling so early. But I didn’t know it was already too late for breakfast.”

“And my sitter doesn’t even get here till nine.” Kim would be there in case Brenna got a call and had to go out on a showing.

“Well, I can wait till nine.”

“Can you wait till noon? Then we could have lunch.”

“I had planned to hit the road before that, but I guess I can camp out till noon. If my host evicts me, you may find me sitting on your doorstep.”

Brenna gave him directions to her house. Then she poured herself a second cup of coffee and stretched out on the sofa with the paper. She scouted the real estate section first, searching for By Owner listings that she could solicit. Only after she’d circled all of those did she read the news.

She was up to the local section when Kyle came into the room. “Good morning. Did you sleep well?”

“Uh-huh.” His eyes lit up at the sight of the comics section. “Can I have the comics?”

Brenna swung her feet down to the floor and patted the now-empty cushion beside her. “What’s your favorite comic strip?” she asked.

“Spiderman,” he answered unhesitatingly, “but I like the funny ones too.” He sat next to her on the sofa, and she eased an arm around his shoulder. He let her pull him close to her, but he didn’t relax into her cuddling.

“Do you remember how Daddy and I used to read the comics to you?” she asked. She knew the answer would be No. So far, he hadn’t remembered anything from his previous life in this family, other than vaguely associating his torn shirt with a swing.

“Mommy used to read the papers to me,” Kyle reported.

Brenna took a deep breath while she mentally debated. Then she spoke up, slowly and carefully. “I’m Mommy. You mean Jenny.”

“Her name was Eloise.”

“She may have called herself Eloise, but her real name was Jenny. And she wasn’t really your mommy. I’m your real mommy. You know that now, don’t you? I’m not insisting that you call me ‘Mommy’. If you’re still not ready, I can wait. But I want you to realize that, whatever you call me, I’m still your mommy. Your real mommy. Your only mommy.”

Kyle’s bare foot began swinging, thumping against the sofa on every down-arc. Brenna chose to ignore it. He lowered his head, his face expressionless, his eyes avoiding hers. Brenna decided to press on.

“I’m glad Jenny took good care of you. I’m glad she was good to you. But that doesn’t make her your mommy. She took you from me. She took you from me, and I cried for you for four years. Daddy too.”

Without raising his head, Kyle asked, “He cried too?”

“Once or twice at least. And he missed you something awful.”

The foot swung a little less wildly.

“And we’re both very glad you’re back home.”

Kyle shrugged. But his foot slowed till it was barely moving.

“What do you want for breakfast? How about some cocoa, cinnamon toast, and cereal?”

“Okay.”

She was fixing his breakfast when Sammy wandered into the kitchen, his hair a mess, his p.j.s still on, his eyes not fully open. “I want breakfast too,” he demanded.

“Please?” Brenna prompted.

“Please,” Sammy echoed.

“Cocoa and cereal?”

“Okay.”

For a while, the boys ate in silence. Brenna brought in the financial section from the living room and sat at the kitchen table reading it while keeping one eye on the boys.

“Read me the comics after breakfast?” Sammy asked after a while.

“Please?”

“Please.”

“Maybe your brother would like to read them to you.”

The scowl on Kyle’s face showed that he definitely would not like to at all. A minute later, he spoke up: “If Eloise took me from you, and you really wanted me back, why did you have another kid? Why didn’t you just take me back?”

“In the first place, we didn’t know where you were. She hid you.”

“No she didn’t. We were right there in our house.”

“But we didn’t know where that was. She changed her name to Eloise, and she changed your name to Jeremy. That was all so we couldn’t find you. We had the cops looking for you. We had the F.B.I. looking for you. I’ve told you all this before. This is a very large country. We didn’t even know what state you were in.

“We were looking for a Kyle and a Jenny. We were looking for a blond-haired boy. Meanwhile she changed your hair color . . . and her own. She changed both your names. She went to live with you in a whole other town in a whole other state.

“She stole you from us. She stole you from us and worried us something awful. We didn’t know where you were or whether you were all right. We wanted you back, and we wanted to know you were all right. It was terrible.”

“You gave up. You had Sammy.”

“We didn’t have Sammy to replace you. No one could replace you.”

“Then why did you have him?”

“Lots of families have two kids. Or more. One child isn’t a replacement for another. Daddy and I are perfectly able to love both of you. One has nothing to do with the other.”

Kyle shot her a look that she read as, “Yeah . . . sure.” Then his eyes radiated resentment at Sammy. Fortunately, Sammy was focussed on his cereal and remained oblivious to Kyle’s angry visage.

The doorbell rang, and Brenna got up. It was nine, and that was undoubtedly Kim at the door.

“It’s good you’re here,” she told Kim. “I have a lunch appointment. I definitely need you here today. And of course, there’s no telling what can happen before that.”

What happened was two calls on ads she had running in the real estate section. Neither caller wanted to go out looking that morning; both wanted to go out looking at properties that afternoon. Brenna arranged to meet one prospect at noon and the other at three. Then she called Nick back at Chaz’s and pleaded, “Can we have an early lunch? I have to go out with a house-hunter at noon.”

“Oh, blow off the appointment and meet me at noon.”

“I can’t,” Brenna wailed. “It’s business! Can’t we eat at eleven?”

“I’m just now eating breakfast. I’ll never be ready for lunch at eleven.”

“Well, then, we can have a cup of coffee together,” Brenna suggested. “Then you can eat lunch whenever you want.”

This was met with an “Awww,” from Nick.

“The idea is for us to get together. Does it matter if we get together over lunch or just coffee?” Brenna reasoned. She felt like she was talking to one of her sons.

They met for coffee at eleven. “Remember the time we handed in the test with the bogus name on it . . . and the prof went nuts trying to figure out whose paper it was?” Nick began when they were sipping their coffee. Caught up in the reminiscences of a more carefree time, Brenna relaxed, for the moment forgetting her problems.

She almost forgot about her noon appointment, too. Fortunately the office was near the coffee shop where she’d met Nick, and Brenna was able to arrive less than five minutes late. The clients—a couple with three kids in tow—were ten minutes late themselves. They proved to be impossible to please, finding something picky to complain about at every house she showed them.

At ten minutes to three, Brenna apologetically explained she had another appointment already set up. The clients were indignant. They wanted to keep looking. Brenna bit back the urge to say, “You’re never going to find anything you like.” “I can go out with you again tomorrow, if you’d like,” she said. Sheesh, she sure hoped her three o’clock appointment was a less picky couple.

This couple was no improvement, however. Where the first couple had definite ideas and desires, the second couple didn’t know their own mind. They weren’t sure if they wanted a guest room (“It only encourages people to stay over”) or not, if they wanted an eat-in kitchen or not, if they wanted a big yard (“There’s more space to plant flowers and to have fun”) or not (“Who needs to do all that mowing?”), or even which part of town they wanted to live in.

Accordingly, they were interested in just about any house Brenna cared to show them . . . but they couldn’t decide which ones they liked. They couldn’t even agree on what they liked and didn’t like about each house they saw. Brenna tried showing them five vastly different houses, in the hope that their reactions would give her some clue as to what they really wanted. But it was hopeless. At 5:30, she gave up, explaining that her babysitter had to leave and so she needed to get home.

Paul wasn’t having a good day that Sunday either. He’d been keeping his anger in check, but he was still seething inside over Julianna’s refusal to let Nona stay with them. Today he felt the resentment build in the house as he and Julianna sat reading the paper. They needed to clear the air, but Paul was wary of Julianna’s anger. He didn’t want to incite her into retaliation. So instead they sniped at each other. The tension built up like the electric charge in a thundercloud. There was no question of whether it would thunder, only when it would happen and how loud a clap it would be.

“You always keep the best sections of the paper for yourself. I never get to read the Arts or the main news or the magazine section till Sunday afternoons,” Julianna groused.

“If it bothers you, why didn’t you say something all this time?” Paul asked, trying to keep his voice calm and level.

“You shouldn’t have to be a rocket scientist to figure that one out. It’s a no-brainer.”

“You have plenty of sections over there to read. I didn’t know they weren’t the right sections.”  Despite Paul’s efforts, his words exited his mouth wrapped ‘round with sarcasm.

“What do you need, a shopping list to tell you what I want? We’ve been living together—how long, now?”

Too long, Paul thought.

“You should know what I like by this time. If you really cared what I wanted, you’d be more attuned to my likes and dislikes.”

“Here—take the funnies. You could use a good laugh.” You could use a swift kick in the rear, he added mentally.

“If I need a good laugh, I only have to observe your supposed efforts to make me happy.”

“Ouch! Where did that come from?”

“From a year of experience.”

“Specific instances, please. No glittering generalities. Fight fair.”

“Oh—are we having a fight?”

Paul suddenly realized they were. “Well, if we are, maybe I’ll leave till it blows over. Too bad I don’t still have that apartment.”

“Why did you keep up that apartment for so long anyhow? Was it your little trysting place? Did you meet other women over there? Is that where you’re going now—to meet some woman somewhere? Do you have a date?”

“I have a date with peace and quiet. Which I won’t find here. It’s probably just as well you wouldn’t let my mother stay here. I’d have been embarrassed to have her hear us sniping at each other.”

“It takes two to make a fight.”

“But it only takes one to start it . . . and that one is never me.”

“Mr. Virtue? I don’t think so! But if you’re that miserable, why don’t you just find a new apartment and move out?”

“Maybe I will.”

“Fine. I’ll go out for the afternoon. When I get back, I expect to find all your things out of here.”

Shit! This was getting out of hand. How had it escalated so quickly?

Paul was in a quandary now. Did he really want to move out? He wasn’t sure. But suddenly, his lonely little former apartment—or any other like it—seemed like an awfully peaceful place. Would living alone be so bad . . . if it brought with it a respite from this terrible ongoing friction?

If he didn’t want to move out, he’d have to do some serious backpedalling. Grovelling, even. And that he was unwilling to do.

He waited. Would she really get up and leave? If she did, did she really expect him to find a place, pack up, and move while she was gone? Her anger was so unpredictable—would she be aggrieved if she found him still here when she returned, or would she be angrier if he was actually gone?

Julianna uncoiled from her chair, stood erect with great dignity, and collected her pocketbook on the way out the door. “Don’t forget to leave your keys when you’re all out,” she said.

Then she meant it?

“I certainly don’t want them. Any house where my mother isn’t welcome is no home to me.” There—he’d finally said it.

“Are you still in a snit over that?”

“Snit, my ass! I am in a fucking rage over that. That was my mother you refused to let come here.”

“Your precious wife took her in. What are you worried about? That Mommy will love Brenna better than she loves you?”

“No, I’m worried that I’m not a good enough lawyer to defend myself on a charge of justifiable homicide,” Paul snarled, “but, God, I’m tempted.”

“I’m not worried,” Julianna laughed. “You haven’t got the balls.”

“I haven’t got the requisite contempt for human life. Even you don’t deserve to be murdered, really. But don’t tempt me.”

“Well, I’m going out for an hour or two. Have a nice life.”

Paul didn’t have that many things at Julianna’s. It surprised him to realize how few of his possessions were there. Had he never had much faith in the permanence of the relationship? Some of his worldly good remained at Brenna’s house. Some of his stuff was in storage. Three carloads ought to clear him out of Julianna’s place.

He found a furnished apartment, put down money, and took possession on the spot. Then he went back for his things. He was driving away with the last load when Julianna came home. She didn’t see his car as it sped up the block, though he saw her in his rear-view. When she got home, she was surprised to see Paul’s car was gone. When she got inside, she was even more surprised . . . he’d cleared all his things out.

“Damn the frigging bastard!” she swore out loud. “He’s really gone!”

The next few months passed quickly. Big Spring grew as Oklahoma’s population continued to boom. A second surge of oil discoveries between 1915 and 1920 established nearby Tulsa as the “Oil Capital of the World,” where oilmen such as William Skelly and J. Paul Getty built stately mansions and modern headquarters.

Big Spring was not as large, but per capita, its income rivaled many of the larger cities. As McCarey Oil’s exploration also boomed, work became frantic for Jessie. It seemed she spent scant time at home. And when she was at the tiny apartment she and Jake rented in town, she stayed busy sprucing it a bit—cleaning, painting, building shelves to expand the limited space.

Jake didn’t seem to mind, though, because building his delivery routes filled his time. Jessie tried to keep his route schedule on her desk, but due to the nature of his cargo, plans changed so frequently she found it difficult to keep her copy up to date. His runs varied from Big Spring to Kansas City to St. Louis, or Tulsa to Wichita. He occasionally had a longer run to New Orleans, also. Jake’s schedule made it hectic for him, but as long as he appeared happy, Jessie was content.

Business was so good for the family, Jessie bought a car to drive back and forth from work, home. and out to the drilling sites. Even though busy juggling projects at the office, she occasionally made time to see how the field operations were going. She relished getting outdoors, never tiring of the scenery down the country roads.

On one trip in the car they’d purchased, filled with supplies, she weaved through the rough, nearly un-navigable paths, crossing low streams and passing wagons pulled by horses. Many of the ‘roads’ were nothing more than old Indian trails. She gingerly eased her car behind a wagon, being careful not to get stuck on the higher part of the ruts. Should-a driven the boys’ truck!

Jessie determined to bring the board of directors out here for a visit. See the way the money’s made; let them get their hands a little dirty. Her instinct told her that might really get them fired up for the new projects she had in mind. Watching the hands ‘spud in’ (begin drilling) or ‘make a trip’ (change out drilling parts) was much more exciting than reading a description in a progress report.

Jessie’s full attention lately concentrated on convincing the board that they should enter into a joint venture with the Townsends’ company, to build a railroad spur from their producing fields to the main S&O rail line. A new concept, one the board was skeptical of, particularly because Townsend Oil was one of their main competitors. But she had Ben all prepped for battle with figures for the board. She’d done her homework and felt this spur would be crucial to them, if oil prices ever went up.

However, with the glut of crude oil on the market (crude price had dropped from a dollar and five cents to thirty-five cents a barrel) and the economic condition of the whole country, it would be difficult to sell the board on this proposal. But that was exactly the reason for the co-venture: to raise the needed capital.

Jessie always looked toward the future; she knew that if this company were to survive, they would have to be aggressive in their decision-making. Lately, she and Ben were exasperated at the board’s lack of confidence in their proposals. Why, look at what hiring those chemists and setting up a Research and Development group in the company had done—they were selling products that had previously been burned off or dumped as waste material! Their gasoline production increased, and she felt confident that the market would soon take off, as more and more automobiles were sold.

They’d located a plant to extract the liquids from the natural gas, with a method of cooling and condensing the gas vapors. The innovative ideas and resulting patents their chemists were pulling off was impressive. The catalytic research alone looked promising …

When she reached their latest drilling site, Jessie visited with Tom for a while about the operation’s beginnings. “Tommie, remember when we first started? How much trouble the men gave me?”

“You kiddin’? How could I forget?”

“Well, I heard on the news last night that several women who picketed the White House for voting rights some weeks ago were severely beaten and jailed.”

“Yeah, it’s a wonder anyone ever found out where they were; some were nearly dead before their families discovered they’d been jailed and got them released.”

“If even our own President believes women who want rights should be institutionalized, I am one lucky woman.”

“I hope they’ll be all right. Sad, really. No one deserves that kind of treatment.”

“They are so brave. Think we’ll ever get to vote?”

Tom shrugged his shoulders: “Dunno – beats me.”

“Well, I want you to know how much I appreciate your support. I’m so blessed to have such protective brothers. It can’t be easy, constantly defending your crazy sister.”

“It’s my honor, Jess. You’ve proved your mettle—you’ve got a good head for business. By the way, want to run something by ya: you know, over on the Townsend leases they keep building new rigs, but I think we should come up with somethin’ we can move from site to site.”

“Oh, you’re getting into this business thing, now?” she teased.

“Yeah, guess so; you’ve even convinced me, an old hardhead. You always get your way, don’t ya, Jess?”

“Not always, but extremely pleased I did this time. So glad we’ve been able to put our differences aside and work together. It’s meant more to me than I can tell you, brother,” she added softly.

“Me too, Jess.”

“By the way, that’s a fan-tastic idea: ‘portable rigs’ – now who would have thought of that but you, Tommie?” Jessie asked proudly.

On Monday, Brenna took Kyle to school and registered him. After he’d been shown to his classroom, Brenna had a talk with the principal, backgrounding him on Kyle’s abduction and return. Then, hopeful that Kyle would adjust to school better than he’d adjusted to being at home, Brenna left.

At three, Brenna returned to the school; hereafter, Kyle would ride the bus, but Brenna had promised to chauffeur him this first day. She saw him exit the building in earnest conversation with another kid. Good! That was the most involved she had seen her older son since his return. “How was school?” she asked, kissing him on the cheek.

“Good,” he answered, settling into the front seat. He set his books down on the floor of the car.

“Want to stop for ice cream on the way home?”

“Sure.”

When they got to the ice cream store, Brenna bought Kyle the double-scoop cone he asked for, then suggested they bring a cup of ice cream home for Sammy.

At the mention of Sammy’s name, the withdrawn, vacant look returned to Kyle’s face. He needs time with me alone, Brenna thought. I need to give him some one-on-one.

“Suppose we make tomorrow night a Mom—I mean an Em—and-Kyle night?” she suggested. “I’ll see if Grandma can have Sammy over. Then you and I can go out to dinner . . . just the two of us. Would you like that?”

Kyle’s head nodded up and down. Then he slowly raised his head till he was once again looking Brenna in the face. A slow, pleased smile spread across his face.

Tuesday morning, Kyle got on the bus uneventfully. Sammy was watching Sesame Street while Brenna balanced her checkbook. The phone rang. Brenna answered. “Hello, Ms. Guilford? My name is Larry Griggs. You don’t know me, but I’m a friend of Chaz Lorimer’s. I’m interested in buying a house, and he said you’d be just the gal to help me find what I’m looking for.”

“Thank you for the vote of confidence . . . I’d be glad to help you in your search. What are you looking for, and what’s your price range?” After hearing his specifications, she told him, “I have three listings that perfectly match what you’ve described and another five or eight that come real close and might be of interest. When would it be convenient for you to tour some of the properties?”

“Now? Or as soon as possible. I can get away most any time. I’m self-employed . . . by the way, are you in need of any investment advice? That’s what I do . . . I’m a financial advisor.”

“Not at the moment, but I’ll certainly keep you in mind,” Brenna answered diplomatically. “Let me have your phone number. Then give me a few minutes to call some sellers. I have keys to most of the places I want to show you, but there are two or three I need to call first. I’ll get back to you in just a few minutes.”

“I’ll be waiting,” Larry answered eagerly.

After making the necessary calls, Brenna arranged to meet Larry at the real estate office at 10:30. Telling Ivy she was going out, Brenna kissed Sammy goodbye. She couldn’t help noticing that Sammy was again playing with his fire engine . . . without any evidence of agitation. So it wasn’t all vehicles with sirens that scared him, Brenna thought. The fear must be associated with either police cars, ambulances, or both.

Once again, Brenna went over the loose threads of the puzzle in her mind. She couldn’t help feeling, again, that Kyle’s abduction was at the base of Sammy’s fears. The boy’s fright at sirens as well as his urgent runs to the bathroom had both evinced themselves around the time of Kyle’s return. Was the timing more than coincidental? And what—if anything—was the connection between the two problems? Or was there none? Maybe they were unconnected products of a fearful mind . . . for which she, as overprotective mother, would have to take some of the blame. But maybe it went beyond what overprotectiveness could explain. Maybe the kidnapping itself had made more of an impression on Sammy than she’d thought.

She had given Sammy only minimal explanations of Kyle’s sudden appearance—at three, Sammy was too young to fully comprehend the circumstances, nor did Brenna want to scare the already-fearful child. But Lord knows, there had been enough conversations over the years, enough allusions to Kyle and the kidnapping, enough phone calls, and there was no telling what Sammy had heard or overheard. Who could know what information—or misinformation—he’d picked up, how much he really knew, and how much of that he understood. Or half-understood. Or had gotten completely wrong.

Sammy was still playing with the fire engine, oblivious to Brenna, but she stood there and watched him for a few minutes. He might say or do something, as he played, that would give her a clue to the genesis of his fright. He didn’t, but a new idea unfurled in her mind. She would buy a toy ambulance and police car, then give them to him one at a time to play with. Maybe by observing how he played with them she would get a clue to what was going on in his mind.

Larry Griggs was a nondescript, short, paunchy man with thinning sandy hair, thick glasses, and a grating voice—more so in person than had been noticeable over the phone. He had, however, an ingratiating personality. Brenna first showed him the house she considered third-best suited to him on the strength of his stated requirements. He toured the house, meticulously inspecting, asking probing questions, investigating things that ninety-nine percent of Brenna’s clients never dreamed of checking into.

He even removed the tops of the gas burners to look down into the stove top’s base. “What on earth are you checking for?” Brenna asked.

“Cleanliness. The house is spotless now—but it’s up for sale. I’m interested in how the house has been kept up all the years before this. This’ll give me a clue. Has the house been well cared for or neglected up till now? If it’s been well taken care of all along, it’s less likely that a million things will suddenly fall apart the first year a new owner takes over.”

That house passed inspection. The next house—number two in terms of likeliness-to-please—did not. Disregarding the house’s many fine features and extras, Larry said, “Next!” dismissively and, with a polite thank-you to the owner, Larry sailed out the door with a taken-aback Brenna on his heels.

They next went to the house that Brenna felt had the most potential for Larry. He loved it, and it squeaked by his inspection. As he had done with the first house, he drove around the neighborhood, checking it out. It passed inspection. But Larry was nothing if not thorough and methodical. He insisted on looking at all the houses Brenna had for him to see.

Yes, he told her, he’d liked that house. No, he lived alone and didn’t need to bring along a wife, housemate, or Significant Other for approval. No, he didn’t feel the need to have a professional property inspector look the place over. Yes, he thought he’d like to make an offer. But not yet. First he wanted to see what else there was that Brenna had selected to show him. Yes, he understood that these others were places she thought less likely to suit him. But they certainly weren’t total wrong numbers . . . she wouldn’t have pulled the listings if she thought they were completely out of the question. She certainly wasn’t wasting his time with wild goose chases . . . right?

So Brenna dutifully drove him ’round to look at every house. Mercifully, he took much less time at all but one of these. That one he deemed a possibility, only in case he couldn’t come to terms on one of the two he really liked. Then he gave Brenna an offer on the house he preferred.

Brenna dropped him off in front of the real estate office, then went in to call the seller. After leaving a message on the machine, she went home by way of the toy store, where she picked up a police car and an ambulance. Then she got a football and a book for Kyle, so he wouldn’t feel left out.

Ivy was dusting the dining room. “Everything in good shape?” Brenna asked

“Yes, Ms. Guilford. There were two phone calls. I left the messages on your desk. Sammy wanted to play on the swing. I watched him carefully. He’s in the kitchen now, coloring.”

One of the messages was from Nona: “Maybe you should think of leaving Kyle here one evening too. I’ll bet Sammy could use some one-on-one too.” Not a bad thought, Brenna decided.

Then, secreting the small ambulance in her commodious pocketbook for the time being, she walked into the kitchen with the police car behind her back and kissed Sammy hello. “I brought you a present,” she said. “Want to get down here on the floor with me and see it?”
Sammy scrambled down from the chair. Brenna sank fluidly to the floor, flourishing her hand, and unfurling her palm to reveal the small toy she had secreted there. “It’s a police car, Sam,” she said, making sure there could be no misunderstanding. “Want to play with it?”

“Zmmm, zmmm, zmmm,” Sammy said, racing the police car in half-circles around his frame. He didn’t imitate the siren, only the motor, Brenna noticed, but neither did he seem at all intimidated by the toy. A minute later, he went, “Bang! Bang! Bang!” and Brenna thought, Mmm. He associates police cars with guns . . . maybe there’s something there.

Maybe there was, and maybe there wasn’t, but no other clues seemed to be forthcoming. Sammy’s play with the car soon evolved into a dialogue between cops and robbers, about as realistic as you’d expect from a three-year-old. It offered up no further insights into his fears. Brenna filed away the mental notation guns as a possible lead to pursue another time. Kissing the top of her son’s sweaty head—Indian summer was definitely here, and with a vengeance—Brenna went upstairs with the ambulance still in her pocketbook, to be brought out another day.

At 3:30, the bus brought Kyle home. At 4:00, Nona swung by in her car to collect Sammy. “You want to come have meatballs with Grandma?” she asked him.

“Meatballs with Gamma!” he repeated. “Let’s go.” Then he looked over at Kyle. In the last couple of days, Sammy had decided that having a big brother was a good thing. “Don’t you want Kyle too?” he asked solicitously. “He can come too, can’t he?”

Kyle scowled at Sammy, but he’d turned back to Nona and didn’t catch the look.

“Kyle gets Mommy to himself and you get me to yourself. Another day, Kyle can come and have dinner with me, and you’ll have Mommy to yourself.”

“Okay,” Sam said. And he trundled out the door hand-in-hand with Nona.

“That leaves you and me, kid,” Brenna said to her older son. “We’ve got time before we go out to dinner. Do you have homework? How much?”

“Yes. Just a little. I have to do five math problems and write ten spelling words. It’s easy.”

“Let’s do it and get it taken care of.”

Kyle sat down at the kitchen table and whipped out his math workbook. True enough, the five problems were easy. Brenna was gratified to see that her son did the work efficiently and correctly. Then he tackled the spelling words, copying them over from the book. Brenna took the book and the list from in front of him and said, “Now let’s see if you really know how to spell all the words.” He did. Every last one. Even when she tried to trip him up by calling them out in a different order, he had no difficulty in spelling all ten words correctly and without hesitation. “Good work,” she said. “I’m proud. So how’s school working out?”

“Okay,” Kyle said. He added no further information, but when she looked at him, he held her gaze without dropping his eyes.

“Is your teacher nice?” Brenna asked, trying to prolong the conversation.

Kyle shrugged. Brenna waited. “Okay, I guess. He’s a little goofy. Weird. I guess he’s okay.”

“Have you met Mr. DeWitt yet?”

“Who?”

“A teacher who lives on Grandma’s street. Never mind. It’s not important.”

There was a long pause. Brenna had no clue what to say next. He was still looking at her; she didn’t want to choose a conversational topic that would make him withdraw again.

She was saved by the bell . . . literally. The phone rang. It was the seller of the house Larry Griggs had bid on, coming back with a counter-offer. Now Brenna had to call Larry, who in turn came back with his counter-offer. He was quick and decisive, adding that this was his final offer. Brenna called the seller back.

The woman came back with a slightly lower figure, adding that this was her final offer. She and Larry were still $3000 apart, and she wouldn’t budge.  Brenna called Larry back.

“I told you that was my final offer.”

“But I would be wrong if I didn’t report back to you. You may have to think about one of the other houses.  My gut feeling is that the sellers aren’t playing coy. That really is their rock bottom.”

Larry sighed audibly, a gust so loud Brenna imagined she felt it tickling her ear. Then he made an offer on one of the other houses. Brenna called, got a machine, left a message.

Kyle had left the room. Looking around the house, Brenna couldn’t find him. Fear gripped her heart. Where was Ivy? But Ivy was in the basement, putting away a box of summer blankets. Then where was Kyle?

Brenna finally thought to check the backyard. And there was Kyle, swinging in the swing, looking dreamily up into the tree above, a faraway look on his face. What was he thinking of? Were his thoughts back in Midway with Jenny . . . or was he remembering swinging in this swing in years gone by? The swing was low to the ground, so a small boy who fell out wouldn’t tumble very far. Kyle had to pull his legs up, to keep from scraping his feet on the ground as he swung. Brenna went back inside.

Ivy was getting ready to leave for the day. Brenna said, “See you tomorrow,” just as the phone rang again. It was the seller of the second house Larry was interested in. He made a counter-offer.

To her surprise, Larry accepted the counter-offer immediately. “Done,” Brenna said with satisfaction. She set up a meeting to go to contract. Now it was getting late. She really needed to get going.

Picking up the phone one more time, she called Nona. “Running late. Leaving in five minutes. I’ll be late getting to you to pick up Sammy unless we shovel down dinner at breakneck speed.”

“And wouldn’t that defeat the whole purpose? Why’re you late? Problems?”

“No. To the contrary. Real estate business . . . I think I’ve just sold another house.”

“Congratulations!”

“Save it till the closing. We haven’t even signed the contract yet.”

“My money’s on you, honey.”

“Well, thanks for the vote of confidence . . . and forgive me if I don’t yak now. But I’ll be even later getting to you if I do.”

“You go do your thing. I’ll see you when you get here. Don’t worry. We’re fine.”

“Thanks, Nona. You’re a love. Sometimes I really feel you’re my mother, not my mother-in-law. Or almost-former mother-in-law. Whatever.”

“I’m pleased and proud, daughter of mine. You know the feeling is mutual.”

She called Kyle in from the backyard. “Go to the bathroom and wash your hands. We’re late,” she said.

She took Kyle to an informal and inexpensive Italian restaurant nearby. As he had earlier, he maintained a fair amount of eye contact with her, though he wasn’t very communicative. Still, Brenna felt it was a small yet important step forward.

She peppered the conversation with stories of his early childhood, hoping something would trigger a memory in his mind. Nothing seemed to click. He listened politely, didn’t withdraw from her, but didn’t seem to connect with any of what she told him. The riverbank where his dad had taken him to see the fish. The merry-go-round he had so enjoyed when the travelling carnival had come to town. Christmas and their tree-topper angel, which he had particularly delighted in—he had constantly asked his dad to lift him up so he could see it. The municipal swimming pool she had taken him to extensively in his last summer before Jenny kidnapped him.

Nothing. Nothing seemed to spark recognition. Nothing triggered any memories.

And when Brenna mentioned Sammy and used the words, “your brother,” the old scowl returned.

Well, Kyle had finished his ziti anyhow, and Brenna was done with her veal marsala. She paid the check and left. Kyle had retreated within himself again, but Brenna couldn’t help feeling optimistic. Little by little, she thought. Little by little.

Meanwhile, while Brenna was eating with Kyle, Larry had called Chaz to report on his househunting.

“You work fast,” Chaz said. “Most people take weeks or months to find a house.”

“I know my own mind,” Larry answered. “I know what I like and need, and I know what I think a house is worth . . . and what I can comfortably afford. If I see something suitable, why screw around? Go for it.”

“I respect that. I’m the same way. So was Brenna everything I told you she would be?”

“All that and more. Capable, competent, pleasant, friendly, professional, respectful, helpful . . . yeh, you had her pegged right. Thanks for the referral.”

“My pleasure.”

From the background behind Chaz, Larry heard, “You’ve got mail.”

“Are you at your computer? Online? Did I call at a bad time?”

“Not a bad time particularly, but yes, I was answering EMail.”

“Well, sorry, I didn’t know. Let me let you go.”

They said goodbye and hung up, and Chaz turned back to his computer. He’d gotten EMail from an old friend, a sculptor named Nick, and because Brenna was now on his mind, Chaz found himself telling Nick about her.

While Chaz sat at the computer, typing Brenna’s praises to Nick, a beat-up old Ford rumbled down his street, four blocks away. A teenager drove; his friend was in the front seat with him.

“Now, just which one is Mr. Thomas’s house?” Alex asked his friend.

“Not yet. A few blocks from here,” the other teen replied.

“Is that the cops behind us?” Alex asked nervously. He was the student Karl Thomas had been having problems with

“Where? That car? I don’t know. It looks like . . . I don’t know. I can’t tell.” In the dark, it was hard to be sure.

“I’m getting out of here.” Alex was driving without a license. He didn’t want to get caught.

“You’re almost to Thomas’s house.”

“I’m going back.” Alex hung a left at the corner before Karl Thomas’s house.

“Well, you see where we are? It’s the fourth house in the next block, on the other side of the street.”

“I’ll remember,” Alex said.

“You seemed to get through to Kyle better than I can. What’s your secret?”

“I’m not his mom,” Nona answered simply. “I’m not as much of a threat. I’m not trying to supplant that woman in his heart.  Give him time.”

It was Saturday morning, and Brenna had just had a call from Paul that had prompted her call to Nona. “Paul was supposed to have the kids today, but now he says he has to take care of some business. And I’ve already got clients lined up to go look at houses. Any chance you can take the kids?”

“My goodness. My cup runneth over. Yesterday, today . . . that’s not a complaint, you understand. I’ll be thrilled to watch them. I do feel bad about my son sloughing them off, though.”

“Well, Paul asked if he can come over tomorrow afternoon, spend some time here with them, and have an early dinner with us.”

“That’s better. Now, what time do you want to bring the kids over today?”

“You’re a love. Sometimes I feel closer to you than I did to my own mother.”

“Oh, hush! “

“No, really! About the kids—could I bring them over in about an hour? I’m picking up a client at ten.”

“Sure. I can grab a quick shower and be ready for them. Maybe I’ll take them to a movie. What time did you want to pick them up?”

“What’s your time frame? I’d love to leave them till three or four, but if you have plans . . . . “
“Not till this evening. If you get them by four, we’ll be fine.”

“A date?” Brenna’s voice rose. “Who is he?” she teased.

“No, just some friends. Dinner and Scrabble.”

“Well, that sounds like fun.”

“I expect it to be.  What about you? Isn’t it time you started dating?”

“That’s hardly the thing I’d expect to hear from my mother-in-law!”

“Oh, horsefeathers. My son moved out a year ago. Are you supposed to wait around for him forever, pining? Actually, I suspect that’s exactly what you’re doing, but it’s time you stopped. I’m not saying you should hurry up and marry the first guy you meet, but get out, have fun, meet someone. My friend Ilene’s son got divorced a few months ago. She’s been asking me—”

“No! Spare me your matchmaking. I’m not ready. I’m not interested. I’m fine the way I am.”

“Okay, but you really need to get out more. You hardly even see your friends anymore. I’ve paid attention. You don’t spend enough time doing fun stuff. If you don’t give yourself a break, they’re going to wind up sending the funny padded truck for you, with the men with the butterfly nets.”

“Oh, Nona! Cut it out!”

“I mean it! Well, not really, of course, but I do mean it that you need to get out more. And speaking of the padded wagon, listen, what’s this with Sammy and sirens?”

“I wish I knew.”

“One went by yesterday while he was here, and he ran to me and clung to me. Does he think the police are coming to take him away? I tried to reassure him that it was nothing, probably just an ambulance taking a sick person to make them feel better, but that didn’t help any.”

“He’s so fearful. This siren thing is just a part of it. I’m sure it’s my fault. Well, Paul’s too. We’ve been overprotective. We couldn’t help ourselves—”

“Of course not,” Nona soothed. “With what you’ve been through with Kyle. Anyone would understand.”

But Sammy’s response to sirens stuck in Brenna’s head. If only she knew specifically what his fear was. Then maybe she could combat it. But she couldn’t get him to tell her what it was that he thought of when he heard a siren.

“Good morning,” Brenna said a few minutes later, when Sammy stuck his head around the corner sleepily. Still dressed in his p.j.s, he was ready for cereal and a good-morning kiss. Brenna gave him both, pouring herself another cup of coffee, and sat to talk with him as he devoured his cereal. “You’re going to Grandma’s today,” she told him.

“I’m going to Daddy’s.”

“No, Daddy changed his plans. He’s coming here tomorrow instead.”

The frown that had begun to furrow the small boy’s forehead was erased at the news that it was just a one-day delay. “Tomorrow?”

“Yes, and he’s staying for dinner with us.” That brought a broad smile.

Just then, Kyle walked into the room. He’d gotten dressed, and Brenna noticed he was wearing a shirt he’d brought back from Midway. She made no comment, just kissed Kyle good morning. He didn’t kiss her back, nor did he say anything to Sammy.

“Please say ‘Good morning’ to your brother.”

“I don’t have a brother.”

Brenna considered for a moment, then decided to fight just one fight at a time. “Please say ‘Good morning’ to Sammy,” she restated.

“G’mornin’,” Kyle mumbled.

They ate breakfast in a heavy silence. From time to time, Brenna asked the boys questions. She kept hoping the questions would provoke a comfortable conversation. Unfortunately, her every attempt fell flat.

She started with Kyle. “Are you looking forward to school Monday?” she asked.

“I guess,” he answered and fell silent again.

“Tell me about your school in Midway,” she tried.

He shrugged.

She turned to Sammy. “If you’re still having trouble with your blocks, I’ll bet Kyle can help you.”

“He doesn’t like me.”

“Certainly he does. He’s your brother.”

The look Kyle flashed her sent thunder rolling though the kitchen.

“Ask him and he’ll help you,” she persevered, while her eyes bored the message, “You’d better!” into Kyle.

“So what do you boys want to do today with Grandma?” she tried again, searching for a safer subject.

Kyle just shrugged again. Sammy answered simply, “Play.” So much for that topic as conversation-starter.

“Halloween’s coming. Have you guys thought about your costumes yet?”

Kyle said, “No,” and Sammy said, “Hollow what?” Brenna explained the holiday to Sammy, which filled a few minutes of what otherwise would have been silence but did nothing to foster a feeling of family harmony.

Kyle cleared his breakfast dishes without being asked. Brenna had to admit—however grudgingly—that Jenny had taught him right. She cleared Sammy’s dishes for him. Then she took him upstairs to get him dressed, while Kyle turned on cartoons in the living room.

The kids had a pleasant day with Nona. She enjoyed herself, and the boys seemed to get along together better at her house than they did at home. She left them watching cartoons from 10 till 11, then played a game with them for half an hour. They went out for an early lunch, followed by a movie. When Brenna came to pick them up, she found them fishing for paper fish.

Nona had attached paper clips to “fish” she’d cut out of construction paper and placed in a large bowl on the floor. The trio were standing up in the living room, dangling pieces of string with paper clips at the end. Each of these paper clips had been unbent slightly, to create a “hook.” The boys and Nona were trying to “catch” the fish by getting their hooks into the paper clips attached to the paper fish.

Engrossed in the game, Kyle was playing peacefully. While he wasn’t actively playing with Sammy, neither was he being unkind to him. They seemed to have achieved a momentary truce.

“No problems?”

“Well, Sammy insisted on getting up to pee twice during the movie, even though I’d hardly let him drink anything, but otherwise it’s been a quiet day.”

“Good. Thanks again for watching them.”

“Are you kidding? Thank you for lending them to me.”

“Well, we’d better get going, so you can get ready for your evening.”

“How’d your day go? Sell any houses?”

“Keep your fingers crossed. I showed houses to one client this morning and another this afternoon, and I think they both may have found places they liked! They’re both talking about making offers. I’ve been working with both these people for weeks and weeks—and it looks like they may both finally pay off.”

“Two in one day—that’s quite a coup. Here’s hoping they do both buy those houses.”

“Well, of course we still have to negotiate price.” She shrugged. “We’ll see what happens.”

“Good luck,” Nona said, kissing Brenna and the boys. “Have a good evening.”

And, relatively speaking, she did. For the first time since he’d come home, Kyle didn’t pinch, punch, or kick Sammy once all evening, and Brenna considered that a landmark. She let the boys stay up late, and by the time she put them to bed, she was tired herself. She curled up in bed with a good novel but fell asleep reading it, only to wake up at something after two with the light on and the book at her side. She’d lost her place, she noted sleepily, as she put the book on the nighttable, turned out the light, and went back to sleep.

At three she awakened to a sound. She came awake as she sat up, straining to hear what it was that had pierced her sleep. Someone was sobbing. She padded to the doorway of her room and followed the sound down the hall. It was coming from Kyle’s room, so she tiptoed in and stood by the side of his bed.

He seemed to be crying in his sleep. Sitting gently on the bed, she stroked his head, trying to comfort him without attempting to waken him. What thoughts, what dreams, what fears were chasing through that troubled mind, she wondered. But as she soothed him softly, the sobs abated. Still asleep, Kyle snuggled closer to her body as she sat beside him. Brenna stayed there long after he’d settled back into peace, relishing the warmth and closeness.

She couldn’t help wondering, though, if in his sleep he thought it was Jenny he was snuggling to. Then again, maybe there was no thought involved at all. Maybe he just moved toward human warmth without any concept of whose warmth it was. Still, a small part of her hoped he knew it was she who was comforting him.

At length she got up . . . slowly and carefully . . . and returned to bed. But the feel of Kyle’s small form snuggled up to her remained with her. As she lay in her bed relishing that warmth, it was as if he were comforting her now. Reassured by the silence that again pervaded the house, she fell back into a cozy sleep.

In the morning, he said nothing about the incident to her, and she said nothing to him. She wondered what he’d been dreaming about, but she didn’t ask. She strongly doubted he remembered the dream, and she was sure that he had no memory of her comforting presence either. That was all right. She knew. She remembered.

Paul got there at one. They’d had an early lunch, in consideration of the fact that dinner would be early. “If you want to go somewhere, it’s okay. I’ll be here,” he offered. But Brenna was glad to see him and opted to stick around.

Paul had brought a toy train—not electric but quite elaborate—and they set it up in the middle of the living room. He and the boys had as much fun deciding on the set-up as playing with it. There were switches and overpasses, tunnels and trestles, passenger stations and freight-loading docks. As Brenna sat in the living room reading, she kept an eye on the boys. There was no discord between them, but they weren’t really playing together. They were separately yet simultaneously playing peacefully with the same toy.

She had a stack of magazines piled up by her chair, and she’d thought she might make a sizable dent in them while Paul kept the boys occupied. But she’d only been reading for half an hour when the phone rang, and she’d barely hung up from that call when it rang again.

The callers were the two prospects to whom she’d shown houses the day before. One was calling to put in a bid. The other wanted a second look at the house she was interested in. Brenna called both sellers, relaying the bid to the one and making an appointment for later with the other. Then she resumed reading till it was time to meet with the prospect who wanted the second look.

Brenna returned late but exultant. The buyer had made an offer on the spot, the three of them had sat down and negotiated, and she’d left with a contract. Assuming the mortgage went through—and she had no reason to doubt it —she’d made a sale.  Now she had to hurry up and make dinner.

“The rice is excellent. New recipe?” Paul asked as they ate.

“Yes. Glad you like it.”

“And you know I’ve always liked your chicken.”

“I know you used to.” You used to like me, too, Brenna thought. But things change.

“Should Sammy have that firetruck?” Paul asked. He’d seen Sammy playing with it while Brenna was gone. “It’s got a sharp edge on it.”

“Not too sharp for him. He’s three now. I checked it carefully.”

“But he could hurt himself.”

“I don’t think so. Look, caution is great. Necessary. But I think we’ve both gone overboard with Sammy.” She lowered her voice, hoping only Paul would hear her. “We’ve overprotected him. I think maybe we’ve scared him. Those . . . problems . . . that we’ve talked about?”

Paul nodded his head. He knew what she was talking about.

“This fright over sirens is obviously some kind of fear. I don’t know what it’s about yet. I’m keeping my eyes and ears open, but he hasn’t given me any clues. And the other . . . we’ve been to two doctors now. They can’t find anything wrong. The problem doesn’t seem to be physical. But I can’t get a handle on the cause. You never made him feel bad about wetting his pants, did you?”

Paul shook his head emphatically. Then he surprised her by asking, “How are you doing?”

“I’m fine.”

“Really? I can see his attitude,” Paul’s eyes darted to Kyle and back, “and I’m sure it’s not easy on you.”

Though Kyle’s sullenness was gone—and what a relief that was!—he wasn’t communicating. He kept his eyes lowered and seemed to have retreated to some internal landscape, which he wasn’t sharing.

He hadn’t done anything nasty to Sammy all day, not a kick, not a cruel word, not even a mean look, but then he had hardly looked at anyone. He was so closed off from the others at the table that he might as well not have been physically present. Indeed, physically was the only way he was present.

“Are you holding up all right?” Paul asked, with a tiny hint of the old tenderness.

But instead of welcoming his concern, Brenna found herself wanting to reply icily. The words “Since when do you care?” kept begging to jump from between her lips.  When, next, he asked her if her real estate business was going well, she had to swallow those same words back to keep them from speaking themselves.

She managed a frost-draped “Fine, thank you.” Paul seemed to be waiting for further details, but she offered none.  At length, he gave up and asked the boys about the movie they had seen with their grandma.

“It was funny,” Sammy said, which seemed to be all he had to offer on the subject.

Kyle said nothing. He seemed very absorbed in his mashed potatoes.

Paul looked at Brenna for guidance. She had no better ideas than he did, though, for drawing Kyle into the conversation, and she shrugged her shoulders at his raised eyebrow. He threw a more personal question at Kyle: “Did you remember Grandma, Kyle? When you saw her for the first time . . . after coming home . . . did you recognize her?”

The boy shook his head without raising it to look at his father.

Paul wasn’t happy with this disengaged response, but Brenna viewed it more positively. She thought, That’s an improvement. Four days ago, he would have said, “I’m not home. This isn’t home. I want to go home!” and made a fuss.

But her optimisim waned a minute later. Sammy, who at three had trouble comprehending what was going on, looked at Kyle and said, “Sure you remember Gamma. We saw her tomorning.” He also had trouble with time references like “this morning,” “today,” and “tomorrow.” When Kyle didn’t answer, Sammy asked him, “Why won’t you talk to me?” Then, when Kyle still didn’t answer, Sammy turned to Brenna. “Mommy. Make him answer me.”

At that point, Kyle got up from the table and ran upstairs.

Sammy got up too. “Hafta pee,” he explained.

Paul and Brenna just looked at each other, wondering what to do about both boys. Brenna decided to let Kyle be for the moment. As for Sammy, she was definitely going to have to keep her eyes and ears open for clues, since the doctors couldn’t find the cause of the problem. This was really getting troublesome.

Meanwhile, she tried to fill the silence with small talk. “So, how’s work? Lots of cases, or is it relatively quiet?”

“Sort of middle of the road,” Paul answered. “And your . . .” he was about to ask about her work, when he realized he’d asked that already. And gotten nowhere. “I mean . . . .” What did he mean to ask her? “Are you getting on okay . . . I mean, aside from the boys? Are you okay?”

What is he really asking? Brenna wondered. Does he wonder if I’m managing okay without him here? “I’m all right. And you?”

Paul thought of the acid-tongued Julianna. Living with her had turned into less of a treat than he’d anticipated. “I’m fine,” he answered.

“I don’t see why you have to have dinner with your ex-wife,” Julianna had said peevishly that morning.

“I’m having dinner with the boys. At my wife’s house.” He emphasized “wife” because Julianna had said “ex.” Immediately he was sorry he had.

“Nostalgia . . . or are you still sleeping with her?” The voice delivered the words like smartly aimed pinpricks.

“Neither. Not that that question deserved an answer.”

“Oh, I get it. You want to, but she’s not willing.”

“I. Don’t. Want. To.” Paul enunciated each word with finality.

“Methinks the gent doth protest too much.” The words were accompanied by a laugh, but there was no humor in the laughter.

And there was no fun left in the relationship, Paul thought. In the roughly a year that they’d been living together, Julianna had worn thin. But Paul was reluctant to move out. He didn’t want to feel he’d failed at two relationships.