A Minute to Smile Page 8

  But sometimes, in the grip of that horrible grief, he’d often wished himself dead.

  It had not happened in a long time, and as soon as he’d left Esther this morning, it eased away. Now, staring down at the waving green of trees outside the window, he felt compelled to understand what had brought it on.

  Fear. Fear that he was allowing Esther to penetrate long-erected walls. Fear that if he allowed that, she, too, would somehow be taken from him. He honestly didn’t think he could bear a third shattering loss.

  Either’s words over coffee, beyond being an echo of something Susan had said, had seemed all at once to be an omen.

  A finch settled on a high branch of the oak tree and Alexander picked up his binoculars to watch it. Tiny red bands striped its eyes and it sung cheerfully, gray claws wrapped securely around a slender branch that bounced on a breeze. As he often was, Alexander was struck by the seeming helplessness of the tiny creature—so small and defenseless, at the mercy of winds and rain. It amazed him that they managed to live at all. And yet they did. He watched them, year in and year out, braving the elements, singing jubilantly to sunrises and snowstorms and thunder.

  He lowered the glasses slowly and looked around his gloomy, tiny office. This past week, he’d felt like that bird, alive in spite of everything. He had no desire to hole up again like a hermit. For the first time in four years, he wanted to be a part of life, to make love and sing and eat strange things with a gloriously seductive redheaded woman.

  Lowering the binoculars slowly, he narrowed his eyes. Fight or flee? Man or coward?

  He’d been buried alive long enough. His fears were foolish and worse, cowardly. This time, he’d face the demons down, wrestle them out of his life.

  It was time.

  Chapter Six

  “Okay, Jeremy,” Esther said to her youngest. “Pour in the flour.” When he had done so, she nodded at Daniel, who measured two teaspoons of baking powder.

  “I still don’t understand how it’s going to work if you don’t follow the recipe.” Daniel pointed to the card. “It says four teaspoons of baking powder.”

  “Daddy said you don’t measure anything,” Jeremy added, jumping up and down in place. He spied a rubber ball on the floor under the lip of the counter and bent down to retrieve it.

  “Be still, Jeremy, or I won’t let you help.” She measured a cup of milk and handed it to the five year old, then looked at Daniel. “The reason we put in two teaspoons of baking powder instead of four is that we live six thousand feet above sea level. If we put in four, the corn bread will rise too fast and crack.”

  Jeremy took the cup of milk, but in a typical excess of exuberance, dumped it into the bowl, splashing milk all over the counter in the process. “Jeremy,” Esther said sharply. “I’ve told you before you have to be careful.”

  Undaunted, he covered his mouth, his dark eyes dancing above his hand. “Oops.”

  Exasperated, she frowned. “We’re almost done here. I just have to stir it and put it into the pan. Go outside and play until dinner.”

  “Me, too?” Daniel asked plaintively. “I didn’t do anything.”

  She gave him an egg. “This is it. Then you’re finished, too.” Thank heaven. It probably hadn’t been the best idea to give a cooking lesson this evening. She was tired and a little cranky.

  Unfortunately when Daniel cracked the egg on the side of the glass bowl, he hit it too hard and a dozen shards of eggshell spewed into the yellow cornmeal mix. Rattled, he dropped the rest of the shell into the bowl as well. Esther sighed loudly in frustration.

  “I’m sorry, Mommy.” There were tears in his voice and she looked at him in surprise.

  “It’s no big deal, honey.” She bent down to hug him. Once again, he’d absorbed and responded to her mood, a mood Jeremy had been able to laugh away. “We all get eggshells in things sometimes,” she said. “Just makes it crunchy.”

  He still looked uncertain and she touched his smooth, straight hair. “Mr. Wizard is on TV. Why don’t you go watch him until supper is ready?”

  He nodded, still subdued. Esther sighed once more and tried to pick out the worst of the eggshell in the corn bread. Her hair kept falling in her face, irritating her further, and she found a rubber band to catch it back, feeling the grime of the day all over her. It had been hot, the children had been bored most of the day in spite of the fun they’d had with Abe. Actually they had both wanted to go swimming, but since Esther had to work, it was impossible—a fact neither of them would accept. The shop had been busy, and her window fan had decided this would be its last day of operation.

  Now instead of something cool and refreshing, they were going to have beans and corn bread for dinner because Esther couldn’t bear to waste them. The beans had been in the Crockpot all day. They would eat them.

  She washed her hands and slid the corn bread into the oven and was just about to pour a glass of ice-cold lemonade when there was a knock on the back door. Abe no doubt—and he would be quite welcome tonight, even if he teased her about her bedraggled appearance.

  Without bothering to take off the flour-dusted apron, she crossed the room. There, standing politely beyond the screen door, was Alexander, looking as dapper as always. Catching sight of her, he grinned. “Hello!’’

  For one embarrassed moment, Esther thought about telling him there was absolutely no way he could come in. Not only was she personally a mess, but the kitchen was a disaster and toys were scattered from one end of the house to the other. She couldn’t remember exactly, but there was probably even a pile of laundry in front of the washing machine.

  Then she decided that if he was going to really be her friend, he might as well see the real Esther. Piles of dirty dishes were hardly uncommon in her life. Giving him a smile, she opened the screen door. “Hi. Feel free to run screaming over the horrors you are about to encounter,” she said dryly.

  He eyed her apron and bare feet, then her hair. Grinning, he said. “Well, I haven’t seen that hairstyle before, I admit.”

  “I forgot,” she said and tugged the rubber band out.

  “I tried to call, but the line was busy,” he said.

  Esther nodded, gesturing for him to come in. “I took it off the hook.”

  “Shall I come back another time?” he asked, eyes twinkling as he looked around him.

  “No.” She wiped the counter with a dishcloth and remembered the glass of lemonade she had promised herself. “Please stay. This has been a long day filled with nothing but the complaints of children. Adult conversation is exactly what I need.” Taking two glasses from the shelf, she waved him onto a stool. “You may as well see the real me, especially since you’ve confessed to having an orderly life.” She poured the lemonade and passed him one of the glasses. “As you can plainly see, I don’t have an orderly bone in my body.”

  “Order is overrated.” He drank deeply. “You make wonderful lemonade.”

  She smiled. Sitting there on her stool, looking as fresh and energetic as an ad from a Land’s End catalog, he refreshed her eyes if nothing else. “Thanks.” She sampled it herself—sweet and tart, thick with pulp. “Have you had dinner? Would you like to eat with us?”

  “I’ve eaten, thank you.” He cleared his throat quietly and looked at Esther with a sober expression. “I came to apologize for my behavior this morning.”

  Esther knew what he meant, but she gave him a small grin. “Kissing my hand like that was rather wicked of you.”

  “Oh, I’m not apologizing for that at all.” Again the lusty light filled his changeable eyes. “In fact, despite your floured face, I’m rather tempted to try it again.”

  “Don’t you dare.” She narrowed her eyes. “You promised.”

  “So I did,” he said with a mock air of defeat. A frown creased his forehead. “Esther.—”

  She turned away, busying herself with clearing the sink in order to run hot water. “Don’t, Alexander. I think I understand.”

  He left his post on the sto
ol. “Perhaps you do,” he agreed, coming to stand beside her. “But I would like to tell you anyway. It’s important.”

  She looked at him, feeling afraid somehow of what he would say—that he would reveal beyond all question how deeply he was wounded, how much he needed the healer within her who was always ready to spring to the fore. Give me your tired, your hungry, your needy, she thought and bit back an amused quiver of her lips. But the amusement was tempered with sobriety. Like America, she often bit off more than she could chew. “Okay,” she said. “If you need to tell me, I’ll listen.”

  “Thank you.” For a moment he paused, then shoved his fingers through his untamable hair.

  “My wife, Susan,” he said finally, “was a very vital woman, always bustling and laughing and busy. She didn’t waste a moment sulking or brooding.” As if he couldn’t resist talking like this without somehow touching her, he reached out to take Esther’s hand. As he continued, he spoke toward her hand, his eyes downcast. “When I’d get in my moods, she always said, ‘Alexander, you’re going to waste a perfectly beautiful hour brooding. You’ll regret it when you get to the end of your days.’”

  Esther smiled at the exaggerated Irish lilt he put in the words and the attempt he made to raise his deep voice into the tenor of a woman.

  “Anyway,” he said, “today, when you said life is too short to do things you don’t enjoy, it reminded me of Susan. I always wondered, after she died, if she knew somehow that she didn’t have long.”

  “Maybe she did know,” Esther said. The part of her that was a healer wanted to reach up and hug him to her, to extend a balm of comfort to soothe the deep sorrow she felt emanating from him like a wistful song. The part of her that was simply a woman felt a swift regret that she had never been loved so passionately by a man.

  “At least she had you,” she managed quietly.

  He must have heard the regret in her voice, for he raised his eyes to her face. “Esther, I’m not telling you this because I want you to know how much I loved her. I did, but—” A crease furrowed the high brow. “But even she would protest the length of time I’ve spent pulling away from life on her account.” A vivid turquoise bloomed in his eyes and he said softly, “You make me feel alive, Esther.”

  The woman who wanted to be loved by such a fierce and gentle lion lifted up on her bare tiptoes and pressed a kiss to his beautiful mouth. The woman who had been so deeply wounded by a man very much unlike him frowned in disapproval. He’ll never care for you in the same way, it warned sourly. Esther ignored it. “Thank you for telling me,” she said.

  “You broke the agreement,” he commented without releasing her hands.

  She slipped away, glancing at him sideways. “I don’t remember you asking for an agreement.”

  “Nor will I.”

  Daniel wandered into the kitchen. “Mommy, I’m hungry.”

  “It’ll be ready in just a few minutes, sweetie.” But the sight of him reminded her to check on Jeremy, who had been awfully quiet in the backyard for much too long. Frowning, she glanced out the kitchen window. Catching sight of him, she said, “Oh, good heavens,” and headed for the door.

  He had climbed the crab apple tree again, the same one from which he’d fallen two weeks before. It wasn’t a particularly tall tree, but neither was it strong—and the little daredevil had climbed to a fork perhaps twenty feet off the ground. As she watched, the branch bent threateningly under his weight.

  Esther resisted the urge to call his name in warning and instead ran to the tree, positioning herself so that she might have a chance to catch him if the branch broke. “Jeremy,” she called gently. “Come down from there right now.” She said it as if there was no reason in the world to be afraid, as if she was simply exasperated with his little adventure.

  “I can’t,” he said, irritated. “My shoe is stuck.” To illustrate, he tugged his leg. The movement sent the branch creaking and groaning.

  “Don’t move!” She reached down and caught the hem of her skirt between her legs, tucking the end into the waistband of her apron. Hoisting herself onto the lower branches, she climbed up after him, testing the branches as she went. In only a few seconds, she found she could reach his shoe and quickly untied the laces. “Slip your foot out,” she said.

  He did. “Hey! That worked pretty good—”

  “We’ll talk about it later. You get down now.” Still working to reassure and not frighten him, she added, “It’s almost time for dinner.”

  It was harder to get down than it was to get up, at least for Esther. Jeremy possessed the agility of a cat, and scampered down in an instant. When they were both safely on the ground, she let go of a breath, touching his dark curls. They had absorbed the heat of the afternoon sun and warmed her fingers. Esther was dangerously close to tears.

  “I’ve warned you about that tree, haven’t I, Jeremy?”

  He nodded, his eyes losing their shine of adventure as he realized he’d really done it now. “What’re you gonna do?”

  She looked back at the tree, at the slender branch upon which he’d been standing and the great distance he would have fallen, and how Suddenly inspired, she said, “Stay where you are.

  I’ll be right back.”

  Daniel and Alexander were watching from the back stoop. Neither of them spoke as she brushed past them, perhaps recognizing that a quiet mother was more dangerous than a noisy one.

  In the kitchen, Esther grabbed a cantaloupe she’d purchased that morning and took it back outside. Seeing Daniel and realizing how little he needed extra ammunition for his overactive imagination, she said, “Daniel, you wait inside. We’ll eat in a minute.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m about to give your brother an illustration, and I don’t think you’ll like it.”

  Alexander, looking at the fruit in Esther’s hand, seemed to realize what she meant to do. “Come, Daniel, I’ll tell you a story.”

  Jeremy stood at the foot of the tree, uncommonly subdued, as he had been the day he’d fallen. But it hadn’t lasted, in spite of the punishment she’d given him, and she doubted a spanking would do much more. She showed him the cantaloupe. “I want you to watch this,” she said, and climbed the tree. Inspired by a bicycle helmet commercial on television, she lifted the fruit to the crook in the tree where he’d been standing. “Are you watching?” she called back to her son. He looked very small, so far below her.

  She dropped the fruit, feeling a little ill as it swooped by her to smash with predictable results on the hard ground below. Shakily she climbed back down. Jeremy was crouched by the split cantaloupe and she knelt next to him. “This is what could happen to your head if you fall from that high.” Tears did fill her eyes now. “Do you understand?”

  He looked calmly at the fruit. “Gross,” he commented.

  “Jeremy,” she repeated. “Do you understand?”

  “Yeah.” He stood up and looked at the tree. “If I fall, I’ll break my head wide open.”

  “Right.”

  He nodded. “Then you’d have to take me to the hospital and I wouldn’t get to sleep in my own bed and they probably wouldn’t even let me have my blanket.”

  Esther struggled with a smile. “That’s right. So stay out of that tree.”

  “I will.” He hugged her. “I love you, Mommy.”

  “I love you, too, baby.”

  It was then that she remembered the corn bread. “Oh, no! Come on.”

  She raced for the kitchen. Alexander and Daniel were nowhere to be seen, but a finger of carbon-scented steam curled out of the oven. Swearing mildly, Esther found a pot holder and yanked the black mass from the oven.

  “Oops,” said Jeremy.

  Esther laughed. “I guess we weren’t destined to have beans and corn bread tonight. How about a trip to the sub shop?”

  “Yahoo!”

  “Let’s go find your brother.”

  Alexander sat on the front porch while Daniel showed him magic tricks. The boy was actually quite go
od, surprising Alexander two or three times with optical illusions and clever sleight of hand.

  “One more,” Daniel said, “But you have to close your eyes for a minute so I can get ready.”

  Alexander obliged, gently swinging himself back and forth on the porch swing. Nearby, a wren chirped cheerfully. The scent of a riotously blooming spirea bush wafted over the wooden railings and a cluster of honeybees grumbled happily to themselves over the abundance of nectar.

  “I’m ready,” Daniel said.

  Alexander opened his eyes. Daniel’s large, luminous eyes shone and he tossed an errant lock of dark hair from his forehead. Struggling to keep a straight face, he said, “I have a penny, see?”

  “I see.”

  Daniel waved his hands, biting his lip in concentration, then held up both, palms out. “Now it’s gone.”

  “Why, so it is.”

  “No,” Daniel returned, shaking his head with mock puzzlement. “Here it is!” He reached over and touched Alexander’s ear, pulling out the penny. “What were you doing with it in your ear?”

  Delighted, Alexander chuckled. “I’ll have to start calling you Merlin.”

  “Who’s Merlin?”

  “The best sorcerer that ever lived, that’s who—and he’d be quite impressed with your talents.”

  Esther emerged from the house, Jeremy holding her hand. Her skirt was wrinkled, the hem dusty, her bare feet grass stained. All of her makeup from the morning had worn away and he could see how tired she was in the faint blue circles below her eyes. This was no young girl, he thought. A small tracing of lines showed at the corners of her eyes.

  And yet, he felt a quickening in that ill-behaved portion of his anatomy. He would have liked to pull her into his lap and hold her until the weariness of the day had drained—then he would kiss her until she trembled with quite another emotion. Then, in the aftermath of passion, he would listen to the recounting of the days that had given her the character no young girl could hope to share, would share in turn the seasonings of his own days.