When they were finished with dinner—a basic chili and an uninspired salad—Paul cleared the table while Leah stacked the dishes in the dishwasher. Wordlessly they worked together while Ryan and Ronnie entertained their sister.
“I wish you’d let me do that,” he said as she scrubbed a pot.
“I don’t mind.” There were only a handful of dishes that needed to be washed by hand, and she’d be done in a few minutes.
“Perhaps you don’t mind, but I do,” Paul said, his words taut.
The stark tone of his voice surprised Leah. It wasn’t going to be easy, the two of them adjusting to each other’s presence.
“All right,” she agreed amicably enough. She didn’t know what Paul thought of her. She wondered if he had any feelings toward her, one way or the other.
They’d worked together, talked occasionally, grieved together, wept in each other’s arms—but when it came to defining their relationship, Leah was at a loss.
She turned off the water and dried her hands. Replacing the dish towel on the wire rack, she glanced over at Paul, her eyes skimming his. In that one brief glance, she saw so much. His fatigue. His pain. His regret.
She was about to leave the room when Paul caught her by the arm. He dropped his hand almost immediately, and for a moment he said nothing. But his meaning was clear.
He was sorry for speaking harshly to her. Leah knew that as surely as she’d ever known anything. Something deep inside her longed to comfort him, assure him that she understood.
The days might pass. But the pain didn’t.
“I didn’t mean to snap at you,” he said.
“I know.”
“It’s just that…”
“I know, Paul. You don’t have to explain. You’re grateful I’m here and at the same time you wish I wasn’t. You aren’t going to hurt my feelings. I understand.”
Leah did understand; nevertheless his words a few minutes ago had hurt. She knew Paul hadn’t meant to be insensitive, and he wasn’t unfeeling. But his response to her being there, performing the tasks that had once been his wife’s, left her feeling unwanted. Diane was the one he wanted, not Leah.
His reaction stirred once-forgotten inadequacies and brought to life deeply buried resentments, not toward Diane, but toward their mother. Diane had been the beautiful child; Leah was plain, inept. While Diane had been a high school cheerleader, Leah had been shy, studious, a plain Jane. Leah knew she’d embarrassed her mother. Diane was her golden girl, Leah ordinary and unattractive.
The way their mother had favored one sister over the other had hurt Diane more than it had Leah. Leah had worked hard at her studies, received a full scholarship to the University of Washington and graduated with honors. By then their mother was gone, but Diane had been there to cheer her success. She’d always been there to boost Leah’s self-confidence.
But she wasn’t there anymore.
Later that night, after the boys and Kelsey were asleep, Paul brought Leah a cup of coffee. She was sitting in front of the television mindlessly watching some sitcom, too tired to move. She was physically and mentally exhausted.
For months Paul had carried all responsibility for these children. Leah didn’t know how he’d managed for so long.
“Thanks,” she said, accepting the steaming mug.
“You look beat.”
“I was just wondering where the boys get their energy.”
“They’re a handful, aren’t they?” His smile was filled with fatherly pride, and Leah found herself responding with a smile of her own.
Paul settled on the recliner across from her. He was a good-looking man. His features were imperfect, rugged, but nevertheless appealing. Or maybe appealing because of that. It was easy to understand why Diane had fallen in love with him.
Leah would never forget the day Diane had called her from Alaska nearly seven years ago. She’d phoned to tell her she’d married Paul Manning. Leah had been aghast. She’d never met Paul, and her sister, after an all-too-brief courtship, had decided to marry him. Leah was, to say the least, shaken.
They’d always been close. It had hurt that her sister would marry this man without even talking it over. For a time Leah had been furious. Meeting Paul had only partially appeased her. Eventually, though, she’d seen that despite Diane’s age, it was a solid marriage. The fact that Paul so obviously loved her had gone a long way toward reassuring Leah.
“You’ll get used to the boys’ antics,” Paul said, interrupting her thoughts.
“Does Ryan usually take his stuffed animals in the bathtub with him?”
Paul grinned. “Not usually.”
“I see. So what happened tonight was in my honor?”
“Don’t worry, they’ll dry. A little the worse for wear, but they will dry.”
“What about his blankie? We can’t wash it?” Leah hadn’t been able to persuade Ryan to let go of it for even an hour to run it through the washing machine. Whenever she suggested it, the four-year-old clung to his stained, torn blanket as if she’d proposed burning the thing—which might not be such a bad idea.
Paul rolled his eyes. “At least Ronnie’s thumbs are clean.”
Leah chuckled, but she worried about the boys and their unabated need for reassurance.
“We’re going to be all right,” Paul said, closing his eyes and leaning his head against the back of his chair. “There were days I wondered but now, for the first time since the funeral, I believe it.”
“Me, too.”
Paul sighed, straightened, then took a sip of his coffee. After a moment he stared blankly at the television screen.
“I miss Diane most right about now,” he said, his voice low. “We used to sit and talk every night after the boys were asleep. She’d tell me about her day, and I’d talk to her about mine. I’d hold her in my arms and we’d relax together, on that sofa you’re sitting on now.” He shook his head. “I’ve tried a hundred times to remember the things we said, to resurrect the good feelings I had holding her in my arms. But you know, I can’t remember a single word of our conversations.”
“It was just having her there, listening, that was important.”
Paul nodded. “I suppose you’re right.” But he didn’t sound convinced.
They didn’t often talk about Diane. She guessed it was natural that it would happen tonight, her first night in his home.
“You know what I miss about her most?” Leah asked.
“No.”
“Shopping at the mall.”
Paul chuckled. “I should’ve guessed. I’ve never been able to understand what it is about shopping that intrigues you women.”
“Diane had an incredible knack for finding a bargain.”
“You mean she had an incredible knack for spending money, don’t you?”
Leah folded her legs under her and smiled. “It wasn’t so much the shopping, but the time we spent laughing when we tried on clothes and ordered cheesecake for lunch and then, because we felt guilty, salad for dessert.”
Leah’s stomach tensed at the pain that came into Paul’s eyes. A look that was reflected in her own.
It was supposed to get easier, but she’d never missed her sister more than she did at that moment. Missing Diane hurt so much. For months Leah had kept the ache of loneliness to herself, not daring to discuss it with Paul, knowing that he, too, was overwhelmed by pain. It was oddly freeing to release some of her own anguish now. To reveal it to the one person who’d completely understand.
“We’re going to be all right,” Paul said again.
“Yes, I think we will,” she murmured.
In their own ways they were coping. How well remained to be seen.
For a long while Paul said nothing.
Neither did Leah.
Paul finished his coffee, then set aside his mug, closing his eyes, visibly relaxed.
Leah finished her coffee too, knowing that if she didn’t go to bed immediately, she’d fall asleep right there on the couch.
The day had been even more tiring than she’d realized. Her bones ached from the exertion of moving. From the fatigue of dealing with the unending demands of two preschoolers and an infant.
“Good night, Paul,” she said, unfolding her legs and standing awkwardly. Her feet didn’t seem to want to cooperate.
“’Night, Diane.”
Three
Diane.
Paul’s eyes shot open. For a moment it had almost seemed as if Diane was in the living room with him. As if he were chuckling over Ryan’s mischievous nature with his much-loved wife. Then…a slip of the tongue had nearly crippled him with grief.
For an agonizing moment he was at a loss for words. It had been a natural mistake, he supposed. Under the circumstances an understandable mistake. Certainly a forgivable one.
“I’m sorry,” he said, looking at Leah, hoping he hadn’t offended her.
“No problem,” she reassured him with a smile. She headed toward her bedroom.
Paul reached for his coffee and saw that his hand was shaking as he raised the mug to his lips.
Diane.
Sometimes he wondered if the ache of her loss would ever ease. She’d been gone half a year, yet his grief was as powerful now as it had been that night, the night of her death.
In the time since her funeral, Paul had experienced the full range of emotions. Unleashed fear. Burning anger. Intense sadness. And occasionally a sort of acceptance. Just when he felt he’d moved beyond the pain, something else would happen, and he’d have to deal with each series of emotions all over again, as if facing them for the first time.
He was grateful to Leah, although he hadn’t been nearly as gracious as he should’ve been when she’d offered to move in. He liked Diane’s older sister. She was a generous woman, and he’d always be grateful to her for the commitment she’d made to him and the children. Frankly Paul didn’t know what he would’ve done without her.
He recalled the first time he’d met Leah, and how surprised he’d been. He’d expected another Diane. Someone so full of life and laughter that her smile rivaled the brilliance of the sun. He’d imagined she’d be as blond and pretty as his young wife.
Leah was none of those things.
She wasn’t unattractive; he wouldn’t even describe her as plain. As a writer he should be able to find the right words, yet each one that came to him, he ended up discarding. At one time he’d thought of her as nondescript.
He’d since changed his mind.
There was a subdued radiance to her, a joy that broke through her restraint every so often when he wasn’t expecting to see it. It never failed to charm him.
She’d always been Ryan and Ronnie’s favorite relative. It had been Leah who’d comforted them when they learned about their mother. It had been Leah who’d encouraged them when Paul had no encouragement to give. It had been Leah who’d cheered them when he didn’t know if he’d ever have the strength to laugh again.
That afternoon had been a good example. He’d returned from the office to find her in her bedroom, with the boys gathered around. When he’d walked in, she’d looked up and smiled…and for a moment, the briefest of moments, Paul had felt whole again.
Over coffee that evening he’d experienced that same sense of wholeness, as though the crushing weight he’d been carrying since Diane’s death had been eased. Not by much, but enough for some of the numbness to leave his heart.
He owed Leah a debt he couldn’t repay in several lifetimes. Although he didn’t want to admit it, he was glad she was there with him and the children. He’d promised himself he wouldn’t take advantage of her generosity. He’d make sure she had time to herself, time to get away, socialize—do whatever she needed to do to keep her sanity during the next two years.
Her sanity, after all, was essential to his.
A month passed, the easiest weeks for Paul since Diane’s death. Each day he felt less embittered, less confused, less depressed. He’d even started thinking about working on his novel again. The anticipation cheered him.
The transition from college professor to housekeeper–mother must’ve been hard for Leah, but she was managing exceptionally well. Paul was proud of her, proud of the progress she’d made. Her efforts around the house had made a tremendous difference. She’d begun some of the yard work, too, and with Ryan and Ronnie’s “help” was planting a garden.
All three children were thriving under her attention and care. Paul couldn’t believe the difference in his sons. Ryan actually forgot his blankie sometimes. He was watching cartoons without it one afternoon when Paul had arrived home from work. Ronnie was beside him, and for the first time in recent memory, his son’s thumb wasn’t in his mouth.
Paul had praised Leah, but she’d quickly dismissed his compliments, claiming the changes in the boys’ behavior weren’t due solely to her. Although the boys were more secure now that she was there to take care of them, attending the preschool with their neighborhood friends had helped, too. And the summer sunshine, she said, had also contributed.
Although Paul didn’t really agree with her, he’d let it pass. He definitely attributed the boys’ improvement to Leah, but he knew she wasn’t comfortable with his appreciation.
He used to think of her as quiet and unassuming. But in the past few weeks he’d realized she was more than that. She was sensitive and loving, and her gentleness was a balm that was healing them all.
The phone on his desk rang, and Paul reached for it.
“Hi there, big brother,” a deep voice greeted him.
“Rich, hello.” Paul hadn’t heard from his brothers much lately. Mostly it was his fault. He’d rejected their efforts to draw him out after Diane’s death. Both Rich and Jason were on a softball team and they’d wanted him to join them in a summer league. Paul had nearly laughed out loud. There wasn’t time for sports in his life. And the thought of playing softball had seemed ludicrous, considering the loss he’d endured. Paul understood that Rich and Jason were only trying to help, but he hadn’t been ready.
“Rich, it’s good to hear from you,” Paul said, meaning it.
“You might have called me,” his brother responded. “I’ve left you enough messages.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“You’re fortunate I’m willing to let you make it up to me.”
“I figured you would.”
“I’m calling to ask sort of a favor.” Some of the teasing left Rich’s voice.
“Oh?”
“One of the guys on the softball team, John Duncan—you remember John, don’t you? The mechanic from the garage off Seventy-sixth?”
“Yeah.” Paul vaguely recalled meeting the guy. “What about him?”
“He has to miss the next two or three games. Jason and I were talking it over and we thought…since Leah’s taking care of the kids now, maybe you could get away for a couple of Saturday mornings. If you have to bring the twins, that’d be okay, too. Jamie always comes to the games and I’m sure she wouldn’t mind looking after them.”
Despite himself, Paul chuckled.
“What’s so funny?”
“Richard, Richard, haven’t you learned yet?”
“Learned what?”
“Not to volunteer your wife for something until you’ve checked with her first.”
“Oh…right. Listen, the team’s desperate. John’s a good shortstop, but not as good as you.”
“Do you suppose buttering me up’s going to help?”
“I was hoping it would,” Rich admitted honestly. “Can you do it?”
“Let me get back to you.”
“When?”
“This evening,” Paul promised.
He was tempted. Leah would encourage him to do it; he knew that without asking.
Maybe he would, Paul decided. Maybe he would.
“You’re positive you don’t mind?” Paul asked for the third time the following Saturday morning. He couldn’t help feeling guilty about abandoning Leah with the kids while he we
nt off to play softball.
“Paul,” she chided, smiling up at him. “Go, before I push you out the door. Don’t worry about us. The boys and I will have lots of fun.”
“Planting a garden sounds more like work to me.” A half dozen egg cartons cluttered the kitchen counter. Leah and the boys had been enthusiastically working on this project for weeks.
Somehow they’d gotten him involved. Two weekends before, he’d found himself spading up a section of the yard for them to use. When he’d finished, Leah and the boys had dumped topsoil and fertilizer on the rough earth, spreading it out as evenly as they could.
Then the eggshells started turning up. One afternoon the three of them had been engrossed in filling halves of eggshells with potting soil and then inserting a single seed. Now the tiny zucchini, cucumber, radish and lettuce sprouts poked out of the shells.
The seedlings, Leah declared that morning, were now strong enough to be planted outside.
Paul’s sons had been delighted with the idea. More than once he’d seen the two of them peering over the kitchen counter, as if they were hoping to catch the seeds bursting instantly into full-grown plants.
“I could bring Kelsey with me,” he offered.
“Then she’ll go down late for her nap and be crabby. You don’t need that.” She carried the boys’ empty cereal bowls to the sink. “Now, hurry or you’ll be late.”
Paul drank the last of his coffee. As she strolled past, Leah grabbed the bill of his baseball cap and pushed it down, past his eyes. “Have fun, Mickey Mantle,” she teased.
Paul laughed, straightened the cap and grabbed his mitt. It wasn’t until he was outside starting his car that he realized he hadn’t felt so lighthearted in a long time.
Paul’s softball skills were a bit rusty, but he made a diving catch and caught a ground ball that turned the tide of the game. His brothers and temporary teammates slapped him on the back and ran off the field with him.
It felt great to get out like this. To laugh. Strangely, perhaps, he didn’t feel guilty about having fun. It felt right to be with his brothers.