Almost A Wife

After high school, they had gone their separate ways. He went on to Harvard, and would probably have lost touch altogether, had it not been for his mother who was on the board of the Children’s Home, and took a personal interest in several of the kids. She kept him informed. “Pete’s waiting tables, and studying to be a court reporter…Kathy’s working at the bank.” He had come home to be best man at their wedding, and later, godfather for their first child. But then…his mother died.

For a moment he was back in that nightmare. She had had a heart attack and he returned home. Too late.

He shook off the feeling that always haunted him when he thought of his mother.

Anyway, Pete and Kathy moved to Columbus and, well, just faded into his past.

Until Pete died, and Kathy called. He had gone to Columbus then and found capable Kathy distraught and trying to cope, saddled as she was with a babe in arms and a three-year-old. Though grief-stricken, she had not been in bad shape financially, what with Pete’s life and mortgage insurance. He had been doing well as a court reporter, with Kathy typing the transcripts at home. During his illness, she had begun transcribing for other court reporters, and was assured of a steady income. Tray had only needed to give solace as best he could, and help iron out the legal details concurrent with death. He had promised to stay in touch. “Call if you need me. Anytime for anything.”

“Cocktail, sir?”

He looked up at the Flight attendant. “Whiskey and soda, please. Thanks,” he said, taking a swallow before setting the glass on his tray. He needed it. He was assailed by guilt. He hadn’t kept in touch.

Oh, a few phone calls in answer to her infrequent notes. Birthday and Christmas presents for the kids. But he hadn’t been back, not once. He often went back to visit Dad, who was still working as a pharmacist, still living in Dayton, though he had moved from the old home to a condo, complete with golf course, swimming pool and cronies.

Dayton, he reminded himself, wasn’t all that far from Columbus…But no, he hadn’t kept in touch.

I’m in touch now, he thought, two days later, when he sat on a plane headed back to California. He was accompanied by a six-year-old girl holding tight to a teddy bear almost as big as she, and a four-year-old boy clutching a peppermint stick in very sticky fingers.

Quite a bundle for a bachelor accustomed to traveling light. Especially when the bundles were alive and kicking!

“No! I don’t want this thing ’round me.” The boy pushed at the seat belt with surprising strength.

“It’s just till we get going,” Tray apologized, desperately trying to get boy, girl and teddy bear buckled in.

“You have to, Peter.” It was the girl who got the boy’s attention. “You know like Mommy always did in the car.”

“I want Mommy!”

“Mommy’s in heaven,” the girl said, repeating as before, that Mommy was never coming back. It broke Tray’s heart every time she said it. Her big blue eyes would grow even more solemn and sad. Not the happy child she had been when he had seen her two years ago.

“Her real name is Chelsea, but we call her Sunny because she’s our…my,” Kathy had corrected herself, remembering Pete was gone. “My little ray of sunshine.’

Sunny. She had been then. A happy, smiling child, her eyes bright, her golden curls dancing as she pranced around. Too young then to realize that her daddy was dead.

She was not too young now. She was keenly aware that her mother had suddenly disappeared from her life. He hadn’t seen her smile once. But he felt a tug of admiration for the staunch little figure…bravely reassuring her brother while tightly clutching her own security…the bear.

His eyes burned, his heart aching for both of them, the boy who didn’t understand, and the girl who did.

What right have I to complain, he thought, holding his sticky hands away from his clothes as the plane sped slowly down the runway, and gathered speed to take off. With the help of the Flight attendant they were all buckled in. He had placed both children in the window seat, and they were dreamily staring out, headed, he hoped, for sleep. When the plane was aloft, he could get washed up, open his newspaper…

Newspaper, hell! He had more on his hands than peppermint candy.

He had been right about Kathy Byrd. She had made careful plans, all documented in a living trust. But he couldn’t quite grasp it when Mr. Canson, the lawyer, informed him that Kathy had named him guardian for the children and left everything she owned to him, in trust for the children.

“Me?” he had asked. “I’m not even a relative.”

The lawyer reminded him that Kathy had no relatives.

“But she’s never said anything to me. Surely there must be someone else.”

“No,” Canson assured him. “Only you.”

Tray stared at him. The trust, the financial part, he could handle, supplementing funds if necessary. He would see that the children were never in want.

“But the children themselves,” he said in some consternation. “I can’t possibly take them. I’m a bachelor. No wife, no home even. I’m living in a hotel.”

Mr. Canson could see his point. “Well, as guardian, your only responsibility is to see that they are given proper care.” He cleared his throat. “Perhaps there’s a relative who would be willing to—”

“No.” Tray thought of his father, in his bachelor apartment. An aunt…on a cruise somewhere, he thought. This was crazy. A person couldn’t will her children to someone, could she?

“I can see that this places you in a rather awkward position,” the attorney said. “But I think we can arrange something. There is an agency available here for help in this kind of situation. I’ll get in touch and arrange for a temporary placement.”

“That might be the thing to do.” What had Kathy been thinking? “She never mentioned anything about this to me,” he said.

“Perhaps in the letter,” Canson suggested, gesturing at the documents he had handed Tray.

“Oh.” Tray had been so stunned, he hadn’t even glanced at the papers. He opened the letter.

After reading it, no way could he place the children, even temporarily, with some agency.

He looked at them. Both asleep. The seat belt light was off. He went to the bathroom, washed his hands and dashed cold water over his face. He returned to his seat and took out the letter.

Dear Tray,

I hope you never read this letter. And maybe you won’t. I’m only twenty-five and perfectly healthy. But Pete was only twenty-six when he left us all alone, and I’m scared. What would happen to Peter and Sunny if I weren’t here?

If anything does happen to me, and I’m praying with all my heart it doesn’t, then…this is why you have this letter.

Why you? Because you’re the only person in all this world that I trust. And because yours was the only happy home I knew. Only a small part, it is true, but you cannot possibly know how much I cherished every minute spent at your house. All the laughter under that big oak tree or in the pool, even helping your mother make sandwiches or clean the kitchen. Do you remember how we made homemade ice cream in that old freezer, and everybody wanted the dasher? And always your mother smiling her warm smile. I used to pretend that it was my home, and I wouldn’t be returning to the orphanage where I was one among many forgotten kids.

To be honest, the Home was the best place I ever lived. All the foster homes were horrible, and I don’t even want to think about the Youth Authority. You didn’t know I did time there, did you? Kids can get turned around. I don’t want that to happen to my children.

Promise me, Tray, that it won’t. I know you’re not married yet, and might not want to keep them yourself. If not, please find someone…someone who really wants them and will love them, and give them the kind of home you had. Please, for God’s sake, don’t let them get caught in the system like I was. Please, Tray. Do this for me.

Again, I hope you never read this letter. But, just in case…Thank you for sharing your home with me, and thank you for finding that kind of home for Sunny and Peter. I love you,

Kathy

CHAPTER THREE

ON HER knees, Lisa mopped her way out of the second upstairs bathroom. She stood in the hall, rubbed an aching shoulder and looked back at the gleaming tiles covering the long counter, the clear mirror above, the spotless floor beneath. Stain-free. Sweet smelling. Perfect. Bleach along with that fragrant tile cleaner worked miracles.

And havoc on me, she thought, glancing at her red hands and broken nails. Rubber gloves slowed her down, and time was a precious commodity. Her chopped off hair was also a time-saver. Just wash and blow!

Money saver, too. No weekly trips to the beauty shop. Chic and smooth not required in this business, she thought as she picked up her pail.

Still, skimping on beauty treatments hardly made a dent in the monthly bills. I’m cleaning houses like crazy and getting further and further in debt. Harder work, less pay.