Family: The Secret Ingredient

He unlocked the front door and stepped over the threshold into the small living room. The scene was partially as he expected. Amelia was in her recliner all right, her long gray hair loose round her shoulders, dressed in her long terry cloth robe, feet up, skein of pale yellow yarn in her lap. But she proved wide-awake, knitting needles clicking madly upon half a dainty mitten. Kyle often teased her about knitting in July, guessing Button’s size six months into the colder weather, but Amelia assured him she knew these things.

“You’ve been gone a good long while.” She regarded him over the tops of her reading glasses. Her lips puckered in disapproval. Kyle sighed, hanging his zip sweatshirt in the small hallway closet. He knew she was trying to be less controlling, but it was an ongoing effort. Old habits were tough to break.

“Grace showed up before I could leave.” He moved closer, hovering over Amelia’s chair. “So we ate some cake and firmed up plans.” And then she kissed me, with the gusto of a barroom floozy and the sweetness of a prom queen. I felt dismay, shock and complete helplessness for a matter of about sixty seconds.

He could feel a blush rising from his neck. Hopefully, his suntan would disguise it a bit. Avoiding her survey he stretched his arms over his head and glanced around. To his alarm, there lay Button, dressed in her frilly cotton nightie, curled up in the window seat. “What the…” He stalked across the room.

“I would have carried her to her room myself…”

“You know better, Amelia.” He gave the old woman a worried backward glance.

“I do know the limitations of this old body. Did what I could under the circumstances, though. Covered her with a blanket, rested her head on a sofa pillow.”

Kyle scooped up the child in his muscled arms with ease and strode back to sit in the chair adjoining Amelia’s. “Why can’t she go to bed like other people?” he asked, perplexed.

Amelia shook her head. “She’s inconsistent on that score, it’s true.”

He sensed her hesitancy. “But?”

“Well, Kyle, you said you’d be back in an hour. She believed you. Decided to keep watch for your car.”

“Oh.” He gulped, reaching down to push black silken hair from Button’s cherub face. “Daddy is too blame, isn’t he?” With a sleepy moan Button twisted in his lap, sucking harder on her thumb.

“You are her everything,” Amelia chided. “And small children interpret things quite literally.”

He rubbed his mouth, sheepish. “Seems I slipped up.”

“Mothers have better radar for such things than fathers,” she granted. “You can’t hope to get every move right.”

Kyle sensed some disapproval in her voice that suggested he could’ve done better, but he kept on smiling.

“So, tell me, was the cake a success?” she asked in a kinder tone.

“Yes.” Kyle cuddled Button against his chest, sniffing her hair, which smelled faintly floral. “Grace appreciated it very much.”

Amelia adjusted her needles thoughtfully. “I remember the girl quite clearly, tagging along after you at the bistro. Bubbly, pretty. Curly reddish brown hair. Full of cheer and questions. Seemed crazy about you.”

She did? Kyle’s heavy black brows jumped.

Amelia didn’t acknowledge his reaction, if she noticed. “I never had much contact with the parents though. They came into the bistro a few times to get their son, Michael, gift certificates or to pick up the girl. Struck me as the cold fish type.”

“They are restrained,” Kyle admitted. He was deliberately careful in his wording. Victor and Ingrid had never treated him badly, but he had a sense that he didn’t quite make their grade. It was a vague feeling that didn’t warrant his resentment. Resentment took energy and he’d learned to reserve it only for extreme cases.

Her forehead furrowed as she inspected her stitching. “Don’t get me wrong about the Norths. I’m sure they’re decent. But you’d best keep in mind that the rich are different. Many of them have never felt the raw panic of facing mounting bills. It sets people apart, the yearning for more.”

The advice never stopped flowing. But he did have some recourse here, which he used gently. “We can be grateful to Michael for funding my payment to you,” he said. “He’ll be a good partner, as he’s far more interested in his father’s accounting firm and won’t be bossing us around. And working for Grace will allow me more time with Button and some extra cash. Just so you know, we’re set up for Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays.”

Amelia stuffed her knitting in the canvas bag beside her chair and released the footrest on her chair. “I generally do have activities to fill some of those days. How will you manage? Perhaps I should cancel—”

“You shouldn’t,” he said adamantly, touched by her distress. “Our general deal is that you watch Button evenings and weekends, while I’m busy at the bistro. The weekdays are all yours, to follow your own schedule, no matter what.”

“I don’t expect that, and you shouldn’t guarantee it.”

He chuckled, gazing upon the bundle in his arms. “Guess you’re right.”

Button stirred in his arms then. Focusing on Kyle, she threw her arms around him. “You come back.”

“I always come back, honey.”

She pressed her soft little nose against his. “No heaven, Daddy.”

“Now, Button,” Amelia reasoned succinctly, “your father is not going to heaven any day soon. He was delivering a cake. You know that.”

Kyle squeezed her tight, exchanging a concerned look with Amelia. Button had been so insecure since Libby’s death, afraid she’d lose him to heaven too. “You did a good job on the cake, baby. Grace loved it.”

She set her chin stubbornly. “How’s Kitty?”

“Kitty was sound asleep, just like you should be.”

“My kitty,” she whispered fiercely.

“No, Button. You can visit Kitty, but she belongs to Grace.”

With pouty lips she crashed against Kyle’s shoulder and fell back asleep. He expelled a lung full of air. “That went well.”

Amelia regarded him sympathetically. “Lighten up. Isn’t your fault you got dealt this bad deck. Most fathers can slip away a few hours and not be concerned that their three-year-old will write them off as dead. It’s no one’s fault. We’re just left with…a situation. One we can surely handle.”

Kyle tried to appear convinced.

Chapter Four

Michael North was backing his dark green Porsche out of the garage the following morning, when Grace’s adjoining garage door began to rise. Quite an unusual sight so early on a Saturday. Unable to resist confronting her, he braked on their mutual driveway and shut off his engine.

He ambled into the garage to discover her standing by the driver’s door of her silver BMW. Dressed in aqua capris and a matching striped cropped top, a tote bag and melon work smock in her arms, she definitely had plans.

“So it is you.”

Startled, she asked, “Who else?”

“I don’t know, thought maybe the opener mechanism short-circuited.”

“Ha-ha.”

He chuckled. “Admit it, you normally don’t see the a.m. side of Saturday very often.”

“Oh. Well, I have several errands to take care of. Need an early start.”

“Kyle on your list?”