The Third Mrs. Mitchell

She knocked on Trace’s door first, though it was farther down the hall than his sister’s. The bass vibrations rattling the door panel suggested that any sound short of a major explosion wouldn’t get through to the boy inside. A twist of the knob demonstrated that he had, indeed, locked himself in. Mary Rose went back to Kelsey’s door.

No loud music here, though the floorboards were shaking from Trace’s stereo. “Kelsey, it’s Mary Rose. Can I come in?”

She waited through a long silence.

“I’m not feeling good,” Kelsey said finally. “Later, okay?”

“You think you’ll be feeling better about this later?”

Another extended pause. “Aunt M, I don’t want to talk about it.”

“So we can talk about something else.” Perhaps the smell of whiskey on Kelsey during that hug at the soccer game Thursday.

She caught her breath. Only two days ago? Surely she’d been through at least a week’s worth of upheaval already. First Pete Mitchell, and then the kids, and Pete Mitchell again…

After a minute, the lock clicked and the door swung back. Kelsey stood in the opening, blocking access to her blue-and-white bedroom. “Talk about what?” She looked altogether too tired and stressed for a fifteen-year-old.

Mary Rose winked at her. “Have you seen the new Brad Pitt movie? The man is totally awesome.”

That got a small laugh. “Yeah, last weekend.” The girl backed up and allowed Mary Rose into the room. “Matt Damon didn’t exactly suck, either.”

“And Damon’s still single.” Mary Rose sat on the end of the bed. “A definite advantage.”

“Or how about Pete Mitchell?” Kelsey cocked her head and lifted a knowing eyebrow. “I thought he was extremely hot. For such an old guy.”

Mary Rose felt a wave of heat wash over her, starting at the crown of her head and going all the way to the tips of her toes. “P-Pete Mitchell?”

“He said he was a friend of yours. I could stand to have such friends.” She closed her eyes. “Those shoulders!”

“Um, yeah.” Pete did have great shoulders. And the most intense silver eyes… “I knew him a long time ago. We, um, dated for a summer.”

“And you let him go? Dumb, Aunt M. Really dumb.”

At least Kelsey was talking to her, even if the subject was just about the most uncomfortable one imaginable. She managed a casual shrug. “Pete was too old for me back then—he graduated with Kate. You should stick to guys your own age.”

Kelsey slumped onto the other end of the bed. “Like my social life isn’t already a total disaster.”

“Want to tell me what happened?”

“Ryan said he wanted to date other people, that he was bored.” She glanced up, her brown eyes brimming with tears and anguish. “That I was boring. And the next week, he’s going steady with Trisha Reynolds. A cheerleader.”

Mary Rose let a moment pass. “I think this guy sounds like somebody you’re well rid of.”

“Oh, sure, if I enjoy Trisha rubbing my face in it every day during algebra. And if I enjoy going to parties by myself and not having a date for the prom.”

“Being single isn’t a bad thing, Kelsey. It’s nice to run your own life without having to consult some man about what you’re doing every minute.”

Kelsey sat up against the pillows. “But you date, right? You’ve been dating the same guy for a long time.”

“Well, yes.” Mary Rose went to the window and stared down into the tops of the ligustrum bushes she hadn’t finished trimming. “Martin Cooper. Most people call him Marty.”

“Are you in love with him?”

How did this get to be such a difficult conversation? “I care about him, of course. He’s a very nice, dependable guy.”

“Has he asked you to marry him?”

“Um…yes.”

“And are you?”

A reasonable question, one she should be able to answer. “I don’t know.”

“How could you not know? Either you want to or you don’t.”

“When you’re older, it’s not quite that simple. I’ve been on my own for quite a while. I’m used to living alone, and doing what I want when I want to. Being married means having to consider somebody else all the time.” She laughed and turned back to the room. “Maybe I’m too selfish these days to get married.”

“But I want to be your bridesmaid. You have to have a wedding so Kate and I can choose our dresses.”

Mary Rose decided to steer the conversation into safer waters. “What color would you choose?”

Kelsey cuddled a pillow against her chest. “Anything but yellow. I look horrible in yellow. I think everybody does, don’t you? She was wearing a yellow dress this morning, and she looked like a banana. Of course, that might have been because her stupid dress fit her like a banana peel.”

For a second, Mary Rose was honestly puzzled. “She?” Then, just as Kelsey’s face changed, comprehension struck. “Oh. Her.”

Kelsey buried her head in the pillow. “The Bimbo.” In a softer voice, she said, “The bitch.”

Mary Rose put a hand on the girl’s shoulder. “What did you fight with your dad about, Kelsey?”

“He had this dumb idea that we should all go to the beach together after school lets out. Have you ever heard anything so stupid? Like I want to be cooped up with her in the condo for a week.”

“The condo?”

Kelsey peeked out of the pillow. “Sure. Good idea, huh?”

“Lousy idea. I’d have been furious, too. That’s a family place. Your mother did all the painting and decorating.”

“Exactly. So I told him what he could do with his beach trip and got the hell out of there. And I’ll tell you something else.” She sat up, her face red, her mouth firm, her chin in the air. “I am never going anywhere with him again. Whether she comes along or not. If he can’t come live with us and make us a family like we’re supposed to be, then I don’t care if I never see him for the rest of my life.”

At least she’d admitted how she felt. “He’s made a lot of mistakes, Kelsey. But he’s still your dad.”

“Biologically. A real dad stays with his kids. That makes him a total loser. If he doesn’t want me and Trace, we don’t want him.”

Downstairs, the doorbell rang. Looking out the window, Mary Rose saw an SUV parked at the curb. “Who drives a dark blue Yukon?”

Kelsey sat up straight. “That’s Dad. I won’t talk to him. I won’t!”

“Shh. You don’t have to. Your mother will take care of it.”