Family Of The Year

“Thanks again for letting the kids use the pond,” Maria said. “They’ve been in it every afternoon this week.”

“I’m glad it’s getting some use. Connor’s sort of outgrown it, I guess. He used to practically live down here. If he wasn’t in it, he was next to it, catching frogs or grasshoppers or waterskippers.” “David already has a jar full of those horrible things.” Maria made a face. “They look like spiders to me.”

“The girls don’t seem to mind them.” Ben watched the three children who now squatted among the cattails near the edge of the water, trying to guide the leggy insects into David’s half-submerged mayonnaise jar.

“They’re a couple of tomboys, all right. Which is sort of surprising when you consider their father died when they were so young. Not much male influence in their lives.”

“How long ago did he die?”

“Five years,” Maria answered matter-of-factly. She rubbed her feet back and forth on the grass to try to wipe off some of the mud that covered their soles.

“They probably don’t remember him, then?”

Maria shook her head and Ben found himself suddenly curious. She certainly didn’t sound like she still grieved the loss of her husband.

“What happened?” he ventured, willing to probe a little.

“Car crash.”

“That’s too bad.”

“Hmm.” Maria nodded.

Ben turned his head to look at her from under the brim of his hat, trying to gauge her reaction to his questions. But she didn’t appear uncomfortable; in fact, she had a slight smile on her face as she watched the children begin a rowdy sword fight with broken-off cattails. “Did he work in your family’s restaurant, too?”

“No, he was an auto mechanic.” This time she volunteered more information. “He had his own shop. Marcus was a very good mechanic. A lousy businessman, but a good mechanic.” She spoke with wry affection. “He gave credit to every relative we had, and between the two of us, that’s most of south Phoenix. He was always helping some high school kid fix up his car for free.”

“He sounds like a good man. Your mother and Veronica spoke highly of him the other night.”

“They loved Marcus.”

Ben was surprised to find himself wondering if Maria had loved Marcus. “Tough for the girls, being so little when he died.”

“He was a wonderful father. Kind. Dependable. A good man.”

The gentleness in her voice had Ben shifting uncomfortably on the soft blanket. A wonderful father. No one could accuse him of that these days.

“Stop that, Trisha,” Maria called. “You’re going to put somebody’s eye out.” She jumped to her feet and started down toward the pond.

Ben watched her snap off the sharp, pointed ends of the heavy brown stalks before returning them to the children. Then, without warning, she broke off a stalk for herself and pointed it at David’s stomach. “En garde,” she challenged. The fight was on—shouting, splashing, tumbling children, with Maria right in the middle.

Ben remembered playing the same game with Connor years ago, and the memory brought a curve to his lips. It was good to hear childish laughter on the ranch again. Maria and her family had been there almost a week, and Ben was surprised at how much he was enjoying the children. Noisy meals, full of spilled milk and breathless chatter; tracked mud on the hardwood floors and smudged fingerprints on the refrigerator; shouts and giggles piercing the normally subdued, blue-gray evening sounds. And dark, excited eyes always smiling at him, happy to tell him about their day, eager and pleased to have his attention.

Ben’s smile faded.

Connor had looked at him like that, a long time ago. Then, bit by bewildering bit, Connor’s gray, loving eyes had turned sullen. They’d begun to skitter away when he’d try to hold them, until eventually they wouldn’t raise to meet his at all. And if they ever did, Ben would almost wish they hadn’t, because they would be filled with antagonism, resentment—dark emotions Ben didn’t even want to name. He didn’t think he could bear to watch it happen again with another child.

With determined movements, Ben pulled on socks and his dusty cowboy boots and started back toward the house without a word of farewell. Those long, dark legs that had tempted him all week came with two little girls attached, he reminded himself sternly. It was a package deal and he wasn’t going to touch it with a ten-foot pole.

“So where’s Connor?” Maria asked, picking out a pair of David’s dirt-encrusted jeans from the pile of clothes heaped on the floor and stuffing them into the sink.

“How should I know?” Veronica responded innocently.

“Yeah, right. Like he hasn’t been following you around like a lovesick puppy.” Maria added a splash of detergent to the jeans and turned on the faucet. “How much longer are you going to be able to keep from going to Wyberg with him? He asks every single night.”