Married in Haste

She glanced hesitantly at a nurse working with her nephew. Sam looked pitifully tiny, swathed as he was in padded white bandages. Abby’s chest constricted.

“Sam, honey, it’s Aunt Abby. Can you hear me?” Although his eyelids fluttered, they remained closed.

“He’s responding subconsciously to your voice,” the nurse whispered. “Try to speak normally.”

Abby blinked back stingingly hot tears. Try to speak normally? Sam’s life had changed dramatically today. Hers, too. From now on, their roles would be totally different. Never again would she be Aunt Abby, a person to whom Sam and his brothers could look to get them off the hook with their folks. She, who never raised her voice to the boys and rarely meted out discipline except occasionally on the school playground, would be a parent. Starting tomorrow. Large tears leaked from her eyes and dripped on Sam’s pristine sheets.

“Get better, guy,” she muttered. She did her utmost to keep her voice from sounding panicky. “I’ll be back in the morning, and I’ll bring Raggedy Andy,” she promised softly. Each of the children slept with a favorite toy. Sam’s was a rag doll Blair had made for his first birthday. Andy had undergone several surgical procedures himself. Maybe Sam would be comforted by that. Because the older of the two nurses kept eyeing her watch and then Abby, she took it as a hint to leave. Smoothing Sam’s mop of carrot-red curls, she dropped a kiss on the tip of his freckled nose. Abby had always been partial to this child. She understood firsthand the teasing he’d one day endure at the hands of schoolmates. Of her brother’s five children, only Sam had inherited Grandfather Drummond’s fiery Scots hair. The others all had strawberry-blond shades, and few freckles. Sam and Abby—kindred spirits.

With a last look at her broken nephew, Abby scrubbed at her cheeks and escaped from the room.

The nurse who’d promised to help Abby contact the funeral home appeared in her peripheral vision. “I have a representative from Taylor’s on the line in the conference room. Come. I’ll wait outside until you’ve finished making arrangements.”

“Thank you—what’s your name? I feel I should call you something.”

The woman frowned at the left side of her uniform. “Drat. I lost another name tag. I lose one a month. It should say Olivia Warren here.” Abby’s helpful companion tapped a torn flap near her left shoulder.

“Olivia? Oh, you’re the one who phoned me. I remember the name.”

“I made a lot of calls. Too many.” Pursing her lips, the nurse continued to stroke the spot where she was missing her name badge.

“Hmm. Perhaps you should take your uniforms to one of those firms that embroider names on kids’ ball shirts.” Part of Abby couldn’t conceive how she could carry on such a mundane conversation in the midst of tragedy. On the other hand, discussing inconsequential things gave her an excuse not to face the task she needed to face.

“I never thought of having my name stitched on. That’s a great idea.”

“Sports King in West Seattle does it on site. Our elementary school gives them a lot of business,” Abby said. “I teach second grade, and I coach sixth-grade girls’ soccer.” It dawned on Abby, as she entered the conference room and saw the phone lying on the table, that, too, would probably change in the coming months. She knew how much time Blair spent shuffling the boys to soccer, baseball, karate and what-have-you. She deliberately blanked from her mind the fact that Blair’s full-time job had been taking care of the house, the menagerie, the boys and…Elliot.

Picking up the phone with a damp hand, she said in a shaky voice, “This is Abigail Drummond.” She gave her address and mentioned that Taylor’s had handled her parents’ funeral. “I need to arrange for a double, ah, burial. No. I…don’t know if they had lots at Shady Glen. I understand you have to ask, but this is very…difficult for me. I’m calling to arrange for my brother and his wife. Apart from their asking if I’d serve as guardian to their sons, I’m afraid we never discussed the details of their…uh…wishes. I thought…we all thought we were planning for a remote possibility.” Abby’s voice faded.

“Uh, huh. Now I see the need, but then…sir…must I provide this information tonight? Oh, fine. I don’t mean to be difficult, but—” She burst into tears. “Sorry.” She blotted her eyes on her jacket sleeve. “If you could work with the officials at Mercy General, I’ll come in tomorrow and fill out the papers and give you a check.”

Abby fumbled the receiver as she attempted to hang it up. She looked through her tears as Olivia Warren popped into the room.

“Hey, are you okay? Taylor’s didn’t give you a hard time or anything, did they?”

“I expected this to be rough, Olivia,” Abby said around muffled sniffles. “I had no idea how bad. Taylor’s were nice enough. I’m just so horribly ill prepared.”

“Are you related to Dr. Galloway?” the woman asked as they left the room and started down the hall.

“No. What made you ask?”

“My friend said she saw you come out of the chapel with Dr. Kirk’s son. She said he had an arm around you.”

“We’re…” Abby hesitated. She’d started to say, friends. But in view of their interrupted plans, she supposed they were more. Right now, she wished they were much more. Which was odd. Abby couldn’t recall ever picturing herself married. If ever the vows of for better, for worse had meaning, this would be it.

“Ben and I met last year. I had one of his nieces in my class. We’ve dated. So, of course, he was my first thought when I learned Sam needed an orthopedic surgeon.”

“I see. You taught Ben’s niece? Then I guess you must know he lost his sister today.”

“What? No. No, I didn’t know anything of the kind.” Abby stumbled over nothing on the tiled floor. “Surely you misunderstood. I…saw Ben. We spoke. He talked with his father.” Abby waved a hand feebly.

“Yes,” Olivia said with eyes gone dark. “I probably shouldn’t have mentioned it, but apparently Dr. Ben and Dr. Kirk had a difference of opinion over who should look after the little girls.”

Going back over a scene she’d witnessed from afar, Abby pictured it from a new perspective. From Ben’s. They shared the same predicament, and her heart ached for him. For him and for Marlo’s sweet, sweet daughters. Was there no end to the horror of this earthquake? Abby wondered how she had tears left to cry.

She went to Raina’s to get her nephews, then to her own town house and finally the boys’ home. Both places were cluttered with various things, shaken from shelves and walls and cupboards.

She learned that tears were nature’s release valve, and over the next weeks she and the boys shed them freely, often in shared moments with friends and neighbors, many of whom suffered, too.

CHAPTER FOUR

SIX WEEKS AFTER the quake, the city began to restore order and set about rebuilding, a process the engineers expected to take a year or more.

Ben Galloway, in a slow moment at the clinic, studied a book on how to braid hair. He’d assumed the housekeeper-cook he’d hired after laying his sister to rest would be equipped to handle his nieces’ “girlie” requirements. But after watching normally good-tempered Erin dissolve into tears for the tenth morning in a row over messy braids, Ben was at his wits’ end. Hence the book. About the only thing in his life he hadn’t altered or dispensed with to accommodate the girls had been his morning stop on his way to the clinic at a bookstore-coffee house.

Today, while the attendant brewed his hard-hitting double espresso, it struck him that a man with the manual dexterity to sew up cuts on little people surely ought to be able to braid hair. But he hadn’t stopped with the braid book. Before he got out of the store, he’d purchased a hundred dollars’ worth of current information on raising girls. Books promising confident, happy girls. Happy was what his formerly sweet niece was not. Erin had turned into a brat. Ben couldn’t help thinking it was partly his fault. In spite of coauthoring a pamphlet on discipline, he was obviously missing the mark when it came to girls.

“Doctor, your next patient’s in room five.” Anita Sorenson stepped into the room. She was one of a staff of three that Ben and his partner, general practitioner Steve Thomas, shared. Marching straight to Ben’s desk, Anita straightened the books spilling out of his store bag. “What’s all this?” She rifled through the stack, reading titles aloud. “Is there something you haven’t told us? Are you trading pediatrics for child psychology? Or are you and Steve collaborating on another parents’ guide?”

Ben didn’t want to tell his nurse how many times he woke in the dead of night worrying about the girls. “Anita, how did you raise six kids on your own? Is there a secret?”

The nurse tipped back her head and laughed, but she must have seen the misery in her employer’s eyes, because she sobered midstream. “Gosh, I guess I never thought about it. Except I raised my kids from birth, so I set the house rules. Even then, there were months after Lorne died that I had to take it one day at a time.”

“Time. That’s my biggest problem. I never seem to have enough hours to spend with Erin and Mollie. On short notice, with half the city in chaos, I spent two weeks locating a suitable housekeeper-caretaker. But Mrs. Clark still doesn’t understand that medicine isn’t an eight-to-five job. She wants a regular schedule I simply can’t deliver.”

“According to an article in the newspaper, the quake did more damage to this side of town. Our death toll is sixty percent of the more than one hundred reported. Area schools have added crisis counselors. I don’t know which elementary the girls attend, but you might want to have a chat with school staff if you’re seeing behavioral changes. The article also said individual schools plan to form parent support groups.”

Ben scowled. “How would that look, Anita? Half the parents at the girl’s elementary school bring their kids to me. Since the quake, my patient load has doubled. Most come for direction related to tantrums and other disruptive behavior.”

“Oh, well, if you’re the expert…” Anita snorted, crossing her arms.

Ben gave her a sheepish smile. “Sorry. That sounded more like something my old man would spout.” At the mention of his father, and totally unexpectedly, Abby Drummond’s face appeared in his mind. Ben had last seen her at Marlo’s funeral. Abby looked harried, pale and drawn. Given her circumstances, it’d pleased Ben to see her there. He’d meant to call and thank her for the rosebuds she’d sent the girls. And she’d written each one a thoughtful note, too. All other expressions of sympathy had been directed to him. But he’d barely found time to scribble his name at the bottom of the gilt-edged thank-you cards his secretary provided.

That was another issue that grated. He’d suggested his father’s current live-in take over thanking the friends who’d sent remembrances. Kirk threw a virtual fit. He let it be known in no uncertain terms that Millie or Lily, or whatever the hell her name was, served as arm candy and nothing more. Well—a lot more, Ben assumed. But nothing Kirk would ever discuss with him. And after the reaming out Kirk delivered when Ben proposed the blond bombshell collect the girls from Abby’s friend the day of the quake, one might think Ben would have learned his lesson. If not then, certainly after Kirk made it clear that his role as grandfather—a term he disliked—was confined to gifts at birthdays and Christmas. Foolishly, Ben had thought his dad might want to have a say in who took care of his granddaughters.

Why Kirk’s response had surprised him, Ben didn’t know. After all, it was the way his old man had handled fatherhood—via his checkbook. Ben and Marlo had never been able to figure out why their dad went through a court battle to retain custody of them after their mom announced she was leaving. Eventually they’d decided it was a matter of pride to the great Kirk Galloway. No one left his exalted sphere except by his edict.

Which Marlo did when she married a no-account who later walked out, leaving her pregnant, and with Erin a toddler. A self-fulfilling prophesy, according to Kirk.

But Ben had dealt their father a blow when he chose a pediatric residency over the more prestigious orthopedic post he’d been offered at a hospital where Kirk pulled strings to get his son considered.

Sweeping aside old irritants and unproductive thoughts, Ben closed the book on braids. Again he wondered how Abby was getting along. Admittedly he’d put her out of his mind once it became evident that his carefree bachelor days were over. Except, dammit, they weren’t over. The carefree part, yes. But he was still as single as single could be.

Ben snatched the chart from Anita’s hand. “Would you see if Pat can get me out of here at a decent hour today? By two-fifteen. I’ll phone Mrs. Clark and tell her I’m picking Erin and Mollie up from school. I’m friends with one of the teachers. I haven’t wanted to bother her, knowing she’s in a similar spot—worse, since she’s been left to raise her brother’s five boys, one of whom was injured in the quake. I should’ve contacted her before this. If anyone has the lowdown on support groups, it’ll be Abby.”

“Five boys, you say?” Anita shuddered. “The poor woman has my sympathy. I raised six of ’em. Frankly, Ben, I always thought girls would be a whole lot easier.”

“From a woman’s perspective, maybe. From where I stand, two tearful girls and their finicky cat present the most daunting challenge I’ve ever faced.”