Her Unexpected Family

He couldn’t sleep with workers dispatched. He sat down at his laptop and prepared to get some work done.

No internet.

He sank back into the chair, ready to punch something.

How was he supposed to do it all? How was he supposed to manage everything? His mother had worked full-time cleaning patient rooms at the local hospital, then she’d spent Saturdays housecleaning for two local families, earning just enough to make ends meet. And she hadn’t gone ballistic or berserk or anything else. She’d just done it.

Why couldn’t he manage that well? It wasn’t rocket science; it was running a house. Caring for kids. Keeping a job. Despite his best efforts, he seemed to mess up more than most.

He laid his head against the chair back, wishing he was a better father. A better brother. A better son.

The next thing he knew, Tim was at his feet. “Daddy! Up pees, Daddy! Up, pees!”

“Hey, you’re up and out of your bed again, my man. You don’t smell that great.” He bumped foreheads with the little guy. “Good morning.”

“Mornin’!” Timmy gave him an ear-to-ear grin and patted his face. “I have toast, ’kay?”

“It’s very okay. High chair or big boy chair?”

Timmy patted his chest, kind of like Tarzan. “Big boy!”

“Don’t run around with your toast, okay?”

“Don’t run, don’t run, don’t run!” He shook his finger in a perfect and tiny imitation of Aunt Tillie.

“Now if you’d only follow your own directions,” Grant teased. He heard Dolly screech from upstairs. “I’ll be right back. I’m going to get your sister.”

“Dowwy!”

“That would be her.” He brought Dolly down, changed diapers, fed them, bundled them and got out the door on time, but when he got to the end of the driveway, a thin blanket of ice still covered his rural two-lane road. He stared in disbelief, hit his Bluetooth connection and called the office. “Jeannie, I’ve still got ice on the road. What’s going on?”

“Boss, no one got dispatched until Hank got here at five a.m. to open the service bays. Did you do a callout?”

“Yes, at two forty-five. I sent word to all five guys.” He paused and scanned his phone, and there it was, an alert that said his message hadn’t been sent. And he’d fallen asleep without checking.

“Jeannie, my bad. The message is here, but never got delivered. Is everyone on the road now?”

“Yes, but you’ve got messages from the mayor, the police chief and the county sheriff’s office wondering what happened.”

Shame bit deep.

He never goofed up a job. He double-checked everything to the point of being absurd, but this time he’d messed up. He didn’t want to ask this next question, but he had to and the onus was all on him. “Any accidents?”

“None reported.”

He breathed a sigh of relief.

“Hank called the guys in stat and they hit the road by five thirty, just enough time for most everything to melt before things got too busy.”

Dolly squawked at the inactivity. To Dolly, being in the car meant the car should be moving. Sitting at the edge of the road didn’t win the toddler’s favor. “I’ll drop the kids off and be right there.”

“See you then, boss.”

Guilt grabbed hold tight.

He’d created a dangerous situation today. People could have been hurt, and all because he was tired and dozed off without following up.

Nothing happened, and you’ll know better next time. Everyone makes mistakes, Grant.

His mother’s words came back to him, but Grant hated mistakes. He took pride in his work, and in the work of his people.

He called the sheriff, the mayor and saved Drew Slade for last. “Drew, it’s Grant. I’m calling to apologize. My dispatch never got sent and I didn’t realize it. This is totally on me.”

“I blame the napoleons,” Drew replied. “And wedding planning. And staying up too late talking to pretty girls. I appreciate the call. We’re good. But you got home early comparatively, whereas I actually was up late, talking to a pretty girl.”

Grant peeked into the rearview mirror. Dolly was rolling something around between her fingers, and appeared fascinated by it. He didn’t need to know the object’s origin; he was just glad to have her quiet for the moment. “Me, too. Mine is two years old with uneven pigtails.”

“I remember those days,” Drew sympathized. “I raised Amy on my own for eight years, so I hear you. It’s tough, and you’ve got twice the workload and they’re at a crazy age. It’ll get better in about two years, but that’s faint comfort now.”

It sure was, because how was Grant going to manage those two years if he could barely manage today? He circled around the white clapboard church on Maple and pulled into the day care parking lot. “Gotta go.”

“Me, too.”

He removed Dolly from her seat first because Tim had the patience to wait the extra thirty seconds. When he set Dolly down to unfasten a stubborn buckle on Tim’s seat, she yelled in anger and stomped her feet.

He stared at her.

She stomped them again, one after the other, angry and demanding.

Dolly’s repeated action brought Emily’s words to life. Walking’s always good.

If Dolly could stomp her feet back and forth, then she could walk. That made him look at her more carefully.

He scooped Dolly up and took Timmy’s hand, to guide him up the walk. Mrs. Flanagan was waiting for them inside the door. She gave the kids a warm greeting, then settled Dolly on her hip. Grant kissed her goodbye. She flailed and yelled, reaching for him, sobbing...

“Remember what I said.” Mary offered him a wise look. “She’s fine five minutes after you walk out that door. Sometimes less than that, Grant.”

He’d always doubted that before, figuring it was Mary’s way of trying to ease the separation.

But right now, he had a deeper confidence that Mary was truly right.

His beautiful, charming and challenged daughter was a brat.

Now what was he going to do about it?

* * *

Emily spotted Grant inside the bakery, talking to Gabby and her daughter Rachel. Rachel burst out laughing at something Grant said, and when she did, she laid her hand on his sleeve...