A Mother's Wish / Mother To Be: A Mother's Wish. Karen Templeton

said, slipping inside the house and shutting the door before he could make any more of a fool of himself than he already had.

      Dad’s footsteps were so soft outside Robbie’s room he barely got his thumb out of his mouth in time. He knew he was way too old to be still sucking his thumb, but sometimes it made him feel less jumpy inside—

      “Laddie?” Dad whispered, right by his bed. Robbie rolled; in the dark, Dad was a big blob, the light from the hallway making this weird glow all around him. “Ah. So you’re not asleep.”

      Robbie shook his head, and Dad sat on the edge of his bed, making Robbie tumble toward him. They both laughed, a little. Then Dad leaned over him with his hands on either side of Robbie’s shoulders, making him feel safe. Now he could see his face, even if his hair hung down in his eyes. He was smiling. Sorta.

      “Y’had a good time tonight, didn’t’ya?”

      Robbie nodded. “It was…”

      “What?”

      “It kinda reminded me of before. With Mom.”

      “I know. It did me, too.”

      “Winnie’s really funny, huh?”

      “That she is,” Dad said in a strange voice, then pushed Robbie’s hair out of his face. “I’d forgotten how good it felt to laugh. To be a little crazy.”

      A little crazy? Before Mom got sick—even after, until she got really bad—Dad and Mom used to go nuts, cracking each other up all the time. Robbie remembered sometimes laughing so hard his stomach would hurt. Tonight was the closest he’d come to feeling like that in a really long time.

      Dad’s mouth got all twisted. “It’s been hard on both of us, this last year,” he said, and Robbie nodded, not sure what he was supposed to say. But Dad wasn’t finished. “It occurs to me that maybe I’ve fallen down on the job in my duties as a father. It wasn’t something I did on purpose, I just…” He let out a big breath. “I just want you to know, you can talk to me. About…anything a’tall.”

      “About Mom, you mean.”

      “Yes,” he said, smiling a little. “About Mom.”

      Robbie frowned. “I didn’t think you even thought about her all that much.”

      “Oh, Robbie,” Dad said on another breath, this one even longer, “I think about your mother all the time. But it’s been hard for me to talk about her because it hurts so much. Do y’see?”

      “Yeah, I guess.”

      “But that doesn’t mean you can’t talk about her. To me, I mean. To be honest, I don’t think Mom would be very happy about the way I’ve been acting since she died.”

      In the dark, Robbie felt his eyes open wide. He couldn’t remember Dad ever coming right out and saying that Mom had died. In a way, he felt like this big rock had rolled off his chest…only to get stuck in his throat. Part of him wanted to tell Dad everything, about how he sometimes felt like Mom was in the Old House, about how he missed the way Mom would sing, really badly and so loud birds would fly up out of the trees. About how he remembered the time she burned the stew she was trying to make and the whole house got full of smoke and how much he missed the way they used to laugh all the time.

      But he couldn’t get the words past that dumb rock.

      In the dark, he saw Dad’s eyes go all shiny. Then he nudged Robbie over so he could lie down beside him, holding him against his chest.

      “It’s okay if you’re not ready, laddie,” Dad whispered into his hair. “But whenever you are, I’m right here, I promise.” He kissed Robbie’s forehead. “How’s that?”

      His eyes watery, all Robbie could do was nod.

      The next morning, Winnie came out of the bathroom to find Annabelle whining in great excitement at the bottom of the front door, followed by the muffled sounds of somebody messing about with tools and such out front. Momentarily forgetting she was only wearing Ida’s ratty old chenille robe, she swung open the door to an arctic blast that swirled inside like a cat looking for someplace warm.

      Madly toweling her hair before it froze, she called out, “It’s not even eight yet, so don’t tell me I’m late!” Then she frowned. “What are you doing?”

      From underneath the hood of her truck, Aidan mumbled something about going into town early for the part, there’d been no need for her to go, too, before he popped into view, slamming shut the hood. He was all woodsy today, in a checkered jacket and cute little beanie pulled down over his waves, which she realized—too late—only made his jaw look even sharper and his mouth even more…eyecatching. “I’m just now done, actually. So you can be on your way anytime you like, the truck’s ready to go.”

      Okay, by rights she should be leaping about with great joy, hallelujah, praise the Lord. Instead she squeaked out, “Really?”

      Aidan frowned at her. She was finally beginning to understand that frowning was his normal expression, not to take it personally. “I t’ought you’d be pleased. Because this way you’ll be home before dark?”

      Suddenly aware assorted important bits on her person were about to flash freeze, Winnie held up one finger and ducked inside to yank on some ten-odd layers of clothes, all the while reminding herself that if her reaction to Aidan last night as he stood there, looking contrite as hell and far sexier than was good for either of them, was any indication, she should be down on her knees in gratitude. Especially as those assorted important bits began to defrost and remind her—rudely—exactly how much time had passed since they’d been put to good use. Or any use a’tall, as he might say.

      As she tugged on her boots, she idly wondered if she should be questioning her sanity. Then she comforted herself with the thought that she only had to hang on for a little while longer, and she’d be out of there with her dignity intact. Along with her heart and those assorted other bits.

      Because, yes, leaving Robbie was going to be a bitch and a half, but the sooner she did, the better. Leaving his father, however, she thought as she scrubbed at her hair one last time with the dry side of the towel, wasn’t supposed to cause so much as a twinge of regret. A flutter of disappointment. A prickle of…whatever the hell was prickling.

      Hoping her hair still-damp wouldn’t turn into icicles, she went back outside, where Aidan was talking into his cell. Frowning, of course.

      “That was Flo,” he said, clapping the cell phone shut and striding back toward his own truck, all concentration of purpose. “It was half in Spanish, but the upshot was that Tess went into labor, Flo ran out to her car, remembered she was supposed to take Robbie to school, tried to get to her phone in her purse to call me and between not paying attention and the chickens and those stupid high heels she wears, she stumbled. And fell. And now she can’t bend her wrist.”

      “Oh, no—!”

      But Aidan had shifted into Man Take Action mode. “I suppose I’ll go back to the house and pick her and Robbie up,” he muttered as he yanked open his truck door, “drop Robbie off at school, then go get Tess and take them to the hospital—”

      “Aidan!”

      He stopped mid-sentence, giving Winnie a look that might have been almost comical if the situation hadn’t been so serious. And she could have said something like, Give everybody my love, then, or What a shame I can’t stick around and help out, but of course she couldn’t do that—

      “What?” he said.

      She cast a brief, longing glance at her truck, telling herself it couldn’t actually look crestfallen that, for the second time in as many days, plans had changed. On a heartfelt sigh, she returned her gaze to Aidan.

      “I know you think you’re ‘The Man,’ but not even you can take three people to three different places at one time.”

      A