Four Reasons For Fatherhood. Muriel Jensen

for you to feel obli—”

      “Of course there is,” he interrupted a little more loudly than he’d intended. “They’re my nephews. I want to know that you can keep them in new shoes while they’re growing, that there’ll be enough money for sport or music lessons or whatever they might want to pursue.” He sighed and lowered his voice. “I want to know that you won’t be worn to a nub trying to keep it all together.”

      She laughed lightly as she opened the oven door. “I don’t think money can guarantee that, Aaron. But thank you.” She put the casserole in the oven and closed the door.

      “Susan,” he said firmly, “I’m doing it.”

      “It isn’t necessary.”

      “It is to me.”

      She set the temperature and the timer, then turned to smile at him. “All right. You do what you have to do.” Then she moved past him to pull place mats out of a drawer.

      Frustrated, Aaron abandoned the argument and asked her when she intended to go home.

      “Tomorrow,” she said. “At least, I hope so, I’m having a little trouble lining up a truck. But I have a show to film from a room I’m working on at home. You’re welcome to come along if you want to spend a few more days with the boys.”

      He nodded. “Thanks. I appreciate that. I can get a hotel. What time is dinner?”

      “Half an hour,” she said.

      “All right. If you’ll excuse me I have a little business to take care of.”

      “Of course.”

      He went to his suitcase for his laptop, found a quiet spot and e-mailed the office.

      SUSAN SAW INSTANTLY the advantage of having a man at the dinner table. The usual harassment the boys engaged in despite her efforts to guide a civil conversation was quickly squashed by Aaron’s frown of disapproval.

      “You always hog the butter!” Paul shouted across the table at John.

      “Well you eat like a hog!” John countered, oinking loudly for full effect as he shoved the butter tub at his brother.

      Inspired by the oinking, George contributed excitedly, “I can talk like a donkey!” and proudly brayed at high volume.

      “Guys,” Susan said quietly, “let’s not do that tonight, all right? Your uncle’s here and I’d like to think that when he goes home, he’ll remember you as having good manners.”

      Silence fell at the table. John put down his fork.

      “You’re going home?” he asked grimly.

      Aaron nodded. “I have to go back to Seattle.”

      “Why?” Paul wanted to know.

      “Because that’s where my business is,” he replied, looking a little shaken by their obvious distress. “And my home. And my dog.”

      George, seated at his right hand, said earnestly, “Susan would let you come live with her. She’s taking all of us to live with her. I bet you could even bring the dog.” He turned to Susan. “Couldn’t he?”

      “He can’t bring his business,” Susan explained, “which is why he has to go home. He has a lot of people who work for him and a lot of people who buy things from his company. They need him there to do his work.”

      “He could call and tell them where he is,” Paul suggested. “If you can’t go home, you should always call.”

      “Right. But this isn’t like just being late for dinner. Thank you, Paul.” Aaron accepted the butter from him. “This is important work. A lot of people depend on me being there to do my job.”

      “But I thought you were the boss,” John said. “Doesn’t that mean you can tell other people to do the work and they have to do it or they get fired?”

      “A good boss does a lot of the work himself,” Aaron replied. “Or even when other people do it, he sticks around in case there’s a problem and to make sure everything’s getting done in the right way.”

      “I know!” Paul shouted, waving both arms in the air. “We can all go with you!”

      “But Susan has a job here,” Aaron persisted. Susan could tell he was finding their arguments exhausting.

      John sighed. “It’s too bad we couldn’t move New Jersey closer to Seattle.”

      Aaron patted his shoulder. “You can all come and visit me at Christmas,” he said. “How would that be?”

      “How long till Christmas?” George asked.

      “Nine months, give or take a few weeks.”

      “That’s how long it takes to have baby,” Paul chimed in. Then added seriously, “Only you can’t do that ’cause you’re a guy.”

      “Well, I’m pretty happy about that,” Aaron said with a grinning glance at Susan.

      And then for some completely mysterious reason, Paul’s mention of a baby and Susan’s soft brown eyes watching him connected in his brain in a way that made him temporarily breathless, speechless, mindless.

      A part of him was thinking that his mind was working like a teenager’s, snatching double entendres out of the air. Another was thinking speculatively, Hmm…

      “Your uncle has to go home,” Susan said gently but firmly, “and we have to let him.”

      “Why?” John asked simply. “I mean, if we want him to stay with us?”

      She obviously didn’t know what to say and looked to him for help.

      Aaron was just a little offended by her eagerness to get him out of their lives and let her flounder. It was perverse, he knew, since he kept telling himself he had to get away, but it was the principle of the thing.

      “What kind of dog do you have?” Paul asked.

      “A Siberian husky.” Aaron reached for his coffee cup and saw that it was empty.

      Susan noticed and got up to get the carafe from the warmer.

      “Those are the ones with the mask,” John said. “Jared Butler down the street has one.”

      George’s eyes widened. “There’s a dog that wears a mask?”

      John and Paul groaned while Aaron explained about the Husky’s markings.

      Dinner and the conversation about Aaron going with them ended when Ringo, bored with being ignored, threw his plastic bowl from the high chair into the middle of the table. It overturned two glasses of milk and landed with a splat in the mashed potatoes on top of the remaining shepherd’s pie.

      All hands were required to clean up.

      Susan maintained a militarylike schedule to get the boys in and out of the shower, then scrubbed Ringo in the bathtub. Aaron helped her get everyone to bed.

      Ringo and George were asleep before the covers were pulled over them.

      “So…where are they exactly?” Paul asked. “My parents, I mean. I know they’re with God, but where is that?”

      “In heaven,” John answered. “It’s in the sky.”

      “Like…in a plane?”

      “No. In the clouds.”

      Paul, ever practical, propped up on an elbow, frowning. “But they’d fall out.”

      John stared morosely at the ceiling. “They have wings.”

      Aaron was tempted to correct the misconception, but wasn’t sure what could replace it. Who knew? And the thought that Dave and Becky had wings and lived in the clouds was somehow comforting.

      “Nobody