Adventures In Parenthood. Dawn Atkins

say it.” Her legs wobbled, so she stiffened them, refusing to give in to weakness.

      “Brianna and Howard were in an accident coming back from Tahoe.”

      She gasped.

      Dixon swallowed, as if it would take effort to say more.

      “And...?” she prompted him. Get it out. Tell me. Her heartbeat echoed in her ears.

      “They were killed.”

      “No. No.” Her insides froze. Her brain locked down. That couldn’t be right. Was this a joke? Had her ears tricked her? They were buzzing now. “What? They...what? No.”

      “The doctor said they didn’t suffer. Their necks... It was quick.” He snapped his fingers. She saw he was blinking a lot. He was going to cry? Stable, solid Dixon Carter? Oh, God. It was true. This was no joke.

      “They’re dead? Brianna’s dead? No. No. No. No.” She shook her head violently. Her wobbly legs went liquid and she staggered, one foot landing in the middle of the foil-covered pan. Gooey liquid leaked over the sides. She smelled tuna fish and Lipton soup. Tuna casserole? Who even made that anymore, let alone gave it to someone? was her stunned thought.

      Focus. Think. What did he say again? I can’t breathe. I feel sick. I can’t throw up in front of Dixon. I can’t move. It was like someone had shoved a pillow onto her face, punched her in the stomach and tried to electrocute her all at once.

      Dixon caught her arm to keep her upright. She gasped for air.

      Don’t faint. Don’t puke. Don’t lose it.

      But she seemed to be dissolving from the inside out. The terrible sound of a human in agony filled the air. As Dixon pulled her into his arms, she realized it was coming from her.

      Her heart was shredding, her lungs bursting, her brain going blank. Brianna was gone...lost...forever. Aubrey would never see her sunburst smile, feel her hug against her heart, know she was there, sharing their twin souls.

      When she finally realized she was bellowing in the man’s ear, she made herself stop and backed out of his arms.

      She had the wild urge to run, to escape, to do something big and physical. She’d felt this way when their mother died. She’d run to the park, taken the obstacle exercise track through the trees for endless hours until her legs had given out and she’d collapsed on the grass, fighting for oxygen.

      It hadn’t helped. The heartbreak had followed her. She knew there was no use running now, so she sank onto the swing. It rocked forward, toppling the ice chest, so the lid fell off. Ice spilled and the gold foil on top of the champagne emerged. She saw she’d dropped the flowers, too. Red roses and white daisies. Fresh and romantic. She’d been so happy when she’d bought them, so eager to celebrate her own news and Brianna’s anniversary. Now the flowers seemed fragile, damaged, ruined.

      “There must be a mistake. It can’t be,” she said. Maybe she couldn’t run, but there had to be some escape from this horror.

      “I’m sorry.” He crouched in front of her, steadying the swing with his hand, as if he sensed her dizziness.

      “When?”

      “A couple of hours ago. The hospital called me at work. I arranged to have them flown here for the funeral.”

      “The funeral. I can’t... I don’t... A funeral?” She squeezed her eyes shut. “The girls!” Her eyes flew open. “Do they know?” Ginger and Sienna had lost their parents. Another wave of horror washed over her.

      “Not yet.” He cleared his throat. “I wanted to explain it properly. I called a counselor at Bootstrap for advice, but she hasn’t picked up the message. They’re eating now and—”

      The door burst open. “Uncle Dixon—” Sienna stopped short when she saw Aubrey on the bench. “Aunt Aubrey?” Sienna surveyed her with the same blue eyes Aubrey herself had. Her hair was the same strawberry-blond, straight and shiny, though not as sun-bleached as Aubrey’s.

      “It’s me.”

      “You came already!” Ginger’s eyes went wide. They were dark like her father’s and mother’s, and her wheat-colored hair curled like Brianna’s.

      “I did,” she said shakily. Get it together. Calm down. The girls don’t know. Don’t scare them. Be strong for them. A band of ice water—as if she’d stepped into a mountain stream—gripped her rib cage and there seemed to be a golf ball stuck in her throat.

      Sienna spotted the casserole with Aubrey’s footprint in the foil. “Eww. Someone stepped in it.”

      “I did.” Aubrey lifted her foot as proof, glad of the distraction. “Sorry.”

      Sienna bent to study the blob that had squirted out. “It’s good you wrecked it. It’s got peas.” Sienna made a face. “Everything Ms. Wilder makes has peas. Yuck. Jessica hates it, too, but we can’t agree with her because it’s not polite.”

      “You dropped your flowers.” Ginger picked them up, then noticed Scout’s carrier and got down to look through the mesh window. “Hi, Scout.”

      The cat meowed a greeting. Scout loved the girls, tolerating their aggressive attention, even as toddlers, when they would haul her around like a stuffed animal. Most cats would have hidden under a bed, but Scout was made of tougher stuff.

      “Can I take her out, Auntie Aubba?” Auntie Aubba had been Ginger’s toddler name for Aubrey. Aubrey loved that she still called her that.

      “In the house...sure.” Aubrey pretended to cough to hide her shaky voice. Ginger’s innocent eagerness was painful to hear.

      “I get to do it, too,” Sienna said, grabbing the handle while Ginger put the strap over her shoulder. “You have the flowers.”

      “You take the flowers. I thought of Scout first.”

      The two girls had a tug-of-war, but managed to get the carrier and the flowers into the house, only losing a few more petals. They were so excited, so lighthearted, unaware of the dark train roaring from the tunnel to plow into their tender lives.

      “Guess we should go in,” Aubrey said, putting the lid on the ice chest, picking it up, along with the gift bag and her roller bag handle.

      Dixon stopped her with a warm hand on her arm. “You need a minute out here?”

      She shook her head. “Let’s get this over with.” She preferred to remove bandages with a quick rip, not a slow, agonizing tug.

      “I don’t want to tell them yet,” Dixon said. “I’ll try Constance again.”

      She didn’t see the sense in that, but she didn’t want to argue with the man. She’d hardly absorbed the news herself. Dixon grabbed the ruined casserole and held the door for Aubrey, who walked into the house on legs gone numb. At least she no longer felt her Norway scrapes.

      In a glance, she surveyed the living room, with its overstuffed sofa and love seat in a floral pattern, the jewel-toned area rug on the polished oak floor, the play corner with toys in bright buckets. Such a happy place. Such a happy family.

      Gone now. A gloom seemed to fall over the room, dimming the colors, making the toys shabby, the furniture cold.

      She turned to Dixon, and their eyes met. He looked sad and lost. Exactly like her. She turned to the girls and dropped to her knees. “I need hugs.” She held out her arms, hoping she could keep from crying. Sienna gave her a quick, hard squeeze. Gymnastics and martial arts had turned the girl into solid muscle.

      Ginger wrapped her thin arms around Aubrey’s neck and clung to her, giving Aubrey time to breathe in her feather-fine hair, which smelled of bubblegum shampoo, French fries and the sweet salt of little-girl sweat.

      When Ginger let go, Aubrey wanted to say, I love you, I missed you, I’m so glad to see you, but her throat