A Family For Easter. Lee McClain Tobin

      “Why don’t we go to our daddy’s grave, Mom?” Maya asked.

      “Because our daddy was bad,” Lauren said before Fiona could put together a response.

      Poppy tugged at Fiona’s hand. “Was our daddy bad?”

      Pain and concern twisted Fiona’s stomach, along with anger at Reggie. He’d hurt her, badly, but even worse was how he’d hurt his children.

      Nonetheless, she knew what she had to do: keep her own feelings inside and be positive about the children’s father, lest they grow up worrying that they themselves carried something bad inside them. “He was your daddy who loved you and there was lots that was good about him,” she said, making sure her voice was loud enough for all the kids to hear. “But his grave is back in Illinois, where we used to live.”

      “Our mom was the best,” Diego said. “Daddy has a picture.” He tugged the keys out of his sister’s hands and showed the photo attached to the ring.

      Fiona squinted down at it, and Lauren and Maya leaned in to see as well. A petite dark-haired woman held a baby, with a little girl who must be Sofia leaning into her. Eduardo stood behind the woman, arms protectively around his whole family.

      “She’s really pretty,” Maya said.

      “Was pretty,” Lauren corrected in her automatic big-sister mode, then reddened and looked over at Sofia. “I’m sorry your mom died.”

      Sofia nodded and leaned back against her father, who knelt and put an arm around her. Taking back the key ring from Diego, he held it so Sofia could see. “She was very pretty. Just a tiny little thing, but strong. You look a lot like her.”

      “I don’t,” Diego said, obviously parroting what he’d heard before. “I look more like you.”

      “Your mother loved both of you very much.” Eduardo squeezed Sofia’s shoulders, let her go and then patted Diego on the back. “She loved to cook for you, and play with you, and read to you. We’ll talk about her at the cemetery, like we always do.”

      Fiona’s throat tightened. Helping kids through the loss of a parent was an ongoing challenge.

      “Do we have a picture of our daddy?” Maya asked. “Because...” She looked up at Fiona, her face uncertain. “I don’t really remember what he looks like.”

      “Back home in our albums, stupid,” Lauren said.

      “We don’t call each other stupid,” Fiona said automatically. “And, speaking of back home, we should get going and leave the Delgados to do what they were planning to do.” Maya still looked unhappy—rare for her—so Fiona stooped down and grasped her hands. “Do you want to look at our albums when we go home? There are some good pictures of you and Daddy.”

      “Okay.” Maya nodded, her momentary distress gone.

      “Are we still having hot dogs?” Ryan asked. “I’m starving!”

      “Yes. Come on, everyone in the car.” Fiona clicked open the door locks and then looked at Eduardo. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

      He nodded, his eyes unreadable. “And I’m sorry for yours as well.”

      As Fiona drove home, her mind kept going back to Eduardo’s family picture. Obviously, he wasn’t over his tiny, beautiful, loving wife.

      She had no right to feel jealous just because she’d struck out in the marriage game. It was nothing more than what her mother had always predicted—at her size, and not being the brightest woman around, attracting any man at all had been unlikely. The chances of him being a good, responsible, trustworthy person? Just about nil.

      She had more than she deserved in her four wonderful children, and she was content with her life now, as it was.

      * * *

      Later that Sunday afternoon, Eduardo pulled up in front of Fiona’s house, stopped the truck and waited. He knew exactly what his kids were going to say.

      “That’s their house?” Sofia asked. “It looks like it’s from a movie!”

      “It’s cool,” Diego said. “Is that where we’d live?”

      “No. Mrs. Farmingham is looking to rent the carriage house, out back. I haven’t seen it, but I’m sure it’s nothing fancy.”

      Diego shrugged, then poked his sister in the side. “C’mon, let’s go! There’s Ryan!”

      “Wait.” Eduardo turned in his seat to face both of his kids. “We need to remember some things.”

      “I know. Good manners.” Diego had his hand on the door handle.

      “Like what?” he prompted.

      “Wipe your feet, and say please and thank you, and be quiet inside the house.” Sofia recited the list with an eye roll that previewed the teen she would soon become.

      “Good.” From the glove box, Eduardo pulled out two bags of mazapán, a round and chewy Mexican candy one of his aunts always sent them in quantity. He handed a bag to each child. “These are to share with everyone after we check with Mrs. Farmingham. She and I are going to be talking about work before we check out the carriage house, so I need you to be self-reliant. You can interrupt us if it’s an emergency.”

      “Like fire or blood,” Diego said, and Eduardo let out a short laugh. He should never have said that to the kids, but one night when he’d been working on the books for his landscaping business, he’d ordered his whining kids to watch TV and only disturb him under those circumstances.

      Of course, that’s what they remembered. “Right,” he said, “or anything else that you think is important. You both have good judgment.”

      “Can we go now?” Sofia asked, and Eduardo looked at the house and saw that Fiona had come out onto the porch, holding Poppy on her hip. The other three kids were already on the stairs.

      “Go ahead,” he said, taking his time about gathering up his tablet and a couple of plant catalogs.

      He climbed out slowly. Fiona stood listening to his kids, and he saw her smile and nod. Sofia and Diego distributed pieces of candy all around and gave the rest of the bags to Fiona; then all of the kids took off for the big side yard.

      Fiona was wearing jeans and a puffy kind of blouse, light green, that made her red hair glow. Behind her, the old two-story Victorian mansion rose in splendor.

      It was exactly the kind of house he’d have bought himself if he’d had the money. The yellow paint with green trim was nice, but best of all were the wraparound porches, one on the first floor and one on the second. A couple of redbrick chimneys indicated fireplaces inside and a turret at the top, with windows all around, would make a great playroom for kids.

      Or a relaxing spot for parents to kick back and watch the sunset.

      He straightened his shoulders and glanced down at his Delgado Landscaping shirt. He’d debated wearing just ordinary casual clothes, but that would have misrepresented the relationship.

      He was aiming to rent a place from her and maybe to do some work for her, too. She was a potential client and landlord, not a friend.

      He walked briskly up the sidewalk and held out a hand to shake hers. “Hey, Fiona. Thanks for letting us see the carriage house. And for considering me for a landscaping job, too.”

      She lifted an eyebrow and shook his hand. “Of course.”

      Heat rose in the back of his neck. Why did he feel so awkward with her?

      And her hand—which, he noticed, he was still grasping in his, and he let it go like a hot potato—wasn’t the well-manicured, callus-free one he’d expected, but strong, with plain short-cut nails.

      Long delicate fingers, too.

      “So,” he began.