beach ball had a leak,” she remarked as she tossed it to Hunter. The last time she’d seen the colorfully striped ball, it had been lying deflated in a corner of the porch.
“It got fixed.”
“Did you thank Stef for doing that?”
“She didn’t do it. It just got fixed,” he said. Then, “Watch, Mom!”
He executed a belly dive, which Grant imitated and came up choking. They played in the shallows until they were good and pruney, then trooped back onto shore, where Amelia oversaw the building of a sand castle, complete with turrets and a surrounding moat that she filled with seawater. “A moat was used to protect the castle from attacking enemies.”
“And dragons,” Grant said.
Hunter rolled his eyes. “There aren’t any dragons, stupid.”
“Are too!”
“Hunter, don’t call your brother stupid,” Amelia said. “Never. Understand?”
“Yes, ma’am. But tell him that dragons are make-believe.”
“Well, make-believe or not,” she said, “this moat is keeping them out.”
Later, they lay on the quilt in the shade of the umbrella while she read to them from two storybooks. Before she finished the second one, Grant had fallen asleep, his head in her lap. Hunter rolled over onto his tummy and pillowed his head on his folded arms. In seconds, he, too, was asleep.
Amelia set the books aside and gazed at the two loves of her life. Hunter’s hair was dark and grew in undisciplined swirls around his head, as her father’s had. Grant’s hair was straighter and lighter with the russet tint of hers.
Both had blue eyes, a genetic gift. She was glad she didn’t have to look into their eyes and see Jeremy’s. Although, she had once found his dark eyes extremely attractive. It seemed another lifetime ago that he had looked at her with love and adoration. It was another lifetime ago. The last time he’d fixed his eyes on her, they’d been filled with hatred and wrath.
Pushing the unwelcome thought away, she stretched out onto her back, and, with a hand on each son so she could feel their sweet breathing, she fell asleep.
* * *
They had spaghetti for dinner. While they were eating, Amelia mentioned the beach ball to Stef. “Weirdest thing,” the young woman said, as she helped Grant twirl noodles onto his fork. “I’d thrown it away, but it showed up yesterday patched and inflated.”
“How’d that happen? It didn’t heal.”
“Maybe Bernie,” Stef said, shrugging, more interested in the mess Grant was making than in the beach ball mystery.
When they finished, Stef began clearing the table. “If you’ll do the dishes, I’ll bathe the boys,” Amelia told her.
“Are you sure? Compared with bath time, doing the dishes is a snap.”
Amelia smiled. “True. But I’ve missed the boys this week. Even when I was with them, I was distracted.”
Stef turned from the sink and said hesitantly, “There’s a write-up about the trial on the front page of the local newspaper. It mentions your testimony. I brought a copy in case you want to read it.”
“No, thanks. I’ve kept the TV off during news time, too. I know all I need or want to know about it.”
She shooed the boys upstairs. They put up token protests, but she soon had them stripped and in the tub. She knelt beside it to supervise the dispensing of liquid soap, which often got out of control.
Just before plunging her hands into the bathwater, she automatically reached to remove her watch.
It wasn’t on her wrist.
Although it wasn’t an expensive, diamond-studded model, it was the last gift her father had given her before his death, and for that reason alone she cherished it. Staring at her bare wrist, she mentally backtracked, trying to remember when she’d taken it off. While preparing dinner? Before joining the boys in the ocean had she dropped it into her beach bag? She couldn’t remember doing either.
Her thoughts were interrupted by an arc of bright-blue soap being squirted from the dispenser and
“It got fixed.”
“Did you thank Stef for doing that?”
“She didn’t do it. It just got fixed,” he said. Then, “Watch, Mom!”
He executed a belly dive, which Grant imitated and came up choking. They played in the shallows until they were good and pruney, then trooped back onto shore, where Amelia oversaw the building of a sand castle, complete with turrets and a surrounding moat that she filled with seawater. “A moat was used to protect the castle from attacking enemies.”
“And dragons,” Grant said.
Hunter rolled his eyes. “There aren’t any dragons, stupid.”
“Are too!”
“Hunter, don’t call your brother stupid,” Amelia said. “Never. Understand?”
“Yes, ma’am. But tell him that dragons are make-believe.”
“Well, make-believe or not,” she said, “this moat is keeping them out.”
Later, they lay on the quilt in the shade of the umbrella while she read to them from two storybooks. Before she finished the second one, Grant had fallen asleep, his head in her lap. Hunter rolled over onto his tummy and pillowed his head on his folded arms. In seconds, he, too, was asleep.
Amelia set the books aside and gazed at the two loves of her life. Hunter’s hair was dark and grew in undisciplined swirls around his head, as her father’s had. Grant’s hair was straighter and lighter with the russet tint of hers.
Both had blue eyes, a genetic gift. She was glad she didn’t have to look into their eyes and see Jeremy’s. Although, she had once found his dark eyes extremely attractive. It seemed another lifetime ago that he had looked at her with love and adoration. It was another lifetime ago. The last time he’d fixed his eyes on her, they’d been filled with hatred and wrath.
Pushing the unwelcome thought away, she stretched out onto her back, and, with a hand on each son so she could feel their sweet breathing, she fell asleep.
* * *
They had spaghetti for dinner. While they were eating, Amelia mentioned the beach ball to Stef. “Weirdest thing,” the young woman said, as she helped Grant twirl noodles onto his fork. “I’d thrown it away, but it showed up yesterday patched and inflated.”
“How’d that happen? It didn’t heal.”
“Maybe Bernie,” Stef said, shrugging, more interested in the mess Grant was making than in the beach ball mystery.
When they finished, Stef began clearing the table. “If you’ll do the dishes, I’ll bathe the boys,” Amelia told her.
“Are you sure? Compared with bath time, doing the dishes is a snap.”
Amelia smiled. “True. But I’ve missed the boys this week. Even when I was with them, I was distracted.”
Stef turned from the sink and said hesitantly, “There’s a write-up about the trial on the front page of the local newspaper. It mentions your testimony. I brought a copy in case you want to read it.”
“No, thanks. I’ve kept the TV off during news time, too. I know all I need or want to know about it.”
She shooed the boys upstairs. They put up token protests, but she soon had them stripped and in the tub. She knelt beside it to supervise the dispensing of liquid soap, which often got out of control.
Just before plunging her hands into the bathwater, she automatically reached to remove her watch.
It wasn’t on her wrist.
Although it wasn’t an expensive, diamond-studded model, it was the last gift her father had given her before his death, and for that reason alone she cherished it. Staring at her bare wrist, she mentally backtracked, trying to remember when she’d taken it off. While preparing dinner? Before joining the boys in the ocean had she dropped it into her beach bag? She couldn’t remember doing either.
Her thoughts were interrupted by an arc of bright-blue soap being squirted from the dispenser and
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