Read Online The Lost Husband by Katherine Center - Free Book Online

frequently caught us fish from the pond to cook for dinner, which both delighted and disgusted Abby and Tank as they watched him do the gutting. He seemed to have a natural ease with kids, too, and it wasn’t long before he was calling Tank by a whole host of nicknames, including “T-bird,” “Tornado,” and, somehow, “DJ Raptor.” Abby got just plain “Mamacita,” which made her beam right away every time she heard it.
    So there it was: instant intimacy with the first adult male to even skirt the sidelines of our lives in three solid years. I, of course, was still hanging back like a pro. If my kids couldn’t reserve their judgment, then I’d just be reserved enough for all three of us.
    We’d been there about a month when O’Connor showed up at the back porch one evening during dinner.
    “There’s something strange out in the yard,” he said to Jean.
    She frowned before she read his face. “Something strange?”
    “Two strange things, actually,” he said with exaggerated concern. “Maybe the kids could help me figure it out.”
    At the words, Tank was up and out the door. Abby, though, turned to me and said, “Can we go?”
    I nodded and got up to follow, too.
    I was not even outside before I saw what it was. Out on the biggest oak tree in the yard, two old tractor tires hung from the tree’s fattest branch.
    In seconds, the kids were swinging and twisting on them, and O’Connor was pushing them, too. Jean showed up beside me in the yard.
    “That was thoughtful,” I said.
    “Yes,” Jean said. “He’s thoughtful.”
    “And handy,” I said.
    “Very handy,” Jean agreed.
    “And you’ve known him since he was little?”
    “Oh, yes!” Jean said. “The two of you—” but then she stopped herself.
    I looked over.
    “The two of you are exactly the same age,” she went on.
    “You were friends with his mother?”
    “Yes,” Jean said.
    “But not anymore?”
    “Well,” Jean said, “she moved away.”
    “Oh,” I said. “Did his dad move away, too?”
    Jean turned to face me. “It’s tricky for me to talk about these things because I know so much about people’s business from their visits to my office.”
    “Oh,” I said.
    “Maybe you should ask O’Connor,” she suggested.
    “Okay,” I said, though of course I wouldn’t.
    We watched quietly for a minute. Then Jean said, “That boy sure needs a haircut.”
    “Who? Tank?” I asked.
    “No,” Jean answered. “The other one.”
    And before I really thought about what I was doing, I said, in a voice that sounded like an offer, “I’ve got clippers.”
    “You do?”
    “For Tank,” I explained.
    I could feel her about to suggest that I use them on O’Connor, and it’s safe to say that I had no desire to cut—or even stand anywhere near—his hair.
    And yet I’d brought it up.
    I tried to backtrack. “You’re welcome to borrow them if you like.”
    “Me?” Jean wrinkled her nose. “Oh, Lord. I’d turn him into a topiary.” I gave a courtesy laugh just as she turned to me with intention. “What could I bribe you with to get you to cut it?”
    I let out a whistle. “Pirate treasure?”
    “I’ll get digging,” Jean said.
    “So,” I said, “you’re not asking me, then?”
    “No,” Jean answered. “I’m not asking you. Yet.”
    I was grateful she wasn’t. Because if I knew one thing for certain, it was that I wouldn’t be able to refuse Jean anything.
    It wasn’t too many days later that Jean came up with a way to get the kids to eat her food. She started putting it on skewers. Everything became a kebab. Fruit kebabs, meat kebabs, pickle kebabs. Anything on a stick was fun, and once she’d stumbled on that principle, we were good to go.
    We fell into a routine pretty quickly. I got the kids ready in the mornings and drove them to school. Then Jean picked them up at the end of the day in the minivan while I finished my chores,and I met them in the yard at around five-thirty before we went in for