“I’ll show you it,” she said, taking his hand and leading him out of the bedroom and through the house to the garage. She opened the door and there, beside Franci’s car, sat a pink and purple miniature plastic quad. An all-trebain-beekle.
“Wow. Does it run?”
She made a face at him as if he was a total idiot. Then she hopped down the step into the garage, climbed into the vehicle, flipped a switch and applied her foot to the little pedal. It moved about one mile per hour forward until it hit the wall.
“That’s awesome,” he said. “Come on, Rosie. Your room is a disaster. I’ll help you pick up toys while we talk about stuff.”
“Noooo,” she whined.
“Didn’t Mommy ask you to? I don’t know about you, but when my mommy asked me to do something, I didn’t dare say no.” He took her hand. “Let’s clean up a little, then you can make me some more chicken and broccoli. And I’ll tell you all about my plane.”
“Can I have a wide in it?”
Sean rolled his eyes. Her attention span was either extraordinary or terrible, he wasn’t sure which. “You can go inside when it’s parked on the ground if I’m with you. We can do that sometime, if you want to. Come on.”
So they went back to the bedroom. Sean did more picking up of toys than Rosie did, but none of the traumatic questions he worried about came. He asked the names of stuffed animals and dolls, they read a couple of books together, made up the bed, did a little pretend cooking, got things generally shaped up and talked. He told her that his mother would be her grandma, too, and that she also had red hair and green eyes like Rosie, except she was much older. He said he had brothers who would be her uncles. She seemed to accept this news without getting excited. So he asked her about school, which was of course preschool, and the names of her friends. He found that in her closet she had several princess dresses, all of them pretty much the worse for wear, and a bunch of play high-heeled shoes.
“I taked them to school for my friends to wear—Marisa and Jason.”
“No kidding?” He laughed. “Jason takes to those shoes?”
“Huh?”
“You know what, Rose? You’re a kick.”
“Don’t kick,” she said, shaking her head. “Don’t neber be mean.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said.
Sean lost all track of time. The room was sort of tidied: they had a remarkable conversation about everything and nothing, and Sean began to feel the high tension roll out of him. This wasn’t that bad. He hadn’t wanted to do it without Franci in the next room, but he thought he was getting along pretty well, for a guy who knew nothing.
He asked her if she took a nap and she informed him she didn’t want a nap. So he suggested reading a couple of books while lying on her small, child-size bed. She went for that reluctantly, but he was thrilled. He was exhausted. He hadn’t slept much the night before and the morning had been filled with internal stress. So he got a couple of good-size picture books, propped himself against the headboard of the little bed so he could fit, invited her to sit beside him and began to read.
He didn’t last long.
Franci was scrubbing out the shower in the master bath when she heard her cell phone twittering. She wiped off her hands, dug the cell out of her purse and looked at the number. T.J.
“Hi, there,” she said.
“What’s up?”
“Not much. Just some housecleaning. You?”
“Wondering if that whole drama with Rosie’s father has been tackled yet.”
“Gee,” she said, sitting on her bed. “I have a start on it. I told him this morning. He’s not happy with me—he needs time to adjust to the idea, and he’s with her now, playing with her, talking to her.”
“And you?” he asked.
“Me? I’m cleaning my bathroom while they play and talk.”
He chuckled, but there wasn’t a cheerful note to it. “Francine, did you tell him he has to clarify his visiting terms with you and then hit the road? Like we agreed?”
She frowned, not answering at once. “Is that what we agreed to? He just found out, T.J. I don’t think he even knows what he wants.”
“Did you tell him that—”
“Frankly, I haven’t talked to him since he arrived a couple of hours ago and asked if he could spend some time with Rosie, which he has done since he got here. They’re on their own for now.”
“Is that wise? Leaving him alone with her? You don’t really know him that well.”
Sudden anger rose up in her, which she put a lid on for the moment. “Yes, I know him very well, T.J. In fact, I know him better than I know you. Now—”
“Did you tell him you’re committed elsewhere and he has no chance of resuming the old relationship?”
She sighed into the phone. “I told him I’d been seeing someone. That isn’t one of the issues we have to work out.”
“It doesn’t sound like you’re making much progress on this.”
“Oh, but I am,” she said. And she thought, When did I allow this man to think he had such control over my actions? “I’m working things out just fine, but apparently not quickly enough to suit you. So, I suggest you let me have a little time to work through it all and I’ll let you know how it goes. Hm? How’s that?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“Absolutely!” she said. “You can refuse to be patient and look for someone who enjoys having her dinner ordered for her! Maybe someone with long hair!”
“You’re being childish,” he accused.
“You’re being controlling,” she countered.
“Try to be intelligent in this matter,” he said. “Just use your head.”
If there was something Franci found even more repellant than being told she was a dud in bed, it was the inference that she wasn’t smart. “I will absolutely try to be intelligent, T.J.,” she said. “It could be a struggle for me, but I will definitely try. I’m sure I’ll talk to you soon.”
And she clicked off.
And she thought, Wow! She hadn’t had quite this much attention from T.J. since they’d started dating. He must feel completely threatened.
She wasn’t sure if that amused her or worried her. But she turned off her phone just in case T.J. decided he had something more to say.
Eight
Sean awoke in a darkened little girl’s room. He could hear Rosie and Franci talking somewhere in the house. He sat up from his scrunched position in the short bed and thought, Dang. I passed right out in a toddler bed. He pulled a couple of big picture books out from under him.
The door had been closed, but there was life in the house. He stood and stretched, then walked into the kitchen. Memories flooded him as he saw Franci making a big green salad. He loved her salads; she put absolutely everything in them. Franci stood on one side of the small island in the center of the kitchen while Rosie, now wearing jeans, a sweater and heavy socks, knelt on a bar stool on the other side. Something simmered on the stove and Rosie held a couple of wooden spoons, stirring and tossing the salad as Franci added ingredients. Then Franci had to pick up all the leaves that bounced out onto the counter.
They both turned to look at him. Franci chuckled, but tried to cover it with her hand while Rosie beamed at him. “Did you hab a good nap?” she asked very happily.
“I did,” he said. “Sorry I fell asleep. Guess I was tired.”
“We maked cookies and watched a moobie,” Rosie said.
“Jeez, how long was I asleep?” Sean asked.
“Couple of hours, I think,” Franci said. “I have some spaghetti going. You’re invited to dinner. Then of course you have to go because I have work in the morning and Rosie has school.”
“I was going to drive to Sacramento and catch a flight to Phoenix. My mother, you know.”
Franci winced slightly at the mention of Maureen. She actually liked Maureen, even if her sons tended to both idolize her and cut her a wide berth. But she wasn’t looking forward to Maureen’s reaction to Rosie. “You can use my computer to check flights, but my bet is you’re not going to catch anything tonight. You’ll probably have to try again tomorrow.”
“Might have to,” he said. “Will you ladies excuse me? I have to use the bathroom.”
“Sure,” Franci said with a grin.
Well, he thought, my being here certainly isn’t stressing Franci anymore. She thinks it’s all very funny. He went into the hall bathroom that separated the two bedrooms and lifted the lid. He yawned. He scratched his head and felt foreign objects in his hair. While he continued to aim the stream into the commode, he leaned to the left to look in the small mirror over the sink and almost had heart failure. He actually might have jumped and briefly missed the pot.
Sean had little-girl “things” in his short hair—clips, bows, ponytail bands, jeweled bobby pins. And there was something else—he scraped off some Scotch Tape. His hair was too short so some of that stuff was taped on! But that was the least of it—he had a bright red Angelina Jolie mouth that went way out of the lines. Blue eyelids and pink cheeks. He looked like a clown. He zipped his pants. Then he wet a finger under the faucet and rubbed it over his eyelid. Nothing changed, except that he saw his fingernails were bright green. He washed his hands vigorously. Oh, God—he’d been tattooed in his sleep! He took the bar of soap to his lips; no amount of scrubbing helped.
“Frannnnn-ciiiii!” he yelled.
A moment later she tapped at the door and he jerked it open. She was casually drying her hands on a dish towel while he was scowling. “Magic marker, I think,” she said, before he could ask the question.
“Why?” he asked desperately, totally stunned.
Franci shrugged. “She’s not allowed to touch my makeup. And she thinks you look wonderful.” Then she grinned.
He stiffened and pursed his lips. “I’m pretty sure I’m out of uniform.”
She chuckled. “We’ll think of something. Are you staying for dinner?”
“I can’t go out like this!”
“Okay, let’s try some fingernail polish remover on your green nails, have some dinner, and then I’ll see what I can do about your, ah, makeup. Really, Sean, rule number one—never close your eyes on a three-year-old.”
Franci managed to get the green marker off Sean’s fingernails and made progress on the “lipstick” and “eye shadow,” but he was still a shade or two off. It went well with the bluish-green of his fading black eye. She fixed him up with some cover stick from her makeup bag. “Why’d you take it off?” Rosie wanted to know.
“I can’t wear it to work,” he explained.
“But are you going to work?” she wanted to know. “You said you’re on bacation!”
“The air force has rules about boys and makeup,” he said.
“And about girls and makeup?”
“No, girls are allowed to wear makeup.”
“But why?” she asked, shaking her head. Then she turned to Franci. “Why, Mommy?”
“Because makeup is a girl thing and shaving is a boy thing. And you should never color on someone’s face without asking first.”
“Oh,” she said, apparently satisfied. “’Kay.”
And Sean said to Franci, “How do you do that?”
“Practice.” And then she smiled at him.
After a dinner of spaghetti and salad, Franci supervised Rosie’s nighttime rituals—bath, reading time, bed. Sean cleaned up the kitchen and went to her small living room to wait patiently for Franci to join him. He heard a low, faint growl and looked toward the end of the couch to see that little blond-and-white dog baring his teeth. The little bastard was wearing a tutu. “You bite me again, we’re going to have cocker spaniel soup,” he said by way of warning. Harry pranced away. “By the way, you look ridiculous,” Sean called after him.
