The Next Always Page 9

THEY ATE LIKE WOLVES, BECKETT INCLUDED. MAYBE virtual war followed by a minor meatball fight piqued the appetite. After the meal, the best solution he could come up with was to strip them down in the tiny laundry room off the kitchen. As he tossed his spaghetti-tagged shirt in the machine for good measure, the boys did what naked boys have done throughout history.

They ran around the house yelling like heathens.

He wasn’t sure which was more of a mess, the kitchen or the kids, but opted to deal with the kids first. Since he doubted Clare’s standards stooped low enough to deck out three sticky, sauce-stained kids in their pajamas, he herded them into the bathroom.

“It’s a three-for-one,” he announced. “Everybody into the pool.”

“Can we have bubbles?” Murphy asked.

“I don’t know, can you?”

“We got Spider-Man.” Harry reached onto a shelf in the splinter-sized linen closet, took out a Spidey-shaped bottle.

“Very cool.” Beckett dumped a hefty dose in the water. “Okay, hop in, and I’ll—”

“We need our toys.” Liam got a plastic basket out of the closet, dumped in all contents. From the sneaky look he shot Beckett, Beckett figured that wasn’t how their mom handled it.

But, it was Man Night.

“Okay—”

“We need our soap stuff.” Harry got a pump bottle. “You can wash your hair and your skin with it.”

“Handy.”

“But you gotta wash our hair,” Murphy told him.

“Okay.” Beckett studied the bottle. “Let’s go for it.”

They climbed in. If he hadn’t been distracted by Spider-Man, toys, and soap stuff, he’d have considered water displacement.

He switched off the taps, tossed a towel on the floor where the water had lapped over. Because he was currently shirtless, he metaphorically rolled up his sleeves and got to it.

Realized inside of thirty seconds he’d need more towels.

It brought back dim memories of b
aths with his brothers, the water battles, the floods, the silly fun.

The wheedling protests when it was time to get out.

“Here’s the deal about Man Night. Women come back. If your mom comes home and sees this bathroom, the kitchen, men, we are toast. It’s better to get rid of the evidence.”

He pulled the plug. Between the floor, the walls, the kids, he used half a dozen towels. And now naked boys ran around yelling again, but at least they were clean.

“Everybody go suit up.” Beckett grabbed wet toys out of the tub, tossed them in the basket. “I’ve got to go deal with the kitchen.”

He carted the towels down, switched the wet clothes to the dryer, dumped the towels in the washer.

He glanced at his watch. Jesus, how the hell did it get to be quarter to eight? Moving fast now while running feet and shouts sounded from upstairs, he stuck dishes in the dishwasher. He scrubbed off the table, swiped the sauce off the floor, then tossed the dishrag in the washer with the towels.

“Hey, you need to come down and put away these games.”

“We’re putting on our pajamas!” Harry shouted back.

The hyena laughter followed.

“Yeah, I bet.”

But time was running out. He made a dive for the living room, gathering up games, controllers, then charged up the stairs.

They’d pulled on the bottoms, and wore the tops on their heads like war bonnets as they sat on the floor around a small mountain of action figures.

“I can fart with my arm,” Murphy told him. “Liam showed me.”

He demonstrated to his brothers’ hysterical laughter.

“An important life skill, well executed. Tops on, guys. Your mom’ll be home any minute.”

“She says it’s rude to fart in public, even with your arm.”

“Words to live by.” Taking matters in his own hands, Beckett tugged down Murphy’s shirt.

And got that angel smile again.

“Can it be Man Night tomorrow?”

The oddest sensation of pleasure glowed in Beckett’s belly. “Can’t tomorrow, but we’ll do it again.”

“We can do it when it’s not school, then have a sleepover.”

Here’s hoping. “I’d like that.”

“Mom’s home. Mom’s home.” Murphy raced off, followed by, then passed by, his brothers.

When he started down they surrounded her, Murphy holding his arms up to be lifted, and all of them talking a mile a minute.

She laughed, hitched Murphy up, managed to kiss the top of Liam’s head and run her hand over Harry’s.

“Man Night, huh? Well, we’ll have to . . .” She looked up at Beckett as he came down the stairs. Blinked. “Ah, hi.”

“Hi. How’d it go?”

“Really well. Um, how’d it go here?”

“Good. We just played some poker, drank a six-pack.”

“Naturally. You boys have to go up and brush your teeth. I’ll be up in a couple minutes. Say good night to Beckett.”

He got high fives from Harry and Liam, a down low and leg hug from Murphy.

“We’re gonna have a sleepover,” Murphy told his mother. “Bye, Beckett. Bye!”

Clare set her purse aside as they raced upstairs. “So, everything’s okay?”

“Sure.”

“You didn’t have to give them baths.” She tapped the side of her nose when Beckett looked blank. “They smell like their bath soap.”

“Oh yeah, well . . . There was a little spaghetti incident.”

“I see. Is that why you’re not wearing a shirt?”

“Oh, right.” He glanced down. “Forgot. I tossed the shirt in the washer with their clothes. They’re drying. Ah, there was also some minor flooding, so I dumped the towels in the wash.”

It was her turn to look blank. “You did laundry?”

“Sort of. I deserve a reward.”

“I guess you do.” She stepped to him, kissed him on one cheek, then the other before laying her lips softly on his.

His bare skin was warm and firm, his arms strong as they wrapped around her.

“You smell like an orange smoothie,” she murmured. And wanted to lap.

“Sorry?”

“The bath wash I use on the kids. It’s different on you. Beckett—”

“Mom!” Liam’s shout made her jump. “We brushed our teeth. Harry’s got the book.”

“Okay. Be right there. Sorry, it’s bedtime, and I try to read to them for a few minutes most nights.”

“I’ll get going. I’ll pick you up at seven tomorrow.”

“You can’t go out without a shirt.”

“I don’t think anything of yours will fit me.”

“But—”

“It’s still warm out.” He gave her another quick, light kiss.

“Well, thanks.” Flustered, she stepped back. She’d actually started to ask him to stay—until his shirt dried. Maybe have a glass of wine with her. Maybe . . .

“Mom!”

“No problem. I had fun. See you tomorrow.”

She sighed, locked up behind him. “Coming,” she called when Liam shouted again. Probably better this way, she thought. She could hardly—maybe—with Beckett while her kids were right upstairs.

BECKETT PULLED INTO his slot in the parking lot behind Vesta.

When he started down the walkway to the stairwell, Brad, their plumber, called down from his seat on the dining porch. “Hey, Beck! Rough night at the poker table? Lose your shirt?”

“You don’t know the half of it.”

In his apartment, he went directly to the fridge for a beer, then switched on the TV, flopped on the couch.

“Good God.” He felt like he’d just finished running the Boston Marathon.

How did she do it? How the hell did she do all that every day, and probably a lot more? But just the dinner, the squabbles, the mess, the sheer volume of stuff that needed to be remembered, done, handled with three kids. It was mentally and physically exhausting.

Fun, he admitted, but exhausting.

And she’d have to get up in the morning, get them up, dressed, fed. Then go to work. After work, she’d replay—basically—what he’d just done. And with all that, she still had to maintain the house and run a business.

Did women have superpowers?

Regardless, he was sending his mother flowers in the morning.

“WHEN I HEARD he came home shirtless, I thought, that Clare. She’s a wild woman.” Avery leaned back on her elbows on Clare’s bed.

“More like wild boys.”

“Flying meatballs, bath floods.” Avery shook her head. “And he’s still taking you out tonight. Shows character.”

“Once I convinced Murphy to make me an honorary man, he spilled his guts. Plus I found a couple spaghetti sauce handprints Beckett missed.” She picked up the earrings Hope had selected. “He did great, really, and got out fast. Didn’t even wait for his shirt to dry.”

“Is that code?”

“Not entirely. Though I was going to ask him to stay awhile, maybe open a bottle of wine.”

“You are a wild woman.”

“You know you can put men and sex on the back burner.” To test the earrings, Clare tipped her head from side to side. “In fact, you can take them off the stove altogether. It’s not easy to fit them into the schedule anyway. But . . . once I started thinking about Beckett that way, and realized he thought about me that way . . .”

“The heat got turned up.”

“The pot’s simmering away. It’s not as easy to keep it on the back burner now.”

“Move it up front. Be proactive.”

“I guess I’d better see how it goes tonight first. We’re sure this works, right?” She did a little turn.

“You look fantastic. That shade of blue, turquoise I guess, looks amazing on you.”

Clare narrowed her eyes at her reflection. She liked the dress’s simple lines, just a little flow to the skirt that stopped shy of her knees. “With or wit
hout the sweater?”

“Start with, then you can slip out of it later. Yeah.” Avery nodded approval. “A very nice end-of-summer look. Nervous?”

“A little. And excited. I’m going on a date, and for the first time with a man I’m actually interested in.”

“Proactive,” Avery repeated.

“I started back on the pill. Is that proactive or aggressive?”

“It’s just smart. I’ve got to go. I’m closing tonight.” She took Clare’s shoulders. “Have fun, and call me tomorrow and tell me everything.”

“I will.”

She took another moment, studying herself from every angle. Three kids, she thought, but she’d kept in pretty good shape. That was a matter of vigilance and lucky genes.

If tonight went well, if the chemistry continued, she and Beckett could—probably would—end up doing what single adults with chemistry did.

“It’s called sex, Clare,” she muttered to herself. “Just because you haven’t had any in years doesn’t mean you can’t say the word.”

She didn’t even know if she was good at it. She and Clint had enjoyed a healthy, satisfying sex life, but he was the only man she’d been with. And they’d known each other’s rhythm, signals, bodies so well even with, maybe because of, the long separations.

And now, Beckett.

What would it be like with Beckett?

What would she be like with Beckett?

Don’t think about it, she ordered herself, or you’ll never be able to enjoy a simple date. Be in the moment. One step at a time.

She went downstairs. She could hear the boys in the playroom. Loud, but getting along. Saw them ranged around a superhero war as she walked by to the kitchen. Alva sat paging through a garden magazine at the table while the happy sound of popcorn popped in the microwave.

“We’re watching How to Train Your Dragon.”

“Again?”

“Good thing I like it.” Alva tipped down her reading glasses. “Clare, you look beautiful.”

“It’s nice to dress up for a date. Different, but nice.”

“You did a good job of it. And he’s right on time,” Alva added when the doorbell rang. “Want me to get it so you can make an entrance?”

“No, and too late,” she said as Harry shouted I’ll get it. “I’d better go save him from the pack.”

They outnumbered him right inside the door, battering him with questions, begging for a game. She realized she’d gotten used to seeing him in work clothes so it came as a pleasant jolt to study him in black dress pants and a steel gray jacket.

He held a bouquet of pink baby roses in his hand as he grinned down at her boys.

She knew, in that instant, she was a goner.

“Boys, let Beckett get in the house at least.”

His grin softened to a smile when he looked at her. His eyes warmed. “You look great.”

“Mom got dressed up ’cause she’s going out,” Murphy informed him.

“Me, too. These are for you.”

“They’re beautiful. Thanks.” She saw Harry’s solemn, searching look as she bent her head to sniff the blooms. Instinctively she ran a hand down his back. “Come on in while I put these in water. I’ll—”

“Mom.”

“Just a minute, Liam.”

“Mom, I don’t feel good. My belly hurts.”

As she shifted toward him, he bent over and threw up on Beckett’s shoes.

“Oh God.” She thrust the flowers back at Beckett. “Harry, go tell Mrs. Ridenour that Liam got sick, and ask her for a towel.”

“Wow,” Beckett said as Clare crouched to feel Liam’s forehead.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Just let me—Baby, you’re a little warm.”

“I don’t feel good.”

“I know. Let’s get you upstairs. Beckett, I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Alva came bustling out with towels, a bucket, and a mop.

“Liam puked,” Murphy informed her.

“I heard. Poor thing—and you, too,” she said to Beckett. “Let’s get this cleaned up.”

“I have to get him upstairs.” Clare gave Beckett a distracted smile. “I’ll need to take a rain check.”

“Sure.”

“The flowers—thanks. Sorry. Come on, baby.” She hefted Liam into her arms. He laid his pale cheek on her shoulder.

“Can I get in your bed?”

“Sure. We’ll fix you up. Harry, sweetie, will you bring up a glass of ginger ale?”

Upstairs, she washed his face—held his head when he threw up a second time. She took his temperature—ninety-nine point three—then urged the ginger ale on him.

“I threw up two times.”

“I know,” she soothed as she changed him into his Iron Man pajamas. “Do you feel sick again?”

“No.”

“I’ve got the bucket right here if you do and we can’t make it to the bathroom.” Stroking his head, she picked up the TV remote. “Cartoon channel or Nick?”

“Nick. I feel better since I threw up.”

“That’s good, baby.”

Tears glimmered as he huddled against her. “I didn’t mean to throw up on Beckett.”

“Of course you didn’t.”

“Is he mad?”

“No, he’s not mad.” She kissed the top of Liam’s head. “I’m going to change my clothes.”

“Are you mad?” he asked as she pulled yoga pants and a T-shirt out of her drawer.

“Why would I be?”

“ ’Cause you got dressed up.”

She took off the pretty, impractical shoes. “It was fun to get dressed up. And I’ll get dressed up again another time.” Angling the closet door, she stepped behind it, took off the dress, put on her mom clothes. Because it smelled faintly of vomit, she stuffed the dress in the dry cleaning bag.

Oh well.

“Mom, can I have Iron Man—the new one, not the old one—and Wolverine and Deadpool? Can I have Luke, too?”

Luke was his tattered stuffed dog, named for Skywalker.

“Sure.”

“And can I have more ginger ale?”

“You bet.” She laid her hand on his brow again, then her lips. Still warm, she thought, and so very pale. “I’ll be back in a minute. There’s the bucket now. You call if you feel sick before I come back.”

“Okay. Thanks, Mom.”

She got the toys first, left him curled up with Luke.

“Alva? Thanks so much for—” She broke off when a barefoot Beckett stepped out of the playroom.

“She just left. She said to call if you needed any help. How’s Liam doing?”

“Better, I think. He’s in my bed watching Nickelodeon with his stuffed dog, Wolverine, Iron Man, and Deadpool for company. Deadpool’s—”

“I know who Deadpool is. You keep forgetting I used to be a boy.”

“You know who Deadpool is. Okay, anyway, he’s just got a low-grade fever, and his color’s already a little better so it sounds like the same thing Mazie had. I didn’t expect you to stay.”

“We had a date.”

“Oh, but—”

“So, since you’re standing me up, I’m hanging with the bros. It’s what men do. I guess you’ve got some nursing to do. And I don’t guess you’ve got one of those uniforms, with the little white skirt and—”

“Did Liam frow up again?” Murphy asked.

“Yeah, he did, but he felt better after.” She laid a hand on his brow. “How about you?”

“I don’t feel sick.”

“We don’t call you Iron Guts for nothing. Harry?”

“I feel okay. We’re going to play Bendominoes, but Beckett doesn’t know how.”

“I’m a quick study. Set it up, prepare to be beaten.”

“No way!” Harry grabbed the box.

“Beckett, you don’t have to—Oh, hell, I need to take more ginger ale to Liam. I don’t want him to get dehydrated. Just give me a minute.”

She hurried into the kitchen. Popcorn sat in a bowl, and her lovely, lovely roses in a vase on the table.

“Am I in the way?”

She turned to see Beckett watching her from the doorway. “No, of course not, but you can’t want to spend two evenings in a row with a bunch of kids, including one who threw up on your shoes. How are your shoes?”

“They’ll survi
ve.”

“He was afraid you’d be mad at him.”

“It’s not like he aimed for me.” He watched her pour ginger ale in the cup she’d brought back down, then put a few crackers in a bowl.

He thought of the kid, stuck in bed while his brothers played.

“Why don’t I take them up to him?”

“Oh . . . well.”

He solved it by taking the glass and bowl out of her hands. “I hear there’s movies and popcorn on for later.”

“That was the plan—a bit of a delay now.”

“I can wait. I can wait,” he repeated, making sure she got the message.

“Beckett,” she said when he turned. “How about scrambled eggs?”

“How about them?”

“If Liam keeps those crackers down, he’s going to want scrambled eggs. It’s his sick meal. Harry’s is Campbell’s Chicken and Stars and Murphy—though he’s hardly ever sick—goes for toast and strawberry jelly. I can make some scrambled eggs. And I’ve got some wine.”

“Sounds good. About that nurse’s uniform.”

“It’s at the cleaners.”

“Damn. Bad timing.”

She smiled at his back as he went out. He didn’t run for the hills when a sick boy was involved, he made her stomach flutter when he kissed her. And, he knew who Deadpool was.

Yeah, she was a goner.

Upstairs, Beckett walked into Clare’s room, and thought how small the boy looked in her bed.

“How’s it going, kid?”

“I threw up two times.”

“That’s what you get for eating all those oysters and drinking all that whiskey.”

“I didn’t!”

“Yeah, you say that now.”

He hugged a worn stuffed dog hard. “I didn’t mean to throw up on you.”

“These things happen between men.” Beckett sat on the side of the bed, offered the cup and bowl.

“They do?”

“Ask me again in about ten years. I bet Deadpool’s puked on Wolverine before.”

“No, he . . . Really?”

“Wouldn’t surprise me.”

Intrigued, Liam picked up Deadpool and made puking noises.

“Nice. Your mom said she’d make you scrambled eggs if you’re up for it.”

“Maybe. Will you watch TV with me?”

“For a couple minutes.” Though it wasn’t the way he’d envisioned getting into Clare’s bed, Beckett shifted, settled back against the headboard. The boy shifted, too, settled his head in the crook of Beckett’s arm.

And glanced up. There it was, that angel smile, just like his younger brother.

HE PLAYED BENDOMINOES—cool game—while she scrambled eggs for Liam. He watched a fun flick with the kids while she sat with the sick boy. He waited while she put the other two boys to bed, checked on Liam.

“He’s sleeping,” she told Beckett when she came back down. “And his forehead’s cooler. So, I’d say that crisis is over. Harry’ll be next, and he’ll have it worse.”

“That’s optimistic.”

“I know what I know. So. Scrambled eggs in the kitchen?”

“You don’t have to bother. You must be tired.”

“I’m starving, and I really want a glass of wine.”

“Talked me into it.”

It wasn’t such a bad deal, sitting in the kitchen drinking a glass of wine while she scrambled eggs at the stove. Inspired, he went into the living room, gathered a trio of tea lights she had in dark blue cups.

“You mind? I had a candlelight dinner in my head for tonight.”

“I love it.” She opened a drawer, passed him a lighter.

They sat in the kitchen with tea lights and pink roses and ate scrambled eggs and toast.

“I’m glad you stayed.”

“So am I. And you look just as beautiful in candlelight as I imagined. Do you want to try for a meal you don’t have to cook next weekend?”

“Friday night?”

“Same time, same channel.”

“You’re a glutton for punishment. I’m in. Okay, the question has to be asked. Yes, you were once a boy, but all men were, and not all men are as easy and natural with kids as you are. Why don’t you have some of your own?”

“I never got serious enough about anybody, I guess. You started younger than most.”

“It was exactly what I wanted, and I didn’t want to wait. It was the same for Clint. We just knew.”

“What was it like, the military life?”

“There’s a lot of waiting, if you’re a military spouse. I saw parts of the world I never would have seen, learned how to organize, how to let things go. I did miss home. Not all the time, but there were moments, I missed it so much. When Clint was killed, I knew I had to come back, bring the boys here. For family, and for the sense of continuity.”

She shook her head. “I wouldn’t have made it without my parents, without his parents. They were, are, wonderful. You know how that is, working with your brothers, your mother, the family business.”

“Yeah, I do.”

“Some people need to step away from family, and others need to stick. I’ve done both, I suppose. This is home now, or again. Did you ever consider living somewhere else?”

“Thought about it, but there’s nowhere else I wanted to be.”

He made her laugh, talking about people she knew, people she’d never met. And when he rose with her when she cleared the table, when he drew her close, kissed her, he made her pulse jump.

“Maybe we could sit on the couch,” he murmured in her ear. “Drink another glass of wine. Neck.”

Oh yes, please, she thought. “You pour the wine. I’ll just go check on Liam, then—Harry.”

Sheet white, a little glassy-eyed, he stood in the doorway. “I got sick.”

“Oh, baby.” She went to him quickly, felt his forehead. “Yeah, you’re a little warm. We’ll fix you up. Beckett.”

“It’s okay. Do you need any help?”

“No, I’ve got this.”

“Go ahead. I’ll let myself out. Feel better, big guy.”

“Thanks. Come on, baby.”

“Can I get in your bed, too? Liam did.”

“Sure.”

She sent Beckett an apologetic look, then led her sick boy upstairs.