Bonnie K. Winn - Family Ties

Paralyzed for a moment, she watched in stupefied fascination as Flynn entered the hall and tried to harness the girls.

He glanced up just then, all his earlier stiff resentment gone, replaced by a sheepish embarrassment. “It’s really not as bad as it looks.”

She placed her purse on the hall table. “That’s a relief.”

“Nothing’s broken—I put all the fragile stuff up high.” Cindy glanced at her assortment of antique scarves and shawls that normally hung from a brass rack near the door. Apparently the triplets had tugged them free. Now they were strung haphazardly over and across the rich marquetry floors. Sunlight from the second-story rotunda usually shone on the intricate pattern of oak, bird’s-eye maple and rare East Texas long leaf pine. Now, however, it was hardly visible under the mess.

“Things got a little out of control,” Flynn admitted.

“So I see.”

Flynn followed her gaze, releasing a low groan. “I didn’t realize they’d gotten into your scarves, as well. To be honest, I thought once I’d put the breakables out of reach, they’d be safe while I mopped the kitchen floor.”

Amazed, she stared at him. “Why did you feel you had to mop the floor? I just did it—”

“Breakfast,” he explained, the one word conveying paragraphs.

“Oh.”

He met her gaze. “I know I said I didn’t need any help, rather emphatically if I remember correctly. Truth is, back home we had a housekeeper. While she wasn’t their nanny, she kept all the messes and spills cleaned up. I never realized how difficult it would be to watch the girls and clean up their fallout.”

She felt a chuckle unexpectedly germinating and tried to suppress it. “Sometimes things aren’t as easy as they appear.”

He glanced around the nearly destroyed area. “I’d say that was an understatement. Unless you have a strong objection, I’d like to find a housekeeper as soon as possible.”

Cindy allowed a fraction of her smile to escape. “I don’t think that’s really necessary.”

“You want to live like this?”

“That’s not necessary, either.” She kept her tone mild, guessing the end of his rope was nearly frayed. “I often have four or five children here at one time. But it does take a little organization, some planning.”

He stared at her in disbelief.

“I do have a grasp on those concepts,” she told him wryly.

“Still—”

She held up one hand. “I’m really not accustomed to depending on others, especially in my own home. To be honest, it would seem like an intrusion. How about if we try it my way for, say, a week? If it doesn’t work, we’ll look into finding a housekeeper.”

“A week?”

She chuckled. “You sound about the girls’ age. It’s a week, not a year.”

“Maybe so. But the week I’m anticipating will seem like a year.”

Cindy bent down, retrieving a hand-beaded silk shawl that was the prize of her collection. “Look at it this way. Your stuff’s in storage so I’ve got the most to lose.”

“Point taken. I just hope you don’t regret your offer.”

Regret. It was her constant companion, a reminder she couldn’t shake with hurricane force winds. But having become an expert at disguising her feelings, she only smiled, edging toward the kitchen. “I’d better check things out, start on dinner.”

“The floor’s clean,” he responded.

She glanced at the wreckage in the parlor and hall and nodded. “Well, that’s one positive.”

“Don’t worry, Cindy. I’ll put things back to rights.”

She disappeared into the kitchen. It wasn’t possible, she knew. Even if the house was fashioned into Architectural Digest perfection, things could never be made right. Not while he held her heart in his hands, and didn’t even realize he controlled its very rhythm.

Dinner was spectacularly uneventful. Only a few spoonfuls of mashed peas landed on the floor, soon wiped clean. Flynn wasn’t certain just how Cindy had accomplished it, but control prevailed throughout the meal. But it wasn’t a disciplinary nightmare. To the contrary, the girls were happy, easy to handle.

Perhaps it was a woman thing, he mused. Julia had always had just the right touch with the girls, as well. But that wasn’t something he expected Cindy to share with her sister.

Bathtime was also competently and quickly accomplished. Soon, the girls were snuggled in their sleepers, tucked into their matching beds.

More than a bit amazed, Flynn studied Cindy as they reached the bottom of the stairwell. He wondered if she was part magician, making the care of the triplets seem effortless.

Having reassembled much of the parlor, he began gathering some of the scarves still strewn across the floor.

Cindy stooped down, as well, carefully picking up each ancient slip of fabric.

“These are really…different,” Flynn finally decided aloud.

“That doesn’t exactly sound like a compliment.”

He held up one sheer red scarf, threaded with gold, edged with long strands of dark fringe. “They suit you.”

Her smile was wry. “Again, I’m not sure that’s a compliment.”

Flynn paused, the scarf awkwardly filling his hands. “Look, I know we don’t see many things the same way.” He held up the exotic red silk. “But I don’t have any frame of reference for stuff like this.”

“Granted,” she replied, a touch of a sigh flavoring the solitary word. “Julia was always practical, unlike me. Cotton versus silk, that was us.”

He studied the weariness she couldn’t quite disguise. “We haven’t gotten off to the best start, have we?”

She shrugged. “It’s a big adjustment. You’re used to running things your way.”

“And you’re used to being on your own.”

Cindy lifted her face, new shadows deepening her obvious fatigue. “Yes. That I am.”

Flynn sighed. “I knew this was a bad idea. We’re messing up your life, your home.”

“I’m not a neat freak,” she replied after the barest pause. Then her eyes shifted away. “We knew going in this wasn’t an ideal situation, but if it helps the girls, I can manage. How about you?”

He fingered the soft, exotic scarf. “I’ll do whatever it takes to make the girls happy.”

“Then there’s no more to say,” she responded.

Flynn wanted to search her eyes, to see how Cindy really felt, but she stood, turning to the brass rack. He owed her an apology, but it was difficult to spit out. He’d spent the better part of his adult life making certain he had nothing else to be sorry for. And he doubted even his unsettling sister-in-law could change that.

Cindy chose to be especially quiet the following morning as she worked in the downstairs conservatory. Not wanting a repeat of Flynn’s displeasure, she’d tiptoed around her bedroom as she’d dressed, then slipped silently down the stairs, knowing how to avoid the creaks in the ancient steps.

Her night had been restless, filled with dreams caused by thoughts she couldn’t chase away. So she’d risen early to escape them, needing to lose herself in activity.

Picking up a box filled with old photos, she started to put it aside. Then she glanced at the picture on top. Settling the box on top of the table, she withdrew the photo. It had been taken years ago. Her parents, Julia and herself. They were on vacation at Disneyland. Julia and their mother both looked pretty, smiling gracefully. But Cindy and her father were wearing goofy hats and glasses, wide, silly grins covering their faces. She eased a thumb over the slick surface, remembering the good times, the pain of loss that had faded, but never disappeared.

Flynn coughed from the doorway.

Startled, Cindy dropped the photograph.

He entered, reaching down to pick it up before she could. “Nice picture.”