Muriel Jensen - Father Formula

“What is age, bella,” he asked, “when the heart yearns?”

She smiled to herself. She should be lucky enough to find a man closer to her own age who was this persistent. “Then consider the fact that I’m almost six thousand miles away, my friend. You may dismiss age, but distance must be dealt with. Now, go ask that pretty waitress for a date tonight and stop this foolishness. Let me know how it goes. And don’t forget to send my paints and brushes.”

“You wound me.” He was silent a moment. “Very well, I will send your things. But when the night is quiet, you will hear my heart beating for you, no matter how great the distance.”

“Unless Giulia comes back to you,” she taunted.

“You are a devil woman,” he accused, a smile in his voice.

“Goodbye, Claudio.”

“Goodbye, bella.”

Alexis hung up the phone, longing for her fourth-floor studio in the heart of the noisy, busy city. But only for a moment. She remembered quickly the frustration she’d felt there the past year, and though she’d been very upset about her missing sister, she’d also been grateful for an excuse to come home.

She turned in the direction of a soft whine just in time to see Ferdie burst from the room and race downstairs. She heard excited barking as the front door opened and closed and the boys’ voices returned his greetings.

Alexis went downstairs to welcome them home and found them already in the kitchen, rooting through the freezer. They emerged with softball-sized blueberry muffins.

She watched Brandon wrap his in a paper towel and place it in the microwave with obvious experience. Then he nuked Brady’s muffin while his brother retrieved two cans of pop and the butter from the refrigerator.

“How’d everything go today?” she asked.

Both boys looked up with smiles then returned to the serious task of “filleting” the muffins into thin slices that allowed more buttering surfaces.

“Good,” Brandon replied.

“Yeah,” Brady agreed.

“I thought we’d go for pizza tonight,” she said, wondering if they’d have room for it after that muffin. “Or burgers if you’d like that better.”

Brandon was already chewing the first slice as he buttered the last. He swallowed and said, “Cool.”

Brady picked up his stacked plate and pop can and asked hopefully, “Can we watch TV?”

She smiled. David had coached her on this. “Until five o’clock, then you have to do your homework. I thought we’d go to dinner about six.”

“Okay.” Brady was already past her and on his way to the family room. Brandon put the butter back into the refrigerator, wiped the counter clean of crumbs, then turned to Alexis before closing the refrigerator door. “Did you want something to eat?”

She hadn’t spent much time with children the boys’ ages, but she didn’t think tidying up after themselves was usual behavior.

“No, thanks,” she replied. “And thank you for cleaning up.”

“You’re welcome.” Brandon followed in Brady’s wake.

Alexis watched him go and wondered how they’d achieved such confidence and competence. Athena had told her a little about their wealthy mother, who went from one husband to another, having children in an attempt to hold them to her then ultimately losing them anyway.

A careless mother had left Alexis feeling inadequate and adrift.

She tried to remember if she’d had confidence at that age. No, she’d been reckless and wild, but that had been intended to conceal the fear that she had no value.

Her art had helped give her a sense of self. Getting back to it again was the only solution. It would be painful to see inadequate work take shape, but it would consume her while the boys were at school and that would help her maintain her sanity, such as it was.

She would buy a disposable camera tomorrow and photograph parts of downtown Dancer’s Beach. There was beautiful scenery, buildings with interesting architectural detail, streets lined with park benches and old-fashioned streetlights.

Perhaps she could capture the heart of small-town life that was disappearing all across America. Schmaltzy idea as paintings went, but it was a place to start.

BRANDON AND BRADY SPRINKLED a jumbo three-meat pizza with red pepper flakes and Parmesan cheese and ate the entire thing, going back twice for refills at the salad bar.

She allowed them three turns each on a video game car chase, then drove home, stopping for a carton of ice cream along the way.

When they arrived home, there was a message from David and Athena saying that they’d arrived in New York and were staying at the Plaza. They had left the number.

“Let’s call them!” Brady suggested eagerly.

Alexis glanced at the clock. “Brady, it’s well after eleven in New York. They’re probably fast asleep.”

“Maybe not.”

“We’ll call tomorrow when you come home from school.”

“Maybe they’re not asleep,” Brady insisted. “Dave works late lots of times.”

“But he’s married now, doofus,” Brandon said, heading for the stairs.

“So?” Brady demanded.

“So, they’re probably…you know.” Brandon cast a knowing but embarrassed glance in Alexis’s direction and waved a hand to replace the words he couldn’t quite say.

“What?” Brady insisted.

Alexis opened her mouth to suggest a diplomatic explanation when Brady’s eyes suddenly widened and his expression made it clear that he understood. He looked horrified for a moment, then shoved Brandon aside and ran up the stairs.

Brandon heaved a long-suffering sigh and shook his head. “He’s still kind of young,” he said, and followed him, Ferdie trailing behind.

Alexis was stunned by that reaction. She knew that children Brady’s age discussed sex among themselves, but often hated the suggestion that their parents or guardians practiced it.

But she was fairly sure that hadn’t been disgust on Brady’s face, but fear. She didn’t understand what that meant. Judging by his behavior with Athena, he seemed to adore her.

“Let me know,” she called after Brandon, “before you turn the lights out.”

When Brandon called shortly after nine, Brady’s room was already dark. Alexis tucked Brandon in, then patted the dog lying on a blanket across the boy’s feet.

“French toast for breakfast?” Alexis asked before flipping off the light.

“Just cereal, please,” he said, snuggling into his pillow. “We’ve got Graham O’s.”

“And you don’t trust my cooking?”

He laughed. “Nope. Good night.”

“Good night, Brandon.”

She went across the hall to Brady’s room, braved the quiet darkness and looked down on him. She suspected he simply pretended to be asleep, but she tucked his blankets in anyway, then went to the door.

“I’d like French toast,” a voice said in the darkness.

Relieved to have some response from him, though still worried about his unusual behavior, Alexis replied briefly, “You got it. Should I get you up a little early so you’ll have more time?”

“More time?”

“To spread butter and drizzle syrup. You have to cover all the corners, you know, or it isn’t as good.”

“Yeah,” he said. “That’s true.”

“Brady?” she blurted, moving surreptitiously back toward the bed. “Are you worried about something?”

Silence.

“Because if you are,” she went on intrepidly, “you can tell me and I’ll do what I can to help. I know I’m not as good as having David and Athena here, but I’m sort of like your aunt now. So you can tell me if you’re worried. Or afraid.”

There was silence for another moment, then he said finally, “No. Nothing.”

“Okay.” Dispiritedly she reversed directions. “Two pieces or three?”