Lynn Bulock - The Harbor of His Arms

“Only that you won’t be here long, and that it’s still time for bed, whether we have company or not,” Holly said firmly. Conor seemed about to protest, but one look at his mother made him think better of it. If he’d gotten that look from a woman, Alex thought, he wouldn’t argue, either. Holly started hustling the two boys toward the hall.

While she was putting the boys to bed, Alex took in his surroundings. Everything was as neat as he’d expect a home with two five-year-olds to be, and under the clutter it was all very clean. Other than the boys’ toys and the basics, there wasn’t much to see.

Holly’s couch wasn’t the most comfortable thing Alex had ever thought about sleeping on. It beat sitting straight up in a car seat, or slouched over in one doing a stakeout, but that was about the nicest thing he could say about it. The couch was far from new, and there had obviously been a lot of kid feet bouncing on it over the years. That would account for the sagging springs, anyway.

The room was warmer than his car would have been, and it was quiet enough. Once Holly had put the kids to bed she came out of their room quietly. She went to a linen closet, got supplies, handed him a pillow and blanket and pointed out the remote for the television. “If you turn on the TV, keep it quiet. Conor’s a light sleeper. Aidan would sleep through a hurricane, but his brother hears mouse footsteps, I swear.”

“I’ll keep it low,” he promised. Holly went to bed at that point. Without another word she disappeared into the other bedroom, and Alex didn’t see her again. He wondered what kinds of thoughts were rolling through her mind.

He knew what was going through his. How could he do his job, help Holly without messing up her life, and get out of this town as quickly as possible?

In the morning he could feel someone watching him before he opened his eyes. The instinct to react was so strong that he thanked God for the foresight he’d had in locking up his automatic in the gun safe built into his car trunk.

He opened his eyes to see a short, freckle-faced figure standing in front of him, regarding him seriously. Without seeing both twins, he wondered who he was looking at. “Good morning,” he said, wondering if a kid this young knew where his mom kept the coffee. He was definitely going to have to find out.

“Hi. I’m Conor,” the boy said, ending Alex’s confusion over that point, at least. “What’s your name again?”

“Alex. Alex Wilkins.”

“Oh, yeah. You said you were a friend of my dad’s, right?”

“Right.”

Conor seemed to think about that. “From before or from now?”

That had him stumped. “From before, I think. What do you mean?”

The kid wrinkled his brow. “Well, Mom says Dad’s in heaven with Jesus and the angels now, and you’re sure not Jesus and you don’t look like any angel.”

Alex didn’t know whether to laugh or be stunned by the depth of the kid’s thoughts. “Trust me, I’m not an angel.”

“I didn’t think so. That’s too bad. We could sure use one.”

This was interesting. Maybe Holly wasn’t as independent and “okay” as she had portrayed herself. “Oh, yeah?”

Conor apparently trusted him enough to sit down on the edge of the couch next to him. “Yeah. Mom’s always talking to God and Dad when she thinks we don’t hear her. And she’s sure asking them for help a lot lately.”

Alex felt a lump in his throat. How did he answer this? “Well, like I said, I’m not an angel. But maybe I can help out some while I’m here. For right now, you could help me out.”

“Me? How?” Conor didn’t look as if he believed that for a moment.

“You could go into the kitchen with me and show me where your mom keeps the coffee. Who knows, maybe I could even fix breakfast for both of us while I’m there.”

“I’ll try. But I think we’re out of coffee. And I think we’re out of the right kind of cereal, too. I think that’s why Mom was talking to God and Dad so loud yesterday while she was getting ready for work.”

Great. Alex hadn’t talked to this kid for ten minutes yet and already he knew a lot more about Holly’s personal life than he cared to know. “Well, maybe we can do something about that. Let’s go out in the kitchen and look anyway, okay?”

“Okay. But don’t make any noise. I’m not supposed to make any noise until Mom’s alarm goes off. And no touching anything glass, or knives, or opening the refrigerator….”

“I get the picture, Conor.” If Holly was really out of coffee, he might have to break a few rules around here before the lady of the house even got out of bed.

Walking into the kitchen and having Conor show him around made Alex wary somehow. The space reminded him of something, brought a memory from his past almost to the surface. Whatever it was lay just beneath where Alex could access it as he searched the clean, bare countertops and looked briefly in the cabinets.

“Well, you’re right, Conor,” he said after his foray. “There is no coffee here, not even in the freezer. And unless the right kind of cereal is plain corn flakes, it isn’t here, either.”

Conor made a noise of disgust. “Corn flakes. Nobody but Mom likes corn flakes. And we all had them for breakfast yesterday. There weren’t even any bananas.” He wrinkled his nose and sat down on one of the worn kitchen chairs. “Mom said she was going to the grocery store after work last night. I bet she forgot.”

“If she did, it’s because of me. I kind of came in where she works and surprised her.” He sat down at one of the other chairs, sliding it out quietly to keep to Conor’s “no noise” rules. If he hadn’t woken Holly or Conor’s twin brother already, maybe he’d get lucky and let them sleep a while longer.

“I hope it was a good surprise.” Conor seemed to be accusing him of something. The serious look on the child’s face and his crossed arms brought Alex’s memory to the surface. It wasn’t a pleasant one, and he wished that he’d been able to leave it buried.

This was a replica of his kitchen when he was a kid, or at least one of them. His dad’s navy career had put them through at least a dozen kitchens by the time Alex had left home at sixteen.

It wasn’t the look of this kitchen that reminded him of his mother’s kitchens, but more the feel of it. Everything was spare and stark, clean but somewhat empty. The very basics were there, but very little else. No cute little canisters held tea and homemade cookies. Other than the kid art on the refrigerator gallery, there wasn’t much that added color to the room.

Alex wondered if there was a reason Holly’s kitchen reminded him of those his mother had tried to make into homes twenty years ago. He hoped there was little cause at all, other than the similarity of two harried mothers raising kids virtually alone under tight circumstances.

Conor definitely had the serious air he’d had as a child, protective of his mother. Alex had never felt as if he’d protected his own mother enough, even though he’d been a child at the time. But this mother he could help in several ways. “Come on, Conor,” he told his companion. “We’re going to make a breakfast run.”

Holly’s alarm beeped insistently, and she groped for it. Just ten more minutes of sleep would feel so good. Her eyes opened as her fingers hit the button, and in an instant she was sitting straight up, feet over the edge of the bed, ready to spring into action. It was much too light out for this to be her normal time to get up. She must have hit the snooze alarm without knowing it, maybe even several times already.

She could hear voices in the kitchen. At first hearing three voices, one of them a deep adult male, disoriented her. Then she remembered last night and all its surprises. Alex was in her kitchen with the boys. Knowing that was enough to get her up and out of bed all the way in a hurry. She pulled on sweatpants to go with the T-shirt she’d slept in and raced out to the kitchen, oblivious to what she must look like.