C.J. Carmichael - A convenient proposal

Mick slammed a hand against the trunk of a nearby tree. A dusting of snow was released into the air, and Kelly watched the flakes settle against the dark blue of his jacket.

“She loves those kids,” he said.

“I’m sure she must.”

“And they love her. You have no idea how devoted Billy is to his mother. You can’t think we should try to get them taken away from her?”

Had he noticed he’d used the word we? Kelly doubted it. “Mick, because of me they lost their father. I don’t want them to lose their mother, too.”

Mick considered that statement for a moment, before nodding. “Good. ’Cause no way is Child Welfare getting involved in this case. If Danny’s family needs help, then I’m the one to give it to them.”

“No question those kids need you, Mick. You’re their uncle. But what I wonder is…” She hesitated. Who was she to point fingers?

“Yeah?”

Deciding the welfare of the children called for honesty, she continued. “Well, with the hours you put in at the paper, and the way Sharon’s been drinking…something really bad could happen to them, Mick. They need more.”

They need me. Kelly didn’t voice the last part, but the conviction that she had to help this family remained.

AFTER MICK HAD GONE INSIDE to check on Billy and Amanda, Kelly returned to her truck. Instead of heading to her basement apartment on the other side of town, she cruised back to the highway, almost instinctively drawn to the Larch Lodge Bed and Breakfast, which Cathleen had renovated several years ago.

Cathleen and Dylan wouldn’t be there. They’d flown to Vegas for a delayed honeymoon, leaving Poppy O’Leary to run the place for the week. Seventy-year-old Poppy had been staying there for about six months now, working on her family tree and a treasury of favorite recipes. During the weeks after the shooting, when Kelly had been a guest at the B and B, too, she and Poppy had become quite close.

Kelly eased off the accelerator and coasted the final yards of the laneway. Now in full view of the house, she could see Poppy’s mop of artificial-red curls as she worked at the kitchen sink in front of the window. Probably she was organizing tomorrow’s breakfast for the guests. Three unknown vehicles were parked, along with Poppy’s red Tracker, at the side of the house. Kelly left her truck at the end of the line, then headed for the side veranda.

“Poppy?” Kelly stuck her head inside the door. Cathleen’s dog looked at her lazily, managing only a slight wag of his tail. Curled up beside him was a beautiful white cat, the latest addition to Cathleen’s menagerie. Dylan had adopted Crystal shortly after his mother’s death, and Crystal had promptly adopted Kip as her closest buddy. A relationship Kip tolerated but obviously did not enjoy.

“Kelly! I was hoping you’d show up. Come on in and sit. I’ve got a new muffin recipe for you to sample.”

Poppy’s solution to every problem was food. Which was ironic given that the common Shannon family reaction to stress was an aversion to eating. Kelly knew she’d dropped pounds since the shooting, and Cathleen was just now regaining the weight she’d lost during the two years she and Dylan had been estranged. Then there was Maureen, who’d looked not only too slender at her last visit, but too pale, as well. Of course, only six months had passed since her husband’s death.

“You must think we Shannons are a sorry bunch.” Kelly tore the paper liner off the still-warm muffin. She could see sunflower seeds and raisins peeking out from the golden-brown crust. The aroma of honeyed spices was enticing.

“Every family has its hard times.” Poppy took a glass measure and poured in milk. She popped the milk into the microwave to heat, then mixed a paste of cocoa and sugar in Kelly’s favorite ceramic mug.

Bless her heart, she was making the hot chocolate that Kelly loved.

“I was looking at the cottonwoods on Memorial Drive today, and thinking.” She could see the dark trunks in her mind’s eye, the bare winter branches reaching, almost desperately, to the sky.

“When you were in Calgary?”

Poppy knew about her weekly sessions with the RCMP counselor.

“Yes. I really feel for those war vets coming home and having to deal with the atrocities they’d seen and participated in overseas.”

“Times were different then. The men knew they’d done their duty for their country. On their return, they were treated like heroes.”

“Do you really think it was that simple, Poppy?”

The microwave beeped, and Poppy took out the steaming milk. “No,” she admitted, “I guess not.”

“Compared with what they went through, my experience is pure Little League.”

Poppy set the mug of hot chocolate in front of her. “It doesn’t feel Little League, though, does it?”

Kelly pressed her lips tightly together and shook her head. With both hands she cupped the warm mug. In the end, despite the appetizing aroma, she’d been unable to stomach the muffin. This she could handle. She took a sip, and the creamy, warm liquid glided down her throat.

“You take everything so much to heart.” Poppy’s old eyes contained warmth and compassion—benefactions Kelly knew she didn’t deserve, but craved so desperately.

Poppy laid a hand on her arm. “You’re such a softy, aren’t you, love. And your sisters have no idea. They see you as strong and stalwart.”

“I am strong. I’m the youngest, but I’ve always looked out for Cath and Maureen. They tease me about being a mother hen….”

“Those two! They’re so impulsive and confident. They don’t know how it feels to be otherwise. I’m sure they’ve never even guessed how badly your father’s desertion hurt you.”

“Oh!” It was unbelievable how Poppy always honed in on the important things. Kelly had spoken of those feelings to no one. Not even to her mother when she’d been alive. Now Kelly regarded this amazing woman with a touch of awe.

“How can you understand us so well, when you’ve only known us such a short time?”

Poppy’s hand tightened on Kelly’s forearm. “My dear Kelly, it isn’t hard. You were a sensitive child, living in a house full of self-assured, outgoing women. It’s not that they didn’t love you to death. From all I’ve heard about your mother, I know she did, and your sisters still do. They just aren’t equipped to understand….”

Tears again were too close. Kelly sipped more liquid, then found herself wanting to tell Poppy more. “I was just a baby when Dad left. I didn’t even know him. How could I miss him?”

Poppy leaned back in her chair. She was quiet, but Kelly didn’t mind the silence. Her head was too full of her own thoughts.

She knew the story of her father’s restlessness, recounted endlessly by her elder sisters when they were kids. After each baby was born, he’d left their mother for a while, always to return about a year later.

Except the last time.

“What was wrong with me, Poppy? How come he didn’t come back for me, like he did for the others?”

“Oh, love. He missed so much, your dad.”

But what he’d missed had been by his choice. That was what was so hard for Kelly to accept. As a kid she’d made up stories to take that choice away. He’d been in an accident and suffered from amnesia…. He’d been arrested for a crime he hadn’t committed and didn’t want them to know he’d been sent to jail….

Of course, as an adult, and a cop, she could no longer delude herself. She knew the statistics on how many men walked away from their families, never to be heard from again. These things just had to be accepted.

“Poppy, I had a happy childhood. And even though we didn’t have a father and money was kind of tight, we were much better off than so many children I see in my line of work.”