Hank went back downstairs and opened the front door. He whistled and called the golden retriever’s name. He felt like crying when the dog didn’t appear. It was so cold and windy and he could see light flurries of snow in the lamplight at the end of the driveway. Miss Sadie was still protesting whatever it was she was protesting by yapping and whining. He told her to shut up in no uncertain terms. She growled, a funny little sound that made the hair on the back of Hank’s neck stand on end. He’d read somewhere that little dogs could be killers.
Back in the kitchen, Hank looked at the hot chocolate in his cup. “Good for the nerves, my ass,” he mumbled as he searched the cabinets for something a little more powerful. He finally found a bottle of scotch behind a giant-size bottle of ketchup. He removed the cap and swigged directly from the bottle. One gulp. Two gulps. Three gulps. “Where are you, Alice?” he singsonged as he made his way into the family room. “Please come home, Churchill.” He immediately retraced his steps to the kitchen and made coffee. He stood in the middle of the kitchen as the coffee dripped into the pot. What kind of child-care provider was he? The worst kind, the kind that drank on the job, that’s what kind. Well, that was never going to happen again.
Hank opened the door again and whistled for Churchill. He looked down at Miss Sadie, who just looked sad, like she knew Churchill wasn’t coming back. He bent over to scoop the little dog into his arms. She cuddled against his heart, and he swore that she sighed with happiness. At least someone loves me, he thought. Either that or she’s desperate for attention. More than likely she missed Albert.
The clock on the kitchen stove said it was one o’clock. What time did the twins get up in the morning? Not that he was going to be any more prepared for them when they did than he was when he arrived. He just knew Alice was sleeping soundly and peacefully on thousand-thread-count sheets while he was afraid to close his eyes.
Somehow he managed to pour his coffee and drink it without disturbing Miss Sadie, who appeared to be out for the count. Who was his earlier visitor, the one who brought Churchill back? Maybe the chick from next door, the one with the fancy set of wheels in the driveway.
As he walked around the well-lighted kitchen he felt sad that the Leigh house had finally, after all these years, been sold. And, without a doubt, the Carpenter house would go up for sale, too. This house, Ben’s now, would be all that was left of the old childhood neighborhood. All the other houses on the street had recycled themselves, and, once again, small children played in the yards and even on the road because there was no traffic on the cul-de-sac. His memories seemed like they were a hundred years old.
Hank finally locked the door when he realized Churchill wasn’t coming back. Obviously, the dog had jumped the fence. The best he could hope for was that the dog wasn’t freezing somewhere. Miss Sadie squirmed, stretched, and licked at his chin before she went back to sleep. He just knew that Albert Carpenter had carried her around just the way he was doing.
Good Lord, how was he going to go to Albert’s wake and funeral? He made a mental note to order flowers first thing in the morning. He’d have to find a babysitter. Suddenly, he wanted to cry all over again. How was he going to get the news to Alice? If she ran true to what she was doing, she wasn’t going to be watching the news or reading papers. Ben needed to know, too. Tomorrow he would figure out what he was going to do about that.
The coffee had sobered him up, but he knew he couldn’t sleep, so he switched on the television and watched a rerun of the daily news on Fox. Eventually he dozed, his arm around Miss Sadie.
Dawn was breaking when Hank finally stirred. Something had woken him. What? Miss Sadie was no longer sleeping in his arms. The house was silent except for a scratching noise on the sliding glass door. Miss Sadie wanted to go out. Then he remembered that Churchill was still missing. He ran to the door and opened it, but there was no sign of the golden retriever. What he saw made him blink. A good inch of snow covered the ground. Miss Sadie was no fool—she took one look at the white stuff, stepped over the threshold, squatted, and raced back inside.
Hank ran to the front door to see if the golden dog was waiting outside. He whistled and called. No dog prints could be seen in the snow. Shoulders slumped, he closed the door and went back to the kitchen to make coffee. While it dripped, and the twins were still sleeping, he used the first-floor bathroom to shower and shave. He wanted to be ready when the groceries and his new day lady arrived to take charge.
Fifteen minutes later, Hank was ready for whatever the day was going to throw at him. To pass the time until the twins woke, he checked out the little computer station Alice had set up in a small alcove off the kitchen. He was surprised when he clicked the computer on that it opened up to Alice’s e-mail on AOL. At least he wouldn’t have to worry about a password—it was all here, right in front of him. And there was an e-mail addressed to him.
Hank gawked at what he was seeing. Well, that certainly took a lot of nerve. He clicked on the e-mail and saw a to-do list. Not one word about where she was, what she was doing, or that she was sorry. A damn to-do list. He lashed out with his foot to kick the side of the little desk and was instantly sorry. He looked down at his bare feet and howled in pain, knowing damn well that he’d broken his big toe. What the hell else could go wrong? This was way beyond Murphy’s law.
Hank read the list.
Twins get up around 8. Diaper change. Dress.
Breakfast. Oatmeal with milk and a little sugar. Applesauce.
Lunch is soup, crackers, cheese cubes, and peaches.
Milk as often as they want it.
Dinner is whatever you want, cut up small or mash all food.
Churchill gets fed at four. His food is in pantry in a bag. Do not let anything happen to that dog or Ben will kill you.
Do the grocery shopping. List is on the fridge. Money is in the tea canister.
Buy Christmas tree. Set it up. Decorate it. Buy wreath for front door. Hang wreath.
Put gas in car, it’s on empty.
Give Churchill a bath today. His stuff is over the sink in the laundry room. Keep him warm. Build a fire and do NOT let him outside. Walk him. He can jump the fence.
Twins get bath at 7. They like to play in the water. Do NOT flood the bathroom. They go to bed at 7:30. Give them a treat, ice cream will be fine if you buy it. They will scream for hours if they don’t get it. Churchill gets a dog treat at the same time.
Do laundry twice a day. Fold neatly and take upstairs. Do not leave in laundry room.
Do not, I repeat, do not, drink while you are taking care of my sons.
Nursing his broken toe, Hank looked around wildly for something to hit, to smash. “In your dreams!”
Miss Sadie hopped up on his lap. She whimpered softly against his chest. “I can’t do this, Miss Sadie. I wasn’t cut out for this. How could she leave me here with this…this mess? Do you see how ill equipped I am to handle this? I don’t even want to handle it. I bet ten dollars she’s frolicking in some hot tub somewhere having a grand old time while I’m here…suffering. What’s wrong with this picture, Miss Sadie?” The little dog licked his chin in sympathy.
Hank was on his second cup of coffee when the doorbell rang. Clutching Miss Sadie to his chest, he ran to the door just as the twins started to cry. He pulled it open to see the grocery delivery
