stared at the food. “I didn’t ask for this!”
“No, but I thought it might save you some time.”
He didn’t move, staring at the food.
“Look, eat, don’t eat. It makes no difference to me.” She sat down to eat her own lunch.
Ally looked at Lauren’s plate. “You don’t have soldiers?”
“No, sweetie, only children get soldiers.”
Ally leaned toward her father. “Daddy, do you want my last soldier?”
Her generosity broke through Jack Mason’s stupor. “No, angel, you eat your last soldier,” he told the little girl. “I have plenty of food, thanks to Miss McNabb.”
He sat down at the table, saying stiffly, “I appreciate the lunch.”
Lauren didn’t believe him, but they ate silently and she was satisfied that he ate all the food she’d provided. Ally ate her three cookies, but she was almost half asleep by the time she finished.
“I have a bed she can sleep on,” Lauren said.
“No! She stays with me.” He stood and removed the corduroy jacket he was wearing and wrapped Ally in it.
Lauren watched as, carrying his child, he walked out of the kitchen toward the office. She wasn’t sure what was behind his watchfulness, but she wanted the little girl to be comfortable. She went to the other bedroom and pushed a big chair into her future office with two pillows and a blanket to cover the child.
He had already put Ally on the floor with the jacket bunched up at one end to form a rough pillow. She patted the chair and he nodded, transferring his daughter into the chair.
“Thank you. She’ll be more comfortable.”
Lauren nodded and left the room. Whatever the man’s hang-ups, he appeared to love his child, and that counted for something in Lauren’s book.
THE PHONE RANG and Lauren answered it, pleased to hear her youngest brother’s voice. “James, how are you?”
“I’m fine, sis. I, uh, thought I’d see if we were still on for dinner on Friday night?”
“Yes, of course, unless something’s come up for you.”
“No, I’m looking forward to it,” he said.
Lauren wondered what was going on. They’d been having dinner on Friday nights ever since he’d moved out of the house and gotten his own place. He’d finished school in June and started work immediately with a software company. Next, he’d found an apartment he could afford and left home. He’d said he needed to be independent. And besides, it was time Lauren had some time to herself.
“Good,” Lauren said, waiting for him to tell her the purpose of his call. Something was going on.
“Uh, what have you been doing today?”
Okay, stall tactics. “I’ve been interviewing a man to turn my third bedroom into a home office. He’s going to put in shelving.”
“Do you need me to come check him out?”
Lauren couldn’t hold back a grin. At the office, everyone would’ve been surprised that her brothers would think she needed their help for such a simple thing. “No, thanks, James, but I’m okay with him.”
“It might be good for him to know you’ve got brothers who can protect you.”
“I’ll let him know. I have lots of pictures around the place, you know.”
“Oh, yeah.”
There was a prolonged silence. Lauren asked, “Is there anything in particular you want me to make for Friday night?”
“For dinner, you mean? Well, I think I’d like your chicken spaghetti. I haven’t had it in a while.”
“Sure. I’ll be glad to make it.”
“And maybe your carrot cake.”
“All right.”
“And, um, I thought I might bring a friend, too. Would that be all right?”
Aha! Finally they’d gotten to the point of the conversation. “Of course. I’d love to have some of your friends. Are you bringing Ronny or Doug?” she asked, keeping the smile from her voice.
“Uh, no, I thought I’d bring, uh, Cheryl.”
“Who is that? A new friend?”
“Yeah. She has an apartment near me. I, uh, I’m afraid she doesn’t eat enough. I thought your cooking would be good for her.”
“That sounds like a good idea. I’ll see you Friday evening.”
Lauren hung up the phone, a smile on her lips. She’d played the role of mother for her six brothers and sisters since she was twelve. None of them had married, however. Had she done something wrong, that none of her siblings had found anyone to marry? And what about yourself? asked an inner voice. Where’s your special someone?
JACK SERVED his daughter her dinner, putting macaroni and cheese on her plate, peas and carrots, and some chicken cut into tiny pieces. “There. Your dinner is ready, Ally. I expect you to eat your vegetables,” he said as he helped her into her chair.
“I will, Daddy. I’m hungry.”
“Good.”
He sat down beside her, his plate filled with the same food. He’d learned how to cook properly when he’d found himself with a small child who needed good nutrition.
“I liked that mommy today,” Ally said as she worked at scooping up the peas and carrots.
Jack had just taken a bite of his own vegetables, but her words had him spitting out food in all directions.
He hurriedly wiped his mouth and cleaned up the mess he’d made. “Uh, who are you talking about, Ally?”
“That mommy. The one who made me lunch.”
“She’s not a mommy.”
“I know she’s not my mommy.” They had had this discussion several times over the past year. His daughter wanted to know what had happened to her mommy since everyone else at child care had a mommy. “But I think she’s someone’s mommy.”
“No, Ally, she’s not someone’s mommy. She lives alone.”
Ally frowned and stared at her father. “But she cut my sandwich into soldiers, and she gave me cookies.”
“Yes, she did, but she’s not someone’s mommy, and it’s important not to call her a mommy.”
“Would it make her cry?”
Jack
