mellow for somebody with a broken ankle.”
Beside him, Donna released a half laugh. “That’s the pain meds.” She looked down at her foot, splinted to within an inch of its life. “Might be tricky to cook with this thing on. Your father will be beside himself.”
“I imagine he’ll live. Besides, that’s what the church ladies are for. After the thousands of casseroles you’ve made for everybody else over the years, they owe you.”
She laughed again, then sighed. “Shame I won’t be able to take care of the boys, though—”
“And don’t even think about that. Hey, if I have to, I’ll keep ‘em with me. It could work,” he said to his mother’s hoot of laughter.
“These are Ollie and Tad we’re talking about. Otherwise known as Thing One and Thing Two?”
“Thought you said they’d calmed down.”
“I lied.”
He glanced at his mother. “And you didn’t think to warn Jewel?”
“Gal has youth on her side. And resilience. She’ll be fine. But wasn’t it providential, how she was available to babysit? She’s a real sweetheart, that one. A real sweetheart.”
Oh, hell. “You know, you could at least try to be subtle. Next I’m gonna find out you deliberately broke your ankle just to further your matchmaking mission—hey. Everything okay?”
Donna nodded tightly. “Joy juice is wearing off, I suspect.”
“So take more.”
“Forget it. A flower child I may have been, but a druggie? Never. Damned if I’m about to start now. I’ll be fine,” she said, her chin lifting. “At least until we get home.”
Silas’s eyes again slid to his mother, the stress lines bracketing her mouth attesting to her no longer being the bottomless well of energy she’d once been. “Why didn’t you say something before? About the kids, I mean.”
A moment ticked by before she quietly said, “Because after what happened … those babies needed mothering. And since I was the only candidate … Oh, don’t get that look on your face, I’m only stating the facts. At least I was there to fill the gap.”
“Since I haven’t done anything to fill it myself.”
She shrugged. Woman could say more with a shrug than most women say in a thirty-minute conversation. Then she blew out a long breath.
“I adore those little monkeys, you know that. But even before this happened, I’d begun to realize I’m not as up to chasing them as I’d thought. As I want to be. Occasionally is fine—well, once this blasted ankle is better—but full time?” She shook her head. “I’m so tired by the time evening rolls around I can barely have a conversation with your father.” That was followed by a weary chuckle. “Let alone anything else.”
“Mom, geez.”
His mother laughed again, then briefly squeezed his arm. “I’m sorry, Silas. The spirit’s willing, but—”
“And there’s nothing to be sorry for.” He flashed a smile at her, even as panic began to simmer in his gut. Nobody knew better than he that both his sons had gotten double doses of snips and snails and puppy dog tails. Not to mention enough energy to fuel a hydrogen bomb. Finding another day-care option for them wasn’t going to be easy. But taking out his mother—who’d already earned her medal for surviving her own four boys—hadn’t been part of the game plan. “You could’ve backed out anytime, you know.”
In the dim light from the dash, he saw tears glisten in his mother’s warm brown eyes. “Couldn’t. Would’ve meant giving them up.”
“It’s okay, we’ll figure something out,” he said softly as they pulled into his parents’ driveway, his father shooting through the front door before Silas switched off the engine.
Nearly thirty-four years his parents had been married, and yet Gene Garrett’s solicitous concern for his wife when he jerked open her door was every bit as tender as Silas remembered from his childhood. Oh, they fussed at each other as much as the next couple, but what they had—it was magic and rare and defied explanation. Or definition.
And there were times when Silas envied them so much it hurt.
“For heaven’s sake, Gene,” Donna said after Silas’s dad gingerly maneuvered her out of the truck. No mean feat. “I’m completely capable of managing on my own. Thank you, honey,” she said to Silas after he handed her the crutches. She squinted at the things for a moment, shaking her head, then fitted them under her arms, her grip firm on the braces. “But you better go on—I imagine Jewel’s more than ready to be rescued by now.”
“It’s nearly ten—the boys are bound to be asleep.” His mother rolled her eyes, and he smiled. “You sure you don’t need me?”
“Honestly, between you and Gene … It’s a broken ankle, for goodness’ sake, not bubonic plague! Here, hold this,” she said to Gene, shoving a crutch at him, then reached up to give Silas a strong, one-armed hug around his neck. “Thanks for everything, honey. And we’ll talk tomorrow.”
Still, after Silas climbed back into the truck to watch his father hover over his mother as she unsteadily navigated the short sidewalk between the driveway and house, envy pinched again. And regret, that his own marriage had been a dismal failure.
But at twenty-four, even with his parents’ example, he hadn’t been nearly as ready for it as he’d thought. Especially to a gal who’d apparently tuned out when the minister, during their prenuptial classes, had done his best to drive home that married life wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows, that it took more than love—and sex—to get through the rough patches. That without determination to make it work, a willingness to put each other’s feelings and needs ahead of your own from time to time, you didn’t have a chance in hell.
Not that he had used those exact words, but close enough.
And God knew Silas had tried his best. He’d hated seeing Amy so miserable, especially after Bundle of Joy Two arrived. But as her demands became increasingly impossible to meet—she constantly complained about not having enough money, yet pitched a fit if he worked late because he wasn’t around to help her with the babies—Silas began to see the writing on the wall.
Oh, he’d dug in his heels the first time she’d said she wanted out, not about to give up that easily on something he still believed in. But eventually Silas had had to admit he couldn’t prop up the marriage on his own. Or raise his wife as well as his sons.
His folks inside, Silas backed out of the drive, thinking that at least the resulting implosion, as horrendous as it had been, hadn’t left him where it had found him. In fact, his shrugging off his mother’s relentless matchmaking attempts notwithstanding, he was beginning to heal, even if only in terms of … maybe. If the right woman—not girl, woman—crossed his path, he might, might, consider trying again.
But this time, he had a checklist as long as his arm, with Putting the boys first at the top. Followed closely by maturity. Serenity. Stability.
Sanity.
In
