again, Matthew dashed off to carry out his assigned task.
“You shouldn’t go to any trouble for me,” Vanessa protested quietly.
He shook his head a little. “This is a learning experience for Matthew. Plus, he likes being able to help. So, wanna come supervise me while I make boxed stuffing and frozen veggies? I might mess up otherwise.”
The way he said it made her laugh, and she gladly followed him back into the kitchen. The rattle of ice against the windows was audible in there, and Tim felt a snaking draft.
“That cold air is the heat coming on again. It’ll get warm soon. Boy, it sounds miserable out there.”
“It certainly does,” she agreed. “And thank you for your invitation to stay here. I’d have been miserable in the Higgins house.”
“The Welling house now,” he reminded her. “And you’re more than welcome.”
* * *
It was her house now, but as she watched him finish the dinner preparations, she felt an urge to share something with him, maybe so he could better understand her reactions. “Did Earl tell you what Bob Higgins did to my family? And to others around town?”
“Something about an investment scam?”
“Yeah. I don’t get exactly how he did it, but he got people to give him money to invest. Periodically he’d pay out to them, especially if they had a need, but somewhere along the way he must have spent too much money to keep up the pretense that he was actually investing it. That’s when he talked my father into mortgaging the ranch, promising him that his so-called investment fund would not only pay him enough to meet the mortgage payments, but would give him extra. Bob was my dad’s lifelong friend. I don’t think it ever entered his head that Bob was conning him.”
“God, that’s awful. I don’t understand people who steal from others, especially when there’s a trusting relationship involved.”
“I don’t get it, either.” And it was a primary reason she found it so hard to trust. “It was especially hard on my father. He’d lost everything, we moved away and gradually he became an alcoholic. We moved again several times when he lost jobs and then...well, the alcohol killed him.”
“My God! I’m so sorry, Vanessa.” He’d stopped mixing the stuffing, and the vegetables were still waiting beside a microwave container. After a moment, he visibly caught himself and returned to his tasks. “I can’t imagine how awful that had to have been for you.”
“Eventually you don’t feel it anymore. Anyway, I think the stress killed my mother. She was awfully young for a heart attack.” She sighed, watching him move with the grace of a man in great shape doing the minor little things of mixing the stuffing, starting the microwave, putting a pat of butter on the bowl of frozen broccoli.
A man who could handle everything, she thought. Construction, fatherhood, cooking...he had a full plate, all right. Much fuller than hers, which seemed to be mostly filled with her own melancholy memories right now.
She missed her dinosaur bones. They spoke to her, too, but in ways that excited her. People didn’t have that effect on her. She couldn’t trust them to tell a true story, unlike the bones, which couldn’t lie.
And that probably made her neurotic, she thought with an unexpected tickle of amusement as Matthew erupted into the kitchen. That boy was like a human power plant. “I think I did it right.”
“I’ll check in a moment,” Tim answered. “Did you get yourself a glass of milk? And did you ask Vannie what she’d like to drink?”
Vanessa suspected this was a new stage for the boy. He looked a little surprised, then said, “I get to do the drinks?”
“You can carry a glass of milk into the dining room, can’t you?”
That big, engaging grin. “Sure.” He turned to Vanessa. “You want milk, too?”
“I’d very much like a glass of water, thank you.”
She was charmed, enchanted, and so very glad not to be riding out this storm all alone at the Higgins house.
Matthew was just tall enough to reach the bottom shelf of the upper cupboard by stretching, and he pulled out two glasses. He stuck his tongue out and bit it while pouring one glass half-full of milk, clearly taking great care. The other was more easily handled at the sink. Then, carefully, he picked up both glasses and carried them away.
“You must be very proud of Matthew,” she remarked. Tim had pulled the stuffing from the microwave and replaced it with the frozen broccoli. The machine hummed quietly.
“I am,” he agreed. He fluffed the stuffing with a fork, the recovered it with a glass lid and faced her, an easy posture leaning back against the sink. “I keep hoping Claire would feel the same.”
“Your wife? I’m sure she would.”
“Well, he’s not perfect. He has his moments.” He straightened. “I promised to check the table setting. Be right back.”
Then she was alone in the kitchen, and alone with her own thoughts. Inevitably she wondered if there hadn’t been something she could do about that house that wouldn’t have involved her. Odd, when her memories of being there were so sketchy, that it should have such a strong impact on her.
Uncle Bob. Aunt Freda. She never heard what happened to Freda and the girls, other than that they’d left Bob behind when his misdeeds came to light. And Earl had said that Freda had changed the girls’ last names. Like her family, they’d fled from destruction wrought by one man without a conscience.
Because he couldn’t have had a conscience. He’d used every one of his friends in a horrible way. Her dad had just suffered the biggest losses.
Then Tim reappeared as the microwave dinged to announce the broccoli was ready.
Time for dinner.
* * *
By the time Tim decreed bedtime for Matthew, they were able to pull back the living room curtains and see a world turned into a white whirlwind that reflected the interior light.
“Not a good night to be out,” Tim remarked. “I hope everyone heeded the warnings.”
Matthew, Vanessa had noticed, had grown very quiet since helping to clear the table and load the dishwasher. He hadn’t spoken at all.
“Are you feeling okay?” she asked him.
“He’s feeling just fine,” Tim said drily. “He’s hoping I didn’t notice that he failed to go upstairs when I said it was bedtime.”
“There’s no school tomorrow!” Matthew protested.
“Maybe, maybe not. We don’t know for sure yet. Either way, it’s bedtime for buckaroos, and yes, you can read.”
Matthew tried slumping his shoulders and dragging his feet, but when that didn’t get a response, he perked up and ran up the stairs.
Tim just shook his head and smiled. “There’s
