girls,” he called after them, as they both barreled into her, shooting greetings and queries a mile a minute. She put her arms around both girls and tried to answer.
“Now, let me see. Yes, I’d love to see your room, Cindy. And, yes, I’d love to meet your friend Binky,” she said, carefully taking a baby blanket that had seen better days. It seemed the most natural thing in the world to smooth it over her hand and turn it quickly into a puppet.
“Hello, Reverend Clemens,” she said, giving Binky a squeaky voice. “Hello to you, too, Binky,” she answered, quickly changing back to her own voice. “Gina’s my person. We’re very good friends,” Binky replied.
Gina giggled and took Binky back, clumsily fashioning the puppet around her own hand. “Will you be my friend, too, and maybe stay overnight? We have bunk beds. We’ll share. Won’t we, Gina?”
“Sure,” Gina continued in the high-pitched voice she’d assigned to Binky, then quickly corrected the tone, and giggled, saying “Sure” again in her own register.
Matt cleared his throat. “I don’t think, Reverend Clemens could—”
“I really can’t,” Justine said at the same moment. They both laughed in shared camaraderie and chagrin.
“Girls, let’s get inside before dinner burns…or our guest runs for her life,” Matt put in, after scooping Gina and Binky up in his arms.
He’d promised to fix ravioli in a red meat sauce that he called gravy, a term he said he’d learned from his Italian grandmother. His Mediterranean background wasn’t a surprise to Justine. His deep brown eyes, dark complexion and nearly black hair told an unmistakable tale of Latin roots.
Justine followed the crowd inside the farmhouse-design home. She found it a pleasant surprise after the way Matt had described the state of his garage. The living room was beautifully arranged. If the rest of his home looked as put together, she would know he’d been exaggerating.
“Matt, this is lovely. You have a real talent for decorating.”
A snort came from behind and to the left. Justine turned and found Leslie leaning in the doorway of a softly lit room next to the staircase. “Like Dad knows more than how to stuff a room full of furniture.”
“Les told me where to put what, what color to paint the walls and what to hang where,” Matt confessed. “Otherwise, nothing would have been hung up and the furniture would be arranged like a doctor’s waiting room. My back still aches thinking about moving everything around till my slave-driver daughter was satisfied.”
Mindful that a lack of self-esteem was reported to be a prime cause of eating disorders, Justine jumped on the chance to bolster Leslie’s sense of self. “You have quite a talent, Leslie. Maybe someday you’ll be an interior designer.”
The teen shrugged shyly. “Mom bought it all. I just said where to put it. And the paint color was common sense. It was no big deal.”
“Oh, you’re wrong. Really. It takes the right eye to know how to arrange things this nicely. And color is so easily off a shade. I know grown women who can’t do this well. Unfortunately, I head the list. Maybe you could lend me that eye of yours someday, if it’s all right with your dad. I hate the way my place is coming together. As your dad said, it looks like a doctor’s waiting room with the furniture lined up along the walls.”
Again Leslie shrugged, but she did stand a little straighter and taller. “Yeah. Sure. I could help.”
“I guess that means I’ll be moving furniture again,” Matt said, giving a deep theatrical sigh.
Leslie rolled her eyes. “Oh, Daddy,” she said with the kind of exaggerated disgust only a thirteen-year-old can do justice to.
Justine laughed. “So, where’s this authentic Italian dinner I was promised?”
Matt tucked the younger girls in bed and settled Les down at the computer in her room to finish the rest of her homework. Then, somewhat reluctantly, he headed back to the family room where Justine waited. He watched her lovely face in silent repose reflected in the window as she stared out at the darkened sky and took a sip of the tea he’d given her before going off to see to the girls.
For a moment Matt found himself unable to move—held in check by Justine’s beauty. But, he reminded himself, he needed something of more substance from this woman—this minister—than her captivating loveliness. With his daughter’s happiness at stake, attraction took a back seat to answers. Answers he needed but feared.
Matt took a deep fortifying breath before plunging ahead into troubled waters. If she said something negative, he didn’t know how he’d handle it. There was nothing more important to him than being the best of fathers. What would he do if he’d failed?
“Everyone’s all settled,” he told her before losing his nerve.
Justine turned and smiled, but there was a hint of nervousness in her expression. “Matt,” she said, almost as if she were surprised to see him there.
“Oh-oh. You spotted a problem, didn’t you? I don’t relish hearing you tell me I’m a failure as a father, but—”
Justine’s eyes widened. “Goodness, Matt, you’re nothing of the sort. I was just going over something troubling in my mind. And it had little to do with your situation. Those girls adore you—even Leslie, as angry as you say she was with you. Her eyes simply shine when she looks at you. I’ve just been wondering if you’d ever considered hiring a part-time housekeeper to do light housework around here and to, perhaps, cook dinner?”
“Actually, I did. Just after Diane passed away. But her mother was afraid a stranger coming in and doing the things Diane used to do would upset the girls. It made sense at the time,” he added, not wanting Justine to think he was rejecting her idea out of hand.
“It may have been a mistake then but I think the two of you have carried this burden long enough. Watching Leslie tonight, I couldn’t help but think she might feel as overwhelmed as you do. Leslie’s still just a child. She tries so very hard to be helpful. Almost too hard.”
“She’s been like that ever since Diane got sick. Mary was around a lot more then, but even so, Les pitched right in to fill in the gaps. Are you saying you think that’s a bad thing?”
“I don’t honestly know. I can’t see that learning to handle responsibility is a bad thing, but maybe too much could be overwhelming. You did say she complained about all your activities together centering around chores. As I said, I have no way of knowing what she’s thinking, so I could be wrong. But I did a lot of filling in for my mother at Leslie’s age and I never stopped eating as Les seems to have.” Justine shrugged as if to admit that kids were baffling.
Les was his problem. He didn’t want to burden the pretty preacher overly much, and she seemed so concerned. “That’s the trouble with parenthood,” he said, walking away to drop into his favorite chair. “Kids don’t come with instructions written on their bottoms.”
Justine chuckled as he’d meant her to and joined him, sitting on the love seat next to his chair. “And all the books written on the subject contradict each other.”
“Exactly. So you think a housekeeper might help?”
“I don’t see how
