LITMIR.BIZ

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John asked as they ate ice cream for dessert.

      Surely Aaron would look at her now. He hadn’t met her eyes since she’d turned around on the countertop to find him standing there.

      Before he answered John, he would have to know if she would offer to let him stay.

      “You said,” John reminded him, “you were gonna buy Aunt Susan another step stool tomorrow. So you’re not going home yet, right? That means you have to sleep someplace. And this is our house now, too, so we can invite you to stay here.” John looked to Susan for confirmation. “Right?”

      Aaron did meet her eyes then, but the small yet friendly connection they’d made yesterday was gone. It was like looking into the eyes of a stranger—one who didn’t particularly like her on first impression.

      She had to look away. “That’s right,” she told John. “The sofa in the family room opens up.”

      “See?” John said eagerly.

      Aaron nodded. “Then I accept your invitation,” he said.

      Susan began clearing the table, and the boys helped, falling into a routine she’d apparently already established at his brother’s house.

      Wanting to help without actually being in contact with her, he wet a couple of paper towels and washed Ringo’s face and hands, then cleared the front pocket of his coveralls of noodles. He freed him from the high chair and washed it off while the toddler ran his colorful truck over Aaron’s feet.

      The table cleared and the dishwasher doing its work, Susan took the boys into the family room and handed John the remote.

      “You can be in charge of it,” she said “but you have to try to be fair about what you watch, okay? Everybody should have a say in it.”

      “Uncle Aaron got us some videos.” John held up a paper bag.

      “Harriet the Spy and The King of Egypt.” He studied the remote. “So I press TV/VCR then Play, right?”

      “Right.” Susan glanced back at Aaron. Fortunately Ringo was busy trying to redecorate his face, so he didn’t have to meet her gaze. He hadn’t decided why he didn’t want to. Either he was angry with her because he knew he should have made more time to spend with Dave and his family and he’d been plagued by the guilt of it since he’d learned Dave and Becky had died. Or he just didn’t like what looking at her did to him. Her large brown eyes seemed to demand, as well as condemn, though he didn’t think she was even aware of that.

      It was as if he had something she needed, and it was in her eyes every time they shared a glance.

      But he had a business to run that was becoming more and more of a rebellious child every day. It was growing bigger and smarter and seemed to require more careful and attentive management.

      He couldn’t play with the guys in Research and Development anymore. He had to keep his eyes on the money, the numbers, with the competitors looking for takeover and the government looking for mistakes.

      And Starscape represented his whole reason for being, the light he’d seen at the end of the interminable tunnel of his childhood, the success for which he’d worked so hard, the proof that his stepmother had been wrong and he was worth something, after all.

      He couldn’t care for a family and keep his business, too. It had to be one or the other.

      “It’s time for his bath.”

      He came out of his thoughts to find Susan studying him with puzzlement, her hands on the child he held in his arms. “Unless,” she said, as though trying to figure out why he held on to Ringo for dear life, “you’d like to give him a bath yourself. But I warn you—you’ll need a wet suit and a snorkel.”

      She smiled.

      He didn’t want to respond to it, but it took every fiber of his self-control to stop himself.

      “You do it,” he said, letting her take Ringo. “I’ll supervise the film festival.”

      Hurt flickered in her eyes, then was gone with a tilt of her chin. “Okay. There’s more coffee in the pot. I’ll be at least a half hour.”

      “Take your time.”

      They were halfway into the film when she returned with sweet-smelling Ringo in footed blue pajamas. She held him out to his brothers, who hugged him good-night, then to Aaron.

      Ringo clung to Aaron’s neck as though he had no intention of ever letting go. Aaron finally carried him upstairs and helped Susan tuck him in. She turned on a music box on the dresser and handed him the scruffy bear he often toted around by the foot during the day.

      In a moment Ringo was rubbing his eyes sleepily and yawning. He didn’t seem to notice when they crept out of the room.

      Susan stopped Aaron halfway to the stairs. She looked both defensive and apologetic. “I’m sorry about that remark,” she said. “You’ve done a lot for the boys since you’ve been here and they…we all appreciate that.”

      He turned to her, hands in his pockets, expression remote. “Really. You made it sound as though all my being here has done is intensify your problems because eventually I have to go.”

      “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice rising a little in agitation. “It’s just that helping them through the loss of their parents has been hard, but your being here has helped a lot. John barely spoke until you arrived. But you have to go home and…they lose again. I feel inadequate to the task of making them understand.”

      “Maybe I should just take them with me.” He’d entertained that thought before he’d seen her in action with the boys. Now he wondered if that was what she wanted from him, if that was the need he saw in her eyes. She was young and alone and had her own demanding career.

      She gave him an impatient look. “How could you possibly care for four little children?”

      That made him defensive. “The same way you will. I’m sure I’d be awkward at first, but they respond to me and that’s a start.”

      “They’d never see you.”

      “I’d hire a nanny.”

      Her eyes darkened and pinned him in place. “You might remember that I was given custody. It’s what your brother and Becky wanted.”

      “I understand that,” he replied patiently, “but the job’s too big for one—”

      “Who said the job was too big?” she demanded. “Did I say that? No, I didn’t. I just said that I felt inadequate, but that doesn’t mean I won’t do my damnedest to see that they’re loved and cared—”

      He raised a warm gentle hand to cover her mouth. “You’re shouting,” he said quietly, the suggestion of a smile turning up the corners of his mouth. “I wasn’t questioning your determination or your willingness to do the job. I was just wondering whether any one person should have to do it alone.”

      She caught his wrist and pushed away his hand, but his index finger slid over her lips in the process. The sensation seemed to ripple all over her body.

      “The reality is that I am alone.” She spoke firmly so that he would have no doubt about her conviction to see this through. “I’m sure once we’re all settled into a routine, once they’ve made friends at school and gotten acquainted in the neighborhood…”

      It was as she spoke, her color high, her eyes bright with maternal fervor, that he saw the need in her eyes take on a complexity he hadn’t noticed before.

      She needed him—out of the picture.

      So that was it. As difficult as the task of mothering the boys would be, she wanted to do it alone. Of course. It was so much easier to move forward when you didn’t have to consider anyone else’s input.

      “Tomorrow we’ll get whatever you need for yourself and the boys,” he said,

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