Married in Haste

CHAPTER FOUR

SIX WEEKS AFTER the quake, the city began to restore order and set about rebuilding, a process the engineers expected to take a year or more.

Ben Galloway, in a slow moment at the clinic, studied a book on how to braid hair. He’d assumed the housekeeper-cook he’d hired after laying his sister to rest would be equipped to handle his nieces’ “girlie” requirements. But after watching normally good-tempered Erin dissolve into tears for the tenth morning in a row over messy braids, Ben was at his wits’ end. Hence the book. About the only thing in his life he hadn’t altered or dispensed with to accommodate the girls had been his morning stop on his way to the clinic at a bookstore-coffee house.

Today, while the attendant brewed his hard-hitting double espresso, it struck him that a man with the manual dexterity to sew up cuts on little people surely ought to be able to braid hair. But he hadn’t stopped with the braid book. Before he got out of the store, he’d purchased a hundred dollars’ worth of current information on raising girls. Books promising confident, happy girls. Happy was what his formerly sweet niece was not. Erin had turned into a brat. Ben couldn’t help thinking it was partly his fault. In spite of coauthoring a pamphlet on discipline, he was obviously missing the mark when it came to girls.

“Doctor, your next patient’s in room five.” Anita Sorenson stepped into the room. She was one of a staff of three that Ben and his partner, general practitioner Steve Thomas, shared. Marching straight to Ben’s desk, Anita straightened the books spilling out of his store bag. “What’s all this?” She rifled through the stack, reading titles aloud. “Is there something you haven’t told us? Are you trading pediatrics for child psychology? Or are you and Steve collaborating on another parents’ guide?”

Ben didn’t want to tell his nurse how many times he woke in the dead of night worrying about the girls. “Anita, how did you raise six kids on your own? Is there a secret?”

The nurse tipped back her head and laughed, but she must have seen the misery in her employer’s eyes, because she sobered midstream. “Gosh, I guess I never thought about it. Except I raised my kids from birth, so I set the house rules. Even then, there were months after Lorne died that I had to take it one day at a time.”

“Time. That’s my biggest problem. I never seem to have enough hours to spend with Erin and Mollie. On short notice, with half the city in chaos, I spent two weeks locating a suitable housekeeper-caretaker. But Mrs. Clark still doesn’t understand that medicine isn’t an eight-to-five job. She wants a regular schedule I simply can’t deliver.”

“According to an article in the newspaper, the quake did more damage to this side of town. Our death toll is sixty percent of the more than one hundred reported. Area schools have added crisis counselors. I don’t know which elementary the girls attend, but you might want to have a chat with school staff if you’re seeing behavioral changes. The article also said individual schools plan to form parent support groups.”

Ben scowled. “How would that look, Anita? Half the parents at the girl’s elementary school bring their kids to me. Since the quake, my patient load has doubled. Most come for direction related to tantrums and other disruptive behavior.”

“Oh, well, if you’re the expert…” Anita snorted, crossing her arms.

Ben gave her a sheepish smile. “Sorry. That sounded more like something my old man would spout.” At the mention of his father, and totally unexpectedly, Abby Drummond’s face appeared in his mind. Ben had last seen her at Marlo’s funeral. Abby looked harried, pale and drawn. Given her circumstances, it’d pleased Ben to see her there. He’d meant to call and thank her for the rosebuds she’d sent the girls. And she’d written each one a thoughtful note, too. All other expressions of sympathy had been directed to him. But he’d barely found time to scribble his name at the bottom of the gilt-edged thank-you cards his secretary provided.

That was another issue that grated. He’d suggested his father’s current live-in take over thanking the friends who’d sent remembrances. Kirk threw a virtual fit. He let it be known in no uncertain terms that Millie or Lily, or whatever the hell her name was, served as arm candy and nothing more. Well—a lot more, Ben assumed. But nothing Kirk would ever discuss with him. And after the reaming out Kirk delivered when Ben proposed the blond bombshell collect the girls from Abby’s friend the day of the quake, one might think Ben would have learned his lesson. If not then, certainly after Kirk made it clear that his role as grandfather—a term he disliked—was confined to gifts at birthdays and Christmas. Foolishly, Ben had thought his dad might want to have a say in who took care of his granddaughters.

Why Kirk’s response had surprised him, Ben didn’t know. After all, it was the way his old man had handled fatherhood—via his checkbook. Ben and Marlo had never been able to figure out why their dad went through a court battle to retain custody of them after their mom announced she was leaving. Eventually they’d decided it was a matter of pride to the great Kirk Galloway. No one left his exalted sphere except by his edict.

Which Marlo did when she married a no-account who later walked out, leaving her pregnant, and with Erin a toddler. A self-fulfilling prophesy, according to Kirk.

But Ben had dealt their father a blow when he chose a pediatric residency over the more prestigious orthopedic post he’d been offered at a hospital where Kirk pulled strings to get his son considered.

Sweeping aside old irritants and unproductive thoughts, Ben closed the book on braids. Again he wondered how Abby was getting along. Admittedly he’d put her out of his mind once it became evident that his carefree bachelor days were over. Except, dammit, they weren’t over. The carefree part, yes. But he was still as single as single could be.

Ben snatched the chart from Anita’s hand. “Would you see if Pat can get me out of here at a decent hour today? By two-fifteen. I’ll phone Mrs. Clark and tell her I’m picking Erin and Mollie up from school. I’m friends with one of the teachers. I haven’t wanted to bother her, knowing she’s in a similar spot—worse, since she’s been left to raise her brother’s five boys, one of whom was injured in the quake. I should’ve contacted her before this. If anyone has the lowdown on support groups, it’ll be Abby.”

“Five boys, you say?” Anita shuddered. “The poor woman has my sympathy. I raised six of ’em. Frankly, Ben, I always thought girls would be a whole lot easier.”

“From a woman’s perspective, maybe. From where I stand, two tearful girls and their finicky cat present the most daunting challenge I’ve ever faced.”

This time Anita did laugh as they departed Ben’s office. “Maybe you ought to combine forces with your friend who has the five boys. You could help with her boys, and she could advise you on dealing with emotional girls.”

Ben mulled over Anita’s suggestion as he greeted his next patient and her triplet daughters. If they’d been more than two months old, he might have asked her for advice. But the poor beleaguered new mother needed all the help she could get. Before she left, though, she said something profound that stuck with Ben. “Somebody missed the boat, Dr. Galloway. Every college should offer classes in parenting. At some point in life, most people become one. Yet the only people who get training are those going into early childhood education. Or maybe pediatrics,” she said, tossing him a tired sigh. “I think teacher training is best. Teachers have to be in control of kids six or more hours a day. No offense, but pediatricians only see kids ten minutes at a time.”

He considered her words for the rest of the day. And he recalled the ease with which Abby Drummond had handled Erin’s class. She’d had twenty-two or so kids in that class. The few times Ben had dropped by at the end of the day, Abby appeared calm and unruffled. Who better to teach him the skills he needed to raise his sister’s girls than a woman he already knew and admired?

“Anita!” He met up with her and traded charts. “Was Pat able to rearrange my afternoon schedule?”

“Yes, she managed to clear your afternoon. Actually, she said if you used the time to relax and quit biting off everyone’s head, she’d blank out one afternoon a week.”

“Ouch. Have I gotten that bad?”

“In a word—yes. But the staff can suffer through for a while. We recognize the strain you’ve been under these last weeks, Ben.”

“I’ll have to make a conscious effort to watch myself. I meant what I said during the initial interviews before Steve and I opened the clinic. People spend more hours a day at their workplace than at home. The environment should be pleasant. It shouldn’t contribute to a person’s stress.”

“Yeah, but all work and no play makes guys like Ben and Steve cranky. I know it’s not your fault you both had to cancel your vacations. The staff think you should reschedule those trips.”

“Wouldn’t it be loverly?” Ben quipped. “In a way, Steve ended up being more tied down than me. Not only was his mom hurt, meaning he has to care for her and his wheelchair-bound grandfather, but her house suffered major quake damage.”

Ben had missed seeing the clinic receptionist walk up behind him. “Excuse the interruption, Doctor.” Pat waved a pink message slip under his nose. “Your bank is on line one. What’s this they’re saying about a change of address on your checks? Did you move and not tell us?”

“Jeez, did I forget? I let the lease on my apartment go. Even though Marlo’s house is small and I had to store some of my stuff, I couldn’t bring myself to uproot Erin and Mollie. What really tipped the scales was that my complex didn’t allow pets. Not that it wouldn’t suit me to give away that damned cat, but…” Ben heaved a sigh. “I couldn’t, of course. She sleeps on their bed, and she’s one of the few constants left in their lives.”

Checking the name on the chart, Ben whisked the note from Pat’s fingers. “Anita, tell Mrs. Jensen I’ll be in to see Daniel in a minute. This call shouldn’t take long. My banker’s a former college buddy. He probably assumes the bottom fell out of the medical profession. You watch, he’ll love rubbing in how my new address is quite a comedown from the area I’m leaving.”

Pat tugged the message out of Ben’s lax grip. “Go see Danny Jensen. I’ll tell this bank buzzard to mind his own beeswax. In our books you’re a good man, Dr. Galloway. A good man with a heart of pure gold.”

Was he? Ben pondered Pat’s statement as he paused outside the Jensen room to collect his thoughts. He certainly hoped so. He’d hate to think he’d turned into an unfeeling bastard like his father.

BEN MANAGED to arrive at Sky Heights Elementary ten minutes before classes let out. He’d already stopped at the office to inform them he’d be picking up Erin and Mollie, which meant their teachers would pull the girls out of the bus line. It should allow him a minute to swing by Abby’s classroom first. Considering what his staff had said about needing to make some time to play, Ben pictured meeting Abby later at a sports bar they both liked. Just to relax over a beer and talk like they used to.

He cupped his hands around his eyes and peered into her room. Whoa! He didn’t recognize the dark-haired woman at the desk. She looked fresh out of college. Stepping back, Ben rechecked the room number.

It was the right one. He peered through the glass again. Maybe Abby had acquired an aide. Or the other woman could be a parent, though Ben had his doubts. She didn’t look parental, somehow. But then, what in hell were parents supposed to look like?

The door opened fast, almost hitting his nose. Ben jumped back. Clear green eyes that were probably the result of colored contact lenses took his measure openly. “Well, hello,” exclaimed a breathy, high-pitched voice. “Tell me you’re lost, and that you don’t have a student in my class.”

Ben tugged at his tie, recognizing a come-on when he heard one. “Things have obviously changed since the last time I visited the school. I’m looking for Abigail Drummond. I thought this was her room.”

“Technically it is.” The young woman with the bouncy curls extended a slender hand. “I’m Stacy Thorpe. I’m filling in for Ms. Drummond, but I intend to get the job permanently. And you are?” she prompted, tipping her head coyly.

The bell rang announcing the end of school. Doors opened and kids poured into the hall to line up. A teacher leaving the room directly across from Ben eyed him. She crossed to where he stood. “Hi. Are you looking for Abby? You probably don’t recognize me. I’m Abby’s friend, Raina Miller. I watched her nephews and your nieces the day of the quake.”

He relaxed. “I should’ve contacted you before now, to thank you. A…friend of my dad’s picked the girls up that day. So…thanks for helping me and Abby. My schedule’s been crazy. I came to get Erin and Mollie today and thought I’d take the opportunity to talk to Abby.” A small frown creased Ben’s forehead, especially as the Thorpe woman crowded close, apparently keeping tabs on his and Raina Miller’s conversation.

“Abby requested a two-month leave. I assumed you knew. Aren’t you managing Sam’s medical case?”

“Sam? Oh, uh…wrong Dr. Galloway. My father’s the surgeon. So, you’re saying Abby’s at home caring for Sam?”

“I suppose Sam is home by now. Last time we talked she was only caring for the doubles. Er, that’s the twins.”

“I had no idea. The boy must be in worse shape than I thought. I’ll grab the girls and run by Abby’s. I should’ve done that sooner.”

“She’d like that. I get the feeling she’s floundering. Or thinks she is. Good seeing you, Ben. Tell Abby hello for me.”

“I will.” He turned away and bumped into Stacy Thorpe, who blocked his path.

Raina Miller had returned to her line of students. She turned and called across the hall. “Ben, I don’t know if you’re aware that Abby’s not at her town house. She’s moved in with the boys.”

Boy, did that scenario sound familiar to Ben. “Do you have an address? Or are you allowed to give it out?”

Raina grinned. “I think she’d say it’s okay to make an exception for you. I have to walk my class to the busses. You’re meeting the girls? How about if I stop at the office in ten minutes? I’ll look up the address on the register and jot it down for you.”

“Hey, thanks. I’ll owe you one. Shoot, I already owe you for watching Erin and Mollie. So, I’ll owe you two.”

As Ben excused himself and skirted the teacher who’d taken over for Abby, he had an odd feeling Stacy Thorpe had slipped across the hall to question Raina Miller about him. Ben resisted turning around. He left dating women half his age to his dad. Ben and Marlo had found his preference for trophy girlfriends embarrassing. While it was evident Kirk would never change, Ben made a point of dating women who were smart, articulate and most of all, mature.

His youngest niece, Mollie, saw him first. “Unca Ben! Unca Ben. Erin, Unca Ben’s here.” The girl ran up to him, her eyes aglow. “Erin didn’t think you’d really pick us up.”

“Well, here I am.” He knelt and gave each girl a hug.

Erin, always more reserved than her sister, pulled away to adjust her wire-rimmed glasses. “Is Mrs. Clark sick? Do we have to find a new sitter?” The child’s somber eyes reflected her concern.

“Mrs. Clark’s fine, honey. Everything’s fine. And didn’t I used to come and get you now and then?”

“Only when you wanted to see Abby, er—I mean, Ms. Drummond.”

Ben tweaked the lopsided bow he’d laboriously tied in Erin’s long dark hair that morning. “I think you can call her Abby. You never told me she was on leave. I thought we might run by and visit her. Would that be agreeable?”

“What’s agree…ble?” Mollie screwed up her face.

Ben swung the sturdy girl aloft and tickled her to make her laugh. “It means, squirt, that I’m asking if visiting Abby is okay with you and your sister.”

Giggling, Mollie bumped her forehead against his. “Sure, Unca Ben. I miss Abby. Maybe if we ask her nice, she’ll come back and be my teacher next year.”

“Erin, you’re awfully quiet.” Ben glanced down at his elder niece. She wore an all too serious expression.

“Nothing’s the same. Miss Abby’s not ever going to come back. Just like Mommy’s never coming back. I don’t like how you and Mollie laugh. That’s wrong! Nothing’s funny anymore. Laughing makes everything worse!”

“Hey, button eyes!” Ben set Mollie down quickly, and bent to look at Erin. He gathered her tense little body against his own. “Baby, sometimes people need to laugh to keep from crying.”

But his words didn’t penetrate Erin McBride’s unhappiness. Her face crumpled and tears tracked down her cheeks. Holding her as tight as he dared, Ben worried that she’d lost weight since he’d done her last checkup.

“Goodness. Erin, did you fall and hurt yourself?” Raina Miller rounded the corner and stopped in front of the trio.

Rising, Ben gave a warning shake of his head. And Raina assumed an I see expression. No doubt she did understand. Surely those who worked with quake survivors weren’t unused to mopping up tears.

Raina passed Ben a paper on which she’d written Abby’s address. “Normally I’d tell you to give Abby a hard time about leaving the rest of us to deal with the fallout. Except I suspect she has her hands full with her own fallout. So don’t say a word. Just give her a big hug from me. I’ll phone her over the weekend. I have a few bits of scuttlebutt she’ll want to hear.”

Touching the paper to his brow in salute, Ben steered his nieces out of the building and toward his car. He settled both girls into the back, buckling Mollie into her booster seat. Afterward, he made a cursory check of Erin’s buckle. The first day he’d driven the girls, Erin had thrown a fit because he’d yanked on her belt. Now Ben played it cool. She’d insisted she was eight and not a baby who needed help buckling herself in. But Ben had seen some nasty injuries to kids who weren’t properly fastened in their seats. So he continued to discreetly check her buckle.

Placing Abby’s new address on the dash, Ben realized he’d wrongly assumed Elliot’s home would be adjacent to his church. This address was a mile or two beyond that. Beach property, unless he was way off base.

As the house numbers counted upward, he knew he was right. When at last he reached the address, he stopped and stared. The place was a rambling two-story structure built on a knoll. The backyard probably sloped to the beach. Ben imagined the view of Alki Point would be spectacular from an upper deck he could see, it extended all the way around the house. Gray shake siding, typical of homes built in the 1900s, was warped and weather-faded, but to Ben, it added to the overall charm.

“Why are we stopping here, Unca Ben?” Mollie kicked restlessly at the back of his seat.

“This is where Mrs. Miller said Abby’s staying. Did you know she’s caring for the Drummond boys? I think you girls know the twins.”

“Noah and Michael pull my braids,” Erin announced. “Why is Ms. Drummond staying with them at this old house? I like where she lived before. She had an awards party for her students there. It’s nicer.”

Ben was at a loss. How should he answer Erin? According to a newsletter the school had sent home to parents and guardians after the quake, Mr. Conrad had spoken to all classes about the personal losses many of their classmates had suffered. Ben himself had attended quite a few funerals. Too many. Wanting to spare the girls needless anguish, he’d gone alone to pay his respects. Now Ben wondered if he shouldn’t have at least discussed Abby’s situation with the girls.

“Erin, will you unbuckle Mollie?”

“They’ve got bicycles,” Mollie said loudly. She pointed to a cluster of bikes and trikes in a detached garage whose door opened onto the street near where her uncle had parked. “Maybe the twins will let us ride, huh, Erin?”

Erin scowled. “They’re boys’ bikes, Mollie. We’re wearing dresses.”

“So?” Mollie skipped ahead toward concrete steps leading up to the house. “I’m wearing tights. So what if somebody sees my slip? It’s the new one Mommy bought me before school started. That’d be okay, wouldn’t it, Unca Ben?”

Ben glanced quickly around the area and determined that the sidewalk was fairly flat in spite of the hilly terrain. The neighborhood looked peacefully rural. “Sure, Mollie girl. You’ll have to ask Abby first, of course.”

Erin gripped her sister’s shoulder, making the younger child flinch. “Mommy always said we had to change out of our school clothes before we play outside.” The girl faced Ben. “We have books to read until we go home. Here, Mollie, this is your library book.” Erin shoved a thin volume into her sister’s hands.

Since the girls had returned to school after spring break, anything Ben allowed Mollie to do, Erin contradicted. Her every sentence of late began with Mommy says or Mommy did. Ben had no idea how to counter that. He’d hoped that, over time, Erin would grow to accept his authority. He hadn’t wanted to lay down the law, but plainly he couldn’t let her bossiness continue. It wasn’t fair to Mollie. Furthermore, there was no need for Erin to burden herself with parenting chores. Yet this wasn’t the time or place for a family showdown. “Stellaluna.” Ben read the name on Mollie’s book. “I haven’t read this story, Mollie. Did your teacher help you select it?”

Nodding, Mollie shook off Erin’s hand and skipped alongside her Uncle. “It’s about bats. A mama and baby bat. Will you read it to me, Unca Ben?”

“Later, princess. After dinner.” He smiled down at her as he reached over her head to ring the old-fashioned door bell. The bell not only didn’t ring, it fell off in Ben’s hand.

Erin sounded horrified. “You broke Miss Abby’s door bell.”

Not knowing what to do, and because he heard laughter and thumping inside, Ben set the pieces of the bell on the porch rail and knocked loudly.

A sandy-haired boy of six or seven yanked open the door and squinted at them from brilliant blue eyes.

“I’m a friend of Abigail Drummond’s. Is she home?” Ben asked.

“Did you come to help with the toilet?” The boy’s voice seemed too deep for his age. “Water’s running all over upstairs. Aunt Abby’s mad at Mike ’cause he didn’t tell her sooner that he flushed a dead fish, and the strainer, too.”

The boy threw the door wide and beckoned them in. Ben herded the girls into a tiled entry. From there he had a clear view into a large living room. It boasted a sweeping staircase and vaulted ceilings. Colored fish tanks took up one whole wall, which would explain the dead fish in the toilet. A birdcage, home to a squawking cockatiel, hung in a bay window. The disorder of it all shocked Ben.

A little boy with bandaged legs occupied a huge recliner. Coloring books, crayons, toys and Tupperware containers were spread everywhere around him. Though pale, the kid seemed oblivious to the din. A TV blaring. A radio or CD playing. A raucous bird. And kids. Everywhere, kids.

Twins older than the boy who’d let Ben in, plus another—a mirror image of the first one—huddled midway up the stairs. All were high-fiving each other, and in general making too much racket to realize they had visitors.

All at once, a foot-high replica of an off-road truck, complete with oversize balloon tires, bounced and rumbled down the long expanse of stairs. At the bottom, the wheels spun a few times, then the truck careened across slick maple floors. Its bumper whacked Ben hard on his shins, and brought the truck to a halt. Not, however, before Ben glimpsed a rat—no, a gerbil, he decided—with a bottle cap tied to its head. Belted into the front seat of the motorized truck, the animal had obviously withstood the bumpy ride down all those steps and when one of the boys got him out, the gerbil seemed none the worse for wear.