Violet put one hand on her waist. “I don’t know. I’m only six.”
“You know what, Vi? I think we’re going to get along really well.”
Violet swiped the back of her arm over her mouth and hopped off the footstool. “Now what?”
“Now you go hop into bed while I check on your sister. Then I’ll tuck you in.”
“Okay.” Violet swung her arms as she moved to the bathroom door. But she stopped and turned back to Jenessa. She curled and wriggled her pointer finger and Jenessa obeyed the motion, crouching in front of the girl. The moment she lowered, Violet wrapped her skinny arms around Jenessa’s neck. “I really miss my mom, but I like it here, Jessa. I think I’m happy we’re staying.”
A damp mess of curls ended up in her mouth, tickled her nose, and the apple scent of the tangle-free shampoo Mara had picked up engulfed her.
And it was as if Jenessa’s heart stopped, just for a second, a moment of poignant silence and stillness for what this six-year-old had already endured. What anguish surely gripped her older sister. What her younger brother would miss out on.
But even as the heartbreak swirled around her, the same feeling that had held her willingly captive a few minutes ago as she rocked Cade came over her again. A feeling of rightness and belonging. She was so far past falling for these kids—even Colie with her constantly crossed arms and resolute silence.
“I’m happy you’re staying too.”
Violet kissed Jenessa’s cheek and then skipped away.
Leaving her to stand in the fluorescent light of the bathroom, staring at herself in the mirror. Her ponytail hung limp to one side and since when did her dress have a white-ish stain on one sleeve? Cade’s formula. Right. She needed to invest in some spill-free bottles and sippy cups. And probably ask someone somewhere at what age to switch from formula to milk and . . .
And she needed to get in the habit of reminding herself this was only temporary.
With a sigh, she flicked off the bathroom light and roamed down the hall. She paused outside of Colie’s room. “Colie?” She kept her voice low in case the girl had gone to bed already. But a sliver of light under the door told her that wasn’t the case. “I just wanted to check on you.”
No answer.
She reached for the doorknob, hesitated. You need to at least make sure she’s in there. She inched the door open and glanced inside.
Standing in the middle of the room, Colie instantly whirled away, turning her back to Jenessa. But she hadn’t been fast enough to hide the redness of her eyes and nose. The tracks on her cheeks. “You ever hear of knocking?”
Jenessa lingered in the doorway, uncertain whether to pretend she hadn’t noticed Colie’s tears and congested voice or try to comfort her. Anytime she’d attempted the latter so far, it hadn’t ended well.
“I just wanted to see if you need anything, especially since this is a different room and—”
“I’m fine.” Fists clenched at her sides, Colie trudged to her bed.
She took a hesitant step into the room. “Colie, I—”
“I don’t really want to talk. I just want to go to bed.” She pulled her covers back but didn’t make a move to slip under the sheets.
“Okay, well . . . I know these past couple of days have been really weird for you. And staying here might feel odd, too. But I’m going to try my best to make sure you and your siblings are as comfortable as possible, okay?” She paused. “Maybe you can help me with that. You’re clearly a great big sister and I think you might know more about what Violet and Cade need than I do. Maybe we can work together?”
The tense, dogged silence that seemed to accompany Colie no matter where she went clogged the space between them now. But finally, she nodded and crawled into bed, face still turned away.
“Well, goodnight, then.”
Jenessa stepped into the hallway, gently closed the door. It hadn’t necessarily been a success of a conversation. But it was a start.
7
Jenessa had been convinced that getting all three kids out the door this morning would be the most difficult part of her day.
She hadn’t counted on the ambush awaiting her at the Maple Valley News office.
Four or five voices all pecked at her at once, filling the pressroom with more noise than it had ever had since she’d made the decision to outsource the printing of each weekly issue and sold off the old, barely functioning press. This room served little purpose now other than to house shelves of oversized bound black books, each one holding a year’s worth of old newspapers and decade’s worth of dust.
And today, apparently, the space played host to an impromptu gathering with the mayor, half the city council, the president of the Chamber of Commerce, and several others.
“Mayor Milt, everyone, please. It’s production day and I’ve got a paper to finish laying out.” And then several rounds of proofing before sending it on to the print vendor.
Not to mention she had three kids currently hunkered down in her tiny office at the corner of the newsroom, visible through the pressroom window. That cartoon on Netflix might keep them occupied for another half an hour or so, but she couldn’t expect poor Paige to play babysitter much longer.
“I know you’re all concerned about my plans for my parents’ house—”
“Not just your parents’ house,” the mayor interjected from his perch on a metal stool near an old counter with a backlit tabletop, useful back in the days of literally cutting and pasting the paper together but long since abandoned. How did Mayor Milt manage to look so friendly and stern at the same time? “Belville Park was your grandparents’ and your great-grandparents’ before them and all the way back to Jessup Belville, who—”
“Founded Maple Valley in the fall of 1869 and was our first mayor and went on to serve in the state senate. I know my family history.” She attempted a sip from the travel mug she’d stuffed in the overflowing diaper bag she’d lugged to the office today. But she’d already finished off the coffee.
Would’ve brought a second mug if she’d known what was in store.
The mayor dipped his head. “Well, you left out the part about how Jessup Belville built Belville Park with his own two hands. How can you think of selling it? What if an outsider comes in and tears the whole place down? Just like that, we lose an historic landmark.”
“But—”
Belinda, the president of the Chamber of Commerce, cut in now. “And it’s not just the house. It’s those gorgeous gardens your mother spent over forty years cultivating.”
She hadn’t done it alone. Aunt Lauren had helped her nurture the flower beds and pick out new varieties of plants every summer that she’d lived in the cottage out back. Those were the only times Jenessa remembered Mom and her sister getting along, actually.
Most of the time, Mom was endlessly frustrated with Aunt Lauren. She’d complained about her sister’s flightiness, described her as artsy—not a compliment in the tone Mom used—and overly emotional. As a child, Jenessa had often wondered if that was why Aunt Lauren had been relegated to living in the cottage—because Mom simply hadn’t the patience to have her any closer.