“I have wine.”
“Even cuter.”
As they proceed down the hall, Jackie and Miles greet the kids, the dogs, and, in the kitchen, Hector, holding the youngest, Edith, on his hip and rinsing green beans in a colander with his free hand. He’s an Antonio Banderas look-alike. All the children inherited his olive skin and dark hair in varying degrees except Edith, who sports the same red hair and freckles Grace had as a baby.
“Hi, Hector!” Jackie places the food on the counter and kisses her brother-in-law on the cheek. Edith kisses the air and laughs. Jackie reaches for her, and the baby hides her face in her father’s neck. “Maybe later, huh?” At fifteen months, Edith is the right age for separation anxiety.
Miles shakes Hector’s hand and clamps him on the shoulder. “Good to see you, Hector.”
“You too. The kids have been so excited to see you guys.”
Roberta toddles into the kitchen, trips herself up, and bangs her head on the counter. She wails.
Grace scoops her up. “How about we divide and conquer?”
Ten minutes later, the four older children are outside with Miles and Hector. Edith sits on the kitchen floor playing with Tupperware while Jackie and Grace organize the kitchen.
“Everything okay?” Grace asks. “You sounded pretty stressed on the phone the other day.”
Jackie weighs whether to say anything about Harlan and Nasira. She’s put them out of her mind, more or less, and her stalking is under control. Her sister’s stance on Jackie and Harlan’s relationship had been that as long as Jackie was happy, Grace was happy. But when Jackie broke it off, Grace admitted she’d never been crazy about Harlan. “A bit too smooth,” her sister said, adding, “at least for my taste,” which for Grace was tantamount to a damnation. Jackie is certain Grace would not approve of the new twist on her interest in Harlan—who would?—and decides to jump past it.
“Did I? I guess I’m worried about this long-term study. So much is riding on convincing the foundation it’s worthwhile.”
“You mean funding?”
“Yes. They want results, understandably. Four years is a long time.” Jackie covers the potatoes with water and places the pan on a backburner to cook later. “Good thing is, the results look solid so far.”
Edith pulls herself up on her mother’s pant leg and lifts her arms. Grace picks her up. “I’m proud of you, Jacks. Every time I think of your work, I count my blessings with these rascals.” She blows a raspberry on Edith’s palm, and the baby smiles. “Did I tell you I’m thinking of homeschooling?”
“Why am I not surprised? You’ll be great at it.”
“Thanks. Most people say I’m a lunatic to consider it.”
Jackie smiles at her sister. “They must not know you very well.”
At midday, Grace and Hector give the kids lunch even though the turkey dinner is scheduled for three.
Grace pokes the last spoonful of mashed carrot into Edith’s mouth. “Low blood sugar will have them snapping at your ankles.”
Hector lifts Edith from the high chair and rinses off her face and hands in the sink. “Nap time. Miles, can you grab Roberta?”
“Absolutely. We’re good friends now.”
Jackie watches as Miles wipes off the little girl’s hands and gently lifts her to his chest. Roberta sends her mother a worried look, which Grace answers with a smile and a wave. Roberta lays her head on Miles’s shoulder. His hand spans the width of the girl’s back. Jackie’s chest tightens. As Miles follows Hector to the stairs, Jackie fights back tears.
Grace reads Jackie’s expression and reaches for her sister’s hand. “Oh, sweetie.” She waits until the men are out of earshot. “Have you guys talked about this recently?”
“Not really.”
“No time like the present.”
“Today?” Jackie gathers dishes and takes them to the sink.
Grace joins her. “What’s Thanksgiving without family strife?”
“Miles doesn’t do strife. It’s one of his most endearing qualities.”
Grace lifts the lid on a pot and tests a potato with a knife. “Almost.” She replaces the lid. “Jacks, just talk to him. He’s your husband.”
Michael runs in from the den, red-faced, his twin sister on his heels. “It’s my turn to choose the game, and she won’t let me.”
Maria scowls. “Your games are stupid.”
“Are not.”
“Are too.”
Grace says, “Who wants to set the table?” The twins look at each other and head back to the den. Grace turns to Jackie. “The key to diplomacy is misdirection.”
Jackie laughs. “I’ll set the table and take care of the potatoes.”
“Thanks. I’m off to change before Mom gets here.” Grace stops at the entrance to the den. “You can watch your movie until Grandma comes, okay?” She disappears up the stairs.
Other than the sounds from the movie, the house is quiet. Jackie finds a pale-yellow tablecloth in the sideboard and shakes it onto the table. It’s creased but no one will mind. She brings plates and flatware from the kitchen, and wonders which kids she should set places for. All but Edith, she decides.
Miles appears in the doorway. “Can I help?”
“Sure.” She points to the plates and flatware. “You can do these, and I’ll figure out glasses.” She retrieves five wineglasses from a high cabinet. “Did Roberta go to sleep for you?”
“Out in seconds. She wore herself out chasing after the others outside.”
“You haven’t lost your touch.” Jackie rummages in the sideboard for cloth napkins and finds the purple dahlia ones she gave Grace ages ago. There’s a little yellow in the design, so Jackie calls it a match and circles the table, laying one at each place. She observes Miles arranging the flatware precisely. “You probably know what I’m going to say.”
His hands still.
“That predictable?”
He looks up. His expression is full of sympathy. “You know I love kids, Jackie.”
“I do.”
“But it’s hard. I’ve spent twenty years putting out fires around Antonio. I know every child is different, but it makes me leery. We’ve talked about this.”
Jackie selects water glasses from a cupboard and carries them to the table. “I understand, Miles, but we could have a very different experience. Plus Antonio is a great kid; he just has challenges right now.”
He runs a hand through his hair. “Do we even have time for a baby? Look at us. We barely have time for each other.”
“We can change that. We can decide to.” She hears herself pleading and wishes she didn’t have to. When she first met Miles, she was thirty-four. Antonio was sixteen and living with his mother in Italy. Everything was possible then, including a family. Miles was receptive to having children and, after Harlan, that itself seemed like a gift. Doors reopened, and she no longer felt as though she’d missed out. They got married. Now she’s thirty-eight and the opportunity to have a child is dwindling.
Miles’s tone becomes more adamant. “We are already deciding we don’t have time—with our schedules.”