He caught himself. “Don’t start, man. Just don’t give her any more ideas.”
He walked around to the parking lot just as Clare came out the back, moving fast, her phone at her ear.
“No, don’t worry about it. Just tell her to feel better. Okay, sure.” She sent Beckett a distracted wave. “I’ll talk to you later. Bye.”
“Problem?”
“Lynn Barney. Called to tell me Mazie came home from school early. Maybe a stomach virus.”
“Sorry to hear it.”
“Mazie was on tap to babysit for me—book club night.”
“Oh, right.”
“I’ve got to run, pick up the kids, figure this out.”
“I can watch them,” he heard himself say. Then wondered where the hell that came from.
“What?”
“I can watch them. It’s, what, a couple, three hours, right?”
“Oh, well, thanks, but I’ll figure something out.”
“Hold on.”
Amused at both of them, he took her arm before she could wrench open the door to her van. Besides, now that he actually thought about it, he liked the idea.
“You don’t think I can handle three boys? I was a boy. I was one of three boys.”
“I know, but—”
“What time do you have to leave for the thing?”
“I should be here around five to help set up. We usually start around five thirty. We generally go until about seven, then it takes a while to close up and—”
“So about five to eight. No problem.”
“Yes, but they need to be fed and bathed and—”
“I’ll pick up dinner at Vesta, come down at five.”
“Well . . .”
“It’ll be fun. I like your kids.”
“God, I’m going to be late.”
“So go. See you at five.”
“I just don’t know if—Okay,” she decided. “But not pizza. If you get spaghetti and meatballs, they can split it three ways. And a salad. Just tell whoever’s taking the order it’s for my boys. They all know what they like. I’ll make sure they have their homework done,” she added as she climbed into the van.
“If something comes up—”
“Clare, I’ll be by at five. Go pick up your kids.”
“Right. Thanks.”
It would be fun, he thought again as she drove off. And spaghetti and meatballs sounded just about perfect.
“How come granddad can’t come play with us?” Liam sulked over his chapter book.
“I told you, he’s got a meeting with his photography group. Now answer the question. What did Mike find when he climbed the tree?”
“A stupid bird’s nest.”
“Write it down.”
He slid his eyes up with the little smirk Clare found both endearing and infuriating, depending on her mood. “I don’t know how to spell ‘stupid.’ ”
“L-I-A-M,” Harry sang out.
“Mom! Harry called me stupid.”
“Harry, knock it off. Liam, write down the answer. Murphy, how many times do I have to tell you not to throw that ball in the house? Take it outside.”
“I don’t wanna go outside. Can I watch TV?”
“Yes, please. Go do that.”
“I wanna watch TV.”
Me, too, she thought when she glanced at Liam. “Then finish your homework.”
“I
“You and me both, pal. Harry—”
“I finished mine. See?”
“Great. Let’s go over your words for your spelling test tomorrow.”
“I
It was probably true. Spelling had always been a breeze for Harry.
“We’ll go over them anyway, then yours, Liam, when you’re done with your book.”
“How come Murphy gets to watch TV?” Liam managed to look long-suffering and outraged at the same time. “How come he doesn’t have homework? It’s not fair.”
“He had homework. He finished.”
“Just stupid flash cards. Baby homework.”
“I’m not a baby!” Murphy’s furious protest rang from the living room. He had ears like a cat.
“He gets to do anything he wants. It’s not—”
“I don’t want to hear ‘it’s not fair.’ You know, Liam, the longer you sit here complaining, the longer it’s going to take. Then you won’t have any play or TV time.”
“I don’t want Beckett to watch us.”
“You like Beckett.”
“Maybe he’ll be mean. Maybe he’ll yell and lock us in our room.”
Clare folded her arms. “Has he ever been mean before?”
“No, but he could be.”
“If you want somebody to yell, keep stalling over that homework. You’ll hear somebody yell.” She grabbed Harry’s spelling list, began to call off the words.
After he’d finished, she scanned the list he’d written. “That’s an A-plus. Good job, Harry. Now scram.”
She sat, the better to focus her middle son. “That’s good, Liam. See here, though, you wrote a
“How come they made them that way, so they get mixed up?”
“That’s a good question, but it’s what erasers are for.” She got out his spelling list while he fixed it— grudgingly. “Get a fresh piece of paper.”
“I got more homework than
He didn’t, but she didn’t have time for the lecture about stalling, scribbling, and staring into space. “Almost done.” He hunched over the paper when she gave him the words.
His penmanship was better than Harry’s, but the spelling? Not so much.
“Pretty good. You missed three, but see here, you wrote
It made him laugh, and she decided to end it on a high note. “We’ll go over it in the morning, one more time. Put your things away, and you can watch TV.”
She walked out with him. “No fighting,” she called out, and dashed upstairs to freshen up before the book club meeting.
She shoved the book and her notes in her purse, grabbed her hairbrush. And heard the doorbell.
Not only on time, but ten minutes early. She glanced at herself in the bedroom mirror. She could’ve used that ten minutes.
She rushed downstairs in time to hear Murphy ask, “Are you going to lock us in our room?”
“Are you guys planning to rob the bank?”
“Nuh-uh!”
“Then I won’t need to lock you up.” Beckett looked over, up. And smiled. “Spaghetti and meatballs, as ordered.”
