4
matt
Ican’t believe she was trying on her grandmother’s clothes,” Jillian said as soon as we’d stepped through the front door of my house.
“I can’t believe those clothes belong to anyone’s grandmother,” I remarked. My head was still reeling with the image of the fresh-faced brunette in that sheer gown and robe, standing in the kitchen, eating cookies with my daughter. The juxtaposition of the domestic scene with the erotic attire was jarring, to say the least—not to mention sexy as hell. I have to admit, the sight had aroused me as nothing had in the two years since my wife’s death. My reaction to the tousle-haired woman left me feeling edgy and oddly guilty.
“What’s wrong with playin’ dress-up?” Sophie asked.
“Nothing, honey.” Jillian smiled down at her, then gave me a pointed look. “If you’re four.”
“I thought she looked bootiful,” Sophie said.
I didn’t get a back view, but I imagined Sophie was right.
“I can’t believe she opened the door wearing nothing but a nightie,” Jillian sniffed.
“She didn’t,” Sophie said. “I crawled in through the doggie door.”
I laughed, then realized laughter was an inappropriate parental response to the situation. I forced my mouth into a more somber line. “It’s wrong to sneak into people’s homes that way, sweetie.”
Sophie gazed up earnestly. “Mizz McCauley doesn’t mind.”
“You’ve crawled into her house before?” Jillian asked, her voice alarmed.
“Yeah. Mizz McCauley said I can come in for a cookie anytime I want.”
Jillian frowned. “Sophie, it’s very rude to go into someone’s home uninvited.”
I was a lot less concerned with manners than with the fact that my just-turned-four-year-old had been unsupervised—repeatedly, apparently—long enough to visit a neighbor. “What’s Gramma doing while you’re roaming the neighborhood?”
“I dunno. I only go over whenyou’rehome.”
My daughter was making these unauthorized visits on my watch? Oh, terrific. I knew I wasn’t in the running for Father of the Year, but this was veering into intervention-from-the-authorities territory. “Sophie, you know you’re not supposed to leave the backyard without someone with you.”
“I don’t go through the gate or out the front door. I just go through a hole in the fence.”
“That’s leaving all the same.”
My voice must have sounded firmer than I’d realized, because her bottom lip trembled. She looked up at me in a way that made me feel like a monster.
Oh hell. I was hopeless at disciplining the girls, because I hated to make them unhappy. Christine used to tease me about how they had me wrapped around their little fingers. As usual, she’d been right.
God, she’d been right about so many things. The thought made the Christine-shaped hole in my heart ache. Up until a few months ago, grief would strike like an unexpected karate chop, sudden and fierce. Now it was just a flat, dull emptiness that expanded and contracted. I sort of missed that ragged edge of grief, so sharp it was almost tangible. It had felt like a physical link to my late wife.
“Am I in trouble?” Sophie’s voice wavered.
I crouched down beside her and pulled her into my arms. “No, sweetie. But now that you know it’s wrong, don’t do it again.”
“Okay.” She hugged me back, then pulled away and flashed me a smile, her sunny mood instantly restored. “Can I go play with Zoey?”
“Sure.” I blew out a sigh as she scampered off to the den.
Jillian put a hand on my arm. “I’ll help you keep a closer eye on her.”
Her palm felt heavy and hot. I shoved my hands in my pockets as an excuse to move away. “I was home. It’s my responsibility.” Although technically, Jillian was partially to blame for this lapse, because she’d cornered me to tell me how she’d taken the girls to the park, preventing me from actively watching them.
“I’m happy to help. I love Sophie and Zoey as if they were my own.”
