“They are,” he agreed.
She and Noah sat on the steps, holding their respective kittens, while Jewel ran around, giggling and playing with the others.
Caroline debated bringing up Amanda. She decided she would, but only to Noah. “Your mother was very fond of baby animals,” she said in a voice soft enough so only he could hear, “especially kittens.”
His face fell some. “I know.”
“Which one of these was her favorite?”
“This one, the orange.” He was staring at the ground with a sad expression, but his mouth was scrunched into a tight wad. “When I kissed Mama goodnight, I promised I would bring himto visit in the morning, to help her feel better. But when I took him to see her, she was cold.”
Oh, Noah…
“Where was your father?”
Noah’s entire face screwed into a furious knot. “He was sitting beside her bed, doingnothing. He hadn’t even fed the fire. I tried to add some logs and get it going again, but he wouldn’t let me.
“Mama was sick, and Papa didn’t take good care of her. She would be alive if he hadn’t let the fire go out.”
Caroline was grateful for the revelation—a simple wrong assumption was apparently at the root of Noah’s anger—but whether she could do anything about it remained to be seen.
“When something bad happens to us,” she began, choosing a side path in lieu of direct confrontation, “it’s human nature to look for something or someone to blame. Sometimes what happened is someone’s fault, but many times, it’s not.”
Noah lifted his head and met her gaze, his expression losing some of its fire.
“It’s possible that things happened the other way around…” she went on, “that your mother passed awaybeforeyour father let the fire go out.”
“It is?”
Caroline nodded. “When someone dies, they’re not bothered by the temperature of the room anymore. Your mother wouldn’t have wanted him to waste the wood.”
He looked away again, this time frowning at some random point in the distance, pondering.
“I’ve known your father a long time, Noah, and I can tell you one thing for certain: If there was anything he could have done to make your mother well, he would have done it.”
The assurance Caroline had given Noah banked her anger, too. It was the truth, and it reminded her that, in spite of his mistakes, Jackson was a decent man.
Noah behaved better at supper, and Jackson took notice. He didn’t comment on the change, but he joined in some of the conversation, and his face wasn’t as bleak and deeply lined.
“Time for bed,” he said when the children had finished eating. “Wash your faces and put your nightclothes on.”
Caroline wished Jackson would send her, too. The exhaustion of the day had caught up to her all at once. But then she recalled Noah’s remark, ‘All he does is work.’
“Do you read to them at night?” she asked Jackson once Noah and Jewel had disappeared up the stairs.
“Amanda used to,” he said in a quiet voice.
“Go, then. I’ll clean up in here.”
“Are you sure? You look as if you’re ready to drop.”
“We both look that way, so go. Read to your children. They long for time with you, especially Noah.”
Jackson looked as if he wanted to say more—not argue, precisely, but explore what she had said—then he stood and went upstairs.
He returned about a half an hour later.
Caroline looked up at him from Amanda’s stuffed chair, fighting sleep.
