One More Day
Page 43
Ridley looked back at the house.
“Oh, I think you’d be surprised. What would you say if I told you there might be a job available where all you had to do was watch two kids close in age to your own and cook dinner a few nights a week? Would you be interested?”
“I’d say I think you’re making that up. Of course I’d be interested!” Katie said.
“Let’s get together tomorrow and I’ll let you know what I find out. In the meantime, let’s see if we can keep the kids occupied by letting them play in the dirt a little.”
Katie pushed up her sleeves. “Just another day in the life of a suburban mom.”
* * * * *
“I’M HOME,” JACKSON called out. “Chris? Jase?”
He dropped his bag by the door. It had been a long day, but a good one. After his break-up with Alana, his career had suffered. He’d been too distracted to be creative, which was the only reason he’d put out the substandard album that would haunt him for his entire career.
Not that he paid much attention to the media, but when terms like “has been” start to be bandied around, even he had to notice. He had started to question if he’d lost the one thing that had made him so successful.
His enthusiasm.
Now that he was back in his creative groove, he was writing songs again. Once Divine recorded the single he’d just written for them, they could shoot their first video and start planning the album’s release. He would finally be able to prove the naysayers wrong.
“Where is everyone?”
He wasn’t used to being able to share this kind of stuff with anyone but had found himself rushing to get home so he could tell Ridley. She’d understand how important it was to him. How much it meant to finally be back on track. He stood still, listening. Nothing.
Something was different in the house. He scrutinized the room, trying to figure out if Ridley had changed something, perhaps put something back in a different place from where he usually kept it. Nothing seemed out of place.
The small bowl where he kept his keys was the only thing on the entry table since Jase had broken the few knickknacks he’d been stupid enough to place there. What’s different in here? He turned in circles for a full minute before he figured it out.
It was clean.
The maid service usually cleaned on the weekends, but with the boys in the house it didn’t stay clean for long. It was almost weird to see it so organized. He walked into the family room and stopped in his tracks. Chris and Jase sat on the couch as still as statues. There wasn’t a smudge of dirt or a grass stain on either of them.
“Hey guys, what are you doing sitting in here? I thought you’d be outside playing.”
He walked further into the room and then stopped and sniffed. What the hell is that smell? There was a pungent odor wafting from the kitchen that made his nose itch. Stifling a sneeze, he edged his way into the kitchen his eyes widening at the massive pile of pots and pans lining the counter. Smack in the middle of the chaos was an elderly woman stirring a large pot.
Miss Bessie.
Backing up before she saw him, he turned and retraced his steps to the family room. The room was so clean it sparkled. The house hadn’t looked this good since he’d bought it. His sons were still in the same position as before, like melancholy figurines with their identical downcast expressions.
“So, it looks like Miss Bessie is working on dinner for us.” His words didn’t trigger a response, as both boys continued to stare at their sneakers. “And she did a great job cleaning up.”
Two pairs of eyes turned chilly glares in his direction.
“She didn’t clean up—we did. The only reason we finished before you came home was because Ridley helped us dust. You can’t reach much when you’re as short as we are.” Chris jumped up and put his hands on his hips, affecting an indignant pose. “And she made us change clothes! She said we shouldn’t wear playclothes to the dinner table.”
Jackson resisted the urge to laugh. All of his babysitters growing up had been like Miss Bessie, which was probably why his mother had recommended her. She was always saying the boys were too spoiled and could use a little “down-south” discipline. He was aware he indulged them too much at times, but it was hard not to. He wanted to give them everything he’d enjoyed growing up. Especially, a father who was there for them.
“Oh, Jackson! I didn’t even know you were home!” Miss Bessie bustled into the room and gave him a hearty hug. “We’ve missed you at Sunday service. You’re just as skinny as your momma said!”
“Yes, ma’am. How have you been?”
“Oh, I’ve been just fine. Come on over here and sit.”
“Thank you for coming on such short notice.” Jackson followed her into the dining room and sat in the chair she indicated at the head of the table.
He motioned for the boys to sit down as well. They climbed into the chairs, looking at him uncertainly. They never ate in the formal dining room but he could only hope they didn’t mention it in front of Miss Bessie. He was no doubt violating some parenting rule by not teaching his boys proper table manners before elementary school.
“Your momma keeps telling me you’re not eating right, so I made you a pot roast. This’ll put some meat on your bones for sure.”
He groaned as she set a full plate in front of him. He wanted to set a good example for the boys, but he had to draw the line somewhere. He really didn’t want to hurt her feelings, especially with the way she smiled at him, obviously proud of the meal.
“Oh, I think you’d be surprised. What would you say if I told you there might be a job available where all you had to do was watch two kids close in age to your own and cook dinner a few nights a week? Would you be interested?”
“I’d say I think you’re making that up. Of course I’d be interested!” Katie said.
“Let’s get together tomorrow and I’ll let you know what I find out. In the meantime, let’s see if we can keep the kids occupied by letting them play in the dirt a little.”
Katie pushed up her sleeves. “Just another day in the life of a suburban mom.”
* * * * *
“I’M HOME,” JACKSON called out. “Chris? Jase?”
He dropped his bag by the door. It had been a long day, but a good one. After his break-up with Alana, his career had suffered. He’d been too distracted to be creative, which was the only reason he’d put out the substandard album that would haunt him for his entire career.
Not that he paid much attention to the media, but when terms like “has been” start to be bandied around, even he had to notice. He had started to question if he’d lost the one thing that had made him so successful.
His enthusiasm.
Now that he was back in his creative groove, he was writing songs again. Once Divine recorded the single he’d just written for them, they could shoot their first video and start planning the album’s release. He would finally be able to prove the naysayers wrong.
“Where is everyone?”
He wasn’t used to being able to share this kind of stuff with anyone but had found himself rushing to get home so he could tell Ridley. She’d understand how important it was to him. How much it meant to finally be back on track. He stood still, listening. Nothing.
Something was different in the house. He scrutinized the room, trying to figure out if Ridley had changed something, perhaps put something back in a different place from where he usually kept it. Nothing seemed out of place.
The small bowl where he kept his keys was the only thing on the entry table since Jase had broken the few knickknacks he’d been stupid enough to place there. What’s different in here? He turned in circles for a full minute before he figured it out.
It was clean.
The maid service usually cleaned on the weekends, but with the boys in the house it didn’t stay clean for long. It was almost weird to see it so organized. He walked into the family room and stopped in his tracks. Chris and Jase sat on the couch as still as statues. There wasn’t a smudge of dirt or a grass stain on either of them.
“Hey guys, what are you doing sitting in here? I thought you’d be outside playing.”
He walked further into the room and then stopped and sniffed. What the hell is that smell? There was a pungent odor wafting from the kitchen that made his nose itch. Stifling a sneeze, he edged his way into the kitchen his eyes widening at the massive pile of pots and pans lining the counter. Smack in the middle of the chaos was an elderly woman stirring a large pot.
Miss Bessie.
Backing up before she saw him, he turned and retraced his steps to the family room. The room was so clean it sparkled. The house hadn’t looked this good since he’d bought it. His sons were still in the same position as before, like melancholy figurines with their identical downcast expressions.
“So, it looks like Miss Bessie is working on dinner for us.” His words didn’t trigger a response, as both boys continued to stare at their sneakers. “And she did a great job cleaning up.”
Two pairs of eyes turned chilly glares in his direction.
“She didn’t clean up—we did. The only reason we finished before you came home was because Ridley helped us dust. You can’t reach much when you’re as short as we are.” Chris jumped up and put his hands on his hips, affecting an indignant pose. “And she made us change clothes! She said we shouldn’t wear playclothes to the dinner table.”
Jackson resisted the urge to laugh. All of his babysitters growing up had been like Miss Bessie, which was probably why his mother had recommended her. She was always saying the boys were too spoiled and could use a little “down-south” discipline. He was aware he indulged them too much at times, but it was hard not to. He wanted to give them everything he’d enjoyed growing up. Especially, a father who was there for them.
“Oh, Jackson! I didn’t even know you were home!” Miss Bessie bustled into the room and gave him a hearty hug. “We’ve missed you at Sunday service. You’re just as skinny as your momma said!”
“Yes, ma’am. How have you been?”
“Oh, I’ve been just fine. Come on over here and sit.”
“Thank you for coming on such short notice.” Jackson followed her into the dining room and sat in the chair she indicated at the head of the table.
He motioned for the boys to sit down as well. They climbed into the chairs, looking at him uncertainly. They never ate in the formal dining room but he could only hope they didn’t mention it in front of Miss Bessie. He was no doubt violating some parenting rule by not teaching his boys proper table manners before elementary school.
“Your momma keeps telling me you’re not eating right, so I made you a pot roast. This’ll put some meat on your bones for sure.”
He groaned as she set a full plate in front of him. He wanted to set a good example for the boys, but he had to draw the line somewhere. He really didn’t want to hurt her feelings, especially with the way she smiled at him, obviously proud of the meal.
