Bridge to a Distant Star - Carolyn Williford [4]
“Rabbit is not dumb.”
“Is so.” Colleen pulled her features into a dramatic scowl. Aimed it like a weapon at her sister. “It’s dirty and falling apart and smelly and …”
Willing calm, Maureen gracefully asked, “Girls, can you take this conversation into the family room, please? I need to say a quick good-bye to Mrs. Esteban and then I’ll be right with you.” Neither daughter budged, alternating glares at each other and Maureen. She pointedly turned her back on both of them.
Bobo, the family’s pint-sized Yorkshire terrier, took that moment to come to Maureen, scratching at her calf and yapping, demanding to be let out. “All right, Bobo. Emilie, you still there? I’m so sorry. Honestly, why does everything have to … happen in …” She opened the door to the backyard, then nudged Bobo out with her foot. Never thrilled about walking on grass, he required a little encouragement. Glancing at Colleen and Aubrey, Maureen made a hasty decision to follow Bobo out, firmly closing the door behind her. The humidity was immediately oppressive, but less so than the tension she’d escaped in the kitchen. “Where was I? Why does everything happen when you’re attempting to talk on the phone?”
Emilie chuckled again and Maureen pictured her friend’s slightly crooked, impish grin. Emilie always pulled the left side of her smile slightly higher, which also created a distinct dimple. It was one of those infectious smiles that seemed to constantly hint that she was enjoying a private joke, and was merely waiting for you to catch on. “I know this doesn’t sound like the most opportune time to present this argument, but Mo, I swear I wouldn’t know what to do with myself if I weren’t a full-time mom.”
“At this point, friend, having grown children who’ve moved on in life sounds like heaven to me. Oh, almost forgot to tell you. I had a dream the other night that I was in labor and delivered a baby girl. When she popped out—yes, she popped; it was a dream, for heaven’s sake—instead of crying, the baby yelled, ‘NO.’”
Emilie exploded with laughter, the honking, no-holds-barred laugh that was distinctly hers. Maureen loved making Emilie laugh, fondly remembering the first time she’d heard the sound—at a dorm meeting when they were in college. Even a noisy room-length away, Maureen had caught that distinctive sound and found herself gravitating toward the source of the delightful outburst. And then promptly fell in love with the woman who owned it.
“Maybe I’d better start praying you have a boy? I suppose you could always name him Earnest. Or Eldridge,” Maureen offered. She fleetingly thought about peeking in the window to check on the girls. Decided against it.
“See? You admit there are E names left.”
“And there’s Evan.”
“Way too close to Ethan. I’d yell the wrong name constantly.”
“Good point. I really should go, Em. Oh, almost forgot—see you tomorrow at the Vacation Bible School meeting? Nine o’clock, in the sixth-grade room. With the hours I’m putting in at the shop right now I feel a bit overwhelmed. But Bill and I agree I need to stay committed to VBS, no matter what.”
“Yeah, Ed feels the same way, but I don’t see him volunteering to cut out two hundred and forty baskets for baby Moses.”
“Ha. But there is a payoff: The gang’s going to lunch afterward, right?”
“Absolutely. Wouldn’t miss it.”
“Okay, see you tomorrow.” Maureen clicked off the phone, squared her shoulders, and gingerly opened the door of the family room to face her daughters. Colleen’s wrath had reached the crisis stage. Aubrey’s lower lip began quivering. Full-blown tears wouldn’t be far behind, and Maureen dreaded the shift from laughing with her friend to conflict resolution. Some days it felt like all she did was referee arguments between the two. Sending up a quick prayer—God, give me wisdom—she set to the task.
“Mom, you gotta tell Aubrey to stay out of my stuff. Out … of … my … room.” Every word drawn out, driven home by a steely teenage stare at the three-year-old who glared right back—even though her lips were still