Bridge to a Distant Star - Carolyn Williford [6]
Maureen’s attention shifted back to the bird. She hadn’t realized that she’d been holding her breath, but now she exhaled, relieved to find the bird still there, protectively flattening itself against the birdhouse roof, feathers ruffled by the wind. Please stay, she whispered, pleading. Go into the bird house, where you’ll be safe. But he flew off, battling the aggressive wind as he fluttered away from her.
Blinking her eyes, stretching out her tense neck from side to side, forcing herself to do something, Maureen moved to the mundane, the comfortably familiar—she started dinner, pulling out lettuce and vegetables. It wasn’t until she nearly tripped over a small foot that she noticed her daughter hovering again. Aubrey grabbed a handful of sweatshirt, the need to clutch something heightened when she felt insecure. Rabbit was back where he belonged, none the worse for his ill treatment. He couldn’t get much worse looking anyway, Maureen mused, blaming herself for not being firmer with Aubrey about dragging it everywhere. It was rare that Rabbit got tossed into the washer.
Maureen leaned down, meeting Aubrey’s look at eye level. She gazed into eyes that were likewise unusual—considering Aubrey also had red hair—but unlike her mother’s, Aubrey’s eyes were a rich dark brown with matching dark lashes. Still, despite the difference in eye color, family and friends teased that Bill and Maureen had been given “one each” by God. Colleen took mostly after her father, sharing his darker olive skin and straighter hair, while Aubrey had inherited her mother’s auburn curls and fairer coloring—though Aubrey’s skin had less of a propensity to freckle. She did have a sprinkling across her nose and cheeks, however, which only served to highlight her eyes, like an ornamental frame around a picture.
“What’s up, Lolly Pops?” Maureen asked, using Bill’s nickname for Aubrey.
Dimpled fingers firmly gripped the stuffed animal against her chest. “Rabbit’s wowied.”
“About?”
“The storm.”
Maureen took Aubrey’s hand in hers and directed her toward the window. They stared out at the pellets of rain that were now striking fragile, budding blooms. “All the rain and thunder are out there, sweetie.” Maureen lightly squeezed her daughter’s hand. “We’re absolutely safe here in the house. God’s protecting us. Rabbit, too.” She pulled Aubrey into her embrace, healing the worry, wishing, If only I could do this as easily with Colleen. “Want to help me with lettuce for a salad? Yes? Bring over your step stool.”
Rabbit in one hand, Aubrey dragged the stool with the other. Another rumble of thunder made her pause momentarily, but then she scrambled up the steps to the sink, plopping the stuffed animal on the counter. “Rabbit will watch us, but we better keep a eye on him. He loves lettuce.”
“I suppose he does.” Maureen frowned at the grimy stuffed animal’s presence on the counter, but she reminded herself that distracting Aubrey from the storm was the higher priority. “All rabbits like lettuce and carrots, don’t they?” She broke off a small section of lettuce for Aubrey to wash.
Over the sounds of the approaching storm, neither had noticed the grind of the garage door and Bill’s entering the kitchen until they were greeted with his usual “I’m home.”
“Daddy!” Aubrey squealed in delight. “I’m helping Mommy.”
“I can see that.” Bill reached down to pet Bobo, who greeted him with a wiggling body and his imitation of barking: high-pitched yips. “How’s it goin’, ole boy? Survive another day in this female-dominated household?”
Tall with an athletic build, smooth olive skin, dark eyes, and a full head of nearly jet black hair—not counting a distinguished dusting of white at the temples—Bill’s coloring was totally opposite Maureen’s, a stark difference that had initially caught his interest. He moved like the athlete he was, gracefully, but with economy. Bill rarely wasted time,