The Confession (25 page)

“The wine and candlelight I can do,” McKenzie said. “And if the meal on the table is good take out, he’ll never have to know you didn’t get red sauce on your favorite blouse or flour under your fingernails.”

Mimsey frowned and shook her head again.

“There has to be one meal you can make,” Aimee said, trying to come to McKenzie’s aid.

“Nope, not one. Can’t sew, either. But I did learn the whole boiling water in the microwave thing a few years ago and I make a mean cup of tea.”

Mimsey sighed. “McKenzie, I’ve neglected you somehow. I can’t let it continue now that I know the seriousness of the situation. You must learn at least one meal to make, and today is your son’s favorite so it’s a good place to start. Grab the apron from the pantry and come around here.”

Aimee and Emily tried to stifle their giggles as McKenzie reluctantly rose from her stool.

“You’re not seriously going to let her ruin my chicken and biscuits are you, Mimsey?” Mark said, panic in his eyes. “My mouth has been watering all day in anticipation.”

Mimsey shushed him and moved aside when McKenzie stepped up to the counter. “You need to spread some flour onto the counter so the biscuits don’t stick when you roll them out.”

McKenzie dipped the scoop into the flour canister and poured it generously onto the counter creating a large dust cloud.

Mark pretended to choke and waved his hands in front of his face causing Emily and Aimee to laugh uncontrollably.

Without hesitation, McKenzie grabbed a handful of the flour off the counter and threw it at Mark. His eyes grew large in shock as he wiped the flour from his face.

Mimsey tried desperately to regain control of her kitchen as Mark stepped over to the canister and dug both of his hands inside. His eyes twinkled as his mother slowly backed away from him, shaking her head back and forth. He laughed as he dropped both piles over his mother’s head.

McKenzie shook her head, sending flour everywhere. Mimsey tried to stop her from going in for more as the two of them played tug of war with the flour canister. They both released their grip at the same time, sending it flying across the counter and spilling all over Mark’s boots.

Aimee and Emily both covered their mouths in astonishment before they looked at each other and bent over in girlish giggles. Emily scooted her chair back out of the line of fire, but continued to watch the war erupting in front of her. Aimee felt a comfortable warmth fill her. She watched as Mark reached over and picked up one of the tomatoes sitting in the basket beside him.

McKenzie held up her hands. “Mark, don’t you dare. It was an accident.”

“This isn’t.” He pulled his arm back, squeezed the fruit, and sent it flying, hitting his mother in the chest. Red juice splattered her face, the walls, and Mimsey standing beside her.

Aimee and Emily erupted with laughter. Sudden silence filled the kitchen. They both looked up in time to see three menacing smiles aimed at them, two of them armed with tomatoes and one with the remaining flour from the canister.

“Mark … ” Aimee attempted to smile innocently at him.

“Don’t do it,” Emily said, trying to sound stern.

“One … two … ” McKenzie started to count off. “Three.”

They jumped from their stools a little too late, as one tomato hit Emily on the shoulder and the other hitting Aimee square in the stomach. Mark pelted them with flour as they rounded the counter to arm themselves.

Food flew everywhere as handfuls of biscuit dough sailed through the air, sticking to the walls and the ceiling. Mimsey even picked up her freshly made peach pie and smashed it into Emily’s face like an old Three Stooges episode.

Bodies were sliding around the floor, trying to gain their footing as they scrambled to get the upper hand over each other. Mark grabbed Aimee from behind and pulled her down with him as he slipped on the remnants of the peach pie. She scrambled to escape his grasp, her feet sliding across the floor as she struggled for traction.

Laughter surrounded them, and Aimee couldn’t remember a time she’d been so happy. She wanted to be a part of the love that filled the room, the friendship and the happiness. Her eyes pooled with tears and she turned her head, trying to keep Mark from seeing her reaction.

He turned her head to him and kissed her gently. “You’re even beautiful covered in flour and tomatoes.” He kissed her again.

If he’d seen her tears he never let on. “Not sure the dough clumped in your hair is working for you, though.”

She punched him playfully in the shoulder. Another piece of peach landed directly on his forehead. His eyes grew serious. He looked into her eyes and motioned to the basket of peaches sitting just out of view from the others.

She nodded her head in understanding. In between their bodies where only she could see, he held up one finger, then another, and as he lifted the third one, she jumped from his lap and grabbed an armful of the fruit, tossing them to him before she armed herself.

They turned and pelted the three unsuspecting women in true team-like fashion.

The kitchen was clean, the fruit scraped off the cupboards, walls, and floors. Aimee smiled at the afternoon’s events as she bent backwards, working the kinks out of her spine from the hour she’d spent on her knees scrubbing the floor. Even that had been fun. They’d all worked together, arguing over the music that played in the kitchen, and who’d won the food fight. Laughter filled the room as they’d picked pieces of fruit out of each other’s hair and brushed it off their backs.

She’d watched movies and read books about families like this one, but being a part of it, if for only a short time, had been magical. The four of them were truly connected in every way. It was more than love and commitment, and it was deeper than blood or friendship. Somehow, all of them were connected at a level that very few people could understand. She wouldn’t have understood either had she not been standing in the middle of it, watching it from every angle. They were the true definition of family. One built on history, respect, and understanding. She wanted to be a part of it, of them.

“Hello, are you listening to me?” McKenzie snapped her fingers in front of Aimee’s face.

“Yes, well no, I wasn’t, but I am now, sorry. Lost in thought I guess.”

McKenzie laughed, shaking her head. “Would you get them?”

“Now I know I definitely wasn’t listening. Get what?”

“The clean kitchen rugs. Upstairs in the big linen closet. Where were you?” McKenzie picked another piece of fruit off her shoulder.

“Sorry. Sure, I’ll get them. Where exactly is this closet upstairs?” She removed her yellow rubber gloves and set them next to the sink.

“It’s the far end of the hall, right after Emily’s room.” McKenzie’s voice was almost a whisper.

Aimee smiled. “Be right back.”

If she were a paranoid person she’d almost believe McKenzie could read her mind. Sometimes when Aimee had lost herself in a daydream about Emily or even Mark, she would find McKenzie looking at her with a knowing smile on her face. It was like she’d walked through her daydream with her and knew all of her secrets, all of her longings.

Reaching the end of the hallway, she discovered door after door lining the walls. None of them resembled a closet. She tried to remember exactly what door McKenzie had told her. Right after Emily’s room, she’d said.

Swinging the door open, she gasped and grabbed the handle for support. Tears burned her eyes as she stood frozen in the open door. Instead of a closet, it was a little girl’s bedroom.

Tears began to flow unchecked down her face. She knew she should close the door and leave, but something pulled her to step inside. She pictured herself as a little girl lying in the small bed with the delicate white bedspread, while Emily sat beside her reading a bedtime story. Walking to the far wall, she gently ran her fingers along the faded red letters that hung there. Amelia. Was that to be her name?

Drawn by the painted mural that climbed the wall, she walked over and traced the brush strokes of the vine. Studying the ladybugs gathered there, she noticed a group of three that sat sheltered beneath a large leaf. The larger of them had its wings open like arms, embracing the two smaller bugs. Was this the three of them, Nathan, Emily, and their daughter?

She walked to the dresser and lifted the lid of the heart-shaped jewelry box that had once been silver, but was now tarnished with age. It was engraved,
My Princess Amelia, Love Always, Grandma
.

The sobs burst from her chest. Laying her head down against her arm on the dresser she let the tears go. After all these years, their daughter’s room stood empty. If she was Amelia, then all this pain had been caused by the woman she’d believed to be her mother.

“It’s heartbreaking, isn’t it?”

Aimee’s head jerked up in surprise. McKenzie stood in the open doorway watching her.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to come in here. I opened the wrong door ... then I couldn’t … I couldn’t … leave.” Aimee fought to catch her breath.

“Every year they would update this room, right before Amelia’s birthday. They wanted it to be ready when she got home. Every year, for six years, they would redecorate in preparation for her.” McKenzie’s eyes grew distant. “That was until Nathan died. Emily couldn’t bear to enter this room after that.”

Aimee couldn’t speak. It felt like her heart was lodged in her throat. Tears continued to roll down her cheeks as she imagined the pain Emily had endured.

“But even when Emily stopped updating the room, she never stopped wishing, never stopped praying her little girl was alive. Wishing she would come home.” McKenzie looked intently at Aimee. “I’d like to believe that Amelia would be a bit like you.”

Lifting her legs, Aimee tucked the blanket under her feet before leaning back against the arm of the couch and pulling it to her chin. She was cold. It was still close to eighty degrees outside and she was buried beneath a quilt with her teeth chattering. Even after rushing back to her cottage for a hot shower, she couldn’t get warm. All she wanted was a fire in the fireplace and a nap. She was beginning to think she may be getting sick. She didn’t want to believe her symptoms were caused by her emotions, or that stepping into that bedroom had affected her so strongly.

She’d just dozed off when there was a soft knock on the door, followed by heavy footsteps.

“Hey, baby, did I wake you?” Mark reached down to kiss her.

“Not really,” she answered, sliding up to a sitting position.

He sat next to her feet and laid a box on his lap. His eyes were hesitant, but seemed to glow with anticipation as he looked between the box and her.

“What’s that?” she asked curiously.

“I think its Emily’s birthday present.” He continued to stroke the box.

“You think?” She leaned down trying to catch his gaze. His hands shook as he continued to run his hand over the box.

“Did you buy her stationary?” she asked.

He looked up, locking his eyes with hers before shaking his head. She wanted to reach over and rip the box from him, to throw the cover off and understand why he was behaving so strangely.

“Are you going to tell me, or did you only come over to torment me with my own relentless curiosity?”

His smile reminded her of a little boy hiding his first preschool drawing behind his back before presenting it to his mother.

“I did it,” he finally mumbled. “I don’t know if I did it right, or if I wasted a lot of time, but I did it.” His boyish smile spread from ear to ear across his face.

“Did what?” His excitement was contagious and she found herself bouncing on the couch in anticipation.

Slowly opening the lid, he stared at the box’s contents, but didn’t speak. He took a deep breath, and handed her the box. Inside, was a stack of typed pages. The top page began, “Once upon a time … ”

She gasped. “You did it? You really wrote Emily’s book?”

He nodded his head, color spreading across his cheeks. “I did.” He clasped his hands tightly in his lap and rubbed his thumbs together. “I need your help.”

“Of course, anything,” she said, still looking at the page on top of the pile.

“I wanted to know if you’d read it, let me know if it’s okay, and then possibly create a cover for me. You’ve doodled on everything since the day we met, and you’re an incredible artist.”

She reached over and took hold of his hand. His pulse beat rapidly as he continued to look at her nervously. “I would be honored to read it. What is the title?”

He blew out a breath. “I don’t know. All the ones I come up with seem so corny to me. Maybe you can help me with that when you read it.”

She nodded her head excitedly.

“I would like to give it to Emily for her birthday, but I know how busy you are, so if you won’t have time, that’s okay.” He clasped his hands back into his lap.

Aimee didn’t think she’d ever seen him as uneasy as he was right now. “Are you nervous to let me read it, or to give it to Emily?”

“Both.” He exhaled the breath he’d been holding. “I don’t know many grown men who write fairy tales, and the fact that I kind of enjoyed it worries me a little.” He frowned. “I feel like I should be racing to the shed for the power tools, just to prove to myself that I’m the same guy.”

Aimee laughed at his nervousness. “The panic on your face is priceless.”

“It’s not funny! It’s bad enough that I’m holed up with a house full of women day after day, but now I’m writing fairy tales, for Christ sakes.”

“You’re not simply writing fairy tales, you’re stepping out of your comfort zone to do something amazingly thoughtful for someone you love.” She reached over and squeezed his hand. “You shouldn’t be embarrassed. It makes you a better man than most. It’s one of things that make me crazy about you.”

Marks eyes twinkled with mischief. “So you’re crazy about me, huh?” He set the box on the table, and tugged her down on the couch until she was lying beneath him. He struggled to pull the blanket out from between them, his lips burning trails along her neck and shoulders. Unable to pull the blanket off, his head suddenly jerked up, worry etching his brow. “Why are you buried in this blanket? Are you sick?” He reached over and laid his hand on her forehead.