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“Mama, Brandon said he gets to stay up until ten o’clock, even on a school night! How come I can’t stay up until at least nine?” Talen’s voice cut into her thoughts and she shook her head at her son’s argument.
“Well, I’m not Brandon’s mother, and I’m not saying that Brandon’s mother isn’t a good mom, but obviously, his bedtime isn’t the only thing she doesn’t adhere to a strict schedule. The boy has enough dirt behind his ears to grow corn.”
“It’s too cold to grow corn,” Talen countered grumpily. “It’s not fair. I’m not a baby anymore.”
“Life’s not fair, my sweet boy. That’s the honest truth and anyone telling you different is selling you something. And I hate to break it to you but you’ll always be my baby no matter how old you get.” She smiled and ruffled his hair, but he wasn’t having any of her usual ways to cheer him up, which bothered her a bit. “Hey, buddy, is there something aside from your bedtime bothering you?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
Miranda frowned. “Talen, what’s wrong? Tell me, son. Whatever it is, I promise not to be mad or anything.”
Talen regarded her with his impossibly dark eyes that reminded her so much of Johnny, and she swore sometimes when she looked at her son she felt as if her kid’s spirit stared back. Mamu always said Talen was an old soul, and while Miranda respected Mamu’s ways, there were times when she experienced a full-body shudder, particularly when she spoke of Talen, that made her wonder if Mamu was right.
“Sometimes I wonder if things might be different if I had a dad.”
Miranda drew back, surprised. “What do you mean?” Oh, God, she wasn’t ready to talk to Talen about Johnny. Not yet. She hadn’t yet figured out a way to sugarcoat the truth.
“You make all the rules. Maybe a dad would have different rules. That’s all.”
“Like different bedtime rules?” she said, holding her breath, hoping against hope Talen was still pouting about his bedtime rather than something deeper. To her immense relief Talen nodded. “Well,” she said as she tucked Talen into his bed, “I imagine even if there was a dad around, I would still make the rules because everyone knows that the moms are the best at making rules.”
“What do dads do, then?” Talen asked, perplexed.
Uh...she didn’t know. She pulled a memory from her own childhood. Her father had been the muscle around the house whenever something needed muscling. “They open pickle and jam jars,” Miranda answered, hoping her young son didn’t see right through her lame answer. “Anyway, sorry...all you have is a mom but a pretty good one, right?”
“Yeah, you’re pretty good,” Talen agreed with a reluctant smile that warmed her heart. “But I still want to go to bed a little later. I’m not even tired.”
“Good night, my son,” she said with a knowing smile. For a boy who professed he was still wide-awake, he was already rubbing at his eyes and fighting a yawn. He’d be asleep within five minutes.
Not long after the house had been closed up for the night, Miranda climbed into bed and checked her emails from her laptop. As she scanned the emails, she was disappointed to see that Trace had not responded to her latest email. He hated technology but he grudgingly kept an email address because he didn’t actually have a regular mailing address and this was the only way his family could reach him at times. But sometimes he went weeks without checking his email, which defeated the purpose. She sighed and closed her laptop, more than a little irritated at her brothers.
It was unfair that both of those nitwits were happy to let her deal with their parents when they knew full well neither their mother nor father were easy to handle. This latest situation with their mother was a pain in her backside and she could use a little backup.
Miranda leaned over and grabbed her cell phone. It was a long shot, as Trace turned on his cell phone as often as he checked his email, but she was a little desperate.
“Hey, Trace, this is Miranda. I need you to check in as soon as possible. I need to talk to you about Mom. It’s important, so please don’t blow me off for another few weeks while you roam the countryside like an antisocial wild man. Love you.”
She tossed her phone to the bed and yawned. It wasn’t late but she was beat. Most days she could handle everything without blinking an eye but it seemed that the weight of all her responsibilities was heavier than usual. She hated nights like this—emotionally exhausted yet too wired to actually sleep—and she knew she would toss and turn all night while her brain refused to shut down for a blessed minute. It was nights like this that she craved a warm body beside her and a shot of whiskey to warm her insides. She swung her legs free from the bed and headed for the kitchen. At least she could manage the whiskey, if not the man.
