THE NEXT DAY Fern got out her watercolors and sat at her easel in front of the big picture window. But her eyes couldn’t stay on her work. She kept getting distracted by the scene outside.
The day had dawned bright and sunny, but not as cold, and blessedly, the electricity had come back on sometime during the night. There was snow everywhere, and it was above her knees when they’d gone out to feed the dogs at sunrise.
And now Carlo had taken Mercedes outside to build a snowman. “Mama Fern needs some time to herself,” he’d said cheerfully after breakfast.
How had he known that?
“So,” he’d continued, looking only at Mercedes, “you and I are going to build the biggest snowman in the state of Ohio.”
“Yay!”
Fern had felt a moment’s hesitation, letting him take Mercedes out. Caring for the child was her job. But somehow, the situation felt right, if very strange. Her, Fern Easton, nerd extraordinaire, stranded here with a beautiful little girl and a giant, attractive soldier who normally wouldn’t give her the time of day. Stranded, and spending time together like a family.
She’d never in her life felt part of a family. As early as she could remember, she’d known she was the extra, the foster kid, the one on the outside. Even in families that had lots of foster kids, she’d been the quiet one nobody had chosen to play with.
Now she knew it made sense; she’d gone into foster care grieving the loss of her parents, and so any ability she had to attach would have needed to be gently drawn out. She could hear echoes of her own history in Mercedes sometimes, how touchy grief was when the loss of a mother was involved, how it kept reemerging with different events and reminders. From her reading, she knew that the cycle would continue throughout Mercedes’s childhood: good months, and then plunging back into sadness again as she reached a new developmental stage.
Fern hadn’t had a consistent, understanding caregiver in childhood, so she’d gone inside herself. And yeah, it had damaged her, to the point where she was terminally awkward with people and had only a few friends. Though some part of her longed for love and connection, she knew a warm family life wasn’t in the cards for her.
Books had been her consolation and her friends, sometimes her only friends. They still were.
And thinking of books, she needed to concentrate on hers, she scolded herself. She’d been looking forward to this vacation time for ages, as an opportunity to work on the book she was contracted to do. Things hadn’t gone as planned, at all, but right at this moment, she had a caregiver for her child and she had time to work. She’d best take advantage of it.
But the scene outside kept tugging at her.
Carlo and Mercedes were working together to lift the second giant snowball on top of the first one. Actually, Carlo was working and Mercedes was being more of a hindrance than a help, like any self-respecting four-year-old. She grabbed the snowball too tight and a big chunk broke off.
But Carlo didn’t get mad. He laughed, set what remained of the snowball on top of the first and showed Mercedes how to pack extra snow into the hole she’d created.
He was a patient man, surprisingly patient. In her experience, most dads couldn’t handle the antics and illogic and roller-coaster emotions of a preschooler, not as well as moms could. And someone like Carlo, obviously accustomed to the world of men, should have been totally out of his element.
Instead, he seemed amazingly comfortable with Mercedes. He seemed to truly care about her.
Watching them together, seeing their laughing faces, Fern frowned. There was something...some connection...
She shook off the thought, forced her attention back to her work and managed to get an illustration finished. And then, when her thoughts drifted once more to the scene outside the window, she gave up. Gathering a few supplies, she pulled on her warm jacket and went out to help them with the snowman.
“Mama!” Mercedes screamed when she saw Fern. “Look what we did! He’s the biggest snowman in the whole state!”
“I think you might be right,” Fern said, because the snow giant did indeed stand as tall as Carlo. “But I think he needs eyes and a nose, don’t you?”
When she produced a carrot for a nose and chocolate sandwich cookies for eyes, Mercedes was ecstatic and of course, she had to place them herself. So Fern lifted her up while Carlo steadied the snowman. “How about a scarf?” he offered, and removed the plaid one he’d taken from the closet.
His coat was open and his head bare, and he wasn’t shivering; he looked white toothed and handsome, and Fern’s heart gave a little lurch. This was dangerous stuff. Dangerous, and not for her. She couldn’t trust a man like that, and she certainly couldn’t interest him. She turned away, feeling suddenly awkward.
And was rewarded with a snowball smacking her in the leg.
“Mama Fern, he threw a snowball at you!” Mercedes cried. “I want to do that, too!”
“No way!” She spun, not wanting...something. For Mercedes to play rough. For Carlo to tease. For them to have fun together as the family that they weren’t.
“C’mon, Mercy, I’ll help you,” Carlo offered.
Fern opened her mouth to protest, but Carlo silenced her with a look. Which was a great trait for a military commander, but supremely annoying in a houseguest.
“But,” he continued, “you have to follow the rules of snowballs. Do you know what they are?”
“I didn’t know there were rules,” Mercedes said, wide-eyed.
“There are. You can’t throw a snowball at a person’s head or face. And when they say stop, you have to stop.”
Yeah, yeah, Mr. Controlling. Fern took advantage of his distraction to land a snowball in the middle of Carlo’s back.
“Hey!” In a flash he’d leaned down, scooped and formed a snowball and lobbed it at her. “Don’t mess with a soldier, lady!”
“Me, me, I want to do it!” Mercedes cried, jumping up and down, and Carlo helped her form a snowball and throw it.
In for a penny, in for a pound. Fern wasn’t going to be able to stop the battle, so she worked out her mixed feelings toward Carlo with a fierce barrage of snowballs, tossing the occasional lob in Mercedes’s direction to keep the child happy. And she was happy; Fern loved the pink of Mercedes’s cheeks and the sparkle in her eyes.
Mercedes hadn’t had a man in her life, not much. According to Kath, there had been a few boyfriends, but no one who’d lived in or stuck around.
Seeing the way Mercedes acted with Carlo, her excitement, her tiny flirtations—and seeing the confident, physical way he played with her—Fern realized the benefits a male influence could provide.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t in the cards for her to marry and provide that influence. She was just too shy with men.
Unless... Except...
No. This was temporary. God had provided her with so much, giving her Mercedes. She couldn’t expect, didn’t deserve, any more. She’d have to solve the problem of a male influence for Mercedes another way.
CARLO HATED TO do it, but he turned on the television when they got inside. They’d been out of touch with the outside world for the better part of the day, but it was only right that he check and find out the weather forecast. They needed to know how long they’d be stranded and, if necessary, ration the supplies that were starting to run low.
“Looks as if we’ll get some winds and drifting tonight,” the local weatherman was saying, “but the winter storm itself seems to be over. And around Ohio, the hardest-hit rural communities are starting to dig themselves out.”
“Good news,” Carlo made himself say to Fern. “Looks as if we may have one more night, max, before the plows get through.”
“That’s...great,” she said with enthusiasm that sounded forced. Making him wonder if she was enjoying their isolation, at least the slightest little bit.
“Can we have hot chocolate?” Mercedes asked. “And more cookies?”
“Sure,” Fern said, smiling at Mercedes.
Trust a kid to stay in the present and remember what was important: hot chocolate after a stint of playing outdoors.
And trust a woman like Fern to know how to do hot chocolate right: in big mugs, with leftover Christmas candy canes for stirrers and big dollops of marshmallow crème.
“Let’s watch TV!” Mercedes cried as Fern carried the mugs toward the front room, where the fireplace was.
Fern narrowed her eyes. “Let’s read a book and watch TV,” she proposed. “Which do you want to do first?”
“TV, TV,” Mercedes begged, and Fern frowned, cocking her head to one side.
“You can take the woman out of her library, but you can’t really take the library out of the woman,” Carlo said.
A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “Showing my true colors.”
“You’re good for her,” Carlo said. “But there’s nothing wrong with a movie now and then.”
“Not if we all watch together,” Fern said. “And not if it’s—” she studied the shelf of DVDs “—March of the Penguins!” She held up the case triumphantly.
“Not a documentary!” Carlo scanned the shelf, knowing his sister would have his favorite movie. “How about A Christmas Story? I always wanted a Red Ryder BB gun!”
“Let me see that. A gun? And a PG rating? I don’t think so.”
And though he fake begged and pleaded, Fern wouldn’t back down. And she got Mercedes to vote with her by challenging her to walk like a penguin. And pretty soon they were all doing it, and laughing, and Carlo was giving in.
Truthfully, he didn’t much care what movie it was, when he could watch it with this woman and this child and a delicious mug of hot chocolate.
And pretend the world outside wasn’t really waiting for them.