Chapter 6
March 11, 2006 - late afternoon
Rachel pulled into the driveway and spotted the unfamiliar car parked in the garage at the back of the house. She took a deep breath and swung her car around to the drive in front of the house. It would probably be better if Jemma and Aaron didn't burst into the house looking for him right away. She grinned to herself. And yes, an orderly entrance would also make her look good. She knew she'd left the house in fairly good shape.
"I'm hungry, Rachel," Aaron whined. "What's for dinner?"
"Nothing, for sweaty little boys who whine." She smiled at him as she unbuckled him from his carseat and they got out of the car.
"Am not sweaty!" he grinned.
"Yes you are!" Jemma announced. "And smelly. I'm not eating with you in the room!"
"Rachel! Am I smelly?" he pleaded.
Rachel sniffed loudly and smiled. "You could use a little perfume. Want some of mine?"
Aaron laughed. "Euuwww! No way! Can I have a bath?"
"I thought you'd never ask," Rachel teased. This had become a favorite game, and it certainly made things easier at bedtime.
So, as they entered the house, Aaron willingly went up the stairs with her to take a bath before dinner. Rachel left him in his room with his racecars after he was cleaned up, and went to the kitchen to start the meal. Jemma had fallen asleep on her bed, and Rachel had covered her with a quilt. She hadn't seen anything of Kevin and assumed that he was in his room, resting after the flight from Los Angeles.
Noises from the kitchen and the smell of onions cooking in oil pulled Kevin from his stupor. The den was dark. When he'd come in here the afternoon sunlight had been slanting through the window. He frowned and looked at his watch. The glowing dial said six-thirty. Morning or evening? Didn't really matter, but if Tracy was fixing something with onions it was probably evening. He got up unsteadily and, taking his glass and the bottle, headed toward the kitchen.
He stopped in the doorway, squinting at the light and trying to focus on the woman standing with her back to him. She was singing softly to herself as she ran water over some vegetables in the sink. He grinned. Maybe if he was real quiet, he could surprise her. He liked Tracy. She was good people. He tiptoed into the room and put the bottle and glass on the table as quietly as possible, then continued toward the sink. She hadn't heard him yet.
He slid his arms around her waist and nuzzled her neck, and she jumped. He laughed. "Hey, Trace. How's my favorite sister-in-law?" She turned around and he stepped back in shock.
"Who the hell are you?" he gasped.
"Rachel Daniels," she said with a slight grin. "Your housekeeper?"
"Oh, G-d! I'm sorry," he apologized. "I thought you were…I forgot." He looked thoroughly embarrassed, and Rachel couldn't help chuckling.
"It's okay. I guess I should have let you know that we were home. I saw your car in the garage when we came in. I didn't want to-disturb-you-." She trailed off as she took in the glass and the half-empty scotch bottle on the table.
He followed her gaze and turned to retrieve his drink. "Well," he said. "Since you're just starting supper, I guess I'll go back to the den. I've got some-work to do. Call me when it's ready, okay?"
He walked out, leaving her staring after him. She shook her head and turned back to the meal preparations.
An hour later she finished setting the table and went upstairs to get the children. She told them that Kevin was home, and was a little surprised at their reactions. Jemma had smiled tentatively, and seemed glad in a subdued way, but Aaron had outright scowled. Is it that bad? Rachel wondered. She headed back downstairs with the children following, and sent them each to do their pre-dinner chores. Aaron-napkins, Jemma-milk from the refrigerator. Rachel went to the door of the den.
As she stood there, she realized that she really didn't know what to call him. Mr. Richardson seemed overly formal, especially since she was on a first-name basis with the rest of his family. But calling him Kevin seemed a little presumptuous. Well, when in doubt, opt for formal, she thought.
"Mr. Richardson?" She knocked softly. "Dinner's ready." She heard him moving toward the door and stood back. He opened it and looked down at her. She looked back in shock. His eyes were bloodshot and bleary. He had apparently spent the last hour trying to finish off the bottle he had started that afternoon.
"I'm not real hungry," he said wearily. "Just fix me a plate and bring it to me here."
That was it. He turned away and closed the door. Rachel stood uncertainly in the hallway until Jemma appeared at her side and said quietly, "Daddy usually eats in the den, Rachel. I should've told you that. Then you wouldn't have set a place for him at the table."
"Okay, honey. I'll fix a plate for him." Rachel smiled down at the little girl. "Would you like to take it to him when it's ready?"
"No," Jemma replied softly. "I think you'd better take it. I might spill it and then he'd get mad."
Well, Rachel thought as she piled food onto the plate, they all warned me. Jerry and Ellen, Tim and Tracy-even Harry and Margaret, had all at one time or another in the past seven weeks tried to prepare her for this first meeting. Somehow, nothing that they had said had really given her the full picture. She shook her head. This couldn't be how he was all the time. He'd never survive the demands of his schedule if he drank like this all the time.
She was back at the door to the den. She knocked softly and opened the door. There was only one light on in the room-a reading lamp on the desk. Kevin was seated behind the desk; glass in hand, staring down at a large book lying open in front of him. She walked quietly over to the desk and looked for somewhere to put the plate. She decided that the pullout shelf would be the best place. There were too many papers scattered on the desk that might get messed up if something got spilled. She walked around the desk and as she pulled out the shelf to his right, she glanced at the book he was looking at. It was a scrapbook with children's drawings and mementos affixed to the pages. Careful labeling of the different attempts at artwork proclaimed it to be a scrapbook primarily of Jemma's efforts. She smiled.
Kevin looked up and slammed the book shut. "Do you always read over people's shoulders?" he asked sharply.
"No," she said softly. "I'm sorry. Here's your dinner."
"Thank you. Now can you please leave me alone?"
Rachel retreated without another word. She and the children ate at the kitchen table in silence. She realized that she had little to say, but she couldn't believe the damper Kevin's arrival had put on Jemma and Aaron's usual mealtime exuberance.
Chapter 7
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