The Christmas Clock and A Song For My Mother - Kat Martin Page 0,56
ever would.
Emily scrubbed furiously at the crack between the countertop and the backsplash in the kitchen. Though she couldn't really see any dirt, she knew it was there, must have been there for years.
She pinched the scouring pad into a thinner shape and kept scrubbing. Her fingers were aching when the doorbell rang. Releasing a sigh at the unwanted intrusion, she tossed the pad on the counter and hurried for the door.
When she pulled it open, Patrick Murphy stood on the porch. “I thought I'd stop by. I didn't quite finish the flower beds when I was here yesterday.”
“You've done more than enough, Pat. You don't have to feel obligated to come over here and weed just because you and Randy were friends.”
“That isn't the reason. I mean, it's one of the reasons, but—” He broke off midsentence, his russet eyebrows drawing together as he noticed her hands. “You're bleeding. Your fingers... good God, Em, what happened?” She shoved her hands behind her back, mortified he should see her broken nails and red, roughened skin.
Patrick reached out and caught her wrist, gently drew it toward him. She hadn't realized her cuticles were bleeding, the tips of her fingers rubbed raw.
“What were you doing, Emily?”
“I was cleaning. It's nothing.” She tried to ease her hand away but Patrick wouldn't let go.
“Come on,” he said softly, “let's get this taken care of.” Leading her into the kitchen, he spotted the steel-wool pad lying on the counter and the blue sudsy foam in the crack where she had been scrubbing.
Patrick didn't say a word. He just turned on the tap, took her hand, and eased it under the light stream of water.
“Well, you probably don't have to worry about infection,” he finally said, examining the damaged area. “Not with all that soap.” He took her other hand, which was also raw and bleeding, and stuck it under the tap.
“I told you I was cleaning,” she said. “I guess I was rubbing a little too hard.”
Patrick tore off a paper towel and carefully dried both her hands. His gaze went around the kitchen and then he surveyed the living room. “Your house is spotless, Em. There isn't a speck of dirt anywhere.”
“There's always dirt. It's a never-ending job.”
“Only if you make it one.” He tipped his head toward the bathroom. “You got any Band-Aids?”
“I don't need a Band-Aid. I'm fine.”
He pinned her with a look.
“All right. They're in the bathroom. But try to be quiet or you'll wake up Timmy. He’s down for his afternoon nap.”
Patrick made his way down the hall, walking quietly for a man of his size. He was only a little bigger than average, except for his hands and feet. She almost smiled. Every woman knew what they said about a man with big hands and feet.
Her smile slipped away. Dear God, she had only been a widow for six months! She was still in mourning. A good wife wouldn't be thinking those kinds of thoughts about another man, even if it was only an instant of humor.
Patrick returned with the box of bandages, stripped the wrappers off a couple, and wrapped them around the ends of her injured fingers.
“They'll just get wet when I wash the dishes,'' she said.
Patrick looked her in the face. “I don’t know what's going on with you, Em. I know something is. Have you given any thought to going back to work?”
She stared at him in horror.
“You used to love your job down at Suzy's. My cousin said you had a real knack for the business. Said the ladies came in especially to get your help in selecting an outfit.”
Susan Norfolk, Patrick's cousin, was the owner of the shop. In Dreyerville, everyone knew someone who knew something about you.
“I’m a single mother now, Patrick. I can't go back to work.”
“I realize you get an income from Randy's pension. That doesn't mean you can't have a job, too. Lots of women work and raise a family. There's no reason you can't be one of them.”
She only shook her head.
Patrick sighed. “Promise me you'll think about it, okay?”
Oh, she would think about it. A dozen times a day she thought about the job she had loved. But she had responsibilities. She had a job to do at home as Randy had pointed out. She wasn't a wife anymore but she was still a mother.
And no matter how hard it was, she was determined to be the best mother a woman could possibly be.