A Family of Their Own(13)

He raised his head, a slight grin on his lips. “But she ended the conversation by leaving it up to me.”

A similar situation with Lucy plodded into her mind. She rose. “I think we should drop it. It’s Peyton’s birthday, and it should be her decision.”

A frown conquered his faint grin. “No, please. Let me explain.” He patted the seat beside him.

Kelsey eyed the empty cushion, weighing her emotions. She felt safer in the chair, but he looked forlorn. The moment called for listening. She rolled the chair back to the desk, and sat beside him.

“Here’s the thing.” Ross caught her gaze. “Peyton often feels rejected by other kids. She’s missed a lot of school, and she doesn’t feel like part of her class most of the time. The kids aren’t mean or anything, but you know kids. The boys are boys at that age, and the girls have their little cliques. Peyton doesn’t seem to fit into any of them.”

Her heart squeezed, remembering. “Lucy missed school, too, but she’s doing okay. It takes time, Ross. Encourage Peyton to be patient.”

“I tell her that, but she’s not willing to wait. She wants things when she wants them, and when they don’t happen, she rejects them. I’m afraid that’s what she’s done with the kids at school. I asked her teacher, and she said Peyton is rather standoffish.”

Kelsey pressed her lips together to hold back her comment. Her life revolved around helping people solve problems, and sometimes keeping her mouth closed was the best choice.

“I think that having a friend would help her, and since Lucy doesn’t go to Peyton’s school, it might work. Maybe they’ll click. Maybe—”

“And maybe not, Ross. Don’t count on anything when it comes to preteen girls. They’re at that almost-grown-up stage. Their hormones are raging, and you never know what you’ll get.” So much for keeping her mouth shut.

Ross studied her in silence. “You’re right.”

She relaxed her shoulders. “It’s hard not having a wife who’s gone through all the puberty stuff making it easier to talk with Peyton. Now it’s something you’ll have to do, I’m afraid.”

“I know. I dread it.”

She reached over and rested her hand on his. “Let’s do this. Make plans with her, and then let me know how she’s accepting the idea. Any thought about how you’ll celebrate?”

“She wants to have dinner at Benihana.” He angled his head. “Been there?”

“No, but I’ve heard of it. Lucy would enjoy it. All the knife tricks and watching the chefs cook. Plus she loves shrimp.”

“Then that settles it.”

His silly expression lightened their previous conversation, but what he said hadn’t. Too many things were left unsettled. The more Kelsey thought about Lexie’s concern, the more real it became. She didn’t need reality. Kelsey longed for a bit of fantasy in her life.



Ross’s attention slid from the chef’s flashing knife to Lucy’s gleeful applause. Peyton had quieted as she sized up their guests. He had no idea what she had on her mind. The girls were opposites. Peyton’s dark hair, the color of his and usually tied back in a ponytail, today hung in curls around her shoulders. Lucy’s shorter blond waves bounced with her animation. She spoke well and directly, not afraid to show her enthusiasm while Peyton’s personality had slipped into a bottle with a tight cork. The situation disappointed him.

Peyton’s attitude didn’t help her relationship with Lucy, either. He overheard Lucy ask her mother why Peyton was so unfriendly. Ross slithered into silence, his frustration roping him in knots. Before he sank deeper, he refocused on the chef as he set out the sauces for the meat and shrimp.

Frustration turned to guilt. He’d noticed Peyton watching Lucy and her mother with longing written on her face. She missed her mom. She’d been six, and the loss had overwhelmed them both. How could he be a mother, too? He leaned closer to Peyton. “Did you like the soup and salad?”

She shrugged. “It was good.”

“Look there.” He motioned to the grill. “Here comes your favorite.”

She eyed the shrimp. “I like steak better.”

Pressing his lips closed, Ross gave up. When she was in a snit, nothing pleased her.

The chef stood over the scorching griddle, juggling his spatulas, flipping severed shrimp tails into his tall hat, then flicking a grilled shrimp onto Lucy’s plate. Her eyes as blue as her mother’s opened wide while she giggled and attempted to pick up the shrimp with chopsticks. It fell, but she only laughed and tried again.