Adventures In Parenthood. Dawn Atkins

      CHAPTER FOUR

      “SO, ABOUT THE GIRLS,” Dixon said, getting right to the point.

      Aubrey usually liked a direct approach to problems, but this was so important and so personal she wasn’t ready. The room seemed to close around her. She needed air and space. “Could we talk outside? Look at the stars?”

      “We should stay close in case the girls need us.”

      She blinked. “I didn’t think of that.” Her cheeks went hot at her thoughtlessness.

      “No big thing. You’re not used to dealing with kids. I’ve had to learn.” He was trying to ease her embarrassment, but it didn’t help. He seemed so far ahead of her. She decided to jump in. “Do you know if Howard and Brianna had wills?”

      “I’m not sure.” He thought for a few seconds. “We’ll need to look through their papers. The funeral director mentioned that. We need to know what insurance they had, close out their bank accounts, deal with their bills, all of that.”

      “It’s a lot to think about,” she said, white noise starting up in her head.

      “Tomorrow,” he said, sounding daunted, too. “But I wanted to tell you that I’ll raise the girls, so you don’t need to worry. I live here. I work at Bootstrap. I’m familiar with their routines. It seems the most logical.” He paused. “Do you agree?”

      What he’d said made sense. Dixon had promised Ginger he’d stay forever, while the best Aubrey could offer was to stay as long as she could manage. Her plan before had been to leave Tuesday so she could do her Wednesday podcast, but if the ALT PR woman had set up a video podcast with a special guest, that could change.

      Dixon was right, but some stubborn part of her wasn’t ready to agree. She sipped at her drink to buy time. Now the champagne tasted flat, as if it had been left out open overnight.

      Scout, ever her wing-cat, jumped onto the back of the sofa and curled around her neck to soothe her.

      Why can’t you take care of the girls?

      There were practical reasons—she lived in a small apartment with a roommate, and she’d travel a lot more if she got the ALT sponsorship—but it was the deeper ones that bothered her more. Because I’m not maternal. Because I don’t have Brianna’s heart. Because cancer lurks in my genes.

      She realized she’d let the silence hang too long. “That does seem sensible.” But her voice sounded as heavy as her heart felt.

      “Then we agree. I’ll be the girls’ guardian.” Dixon sounded like he’d just saved a business deal he’d been afraid to lose. “This way there won’t be any disruption in their lives.”

      “They lost their parents, Dixon. Their lives are totally disrupted.” How would they cope? Would Dixon do the right thing? What if Aubrey would do better?

      “Nothing says I couldn’t work from Phoenix,” she found herself blurting. “I understand there’s an airport here.” The joke came out flat. Why was she pushing this? Dixon had offered up his life for the girls, relieving her of any worry or obligation.

      But that was the problem. She should be worried. The girls were her family, and she’d just handed them over. She didn’t know everything Brianna wanted for the girls, but she wouldn’t have wanted that.

      “What are you saying?” Dixon looked as confused as Aubrey felt. “You travel a lot, don’t you? How could you—?”

      “Lots of parents travel. They hire nannies or bring the kids. They juggle their schedules.” Her mouth was so dry her lips stuck together, and there was that blasted golf ball in her throat again. “And you’re busy, too, Dixon. It’s already crazy getting the agency going in the new place, and with Howard and Brianna gone, you’ll be even busier.”

      “We’ll adjust. The girls love the caregivers at Bootstrap. And if they have any problems, I’m right there.”

      Not racing reindeer in Norway. She got his point. Still.... “Have you thought about what a sacrifice this will be? You’ll have no free time, no social life. You date, right?” There’d been the girlfriend at the girls’ first birthday party, but he’d come alone to the last three.

      “Not at the moment.”

      “Because you’re too busy, right? Now it’ll be worse.”

      Dixon sighed. “Like you said, people juggle their schedules.”

      “You shouldn’t be the only one. That’s my point. We have to be fair.”

      Everyone feels like that. You learn together. Brianna’s voice in her head spurred her on. Scout began the tanklike rumble of her feline version of you-go-girl.

      “What if we take turns?” she said. “You should start, since you know the girls better. I’ll have time to get my schedule in order.”

      Her mind raced over what lay ahead. After the podcast, she had Primal Quest Camp the next weekend. It was a big deal to be chosen for the training for the premier adventure race in the West. ALT had been jazzed by how much visibility their products would get among elite outdoor sports people. Not long after that was Utah Adventure Fest, which would decide the ALT sponsorship once and for all. Sometime before that, she and her partner, Neil, had to schedule a trial run to shake down their equipment.

      At the moment, all that effort seemed far away and totally beyond her. She felt like rabbits were jumping up and down on her diaphragm.

      Dixon, meanwhile, filled his glass to the rim and topped hers, clearly preparing for a fight. He gulped half the glass—for courage?—then met her gaze. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do. In theory, it sounds fair.”

      “But...?” She tightened every muscle, braced to defend her plan, herself, and the life she’d offered to share with the girls.

      “But the girls are so young. They need people and places they can count on. They don’t have the resilience to cope with musical-chairs parents.”

      “Musical chairs? Come on. Divorced parents work out shared custody and the kids do fine. They often thrive because they have the parent’s full attention when they’re with them.”

      “We’re not their parents, Aubrey. They’re not bonded to us. That builds over time as they learn we’ll be there whenever they need us.”

      “And you don’t think I can do that.” Her mind jumped to the time Howard hadn’t trusted her to babysit the girls.

      “I didn’t say that. Shared custody can also mean constant strife and confusion. I’ve seen it with friends, and hear about it with some of our clients.”

      “We won’t be like that. We weren’t married. We don’t have built-up resentments. I live an active life. They need to see that, be part of it, learn to be open to new experiences.”

      “They’re four, Aubrey. Give them a few years before they wrestle alligators or wing-walk a biplane.”

      “I’m not saying that. Don’t exaggerate.”

      “You can be their role model without being their guardian. You’ll visit a lot. Later on, you can take them on trips.”

      She stared at him, breathing hard, fighting to be sensible, to not make promises she might not be able to keep.

      “Look, we’re both upset,” Dixon said, sounding suddenly exhausted. “We want to do all we can for the girls, but we can’t get too ambitious, because if the plan flops, the girls will pay the price.” His eyes searched hers for agreement. “My plan’s easy. Yours is hard. How much of your schedule can you actually clear? Don’t things change a lot?”

      All the time. Even