Marrying Marcus. Laurey Bright
eyes widening at his slightly waspish tone, she said, “What?”
“You’ve been in a state of suspended animation ever since Dean went to the States. When are you going to wake up and smell the flowers?”
“I haven’t sat at home pining,” she protested, stung by his portrayal of her languishing for love. “I’ve got an interesting job and plenty of friends—I’ve even dated a bit.”
“You haven’t had a serious relationship, have you?”
Astounded, Jenna snapped, “That’s none of your business!”
Marcus laughed aloud, the sound deep and full-throated. It transformed his face, relaxing the seemingly harsh planes of nose and cheekbones and bringing a warmer look to his eyes. She saw Dean turn again and regard his brother curiously.
“I don’t see what’s funny,” she hissed at Marcus.
The effort he made to control the curve of his mouth belied any implicit apology. “You just reminded me so much of the way you used to be as a kid.”
“Short-tempered?” she asked suspiciously.
Marcus shook his head. “You were such a little thing, but stubborn as a baby donkey. Loyal to a fault and aggressive in defense. No one could put you down. And woe betide anyone who attacked one of the twins.”
“A little monster.”
“Not at all. The loyalty may have been misguided quite often, but it’s an admirable trait, if irritating at times. And the aggression mellowed as you grew older.”
“I was pretty insecure when we arrived next door. I guess I was overcompensating.”
After her father’s death, her mother’s world had crumbled and she could hardly rouse herself to care for a bewildered and frightened six-year-old. Jenna’s father had been a farm worker trying to save money for his own herd when the tractor he was driving rolled down a hillside and killed him.
They’d had to move out to make room for her father’s replacement, and her mother had taken another cottage offered by a neighboring couple at a low rent for six months. “Until you decide what you’re going to do,” the wife said.
They didn’t realize that Karen, sunk in grief, was incapable of making decisions.
Jenna remembered the day she’d taken charge of her own life. Karen was standing with a butter knife in her hand, halfway through making Jenna’s school lunch, but had apparently forgotten what she was doing.
“The school bus will be here soon,” Jenna had told her impatiently. She’d had to go into Karen’s room that morning and wake her to get breakfast. “Mummy?”
Her mother seemed deaf. Jenna realized she was silently crying, tears dripping down her cheeks, oblivious to everything except her own pain.
It was the loneliest moment of Jenna’s short life. Lonelier than when she’d watched her father’s coffin lowered into the ground and dimly, frighteningly, known she would never see him again.
She took the knife gently in her small, capable fingers and said, “It’s all right, Mummy. I can do it myself.”
From then on she’d got her own breakfast and lunch, whether Karen was up or not, and caught the school bus on time every day.
After the six months were up, they moved to a dispirited little town that had once had a dairy factory and was now struggling to keep any population because the factory had closed and there was no work. But rent was cheap.
There was a new school too and Jenna, starting in the middle of a term, was an outsider. She suffered loneliness and some mild bullying, learned to stand up for herself and in time made a few friends.
She patiently reminded her mother when it was time to do the washing or cook dinner, or if they needed more groceries. For two years she looked after her mother as much as her mother looked after her.
Then one day Karen looked about at where they were living as if she’d never seen it before and said, “We’re moving out of here.”
They’d shifted to a pleasant dormitory village where half the population commuted to Auckland every day. Where people grew roses and hibiscus and mowed the lawns every week. Mrs. Crossan welcomed them from over the fence and invited Jenna for a swim and to play with the twins.
She thought she’d loved them both from that very first day.
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