knowing Inez had gone into town to do errands and Patty Ann wasn’t due back until at least four. Careful to anchor her, Maggie set Isabella on the counter. With only two cabinet openings, she found the blender. From his spot on the floor, Peter watched her. “Here.” She stood him up on the chair. “You watch your sister.”
Obediently Peter put his hands on Isabella. Maggie went to the refrigerator and got out a few things. They wouldn’t be the most elaborate smoothies in the world, but she didn’t think the kids would care anyway. “This is going to be fun.”
She plugged the blender in and put several ingredients in—the strawberry yogurt, the bananas, the raspberries, and the ice. “Oh, milk.” In five steps, the refrigerator door was open in her hand. It was then that she heard the scream.
“ Izzy! No!”
On one whirl she was around, and her own scream joined Peter’s. “Izzy, no!”
The growl of the blender was cacophonous—like a jackhammer on concrete. Crushing, crunching, screeching—the blender flung the pink concoction in every conceivable direction. Who was screaming what, Maggie had no idea. All she knew was that by the time she got the blender shut off, there were pink splotches all over the kids, all over her, and most distressingly all over the kitchen. Pink was dripping down the white glass cabinets, off the white and navy curtains, and all over the grouted, gray tile floor. “Oh, my… No.” She put her head back to keep from crying. “No. No. No. No.”
Pulling patience to her with all her strength, she looked at the two children. Isabella was in the throes of an all out panic attack, and Peter was cowering away from her like he was about to be beaten.
She fought back her own distress and took a breath to try to calm herself. Carefully, gently, Maggie took Isabella into her arms and sat down on the chair next to Peter, oblivious to the pink squish underneath her. “It’s okay, baby. I shouldn’t have let you that close.” In her arms, Maggie rocked the inconsolable child slowly until her wails became whimpers. “My fault. That was all my fault.”
Peter’s sniff behind her brought her attention to him, and with tears crowding her own eyes, Maggie reached back for him. “It’s okay, Peter. It’s okay.” Her tenderness wrenched sobs of fear and guilt free from the little boy, and his wails replaced Isabella’s. “I shouldn’t have left you there like that. I shouldn’t have. It was stupid, but it was my stupid not yours. That wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t.”
Peter looked around the kitchen and shrank into the slats of the chair. “Inez will be mad.”
It was true. Maggie knew it in her bones as she looked around the yogurt-splattered kitchen. This could well come at the cost of her job. “Well, you let me worry about Inez.”
“ What? Did the Pepto-Bismol explode?”
Maggie spun so fast, she nearly sent all three of them crashing off the chair. He stood in the kitchen doorway, hands on hips, surveying the mess.
“ Keith.”
He’d only been by to talk to Jeffrey about the yard for the engagement party. He hadn’t even intended to stop in and say hi, but when screams erupt and you’re the one in charge, you come running. Behind him, he heard Jeffrey’s hard, disgusted sigh. However, whether she was thinking when she did it or not didn’t matter at the moment. What mattered was that all three of them looked like they were about to be thrown out permanently, and they knew it. They shrunk backward away from his presence. He stepped farther into the kitchen, toward the counter and shook his head in consternation. “What happened?”
“ It was my fault.” Maggie stood shakily, placing herself between him and the children. “We were going to make smoothies. I left them over here, and the blender got turned on. It’s my fault. I should’ve been watching them closer.”
Smoothie-splatters streaked down her blue blouse, across her hair, and down her
Obediently Peter put his hands on Isabella. Maggie went to the refrigerator and got out a few things. They wouldn’t be the most elaborate smoothies in the world, but she didn’t think the kids would care anyway. “This is going to be fun.”
She plugged the blender in and put several ingredients in—the strawberry yogurt, the bananas, the raspberries, and the ice. “Oh, milk.” In five steps, the refrigerator door was open in her hand. It was then that she heard the scream.
“ Izzy! No!”
On one whirl she was around, and her own scream joined Peter’s. “Izzy, no!”
The growl of the blender was cacophonous—like a jackhammer on concrete. Crushing, crunching, screeching—the blender flung the pink concoction in every conceivable direction. Who was screaming what, Maggie had no idea. All she knew was that by the time she got the blender shut off, there were pink splotches all over the kids, all over her, and most distressingly all over the kitchen. Pink was dripping down the white glass cabinets, off the white and navy curtains, and all over the grouted, gray tile floor. “Oh, my… No.” She put her head back to keep from crying. “No. No. No. No.”
Pulling patience to her with all her strength, she looked at the two children. Isabella was in the throes of an all out panic attack, and Peter was cowering away from her like he was about to be beaten.
She fought back her own distress and took a breath to try to calm herself. Carefully, gently, Maggie took Isabella into her arms and sat down on the chair next to Peter, oblivious to the pink squish underneath her. “It’s okay, baby. I shouldn’t have let you that close.” In her arms, Maggie rocked the inconsolable child slowly until her wails became whimpers. “My fault. That was all my fault.”
Peter’s sniff behind her brought her attention to him, and with tears crowding her own eyes, Maggie reached back for him. “It’s okay, Peter. It’s okay.” Her tenderness wrenched sobs of fear and guilt free from the little boy, and his wails replaced Isabella’s. “I shouldn’t have left you there like that. I shouldn’t have. It was stupid, but it was my stupid not yours. That wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t.”
Peter looked around the kitchen and shrank into the slats of the chair. “Inez will be mad.”
It was true. Maggie knew it in her bones as she looked around the yogurt-splattered kitchen. This could well come at the cost of her job. “Well, you let me worry about Inez.”
“ What? Did the Pepto-Bismol explode?”
Maggie spun so fast, she nearly sent all three of them crashing off the chair. He stood in the kitchen doorway, hands on hips, surveying the mess.
“ Keith.”
He’d only been by to talk to Jeffrey about the yard for the engagement party. He hadn’t even intended to stop in and say hi, but when screams erupt and you’re the one in charge, you come running. Behind him, he heard Jeffrey’s hard, disgusted sigh. However, whether she was thinking when she did it or not didn’t matter at the moment. What mattered was that all three of them looked like they were about to be thrown out permanently, and they knew it. They shrunk backward away from his presence. He stepped farther into the kitchen, toward the counter and shook his head in consternation. “What happened?”
“ It was my fault.” Maggie stood shakily, placing herself between him and the children. “We were going to make smoothies. I left them over here, and the blender got turned on. It’s my fault. I should’ve been watching them closer.”
Smoothie-splatters streaked down her blue blouse, across her hair, and down her
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