Ready or Not (Aggie's Inheritance) (4 page)

Understanding dawned. She cleared the couch of jackets and stuffed animals and settled in the middle, gathering the children around her. Recent experience had taught her to let the children snuggle for a while after a meltdown of grief, until they felt comfortable going about their normal business. The tendency to be needy and then fiercely independent was surprising, and the resulting effect was both confusing and taxing on Aggie
’
s physical and emotional resources.

By the time the last child wandered away from the impromptu group hug, it was dinnertime. She heard Vannie, the eldest of the little clan and second mother to them all, opening cupboards and peering into the refrigerator in an effort to find something for dinner. Aggie hurried to the kitchen and sent Vannie outdoors with Cari and Lorna.
“
Why don
’
t you go push them on the swings? I
’
ll see to dinner.
”

Aggie surveyed the chaos that threatened to overwhelm her again, and then issued orders to the remaining children.
“
Ok, Tavish
--
where
is
he anyway? Tavish and Ellie can go play laundry basketball. I mounted the rim in the hallway upstairs. Shoot some baskets. I don
’
t want to see so much as a sock on the floor by the time dinner is done.
”

The twinkle in her eyes belied her stern tone. Ellie peeked in the little door under the stairs and called Tavish out of his sanctuary. Aggie almost smacked her forehead. She hadn
’
t yet adjusted to Tavish
’
s preference for hiding away in that tiny, confining space.

“
Kenzie, you put everyone
’
s school work back in their backpacks, and Laird, you come with me.
”

Aggie wondered what to feed everyone. The freezer and fridge were bare. Most of the boxed and fresh foods and the casseroles brought by the church were history. Digging through the back of the pantry, she found a jar of spaghetti sauce and a package of egg noodles. Grocery shopping was no longer optional. She shelved that thought for after dinner.

“
Ok, Laird, looks like spanoodlie to me! You find or clean me a pan for the noodles, and I
’
ll find one for this sauce. Is there any parmesan cheese in here?
”

Aggie dug through the fridge. It was packed with unidentifiable containers full of even less recognizable food. Some containers were already sporting green, fuzzy hair-dos. Cleaning and de-junking the fridge was now a new priority. Triumphantly, she extracted a tall container of half-eaten parmesan cheese.
“
Eureka!
”

Though it took a good half hour for everyone to scrub hands and faces and clear the table for dinner, the meal itself was relatively catastrophe-free. Ian ignored the excellent example of his elder siblings and cleared his place by dumping his sodden paper plate on the floor. Aggie, desperate to keep from becoming discouraged, chose to consider this a positive thing. With forced Pollyannaish gaiety, she shrouded herself in mock chipperness and attacked the neglected kitchen floor with a scrub brush and mop. There was nothing like spaghetti sauce and noodles on the bottoms of your shoes to inspire a cleaning frenzy, and she informed every child that passed by the kitchen of that little-known fact.

Her head spun once more with the enormity of her tasks. The moment she finished scrubbing the floor, the trash overflowed and spilled to the four corners of the room, spreading spaghetti sauce-coated paper plates everywhere. By the time she had that mess picked up and rescrubbed, Tavish tracked fresh mud across the floor as he returned from taking the trash to the dumpster outside. Aggie reached determinedly for the mop once more when Laird, carrying a filthy and wriggling Ian, stopped her.
“
Mom always saved the floor for last. She said that our floors were clean for one-third of the day
--
that third of the day when we
’
re sleeping. I actually saw her just sitting in that chair once, looking at the clean floor, and drinking that nasty bedtime tea she loved.
”
His voice cracked and tears spilled from his eyes at the memory of his mother.

Without another word, Laird carried Ian out of the kitchen and up the stairs. The sound of running bath water told her that he was bathing the baby. Aggie thanked the Lord, once again, that her sister had been such a type-A, perfectionist, first-born. She knew that when Laird finished bathing the baby, he would shower, then come down and rock Ian while Vannie took the little girls upstairs for their turn in the bathroom. Tomorrow night they would switch roles, and Vannie would go up first.

She once asked why they switched, and Laird nonchalantly quipped,
“
That way if things get too late, the same kids aren
’
t always dirty.
”

It made sense to her, so she wisely kept quiet and let the kids continue their routine. She also didn
’
t want to admit that her ten-year-old nephew had more child-care experience than she did. Aggie had never bathed a child in her life, and right now, she had enough trouble trying to remember to take her own shower!

While Vannie readied the twins for their baths, Aggie attacked the counters ferociously. She jerked a large, decorative basket down from the cabinet tops, blew the dust out of it, and loaded it with the stacks and stacks of unopened mail that littered every surface of the downstairs. With that basket filled, she grabbed another. By the time she finished gathering up the mail, there were three overloaded baskets taking up the space she
’
d just cleared from the counters.

She looked around for another place to put the baskets but failed. Another sigh heavenward answered her unspoken prayer.
“
Excellent idea, Lord. Glad You shared it with me.
”
Grasping the baskets, she heaved them back on top of the cabinets and surveyed the results. The counters were half-cleared, the mail mess hidden from sight, and no baskets took up any precious counter space. Success.

Aggie had a nebulous recollection of the children bidding her goodnight. If someone had mentioned Cari
’
s screams or Ian
’
s bottle spilling all over her freshly scrubbed counters, she would have remembered. As it was, the children put themselves to bed amid Aggie
’
s third loading of the dishwasher. The fridge gleamed with empty purity, and the microwave was spatter-free. The pantry still sported a crumby appearance, but in general, the kitchen was now clean enough to ward off health inspectors. If nothing else, the scent of lemon cleanser, Murphy
’
s Oil Soap, and dishwasher detergent hinted at a level of cleanliness that it hadn
’
t sported since her sister left on her ill-fated date.

With a sigh of satisfaction, her eyes swept her now sparkling kitchen. Confidence bubbled inside her until she thought of the shopping, the laundry, the bathrooms…
“
Oh, my
--
the trash. I don
’
t think I
’
ve taken it to the curb since I
’
ve been here!
”
All confidence gone, she flicked the light switch off and dragged herself up the stairs. She noticed the lack of laundry underfoot as she crawled over the mountainous pile at the end of the hallway, blocking the entrance to her room.
“
Mount Never-Rest,
”
she muttered as she forced the door closed. She now understood what Allie meant by that phrase.

Aggie avoided a glance at Sarge. She knew it was late, but she chose to remain blissfully ignorant of just how late. Tonight, the formula was on a tray next to her bed, and with hot water in the bathroom, there would be no more going downstairs for her! The best news was that tomorrow was Saturday, and she planned to sleep until at
least
eight a.m.

Physically spent, but feeling a little more confident, she snuggled amidst the sheets with her laptop and a cup of chamomile tea that Tavish assured his frazzled aunt would calm her nerves and give her deep and restful sleep. The laptop booted slower than usual, nearly sending Aggie over the edge. However, moments later, she signed into her favorite instant messenger program, and her fingers flew as she conversed with her oldest and dearest friend, Tina Warden.

Aggie says:
Tina

Tina says:
How are you girl? I
’
ve imagined you taken hostage by a group of miniature savages!

Aggie says:
LOL. Not yet.

Tina says:
How is it really going? Are you doing ok? We
’
re praying, but I feel so helpless!

Aggie says:
Oh, Tina, this is so hard. Can I do this?

Tina says:
Well, God sure seems to think that you can. He says that He won
’
t give us more than we can endure…

Aggie says:
Well, that
’
s true, but how do I convince my heart that my mind is right? Besides, doesn
’
t it end with something about a way of escape? Doesn
’
t that imply that if I don
’
t think I can hack it, I can run away and whimper? How does a twenty-two year old child-illiterate make this work?

Tina says:
I don
’
t know. Probably, one day at a time.

Aggie says:
Well, maybe in a few hundred more days things will seem more manageable. Right now, I just barely make it from day to day.

Tina says:
I
’
d say that sounds Biblical. If His mercies are new every morning, then it only stands to reason that He
’
ll help us make it from day to day.

Aggie says
: Hmm. It
’
s not very reassuring perhaps, but
 
it makes sense.

Tina says:
That
’
ll be one French Crème on the rocks.

Aggie says:
Don
’
t say that. Don
’
t ever say that.

Tina says:
Why? What?

Aggie says:
French Crème. You
’
ll never guess what I did with it the other morning…

Tina says:
Do tell!

Aggie says:
While sleep-deprived, I mixed Ian a bottle of it.

Tina says:
NO WAY!