Frankly, he wasn’t keen on the agency’s placement tactics. They’d waited until he was at his wits’ end before sending him a new housekeeper. Since he was paying top dollar, one would think they’d want to please him.
“This is good,” Seth said, and helped himself to seconds.
“It’s an old family recipe that I’ve updated.”
Seth would have polished off a third slice of the succulent pie, but he was already stuffed. Placing his hands on his stomach, he excused himself and scooted back his chair.
“I’ll help Mrs. Mirkl…Mrs. Meeraki…Mrs. Miracle,” Jason burst forth triumphantly.
“I’ll help, too,” Judd insisted. Always before, his chauvinistic sons had insisted dishes were woman’s work. Even when Seth was up to his armpits in suds, risking dishwater hands, they had refused to help. This attitude, Seth suspected, was the result of living with their grandparents for the last several years. Jerry Palmer’s outdated views of what was and wasn’t fitting work for the male population had unfortunately rubbed off on his grandsons.
“You can both help,” Mrs. Merkle decided, pushing up her sleeves.
“When we’re finished, will you read to us?”
One dinner after a week of his cooking was all it took to win over his children, Seth noticed.
“You read, too?” To hear Jason talk, the woman’s talents were unlimited.
Seth had tried reading to his children before bed, but the only one he put to sleep was himself. He’d get warm and comfortable, and before he knew it, his eyes would start to droop and his head would nod. The next thing he knew, the twins would slip away silently and decide to help him by rewiring the house or turning the washer into a breadmaking machine.
“Will you be taking your coffee in the family room, Mr. Webster?” she asked.
“Yes, please.” It wasn’t until he was seated on the leather recliner that Seth wondered how it was his new housekeeper knew he routinely drank a cup of coffee with the evening newspaper following dinner. But then, it wasn’t such an unusual habit. Seth suspected half the male population read the evening paper over a cup of freshly brewed coffee.
Mrs. Merkle carried a steaming mug in to him a few minutes later. “I imagine you have a number of questions you’d like me to answer,” she said as she set the mug on the coaster. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to wait until I’ve tidied up in the kitchen and gotten the children down for the night.”
“Of course.” She was right; he should have a long list of questions, important ones. Naturally he’d want to read her references. These were his children, his own flesh and blood, his very reason for living. He’d need to be sure he wasn’t entrusting the twins to the care of a serial murderer.
Mrs. Merkle? Naw. A woman who could cook up a chicken pot pie that good was a gift from God. And who was he to question a miracle? Oh, he’d make a few basic inquiries, listen to her answers, but it would all be for show. The employment agency routinely screened their applicants. They would have already completed a background check and handled the necessary paperwork. Besides, any questions he might have about the suitability of a housekeeper concerned that old biddy Hampston. He never had cared for the woman, and it was all too apparent she’d been similarly inclined to dislike him. Although her leaving had been an inconvenience, it was for the best.
Seth dozed off while reading the sports section and woke to the sound of giggles and laughter. With his eyes closed he tried to picture what his life would have been like had Pamela lived. Surely he would feel this contented, this relaxed. Resting after a long day at the office, his stomach full, his wife at his side, with the sound of his children’s laughter echoing through the house.
The picture was almost complete, except that he felt so desperately alone. Pamela was forever gone. His mother-in-law was right: it had been time to send the children back to him. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed the twins. For four years he’d buried his grief and his loss in his job and reaped large financial rewards. The time had come for him to break out of his shell, if not for his own sake, then for those of his children.
Seth straightened, shocked to see that the laundry fiasco had disappeared. Other than the newspaper, which had slipped out of his hands and onto the carpet while he napped, the area resembled a furniture showroom. Inviting, cozy, tempting.
How Emily Merkle and his two rambunctious children had managed to clear away a truckload of clothes without him hearing was short of another supernatural event. Either that or he was more tired than he’d realized.