“Hooray!” the girls echoed.
Shawn rushed to the driver’s seat, mentally estimating their new time of arrival. But as she pulled the seat belt with one hand, she realized the awful truth.
Her purse was still in the house.
“Hold on, girls,” she called, though a sense of foreboding filled her.
Of course, it was just as she feared—the door was locked. And in her purse were the keys and her cell phone.
Shoot.
Forcing a smile, she opened up the sliding door to the minivan and met the concerned expressions of her three daughters. “Girls, let’s get you unbuckled. We’re going to have to walk over to the Bartlets’ and see if we can use the phone. I locked the keys in the house.”
“But we gotta go see Daddy!” Mary whined.
“We will. We’ve just got to see the locksmith first.”
“I hope the lockman hurries,” said Kit.
“I do, too,” Shawn murmured. Because if they were much later, Eddie was gonna have a cow.
He was probably already beside himself. And once again, she hadn’t met his expectations.
Chapter Four
Where was she? Once again Shawn was late and hadn’t thought to call. He was left waiting and wondering what had happened to her. Pacing and worrying.
Again.
She was almost an hour late to drop off the girls. Honestly, Shawn could make the most basic of activities into a three-ring circus. Just once he’d love for her to be where she said she’d be when she said she’d be there.
For a moment he considered calling John Nelson, one of his buds in the police department, and ask him to drive by Shawn’s place to make sure everything was okay. John had a major crush on Melanie and would do any kind of favor if it meant Eddie would push the two of them together.
Checking up on Shawn would give him peace of mind, though it would most likely be a futile errand. They were always okay—Shawn never put the girls at risk.
Though he’d just looked out the window, halfheartedly hoping to suddenly see her approaching, he looked again.
Nothing.
He’d bet money the girls were on the road, stuck in traffic, or eating McDonald’s, or filling up her near-empty gas tank. Who knew? She always had an excuse, because she was always in a rush to catch up to life. The woman never, ever planned ahead.
He couldn’t count the number of times she’d almost run out of gas or left the house without so much as a dollar in her pocket.
Or couldn’t find time to balance the checkbook. Or have his uniform shirts taken to the cleaners. Or remembered to pick them up.
Countless times the girls would run out of cereal or juice or diapers and she’d call him in a panic, begging him to run by the store on his way home. She’d never tried to see his point of view, either. That he hadn’t been just parading around town in a police uniform—he’d actually been working.
“Maybe you should try her cell phone again,” Melanie suggested as she approached the window and stood next to him. She’d come over to go out to dinner with the girls, but Eddie had a feeling she’d also wanted to see Shawn.
“I already tried it four times. She’s not picking up.”
Melanie dared to crack a smile. “Maybe she forgot to charge her phone. Or lost the charger again.”
“Who knows? I’ve given up trying to figure her out.” Glancing at his watch again, he swore under his breath. Worry and frustration caused him to speak more rashly than usual. “She’s now over an hour late. Why can she never even call me?”
“Because she knows you’d probably snap at her.”
“I’d snap because she’s going to give me an ulcer at thirty-five.”
Almost evilly, she grinned. “You’re thirty-six.”
He chose to ignore that. “Mel, do you think she’s hurt? What if she’s hurt?” Because it was really sounding like a good idea, he ventured, “Maybe I should give John at the station a call. He’d run by her house if I asked.”
Melanie looked away. “No, I don’t think you need to call John just yet. We don’t want to get him involved.”
“He wouldn’t mind.”
“You’re right. He’s a good guy. It’s just…well, this is vintage Shawn, Eddie. Let’s wait a little bit longer.”
He looked at his watch. “We were supposed to be eating dinner right now. I hope the girls are okay.”
“Honestly, the way you talk about Shawn, you’d think she went around without a care for anyone but herself,” Melanie chided. “I’ve never known those girls to ever miss a meal. They’re probably munching on banana sandwiches now.”
“Don’t even get me started on those.” Even thinking about the odd combination of sliced bananas, mayonnaise and white bread gave him the willies.
Crossing his arms over his chest, he peered out the window again and gave in to irritation once more. “I bet she’s fed them. They’re going to come running in here with some hamburger chain’s paper sacks. It’s going to be just you and I who are hungry. Sheesh.”
“You know that’s not fair.”
“I know. And I know she cares about the girls…but sometimes I don’t feel like giving her fifty excuses. Sometimes I just want her to think about things from my perspective, too.”
“I see.” Rolling her eyes, Melanie went to his sofa and sat down, then picked up his Sports and Leisure and started flipping through it.
“I’m not the one who’s late, Mel.”
“I hear you.”
Still staring out the window, Eddie said, “One time Shawn showed up an hour late for an awards dinner downtown.”
Melanie coughed. “You know she had a good reason for that. She was caught in traffic. An interstate was shut down.”
“Funny how no one else’s wife was late.”
“And I’m sure Jayne never would have done such a thing.”
Why was it that every time someone in his family mentioned Jayne it was with a note of derision in their voice? “Jayne definitely wouldn’t have been late,” he said, standing up not only for his girlfriend—was she his girlfriend?—but for himself. After all, he was damn happy a woman like that was interested in him. “How come you don’t like her?”
“I didn’t say I didn’t.”
“I don’t get the idea that you do. And you should. She’s pretty much perfect.”
“You want perfect?” Never afraid to put him in his place, Melanie made gagging noises. “Wanting perfection in a partner is a little scary, don’t you think?”
“Stop twisting my words around. No, Melanie, I don’t want perfection. I just appreciate the fact that she’s never left me standing next to a window while listening for my cell phone to go off.”
“No, I don’t imagine she has.” With robotic precision, his sister turned the page in the magazine, scanned it quickly, then flipped again. “I doubt she’s ever done anything in her very short life that’s impulsive.”
“Very short life? You’re only a year older than her.”
“I’ve