Aftershocks by Nancy Warren Page B

in to his garage and cut the engine. He didn’t cut the whistling, though. He kept that up as he entered the house, pleased to note that he hadn’t missed a chance to see the kids before they went to bed. In fact, if Mrs. Simpson had been watching him on TV with the kids, he probably hadn’t even missed dinner.
     
    S URE ENOUGH , something smelled good when he walked in. His mouth watered. It didn’t smell a lot like Mrs. Simpson’s usual cooking, which tended to include a lot of casseroles that relied heavily on cans of soup tossed over some kind of meat with crushed potato chips on top.
    He wondered if she’d been watching one of those cooking shows on TV. There was a definite gourmet odor to his kitchen. The table was neatly set with three places, as per usual, but instead of the regular vinyl table mats, she’d used the good ones from the diningroom. That was weird. Was there some special occasion today he’d forgotten about?
    Patrick stood stock still for a moment while he ran through all the special days he could think of. His first panicked thought that he’d forgotten one of the kids’ birthdays was soon gone. Dylan would turn ten, but not for a couple of weeks yet. They’d already talked about taking some of his buddies to a batting cage and then returning to the house for a family barbecue.
    Fiona was a summer baby, and wouldn’t be six for several months yet. Mrs. Simpson wasn’t big on celebrating her own birthday, but he always gave her a nice check with a card in October.
    Stumped, he continued down the hall to the den. “I’m home!” he called out.
    “Hi, Daddy!” Fiona shrieked and came flying out of the den in her favorite pink OshKosh corduroy pants and the purple shirt with pink stars on it. Her hair sported little plastic star barrettes. “Hi, Fiona,” he said, holding out his arms as she barreled down the hallway for a hug. He swung her up in the air, and she said, “Guess what?” Her eyes were dancing and her chubby little face was pink with excitement.
    Before he could attempt a guess, Dylan called to him, “We’re in here, Dad.” His son sounded so serious, almost as though he were acting the grown-up. Patrick was intrigued. Something was definitely up.
    But nothing could have prepared him for the surprise that greeted him when he got to the doorway of the den and saw Briana sitting on the floor, obviously in the middle of a game of Junior Monopoly with the kids. “Surprise,” she said softly.
    “Is it ever,” he admitted, feeling too stunned to consider how he felt about seeing her here in his home, with his kids. “Where’s Mrs. Simpson?”
    “She had a car accident,” Dylan said, his eyes round.
    Briana rose, a slight blush coloring her cheeks. “That’s right. One of the nurses phoned a little while ago. Mrs. Simpson’s in the hospital. Some of the stoplights are out in the area.”
    He nodded. “I think it’s more damage from the aftershock.”
    “Well, she was driving through the intersection on her way here and someone hit her car. She was knocked unconscious and taken to hospital. She woke up, more worried about the children being alone than about her own health, and couldn’t rest until a nurse phoned to make sure there was someone here with the children.”
    “But how did you know they were alone?”
    Briana smiled at Dylan and he almost saw his son’s chest puff with pride. “Dylan phoned me at work and explained the situation. We decided it would be a good idea for me to come over.”
    “Good work, Dylan.”
    “Anyway,” she said, rising from the floor, “Dinner’s in the oven. Oh, and it looks like you’re going to have to find another sitter for the next couple of days. Mrs. Simpson bruised her ribs in that accident and she has a slight concussion.”
    He nodded, feeling thick and off center. Briana didn’t live in this part of his world, she lived in the work part, and yet in the past forty-eight hours she’d definitely spilled over into