"This is Mrs. Doberchek. She helps out," Paul said by way of introduction. The woman extended her hand but neither smiled nor uttered a word. After a perfunctory shake she turned away, as if on cue and left the hall for parts unknown. Paul ushered me into a side room, a small den or waiting room. "She's getting the kids," he explained as he seated me on a leather sofa. Before I could respond, a small but chubby boy burst into the room and rushed up to Paul, hugging his legs. Behind him, a young girl with long dark hair waited shyly at the door, curiously examining me. She was clothed in a beautiful dress that seemed from a different era. She stood as tall as I. I rose and instinctively moved to her, offering my hand. She hesitated a moment and took it, in a surprisingly firm grip. We introduced ourselves; she identified herself with the single name Karen and actually curtsied.
Both were beautiful children but worlds apart in personality. Timmy was outgoing without a hint of reticence while Karen was reserved, contemplative and cautious. Timmy was loveable at first meeting while I was immediately drawn to Karen. There was something of myself in the arresting eyes of this quiet young lady.
We chatted for twenty minutes with Timmy handling most of the conversation and Karen dutifully answering any direct answers. She continued to study me in a serious way that was slightly disconcerting. I smiled at her but the smile was never returned.
At one point Timmy looked up to me. "Are you going to be our new mother?" he asked. Older sister Karen rolled her eyes.
"Your daddy and I are just friends," I answered with appropriate tact.
"Oh." He looked downcast.
"Why would you ask that?" Paul asked.
"Because you never brought a pretty lady home for us to meet before."
"Can't I just bring a friend to meet you?"
"Sure!" answered Timmy. "Is she staying? She can if she makes waffles better than Mrs. Waterman. Her pancakes suck too."
"I don't think that's acceptable language for an almost-five-year-old," Paul cautioned.
"Karen says it all the time. She says worse things too. Want me to tell you what she says?"
"He's just making that up," Karen answered in spite of the obvious truth of her brother's accusation.
Paul chided the young boy with a brief lecture on tattling as he lifted him high for his trip to bed. He insisted on kissing me a goodnight and I obliged with a loud smack on his cheek. Mrs. Doberchek miraculously appeared and without a word accompanied Paul and Timmy up the stairs. That left Karen and me alone.