Except possibly a bit more money in their bank account. Celebrating two birthdays and Christmas in one month left them more strapped than usual.
The bar was turning a decent profit, only because they’d all but put a stop to the renovations. Kathleen was squeezing every last penny she could out of the budget, hitting up the yard sales and farmer’s markets to ensure the boys had clothes on their backs and food in their bellies. She had even taken to making homemade baby food from the fresh fruits and veggies and freezing it in ice-cube trays to save money.
He wondered how previous generations had managed with lots of kids and stay-at-home moms. Then again, inflation and the cost of living were much higher now than they had been. More women were working now, increasing the number of double-income homes. Prices got higher, because more people could afford to pay them. The sleepy town of Pine Ridge was ages behind the rest of the country, but they were feeling the pinch, too.
“It’s not enough,” he breathed.
“What’s not enough?” Kathleen looked over her shoulder as she chopped up the carrots, onions, and potatoes and tossed them into the cast iron pot, along with a few chunks of stew meat. The woman had a gift for making low-cost cuts taste like filet mignon. It wasn’t long before a savory aroma filled the kitchen.
“Nothing. Just thinking out loud.”
He took a good look at the flannel shirt she wore, nearly threadbare. She’d taken to wearing his things as her belly grew larger, arguing that maternity clothes were a waste of money when his shirts were roomy and comfortable. When was the last time she’d bought something for herself? Or better yet, when was the last time he’d bought something for her?
His gaze went to the stacks of files and papers and account books lined up neatly on the pantry shelves. Three-ring binders in various colors, their spines bearing the names of local businesses in Kathleen’s precise, blocked script, held financial records; an assortment of shoeboxes in various sizes with color-coded, matching labels contained supporting receipts.
Was he imagining it, or were there more than there had been? She’d told him countless times that she liked working, but it bothered him that she had to, to make ends meet.
“Did you take on another client?” he asked bluntly.
She snipped a few leaves from the small, hand-painted pots lined up on the windowsill (school art projects), and tossed some fresh herbs into the pot. After a stir or two, she covered it and came to sit beside him. “Yes. Two more, actually. Ackerman’s Hardware and O’Shea’s Butcher Shop.”
“Why?”
She exhaled. “Because Sandy Ackerman said they’d give us a discount on supplies, and Cam O’Shea’s throwing in a side of beef a year as a perk.”
Bartering wasn’t uncommon in Pine Ridge. Local businesses supported each other, offering discounts and incentives to one another, but Kathleen had routinely turned away requests for her accounting services, saying she was already pushing the limits of what she could handle comfortably. The fact that she’d taken on more now, as well as the specific businesses she’d accepted, was telling.
“You’re already working too hard. Things aren’t that bad, are they?”
Her gaze faltered, falling to land where her hand covered his forearm. “I... had my checkup yesterday.”
His heart skipped a beat or three. He remembered her mentioning that Erin was going to watch the kids while she went, but then things got busy and he’d forgotten to ask her about it. Guilt washed over him. He felt about two inches tall.
“And? Is something wrong?”
“Not wrong,” she assured him, choosing her words carefully. “But unexpected.”
Jack’s brows drew together in concern. “Unexpected?”
She bit her lip. “The doctor heard two heartbeats.”
He blinked and leaned forward. She’d spoken so quietly, he was sure he’d misheard. “Come again?”
She took a deep breath and rubbed her distended belly. “We’re having twins, Jack.”
“Twins.”
She nodded.
“Holy shite.”
“Holy shite,” Ian mimicked gleefully, having ambled his way over to the table without them noticing. “Holy shite, holy shite, holy shite.”
Sensing the inappropriateness of the phrase, the other three boys stopped what they were doing and looked up in interest. Kathleen shot Jack a gimlet eye, but he was too stunned for it to have full effect.
“Ian!” Kathleen warned him. “Say that again and I’ll be washing your mouth out with soap.”
It wouldn’t be the first time. Their youngest had a knack for picking up words and phrases not intended for little ears, and took great delight in repeating them to anyone who would listen.
Ian clamped his lips together, but his eyes glittered devilishly.
The loud rumble of a delivery truck arriving reminded him that he had a Pub to be opening. “We will talk more about this later,” he promised.
––––––––
“Twins,” Brian whistled at closing time as he locked the Pub door and grabbed the broom. “No shit.”