Mother of Prevention

Chapter One

Kelli, my youngest daughter, is like her father: charming, practical and witty, with enough savoir faire to carry her through two lifetimes. She'd misplaced a sneaker. "Not lost, misplaced," she wheezed. She uncapped her inhaler, took a deep breath, then released it.

"In Sailor's mouth."

Sailor. Our family pooch that carried off anything that wasn't nailed down. I'd warned Neil the animal was going to be nothing but trouble when he brought this . odd-looking creature into our home - rusty black, short legs, very fast, extremely agile. The dog had a domed skull, V-shaped dropped ears, a nose with a straight bridge and large dark brown eyes.

"What is that?" I'd asked.

"A puli. Isn't he cute?"

Cute? That long coat looked to me like forty-five minutes a week of professional grooming to prevent matting and felt-ing - and the thing was only a pup!

When I protested, my husband had dropped a noncommittal kiss on my forehead and predicted I'd be in love with Kelli's fifth birthday present before the week was out. I'd proved him wrong. Two hours later I was on the floor, wrestling with the heart stealer, falling head over heels in love with the furry troll. Sailor, unfortunately, captured my daughter's heart, too, but the pet couldn't be around long because Kelli's asthma turned out to be a problem. As long as she submitted to an allergy shot once a week, the doctor agreed Sailor could stay until my daughter decided between breathing and having a dog in the house.

I was still uncertain about the outcome. Sailor had been here two months, and the bond between animal and child had only grown stronger.

"Why did you let Sailor carry off your sneaker?" School started in twenty minutes and I still had to pack two lunches and slap on makeup before we left the house.

She lifted thin shoulders. "It'll be all wet with dog slobbers."

I swiped a lock of long hair out of my face before I turned and dumped coffee into the sink. "Run upstairs and put something on."

My seven-year-old appeared, dragging her backpack across the tile floor. Kris wasn't a morning person. "Have you seen my math book?"

"Not since last night."

"I can't find my math book." She dumped Fruitee Pops into a bowl, grumbling. "Sailor must have carried it off."

The puli skidded around the corner, his nails clicking against the entry's hardwood floor. I gave the canine a warning look, glanced at the clock and thought, Great - now I'm really running behind.

I'd forgotten to put new batteries in the alarm. It had stormed last night, and the power had gone off. Neil and I had dragged the kids out of bed and traipsed over to the neighbors and spent an hour in their basement until the all-clear siren sounded. Never had Oklahoma experienced so many off-season tornadoes, but the weather was freaky everywhere this year. With dead batteries in the alarm, I'd overslept. When I'd awakened and seen the time, I'd thrown the covers back and sprung out of bed. Neil had rolled out on his side, complaining, blaming me for the late start - like he didn't know how to replace batteries?

Ten minutes later the love of my life came through the kitchen door muttering under his breath, "Six minutes to shave, eat and get to the station. Fighting fires is easier than getting out of this house on time."

I handed him a piece of buttered toast and a cup of coffee on his way to the detached garage. He was always cranky during Sooner season. Sooner fever, I called it. The college football team consumed Neil and his friends, and this year the team had an 8-0 record, primed to go for its third league title in four years. Four more wins and the popular Oklahoma Sooners would be one of the teams to play in the Sugar Bowl, the national title game in January.

"Call me!" I shouted to his retreating back. Neil worked a 24-on and 24-off shift. Station 16 was only a couple of miles away, but he would be late.

"And be careful!"

He lifted his right hand, which indicated nothing, and moments later I heard his old pickup leave the drive. We'd been too rushed to kiss goodbye, something that rarely slipped our attention.

Racing up the stairs, I applied foundation, ran an eye-shadow stick over my eyelids, lined the tops and bottoms in slate and brushed a hint of color on my cheeks, all the while yelling instructions to Kelli and Kris. "Ready in five minutes! Be in the car waiting!"

Mom had said there'd be days like this, but like so much of what Mom said, I hadn't listened.

Minutes later I backed the van out of the garage and sped down our residential street.

The usual traffic jam encircled the school yard, so I dropped off the girls half a block from the front entrance. A light rain mixed with sleet coated the windshield and I wondered why I hadn't noticed the weather earlier. The girls should be wearing boots and raincoats. Kelli lost a shoe - which I belatedly noticed didn't match the one on her left foot - when she piled out, and it took a minute for her to scavenge around and locate the foot apparel. By now she'd noticed the difference in colors and she wanted to go home and change. I couldn't go back home - my first appointment was eight forty-five. We had a brief but heated idea exchange before Kris reached down and wedged the shoe onto her sister's foot. The back door slammed, and I peered in my rearview mirror, feeling guilty as sin. I punched the window button and stuck my head out.

"Be careful - don't accept any rides from strangers. Put your hoods up. You'll catch cold!"

I saw Kelli nod, but Kris ignored me.

"And don't get your feet wet! You'll get a . sore throat." By now the girls had disappeared into the building. I rolled the window up and drove on thinking that tonight I'd stop by and pick up Kelli's favorite meal - chicken nuggets and French fries. Nights Neil slept at the station the girls and I bached. We'd eat pizza, tacos - anything junky - but when Daddy was home we ate balanced nutritional meals. Neil had started to tease "his girls" - that's what he called us - that we enjoyed his absence, but nothing could have been further from the truth. Neil Madison had been my life from the first time I laid eyes on him at a junior high dance. I didn't remember how many years I'd loved the husky football quarterback, but it was a long time before he noticed me and even longer before he reciprocated my feelings. But when Neil Madison fell, he fell hard. January 5 we would celebrate nine years of marriage, and I could honestly say that I loved the man more today than I had that stormy winter afternoon I'd walked down the church aisle - in a practically empty church because an ice storm had paralyzed Oklahoma City traffic. Out-of-town guests and relatives were stranded in nearby hotels. Only the pastor, Neil and my parents made the ceremony. We'd spent the first forty-eight hours of our honeymoon in the airport Holiday Inn Express, waiting for flights to Jamaica to resume.

(Continues.)