The Color of a Christmas Miracle: A Standalone Contemporary Romance (The Color of Heaven Series)

by Julianne MacLean

  The front door opened, and I had both plates ready for him as he entered the kitchen.

  “That looks good.” He gave me a kiss on the cheek.

  “Your nose is cold,” I replied with a grin.

  He touched it with the tips of his fingers. “Is it? You’re right. Just let me get my coat off. Is there any coffee?”

  “I’ll make some right now.”

  He turned away and a few minutes later, we sat down on the sofa, where we gobbled up the fruitcake while listening to Bing Crosby on the radio and watching the fire burn.

  “It was a wonderful Christmas,” I said, counting all my blessings.

  He squeezed my hand.

  We spent the evening lounging around in our pajamas and playing with the remote control helicopter that Bev had given to Wes for Christmas. He flew it into the Christmas tree, where it got stuck in the garland and sent us both into a fit of laughter.

  When we finally untangled it, I took a turn and flew it into the ceiling fan, where it broke into a million pieces. We were lucky no one lost an eye.

  “I don’t know if we’re ready to be parents,” Wes said, laughing hysterically.

  I laughed, too, as I grabbed the broom from the front closet and swept the wreckage off the floor. I was still laughing as I dumped it into the trash can. “We should have recorded that. It could have gone viral.”

  We laughed until we cried.

  Chapter Five

  Two months later, our new neighbors moved in across the street. We waited for the moving truck to leave, then gave them a few days to settle in before we walked over one afternoon with a plate of homemade cookies.

  We climbed the steps and I reached up and rang the doorbell.

  A woman answered. She was strikingly beautiful with long, dark, wavy hair and giant blue eyes. I guessed she was about thirty.

  “Hi,” I said. “We’re your neighbors.” I pointed at our house directly across the street. “That’s our house right there. I’m Claire and this is Wes.” I held out the cookies. “And this for you. Welcome to the neighborhood.”

  A man, who I presumed to be her husband, appeared in the doorway behind her. He, too, was extremely attractive in an artsy, intellectual way, with strong facial features, rimless eyeglasses, and tousled hair with hints of grey. It looked as if he had just stepped out of the shower because his hair was slightly damp. He wore a fisherman’s knit sweater and khaki shorts with Birkenstocks, which I found rather odd, since it was not yet spring and there were still patches of snow on the ground.

  The woman accepted my cookie offering. “Thank you so much. This is very sweet. Come in.”

  She stepped aside and opened the door to allow us to pass. We entered to discover that most of the unpacking was done—there were no boxes anywhere in sight. And the house had been completely renovated since our real estate agent had shown it to us the previous year. It now boasted a contemporary style decor with crisp white walls and dark hardwood floors, with plenty of light coming in from a wall of windows at the back. It looked like a brand new house, like something out of Architectural Digest.

  Wes and I had watched the contractors coming and going over the past few months, but there had never been any sign of the new owners, so we’d assumed it was a real estate flip—until the snazzy Mercedes coupe pulled into the driveway, along with a brand new white Audi SUV. I wondered which one belonged to which partner.

  “This is beautiful,” I said, glancing up at the white-painted exposed beams on the vaulted ceilings.

  “Thank you,” the woman replied, “but we’re still so disorganized.” She held out her hand. “I’m Angie and this is Scott. It’s nice to meet you both.”

  Scott shook our hands as well.

  “So, how long have you been living in the neighborhood?” Scott asked as he led us to the white leather sofas in the living room, where a spectacular stone fireplace served as the focal point.

  “Just over a year,” I replied.

  Wes went on to explain how much we both liked it, how it was wonderful that we could walk to the park, yet we were still close to downtown and all the restaurants on the waterfront.

  Angie set the plate of cookies on the coffee table and peeled back the aluminum foil, then offered us tea or coffee or a glass of milk.

  We all opted for coffee.

  While she was in the kitchen—which was totally open concept—Scott asked what we both did. We told him we were teachers and that’s how we’d met.

  Scott then explained that he was an independent I.T. consultant and often traveled to different parts of the world to help companies upgrade their computer systems, while Angie was a clerk who’d just transferred to the payroll department in a Federal government office downtown.

  I found it odd that he was a computer guy. I would have guessed a poet or an environmentalist. And I couldn’t imagine Angie working in a cubicle in a government office. She looked like she belonged in a corner office on the top floor of a glass skyscraper. Or maybe on the cover of Vogue.

  Together, they were a picture perfect couple.

  “Where did you live before this?” I asked Scott.

  “We had a condo in downtown Toronto,” he replied, “but we wanted a slower paced lifestyle. You know what I mean… More birds and trees, less exhaust fumes. I was getting tired of the constant roar of traffic outside our window.”

  “We?” Angie said with a raised eyebrow as she placed our coffee cups on a silver tray and carried it to the living room.

  I couldn’t help but sense that she harbored some resentment about the move.

  Scott gave us an apologetic smile. “Okay, Angie wasn’t all that keen at first, but I think she’s happy about it now. Right hon?”

  “We’ll see,” she said, not giving him an inch. “Don’t get me wrong. This is a beautiful city. I just wasn’t happy about leaving my friends at work, because I’d been there almost ten years. At least I was able to get a transfer to Halifax, so I won’t lose my pension or benefits.”

  As she set down the tray of coffee and took a seat beside me on the sofa, I could feel an intensity in her, along with a discord between her and her husband. Part of me wondered if we had interrupted them in the middle of an argument.

  I glanced at Scott, whose body language seemed relaxed as he lounged back in the chair with one arm along the back of it.

  “How long have the two of you been together?” I asked. “Do you have children?”

  I hadn’t seen any signs of a family, unless the kids were with their grandparents this week while Angie and Scott got settled. Secretly, I hoped they did have young children, so that ours would have playmates in the years to come.

  “Not yet,” Angie said. “Not that we haven’t been trying.” She gave Scott a chilly, almost contemptuous look.

  An awkward silence ensued, so I leaned forward to pick up my coffee cup.

  “We’ve been trying too, actually,” I said, wanting to ease the tension. “No luck yet.”

  “How long?” Angie asked.

  I shrugged a shoulder, as if I were barely keeping track. “Oh, I don’t know. Just a few months.”

  I noticed Wes shift uncomfortably beside me and suspected he didn’t want me to discuss something so personal with people we’d only just met, but it was too late now.

  Angie waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, that’s nothing. It’s been two years for us.”

  Two years? This caused me some concern. “Really?”

  “Yes, but Scott’s away all the time. That kind of cuts your chances way down when you’re not together when it matters…if you know what I mean.”

  Scott leaned forward and laid a hand on her knee. He rubbed it encouragingly. “That’s part of the reason why I wanted to move out here—so that I could slow down and not travel so much.” He smiled warmly at both of us. “The rat race can be a killer.”

  “I’m sure,” Wes replied as he raised his coffee to his lips. “Well, now that you’re here, I’m sure you’ll love it. It�
��s a good neighborhood and a terrific city. Great nightlife. Are you a runner, Scott? Because the park’s really good for that.”

  Scott acknowledged the tip with a nod of his head, but I speculated that running probably wasn’t his thing. “Thanks. Good to know.”

  We talked about some of our favorite restaurants and we told them where all the movie theatres were, and where the nearest gym was located. Scott wanted to know if we could recommend a good lawn and garden care company, but we couldn’t because we’d always mowed our own lawn and pulled our own weeds.

  After we finished our coffees, Wes and I stood up to let them get back to their unpacking, and we exchanged phone numbers.

  As we crossed the street to return home, I asked Wes, “What did you think of them?”

  He reached for my hand. “I don’t know. Angie didn’t seem too happy about being here. And Scott was clearly embarrassed when she brought up the fact that they’d been trying to have a baby for two years. Somebody needs to explain to her about filters.”

  I chuckled. “I’m sorry I got pulled into that.”

  “It wasn’t your fault.” Wes wrapped his arm around me. “Do you feel like ordering a pizza tonight?”

  “Sounds perfect.” We entered the house and he called the pizza shop.

  * * *

  My twenty-seventh birthday came and went, and still, I was not in the family way.

  To try and relieve some of the stress I was feeling, I joined an evening yoga class with Angie from across the street. She told me it was a good way to keep our body rhythms moving in the right direction, in order to get pregnant. As a result, we started spending a lot of time together because we’d registered for three classes a week and we always went out for green tea afterward.

  Eventually, because of what she’d told me the first time we met, I decided to confide in her about how disappointed I was that I hadn’t gotten pregnant yet, and I asked her advice. I told her how badly I wanted to have a child. I even told her about losing my father when I was young, and how I had suffered from a fear of abandonment for many years until I met Wes. Now that we were having a bit of trouble getting pregnant, I worried that we would never have a family of our own, which I wanted more than anything. Not just for myself, but for Wes, because he had been an only child and it was his dream to have a house full of children.

  Before I realized it, I was softly crying.

  Angie laid her hand on top of mine. “Have you ever talked to your doctor about it?”

  I shook my head. “No. I haven’t wanted to admit to Wes that there might be a problem—because I don’t want to let him down. But I’m starting to feel really worried about it.”

  “It might not be your fault,” she said. “He might be the one with the problem.” She sat back and sipped her tea. “But seriously, how many months has it been? Six? It’s not that bad. Some couples just take that long.”

  I nodded and blew my nose. “What about you and Scott? Have you seen a doctor about it?”

  She exhaled heavily. “Yes, and we know exactly who’s to blame.”

  “Really?”

  She spoke matter-of-factly. “Scott’s sperm count is okay, but they have poor motility.”

  I sat forward and whispered. “Does that mean he’s sterile?”

  A dozen other questions darted about in my brain, like what they planned to do if that was the case. Did they have a Plan B? Because I would be jumping on other options right away if I were in her shoes and knew what the problem was.

  “No, he’s not completely sterile,” she replied, “but it just decreases our odds.”

  “Is there anything you can do to help things along?” I envisioned her standing on her head after sex. That’s probably what I would do—anything to help those little swimmers reach the finish line.

  “Yes,” she replied, “and we’re doing everything the doctor recommends. It just hasn’t been enough. At least not yet, but it ain’t over ’till it’s over, right? Maybe this will be our year. And I’m not giving up, because Scott is my whole life. He’s everything I’ve ever wanted, other than kids. I don’t know how he puts up with me.”

  “I’ll cross my fingers for you,” I replied. “And you can cross yours for me at the same time.”

  Angie smiled and raised her teacup in salute, and I thought back to the first day we met.

  I felt badly for judging her the way I did, thinking that she was intense and contemptuous. She was actually a very nice person. It was a good lesson for me—that sometimes first impressions about a person can be all wrong.

  I was happy that she and Scott had become our new neighbors. There was just something about the timing of it…

  I had several good friends, but their lives seemed on track, moving forward as they should. Having a friend in the same boat as me—another couple also having trouble getting pregnant—made me feel less alone. It was nice to have someone to talk to. Someone who understood.

  “Just be careful,” she said, “that you don’t let this put stress on your marriage. It can really wreck your sex life if you get too uptight and impatient about it. That’s something I’ve had to work on with Scott. He often has to remind me to relax. But he’s incredibly patient with me. He understands why I get upset sometimes, and I love him for that.”

  I nodded and gazed out the window. “That’s good advice,” I said. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

  But I couldn’t imagine ever looking at my husband the way she had looked at Scott that first day, with a momentary flash of disdain. I simply loved Wes too much. He was my soul mate and my best friend, the most supportive husband in the world, and we were a team, no matter what. If it turned out that there was a problem—either with him or with me—I knew we would figure out how to deal with it.

  Together.

  Chapter Six

  Two months later

  “Maybe we should see someone,” I carefully suggested to Wes as we sat together on the sofa one night, watching the evening news. “I’ve been doing everything right—eating well, taking my vitamins, and we’ve been trying at the right time of the month.”

  Wes leaned closer and laid his hand on my knee. “Don’t worry, hon. Just be patient. It’ll happen.”

  “But it’s been almost eight months,” I replied. “I’m trying not to get anxious, but it’s hard sometimes. And if there is something wrong, wouldn’t it be better for us to know now, so that we can start to do something about it?”

  He nodded. “I totally agree, that we should take the bull by the horns if we need to, but realistically, I think we should give it a year before we start to panic.”

  “A year? Really?”

  “Yes. Did you know that the opening to the cervix is about the same size as the tip of a straw? Seriously, what are the odds of hitting the jackpot every time? I don’t know if my aim’s that good. And you only ovulate once every thirty days. There are a lot of moving parts.”

  He was right, and I knew I needed to relax. I managed to chuckle, in an effort to lighten the mood, because I remembered Angie’s advice about making sure I didn’t create stress in my marriage. “Moving parts?”

  Wes grinned and shrugged. “Maybe that’s not the best choice of words. I’m just saying that it doesn’t always happen right away. We just have to keep trying until we get lucky.” He sipped his beer and returned his attention to the television screen. “Isn’t there a way to take your temperature so we know exactly when you’re ovulating?”

  “I have been taking it,” I confessed, “and I’ve made sure we do it at least once when I’m ripe, so to speak. Preferably twice.”

  He reached out to put his arm around me. I snuggled closer and rested my cheek on his shoulder.

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “Everything will be fine.”

  I gazed up at his handsome profile and felt a wave of love move through me. “I don’t know what I would do without you.”

  “I don’t know either,” he said with a grin.

  We stopped talking a
bout our baby-making efforts when breaking news appeared on the screen. There was torrential flooding in the southern U.S.

  We were glued to the TV for hours.

  Through the night, around 3:00 a.m., I woke up in a cold sweat after dreaming about a woman I had seen on one of the news segments. She had been trapped in her car as it floated down the street like a whitewater raft. A good Samaritan had rescued her with his speed boat, which he had stored in his driveway in a suburban neighborhood a few streets away.

  In my dream, the woman had not been rescued. She had drowned because there was no good Samaritan nearby with a boat.

  And in my dream, the woman was me.

  Chapter Seven

  September arrived—marking the one-year anniversary since Wes and I had started trying to have a baby—and with it came my “monthly bill.”

  By this time, I had accepted the fact that fate was not simply going to hand me a golden ticket to motherhood right out of the gate, and despite my efforts to follow Angie’s advice and not put stress on my marriage, our love life had taken a bit of a hit. Sex was no longer something we did to express our love for each other when we were in the mood. It had become an obligation. Sometimes even a chore.

  Often, I would lay awake at night staring into the future, fearing that five more years would pass, and we would still be without children. I imagined myself continuing to take my temperature each month, forcing Wes into the bedroom at the right time, even when neither of us felt like it.

  Surely if this continued, romance between us would no longer exist as we once knew it, and I didn’t want that to happen.

  To my credit, I made every effort not to behave in a clinical or hurried fashion when I knew I was ovulating. I lit candles and I wore sexy nighties, but it wasn’t easy to be playful when fear was starting to take hold—fear that it might not ever happen for us.