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

by Julianne MacLean

  Scott nodded. “What about the trust fund? Did he mention that at all?”

  “No, and I don’t care about that. I’m not going to try and take it from him, but it’s a good bargaining chip. The one thing I would like out of this is the house. I don’t need alimony because I have a job and I can support myself, but I can’t really afford to buy him out.”

  I finished my coffee and got off my stool to carry the empty cup to the dishwasher.

  “Don’t worry about doing that,” Scott said, rising as well. “I’ll take care of it.”

  “It’s no problem.” I opened the dishwasher, set my cup on the top rack, and closed the door. “But I need to get going or I’ll be late for work. I still have to get dressed.” I stopped in the center of kitchen and met his gaze. “This is so weird. I actually feel a huge weight lifted.”

  Scott rose from the stool and walked me to the door. I put my hand on the knob to leave, but he stopped me.

  “Claire, wait…”

  I felt a tingle of awareness when he touched my arm. “I’m sorry you had to go through all this.”

  “I’m sorry we both have,” I replied, turning to face him.

  Then something came over me. I was struck by the incredible blue of his eyes, sparkling in the morning sunlight streaming in through the back windows, and the way he held himself—with strength and tenderness, simultaneously. Anticipation grew in my heart—a thrilling euphoria that made me step forward, wrap my arms around his waist and press my cheek to his chest.

  For a breathtaking moment, we stood there in our pajamas, simply holding each other, lost in a state of wonder, and I felt blissfully free from all the angst of my old life. I felt content, and full of new hope.

  I didn’t know what the future held, but something felt right about this moment. I knew I couldn’t walk away or deny what was growing in my heart—a genuine love for this incredibly kind man.

  But still…I had to move slowly. I couldn’t rush into anything.

  I stepped back and looked up at him. “Thank you for being here. I don’t know what I would have done without you these past few months.”

  “I feel the same way,” he replied, stroking my hair away from my face. “And I’m not sorry he’s gone, Claire. I’m glad.”

  I felt a warm glow inside of me, and I smiled.

  “I need to get to work,” I said, “but I’ll call you when I get home. Would you like to come over and have supper with Bev and me tonight?”

  “Why don’t I cook?” he replied. “You and Bev could come over here and take the night off from cooking.”

  I could barely suppress my joy. It was bubbling up inside of me with gusto. My cheeks felt hot and I wanted to dance. “That sounds great. I’ll see you tonight.”

  I kissed him on the cheek, then turned and ran down his steps. As I jogged across the street, I hoped none of our neighbors were peering out their windows, or they might presume this was a walk of shame after a night of wild impropriety.

  Far from it. There was no shame here. No impropriety. Only happiness and goodness.

  I just wish it could have lasted longer than half of one perfect, single day.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  It’s never a good thing when the director of the school knocks on your classroom door in the middle of the afternoon and tells you there’s an urgent phone call you need to take.

  Principal Jones took over for me in my classroom, and I hurried to the office with knots of apprehension in my belly. My pulse was throbbing so fast and hard, I was lightheaded when I met the secretary’s gaze and saw that she had no color in her face. She merely handed me the phone without a word.

  I took a breath and spoke into the mouthpiece. “Hello? This is Claire.”

  “Hi Claire, it’s Barbara.” My mother-in-law’s voice trembled as she spoke. “I’m very sorry to tell you this, but Wes got off the plane in Toronto this morning and got in a cab to go home to his apartment. There was a terrible accident on the 401. A tractor trailer lost control and slammed into the guardrail. It jack-knifed and collided with a bunch of cars. Wes was in one of them.”

  I sank onto a chair next to the secretary’s desk. “Oh, my God. Is he okay?”

  Barbara took a few seconds before she replied. “No, I’m afraid not. He died at the scene.” She paused to collect herself, then managed to continue. “They say it was instant. He wouldn’t have felt any pain, and he probably didn’t see it coming.”

  I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t even blink or breathe. “Oh, Barbara…”

  “I have to go,” she said. “I’ll let you know more when I can.”

  She hung up the phone, and I hung up as well. Then I turned in a daze to the secretary who was quietly weeping.

  “I’m so sorry,” she whimpered. “You should go home, Claire. Mrs. Jones said it was okay, and you don’t have to come in tomorrow.”

  “Thank you,” I replied, as I rose numbly from the chair, then walked down the hall to the staff room to collect my belongings.

  Chapter Thirty

  I can hardly bear to write about the following week’s events. I will say only that I attended Wes’s funeral in St. Margaret’s Bay where he was buried in the Radcliffe family plot.

  It was a dark, overcast day. Angie was there, but we did not speak to each other. I saw no evidence of her pregnancy, but of course there wouldn’t be any, because she was only a few weeks along—if she were truly pregnant. I still wasn’t convinced.

  Scott attended the funeral as well and sat alone at the back of the church. Unlike me, he did speak to Angie. I saw them outside the church immediately following the service. The wind was blowing hard and I tried not to stare. They spoke only briefly. He kissed her on the cheek, then she walked quickly to her rental car and drove off. I wondered what they had said to each other.

  Angie did not attend the family gathering at the Radcliffe house after the burial. I’m not sure why. Perhaps she knew how they felt about me and she didn’t feel welcome. Or perhaps they simply hadn’t extended an invitation to her. I didn’t ask.

  When it was over, I returned home with Bev for a quiet evening.

  Shortly after ten, Scott sent me an email. It said simply: Rough day. How are you doing?

  I sat down and typed a response: As good as can be expected. It’s all such a shock. How are you? I saw you talking to Angie outside the church. She must be taking it hard.

  I sat and waited for him to reply, which seemed to take forever while my belly turned over with nervous knots.

  Finally, my laptop chimed.

  Yes, I spoke to her, and then I went to her hotel.

  My heart dropped. I sat forward, reading his message as fast as my eyes could focus on the words.

  We talked for hours. She was very emotional and she cried the whole time. She apologized for what she and Wes did to us, and I had to convince her that he didn’t die because they were being punished for it. Sometimes bad things just happen and there’s no explanation. He was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.

  But I can understand her guilt, because if she hadn’t begged him to come back to her, he would still be alive.

  Scott

  I felt a stabbing of fear, because if they had talked for hours, surely they must have discussed their relationship.

  Perhaps, now that Wes was out of the picture and Angie might be pregnant, she would want her husband back. Of course she would. She would be shaken by this sudden loss and terrified for the future, to be raising a child alone. She would be overcome with grief and loneliness.

  I wanted to type the words: Does she want to get back together with you? I resisted, however, because it seemed selfish.

  Instead, I wrote: I can only imagine what she must be going through. That must have been very difficult for you.

  Knowing Scott the way I did, I had to assume that he’d held her in his arms and done his best to comfort her. The image made my insides twist into a tight band, because even though I was devastated by Wes’
s death, I still had feelings for Scott.

  But it certainly wouldn’t be appropriate for me to act upon those feelings. Not now—the very night of my husband’s funeral…

  Scott replied:

  It was. She was a mess. She asked me to stay with her at the hotel tonight, but I told her I couldn’t. Surprisingly she understood why I didn’t want to, and she didn’t pressure me. She’s flying back to Toronto first thing in the morning.

  I exhaled sharply with relief, but I still wasn’t convinced she wouldn’t want him back eventually, especially if she were pregnant and alone.

  I decided to be forthcoming.

  I hope she’ll be okay. She has some support in Toronto, right? She has friends? Because I have to say it… I don’t want to lose you, Scott.

  Seconds ticked by like minutes while I sat in my chair, chewing my thumbnail and waiting for his response.

  What frightened me was that he was such an honorable man. Angie was still his wife, and I could imagine him feeling an obligation to hold true to his marriage vows. I was terrified that he would put an end to the love that was blossoming between us.

  Finally, an email came in.

  I don’t want to lose you either. Let’s not give up on this, okay? I understand that you have to mourn for Wes, but I’ll be here, waiting for you patiently. And I won’t be reconciling with Angie. She doesn’t love me, and I don’t love her. Not anymore. We both know it. We talked about that today, at length. So that’s not a possibility, okay? I don’t want you thinking about that.

  S.

  My whole body shook with relief, and I bowed my head, taking a moment to let my tears flow as I said a prayer of thanks for the words he had written.

  All I wanted to do was get up from my chair and cross the street to be with him right away. But we had buried my husband that afternoon and I was still grief stricken. I didn’t want to confuse my need for comfort and solace with what might be possible for us in the future.

  I typed my reply:

  Thank you, Scott. I’m so happy to hear that. I admit I was worried because you mean so much to me. And if the situation were different, I would be on your doorstep right now, stepping into your arms, but that can’t happen. Not today. I’m still in shock about Wes’s death and I need to come to terms with it. But please don’t give up on me.

  C.

  He replied immediately:

  I won’t. Get some sleep. I’ll be in touch again, and don’t hesitate to call or text if you need anything. I’m here for you.

  S.

  I went to bed and managed to get only a few hours’ sleep, because I kept waking up and thinking about the car accident and what it must have been like for Wes in those terrifying final seconds.

  I cried for him and wished I could have done something—anything—to keep him from getting on that plane. I couldn’t help regretting the fact that we never actually said goodbye, and that he had died believing I hated him.

  I didn’t hate him. I only hated what he did to us.

  The following day, Barbara called me to set up a meeting with their lawyer in Halifax, because evidently, Wes had left a will.

  I was surprised to hear this, because he and I had not prepared wills together, though we often talked about the necessity of it and had planned to get around to it eventually.

  Barbara did not disclose any of the details over the phone. She merely told me what time to meet her, and gave me the address.

  Chapter Thirty-one

  “You must be in shock,” Bev said that night when I arrived home from the appointment with the lawyer and collapsed on the living room sofa.

  I was dressed all in black, though I had felt out of place when I walked into the lawyer’s office and was greeted by a bouncy receptionist wearing a brightly colored floral sundress. Kokomo by the Beach Boys had been playing in the waiting room. The only things missing were palm trees and cocktails.

  Then Barbara and George arrived, both dressed in somber black as well, so I no longer felt like I was in some sort of peculiar dream.

  “He was their only child,” I said to Bev, “so it was really hard for them to get through that. And like me, they had no idea he’d written a will.”

  “I feel so bad for them,” Bev replied as she sat down beside me on the sofa. “Was Angie there?”

  “No. She wasn’t mentioned at all as a beneficiary. He left everything to me, which seems strange, considering she was carrying his child and he was separated from me, but apparently, he wrote the will when we were still together, before he started having the affair.”

  Bev frowned. “Are you worried she’ll come after you for child support or something?”

  “That did cross my mind, but Barbara and George told me not to worry about that, because they didn’t believe she was pregnant in the first place. But even if she is, they said they would take care of it, and that I shouldn’t give it another thought. Barbara also told me to keep the silver baby cup she gave me for Christmas the year before last. She said she wanted me to have it because she knew in her heart that Wes considered me the great love of his life, and that he believed his affair with Angie was a mistake. She told me that she believed he would be happy knowing that I was getting his trust fund, and that he would want me to have a good life.”

  Bev sat back. “Wow. I’ll bet he didn’t even want to go back to Toronto when Angie told him she was pregnant. He probably doubted she was telling the truth, and he may have said so to Barbara.”

  “That’s what it sounds like,” I replied, “but either way, I believe he was trying to do the right thing by going back to Angie, and Barbara believes that he genuinely regretted what happened between us. She said she was certain that if Angie hadn’t called to say she was pregnant, he would never have gotten on that plane. He would still be here, trying to win me back.”

  “Gosh… What did you say to that?”

  “I just nodded my head, and let her believe that we might have worked things out. Maybe we would have. I don’t know. But I could see that she really needed to believe that. She wanted to imagine that we would have gotten back together and given her and George lots of beautiful grandbabies.”

  Bev reached for my hand and squeezed it. “Come on into the kitchen. You must be starving.”

  I followed her out of the living room.

  Later, when we turned on the evening news after dinner, Bev turned to me. “You still haven’t told me,” she said.

  “What’s that?”

  “How much money he left you.”

  Suddenly, I felt as if I were falling. My whole body went numb as reality began to sink in, and I experienced a painful twinge of guilt. “He left me the trust fund and the house, which had mortgage insurance, so if either one of us died, the whole thing gets paid off.”

  Bev sat forward, gazing at me impatiently. “How much is the trust fund?”

  I swallowed uneasily and cleared my throat. “Two million dollars.”

  Bev’s mouth opened. “Two million dollars? You’re not serious.”

  “I am.”

  “And the Radcliffe’s are okay with you keeping all of it?”

  I nodded. “They said they want me to have it, because that’s what Wes would have wanted.” I regarded my sister with a frown. “I just hope Angie doesn’t come after me, because I’m sure she’d feel differently about that, considering that he was on his way back to Toronto to be with her and not me. And if she truly is carrying his child, Bev, I don’t think I would feel comfortable keeping it.”

  My sister pulled me close for a hug I desperately needed.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Weeks passed, and slowly I returned to my regular routine at school, which mostly involved preparations for summer vacation. Scott and I maintained a friendly distance during that time, which seemed the right thing to do. But I always felt his presence across the street and drew comfort when I saw the lights come on in his front window at night.

  I didn’t hear a single word from Angie, an
d I wondered if she might have simply disappeared from our lives forever, which was quite possible if there was no baby. At least she was back in Toronto among her friends at work, and I didn’t have to worry about bumping into her somewhere unexpected.

  When school let out, I focused on Bev, who was due to deliver her baby at the end of July. She was uncomfortable when the weather grew humid and warm and chose to leave her job a few weeks early for maternity leave. After that, she and I often escaped to the beach or a movie theater on hot afternoons, because we had no air conditioning in the house.

  Then the trust fund arrived in my bank account—right in the middle of a heat wave—and the first thing I did was install a heat pump, which provided more economical heating in the winter and cool air in the summer. It was a sensible purchase that would save energy and improve my utility bills in the future.

  Other than that, I didn’t touch the money. I consulted a financial advisor who helped me decide how to invest it wisely.

  * * *

  Bev went into labor on July 30, nearly a week past her due date. I was there at her side, coaching her through the pain and holding her hand.

  At 6:11 p.m., she gave birth to a beautiful, dark-haired baby girl she named Louise. I fell in love with my niece immediately, weeping tears of joy the moment I held her in my arms.

  Though I was willing to help Bev in every possible way at home during her first weeks of motherhood, our own mother insisted on coming to stay with us as well, since neither of us had any experience with newborns.

  Those breezy summer afternoons, with the four of us under one roof—three generations of women, all infatuated with a sweet little soul who had brought overflowing love into our home—were very special.

  Leo was gentle and loving around Louise. He had a knack for anticipating when she was about to wake up from a nap, and he would trot over to Bev and nudge her with his nose.