She pulled out another tissue and blew her nose, then eventually continued. “I didn’t open the gift box you sent. I knew what was inside it, but I just couldn’t face it. I knew that if I looked at it, I would be taken back to that moment when I first held Wes in my arms—he was such a precious little darling—and it would rip my heart to shreds all over again.”
She laid her open palm on her chest and spoke passionately. “The pain is so deep, Claire, I cannot even describe it to you.”
My stomach muscles clenched as I fought to hold back tears, because no mother should ever have to endure the death of her child.
For a moment, we sat in silence. Barbara’s elbow was perched on the armrest of the chair, her chin resting on her knuckles. Then she took another breath and continued.
“So I put the gift box away where I couldn’t see it, at the back of my closet, and I tried not to think about it. But then…” She cupped her hands together on her lap. “I woke up one night at four in the morning, dreaming that Wes was in his crib in the nursery, crying for me. I was half asleep and I actually got out of bed and hurried down the hall to his old room. I was sleep walking, I suppose, and when I realized where I was, and that he wasn’t with us anymore, my heart began to pound. I was so confused and distraught… It was as if I had traveled back in time and he was a baby again, but when I turned on the light, it wasn’t his nursery. It was just my sewing room. But the dream was so real. I was sure I heard him crying for me, and the heartache and longing I felt was so intense, I couldn’t go back to sleep. I wanted him back so badly…”
She turned her eyes to the Christmas tree in the corner of the room near the front window. She stared at it for a long time while I said nothing.
She continued. “So I went to my closet and found your Christmas box, took it downstairs so that I wouldn’t wake George, and I opened it. When I saw the cup and spoon, I thought about Wes’s unborn child, and it was as if a light came on inside me. I couldn’t believe how foolish I was being, letting my anger at that woman eclipse the fact that he had left us with a grandchild—a child who would never know his father.”
She cried again for a moment, and I stood up to pull a tissue out of the box for myself, for I was quite emotional by this point.
Barbara regarded me steadily. “I know how badly you were hurt by what he did to you, Claire, but when you said in your letter that you were working toward forgiving Angie, I felt ashamed. You are a very special woman—feeling love for your enemy instead of hate, and putting your pride and jealousy aside in order to do what was right. You made me see that I needed to do that, too. And so did George. So we have taken your words to heart, and we’re going to Toronto to meet the mother of our grandchild, and we fully intend to open our hearts to her and welcome her into our family.”
I bowed my head and wept into the tissue.
“I hope that doesn’t make you feel that we are choosing her over you,” Barbara said. “You are the last person in the world I would ever want to hurt or betray.”
“Of course not,” I replied. “She’s the mother of your grandchild. It’s the right thing, and I would never resent you for that. I’m happy, Barbara. We’ve all been through a terrible year, but it’s time for something good to come from it.”
Barbara smiled at me with love. “No one deserves happiness more than you do, Claire. Wes was a lucky man when he married you, and he was a fool to let you go.”
We stood up and shed a few more tears as we hugged each other in front of the Christmas tree.
When I said goodbye to her at the door a few minutes later and watched her drive down the street, through fresh falling snow, past all the houses lit up with colorful Christmas lights, I felt an inner peace I had never known before. Not like this. And I hoped that when Barbara and George visited Angie in Toronto, she would accept the love they offered, and that they, too, could find some measure of peace this holiday season.
I turned to go back inside, closed the door behind me, and went to call Scott.
Chapter Thirty-six
Scott’s divorce did not become final until the following summer, but that was just a formality, for we were deeply in love by then and totally committed to each other. Neither he nor I had any illusions about the fact that we fully intended to spend the rest of our lives together.
However, being the honorable man that he was, he waited until the papers arrived to prove that he was a free man before he got down on one knee on the rocks by the century-old lighthouse at Peggy’s Cove.
“Claire,” he said as the sunset lit up the sky in splashes of pink and blue. “I’ve never known any woman with such a good heart, so beautiful on the inside as well as the outside. I’m still astonished that we found each other when we had already pledged our hearts to others. But I believe that we were meant to come together the way we did, and discover in each other a soft place to fall. I love you more than anything. I vow to always be by your side, faithfully.” He reached into his pocket and withdrew a black velvet box, which he opened in the magnificent changing light of the setting sun. “Will you marry me?”
Tears spilled down my cheeks as I laughed and nodded my head and said yes, without hesitation. My hand trembled as he slid the ring onto my finger and pulled me into his arms for a passionate kiss while the waves crashed thunderously on the rocks below.
“I was thinking that we could tie the knot this fall,” Scott said, as we strode, arm-in-arm, toward the car to drive home. “Somewhere quiet and intimate with a few of our closest friends and family.”
I paused outside his car while he insisted on opening the passenger side door for me.
“That sounds like a dream,” I replied, before I got in. “I’ve already had a big splashy wedding, and we both know how that turned out. I don’t need the white dress or a fortune spent on flowers and hors d’ oeuvres. I just want to be your wife.”
I was still smiling when he pulled me into his arms again and kissed me.
Chapter Thirty-seven
It was a perfect white Christmas that year, like something out of an old movie. I was a newlywed again, living with Scott in his house across the street, which we had redecorated over the summer to suit our own tastes.
Meanwhile, I rented my own home at a very fair rate to my sister Bev, which was a wonderfully convenient arrangement. Not only did it allow me to be with Scott, but it also allowed me to continue to be a devoted aunt to little Louise and help Bev out with childcare whenever she needed it. It was good to be close by.
With each passing day, I fell more and more in love with my beautiful niece, and so did Scott. We counted ourselves lucky to have a child in our lives, because neither of us had been blessed with the ability to conceive naturally, but at least we had each other.
Not that we had given up on the hope to have a child of our own one day. We had been seeing Dr. Walker, and we had an appointment in early January to begin IVF treatments. We had decided that we would attempt to fertilize my egg with Scott’s sperm, but if it didn’t take after six months, we would try a donor.
It was a happy holiday season, full of excitement for what the future might bring. I felt very fortunate and especially happy when Scott said that’s what he loved most about me—that I never complained about what we did not have, or the things that stood in the way of our happiness—like the fact that we were both infertile. I only saw the possibilities before us, and focused my attention on the avenues that might circumvent those obstacles.
He was right. I never felt sorry for myself. How could I, when I was married to the most wonderful man in the universe, and I was blessed with a loving family and the miracles of modern medicine?
* * *
On Christmas Eve, Scott and I, along with Bev, Louise and Leo, drove to my mother’s house for a traditional turkey dinner with all the trimmings, and cheesecake in the shape of a wreath for dessert.
Normally, I was the first to finish my dinner and ask for seconds, but when we sat down at the table, and bowl
s of mashed potatoes, carrots, and sliced turkey were passed around, I found myself suddenly without an appetite. When the gravy came my way and I took a whiff of it, I felt a sudden urge to gag and had to get up and excuse myself.
I went to the bathroom, shut the door, and splashed some water on my face. Not feeling ready to go back to the dinner table quite yet, I closed the toilet lid and sat down until the queasy feeling passed—because I didn’t want to miss out on Christmas Eve dinner. Turkey and stuffing with gravy and mashed potatoes and cranberry sauce was my favorite. Normally I’d be piling everything onto my plate, sparing nothing.
A knock sounded at the door. I stood to open it.
“Are you okay?” Bev asked, looking concerned as she entered the tiny bathroom and shut the door, leaving Leo out in the hall. She placed the back of her hand on my forehead. “You didn’t look too good when you got up from the table. You’re pale.”
“Do I have a fever?” I asked.
She felt my cheeks and shook her head. “No, you feel normal. But poor Mom. She thinks her turkey is undercooked, but I’m sure it’s fine.”
“It wasn’t that.” I sat down on the edge of the bathtub. “I don’t know what’s wrong. I smelled the gravy and I wanted to vomit.”
Bev inclined her head. “Do you think you might be pregnant?”
I immediately looked up. “What? No, of course not.”
“When was your last period?”
I tried to remember, but couldn’t. “I don’t know. I stopped keeping track of it ages ago. There didn’t seem to be any point.”
Bev sat down on the toilet. “Try to think. When was the last time you had one? Have you had one since the wedding?”
Scott and I had been married in mid-October when the leaves were changing, then we flew to Tampa to spend a week on St. Pete’s beach. I struggled to remember if I’d had a period since then.
“Yes,” I replied, raising my finger. “It was right after we got back from our honeymoon, and I was really glad it didn’t start while we were down there.”
“Okay,” Bev said, as if she were connecting a series of dots, “so that would have been at the end of October. What about since then?”
I wracked my brain, struggling to remember, then I shook my head. “No, I don’t think I’ve had one since then.”
Neither of us said anything for a few seconds. Then Bev chuckled. “That’s two months, Claire.”
We continued to stare at each other in my parents’ tiny bathroom, while my heart began to pound a little faster.
No, it couldn’t be possible, and I certainly didn’t want to get my hopes up again. I’d been down that road too many times—especially at Christmastime—and I couldn’t handle any more disappointments. It was so much easier to just forget about it on a day-to-day basis and place my fate in the hands of the medical professionals.
“It’s not possible,” I said. “Between the two of us, Scott and I are totally hopeless. My tubes are completely blocked and he has weak swimmers. The odds are next to none.”
“Stranger things have happened,” Bev replied.
No. I didn’t want to go there.
“It’s probably just a bug,” I said, waving my hand through the air, “or something I ate over the last few days. There have been way too many cakes and squares and little meat canapés everywhere we go.”
“Maybe,” Bev said, “but you should come out and try to eat something, or Mom will think it was something she did that ruined Christmas dinner. And if your period still doesn’t start in the next twenty-four hours, we’ll get you a test at the pharmacy as soon as it opens.”
“Leave it to me to have a pregnancy scare when every drug store in the city is closed for the holiday.”
“Yes, that is just your luck,” she said with understanding.
We returned to the table and I managed to get through my dinner without gagging. I said nothing to Scott about what Bev had suggested. I’d been through this before, with Wes, and I didn’t want to entertain any further high hopes that would likely end in an emotional crash-and-burn situation.
After dinner, we sang Jingle Bells by the fire, but Louise began to fuss when the hour grew late, so we packed up and drove home through the gently falling snow.
As we pulled into our cozy little neighborhood of tree-lined streets, I found myself gazing up at the full moon, wondering what I would do if I saw a sleigh with eight tiny reindeer pass in front of it.
I chuckled and shook my head at myself and retreated back to reality.
I wish I could say that I remained sensible and grounded about what was on my mind that night, but when we pulled into the driveway shortly before midnight and said goodnight to Bev, I waited for Scott to go inside the house. He took his time, knocking a few icicles from the eaves, then he disappeared into the house.
I remained outside for a few moments more, alone, where I dropped to my knees in the snow.
Cupping my hands together, I squeezed my eyes shut and began to pray.
Chapter Thirty-eight
Not that I ever had any doubts about marrying Scott, but when he got out of bed on Christmas morning, put on his coat and boots, and pulled the wooden toboggan across the snow-covered street to Bev’s house, I was convinced I was the luckiest woman on the planet.
Over a foot of snow had fallen during the night, and the neighborhood looked like a winter wonderland.
I watched Scott from the front window as he piled a giant bag containing Bev’s and Louise’s Christmas gifts, as well as their stockings, onto the sled. Leo bounced around with excitement at the activity. Scott then hauled it back to our place with Leo running next to him—so that we could open everything together.
While they kicked the snow off their boots and removed their coats, I put on a pot of coffee and filled the creamer with eggnog.
A short while later, Bev carried Louise into the living room and we all sat down to open our presents around the tree.
Scott gave me an exquisite diamond necklace, along with a DVD copy of The Sound of Music, autographed by Christopher Plummer. I nearly fainted.
Then he opened his gift from me—the same DVD copy of The Sound of Music.
Mine was not autographed by anyone, but the fact that we had both been thinking the same thing for our first Christmas together was enough to make us feel very sentimental.
Bev and I exchanged gifts as well. She gave me a hardcover novel by an unknown author that she promised I would love, and I gave her a set of six crystal wine glasses—the same pattern that was used by the Granthams on the set of Downton Abbey. I’d had them shipped from England, and she absolutely loved them.
But the best gift was yet to come. She gave it to me later that morning when Scott was busy on the living room floor, assembling a new baby-bouncer for Louise from Barbara and George.
Bev shepherded me into the bathroom, shut the door, and withdrew a tiny gift bag from beneath her oversized blue sweatshirt. “This is an extra gift to you from me,” she said. “It came by special overnight express delivery, direct from the North Pole.”
I grinned at her with mischief. “Wow. I don’t think I’ve ever had a special express delivery from the North Pole before. I can’t wait to see what’s inside.”
I reached into the bag, removed the red tissue paper, and withdrew a pregnancy test.
“Where in the world did you get this?” I asked.
She raised an eyebrow. “I had to call in a favor last night. You didn’t see me buckling Louise into the car and driving off, not long after we got home?”
“No,” I replied with dismay. “Where did you go?”
She shrugged as if it were nothing. “There’s a pharmacist in the city and she owed me a favor for looking after her kids for a weekend about a year ago. I told her about your situation. She’s a really nice lady and she took good care of me.”
I shook my head in disbelief and felt a lump form in my throat. “I love that there are still good people in the world.”
> Bev nodded. “Of course there are. Santa has plenty of helpers. So this is your special gift from the world to use at will, because I thought you might appreciate the chance to terminate the suspense as quickly as possible.”
I began to gently shove Bev out of the bathroom. “You are an angel sent from heaven, and this is the perfect Christmas gift. With that said, I am sure you won’t be offended if I ask you to leave so that I can pee on it.”
Bev laughed and stepped out of the room.
Epilogue
One year later
“We’re going to need a ladder to put the angel on top,” I said to Scott as I reached into the box for the last few ornaments.
The living room was a disaster with boxes of decorations spread out everywhere and wrapped gifts piled on the dining room table, waiting to be displayed under the tree.
“A chair should do it,” he said, moving to the dining room to get one.
Bev was feeding Louise in the high chair in the kitchen, while Leo gobbled up Cheerios as they fell from the tray onto the floor.
Our five-month old daughter, Serena, giggled and cooed as my mother carried her around the breakfast bar, bouncing at the knees.
Scott brought a dining room chair to the tree, and I passed him the angel to set on top. It wobbled for a few seconds until he found the right balance, then he plugged it into the string of white lights.
Getting down off the chair, he reached for my hand so we could stand back and admire our tree together.
The Color of a Christmas Miracle: A Standalone Contemporary Romance (The Color of Heaven Series) Page 16
