A Season of Angels

by Debbie Macomber

  “I have some very important news,” Gloria said, ignoring the question.

  “Who is it?” Timmy wanted to know.

  “Just a minute, Gloria,” Jody said, and placed her hand over the mouthpiece. “It’s your Grandma Potter,” she explained. “I’ll let you talk to her when I’m finished. I’ll call you in just a minute.” When Timmy was gone, she replaced the receiver at her ear. “I’m sorry to interrupt you. You were telling me you had something important to tell me?”

  “My dear, it’s the most wonderful news. Brace yourself because what I’m about to tell you will come as a shock. Jeff’s alive.”

  Chapter 12

  Monica paced her bedroom, wondering what, if anything, she should do now that she was home. Her evening with Michael had been miserable. Michael couldn’t be blamed for that; he’d been sweet and considerate, wanting to please her.

  When he’d arrived for dinner, he’d presented her with a potted pink poinsettia, which riddled her with guilt. Throughout the meal he’d praised her efforts while her father looked on approvingly. Monica was a fair cook, but the pot roast and mashed potatoes and gravy were nothing to brag about.

  The cantata, while inspirational, had seemed to drag. Every note was torture and Monica knew why.

  She was looking for Chet, half expecting him to slip into the pew next to her at the Methodist church. It was just like something he’d do. Monica had sat through the entire program with her stomach in knots wondering when and where Chet would show up.

  After she returned home, she wondered if he’d come for her, as he’d said he would, but as the night ripened, she was further burdened with uncertainty.

  Fortunately, her father had gone to bed early. She hadn’t been fooled. Lloyd Fischer was hoping she’d invite Michael in for a cup of coffee and had afforded them the necessary privacy to talk. Monica, however, had made her excuses, thanked Michael for a lovely evening, and then quickly slipped inside the house.

  Waiting for Chet was intolerable. The not knowing. Twice now she’d ventured through the house, turning lights on and off as she tiptoed from one room to the next, fearing she’d wake her father.

  At ten, she sat on the end of her bed, depressed and miserable. She picked at her fingernails, which she kept square and neatly trimmed. Although she’d often admired women with beautifully manicured nails, she personally thought of them as vain. The Bible has a good deal to say about vanity and a good many other things, including . . .

  Her thoughts were interrupted by a soft knocking sound against her bedroom window. Monica flew off the bed and was breathless by the time she boosted open her window and stuck out her head.

  “Chet?” she whispered as loud as she dared, leaning out. “Is that you?” She was eternally grateful that her father’s room was at the front of the house, opposite her own.

  “Are you expecting anyone else?”

  She heard Chet, but couldn’t see him. “Where are you?” she demanded, squinting into the inky black night. Shadows flickered here and there in what little light the moon offered. Still she couldn’t locate him, and yet he sounded incredibly close.

  He appeared then, like an apparition, and stood directly in front of her. For a moment they did nothing but stare at each other. Monica’s heart was positioned somewhere between her chest and her throat and felt like a concrete ball.

  Chet’s look was unreadable. This private investigator was superbly talented at hiding his feelings.

  Her own were as plain as a first-grade primer, she was sure of it. She was so pleased to see him it would have been impossible to disguise even a small part of her feelings.

  His eyes darkened with intensity before he framed her face with his hands and gently pressed his mouth to hers. Monica sighed and wrapped her arms around his neck. The upper part of her body was thrust out the window so that her waist was pressed against the sill.

  “I’m so pleased you came,” she whispered again and again between frantic kisses. Her fingers were in his hair and her mouth was working against his, her need urgent.

  The power Chet held over her was frightening. Each time they were together a little more of her restraint was stripped away. A little more of her control.

  By the time they broke apart, Monica was gasping and trembling. She was aware of every part of her body his hands had touched. Her face, her shoulders, her neck. She felt a deep, physical hunger that shook her to the core.

  “How was your date?” he asked.

  She shook her head, not wanting to discuss Michael.

  “Did you enjoy yourself?” he demanded, refusing to allow her to brush off the question. His hands held her face prisoner, and his eyes burned into hers.

  “I was miserable.”

  His shoulders relaxed and he rewarded her with a shockingly thorough kiss. Before she had time to recover, he hoisted himself inside her bedroom.

  Monica backed away from the window, and sank onto the edge of her mattress, her knees too weak to support her.

  Chet glanced about the starkly furnished room and frowned. “Let’s get out of here.”

  “Where would we go?”

  “My place.”

  “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.” Where she gathered the strength to refuse him she never knew. She folded her hands in her lap and concentrated on drawing in deep, even breaths. If ever she needed a clear head it was now.

  Chet was pacing the room, restless and agitated. “We can’t stay here.”

  “Why not?”

  “Monica, be reasonable. Your father’s—”

  “On the other side of the house. He’s a sound sleeper, he won’t hear anything, and if he does, well, I’m twenty-five years old and if I care to invite a man into our house, then that’s my business.”

  Chet’s smile lacked amusement. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m in your bedroom, and inviting me to stay is a little like inviting the fox into the henhouse.”

  “Is your place any safer?”

  He laughed softly at that. “No, but it’ll ease my conscience. In the time it takes us to get there I just might find the strength to keep my hands off you. But I doubt it. You’ve got me so tied up in knots, it’s a wonder I’m able to do my job.”

  Monica wasn’t in any better condition herself. Brushing the hair from her face, she forced herself to think rationally. That, she soon realized, was a mistake. “As far as I can see we have absolutely nothing in common,” she mumbled under her breath, discouraged and depressed.

  “Except we’re so damn hot for each other we’re both about to break out in a heat rash.”

  “A relationship built on physical attraction is doomed from the beginning.”

  Chet nodded. “I couldn’t agree with you more.”

  “So,” she said, straightening her spine, searching for the necessary resolve to do the right thing. “Where do we go from here?”

  “The logical choice is to bed. It’d help matters tremendously, don’t you think? It’s what any other couple would do in like circumstances. We just might be able to put this foolishness behind us and get on with our lives.”

  His words felt like a cold slap in the face. “That’s the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever said to me,” Monica managed despite her outrage. “I’m not some bimbo you can use to satisfy your carnal cravings and then toss aside. Dear heaven.” She moaned, covering her face with both hands. “I can’t believe we’re having this conversation.”

  “All right, all right,” Chet whispered, kneeling down in front of her. He pried her hands away from her face, clasped them in his own and kissed her knuckles. “You’re right, it was a stupid thing to suggest. I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that.”

  Leaning forward she rewarded his honesty with a lengthy kiss, one that gained in intensity and momentum until they were both sprawled across the top of her mattress, their arms
and legs entwined.

  “You shouldn’t have done that,” he whispered, his voice husky and low. He was struggling for control and for that matter so was she, but it felt so wonderfully good to be in his arms. Better than anything she’d experienced in all her twenty-five years.

  “I better leave,” he whispered.

  “Not yet.” She ran her tongue along the underside of his jaw, loving the taste of him; the scent of rum-and-spice aftershave enveloped her. She burrowed more completely into his embrace. For a moment she thought he intended to push her away, but instead he released a long, slow sigh and held her tightly against him.

  “Monica . . . Stop,” he muttered between clenched teeth, “otherwise I won’t be held responsible for what happens.”

  Monica smiled to herself, knowing he’d never do anything to hurt her. Where the assurance came from she couldn’t be sure, but she felt it as strongly as she did his arms around her.

  “I knew it would be a mistake to come,” he mumbled, seemingly to himself.

  Monica continued to move her mouth over his throat. Her tongue made small circular movements against his jaw and over his ear.

  “You’re playing with fire,” he said, his voice stiff with resolve.

  “I know,” she assured him.

  “A man can only take so much of this.” The words were barely audible.

  “I know that too.”

  “I didn’t mean for things to go so far,” he whispered. He rolled away from her and changed their positions so that they were lying on their sides, facing each other.

  Monica’s head was cradled in his upper arm, their mouths separated by scant inches. Their breath merged and mingled. Her thigh met his. She was happier than she could remember being in a good long while. Monica would have been utterly content to stay exactly like this for the next hundred years.

  Being here with Chet like this forced her to acknowledge how incredibly lonely she’d been in the last few years. Her mother had died and her friends, the only two she considered good friends, had both married and moved away. Funny she hadn’t realized how empty and pointless her life had become. Nor had she realized what poor company she was to herself and others.

  “What are you thinking?” he asked.

  Their eyes met and she found him openly studying her. She quickly averted her gaze. “I didn’t realize how downright good a man could feel.”

  He laughed softly and kissed the tip of her nose. “That’s very honest of you.”

  “I couldn’t very well deny it.”

  “You could, and have,” he said. His fingertips grazed her temple, softly caressing her face. “I’ll be honest too. You feel damn good in my arms. Tonight,” he whispered, “while you were with Michael, I was like a caged animal.”

  “He doesn’t mean anything to me,” she rushed to explain.

  He closed his eyes and nodded. “I know, but it didn’t make any difference. There was this band around my chest that tightened every time I thought about the two of you together. Yet I know in my heart Michael’s a better man than I’ll ever be.”

  “Don’t say that,” she pleaded, feeling the panic rising in her voice. His next suggestion might be that they not see each other again and she couldn’t bear that.

  “Monica, listen—”

  “No. No, don’t say it. I have an idea.” The words rushed out on top of each other.

  “An idea for us?”

  She nodded and bent forward and kissed him, using her tongue in all the ways he’d taught her until they were both panting and clinging to each other.

  “As you said,” she whispered, her chest heaving, “we seem to get along fabulously well on the physical level.”

  He chuckled. “That, my dear, is putting it mildly.”

  “It seems to me that we could learn to communicate on other levels as well.”

  He went still and raised his gaze to hers. She swallowed and forced herself to smile. His eyes narrowed.

  “I was thinking that, well, if we feel so strongly about one another then we should . . .”

  “Should what?” he prodded.

  Monica gathered her courage and blurted it all out at once. “That we should get married.”

  “Leah,” Andrew whispered in the darkened theater.

  Leah’s gaze reluctantly left the screen, where a Walt Disney animation film was playing.

  Her husband pointed to Scotty, who was curled up in his lap. The toddler was sound asleep. Husband and wife shared a meaningful smile. Andrew reached over and stole a handful of popcorn from her box.

  “Do you want to leave?”

  She shook her head, surprised he’d ask. “This is the very best part. Besides, Scotty will want to know what he missed.”

  The older grandmotherly type in the row in front of them turned around and glared pointedly at Andrew.

  “My husband apologizes for disrupting the show,” Leah whispered.

  “So does my wife,” Andrew added.

  The woman huffily turned around and Leah smothered her laughter as best she could. Her husband certainly wasn’t helping matters any. He was making faces at the old biddy, which caused Leah to giggle all the more.

  The woman turned around once again and Leah nearly choked in her effort to keep from laughing outright. Once she’d composed herself, she scooted down in her seat and leaned her head against Andrew’s shoulder. She hadn’t laughed this much in one day since . . . she couldn’t remember when. It didn’t matter, she was laughing now and it felt incredible. When had she allowed her life to become so cheerless? Time had slipped between her fingers with barely a notice.

  Scotty was a delight, and she loved him until her heart felt as if it would burst. He would be about the same age as the baby they’d wanted to adopt. In some unexplainable way, Leah had transferred the love she had stored in her heart for the child taken from her. Pam must have understood that because she and Doug had asked Leah and her husband if they’d be Scotty’s godparents.

  In the last couple of years they’d done their duty and bought Scotty birthday and Christmas presents, but that had been the extent of their commitment. He held a special place in her heart, but Leah realized now that she’d cheated Andrew and herself out of the pleasure this child could bring into their lives.

  Loving Scotty frightened her. She feared she might become overly attached to her friend’s son. The pain of the lost adoption had cheated her out of enjoying Scotty the way she should. She’d feared that if she became overly attached, he’d be taken from her too.

  The movie ended and the lights came up. Scotty yawned and, sitting up, rubbed his eyes.

  “How you doing, big boy?” Andrew asked.

  Scotty blinked several times, as if he’d forgotten where he was and who he was with. A look of panic came into his eyes as he glanced around the theater, and then to Leah.

  “Remember, Mommy and Daddy went to dinner,” Leah reminded him.

  He nodded, but he didn’t seem overly happy about it.

  “I bet you’re hungry,” Andrew said, lifting him onto his shoulders. Andrew waited until the aisle was clear and then led the way out of the theater. It was dark by the time they reached the parking lot and the stars glittered like a splattering of diamond dust tossed across a bed of shiny black satin.

  “Want to make a wish?” Leah asked.

  Scotty looked to the heavens and nodded. He closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath, releasing it all at once. His eyes flew open and he grinned broadly.

  “I bet he misses Diane and Jason,” Andrew said, unlocking the car door.

  “Nope,” Scotty said. “I like you better.”

  “Don’t get a big head,” Leah warned her husband, under her breath. “He’d say the same thing to anyone who gave him horsy rides and took him to the movies.”

  “Maybe so,” Andrew agreed,
“but it’s me he loves.”

  “Auntie Leah too.”

  Leah planted a kiss on his chubby cheek. “That’s telling him, kiddo.”

  It wasn’t until much later, hours after they’d finished the dinner dishes, long after they’d read Scotty a story and tucked him into the guest bed, that the emptiness surrounded her.

  The night was dark and moonless as Leah slipped out of her bedroom and wandered into the room where Scotty slept. Standing over his sleeping figure, she gazed down on this perfect child who belonged to her friend, and held the pain of her loss tight within her soul.

  She finally moved and walked over to the closet. Standing on her tiptoes, she brought down the baby book she’d hidden there.

  Sitting in the silence and the dark, she held the book in her lap and turned each empty page until she’d made her way through the entire satin-covered book. From newborn to the space for the high school graduation photo. When she’d finished, she pressed the book against her heart and rocked back and forth as if she were holding the long-awaited child in her arms.

  Instead she clung to a hollow dream.

  Jody gasped.

  Jeff alive! It wasn’t possible. She could hear her mother-in-law continue speaking but the words were unintelligible and seemed to come from a far-off distance. It was then that Jody realized she’d dropped the phone and had backed away.

  “Jody.” Glen was there and she turned and buried her face in his chest. “What is it?” he asked, his words as gentle as the arms that comforted her.

  “Mom?” Timmy asked, picking up the receiver. Gloria continued talking, apparently not realizing anything was amiss. “Grandma says she needs to talk to you,” her son said.

  Jody shook her head. “No. No, I can’t, not now.”

  “Tell your grandmother your mother will call her back later,” Glen instructed. He encircled her shoulders and led her back to the living room. Gently he lowered her onto the sofa cushions. “What happened?”

  Speaking was beyond her. Tears filled her eyes and spilled like burning acid against her cheeks, scalding her skin.

  “Are you all right, Mom?” Timmy asked, racing to her side. “Grandma said she didn’t mean to upset you. She told me to tell you to call her the minute you’re feeling better.”