Blair cocked his head with a chuckle. “Never could hide anything from you, could I.”
“Not really. I remember when you did some double-dealing and finagled away my favorite lit class. I’m surprised I forgave you for that.”
Blair nodded and gave a wry grin. “I was a rat. But I did that before we became friends.”
“In a pig’s eye!”
Blair let out a boisterous laugh. “Take you out of the classroom and you turn into a farmer.”
“I could have done worse.”
A heavy silence fell like a bag of dried bones. Blair inched his gaze to Jordan’s. “You could have. And I’m glad you didn’t.”
Jordan closed his eyes for a moment, thinking of options he’d considered. Thinking of where he’d been and where he was now. Life. Death. He looked directly into Blair’s concerned eyes.
“So?”
“So.” He released a lengthy breath. “I’m doing the old man a favor. Brighton asked me to talk to you. The doc wants you back. He sent me to convince you.”
“I see. And why?”
“Well, you’re one of the best professors the college had. Besides, Gillenfelt is retiring next year, and Brighton’s looking for a top-notch replacement to pick up the load.” He squirmed against the chair back. “Besides, we all miss you.”
Jordan didn’t speak. His life three years earlier flashed through his head: classes; conferences; correcting dull, tedious essays; reading an occasional brilliant one; and always, at the end of the day, rushing home to Lila’s arms and Robbie’s eager face. Yes, he missed it, too. Terribly.
“But it will never be the same. I’m a different man than I was three years ago.”
“Different, maybe, but you’ll always be a great teacher. The students idolized you.”
Yes, they had, he supposed, but that hadn’t made life worth living. His family had. A smiling eight-year-old flashed through his mind. Gooseflesh wavered up his arm. Unlike Robbie, this boy wore thick glasses and had a shock of red hair. Jordan clutched the tumbler in his hand to hide the tremors. Was Robbie’s face fading from his memory?
“Something wrong?” Blair asked, leaning forward with a disconcerted stare.
Jordan pressed his tense spine against the seat cushion. “No, I’m okay. Just a flashback, I guess.”
“Listen, man, I didn’t come here to stir up memories. Brighton wanted you to know there’ll be an opening, and I volunteered to drive up. I’d like you to think about it.”
“Sure,” he said, “I’ll think about it.” At times, he thought about nothing else…until lately. Mac distracted him.
Who am I fooling? he thought. The boy’s mother distracts me, too.
He pushed away his thoughts. “So, tell me what’s up with you and the family?”
Blair turned the conversation to his wife and three children. They talked about curriculum, co-workers, and even Dooley. Finally, Blair looked at his wristwatch and rose. Jordan followed him to the door with another promise to give the proposition some thought.
“You have a telephone?” Blair asked.
Jordan laughed. “That and running water, electricity—all those modern conveniences.”
“How about giving me your number? I’d like to keep in touch.”
Jordan jotted the number on a scratch pad and slipped it into Blair’s hand.
As they moved to the door, a car pulled in next to Blair’s. Jordan’s stomach tightened as he sighted the familiar freckled face crowned by flaming red hair exiting the car. Her hair hung wild and full around her shoulders.
Blair looked at him with narrowed eyes, then peered out the door again. “Whew! I saw that beauty at the kite shop. I assume you know her?”
“I sure do. She’s renting my apartment.”
“Your apartment? Wish I had an apartment.” He chuckled and pushed the screen door open, stepping outside.
Jordan followed him and buzzed in his ear, “You have a wife, my friend. That’s all you need.”
Blair gave him a wink. “But I can dream, can’t I?”
“No” resounded in Jordan’s mind, but he only grinned.
Meara hesitated by her car, and Mac slid into the driver’s seat and out the same door, clinging to his mother’s dress. Jordan had never seen her in a dress. She looked lovely. Enhancing her emerald eyes, the soft green fabric fell in gentle folds around her trim hips and stopped below the knees of her long slender legs. A brush of color tinged her fine cheekbones and a soft coral highlight brightened her natural pink lips. Gold earrings glinted through the wisps of her untamed hair.
“I didn’t mean to intrude. I hadn’t expected you to have company,” Meara said, still clinging to the open car door, her gaze darting from Jordan to Blair.
“No problem,” Jordan said, stepping forward. “Meara Hayden, this is Blair Dunham. We were co-workers a few years ago.”
Blair extended his hand. “I believe we almost met earlier today. At the kite shop.”
“Ah, yes. I thought you looked familiar.”
“And who’s this young man?” Blair asked, eyeing Mac.
Jordan moved forward and wrapped a protective arm around the boy’s shoulders. “This young man is Mac. He has quite a handle for a lad.”
Mac gave him an inquisitive look.
Blair extended his hand. “And what’s the rest of that name, son? Mac what?”
Mac took his hand. “Dunstan MacAuley Hayden,” he said, giving three firm pumps of his hand with each part of his name. He turned and squinted into Jordan’s eyes. “Where’s my handle?”
Unexpectedly, a warm, full laugh exited his throat. “‘Handle’ means your long, distinguished name. My handle is Jordan Evan Baird.”
“Does Mama have a handle?”
But Blair didn’t wait for the answer. He grasped Jordan’s arm in a firm shake. “Listen, man, I have to get going. And you obviously have some business to take care of here.” His eyes sparkled with mischief. He pivoted toward Meara. “Nice to meet you.”
“My pleasure,” Meara said.
“Nice to meet you,” Mac parroted.
Blair tousled Mac’s hair and leaned into Jordan’s frame. “Good to see you, man. Give the offer thought.” He eyed him slyly. “And I’ll take you at your word.”
Jordan’s brow furrowed. “My word?”
Blair glanced over his shoulder at the new arrivals. “I think you are okay.”
Jordan caught his drift and shook his head. Blair never had viewed women as Jordan did.
With a wink, Blair got into his car, waved and backed down the driveway.
“I hope I didn’t interrupt anything important,” Meara said again. “Funny. I did see him in the kite shop. He stood out in his sport coat.”
“I suppose he would.” Jordan moved back to the door. “Would you like to come in?”
“I really came by for just a minute. We’re having dinner nearby, and I thought I’d stop to ask if tomorrow might be all right to bring Mac over.” She searched his face. “For the kite, remember?”
“I remember.” Her eyes took his breath away—deep, glinting green.
“I thought if he were occupied, I might have time to run to the school and talk to an administrator about his schooling this fall.”
“Tomorrow works for me.”
“Works for me,” Mac echoed.
She took a hesitant step backward. “Thanks. I’ll be going, then.”
Jordan longed to wrap his arms around her lovely shoulders, to rub his fingers along her elegant cheekbone, to press his lips…He dragged his fingers through his hair, wanting to erase the images that stirred inside his mind. “You’re sure you won’t stay?”
“Yes. But thanks for the invitation. Mac’s hungry.” Her shapely, full lips rose to a smile. “And so is his mother.”
“Then,” Jordan said, extending his hand, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She placed her delicate, cool palm against his broad, firm hand. “Tomorrow.”
Meara
nuzzled Mac’s shoulder, and he climbed over the driver’s seat. When he’d fastened his seat belt securely, she slid into the car and closed the door.
Jordan watched, mesmerized, as she turned the car around and drove down the leafy lane to the highway.
“Tomorrow,” he said, swallowing a lump of emotion. He’d lost control.
The self-built dam crumbled. The world flooded in, and he could do nothing to stop it.
Chapter Eight
“You’re doing a wonderful job, Mac.” Jordan stood above the boy, guiding him as he twisted the cord that tied the two dowels together. “Your mom will be proud of you.”
“She’ll be proud.” Mac gazed lovingly at the paper kite he’d formed from colored tissue.
Jordan had done the best he could to model this kite after one of Mac’s hasty drawings. The boy had remembered to bring the pictures along from the day Otis had diverted him in the shop. Mac might be slow, but he didn’t seem to forget a thing.
A light breeze rustled the birch leaves near the house, and Jordan eyed the lake. Small ripples glazed the water, nothing Mac’s kite couldn’t handle. He had hoped to wait for Meara’s return to show her the grand performance, but something was keeping her. He checked his wristwatch. Three hours had passed since she’d delivered Mac to his doorstep.
“Needs a tail,” Mac said, fingering the end of the kite. “Blue tail. And red.”
“Blue and red?” Jordan eyed the box of cloth strips nearby. “Let me see.” He rose and selected Mac’s choices.
“Blue and red,” Mac repeated, a glowing smile coloring his cheeks.
“Want to give it a try?”
Mac’s head shot up. “Fly the kite?” His eyes widened.
“I think we can. Maybe your mom will come soon and she’ll see you.”
“Where’s Mama?” He glanced over his shoulder through the screen. “With…Grandma Nettie?” A grin curled his lips.
Jordan’s ears tuned to the boy’s question. “Grandma Nettie? Is that what you call her?”
He nodded vehemently. “Said I could.” His eyes glowed.
“That’s nice.”
“My…grandma…”
Jordan watched him search for the words. “Your real grandma?” he prodded.
“My real grandma is…” After a lengthy silence, he shook his head with a look of disappointment. “Somewhere.”
A car door sounded, and he and Mac turned toward the driveway and waited.
“Hello,” Meara called from the back door.
Jordan rose, heading toward her. “You’re just in time for the big event. Come in.”
She pulled the handle and entered, her face strained and unsmiling.
“Something wrong?” he asked. “Not what you wanted to hear, I expect.”
Seeing him, Meara crumbled. Frustration filled her at each turn. She had had little success at the administration office, and her talk with the special education director had been as unsatisfactory. The day had been a failure. “Yes, you’re right. No program for Mac.”
“Nothing?” He tilted his head.
“Certainly, they have a learning resource room of some kind. A special-ed teacher working with all kinds of special-needs students. But they’re only in her classroom one or two hours a day.”
“Then what? Sent to other teachers?”
“Yes, mainstreamed. Pushed into difficult situations with normal-needs children. Children who…Never mind—I need to think this through. Getting discouraged won’t help.”
“True.”
He gazed back at Mac, who stood in the doorway, holding his colorful, new kite. “We have a treat for you,” Jordan said.
She eyed Jordan, then peered at Mac. The kite. He must have made it. “What do you have?” she asked her son.
“Kite. I built it.” He poked his chest with his free hand.
“And we’re just going out to give it a test run,” Jordan added. “Care to join us?”
“Sure,” Meara said, following him to the porch. She dropped her purse on the chair and stepped out the front door.
The sun-baked sand glistened as if with diamonds, and a gentle breeze rippled the lake and played against her skin. Jordan grabbed two beach chairs along the path and carried them to the sand. She sat and watched Jordan create the illusion that Mac was flying the kite. With both sets of hands on the string, they pulled and tightened until the strange-shaped structure floated over the water.
Curious, she approached Jordan. “An unusual design,” she said. “And you say that’s Mac’s creation?”
A gentle grin curved his mouth, and he tilted his head toward Mac. “He drew a picture of it with Otis. I promised we’d try to make one he designed himself.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful.”
She returned to the chair, admiring Jordan’s kindness. With tenderness he talked to Mac, complimenting and correcting, teasing and delighting.
Eventually the kite returned to earth, and Mac leaned against her shoulder, listening to her praise while Jordan took the kite to the porch and returned with some sodas.
Mac settled on the beach with Dooley curled at his side. With an old coffee can and a large rusted spoon he found lying on the grass, he dug in the sand.
Swigging from the bottle, Jordan gazed out at the water.
Meara pondered his silence. What secret thoughts tensed his jaw? Who was his friend and why had he visited yesterday? And what offer had he asked Jordan to consider? A wave of loneliness rippled through her. Greater desolation than she had felt at the Haydens’. That solitude she’d accepted.
“You’re quiet,” Jordan said, shifting his eyes from the lake view to her.
“Thinking. Like you.” She averted her gaze and focused on Mac. “Thanks for being such a nice friend to Mac. And to me. My life has been unsettled, and you’ve given me…a lift. And some hope.”
“You’re welcome. I sense you’ve had a hard time. But things seem to be pulling together.”
“They have. You, the Mannings, the apartment, the job—everything, except for Mac’s schooling. And I can solve that, too.”
Jordan gave her a puzzled look but didn’t ask how she’d solve the problem.
She wasn’t sure herself, but she would.
“The Mannings are a wonderful couple. I don’t know what I’d do without them either.” Jordan paused, then added, “Mac called Nettie ‘Grandma’ today.”
Meara faced him. “They seemed to have conspired. He misses things as they used to be.”
“And you?”
Tongue-tied, she struggled momentarily for the right words. “Not really. I miss security. But I love my freedom. Away from the watchful eyes of…Dunstan’s family.”
“Is that the real grandmother Mac mentioned today?”
She swallowed. “He did? Again? He asked me yesterday where his grandmother is.”
Jordan faltered. “You’ve only been married once?”
“Why…yes.” She studied his face, wondering why he’d asked. “What made you think—?”
“Mac mentioned two fathers.”
Meara closed her eyes, almost hearing the conversation. “He means Dunstan and God.”
A look of discomfort spread across Jordan’s face, and Meara longed to end the discussion.
“It’s all so complicated,” she said, feeling her shoulders rise on a sigh.
His words were so soft they barely reached her ears: “Some things are difficult to discuss.”
“I don’t want to burden people with my problems. They finally work themselves out.” Yet, she hadn’t worked out the pain.
“Memories, experiences hurt sometimes,” he said.
His words squeezed against her heart. His tragedy. He knew what she meant. Would he ever tell her? Her own unwillingness to share goaded her. How would he ever relate to her if she continued to hide her own pain?
“When Dunstan died, we left his family home. Not with the best of feelings. To me, it meant freedom. To Mac, it meant a new, frighteni
ng world. Dunstan’s home was all he’d ever known.”
“You were uncomfortable staying in the house after your husband’s death?”
The answer stuck in her throat. The horrible truth choked her, plundered her emotions. “Yes. It was his parents’ home…though the only life I’d known in America. But that wasn’t my motivation.” She looked away a moment before gaining the courage to tell him the truth.
“They asked me to leave.”
There, she’d said it. A sense of calm had settled in her body. “They paid me off. Paid off their debt to me and their grandson with a small gratuity. Like a charity case.”
“Please,” Jordan said, his body visually straining at her words, “you don’t have to—”
“We were an embarrassment to them.” A ragged sigh tore from her throat. “I must say it aloud, Jordan. Now that I’ve said it, maybe the shame and sorrow will go away. I should have fought for my son’s rightful inheritance.”
“Fought?” Jordan’s voice rose on the wind, and Mac turned toward him, surprise on his face.
“Sorry,” he said, lowering his voice. “Fought? With what? You had no knowledge of the law. You had no support.”
“I know, but I had God…and I should have turned to Him. I didn’t. I try to solve everything myself. And some things a person can’t handle on his own.”
She lifted her gaze to his and saw an expression she’d never seen before. Apprehension? Awareness? Astonishment? “What are you thinking?” she asked.
He stared over the lake. “Just some things I heard long ago. Questions I’d raised to myself. Questions I’ve never answered.”
She shifted in the beach chair, leaning forward, trying to see in his eyes. But he riveted his attention to the distant island.
Finally his lips stirred, moving softly in a near whisper. “Don’t chastize yourself, Meara. Look at yourself. Many people wouldn’t have survived.” He shifted to face her. “You’ve done well.”
“On the outside, maybe.” She longed to know what hidden meaning clung to his knowing words.
She leaned back against the canvas chair, hoping to give him time, time to tell her what suffering he’d endured.
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