Snowfall

by Sharon Sala

  “Oh, Mac.”

  “I know,” he said softly.

  “He has to be okay.”

  A muscle jerked at the corner of Mac’s mouth, the only indication of the struggle he was having with his own emotions.

  “Yeah,” he said gruffly, and gave her a quick hug.

  After a bit, Caitlin realized the looks they were getting were nothing more than the curiosity any newcomers would have received, so she settled back, unobtrusively looking around. Out of the fifteen people waiting, it was the only child who caught her attention.

  A tiny girl, no more than five or six, was sitting silently on the floor with a coloring book. With a scattered array of brightly colored crayons and a coffee table for a desk, she chose only the red, digging into the picture on the page with hard, angry slashes—an obvious reflection of her mood.

  Caitlin watched her for several long minutes, lost in the tender curve of the child’s neck, the way her long, curly hair fell across her little pink sweater, and the fierceness of her grip as she marked the page with angry strokes. A few moments later, she realized the little girl was staring at her, as well.

  Caitlin started to smile, but there was something in the child’s expression that held her back. Instead they looked, one at the other. It was the little girl who made the first move by reaching for a crayon and holding it toward Caitlin.

  The offer was obvious and, for her, impossible to refuse. Caitlin slipped to the floor and slid over to where the little girl was sitting, casting a questioning look at the man at whose feet the child sat. She saw he was surprised by what the child had done, but he nodded his permission for Caitlin to come closer.

  The look in the child’s eyes was haunting. Caitlin wanted to hold her. Instead she took the crayon, watching with interest as a new page was turned, offering a new picture for Caitlin to color.

  The crayon was black. Caitlin suspected the choice of colors was telling, but she took it without comment and began coloring the mane and hooves of the pony in the picture. When she was through, she laid the crayon down.

  The little girl looked up, seemingly surprised by what Caitlin had done. Again she picked up the black crayon and handed it to Caitlin.

  This time Caitlin shook her head, pointing to a bright turquoise crayon instead. By now the child was frowning, but Caitlin didn’t give in. She crossed her arms and sat back, waiting to see what would happen.

  Mac leaned forward to watch, his elbows on his knees, and happened to see the father’s eyes welling with unshed tears.

  The child offered the black crayon again, pointing to the page.

  Caitlin shook her head and pointed to the turquoise crayon. It was a standoff of major proportions.

  The child dropped the black crayon onto the floor and began coloring the opposite page with the red, jamming the crayon onto the paper as if it was a knife.

  Such anger in such a young child was frightening, and Caitlin couldn’t bear to watch, but when she started to leave, the child abruptly grabbed the turquoise crayon and all but flung it in Caitlin’s lap.

  Resisting the urge to grin, Caitlin quietly picked it up, using it to color the little saddle on the pony’s back. When she was through, she laid the crayon down on the table and sat back.

  Again the child looked up, the frown deeper on her face. She pointed to the page, indicating that Caitlin should keep coloring. Caitlin pointed to the yellow crayon. The little girl’s fury was almost comical, but Caitlin feared her reasons for resistance were anything but.

  The child shook her head.

  Caitlin pointed again at the yellow one.

  The child looked at Caitlin, judging her expression to see if she was as adamant as she’d been before. Whatever she saw convinced her to hand over the yellow crayon next.

  And so it went, crayon after crayon. Caitlin colored her picture, using a different color every time until she was through. Suddenly she leaned back and laid down the last one, holding up her hands in delight.

  The little girl looked at the page and then up at Caitlin, then back at the page again. Her gaze slid from the page she was coloring to the one Caitlin had done. She looked down at the nub of red crayon, her shoulders slumping in defeat as she slowly laid it down.

  Caitlin sensed that something momentous had happened, but she was afraid to move, afraid to guess what was on the child’s mind. But when the little girl pointed to the pile of crayons, Caitlin suddenly understood.

  All but holding her breath, she picked up a blue one and laid it in the child’s outstretched hand, then turned to a new page in the book.

  The little girl sighed, staring at the picture as if she’d never seen it before, the crayon awkward in her grasp. With hesitant movements, she slowly leaned forward and began to color—tentatively at first, as if afraid of the marks she made. But the more she colored, the bolder her strokes became, until finally she was using the crayon normally.

  Caitlin wanted to cheer; instead, she picked up another color and waited. A few seconds later the child laid down the blue crayon and held out her hand without bothering to look up. Caitlin handed her a green one and sat back with a sigh.

  Way to go, baby girl.

  Then she felt a touch on her shoulder. She turned. It was Mac, and the look on his face stopped her heart. God…oh God…is that what I think it is? Please let it be love.

  She swallowed nervously, wishing they were alone, needing to hear him voice what she saw in his eyes.

  “Miss?”

  It was the father.

  “Yes?”

  “Thank you.”

  She smiled. “I didn’t do anything.”

  “You don’t understand,” the man said. “She hasn’t spoken in three weeks…. And that coloring thing…it’s been going on nonstop ever since her mother—”

  He choked on his words, unable to finish.

  “I’m sorry,” Caitlin said. “Is she ill?”

  “My wife…she was the victim of a carjacking. They shot her in the head and dumped her and my daughter out of the car. She saw the whole thing.”

  “Dear Lord,” Caitlin whispered, staring anew at the child. Now the anger and the red crayon were beginning to make sense. She could only imagine what the child must have felt, seeing her mother covered in blood and being so afraid. She didn’t know how to assimilate what had happened to her and so had shut herself off into a world where nothing could intrude. Unfortunately she had shut herself off from the very people who could help her, as well.

  “And your wife?” Mac asked quietly.

  The man shook his head. “She’s brain dead. They took her off the ventilator this morning, and now we’re just waiting for her heart to stop.”

  “Don’t you have any family? Someone who could be with her so you could be with your wife?”

  “I have parents in Florida, but they can’t afford to travel, and what with all the expenses of this…this…” He shuddered, then laid his hand on his daughter’s head, trying to manage a smile. “Well, you know how it is.”

  That was just it. Caitlin didn’t. Not once in her entire life had she ever had to worry about money. She’d felt guilt before, but never as much as she did now.

  She looked up at Mac and knew he could tell what she was thinking. She turned back to the man.

  “Sir? I’m sorry, but I didn’t get your name.”

  “Hank Bridges.”

  “Where do you work, Mr. Bridges?”

  “I work for the Sanitation Department, but I don’t know how much longer they’re gonna cover for me. I’ve had to be gone a lot since—”

  Caitlin quickly changed the subject.

  “What’s your daughter’s name?”

  He smiled. “Katie. She’s five.”

  At the sound of her name, the little girl looked up.

  Caitlin tried to smile, but the pain in her heart kept getting in the way. “Isn’t that something? My name is Caitie, too.”

  Katie’s eyes widened slowly, eyeing Caitlin with new int
erest. When she nodded silently and then poked a finger through a loose curl dangling around Caitlin’s eye, Caitlin caught her breath.

  Suddenly she could feel herself beginning to come unwound. The stress she’d been under, her near brush with death, the weight of guilt she bore, the not knowing whether Aaron would live or die—all of it seemed petty compared to what this child had endured, but she couldn’t stop the rush of emotions.

  Caitlin grabbed Mac’s hand, which was still resting on her shoulder, and tried desperately to regain her control. But her empathy for the child was the last straw. She covered her face with her hands.

  The look on Katie Bridges’s face went from curious to startled. She dropped the crayon she was using to stare pointedly at Caitlin.

  Mac hurt for her and for himself. After all that had happened, Caitlin’s breakdown was inevitable. The problem was, he felt like crying, too. There was too damned much sorrow in the world.

  While no one was watching, the little girl suddenly crawled into Caitlin’s lap and began patting her face.

  “Don’t cry,” she whispered. “Don’t cry. Your daddy can kiss it all better.”

  “I don’t have a—” Caitlin stopped. She’d been about to say that she didn’t have a daddy anymore when she realized the child meant Mac. Instead of explaining, she grabbed the little girl’s hands and lifted them to her lips, tenderly kissing one little palm and then the other. “Did you let your daddy kiss your hurts?”

  The child frowned and then looked down.

  “Did you?” Caitlin asked.

  She shook her head.

  “Why not?” Caitlin asked.

  There was another moment of silence, and then she leaned over and whispered in Caitlin’s ear. “Because.”

  “Because why?” Caitlin asked.

  “Because he wasn’t there when I fell.”

  Caitlin heard the man gasp and understood his shock all too well. This was the explanation for the behavior he hadn’t understood. Her reason for not talking—her anger. He was the only person she knew to blame.

  “Dear God,” he cried, and lifted his daughter out of Caitlin’s lap and into his arms. “Katie…baby…Daddy is so sorry about what happened to you and Mommy, but it wasn’t his fault. Daddy was at work, remember? If I had been there, I would have hugged you both and made it all better, wouldn’t I?”

  Her little face crumpled.

  “I would have loved you and kissed you and told you I was sorry you fell out of the car.”

  “And you would have made the bad man go away, too, wouldn’t you, Daddy?”

  The child’s question, so poignantly asked, had everyone in the waiting room in tears.

  “Yes, baby girl. Daddy would have made the bad man go away.”

  At that point the child started to cry, quietly at first, then in huge, gulping sobs.

  “Thank God,” the man muttered as he rocked his daughter against his chest. “Lady, I don’t know your name, but I know what you are. You’re an angel. I’m sorry for whatever reason you have to be here, but I will be forever grateful that you were.”

  Caitlin got to her feet. “I’m glad I could help,” she said. Her voice was shaking. If she didn’t get out now, she knew she was going to make a fool of herself. “Mac, I’m going to the ladies’ room. I’ll be right back.”

  “Wait,” he said. “I’ll go with you.”

  She shook her head, then pointed to the bathroom and phone bank across the hall.

  “You can see me go in and see me come out, okay?”

  He nodded reluctantly, knowing he had no choice.

  “Is she your wife?” Bridges asked when she was gone.

  Mac’s heart gave a tug. “Not yet,” he said. “Maybe in time.”

  “She said her name was Katie, too. Isn’t that a coincidence?”

  Mac wasn’t going to explain, then thought to himself that if ever a woman deserved acknowledgment, it was Caitlin.

  “Her real name is Caitlin, but her close friends call her Caitie.”

  A slight frown crossed the young man’s face as the name settled in his mind.

  “Now that I think about it, she looks sort of familiar.”

  He looked to Mac for further explanation.

  Mac sighed, thinking what could it matter.

  “Probably. She’s Caitlin Bennett, the mystery writer.”

  “Oh man, isn’t she the woman who’s being stalked?”

  “Yeah,” Mac said. “I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t mention that when she comes back.”

  “Mister, after what she did for me, you don’t have to ask.”

  Before Mac could answer, a nurse appeared in the doorway. Every eye in the room turned toward her, some in fear, some with expectancy. Then her gaze settled on Hank and his child.

  “Mr. Bridges, you need to come now.”

  Hank looked at Mac and then down at his daughter, his face crumpling in heartbroken resignation.

  “I guess this is it,” he said. “Tell her again I said thank you.”

  “I will,” Mac said. “And I’m very sorry for your loss.”

  It was all Mac could do to watch them leave. Their lives as they’d known them were coming to an end. He could only imagine what it would be like to love one woman desperately enough to marry, have a child with her and then have to give her back to God and finish life alone. Weary from grief and worry, he sat back down on the sofa and dropped his head. There was nothing left to do but pray that both Aaron and Caitlin would be okay.

  A short while later, Caitlin returned to find Mac in the waiting room. When she saw the look on his face, she realized that Hank Bridges’s waiting was over.

  While her fear for Aaron was sickening, she felt better about herself than she had in months. Bridges didn’t know it yet, but he no longer owed a penny to the hospital for his wife’s extended care. There was also an extra ten thousand dollars in his checking account that hadn’t been there an hour before. Money couldn’t heal grief, but sometimes it made the grieving easier.

  “Any news?” she asked.

  Mac shook his head.

  She settled back down beside him, her gaze fixed on the door.

  “Caitie?”

  “What?”

  “What you did with that little girl…”

  Caitlin shrugged, refusing to look at him. “I just played with her, Mac. Don’t give me credit for something I don’t deserve.”

  “You’re making me crazy, do you know that?”

  Now she looked. “What do you mean?”

  “I thought I didn’t like you. You know that, don’t you?”

  She grinned weakly. “Yes, but I knew I didn’t like you, which makes me one up, doesn’t it?”

  He shook his head, a wry smile on his face.

  “You never let up, do you, girl?” Then he sighed. “You know that I’m lost on this, don’t you? I don’t know what to do.”

  “You mean about Aaron? There’s nothing we can do except wait.”

  “No, I’m not talking about Aaron. I’m talking about you. I’m falling in love with you, Caitie, and I don’t know how to stop it.”

  It was the last thing she’d expected him to say, and yet it was the sweetest.

  “Oh, Mac. Why would you want to?”

  “You? Me? Together? It couldn’t work.”

  “Why?”

  “You’re too damned rich.”

  She couldn’t have been more insulted if he’d slapped her. “My money makes me unlovable?”

  He cupped her face. “No, baby. Unapproachable. There’s no way I could ever match the Bennett fortune.”

  She knew she was staring, but for the life of her, she couldn’t stop.

  “Well then,” she said, her eyes filling with tears, “I suppose it’s a good thing I still don’t like you. It saves us both a lot of trouble.”

  “Caitlin, please don’t.”

  “Oh, shut up, will you, McKee? I have enough on my plate without having you rip out my heart and then hand it
back to me on a platter.”

  She stood abruptly, intent on sitting somewhere other than beside this infuriating man, when a doctor appeared in the doorway.

  “The Workman family?” he asked.

  “Here,” Mac said, and tried to judge the expression on the doctor’s face as to whether the news was bad or good.

  “Mr. Workman came through surgery well,” he said. “He suffered a broken nose, a concussion and a couple of broken ribs. His most serious injury is to his eyes.”

  Caitlin sank down into the nearest chair, too sick to stand.

  “I think they will heal in time,” the doctor continued. “But they are bandaged completely and will be for at least a week, maybe more. Barring any unforseen complications, I expect a full recovery, but I need to err on the side of caution by telling you he will have some facial scarring from the burns that might need plastic surgery. Right now, it’s just too soon to tell.”

  “Thank you, Doctor,” Mac said. “Thank you for saving my brother’s life. When can we see him?”

  “He’s still in recovery,” the doctor said. “And we intend to keep him sedated for at least twenty-four hours, so I strongly advise you to go home. It’s when we dismiss him that he’s going to need help.”

  But Mac wouldn’t budge. “I just need to see him first,” he said. “Even if he can’t hear me, I need to do this for myself. Please.”

  The doctor smiled, then nodded. “I suppose it won’t hurt,” he said. “Come with me.”

  Mac turned. “Caitlin?”

  “You go. Just tell him I love him.”

  “I don’t think it’s safe to—”

  “I won’t budge from this chair until you return.”

  Mac frowned, torn between the need to see Aaron and his fear of leaving Caitlin alone.

  “Really,” Caitlin urged. “I’ll be fine.”

  “I’m sorry,” the doctor said. “If your wife is ill, she’s more than welcome to—”

  “She’s Caitlin Bennett, and I’m her bodyguard, not her husband.”

  Understanding dawned. “I’ll call security,” the doctor said. “They can stay with Miss Bennett until you return.”

  “Mac, really,” Caitlin argued, but he was ignoring her.

  “That would be great,” he said.

  “Let me make a quick call, and then I’ll be back to escort you to see your brother.”