by Karina Bliss
Though she hadn’t told Dad about Grandpa gifting Uncle Sam the medal—not even when he was looking for it when he packed up Grandpa’s things—Kaitlin knew she’d let it slip sooner or later. She always did. “Pip said she’ll stay, and I know you want her to. I just don’t get it.”
She and Dad were standing at the back of the funeral home waiting for people to arrive for Grandpa Adam’s funeral. Kaitlin intended to go up to his open casket and say goodbye, but she hadn’t quite managed it yet.
It wasn’t that she had a problem looking at dead people—wanting to be a missionary, she couldn’t—and she’d been to both her other grandparents’ funerals. But as long as she didn’t look at Grandpa’s face, she could still pretend somebody had made a mistake.
“Kaitlin,” said Dad, “you’ve got to stop eavesdropping.” “Just tell me why and I’ll quit pestering you.” With a sigh, he sat down in a back pew and drew her close. “What if the Beast stayed the Beast instead of turning into the handsome prince? Would you still want Belle to marry him?”
“But he didn’t,” she pointed out.
“In real life it’s harder for people to change. There’s no kiss that breaks the spell.”
“How about a blow to the head with a two-by-four?” said Pip, suddenly standing beside them. “Does that sound like someone who’d sacrifice her life for pity?”
Dad frowned. “I don’t think we should have this conversation in front of Kaitlin. Or my father.”
“Adam was on my side, and our family is starting a new trend. No secrets. Kaitlin, I’m going to pay my respects to your grandpa. Do you want to come with me?”
“Not yet.”
“Okay, honey, when you’re ready.”
Kaitlin watched Pip walk up to Grandpa’s casket, and bow her head. Beside her, Dad was looking sad, and she put her arms around him. “Are you missing Grandpa?”
He returned her hug. “Yeah, baby, but I’m also happy Dad’s not suffering anymore.”
Kaitlin sat back and looked at him curiously. “Why did you start calling him Dad?”
“Because he needed me to, and because I wanted to. He ended up being a good father.”
“And he was smart,” Kaitlin said. She waited for Dad’s agreement before she added innocently, “So what did Grandpa say about Pip?”
Dad’s eyes narrowed. “Kaitlin Josephine Fraser, you’re getting more like him every day. Now go talk to your uncle Daniel.”
She saw him with Pip, who’d moved away from the casket now. As Kaitlin approached, she heard Pip say, “I thought you didn’t get involved in family dramas?” and she slowed to a dawdle.
“I told you, I rang your number by mistake,” Uncle Daniel replied in the dry voice he used for teasing. Deciding they weren’t saying anything interesting, Kaitlin went to talk to Belle instead.
After everyone arrived, Dad asked her to shut the chapel door to stop the December rain from blowing into the vestibule, and to keep the cold out. As she started to pull it closed, Kaitlin saw Great-Uncle Sam walking up the driveway, dressed in a black suit and holding an umbrella.
She ran down the steps to meet him, and he drew her under the shelter with him. “Didn’t anyone teach you not to run around in the rain?”
“I like the rain,” she said. “Why did you come, Uncle Sam? I didn’t think you wanted Grandpa Adam as your brother.”
“Whether I did or whether I didn’t is not your concern. But I have something for Adam’s casket, something that belongs to him.”
Kaitlin smiled. “So you are being nicer.”
“Don’t be impertinent.” Uncle Sam looked into the chapel, saw Dad and hesitated.
“I’ll take you, Uncle Sam.” Snagging his hand, Kaitlin marched up the steps and into the chapel. Dad stiffened when he saw who she was with, but Kaitlin kept walking straight up the aisle to the casket.
She got all trembly inside as she got closer, and a little scared, but Uncle Sam’s hand was big and warm and he didn’t seem to mind her squeezing it so hard. Cautiously, she looked into Grandpa’s face. “He really died,” she whispered, tears coming to her eyes. She’d thought she’d cried out all her tears for him.
“Would you like me to take you out, Kaitlin?”
Uncle Sam’s briskness always made her braver. “No.” She looked up at her relative. “Can I give it to him?”
Nodding, he handed over the box.
Kaitlin took out the Medal of Honor and gently laid the star over Grandpa’s heart, with the blue ribbon and its cluster of thirteen stars diagonally across one shoulder. “It was his favorite, most special thing,” she whispered.
“I know.”
“Is that why you gave it back?”
He didn’t answer because Dad had come up and laid a protective hand on her shoulder. In silence, they all looked at the medal, then Dad said quietly, “Does this have anything to do with the thirty thousand dollars that’s been refunded to me by the rehab clinic?”
Uncle Sam said nothing. Kaitlin followed his lead.
Dad sighed. “You can stay, Sam. Not because you’re lying to me, and certainly not because you’ve subverted my daughter. Pip’s just told me that you resuscitated Dad after his second stroke at your golf club. If you hadn’t, we wouldn’t have resolved our relationship before he died. For that I’ll always be grateful, whatever you feel about the Frasers.”
Squeezing Kaitlin’s shoulder, Dad walked away. Uncle Sam waited until he was out of earshot, then said approvingly, “You’ve learned how to keep a secret.”
But later, after the funeral, Kaitlin did tell two people the whole story. Belle and Aunt Emily. Somehow she knew Grandpa would have wanted her to.
NEAR THE END OF THE WAKE, Joe stood in the living room of Belle and Matt’s new house and watched Pip trying to flirt with one of Sue’s foster babies. She produced a big smile, then pulled a funny face.
Donnie, chewing a toy on the rug, was unimpressed.
Joe wasn’t. It felt like the first time he’d smiled in three days. Then Pip glanced up and caught him watching. Embarrassed, she returned to her conversation with the grown-ups.
Joe continued to the kitchen, where he dumped the empty glasses he’d been collecting in the dishwasher.
Since Adam’s death, they’d talked once about what should happen next. The morning he’d woken up in his hotel room with Pip beside him. Joe could still remember the surge of happiness he’d felt before recalling that she was there for the wrong reasons.
She’d insisted she was staying, but Joe replied he wasn’t a pity case. If he wasn’t enough for her before Adam died, he wasn’t going to be enough after.
They’d argued back and forth for an hour.
Privately, Joe had other reservations. He’d told Pip he loved her, and she hadn’t believed him, hadn’t wanted to. That hurt. She didn’t trust him with her fears about motherhood, and he was a man who needed to be needed. And she’d never said she loved him.
The disparity between Pip’s words and her actions suggested she still had doubts.
And with a funeral to organize, a child to comfort and a father to mourn, Joe hadn’t been able to think straight or trust his judgment. So when Pip suggested they wait until after the funeral to talk, he’d accepted the reprieve with relief.
He finished stacking the glasses, turned the dishwasher on, then looked around for his next chore. But Belle and her mother had already cleaned up and the kitchen was spotless. For the first time since Adam died, Joe had time to think.
Sue appeared in the doorway, carrying her wriggling toddler, who’d been causing mayhem pulling decorations off the Christmas tree. “We’re burning off some of this energy in the park across the road.” His cousin repositioned Carrie onto her other hip. “Come with us?”
“Sure.” Taking Carrie from Sue, he lifted her onto his shoulders. “C’mon, monkey.” The toddler laughed, her mittened hands gripping his hair with enough force to make him wince.
The December afternoon was cold, the sky
a pale blue. A chill breeze nipped at his exposed skin. Sue reached up and put a woolly hat on Carrie, which the toddler promptly pulled off and threw on the ground. Then she caught sight of the playground and started to squeal in excitement.
“Hat first,” insisted her mother.
Joe secured Carrie in the baby swing, then gave it a gentle push. Carrie rewarded him with a tiny-toothed grin.
“In another year you’ll be doing this with your baby,” Sue commented. She sat on the park bench, knees pulled up under her black coat, her long, fair hair pulled back in its customary ponytail.
Joe couldn’t allow himself to think about that, not until he’d settled things with Pip. He gave a noncommittal grunt.
“Why are you still holding Pip at arm’s length?” Sue said quietly.
He took a while to find the right reply. At some profound level, making his peace with his father had changed him. But old habits died hard. “I need her to be sure.”
Carrie vocalized her disapproval at being stationary. Joe gave the swing another push.
“You’ve always accepted too much responsibility,” said Sue. Carrie’s hat fell off and she retrieved it, replacing it on the little girl’s curls. “We broke up because of my shortcomings, not yours. But you still gave me a job when I needed one. Nadia made a baby, too, but it’s always been your fault.” Sue dug her hands in the pockets of her coat. “Now you’re trying to guess how Pip’s going to feel in five years time about giving up her family. Stop it.”
Carrie put her arms up for her mother, and Joe stopped the swing. “This playground trip was a ploy, wasn’t it?” he accused her.
Sue disentangled the toddler from the harness and faced him. “You’re in love with a strong woman who knows her own mind. If Pip’s chosen you, let her.”
“As easy at that, huh?”
“No, it’s not easy.” They started back toward the house. “But if you’re waiting for your head to catch up with your heart, it’s not going to happen.”
Joe didn’t like the sound of that.
In the hall, Sue wrinkled her nose at her small daughter, then picked up the diaper bag near the door. “Roll on, potty training.”
As she headed up the stairs toward the bathroom, Joe called softly, “Sue.”
With Carrie in her arms, she looked down.
Neither of them said anything, but then they’d never had to. Smiling, she continued up the stairs.
Joe paused at the living-room door. Most of Adam’s acquaintances had gone. Only family remained. Next to the Christmas tree, Kaitlin played peekaboo with Donnie, who gurgled at her adoringly.
Across the room, Daniel was saying his farewells to Aunt Jenny and Luke. He gave Joe a “you’ll be okay” shoulder squeeze on the way out. His loyalty had been the rock at Joe’s back since he was four years old. But, Joe realized, his uncle’s solitary path was no longer his—if it ever had been.
His gaze shifted to Aunt Jenny and Uncle Luke, still committed, still happy after thirtysomething years together.
He looked at Uncle Sam, who was too damn stupid to realize pursuing the necklace was costing him everything that really mattered, and yet was still capable of making a poignant gesture. If Sam could change, even a little bit, surely Joe could.
Finally, he looked at Pip, who was chatting to Sue’s husband, Rick, by the fireplace. Joe stopped thinking and allowed himself simply to feel. The message was unequivocal. She’s the one.
And he smiled because Sue was right. When he led with his heart he knew exactly what he had to do.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
THE KING’S ELEMENTARY Nativity play was in full swing. So far Mary had dropped baby Jesus on his head, the donkey had decided he was a comedy act, and the three wise men were currently ad-libbing a sword fight with weapons they’d insisted on carrying. Now Pip knew why.
But a sword fight made things so much more exciting, the three wise men argued after they’d staggered into the wings, clutching their chests.
“You conned me,” she said sternly, then lectured them on their characters’ motivation, and sent them back on stage subdued and suitably wiser. Standing in the right wing, next to the curtain, where she could troubleshoot as necessary, Pip allowed herself a quiet chuckle.
Suggesting to the principal that she return to finish out her last week had been a great idea. She got to say a proper goodbye to her class, and was too busy to brood over Joe.
After the funeral he’d asked for a few more days to get a couple of things settled. And because she loved him, because Pip understood what it was to lose someone you loved, she’d said yes. Inside, she wanted to scream with frustration.
The waaa-waaa of a ten-year-old offstage pretending to be a newborn dragged her attention back to the play. In the opposite wing, her sound effects guy was building up to a full-blown tantrum. Pip sliced a hand across her throat and he broke off midwaaa.
In two days the lease was up on her apartment, and in another week her working visa for the States expired.
Time was running out.
Checking her script, Pip turned and whispered, “Everybody ready?” Tinsel halos nodded in unison. She smiled at her most responsible student. “Kaitlin, lead them on.”
“Okay, Pi—Miss Browne.”
Homemade wings flapped and jigged on white sheet robes as her choir of angels—everyone in the class without a formal part—trooped on stage for the grand finale. Below the front of the stage, Anita struck a note on the piano, and after a wobbly start, the choir settled into “Away in the Manger.”
Pip got a lump in her throat and blinked furiously. A hand proffered a handkerchief. Joe.
“What are you doing here?” she whispered.
He whispered back, “I’ve got a daughter performing, remember?”
They looked at Kaitlin, who stood with her friends in the front row of the choir, where their appalling singing couldn’t throw any of the other singers off-key.
“I meant in the wings,” said Pip.
His gaze settled on her. “It’s time to talk.”
“Now?” He smiled, and Pip’s heart started to beat faster.
“Now. Besides, what could go wrong in the last song?”
On stage, one of the choristers backed into the stable and the piece of painted cardboard backdrop started to wobble. Mary shrieked theatrically and the singing faltered. Beside Pip, Joe started to sing in a deep baritone, “The stars in the sky looked down where He lay.” Encouraged, the kids picked it up again.
Joe stopped singing and reached for Pip’s hand. “I’ve already kept you waiting long enough,” he said, and unaccountably, she started to cry.
“You think?”
He caught her in his arms and kissed the tears away. “You told Kaitlin that one kiss doesn’t break the spell,” Pip reminded him.
“No.” His hold tightened. “It’s going to take a lifetime of kisses, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
The singing stopped; applause signaled the end to the play. Kaitlin called in a stage whisper, “Now, Dad?”
“Now, Katie.” Joe released her.
On stage the choristers pulled signs out from under their sheet robes and held them up. Each was a letter. Pip took a couple of side steps left to get a better view.
P-I-P-W-I-L-L-U-blank-A-R-blank-blank-M-E
“You’ve lost me,” she said. “Who do I arm?”
Joe sighed. “Melissa, Kaitlin, Scooter. Turn your signs around and angle them more to Miss Browne.”
Another M, R and Y appeared. The message sprang into sharp relief: “PIP WILL YOU MARRY ME?” Pip gasped and covered her mouth. From the auditorium she heard oohs and scattered applause.
Joe dropped to one knee. “I figured my humiliation should be public.”
Pip tried to speak, but emotions overwhelmed her.
He took her hand. “I love you so much,” he added huskily, “that I can’t separate what’s right from what I want anymore. You choose.”
“Say it ag
ain,” she croaked.
“You choo—”
Tears pouring down her face, Pip grabbed his shoulders and shook him. “The love part, Joe. Tell me now, then tell me every day for the rest of our lives.”
“What’s happening?” Pip heard Anita call to the performers. Her piano was below stage with the audience, just out of sight.
“Dad’s kneeling down,” Kaitlin yelled back. “Miss Browne just shook him.” The audience hushed; every child on stage craned to see. “But I can’t hear what they’re saying.”
Joe smiled. “I love you.” Pip took one deep, tremulous breath and stopped crying. She smiled back. Standing, Joe took back his handkerchief and wiped the last traces of tears from her cheeks, his expression serious again. “And I promise you’ll get back to New Zealand at least once a year, and that when Kaitlin’s older we’ll look at living there for six months and—”
Pip pressed a finger over his lips. “I’ve never questioned your fairness, only your feelings.”
He caught her hand. “And what are yours, Pip?”
Suddenly, she felt nervous and shy. “I love you,” she said awkwardly. Joe broke into a grin. Pip smacked his arm. “This isn’t a competition.”
“She just hit him,” Pip heard Melissa report. The audience gave a collective groan.
“You’re on.” Joe caught her around the waist and pulled her close. “Who loves who the most?”
But Pip knew how to handle tough guys.
“She’s kissing him,” Kaitlin reported to the audience a few seconds later. “I guess that means yes.” The floor vibrated under them as applause thundered through the auditorium.
Pip came up for air, rested her head against his shoulder. “One thing,” she confessed. “I’m scared of babies.”
Joe’s hand made warm, soothing circles on her back. “So was I before Kaitlin. It will pass, I promise.”
Pip relaxed into him. This man didn’t make promises he couldn’t keep.
“I’ll teach you about babies,” he said, “if you teach me how to be an idealist again.”
