by Lisa Jordan
Well, those tasks filled ten minutes of her time. She grabbed the remote and flicked through the channels. Nothing. She wanted to call the hospital, find out what was going on with Melissa, but she wasn’t family, so they wouldn’t tell her anything.
She curled up in Stephen’s recliner, wrapping a crocheted afghan around her. The woodsy scent of his cologne cradled her like a soft blanket. She picked up his Bible, opening up the chapter where he had stuck in a leather bookmark.
A highlighted verse in Hebrews grabbed her attention—let us draw near to God with a sincere heart in full assurance of faith, having our hearts sprinkled to cleanse us from a guilty conscience and having our bodies washed in pure water.
In the margin, Stephen had scrawled “Draw me close, Lord.”
Yesterday’s conversation rewound in her head. Stephen said her forgiveness was too expensive—it needed to be given freely. How could she? He hurt her.
Yes, but he was hurting, too.
She spent the past five years surrounding her heart with righteous anger. She had it easy compared to what Stephen and Tyler were going through. After spending the evening with Ty, she realized Stephen had done the right thing. The reasons she fell in love with him were the same reasons why he broke their engagement—he was a man of honor. And truly, what other choice could he have made?
Lindsey cast her eyes toward the mantel. In one of the framed pictures, Bethany rested her chin on Tyler’s head and wrapped her arms around him. A mother’s love. From what Stephen had said, she had dedicated her last years to Tyler.
Forgiveness. It came with a price.
But wouldn’t not forgiving cost much more?
She needed to do it. She needed to tell Stephen she forgave him. Now the trick was to guard against falling in love with him all over again. And Tyler. That was going to be an even tougher challenge. She simply had to back off and make sure their paths didn’t cross again. For her own self-preservation.
Silence greeted Stephen as he closed the front door behind him. With his suit jacket hooked on a finger over his shoulder, he stepped out of his shoes and walked into the living room.
The cleaning fairy certainly made his night easier. No scattered toys. No pile of newspapers. The heap of laundry he had dumped in the chair this morning to find a clean shirt for Ty had disappeared. Apparently replaced with a sleeping cleaning fairy. A very pretty one at that.
Lindsey lay curled in his chair with his Bible open in her lap. More than anything he wanted to lean down and give Sleeping Beauty a kiss. He restrained himself.
He was half tempted to head to his room and let her sleep in his chair. In his house? Uh, that wouldn’t be good. For either of them. He had dishonored one woman already. He wouldn’t do it again.
A peek in the kitchen showed the sink emptied of dirty dishes, the counters cleared of this morning’s toast crumbs and the floors swept. When was the last time he had done that?
He didn’t expect Lindsey to clean up his mess. He needed to make more of an effort. Normally he didn’t care how the house looked, but he didn’t want Lindsey to think he was a slob.
With work and taking care of Tyler, housework got kicked to the bottom of his to-do list. How did Ma work ten-to-twelve-hour shifts as a registered nurse and still manage to keep their house clean, food on the table and the laundry done?
Heading back into the living room, he peeked into Ty’s room to find him snuggled under his Spider-Man comforter sound asleep.
Stephen returned to the living room and squatted in front of the recliner.
Lindsey’s hair curtained her face. Gently he swept it behind her ear. She stirred and rubbed her cheek against his hand. Oh, man, he was in trouble.
She stirred again. This time, her eyes opened. Still clouded under the veil of sleep, she gave him a sweet smile that pierced his soul. “Hi.”
“Hi, yourself. Good Book?” He nodded at the Bible nestled in her lap, then grinned at his own lame joke.
“Yeah, it is. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all.” Stephen shook his head, then pushed himself back until he bumped into the couch. He sat on the edge of the cushion and rested his elbows on his knees. “Sorry I was gone so long. Or didn’t call. It’s been a…an intense night. Hope Ty didn’t give you any trouble.”
Fabric brushed against fabric as Lindsey sat up. “No problems. We had a great time. You look tired.”
He scrubbed a hand over his face. “That backache Mel had earlier? Well, that was labor. And she didn’t know it. After you left, her labor progressed, but due to fetal distress, they ended up taking the baby by cesarean section. The umbilical cord was wrapped around his neck and the little guy would have been choked to death had she delivered him naturally.”
“Little guy? She had a boy?”
Stephen nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Lindsey’s face blurred. He stared at the carpet and forced the lump in his throat to dissipate. When he figured he could talk without blubbering like his newborn nephew, he opened his mouth. “Five pounds nine ounces. Nineteen inches long. Light hair like his dad and lungs like his mother. Poor kid.”
“You’re an uncle.” Lindsey stood and folded the afghan, placing it over the back of the chair.
He nodded again, feeling like a bobblehead. Another rush of emotion swept over him. He sniffed quietly, hoping Lindsey wouldn’t notice.
“Congratulations! Have they picked out a name yet?”
“Nathanial Stephen. They asked me if I minded and I told them I was honored.” To his horror, his voice cracked. He clasped his hands and stared at his feet, blinking rapidly. Lindsey would have a good laugh if she saw him tearing up.
“Nice, strong name. Did Nate make it before Melissa had the baby?”
“Yeah, he took my place. I paced the waiting room with Dad and Ma. They made it back in time, too. I’m really sorry I didn’t call. I was, well, kind of preoccupied. Not a very good dad when I forget about my own kid.”
She sat on the other end of the couch. Her brows creased. “Stop beating yourself up. You’re a great dad. Tyler was fine.”
“What did you two do all evening?”
“We ate dinner and he helped me do dishes. We played checkers and raced cars. The kid’s a champ. He beat me every time.”
Stephen laughed. “Yeah, he’s the reigning checker champ in this house. He and my dad play all the time. Did he fuss about going to bed?”
Lindsey shook her head. “No. He put in a movie and started falling asleep. He showed me his photo album.”
Stephen glanced at Bethany’s picture staring at them from the mantel. “He misses his mom. I try, but it’s not the same.”
Lindsey reached over and touched Stephen’s shoulder. “You’re doing a great job with him. He’s a wonderful little boy. It will take time for you both. It’s been a rough year for you.”
Stephen covered her hand. “Thanks. We’re taking it a day at a time.”
Lindsey pulled her hand away from his grasp and glanced at her watch as she stood. “I should be going.”
Stephen pulled himself to his feet and walked her to the door. “Hey, let me pay you.” He dug his wallet out of his back pocket.
“Are you kidding me? I don’t think so. I was helping a friend.”
Stephen tossed his wallet from hand to hand. He looked at her. “Do you ever see us becoming more than friends, Linds?”
She captured his gaze and held it a moment as his words registered. He knew the moment she realized what he meant because she looked away and reached for her jacket. As she thrust her arm into the sleeve, the movement unleashed the floral scent that he always associated with her. It lingered between them as she slipped on her shoes.
“Lindsey.”
Her hands stilled. Head bent, her hair fell forward, shielding her face from his view. Slowly, she straightened. She lifted her head and looked at him. She swallowed hard.
He took half a step forward and stretched out a hesitant hand toward her—as
if a sudden movement would startle her. He cupped her cheek and caressed his thumb over her rose-petal skin. He repeated, “Do you see us becoming more than friends?”
Lindsey licked her lips and took a step back, out of his reach. She closed her eyes. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “That’s all you can be to me, Stephen. The rest is too complicated.”
“It doesn’t have to be.” He took another step forward. Before she had a chance to turn, he cupped her face with both hands, stroking the gentle curve of her ear with the pad of his thumb. Her eyes scanned his face. He brushed his lips across her forehead. She released a sigh, warming his neck with her breath. He kissed her long lashes. Her shoulders relaxed. He lowered his mouth to her soft lips.
Lindsey leaned into him, her hand on his shoulder. Her fragrance blanketed him, scrambling his senses. He kept the kiss gentle, despite his instinct to draw her closer. Every cell in his body protesting, he released her lips and touched his forehead to hers.
Lindsey’s breathing told him she was as affected by the kiss as he was. Eyes still closed, she touched a finger to her lips. Then, as if realizing what she was doing, her eyes shot open. She shrugged out of his grasp and speared him with a glare. “You shouldn’t have done that.”
He shoved his hands in his front pockets and rocked back on his heels. “I should probably apologize, but that would be a lie. I’ve wanted to do that since I pulled you over in that ugly blue car with the broken taillight.”
Chapter Twelve
Lindsey pulled into the driveway. Next to Max’s sedan.
Oh, right. Mom said he was there when Lindsey called to check on her.
Shifting her convertible into Park, she sat with the engine idling. She closed her eyes and touched her lips, reliving that kiss for the hundredth time since she left Stephen’s house.
She should have stopped him. Pushed him away. Something. Anything to keep distance between them. But that kiss… A sigh slipped over her lips.
Sitting in the driveway and daydreaming over a kiss like a fifteen-year-old wasn’t doing anyone a bit of good. Lindsey shut off the engine and slid out of the car. Slamming the door behind her, she headed for the house.
The living room lights cascaded across the front porch. Lindsey opened the front door and dropped her purse on the chair while she shrugged out of her coat and hung it up.
Laughter from the TV in the living room drifted into the popcorn-scented foyer. Mom and Max must have been caught up in their movie and didn’t hear her come in.
“Mom? I’m back.” Lindsey padded into the living room.
She gasped. Her hands flew to her mouth. “Sorry.”
Oh, they were caught up all right.
Mom and Max broke apart like two teenagers caught making out on the family couch. The tips of Max’s ears reddened as he smoothed down his hair. A similar shade stole across Mom’s cheeks.
It was only a kiss.
Then why did part of Lindsey want to wither and blow away like a dried leaf?
“Well, this is awkward.” Max rested his head against the back of the couch.
Lindsey wrapped her arms around her waist. Mom played with the fringe on the white crocheted afghan in her lap. What happened to the quilt? She usually covered up with that.
Max laughed quietly and shook his head. He slid an arm around Mom’s shoulders. “Linds, there’s something you should know.”
Her mother clamped a hand on Max’s knee. “No, Max. Not yet.”
“Bella, we can’t hide this from her.”
“What? What should I know? Mom, are you okay? Does your leg hurt? Did something happen?”
“No. No. I’m fine. There’s nothing to worry about. I promise.”
If there wasn’t anything to worry about, why wouldn’t Mom look at her? “Then what’s going on?”
Max grinned, then smeared a hand over his mouth as if to wipe away the smile. He stood. “As you know, your mother and I have been dating for six months now.”
“Right.” Not that she had known that long, though.
“Well…” He shifted from foot to foot. “We’re not getting any younger. And when you know, you know. You know?”
Lindsey shook her head, not having a clue what he was babbling about. That’s one thing she was coming to realize—when he was nervous, Max babbled.
Mom still wouldn’t look at her. What was that all about?
“Look, I’m just going to come out and say it. I love Grace with all my heart. I’ve asked her to marry me. And she said yes.”
Lindsey tried not to flinch, but her body betrayed her. The air whooshed out of her lungs as Max’s words punched her in the solar plexus.
Stay calm. Don’t react.
The room spun. The laughter from the TV echoed inside her head, the sound getting louder and louder as if mocking her. Lindsey stepped back until the backs of her legs smacked into the ottoman. She dropped onto it.
Her eyes darted to Dad’s recliner, angled to have a perfect view for Sunday-afternoon football. How many times had she wrapped herself in the wedding ring quilt and curled up in that chair to watch Saturday morning cartoons? Where was that quilt? It should have been folded and hanging off the back of the brown corduroy recliner with the worn arms. Mom hated that thing. It didn’t match the rest of the room with its rose chintz furniture, ruffled throw pillows or the mauve-colored carpet. Despite her threats while Dad was alive, Mom hadn’t parted with it after his death.
The chair belonged. In this room. In this house. Along with the quilt.
“Where’s the quilt, Mom?”
Mom jerked her head up. “What? What quilt?”
“The quilt that laid on the back of Dad’s chair? It was there this morning.”
“I don’t understand why you’re worried about a blanket. Did you hear what Max said?”
Blood rushed through her veins, pumping so loudly through her heart that she was sure they could hear it. “A—a blanket? Are you kidding me? How could you call it that? That quilt belongs on the back of Dad’s chair. And now it’s gone. If you don’t want it anymore, if you’re going to just throw it away and replace it with a new one, well, I’ll keep it. Where is it?”
“Lindsey…” Max stepped forward and held out a hand.
Lindsey flicked her gaze from Mom to Max and then back to her mother. “Mom.”
“It’s in the basement. It needs to be washed.” Mom’s shoulders sagged as if the admission heaped a steaming pile of guilt on them.
Lindsey headed for the basement. She snapped on the light and slowly made her way down the steps. There, on the cold cement floor, in front of the washer, laid the quilt.
Crumpled.
Discarded.
She moved to the washer, picked up the quilt carefully as if touching it would cause the threads to separate, hugged it to her chest and buried her face in the multicolored rings.
Her chest shuddered. She leaned against the dryer as Max’s words echoed inside her head. The seams of her heart ripped open—one by one—until it lay exposed, ragged. Here, away from questioning eyes, she allowed herself to give in to the sob, soaking the fabric.
She breathed in her mother’s familiar fragrance—the expensive perfume that Lindsey always paused to smell when she passed through Macy’s. Usually the scent surrounded her with the familiar comfort of home, back before times changed and a girl’s life was thrust in limbo.
Lindsey breathed deeply to inhale the very faint aroma of Dad’s cologne. Well, not cologne actually, but a girl could pretend, right? Dad’s scent consisted of Irish Spring soap and menthol shaving cream. If she closed her eyes, if she breathed deeply enough, if she allowed the door to that memory to open, she could smell it. She could remember.
But Lindsey couldn’t smell it. She breathed in again. No, this time, she smelled an expensive men’s cologne. A scent so out of place she nearly tossed the quilt on the floor.
Then she saw it. A dark stain embedded in the threads. It smelled like tea. And something else. A s
cent she couldn’t place.
The door opened. “Lindsey? We need to talk.”
Lindsey closed her eyes. Mom deserved to be happy, right? Didn’t she say Max made her want to live again? And everyone kept telling her what a great guy he was. She needed to give him a chance to prove it.
Knowing there was no other place to go than up, Lindsey clutched the quilt and headed for the stairs.
Leaning on her crutches, Mom balanced herself in the open doorway. Mascara smudges and her pink nose showed Lindsey that she wasn’t the only one who had been crying.
“Lindsey.”
Gripping the banister, she stopped halfway up the stairs.
Mom gave her that same penetrating glare she used to get when she had done something wrong. “I spilled tea on the quilt. Max was kind enough to take it downstairs and spray it with stain remover. That’s what he was trying to tell you before you jumped all over him. He wasn’t sure how to wash it, but I assured him we’d take care of it tomorrow. I would never do anything to ruin that quilt. I will always treasure it. But just because I wasn’t using it doesn’t mean I don’t love it. It’s a part of me, Lindsey. Nothing will change that. Nothing.”
Lindsey’s eyes burned. “Mom—”
“I love him.”
“I know.” The wooden banister needed to be sanded, Lindsey realized as a sliver pierced her skin.
“He’s a good guy, honey. He’ll take great care of me.”
Lindsey took another step. Then another. “As long as he makes you happy, Mom.” She forced a calm tone into her voice. Her hand began to throb.
Her mother stepped back to make room for her. She reached out and cupped her chin. “He does, honey. So much. There’s something else. I’m selling the house.”
“What? Why?” Frowning, she closed the basement door.
“It’s too big. I want to start fresh. Something small enough for Max and me. With no ghosts. For either of us.”
“This house…” Her voice trailed off. What could she say? She hadn’t lived here in five years, but it was the only place she’d ever called home. Her last link to her dad. But her mom was right—she and Max needed a fresh start.
