Love Inspired May 2015 #2

by Missy Tippens

  “I want it.” The words came out before she could stop them, and she gave him a bashful shrug. “Is that bad to admit? I do, though. This is the first happy memory we have for Chris, and now we have a photo of it.”

  “It was a special night,” he admitted, his tone low and deep. “I never thought I’d see him again.”

  “Funny how life works, isn’t it?”

  For a long moment they were silent. He stood close enough to her that the warmth from his chest emanated against her arms. Down the street, a dog barked, and farther away another answered. The soft light from the window spilled over their feet, but their faces remained in shadow. It felt more comfortable that way, somehow, as the velvety night closed in around them.

  “I meant to stay away tonight,” he said softly.

  “Why?”

  “Because of this. Here. The moonlight, the summer wind.” He reached forward and brushed a strand of hair away from her eyes. “You.”

  “Am I such a danger?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  Rachel laughed softly and looked out at the yard—the long shadows made by the moon and the green eyes of a raccoon peering at her from the bushes. “I thought I was being nice.”

  “You are. Too nice. I’m doing my best to leave town, you know.”

  “I know.” She brought her eyes back to his face and gave him a sad smile. “And I’m not stopping you.”

  “I’m at the head of the running for that position. As long as I can do well with a presentation to schoolkids tomorrow, I’m pretty sure I’ve got the job.”

  “Congratulations.” She forced a smile and nodded quickly. “You deserve it.”

  “I’m not as excited as I thought I’d be.”

  “No?” She tried to force some cheerfulness but failed. “I’m sorry. You’re my first friend here in town, and I’m going to miss you.”

  “Me, too.” He sighed. “If things were different—”

  “You don’t have to say it,” she said quietly. “It’s okay. They aren’t different.”

  He nodded, and they fell into silence again, listening to the quiet sounds of the summer night. Rachel couldn’t help the melancholy thoughts that rose inside her. She thought of her husband, who died too soon, of her son, whose birth mother hadn’t been able to care for him, of her attempts to rebuild a life for her little boy, and now of Matt, who had wormed his way into her life and who would be off to new adventures just as soon as he could manage. She felt lonely standing there, because no matter how solid and reassuring he felt right now, this wouldn’t last. Why was it that the sweetest things in life felt the most fragile?

  “Hey.” Matt’s voice rumbled deep, and he put a finger under her chin, lifting her gaze to meet his. She realized in that moment that a tear had escaped and trickled down her cheek. She sniffed and dropped her gaze, smiling to cover that tear, but he moved closer. He didn’t speak again, and when her gaze flickered up to meet his, his warm lips came down onto hers in a kiss as light as a moth’s wings.

  Rachel didn’t move, not forward, and certainly not away. He smiled and when she parted her lips and sucked in a wavering breath to say something—something unplanned and meaningless, she was sure—his lips came down onto hers once more and her eyes fluttered shut.

  Matt’s warm, calloused hands slid down her arms, and for a moment everything but the two of them melted into the velvety darkness of the summer night. His hand came up to her face, and as he pulled away he touched his forehead to hers.

  “Sorry,” he whispered gruffly.

  “It’s okay.”

  A smile came to her lips and she met his gaze with a soft laugh. Before she could say anything else, a rustling sound at the door made her heart skip a beat.

  “Mommy?”

  Chris stood in the doorway, a perplexed look on his face. He looked from Matt, back to Rachel and asked haltingly, “What are you doing?”

  “Nothing, Chris,” she said quickly, casting Matt a look of alarm and hurrying to the door. “Let me get you up to bed, sweetheart. It’s late.”

  Rachel looked back once more to see Matt, his eyes clouded with unnameable emotions, standing on the veranda. He stood balanced on the stair, about to step out into the night. He didn’t leave just yet, and his steely gaze seemed to hold more words and thoughts than he’d ever expressed to her. She felt momentarily torn between her maternal instincts and the man with the strong shoulders and brooding gaze who stood on her porch. Matt raised his hand in a silent wave and then headed down the stairs and out into the night. Rachel stood with her son in a living room littered with the vestiges of a birthday party, her heart filled with the memory of Matt’s gentle lips pressed against hers in the cool evening air.

  “Let’s get you upstairs,” she said softly, taking Chris by the hand. “My poor tired boy...”

  As she climbed the stairs behind her son, she prayed earnestly, Oh, Lord, let Chris forget this by morning!

  * * *

  The next morning, Rachel yawned, tucking the phone between her shoulder and cheek. She held a garbage bag in one hand as she ambled around the first floor of her home, picking up wrapping paper, napkins, plastic cups and various litter from the evening’s celebration. She looked skeptically down at a pair of reading glasses that had fallen into the couch cushions. They would belong to one of the aunts, no doubt. She’d have to call around later on that morning, seeking the half-blind owner.

  “He kissed you!” Louise exclaimed on the other end of the phone. “When did this happen?”

  “After all of you went home,” Rachel replied. “It wasn’t planned.”

  “The best kisses aren’t.” Louise chuckled.

  “It was a stupid thing to do. I know it. He has other plans, and I certainly can’t be getting into another relationship. At least not right now.”

  “I know, I know.” Louise sounded impatient with old excuses. “You’re worried about Chris. But part of parenting is protecting children from too much information. He doesn’t need to know anything is even happening between the two of you. It isn’t that complicated. Just be discreet.”

  “He saw us,” Rachel admitted.

  “Oh.” Louise sighed. “Well, you’re in a lurch, aren’t you?”

  “That’s all you’ve got?” Rachel asked with a wry laugh. “No wisdom?”

  “I’m afraid not. You’ll have to tell me how you handle it all.”

  Rachel chuckled and dropped the half-filled garbage bag onto the ground at the door to the kitchen. “I haven’t decided what to do yet, but I’ll fill you in when I do.”

  “Your son is your top priority,” Louise said quietly. “And that’s a good thing, but you do realize that one day he’ll be all grown up and you’ll be left on your own, right?”

  “Not for some time,” Rachel replied with a short laugh.

  “Faster than you’d think, dear. Time flies, and when these little boys grow up to be men, they act like men and they no longer need or want their mommies in their business. You want to be a good mother, and I agree with you that you must, but you also have to take care of yourself. You have to have a life of your own in place when he’s a grown man and ready to fly the nest.”

  “I don’t even want to think about him being an adult yet, Auntie.”

  “I know.” She laughed softly. “But trust me—you deserve a romance of your own, too. If not Matthew Bailey, then someone else.”

  Rachel was silent, her mind working over her aunt’s advice. She knew that Chris would grow up, and her deepest fear was that once he was a grown man and no longer needed her, he’d resent her for not being enough, not doing enough when he needed her most. She hadn’t considered that he might resent her for smothering him with her love.

  “Well, your uncle just woke up. I’d better get him some coffee,” Louise said.
“Just think about it, dear. Talk to you later?”

  After Rachel said goodbye and hung up the phone, she picked up the garbage bag once more and moved into the kitchen, continuing her quest for random trash.

  Father, she prayed, what do I do now? I know I’ll have to have my own life when he’s a grown man, but he’s just little now, and he needs me more than he even realizes. I feel like a failure already.

  It wasn’t entirely fair, and she knew it, but maternal guilt was a wily beast. From a successful birthday party where her son finally relaxed and seemed to settle in with his aunts and uncles, to catching his mother kissing “his firefighter” on the porch... She grimaced and covered her eyes with one hand. There was no point in waiting around the kitchen. She grabbed the last of the paper cups from the counter and swiped them into the bag, then tied it shut and dropped it by the door. Then she headed up the stairs toward her son’s bedroom.

  Easing open the door, she found Chris lying on his bed, eyes open and hands behind his head. He looked over at his mother, his usual exuberance dampened.

  “Morning, sweetheart,” she said.

  “Hi, Mom.”

  She’d been hoping that he might have been too sleepy to remember last night’s kiss, but that hope was shattered by the tone of his voice.

  “Do you want to talk about yesterday?” she asked softly.

  “Why were you kissing Mr. Bailey?” Chris asked, propping himself up on one elbow.

  Rachel sat down on the side of his bed and took a deep breath. She’d always thought she’d be more cautious than this, and she’d introduce someone special to Chris before he ever suspected that she was involved. This situation was completely out of control.

  “Sometimes when a man and a woman care about each other, they show it with a kiss,” she said.

  “Like when they have babies?” Chris asked.

  “No!” Rachel shook her head vehemently. “That’s something different. That’s for a husband and a wife. Mr. Bailey and I are only friends.”

  “But you don’t kiss Pastor Gord, and he’s your friend, right?”

  Rachel smoothed a hand over Chris’s hair. “No, honey, you’re right. It’s different. Mr. Bailey and I have gotten to be very good friends, better friends than I am with Pastor Gord.”

  “So, is Mr. Bailey going to marry you and be my new dad?” Chris asked.

  “No.”

  “Why not? I thought kissing was when you love somebody.”

  “Well...” Rachel sighed. “Sweetie, there are some grown-up reasons why Mr. Bailey and I can’t go any further. Last night, we probably shouldn’t have kissed each other, but we did. I’m sorry that you saw it.”

  “So you don’t love Mr. Bailey?” Chris asked.

  His question was so innocent, and her answer should have been quicker, but she found herself wondering what exactly she did feel for Matthew Bailey. It was certainly more than friendship, and she’d relived that kiss a hundred times between last night and this morning. She was holding herself back from feeling more than she should, and she wasn’t sure that she was really succeeding all that well.

  “Mommy?”

  “I...care about Mr. Bailey a lot. I hope that he can be our friend for a very long time. And I’ll keep from kissing him again, okay?”

  “Does Mr. Bailey love you?”

  “I haven’t asked him.”

  “I don’t want you to have a boyfriend,” he said somberly. “I don’t like Mr. Bailey anymore.”

  “Well, then, you’re in luck.” She bent and kissed his warm forehead gently. “I don’t have a boyfriend, and you still have your firefighter. Nothing has changed.”

  Chris didn’t answer. He stared out the window morosely, his cherub lips puckered in a pout.

  “Now get up. I’m going to make you some bacon and eggs, and then you start your day camp at the library.”

  Chris eyed her dubiously.

  “It’ll be fun,” she said, ruffling his hair. “You’ll see. More fun than staring at me all day. If you stay home with me, I’m going to put you to work.” She shot him a playful smile, but he didn’t respond.

  Rachel stood up and went back to the door. “Come on,” she coaxed. “I’m starting the bacon now, and if you aren’t downstairs in time, I’m eating it without you.”

  That succeeded to get the boy moving, and he kicked back his covers and bounded out of bed. Another day had just begun.

  Chapter Nine

  A large group of schoolkids poured into the library’s activity room. They came in, laughing and swatting, giggling and pushing—a swarm of overly excited, sugar-hyped children who were far enough into their summer holidays to be officially bored with anything less than a circus. One window spilled some natural sunlight into the room, and fluorescent lights hummed overhead, illuminating a mottled carpet and eggshell-white walls decorated with a few posters about the adventures of reading. Matt couldn’t say that he was looking forward to this.

  “All right, kids, settle down,” one of the college-aged day camp leaders called. “Let’s get quiet, guys.”

  The children took their time finding a place on the floor to sit down, and Matt looked from Firefighter Johnson, who stood next to a pile of his fire gear, to Mr. Bernard, who sat in one corner, a tablet in hand and an eerily calm expression on his face. Sweat glistened on his forehead and dampened his dress shirt under the arms—the room was far from comfortably air-conditioned.

  Abe Bernard’s judgment of today’s activities would make or break Matt’s chance at this job, and that knowledge put an edge on an already stressful day.

  Rachel’s advice came to mind, and he scanned the group of kids, sending up a silent prayer for help. Not guidance. Not wisdom. Not insight. He wanted Help. Capital H. Toward the door, away from the eyes of the group leaders, Matt saw Chris, seated cross-legged and glowering in his direction. He had a pretty good idea about what was upsetting the boy, and he sighed, putting his attention back into the job at hand.

  “Good morning!” Matt said, raising his voice over the hubbub. “My name is Deputy Chief Matthew Bailey, and I’m here to tell you about fire safety. But I want to start with a question. How many of you have ever seen a fire?”

  The presentation went about the way he had expected it to. About three-quarters of the children paid attention at one time, but when he started suiting up Firefighter Johnson, starting with his boots and pants and working their way up to his air tank, helmet and visor, more seemed to find the presentation interesting. Professionally, this was a relief for Matt because this was the part of the presentation that was life-and-death, whether the kids realized it or not. By showing the children the amiable firefighter and then putting him in his gear, he was showing them that a big guy in a fireproof yellow suit carrying an ax wasn’t someone to be afraid of—he was someone to rescue them.

  At the back of the room, Chris scowled steadily in Matt’s direction, but Matt couldn’t help noticing when a bigger boy nearby Chris leaned toward him and whispered something. He wouldn’t have taken notice if it weren’t for the way the color drained from Chris’s face, and Matt’s pulse sped up. He knew that look.

  “Now I’ve got a question for you,” Matt said. “How many of you kids know what to do when a fire alarm goes off?”

  Hands went up, and a buzz of conversation started.

  “You, in the back.” Matt pointed at the boy next to Chris. “What’s your name?”

  “Aaron.”

  “Hi, Aaron. So, what would you do if there was a fire alarm right now?”

  “I don’t know,” the boy replied.

  “How about you?”

  Matt kept the group moving, but he didn’t miss it when the boy leaned toward Chris again and whispered something that made Chris’s jaw clench and his eyes snap. Without missing a beat
, Chris turned and punched the bigger boy square in the face.

  The fight was on, and the boys scrambled and threw blind punches. The two women who were acting as day-camp counselors moved in. The room was in an uproar. One of the young women looked entirely daunted, and the other was focusing on Chris.

  “Christopher, I saw you hit him,” she remonstrated, and Matt bit back his anger. Chris wasn’t to blame with this one, but apparently they couldn’t see that. He had a choice: step in and take care of this himself, or let them blame Chris. Matt glanced at Firefighter Johnson.

  “Take over, would you?” he said.

  Stepping over the other children, Matt put a solid hand on both boys and hauled them apart.

  “Both of you, outside that door,” he barked.

  The boys wiped at their noses with the backs of their hands and obediently slumped from the room. Abe Bernard looked ready to follow.

  “Thanks, Abe, but I’d rather take care of this one alone,” he said with a tight smile.

  The older man nodded and made a note on his pad, and Matt stepped outside, pulling the door shut behind him. Jeff Johnson’s voice took up the rest of the presentation, and Matt walked the boys through the library and out into the sunshine.

  “What happened in there?” he demanded.

  The boys were silent.

  “I’m serious. Sit down.” He motioned to a bench, and both boys sat down as far from each other as possible. “Now, I’m not blind. What did you say to him, Aaron?”

  “Nothing” came the reply.

  “Chris? What did he say?”

  “He said my real mom didn’t want me,” Chris muttered.

  Matt froze. Could the gossip have flown that quickly?

  “Where did you hear that, Aaron?” he demanded.

  “Everyone knows it. He’s the kid whose mom dumped him off at the fire station. His mom gave him away.”

  Matt heaved a sigh. “Aaron, it’s wrong to make fun of someone for being adopted. Being adopted doesn’t mean he isn’t wanted. In fact, his mother wanted him so badly that she chose him.”

  “His mom now,” Aaron retorted.