[Kate's Boys 03] - Mistletoe and Miracles

by Marie Ferrarella

  “I asked Laurel to marry me. She said no.”

  Kelsey looked at him, stunned. “Why?” And then she collected herself. “I mean, I’d turn you down, but she seemed pretty much into you as I recall.”

  That’s what he had thought at the time. “Not enough to say yes.” And then, because this was about Laurel, he grew protective. “She had a lot to deal with.”

  Knowing that Kelsey was capable of going on and on, drilling deeper as she went, he turned the tables on her. “So, how’s your love life?”

  She shrugged, looking out the window. “Nonexistent, thanks to school and you.”

  “How about that guy you dragged by at Christmas?” The guy had been tall, lanky and had eaten as if there were no tomorrow. They’d all wondered where he put it all. It took her a minute to remember who he was talking about. “Hayden’s history.”

  There’d been others. Lots of others. Guys had always been attracted to Kelsey.

  “How about the one with the earring? Roger, was it? I thought Dad was going to have heart failure when he got a look at him.”

  She blew out a breath. She didn’t seem enthused about reviewing a cavalcade of her old boyfriends. “Okay, okay, point taken. You don’t want me prying. You could have just said so instead of dragging out not-so-special people from my past.”

  “I did,” he pointed out.

  Yeah, he did, she remembered. Frowning, she asked, “Do you always have to be right?”

  “No,” he answered cheerfully, then slanted her a superior look he knew drove her crazy. “Only when I am.”

  Kelsey shook her head. “Good luck, Laurel,” she murmured under her breath.

  “What’s that?” He tilted his head toward her to hear better.

  “Nothing,” she said quickly, then pointed in the distance in an effort to divert his attention. “Look, there’s the house.”

  Trent grinned, satisfied he’d gotten his point across. “So it is.”

  Chapter Eight

  The sharp, single ding sounded crisply in the kitchen, breaking into Laurel’s thoughts. She realized that she was staring at the wall clock without really seeing where the thin black hands pointed.

  When she heard the sound, her first reaction was to glance toward the front of the house. But it wasn’t the doorbell she heard, just the oven. Laurel sighed. She knew that old adage about a watched pot never boiling. Did that saying extrapolate to include doorbells as well? If you kept expecting them to, did they not ring? And when you stared at a timepiece, did time actually stand still? It certainly felt that way. Rousing herself, Laurel crossed the short distance from the table to the oven. She took two oven mittens and slipped them on, then opened the oven door. Heat rushed out to greet her.

  This was her third time checking on the cookies she’d prepared thirty-five minutes ago. Each of the other times, she’d had to push the timer back by five minutes because the cookies had still been too soft. The first time, they easily could have been consumed with a straw. But ten minutes beyond the recommended baking time the twelve giant “eating wheels,” as Cody had called them when he was barely three, were finally solid enough to be done. She removed the cookie sheet from the oven and placed it on top of the stove. She was far from being a gourmet cook, certainly not near enough to merit a kitchen like hers. But when Matt had been alive, there’d been a professional chef on staff, Barbara Hathaway, whose résumé read like a who’s who of corporate America. Barbara had taken care of all the meals and had politely but firmly banned Laurel from the kitchen. Once Matt was gone, she’d let Barbara go. There was no point in keeping the woman on, especially not at her salary. Cody hardly ate anything and her own tastes leaned more to sandwiches and pizza. If occasionally she had a craving for something more elaborate, she could make it herself or, better still, call one of the restaurants in the area and have them deliver.

  Most of the time, she hardly made use of the kitchen beyond a simple breakfast or coffee. But today, because she kept watching the all-but-paralyzed clock and found herself needing a diversion, she’d thrown herself into making something she knew for a fact Cody used to love: peanut butter-chocolate chip cookies. She’d made them from scratch and silently crossed her fingers.

  At least they look like cookies, she congratulated herself.

  The scent of the warm cookies seemed to fill the kitchen. Laurel glanced over her shoulder toward the doorway. She was alone. She hadn’t expected Cody to come running in, salivating like a bottomless, ever-hungry puppy. But she was still hoping that the cookies might just widen the ever-so-slight crack in the wall around himself.

  At least she could hope.

  Besides, searching for ingredients and making the cookies had helped to keep her hands, if not exactly her mind, busy. Trent was late and he hadn’t called. It made her restless. She needed to do something.

  In the background, Laurel heard the familiar jingle and intermittent crashes that were part and parcel of the one and only video game that still had a lock on Cody’s attention. While the familiar was comforting—if nothing else, it meant that Cody was only a few rooms away—in this case, the crashing cars and screeching tires were getting under her skin, shredding her nerves one by one.

  Where was he?

  Abandoning the kitchen, Laurel made her way toward the front of the house and the large bay window that looked out onto the winding driveway. It wouldn’t make Trent arrive any faster, but she couldn’t help herself.

  Laurel stopped short when she saw him.

  Cody.

  Her son stood so close to the window it seemed as if he’d wandered there on purpose. Unaware that she was nearby, the boy actually appeared to be looking out. Her heart leaped up in her chest. He was watching for Trent.

  She pressed her lips together to keep from saying anything, sensing that if she made her presence known, he’d quickly bolt from the room. Slipping back out of the room, Laurel smiled to herself.

  You got through to him, Trent. You actually got through to him.

  A jumble of emotions raced through her. She felt like laughing and crying at the same time.

  Had she really expected any less? This was why she’d come to Trent in the first place, risking the humiliating possibility of having him turn her down. In her heart she knew that Trent would succeed when everyone else failed. He would find a way into Cody’s silence. All right, the boy still didn’t talk, but Trent had told her that Cody had made eye contact on more than one occasion. Moreover, he now appeared to respond when spoken to—nonverbally and through body language, Trent had qualified, but it was a response. And that was all that mattered. Her heart swelled. She could almost feel it smiling. Thank you, Trent.

  The moment she withdrew from the room, slipping back into the hallway, she heard the doorbell. At the same time, she also made out the rustling sound of what had to be retreat. Not wanting to be caught waiting, Cody was leaving the room.

  Laurel quickly reentered just as her son was about to leave via the door on the far side of the room.

  “Looks like he finally got here, Cody,” she said cheerfully, as if they’d been engaged in a conversation all along. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Cody stop and turn around.

  Hurrying over to the entrance, she noted Trent’s outline through the beveled glass on the upper half of the oversize door. Sunshine pushed its way through, scattering and forming rainbows on the marble beneath her feet.

  “Sorry,” Trent apologized the second she opened the door. “Traffic was a bear. There was a truck filled with tires overturned on the freeway. Bouncing rubber everywhere. Snarled up traffic so badly, it took forever just to get off and take the long way over here.”

  He seemed tired, she thought. Trent had set up the sessions with Cody for three days a week after his regular hours. Which meant that he’d already put in a full day treating patients before arriving here.

  A shaft of guilt pierced her. This was taking advantage of their friendship. “Listen, if you feel you’re too tired
—”

  He cut her off, shaking his head. “Nope, not me. I got a second wind. Besides, I brought a new video game for Cody.” Taking it out of his jacket, he noted that he’d caught the boy’s eye. Trent held up the game for Cody to see, then crossed over to him. “See, it’s still got cars in it,” he pointed out. “But before you can race them, you have to try to beat your opponent at building them up.”

  The idea behind the switch was simple. He wanted the boy to focus his attention on being constructive rather than destructive. Handing the video game to Cody, Trent stopped and sniffed the air. His eyebrows drew together as he turned to look at Laurel.

  “Either you changed your perfume,” he noted, “or somewhere in this house is a batch of freshly made peanut butter cookies.”

  Amused, Laurel laughed. They were several rooms away from the kitchen. “That’s some nose you have there,” she commented. “As a matter of fact, I just took a batch out of the oven.”

  Trent’s eyes crinkled as he grinned. “I guess my timing’s not so bad after all.” He glanced over his shoulder at Cody. The boy was still looking at the game cover, as if absorbing the instructions. “Want some cookies, Cody, my man?”

  Cody raised his eyes up to Trent’s and, after a beat, actually nodded.

  Laurel’s mouth dropped open. That was a direct response. Cody was communicating with someone. “Trent,” she began breathlessly before words deserted her and she became entirely speechless.

  Trent gave her hand a little squeeze, silently telling her that he understood everything.

  “If it’s not too much trouble,” Trent suggested, “maybe you could bring a sample of your cookies into the family room while Cody and I tackle this new game.”

  She just nodded, afraid that if she opened her mouth to say anything, her voice would crack.

  When Laurel walked into the family room several minutes later, carrying a tray of cookies and milk, she received her second surprise. Sitting before the TV set as usual, Trent and Cody were huddled over the back of the video box “reading” the instructions. Trent pointed out the words one at a time to Cody.

  She nearly dropped the tray when she heard Cody utter a hissing sound when Trent pointed to, then carefully enunciated the word “should.”

  Steadying her hands, she murmured, “Sorry,” when Trent looked her way.

  Jumping to his feet, he took the tray from her. “Nothing to be sorry about,” he told her easily. He set the tray on the floor beside the television set. “Cody and I are just going over the rules of the game.” He saw joy mixed with confusion in her eyes.

  “Excuse me for a second, Cody,” he said, addressing the boy the way he would an equal. “I need a minute with your mom.”

  Cody looked back down at the box in his hand.

  Taking her arm, Trent guided her to the far side of the room. Her heart pounded in her throat. “He’s talking?” she asked Trent in a hushed whisper laced with disbelief. A part of her had all but given up hope.

  Trent shook his head. He didn’t want her getting ahead of herself here. They were definitely making progress, but not by leaps and bounds.

  “He’s making sounds,” he corrected her. “I’m teaching him how to express words through sounds first. A hiss for s, a growling noise for r and so on. It’s a system used for children who suffer from selective mutism.”

  Laurel didn’t know if she should be concerned or elated. She’d never heard of the affliction. “Is that what he has?”

  “No,” Trent was quick to assure her, “but the principle’s the same. Kids with selective mutism can actually talk—and do—but they are so shy in certain circumstances that their jaws turn almost rigid on them. It’s not a matter of refusing to talk, they physically can’t. The way that’s being treated is to get at the root of why they’re uncomfortable. That’s why I’m treating Cody at home instead of in the office, to make him more comfortable,” he explained. “And while we’re trying to achieve that zone of comfort, I’m trying to give him a way to attempt to express himself, by forcing sounds out.”

  Laurel stole a glance toward her son. She supposed that made sense. She’d taught Cody how to read by sounding out the words he didn’t know.

  “And that’s how you’ll get him to talk?” she asked hopefully.

  He had to be honest with her, even though he would have liked her to go on being overjoyed.

  “Not exactly.” He saw her struggling with disappointment. “I still need to find out what’s going on inside of him. Something is keeping Cody from talking. Now, whether his psyche is freezing him into place, or something else is going on, I don’t know yet, but we’re making progress, Laurel,” he assured her. “It’s just in baby steps.”

  Laurel held back a shaky breath. She knew he was doing the best that he could.

  “Baby steps,” she echoed.

  He had to get back to Cody. Trent gave her arm an encouraging little squeeze.

  “We’ll get there,” he promised, before turning back to his patient.

  His words echoed in her head as she left the room. She clung to them.

  “How about a field trip?”

  She nearly bumped her head on the inside of the oven when she heard his voice behind her. Sitting back on her knees, Laurel brushed a strand of hair from her eyes with the back of her wrist.

  As she turned around to look at Trent, her eyes narrowed slightly. Had she heard him correctly?

  “A field trip?”

  Trent nodded as he came closer. The idea had hit him just as he’d wound up his session with Cody. “To an amusement park. The three of us. Cody needs to keep being immersed in normal settings.”

  She was adorable, he thought, as unbidden memories reached out to him. Wearing jeans and an old shirt, her hair mussed, she looked very much the way she had when they had been together. He tried to ignore old feelings, not wanting them to get in the way of his judgment. He cleared his throat. “I was thinking we’d go to Knott’s Berry Farm. The park’s relatively small and has a homier feel to it than some of the other parks. There’s a petting zoo for kids his age.”

  She nodded. “I remember. I took Cody there for his fifth birthday.” She started to get up. Trent took her by the arm and helped her to her feet. “You think he’s ready for that?”

  He wanted to experiment by placing the boy in a position where he could be part of a greater whole, yet feel that he had backup and support if he needed it, the crucial ingredients coming from his mother as well as from him.

  “I do,” Trent told her, “especially if he’s been there before. Kids go to amusement parks all the time. Most natural thing in the world.”

  She and Trent had gone to that particular park a number of times the summer they’d graduated from high school. It had been one of their favorite places. They’d arrive when the doors first opened and stay the entire day, often closing down the park. She came to know every inch of the park by heart. More than that, she could remember every location in the park where he’d kissed her.

  It seemed like a million years ago now. Or someone else’s life.

  As if reading her mind, Trent said, “You can invite someone else to come with us if you’d feel more comfortable.” And then, because she didn’t say anything, he added,

  “Your mom might want to come—or I can see if I can get mine to go with us.”

  “Your mom might want to come—or I can see if I can get mine to go with us.”

  “I don’t need a crutch—”

  “Didn’t mean to imply that you did.”

  Laurel tossed her head. “I don’t need a chaperone, either.”

  “I might want one,” he told her with a wink.

  Trent cupped her face with his hand and, for a second, she thought he was going to kiss her. Her heart stood still. Common sense told her she had to move back, to stop him, but the trouble was, she wanted him to kiss her. Wanted to be forced to recapture what had been. To her surprise, rather than kiss her, Trent took a deep breath, as if snif
fing the air around her. “Ah, essence of oven cleaner.” And then he laughed as he released her face. “Same old Laurel,” he commented. She looked at him, puzzled at his meaning. “You still clean when you’re upset?”

  It was her way of restoring order to things, making them clean. She shrugged carelessly. “This is a big house to take care of. I try to stay ahead of it whenever I can.”

  She hadn’t given him a straight reply—which gave him his answer. But he pretended to go along with what she’d said. “You can’t tell me there’s not enough money for a housekeeper.”

  “There is, but I never liked strangers living in my house.” She’d always been a private person. Maybe that was why she and Matt really hadn’t been meant for each other. He had loved crowds, people hanging on his words, doing his bidding. Mundane details had never interested him. If anything, they irritated him. She remembered the look of annoyance on his face once when he had found her vacuuming. He had shut off the appliance and taken it away, saying he had

  “people” for that and he didn’t want to see her doing chores again. His wife wasn’t supposed to do housework. He hadn’t said it out of kindness but because she’d unwittingly violated some rule of order in his world.

  Trent filled in the blanks. “How many ‘strangers’ did you have living here when your husband was alive?”

  “Three. The housekeeper, the cook and the chauffeur.” Four if you count Matt, she added silently. “Matt wanted to have a nanny on staff, too, but I said I wanted to be the one to take care of Cody.” She’d had to fight him tooth and nail on that, but that one time he’d backed down, throwing up his hands and muttering that she was crazy but so be it. “It would have been different if I’d worked,” she explained, not wanting to make Matt out to be an ogre. He had been, after all, Cody’s father. “But he really didn’t want me to do that.”

  Her voice was mild, but Trent caught the tense undercurrent. He wondered when her marriage had begun to disintegrate. Keeping an even, friendly tone, he asked,

  “What did he want you to do?”