by Marta Perry
Michael had a lot more faith in him than he had in himself. He reached for the phone, hoping he could talk around the stranglehold the kid had on his heart.
“Whose cell phone is that?” Mary Kate’s sister, Terry, glanced around the kitchen, which was crowded with Flanagan females putting together the Memorial Day picnic.
“Mine.” Mary Kate dropped the spoon she’d been using to stir potato salad and wiped her hands on the closest dish towel. She snatched her handbag off the stool and pulled the phone out. “Hello?”
Silence for a moment, just long enough to make her nervous.
“Mary Kate. It’s Luke.”
“Luke.” The clatter in the kitchen had stopped, as everyone looked at her and then looked away, trying not to show their interest. She pushed out the kitchen door to the back porch. “I didn’t expect to hear from you today.”
Or anytime. He’d followed through on his plan to start therapy at the clinic, and somehow he always managed to come when she was off duty. Well, that hadn’t been a surprise, had it? She’d known what he intended.
“No, I—” He actually sounded unsure of himself. “Did you know that Michael is here?”
“Mom said she sent him over to remind you of the picnic.” And Mom hadn’t asked her first, probably afraid the answer would be no.
“He told me that.” Luke’s voice seemed to deepen. “But he had another reason for coming over today.”
“Another reason?” She walked to the railing, staring down at the irises blooming along the edge of Mom’s flower bed like so many cream, yellow and purple flags. “I suppose he wanted to pick up his car.”
She would not let herself be affected by the sound of Luke’s voice. She was over him. She was.
“Not exactly. He wants me to help him with something. To take the car to the cemetery and put it with the flowers on his father’s grave.”
She couldn’t possibly speak. But she had to. “He told you that?”
“Yes.” His voice softened to a low murmur in her ear. “I’m sorry this is coming from me. I’m probably the last person you want to hear it from.”
“It’s…it’s all right.” She struggled to keep the tears from sounding in her voice. “I don’t understand. If he wanted to do that, why didn’t he go with us this morning?”
Instead of turning to you. Luke didn’t want to be responsible for her kids, but that was exactly what he was doing. Did he even realize that?
“He said he didn’t want to make you sad.”
It hurt just as much now as it had the first time she’d heard it from Michael, when he’d tried to explain why he hadn’t told her about the car.
“I thought we were past that. I explained…well, never mind. I’ll pick him up and take him.”
“He wants me to take him.” Luke’s frown seemed to come right through the phone line. “Look, Mary Kate, I don’t really understand why Michael came to me with this, but he did. I don’t figure there’s much I can do for him, but if you’ll let me, I can do this.”
Her breath caught. “The car your father left for you.”
“Funny, isn’t it?” He didn’t sound as if he found the situation humorous. “It even has a built-in kid’s booster seat in the back.”
No, it didn’t feel funny. It felt meant. But she didn’t suppose he’d see it that way. She was having enough trouble with that herself.
Giving this over to Luke went against everything she’d told herself since Kenny got sick—that she had to be the strong one, that she had to be everything to her kids, that no one else could do it for her.
Is that why, Father? Have You used Luke to bring me to knowing that I can’t do it all?
Her heart twisted with the added pain that it was Luke, of all people. Luke, who was trying so hard to shut them out of his life.
He was waiting for her answer, and there was only one thing she could say, as hard as it was.
“All right. If that’s what Michael wants.” Questions battered at her heart, but she didn’t suppose Luke could answer any of them.
“Mary Kate…” He sighed, as if he couldn’t find the words. “Look, just don’t worry so much.”
“Can’t help it. It comes with the territory.” She pressed the phone hard against her ear. “I won’t intrude, but I’m driving over to the cemetery. I’ll park down the hill a bit so…well, so you can signal me if he wants me.”
“Will do.” He clicked off.
He hung up so that he could go and make this pilgrimage with her child. For an instant everything in her rebelled. She’d go over there, she’d talk to Michael, she’d make everything all right for him.
But she couldn’t. Michael had made that clear. For whatever reason, he’d picked Luke to help him with this. She had to do the hardest thing for any mother—stand back and let her child carry a burden alone.
Chapter Sixteen
“You okay back there?” Luke glanced in the rearview mirror. Michael seemed to be sitting perfectly at ease in the booster seat, the shoulder harness securing him. Luke was the one with a bad case of nerves.
Not because of the driving. That had come back surprisingly quickly and the hand controls were easy to master. Naturally he’d kept his license up to date. Much as he hated to admit it, everyone—Mary Kate, the other therapists, even his father, in a sense—had been right. Driving a car did make him feel normal again.
In control. But when he’d said that to Mary Kate, she’d responded that it was an illusion. That we were never really in control. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that.
He made the turn between the cemetery gates, and his breath caught at the sight of all the flags, fluttering like waves of red, white and blue against the green. The Boy Scouts had obviously been here already this morning.
He remembered doing that when he’d been a little older than Michael was now. Even through the usual horseplay that existed wherever a bunch of boys were together, a sense of awe had come over them as they’d worked their way through the cemetery, putting flags on the grave of every veteran.
They’d crossed the cemetery from the newest to the oldest veteran’s grave, standing for a while at the grave of one Jacob Taubenberger, 1758 to 1820, child of a German immigrant who’d come to Penn’s Woods lured by William Penn’s promises of freedom to worship. Jacob had fought at Trenton and lived through the winter at Valley Forge. Even now, the thought put a lump in Luke’s throat.
But it was a more recent grave they were seeking. He turned up the lane that led to the new section. “Do you know where we’re going, Michael?”
Michael leaned forward, pointing. “Right up there, behind the little house.”
The little house was a mausoleum, but he didn’t suppose that was in the child’s vocabulary. He pulled to the side where Michael indicated and turned off the engine.
Once out of the car, Michael walked surely across the grass, carrying the model car in both hands like an offering. Luke followed, grateful that the grass had obviously been cut recently enough that it didn’t give him much trouble. Flowers blossomed in front of gray stones—geraniums, marigolds, a few mums.
Michael stopped, squatting down. He reached out to touch the red and white geraniums his mother and grandmother had planted.
Luke lowered himself to the grass next to the boy, not sure what, if anything, he should say.
I know I haven’t turned to You the way I should, Father, but I am now. I don’t know what Michael needs from me today, but please, please keep me from letting him down.
The words from an old gospel hymn they’d sung at worship yesterday rang in his mind. The Lord will make a way somehow. That was what he had to lean on. The thought blossomed in his mind. Not his own strength. The Lord would make a way for him to help Michael today.
Michael looked down at the car, running his finger along the racing stripe they’d painted, bright against the red. Then he nestled it among the flowers. He sat back on his heels, looking at it.
“I wish my daddy
could see it.” He leaned against Luke, as if wanting to feel his touch. “Do you think he can?”
Luke didn’t know the theological answer to that, but he knew what was in his heart. “Yes, I think he can.” He put his hand on Michael’s shoulder. “I think people who loved us never stop loving us, even if they’re not with us anymore.”
He paused, feeling—well, a little confused. His father had loved him once, hadn’t he? And he’d loved his father with all a child’s heart and understanding. Was that now broken beyond repair?
“I thought maybe Daddy was disappointed that I didn’t finish the car.”
The words took Luke’s breath away for an instant. This was it, then, the thing that lay deep in the child’s heart—the fear that he’d somehow let down the person whose approval he needed most in the world.
He knew how that felt, didn’t he? A boy turned to his mother for comfort, hugs, encouragement. He turned to his father for approval, for the affirmation that he was turning into the right kind of man. That was what he’d wanted when he’d held out his first stumbling efforts at woodworking, longing for his father’s approval.
Please, give me the words.
“You know, Michael, I believe that you never let your daddy down. Maybe sometimes he was tired, or impatient, but he never felt that you let him down.” His throat choked and he fought to speak over it. “Now he’s not sick anymore and he’s never tired or rushed. And he loves you and is proud of you, always.”
Michael looked up in his face as he said the words, his small face intent. Looking at him as if he had the answers. As if it was Luke’s approval that he needed right now.
The feeling overwhelmed him. He’d never intended to be responsible for another living soul, but somehow, without even knowing it, he’d become responsible in some small way for helping Michael.
He cleared his throat. “I knew your daddy for a long time. He was a good, strong, honorable man, the kind of person you could trust with your life. You’re going to grow up to be just like him.”
Those blue eyes stared into his for another long moment. Then Michael nodded. He flung himself against Luke, arms around his neck. “I love you, Luke.”
Luke held him tight, his heart full. “I love you, too.” He hugged the boy fiercely and kissed the top of his bright head. “Know what? Your mom is waiting down the road a little way. How about we go to meet her?”
Michael scrambled to his feet and wiped his face with the backs of his hands. “Okay.” He moved closer to Luke. “You can hold on to my shoulder to get up.”
This kid was pummeling his heart until it was going to be as soft as a fistful of feathers. He put one hand on the small shoulder, letting the cane take most of his weight, and struggled to his feet.
Once he’d gained his balance, he waved toward Mary Kate’s car. The door opened so quickly that it was obvious her hand had already been on the handle. She started toward them as they moved toward her. The breeze on the hilltop ruffled her mahogany curls as it ruffled the flags on the graves.
She reached them, and he realized she was looking to him for guidance on how to react. He nodded, managing a smile.
“Everything’s okay. Michael did what he needed to do.”
“That’s good.” She gave her son a quick hug, probably not as tight as she’d like it to be.
His heart twisted. Mary Kate tried so hard, gave so much. He wanted to give her something in return, to hold something out to her in both hands, the way Michael had carried the car as a gift to his father.
“Well, I guess we should get going.” She shoved her hair back with both hands. “We want to find a good spot to watch the parade.”
He knew, then, what he could give her. He looked across the peaceful green hillside, alive with the pristine flags that seemed so much a part of it that they might have grown there.
Each flag marked sacrifice. Other people had given so much, had suffered and wept and died. Who was he to act as if his injuries were so much greater than theirs, or to be embarrassed to have people see him as he was now?
He straightened his shoulders, his hand resting lightly on Michael’s head. “Right. I’d better hurry if I’m going to have time to get into my uniform and join the other veterans for the parade.”
Fierce joy blossomed on Mary Kate’s face at his words, going straight to his heart. He’d been right. His heart was never going to be the same.
Mary Kate set a container of chocolate cupcakes on the picnic table and stood back a step to let a horde of little Flanagans at them. The adults might be happier with the strawberry and rhubarb pies her mother had brought, but nothing beat chocolate cupcakes for kids.
The Flanagans had claimed three picnic tables under one of the huge old oaks in the park, but even so they’d had to overflow onto lawn chairs and blankets. She glanced across the crowd, her gaze drawn irresistibly to the tall figure in uniform who stood at the edge of the group.
Luke was talking to someone, but it wasn’t one of her brothers. Phillip Marino stood next to his son. They both looked a bit stiff, a bit wary, but at least they were talking. Even as she watched, Phil reached out to pat Luke’s arm awkwardly. And Luke didn’t pull away.
Thank You, Lord. If Luke has begun to let go of his resentment toward his father, he really is healing.
Phil walked off toward another pavilion, looking as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. And Luke came toward her.
He stopped, glancing around at the swarm of Flanagans. “Much as I like your family, do you think we could find a spot that’s a little more private?”
Her heart seemed to be fluttering up in her throat. She nodded toward a bench that sat a little apart, half hidden by a clump of rhododendrons covered in purple blooms. They walked to it side by side, not speaking.
Luke lowered himself to the bench, bracing one hand against its back.
She sat next to him. “Sure you haven’t been overdoing it a little?”
“Don’t fuss, Mary Kate.” There was a gleam of laughter in his eyes.
“I can’t help it,” she said. “You know that.”
“Yes, I do. It’s one of the things I love about you.”
Her breath caught. It was an expression, that was all. Luke wasn’t, couldn’t be, talking about love.
“Don’t do that,” he said softly. His hand closed over hers. “You’re telling yourself I don’t mean that, aren’t you?”
She nodded. She couldn’t find something to say if her life depended on it.
“Well, stop it.” His tone was deep with mock severity. “I blew this once before, and I don’t want to blow it this time. I love you, Mary Kate Flanagan Donnelly. I’m not sure what we’re going to do about it, but I’m done fighting it. I love you.”
She managed to meet his eyes, and the love she saw shining there pierced her heart and took away all her defenses. “I still have two kids, you know. And a very managing disposition. Nothing has changed.”
“Everything has changed.” He corrected her gently. “When Michael turned to me today, when you were able to trust me with him, when I was able to give him what he needed, everything changed. I saw how stupid I’ve been.”
She grasped his hand, letting herself cling to it. Letting herself hope. “Not stupid. Just hurting.”
“That, too.” He looked down at their entwined hands, his expression serious. “Ever since I was wounded, the only thing I thought I could settle for was to be whole again. Today I realized there’s more than one way of being whole.”
Thank You, Lord. Thank You.
“I’m glad.” She had to whisper the words to get them out.
He turned on the bench so that he was facing her. “I don’t know how much more I’m going to get back. And I don’t know what I’m going to be doing for the rest of my working life.” His smile flickered, touching her heart. “But if you’re willing to take a chance on a future with a lot of question marks…”
She touched his face, feeling the warmth that radiat
ed from him moving through her fingertips, warming her, too. “I know everything I need to know about your future. I know that you’re a good, strong, caring man who will always do the right thing. I can’t ask for more than that.”
All the doubts she’d been harboring seemed to be floating away on the warm breeze. She loved Kenny, but Kenny was gone and she knew in her heart he didn’t begrudge her this happiness. As for the children—well, Luke had already shown that he had what it took to be a father. He just hadn’t been ready to admit it until now.
She lifted her face toward his, a smile trembling on her lips. “I love you, Luke Marino. Now and always.”
Epilogue
“Happy anniversary, Grammy.” Michael planted a kiss on Siobhan’s cheek and raced away again to join his cousins in a noisy game that seemed to involve running wildly around the backyard.
Siobhan smiled, leaning back in the lawn chair. It didn’t matter how noisy the grandkids were today, since the whole neighborhood seemed to be in the Flanagan backyard, joining the celebration.
The banner Gabe and Seth had stretched from the treetop to the house eaves fluttered, as if it wanted to participate in the fun. Happy 40th Anniversary to Joe and Siobhan, it proclaimed in giant red letters.
The children had wanted to give them a huge bash at a hotel ballroom to mark the day. It had taken weeks of talking to convince them that this was what she and Joe really wanted—to be surrounded by family and friends at their own home.
How could anyone ask for a better way to celebrate forty years of marriage than this? Her gaze went to Joe first, as it always did.
Forty years. His hair was nearly white now, instead of the bright red it had once been, and he carried a few extra pounds around his middle, but when he smiled, he was still the boy who’d stolen her heart all those years ago. Time hadn’t quenched the zest for life that had enchanted her then. And still did.
