Patrick nodded, knowing he should be saying something interesting, but his brain cells had shriveled since he’d walked into the house and seen Roseann.
“How about Christie’s place? She has a day care.”
“Right, but I’m a little hesitant about asking her.”
“Hey, it’s business. She wants your money. You want a sitter. Makes sense.”
Diane’s call from the doorway sent Jason back to the kitchen. She gave him a grin. “We’ll be ready to eat in a minute. I hope you’re hungry.”
“Sure am, and I’m tired of eating my own cooking,” Patrick said.
Diane vanished into the kitchen, and seeing the glow on Roseann’s face made him want to eat his words.
“I know,” Roseann said. “It’s so difficult to cook for one person, except you have Sean.”
“And my father,” Patrick said.
“That’s right.” A faint flush rose from under her collar.
She shifted in the chair, looking about as comfortable as a cat in a dog house, and he did nothing to ease her tension. Hoping Diane or Jason would return to add something to the conversation, Patrick glanced toward the door but no one appeared.
“You heard I’m divorced,” Roseann said, fiddling with the arm cover on the sofa.
“Jason mentioned it. I’m sorry.”
“Going on two years.” She glanced toward the children on the carpet, playing with building blocks. “I didn’t have any children. I’m not sure if that’s a blessing or not.”
“It’s a blessing,” Patrick said. Noticing the expression on her face, he was sure that the comment didn’t come off as he’d meant it. “I mean it’s difficult raising a child alone.”
“Yes, I’m sure it is. Your dad raised you alone, right?”
He felt a kick in the gut. Not that she meant it that way, but the comment sent shards of pain through him like broken glass. “Yes. That’s right.”
“He did a good job,” she said, sending him a sweet smile.
Did he? Patrick wondered. His father had tried, but had he succeeded? Patrick thanked Roseann, wishing he could wiggle his nose and vanish. On the other hand, why couldn’t he just treat Roseann like an old friend and not feel as if he’d been maneuvered into a matchmaking plot?
He listened while Roseann chattered about her life and asked him questions he begrudgingly answered. Finally, the room weighed heavy with silence, and Patrick’s mind drifted back to the Chamber of Commerce picnic and his walk with Christie. For once, she’d been receptive to talk, and though an occasional edge had come into her voice, she’d been receptive. It gave him hope.
Hope? Hope for what? The word spun through his mind. Hope for friendship. Hope for healing. Hope for forgiveness. He’d take any one of them to start.
Christie’s image that afternoon filled his mind. The sun had shone through the trees, blinking shadow and light on her honey-brown hair. Though at least five foot six, she seemed so small beside him. Small in size, but not in strength. Christie was strong. He’d realized that when he thought how successful she’d been…without him. She’d made her dream come true.
He could only fantasize that one day—
“Hungry?”
Diane’s voice pierced his thoughts, and he refocused. “You bet.”
“Okay. Come and get it.”
He rose and caught a glimpse of disappointment in Roseann’s face.
Chapter Six
Standing near the Lake Michigan shoreline, Christie stared across the water, wishing she’d not accepted Milton’s invitation to the Loving Cup race. At the same time, she asked herself, why not? She couldn’t find a better companion. He’d lavished her with attention and wonderful surprises—gifts, flowers and unexpected kindness.
Yet he’d made her uncomfortable so many times in the past months talking marriage while she’d avoided the topic. She’d used religion as an excuse. But was it that or her own fear? Her parents’ comments filled her mind. Did God really consider Patrick’s marriage adultery? Perhaps.
The question caused her to wonder about Milton. Maybe their relationship didn’t ring bells and weaken her knees, but it was steady and secure. He knew she might never have children, and he’d said she was enough to make him happy.
Feeling his arm tighten around her shoulders, Christie looked into Milton’s pleasant face, wishing she enjoyed the feelings that he’d expressed.
“Here they come,” Milton said, using his free arm to point at the speck just breaking the horizon.
Christie focused on the small dot that grew closer as she watched. A small triangle of white, then another rose from the horizon, sailboats leaving Loving and racing to Holland, Michigan. She’d never seen the race before and was surprised to see the huge crowd that gathered along the lake’s edge to watch.
“Pretty,” she said, as the first vessel grew nearer, its scarlet hull cutting through the water.
He drew her closer and gazed into her eyes. “But not as pretty as you,” he said.
Instead of her spirit leaping with his words, it sank like a barbell. Christie searched his face, wondering what was wrong with her. Was it fear of commitment? Fear of failure? Fear of love? Or was it the lack of love? The question bounced through her with the speed of the race they were watching.
“Thank you,” she whispered, letting her gaze drift back to the sailboats surging past on sunlit waves. Her mind scurried to change the subject, to move to any topic other than their relationship.
“Look at the crowd,” she said, pivoting toward the array of people spread out along the shoreline. As her focus grazed the viewers, her breath caught short. She felt her shoulders droop and rise again as she swallowed her gasp.
Milton eyed her with curiosity, and with casual interest, he swiveled his head in the direction she’d looked. He didn’t comment, and she couldn’t. Patrick stood yards away. A woman stood beside him, smiling into his face, talking with animation, looking relaxed and enthralled at his attention.
In self-defense, Christie nestled closer to Milton. Why did it bother her to see Patrick with a woman? Why did she care what he did? They’d been divorced for years. He’d married, had a child, and now had another woman on his arm. What was new?
Nothing for Christie. She’d languished in self-pity, using her hurt and disappointment to drive her forward with her business. She’d allowed her faith issues to muddy her thoughts on marriage. Milton had asked her more than once, and he’d stuck by her even as she refused. Time had come to give him an answer. Either yes or no. She had to decide. Patrick had carved a new life for himself. Why shouldn’t she?
Christie yanked open the door and stepped into the hardware store. She felt in her pocket for the list she’d prepared as she headed down the aisle. Walking past two clerks, she knew she should stop and ask where to find Peg-Board, but she hesitated. Her feelings swayed like a pendulum. One minute she avoided Patrick. The next minute, she manipulated situations to see him. Today, she longed to see him.
She looked at the note in her hand, realizing she’d crumpled it in her brooding. Patrick. He sat in her thoughts like an old sofa—comfortable and familiar, yet needing to be replaced with something new. She’d wrestled with indecision. Milton had asked her again about making a commitment—about marriage—when they went to dinner after the Loving Cup race. Instead of a firm “I’m not ready,” Christie had given him hope. She’d promised him an answer…soon.
“Can I help you?”
Christie spun around at the question and peered at the young man. Disappointment washed over her, looking at the unfamiliar face. “Yes,” she said, gaining her wits. “I’m looking for Peg-Board and brackets to mount it.”
“Peg-Board?” A frown settled on his face while he raised a finger. “Just a minute.” He turned and vanished around a display.
In a moment, she heard the young man’s footsteps from the opposite direction. She turned. Instead, it was Patrick who looked at her, his face appearing as surprised as she felt.<
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“Peg-Board?” he asked, a grin rising to his lips. The cleft in his chin winked at her, sending her pulse skittering.
She nodded.
“What size?”
She shrugged and moved her arms to indicate the height and width she had in mind. With her arms spread like an eagle, she longed to wrap them around his neck, to feel the closeness of his body to hers, as she’d once done.
He beckoned her to follow, and she drew in a breath, holding back her emotion and locating the biting words that had been hers since she’d seen him at the races. She found them, but let them hang in her thoughts waiting to shoot them forward. Who was that lady I saw you with? Surprising herself, a grin tugged at her face when remembered the response to an old joke. That was no lady. That was my wife.
“You look cheerful today,” Patrick said, sending her a warm smile as they stopped beside a gray double door. “Peg-Board that size is in the stock room. Come take a look.”
He pushed open one of the doors, but she hesitated.
“Should I? What about—”
“The owner?” He chuckled. “He won’t mind, I can assure you.”
Realizing her foolishness, she stepped inside, and they sorted through the Peg-Boards until she found two that would fit the size she wanted at Loving Care. “I need mountings, too.”
He hoisted the boards and tilted his head toward the door. “Can you get that?”
She held it open while he lugged the pieces through, then set them on the floor and leaned them against the wall. Patrick led her to the brackets and located what she needed in the blink of an eye.
Christie grasped the hardware, longing to mention she’d seen him, but wondering how to bring it up without sounding catty. “Thanks for your help. You expedited the process.”
“You’re welcome.” He glanced at his watch. “I’ll help you carry the stuff to your car.”
“That’s not necess—”
He lifted his hand to stop her. “Go ahead to checkout, and I’ll bring the Peg-Board up front.”
She did as he said, and in moments, Patrick followed her outside, lugging her purchase. The boards didn’t quite fit in her trunk, but Patrick had brought along a piece of twine and tied the trunk lid closed before she had time to wonder what to do.
“It’s break time.” He tilted his head toward a nearby coffee shop. “How about joining me for a cup of coffee?”
Her heart skipped, and she warned herself to be careful. Still, a few more minutes might give her the opportunity to learn something about the woman. The image of her smiling up at Patrick knotted in Christie’s chest. She looked at her watch. “Maybe for a minute.”
“Hold up, and I’ll tell them I’ll be back in fifteen.” He bounded inside the store and out again in a second.
She felt him grasp her arm as he stepped beside her, the feeling so familiar it sent longing stirring through her limbs. She wanted to pull away, but her reasoning lost the battle as they strode along the sidewalk. He let go when they reached the café, and paused to open the door. Inside, they sat at a table near the window. Christie ordered a latte while he asked for black coffee and cherry pie with ice cream. She’d forgotten how much he liked cherry pie.
When the waitress had come and gone, Christie settled into uneasy silence, wanting to broach the subject. “How’s your dad?” she asked, hoping to segue somehow into her other question.
“Not good. I’m beginning to feel stressed out between Dad and Sean. With Dad so ill, I have another problem. Sean. I finally found a sitter. Diane Briggs gave me her name. You remember Di—”
Christie nodded, remembering her well. Jason had stood up at their wedding.
“The girl will sit with Sean during the day, at least, until school starts. Then I’ll have to do something else.”
His eyes searched hers, and she realized what he was asking, but she wasn’t ready to agree. How could she spend every day taking care of Patrick’s child—a child that could have been hers if he’d been willing to try—back when her disease was new and she’d had a little hope. If only he’d listened to reason. But not Patrick. He knew…
She let the thought fade. In God’s good time, her mother always said. Everything happened in God’s time. So often she wondered why it couldn’t be in her good time once in a while.
The waitress reappeared with their order, and Patrick delved into the cherry pie à la mode. Christie’s stomach rumbled soundlessly, and she wished she’d ordered something. She took a sip of the frothy latte, enjoying the creamy taste.
“I saw you at the Loving Cup.” The words shot from her mouth like a dart and cut through the silence.
Patrick lifted his head. “You did? Why didn’t you say hi?”
Christie felt her jaw drop, and she slammed her mouth closed. “You had someone with you. I didn’t want to interrupt.”
“It was June. You remember her?”
“June?” Her memory slid to their high-school years, searching for the name, the face. “Not really.”
“I suppose it’s been a while. She lives in Long Branch now.”
“Oh, that’s nice.” Stupid response, but her mind was tangled with June and why she should remember her.
“I still want to drop by your center, but with Dad sick and Sean, I haven’t had time.”
“I’m sorry things have been rough for you. Come anytime. No rush.”
He studied her a moment, then dug into the dessert again and swallowed the last of his pie, washing it down with his coffee. “I’d better get back. Thanks for keeping me company.”
“Thanks for carrying the Peg-Board to the car.”
He grinned and rose.
The mundane conversation seemed so empty, so useless with all the thoughts that tumbled through her mind.
They stepped outside into the summer heat, and in a heartbeat, he’d vanished through the automatic door. She stood for a moment, clinging to the few minutes they’d spent together and feeling a sense of longing.
Longing? Who needed it? She hit the remote and yanked open her car door. The heat from inside overwhelmed her as did the emotion from within.
Patrick sank into the sofa. His feet were tired. His mind was tired. His spirit was tired. Before he had a chance to relax, Sean climbed onto his lap. “How’s it goin’, son?” He wrapped his arms around Sean’s warm, wiggling body and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Were you good for Tammy?”
“I was good,” he said, tilting his head back and giving Patrick an open-mouthed smile.
“Nice teeth.” He tousled his son’s hair. “Did you remember to brush them today?”
Sean clamped his teeth together and jutted his chin forward for Patrick to take a look.
Patrick chuckled at his antics.
Sean slipped to the ground to drag out some toys, and Patrick watched him, his mind filled with Christie’s surprise appearance earlier in the day. He’d been trying to control his feelings. She looked so good to him when he saw her. Today she looked relaxed and comfortable with him. Her biting remarks were absent. She’d actually been friendly, even warm.
Warm. He’d asked himself the question before. Could he forget how cold and unloving she’d become before he left. Bitter seemed the word. But he’d not helped the situation, either. He’d closed her out, and she’d done the same. She probably didn’t even know it.
But they’d both changed. She’d matured and had gained good business sense and confidence. He’d aged as well and now could see where they’d gone wrong. He wished they could start again. At least be friends, as they had been today.
“Finally home,” Joe said, standing in the doorway. He clung to the doorjamb and stood a moment as if his feet couldn’t move him forward.
“Not feeling well, Dad?”
“I’m okay. Just a little woozy.”
Patrick jumped up and headed toward his father. “Let me help you to the chair.”
His father shook his head. “I can walk. It just takes me a little time.”
> Frustrated, Patrick thought he had never known anyone as stubborn as his father. The thought gave him pause. Christie used to say the same about him. He couldn’t imagine she was right.
“How are things working out with Tammy?” Patrick asked, following behind his father and trying to control the desire to escort him to the chair.
“She’s a good girl,” Joe said, slipping down into the recliner.
He made an effort to prop up the footrest and failed. Patrick leaned down and pulled up the lever, receiving an instant frown from his father. Patrick ignored it and returned to the sofa.
“I’m sorry I’m late, Dad. I just couldn’t get out of the store today. I’m glad Tammy stayed on.”
His father’s interest piqued when he’d mentioned the store. Patrick took a moment to fill him in on the problem he’d run into with an order and to explain why they were short of help today.
“I suppose I should think about dinner,” Patrick said, remembering years ago when he came home from work tired and Sherry had had a roast in the oven or a steak on the grill. Now they lived on frozen dinners, carry-out and an occasional meal he actually cooked. He rose and took a step toward the kitchen.
“No problem,” Joe said. “Tammy made a hamburger casserole.” He swung his hand in the direction of the kitchen. “We left some in the refrigerator.”
Patrick wandered toward the fridge and yanked open the door. A baking dish sat on the middle shelf, its edges crispy brown. He popped the conglomeration into the microwave and grabbed a plate from the cabinet. When the buzzer sounded, he opened the door and a pleasant scent enveloped him.
He’d only eaten a couple of forkfuls when his father appeared at the doorway and made his way to a wooden chair. The legs scraped on the linoleum as he dragged it away from the table and sat across from Patrick. “Not bad, eh?”
“Not bad at all.” Patrick lifted another forkful of the meaty macaroni mixture.
“I’ve been thinking,” Joe said.
Patrick lifted his eyes, feeling a frown settle on his forehead. “About what?”
“Christie.”
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