“Let me know if it’s too sour,” Emma said, setting the glass on the side table. She placed hers on a coaster, found another, and then slid one beneath Christie’s drink.
Christie watched Emma propel about the room, wishing she’d find a spot and stop moving. She couldn’t talk about something so important while her mother was preoccupied.
Emma settled down, brushed a strand of hair from her dampened forehead and let out a stream of air. “Must be humid.”
“It is.” Christie sipped the cold drink, feeling condensation already dripping from the glass.
“I love it when you drop by unexpectedly,” Emma said.
“I would have called, but—”
“You didn’t hear me. I like it when you don’t call. It’s like a special surprise.” Her mother’s warm smile sailed across the distance.
Christie realized she often didn’t listen to her parents. Did she think she was too grown-up to pay heed? Not by a long shot. “I saw Dad in the garage.”
“He’s tinkering, but when he notices your car, he’ll be in. You wait and see.”
Christie shifted her legs again, wondering if she should drop the brick before or after her father came in. She made her decision, then took another sip of the lemonade. Here goes.
“What a nice surprise.” Her father’s voice entered the room before he did.
“Hi, Daddy.” She rose and met him halfway, planting a kiss on his cheek.
“Why are we so honored?” he asked, settling beside her on the sofa.
This time, she said it. “Besides loving you both, I wanted you to know I broke up with Milton. I realize you both liked him, and I knew you’d be surprised.” She barraged them with words, watching their expressions deflate.
“But why?” Emma asked. “He’s such a nice man, and he thinks so much of you.”
Her father didn’t respond. Instead, he studied her.
“That’s why, I suppose. I couldn’t drag on a go-nowhere relationship. I told you this before. He was getting too serious, and I have nothing to offer him.” She didn’t add that he really had nothing to offer her, either. Nothing that counted.
“Well, I’m disappointed,” Emma said. “You certainly had fun together even if—”
“It’s Christie’s decision, Emma.” Wes gave his wife a telling look. “No matter who we like, Christie has to be the one to decide. I liked Milton myself.”
“I do, too, Dad, but I don’t love him.” She said the words so easily. Why hadn’t she realized this before? “Lately I’ve given it a lot of thought. I realize that love is something I had once, but not now. It’s different.”
She watched her mother’s hopeful expression fade to dismay. “Please don’t tell me you’re thinking about Patrick again.”
Hearing Patrick’s name sent heat rising to Christie’s face. “No. It’s not that.”
Emma gave her husband a frantic look. “Wes, talk with her.”
Wes shook his head. “Christie’s not a teenager, Emma. She’s thirty-four.”
“Thirty-five, Daddy.” Christie clung to the distraction. “I had a birthday a while ago.”
“Okay,” he said, then returned his attention to Emma. “No matter what age, Christie’s old enough to know what she wants to do with her life.”
The looks on her parents’ faces showed Christie that she needed to plod forward and address their concern. “Listen. I won’t lie and say Patrick hasn’t thrown my life in a tizzy. Seeing him again has dragged out all the old hurt and anger—the frustration from the divorce. But at the same time, it’s reminded me what love really is. I loved Patrick. He made my heart dance and my life wonderful, until…”
“You don’t need to explain,” Wes said. “Your mom and I know you’ll do what’s right.”
She opened her mouth to continue, but her father hadn’t finished.
“And speaking of him, I saw Patrick at the hardware yesterday. He says Joe’s not doing well.”
Mentioning Patrick’s father reminded Christie of his request. “Patrick said his dad wants to talk with me.”
“With you? About what?” Emma asked.
Christie lowered her head and looked at the floor. “I haven’t talked with him since the divorce.”
“Christine, I can’t believe that,” her mother said.
“Well, it’s true. I’m thinking about it.”
Emma crossed her arms across her chest and gazed at her daughter. “I should hope so. ‘Forgive as the Lord forgives you.’ Remember that. Plus the poor man didn’t do a thing. It was Patrick, and you’re talking with him.”
“Emma,” Wes said. “Don’t lecture.”
Her mother turned away and held her tongue.
“Anyway getting back to Patrick,” Wes said, “it nearly broke my heart. He’s trying to run that store with his boy underfoot. He told me the baby-sitter went to cheering camp or some such.”
Guilt scuffled up Christie’s back as she pictured Sean wandering round the hardware store while Patrick tried to watch him and do his job. He’d asked her a favor, and she’d been horrible. She’d allowed her envy to overshadow compassion. She sat with her head bowed, asking God for forgiveness. How could she be so uncaring?
“It’s not right for a child to be in the store,” Emma said. “Think of all the things he could get into. I have a mind to volunteer to baby-sit until he finds someone.”
Christie sat amazed, hearing her mother’s frustration with Patrick shift, in one breath, to her consideration for his child. Still, her parents’ concern caught her short while her guilt shifted to shame. She was being selfish not helping Patrick.
Her father looked at her over his glasses. “From what I heard, he hasn’t found anyone yet.” Too quickly his gaze shifted to Christie. “What’s wrong with Loving Care? You’re not filled up, are you?”
Chapter Nine
Christie sat outside the hardware store, ready to broach the subject of Sean’s enrollment at Loving Care with Patrick. While her pride had nudged her one way for so long, her compassion drove her another. She knew now she needed to apologize to Patrick. After talking with her parents she realized she’d been taking out her frustration with Patrick on Sean. She’d been punishing her ex-husband.
When she’d returned home from her folks’ home, Christie had a long talk with herself and with the Lord. She’d taken the Bible from her night stand and opened it at random. She looked at the page and eyed Colossians 3, amazed at the message that almost jumped from the page. Bear with each other and forgive whatever grievances you may have against one another. Forgive as the Lord forgave you. And over all these virtues put on love, which binds them all together in perfect unity.
Over all these virtues put on love. Christie remembered her favorite childhood picture of Jesus opening his arms to the children. She certainly couldn’t emulate Jesus, but she could do what the Bible asked. Somewhere in her, she had the virtue of love for the innocent child.
The August sun beat through her windshield, and she faced the inevitable. She either had to drive away or go inside the hardware store as she’d planned. She turned off the ignition, feeling the cooler air fade in a breath. Outside, she hit the Remote Lock and headed indoors, reviewing her opening line for when she saw Patrick.
Without asking a clerk, she trudged toward the back of the store, figuring he was doing inventory or setting up stock. Not seeing him there, she reversed her steps until she found a clerk. “I’m looking for Patrick.”
“He’s not here. Can I help you?”
“I—I’m a friend.” She glanced at her watch. “Is he on break?” She pictured him getting a needed moment of peace at the restaurant down the street where he’d taken her.
“No. He was called home by a neighbor. I guess his father is ill.”
“His father? Is it serious?”
The man shook his head and shrugged. “I don’t know really. He just scooted out of here like a man on a mission.”
Christie’s chest tightened. Patr
ick needed a friend. She thanked the clerk and hurried from the store on a mission of her own. Although Patrick had requested she talk with his father, she’d not done so. She’d put it off for no other reason than lack of courage. What if something happened today? She would never forgive herself.
She pulled away, her tires squealing in the heavy heat, and headed for Patrick’s. In minutes, she turned onto his street and her heart sank. An ambulance sat in front of the house, its lights flashing while neighbors gathered to stare.
Patrick stood beside the stretcher as they settled his father into the vehicle while Sean clung to Patrick’s neck, his young face pale with confusion.
Christie parked at the shoulder and hurried toward him. “I just heard,” she said. “Is he—”
His surprised expression morphed to one of gratitude. “He looks terrible—gray as ash—but he has help now, and I’m praying he’ll be okay.”
“I hope so,” she said, sending up her prayers for God’s mercy. “Can I help? I’ll be happy to stay here with Sean.”
“You sure?”
“Positive.”
“That would be a relief. I hate putting him through all the…”
He let the words slip away and turned to Sean. “Son, Christie is going to stay with you while I go with Grandpa.”
Sean shook his head and buried his face in Patrick’s shoulder. Patrick gave Christie a helpless look.
“Let me,” she said, stroking Sean’s back and whispering assurance to him for a moment before she had Patrick shift him to her arms. The boy wiggled a minute, then rested his head on Christie’s shoulder while the ambulance pulled away with Patrick following in his car behind them.
She carried the boy inside the house. Soon they sat on the floor together playing with trucks and educational toys. Christie watched, amazed at the child’s coordination and skill. As time passed, the activity shifted to picture books. Sean sat beside her while she turned the pages, telling him the story. When her stomach rumbled, she knew Sean had to be hungry, too, and she made her way to the kitchen to see what she could find to eat.
After spotting a package of ground beef in the fridge, she searched through the cabinets and came up with the ingredients for a meat loaf and baked potatoes, and soon the aroma of dinner drifted into the living room.
She fed Sean and ate a little herself, worrying about Patrick and what had happened. She’d expected him back by now unless… She let her fears ebb away. Instead, she closed her eyes and sent a prayer heavenward. Giving the burden to the Lord eased her.
At eight o’clock, the telephone rang. Christie stared at it, wondering if she should answer or let the machine pick up. Concern gave way, and she lifted the receiver.
“I’m glad you answered,” Patrick said. “I’m sorry to keep you waiting so long.”
“Don’t worry about it, Patrick. How’s your dad?”
“They did a catheterization. He has some blockage.”
“What will they do now?”
“I don’t know for sure. I’d hope to hear something before I come home.”
“Is he—”
“Guarded. That’s what they call it.”
“I’ll say another prayer for him.”
“I’ve been praying all evening,” he said. “Thanks.”
Silence hung on the line for a moment.
“If you need to go home, I can call a neigh—”
“I’m fine.” Christie said. “Don’t worry about me. Sean’s fine. We’ve had fun playing all kinds of things.”
“You’ll spoil him,” Patrick said.
“No way.” She grinned, realizing she’d given the child her undivided attention all evening. “I’ll get him ready for bed.”
“I shouldn’t be much longer.”
When she hung up, the day fluttered through her mind like a dream. She had spent the evening playing with Sean, making dinner, and worrying about Patrick’s father. She’d never once remembered the circumstances—that Sean was another woman’s child, that she hadn’t spoken to Joe Hanuman in eight years, that Patrick had stepped out of her life without looking back. It didn’t matter.
She moved away from the telephone back to Sean, and finally, she led him up the stairs. After a bath and another story, she put him to bed, sitting beside him a while. A lullaby her mother had sung to her wove through her thoughts and soon the words and tune found their way to her lips. She wouldn’t have ever believed she’d be singing to Patrick’s son.
Sensing she wasn’t alone, Christie glanced toward the doorway and saw Patrick leaning against the doorjamb watching her. Heavy sadness burdened his face, and her fear returned.
She rose and tiptoed to the doorway. She touched his arm. “He’s not—”
“No. He’s okay. They’ll do a bypass tomorrow if Dad’s up to it.”
“I’m relieved,” she said. “You looked so sad when I saw you in the doorway.”
Patrick gazed down at her, wishing he could tell her the sadness came from what he’d just seen—his ex-wife singing a lullaby to his son. The image touched his heart with the deepest regret.
He slid his arm around her shoulder. “I can’t thank you enough.”
She shook her head. “We already said all of that. Are you hungry?”
While she enjoyed the closeness of his embrace, he guided her toward the staircase. “Me? I bet you’re starving.”
“No. I’m fine. I made dinner for Sean and me. There’s plenty there for you.”
“You made dinner?” He paused at the steps.
She shook her head. “I know how to cook. Remember?”
He nodded, recalling that she was a good cook. He sniffed the air. “Now that you mention it, do I smell meat loaf?”
“And baked potatoes. I made a salad too.” She hurried ahead of him to the first floor.
He watched her bounce with each step, so trim and lovely. She’d always been beautiful. He couldn’t imagine how he’d had the courage to leave her.
Then the memories flooded back. He remembered well. His own ugly fears about being a good husband and parent. No one to turn to. Not even God. He didn’t know the Lord at all then, but today he did, and he’d bombarded the heavenly Father with continual prayers.
When he reached the kitchen behind Christie, she already had a place set for him at the table and was closing the refrigerator door. Without a pause, she popped a dish into the microwave and motioned for him to sit.
“Want some coffee or tea?” she asked.
“Tea sounds good. I’m saturated with that awful thick stuff from the hospital.”
She smiled and set the teakettle on the burner. The microwave buzzer sounded, and before he could say thanks, Christie had set a plate in front of him. The scent of food whetted his appetite, and he forked into the best home-cooked meal he’d had in years, but after downing a few mouthfuls, his curiosity roused him. “I’ve been wondering how you happened to come here today.”
She stood at the cabinet, dropping tea bags into a pot. “I’d stopped by the store.”
“You did? Why?”
“Looking for you.”
“For me?”
“I had something to tell you, something to talk over.”
He spotted a slight flush with her statement. “Okay. I’m all ears.”
Christie returned to the table with a mug in each hand. The steam sent a spicy orange aroma into the air as she set the cup in front of him.
She settled into the chair beside him. “I…I wanted to let you know that Sean is welcome at Loving Care. My dad said you’ve been trying to watch him at the store and that’s not safe for him, or easy for you.”
“It’s been awful.” He wiped his mouth with the napkin she’d folded beneath his fork. “Dad mentioned to a neighbor that I was having a bad time so she agreed to help me out today. That’s why she was here and gave me a call.”
“Talk about little miracles,” Christie said.
“If she hadn’t been here, Dad would have been dead. I�
�” Patrick felt tears push against his eyes and struggled to contain them. He hadn’t cried in front of anyone in years. Forever maybe, and he didn’t plan to start now.
Christie leaned closer and touched his hand. “It’s been an awful day, Patrick. Be happy that your dad’s in good hands now.”
Patrick recaptured his control and nodded. “So was Sean. You’ve been an angel.”
The conversation settled into simple things, and when he finished eating, Christie grabbed up the plates before he could stop her. When he tried to help, she shoed him away. “Go rest. I’ll be there in a minute.”
He didn’t argue. Exhaustion had made itself known long before he’d driven home. Patrick settled on the living-room sofa, enjoying Christie’s clanking and scraping in the kitchen. The sound took him back so many years earlier to their home together.
Within minutes, she returned, carrying refreshed tea mugs, but before she sat in a chair, he patted the cushion beside him.
She followed his suggestion without comment, setting their cups on the coffee table, then leaning back to curl her feet beneath her. She released a sigh and tilted her head against the sofa.
Patrick had all he could do to stop himself from kissing her. He’d always loved her high cheekbones and the generous smile that made her eyes sparkle. Eyes the color of autumn leaves—soft brown with flecks of yellow. Hazel eyes.
He followed her action, stretching his legs out in front of him and leaning his head back as she had done. He let his hand slip from his lap and find hers. She didn’t pull away, but curled up more deeply into the sofa.
“This is nice,” he said. “I haven’t been this comfortable in a long time with anyone. It’s so important to have a real friend.”
“I know,” she said.
Her voice rang with greater meaning than her words said, but Patrick couldn’t decipher it.
“Since I’ve been alone,” he said, “I’ve realized how important life is. Sherry’s was cut so short, and I’d like to think God had a reason. It’s hope that’s kept me from being angry at the Lord.”
“I’m just learning that, I’m afraid. After you left, I lashed out at everyone. Everyone but me. I thought I’d been perfect. I know that’s not true. It takes two to end a relationship, most of the time.”
Loving Care Page 9
