Loving Care

by Gail Gaymer Martin

  “I won’t share them,” she said, giving him a forgiving smile. She licked her fingers, savoring the last bit of flavor. She caught his steady gaze. “So…?”

  “I’m here to pick up, Sean…and to—”

  “Bring a peace offering.”

  He shrugged, sending her another boyish smile.

  The cleft in his chin deepened, and an unexpected sensation rolled down her limbs. She’d talked to herself too many times to be still dazzled by Patrick’s charm, but the lecture hadn’t worked.

  “I accept your gift. Thanks.” The memory of the smooth, rich taste triggered her longing to sneak another piece.

  “But I’m the one who—”

  “We’re the ones, Christie. We both made mistakes. We’re overly sensitive with each other.”

  “I know,” she said, feeling overwhelmed by the mixture of emotions she dealt with daily.

  “Let’s make a pact.”

  She extended her hand. “The truth from now on.”

  He nodded, taking her fingers in his. “The truth, no matter how much it hurts. The truth and patience.”

  “Patience with each other.” She felt his pulse against hers—life flowing through him. His life reviving her.

  He squeezed her fingers and let go, eyeing his watch. “Sean will wonder where I am. I’d better find him.”

  Patrick smiled, spun around and vanished, leaving Christie faced with a loneliness when he walked away. She ambled across the room with her box of chocolates, touched by his willingness to forgive so easily.

  “Chwistie?”

  Sean’s piping voice drew her around. She looked at the miniature image of Patrick and moved toward him.

  “Are you ready to go home?” she asked.

  He shook his head no so hard Christie feared he’d get dizzy.

  She knelt beside him. “Where are you going then?”

  “On the pumpkin twain.”

  “The pumpkin train?”

  “Not today, Sean,” Patrick said. “This weekend.”

  Christie tousled the child’s hair and gave Patrick a grin. “You can’t mention events until you’re walking out the door.”

  “Chwistie can come, too, Daddy.” The boy’s pleading face tilted upward to his father’s.

  Christie saw it coming and wondered if they needed time to get comfortable again. “I don’t think I can—”

  “Sure. Christie can come.”

  Their answers hit the air simultaneously.

  “Goody.” Sean clapped his hands, only hearing his father’s response. He gave Christie a huge grin.

  “But I wonder…” Her gaze lifted from Sean’s to Patrick’s.

  “Sean asked you, Christie, and I’d love you to come along.”

  She looked at the child’s eager expression. “Why not? I’ll be Sean’s date.”

  The boy grinned at her as if he understood about having a date.

  “I don’t mind playing second fiddle,” Patrick said. “Better than no fiddle at all.”

  Patrick looked out the train window, watching the autumn colors flickering past. The northern air was brisk, but the train felt comfortable, and the soothing rhythm of the coach swaying like a cradle had rocked Sean to sleep, nestled in the seat beside him. The boy had been worn out with excitement, anticipating the visit of the Great Pumpkin who’d been on board the pumpkin train to greet the children. At the end of the ride, Sean would select his own pumpkin to take home.

  But now silence settled over Patrick, and he eyed Christie in the seat facing his, her own eyes heavy as if the undulating motion had woven its charm on her, too.

  She lifted her heavy lids and caught him watching her. “What are you looking at?”

  “You…sleeping.”

  “I’m not sleeping. I’m resting my eyes.”

  He grinned at her excuse. The sunlight shimmered through the window, sending gold highlights through her hair and brightening her fair complexion. She’d worn a rust-colored sweater and beige slacks. In her dark green jacket, she seemed like autumn personified, all golden and burnished.

  “Have you talked with your mother lately?” Patrick asked.

  “My mother?” She frowned and leaned closer. “Not in the past few days. Why?”

  “She dropped by to see my dad and brought over a casserole.”

  “Really?”

  He saw concern settle on her face. “I’m surprised.”

  “Your mother’s a nice lady. Why are you surprised?”

  Christie shook her head and didn’t answer.

  “Because she was angry at me?” Patrick asked.

  She shrugged, then gave him a puzzled look. “Did you tell her about—”

  “No. That’s between you and me.”

  She turned her head a moment and looked out the window. “I feel so badly about everything,” she murmured, then turned to face him. “Both sides of the problem.”

  He captured her hand in his. “Christie, we’ve made a pact. Honesty and patience. We learned some valuable lessons about what we did and why it happened. We both had needs that we didn’t address. Things we might have done to make things better for each other. But those are ‘should haves,’ and they’re behind us. We have to move forward. Could we do that?”

  “I’d like to put it behind me. Really.” She hesitated, her nervousness evident in her downcast eyes. “But first I want to ask if you can really forgive me.”

  Christie clung to his hand, and he felt the depth of her question. “I have forgiven you. The question is can you deal with all that’s happened?”

  She closed her eyes and nodded. “I think I can.”

  “Then let’s focus on healing.”

  “I’d like that.” She looked through the window again, the sunlight flickering through the trees against her profile. Finally she turned.

  “Now, what’s this about my mother?”

  He chuckled at her abrupt shift in conversation. “She’s been skeptical about our friendship. Worried about me hurting you again.”

  Christie nodded.

  “I don’t want to do that, Christie. Never. I’ve given our relationship a lot of thought. If this is what we can share, a day on the pumpkin train, that’s all I’ll ask for.”

  A questioning look filled her eyes. “You think you can live with that?”

  He wanted to say “for now,” but he didn’t. “If I have to. Yes.”

  She seemed to think about what he’d said while her gaze drifted again to the view out the window. Finally she shifted closer. “Being honest, neither of us knows where this is going. Only time will tell, but I’ll confess I miss you when you’re not around. I never thought that would happen. But it has.”

  “I miss you, too. Sean misses you.”

  Her face twitched with concern, and she pulled back. “That’s what I fear. I don’t want Sean to get too attached to me in case things don’t work out. He needs a mother, a woman he can count on.”

  Patrick watched her face darken. He agreed Sean’s life would be easier with a mother, but that meant he needed a wife. He’d married twice. He’d loved them both in different ways, but Christie, she’d been the first and he couldn’t forget what they might have had if they hadn’t messed things up so badly. At times, he wondered if Christie were correct. Could they ever trust each other enough to contemplate marriage again? Could they accept the past and build a new life together?

  “I’ve been struggling with something else, Patrick. Sometimes I fear that getting too attached to Sean is allowing him to be a surrogate to the child I’ve always wanted.” She lowered her head. “I don’t want to do that. I want to love him for himself. And then I have another worry.”

  Patrick’s chest tightened as he watched the apprehension grow on her face.

  “My mother said it a while back, something that’s needled me every time I get comfortable with you.”

  “What is it?”

  She bit the edge of her lip and looked at the floor before she finally lifted her he
ad. “She said now that you’re alone again, and with a child, you’re probably just looking for someone to step in and—”

  “Don’t say that,” Patrick said. “Your mother doesn’t believe that anymore. She looks at it differently now. Talk with her. She thinks all of this has happened for a purpose.”

  “A purpose?” Her face lit with surprise. “Only my mother could come up with that.”

  He leaned forward and caught her hand in his. “Ask her.” He released her fingers, realizing he was getting too close. Control. He had to overpower his emotions. “Christie, I’ll make a promise. No more kisses. No more intimate gestures. Nothing but friendship. The kind we had when we first met. Remember those days? We were curious. Interested. But controlled. We had fun and enjoyed each other’s company. If things change, we’ll talk about it like adults.”

  “What about Sean?” Christie asked.

  “He’s young. I’m a stronger father than my dad was. And most important, I have God on my side. Sean will be okay with me.” He said the words, but he recalled his occasional insecurity at being a father. Times when he wished he had a woman’s advice. A gentle touch. A mother for Sean. But they’d survive, if they had to.

  “I keep asking myself what makes us think we can work out our problems this time. We had good intentions when we first married, but we both failed. I wish I was certain this time could be forever, Patrick. I’m struggling with following my reason and following my heart.”

  “Follow your heart, Christie,” he said.

  She gave him a nod, and he saw her face relax.

  Maybe they could work things out. She would be a friend he could count on and respect. A friend he could love without all the trappings of romance.

  He glanced out the window and saw the scattered buildings of the town drawing closer. Soon Sean would be selecting a pumpkin.

  Patrick wished that were the biggest choice he had to make. He’d made a promise to Christie, and no matter how badly he wanted things to be different, he would do what he could to keep his promise.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Hearing the hymn introduction, Christie opened her songbook and rose from the pew. She stood beside her parents and felt a deep sense of family commitment. She had learned a great deal in these past weeks, mainly that her anger all these years had been at herself and not at her parents or the church. Her mother had beamed when she’d arrived for the worship service. Christie knew her mother was thrilled that she’d come to church the last two Sundays.

  The knowledge warmed Christie. She’d begun to understand the workings of the Lord. Things happened to help her grow in Him, to draw her closer, not push her away. But she needed to trust and have faith.

  Last Sunday Christie had felt as if the lessons had been for her. The words of Romans 5 rose in her thoughts throughout the week. We also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom he has given us.

  Trust and hope. She’d needed both badly. Patrick had asked for friendship, but she hadn’t trusted him. Truly, she hadn’t trusted herself. The visions of the good days assailed her thoughts, luring her forward, making her hope for more. But Christie had realized last week that she had to hope in the Lord, not in herself. God would provide. She had suffered, and now she would persevere. She would hope and pray for God’s direction.

  First she wanted to tell Patrick he’d been correct about her expansion idea. Though she’d jumped on him about his comments regarding her addition, he’d been right. In the past weeks, she’d lost two students who’d been enrolled in a new child-care center closer to their homes. Patrick’s words had rankled her, but they had been wise.

  She’d enjoyed the pumpkin train. The conversation she and Patrick had shared had been honest. They’d opened their hearts, made an agreement that she hoped to keep.

  When the service ended, Christie slid her hymn book into the pew rack and let her gaze drift. She spotted Patrick looking her way. He smiled and lifted Sean into his arms before he made his way to her.

  Christie waved and sent him an accepting smile.

  “You want to come by for dinner today?” Emma asked Christie, then turned, seeing Patrick walk up beside them.

  “I can’t, Mom,” Christie said. “I promised Annie I’d drop by to see the new baby.”

  “That’s so nice,” Emma said. “I’m sure she’s thrilled. Is Patrick going with you?”

  Christie caught Patrick’s puzzled look. “Mother’s talking about Annie’s new baby.”

  “Annie from Loving Care?” he asked.

  Christie nodded. “They adopted.”

  “I’d love to go along, but I have Sean. He’d get in the way—”

  “Sean wouldn’t get in the way. Will you?” Emma asked resting her hand on the boy’s shoulder. “But Sean might prefer to come to my house and play with the toy box.”

  “Toy box? At your house?” Christie asked, startled that her mother would offer, and even more startled that she had a toy box.

  “It’s in the hall closet,” Emma said. “I always kept toys around for friends’ children. For any child, for that matter, who might enter our lives.” She gave Christie a pointed look.

  Christie realized she’d not given her parents their only chance to have a grandchild. Though her mother didn’t mean to hurt her, the truth filled Christie with disappointment and sadness. She would love to have a child, and she still might if she looked into adoption. The idea had possibilities.

  Patrick looked surprised at Emma’s offer, too. “I couldn’t ask you to—”

  “You didn’t ask. I offered. I’d love to have Sean come for a visit.” She knelt beside the boy. “Want to come and play with the toys, Sean? I have cookies.”

  The cookies piqued Sean’s interest. He took Emma’s hand without a qualm.

  “After the visit, why don’t you both come back for dinner?” Emma asked.

  “Thanks,” Patrick said, “but only if my dad’s up to staying alone.”

  “We can fix him a plate. Better than eating carry-out,” she said, her smile broadening.

  Patrick couldn’t argue with that. He was startled at Emma’s openness, as if she were welcoming him back into the family’s life. “That would be nice. I’ll give Dad a call.”

  With things settled, Patrick called his father, then headed for Annie’s house on Washington Street with Christie leading the way. He’d met Annie at Loving Care and liked her right off. She had a way of opening her arms and her heart at the same time.

  He parked at the curb and hurried around to open Christie’s door. A suspicious look creased her forehead as if asking why he was being a gentleman. She’d be surprised how much he’d changed over the years if she’d give him a chance to show her.

  They headed up the walk and took the steps to a wide front porch with wicker furniture and an old-fashioned porch swing swaying with the cold November wind that whipped around the house. Patrick pulled his collar up around his neck as they waited for someone to answer the door.

  Annie appeared and greeted them with a warm welcome.

  They hurried inside and stepped from the small foyer into the living room. A portable crib sat beside a chair and Christie hurried there, bending over the opening, her voice reflecting her pleasure.

  “She’s beautiful,” Christie whispered.

  Patrick moved closer and agreed. The rosy-cheeked child had a cherub face with bowed lips, eyes closed, with long lashes resting against her ivory skin. “She’s a keeper,” Patrick said and stepped back to allow Annie room beside Christie.

  He watched Christie’s delight at seeing the little one-year-old, and his chest tightened as he remembered his part in stopping them from having a child of their own. Now he delighted in his son and Annie had a daughter, while Christie had no one. If he could only do it over again. But those were wishes and dreams, not
reality.

  “Have a seat,” Annie said. “Ken should be back soon. He ran to the store for me.”

  “What did you name her, Annie?”

  “I wanted a name that meant blessing. We called her Gracelynne.”

  “What a pretty name.”

  “I found it on the Internet. It’s perfect.”

  Christie nodded, and Patrick saw deep longing reflected in her face for the same kind of blessing.

  When Annie waved them toward the chairs again, Christie settled on the sofa. Patrick sat beside her and listened as the talk drifted from babies to Loving Care and all its happenings since Annie had taken her short leave to welcome the child to her home.

  “I’m a rotten hostess,” Annie said, leaping from the chair. “I made fresh coffee and forgot.”

  Christie halted her with a gesture. “We’re not staying long, so please—”

  “You have time for coffee,” she said, hurrying from the room.

  The sound of her voice must have wakened the toddler. In seconds the child’s wiggling caught Christie’s attention, and she bounded from the sofa to the crib. “Hi, there,” she said. “Welcome to Annie’s world, Gracelynne.”

  Patrick marveled at the vision, watching Christie lift the child in her arms and nestle her against her cheek. Christie was meant to be a mother. He’d seen her at Loving Care—her gentleness, her concern and love for the children.

  The picture wrapped him in sadness and guilt. Though he could do nothing about the past, the thought whetted his longing to make a difference in her future. To let love happen again the way it was meant to. But they needed time and he needed to control himself.

  Annie returned, and Christie let her coffee cool while she cuddled the little girl in her arms. He remembered her singing lullabies to Sean, and his sorrow deepened. Dear Lord, you can work miracles. Let Christie see me with new eyes if it’s Your will. He sent the prayer heavenward, hoping that the Lord’s will and his were on the same wavelength.

  Looking through the car window, Christie’s senses still clung to the child she’d held in her arms—the soft, pink flesh, the scent of talcum, the warmth and love that nestled against her chest. Even Patrick had held the child, his large hands supporting the little girl against his broad chest, her smiles and his sparkling eyes. He looked at ease, not like many men who shied away from little ones. The vision covered her with melancholy.