A rap at the window signaled them, and they headed up the porch steps. Patrick knocked the snow from his shoes onto the mat before stepping into the warmth inside, knowing the furnace could never radiate the kind of heat that already burned in his heart.
Later as they sat around the table enjoying the end of the meal, Patrick’s thoughts drifted to the snowman and the perfect pleasure he’d shared with Christie. In the silence of his thoughts, he sent a thank-you to God for the day, for the healing he felt and for giving him hope of things to come.
“Patrick, how’s your father doing?” Wes asked.
“Good. He didn’t want to get out in the cold, but the doctor thinks he’s doing great. He had an appointment a few days ago.”
“Praise God,” Emma said, her gentle face letting him know she really cared.
“I thought I’d lose him a while back, but it looks like he’ll have more years if he takes care of himself. In fact, I’m thinking about looking for my own place soon.”
“Really?” Christie said. “You didn’t tell me.”
Patrick smiled. “I was waiting for the right time. I wanted to con you into helping me find a house.” He couldn’t admit the real reason to her parents, not until he talked with her. Hope glowed like a jewel in his thoughts.
Emma rose and slid back her chair. “I’ll make up a big plate for your dad,” she said, reaching out to clear the table. “Enough for all of you, and I have an extra pie.”
“Dad’ll enjoy it, but don’t overdo. Just a meal for him will be great.” He checked his watch, noticing how time had flown. “I’d better call him if you don’t mind. I’m still a watchdog. I want to make sure he’s okay.”
“Go ahead,” Wes said. “Use the telephone in the living room. It’s quieter there.”
Patrick rose, still amazed to see Sean sitting on Wes’s knee, his cheeks rosy from playing outside, his head leaning against Wes’s broad chest. The two had stuck together like adhesive.
Christie watched Patrick leave the room. Her heart lifted at what they’d shared—normal, relaxed fun in the snow. She eyed her father holding Sean as if he were his grandchild. Though a jab of sadness made her recall her usual “what ifs,” she’d grown fond of the child. If she were to admit the truth, she cared for the child more than she had dreamed possible. In her deep caring, she had let go of her anger and hurt—those feelings she’d lived with for so long.
The realization lightened her heart. She felt good letting go. Was this how it felt when she handed her burdens to the Lord? Could God’s grace and mercy boost her spirit so completely? Uplift her and fill her with joy? Could this be what she’d been missing for so long?
Patrick came through the doorway all smiles.
“He’s fine,” he said, sinking back to the chair he’d vacated and eyeing Sean. “But either I need to get going or find a place to lay my boy, unless you want to hold him the rest of the evening.”
Her father chuckled. “I think we can find a spot.” He looked at Christie. “Why not put him in the spare bedroom?”
She rose and waited for Patrick to lift Sean in his arms. She beckoned him forward, and he followed her to the only bedroom on the first floor—a small room, but one that worked well for company.
Patrick laid Sean on the bed, and Christie unfolded an afghan that had lain at the foot and covered the child. His rosy cheeks seemed brighter than earlier, and she smiled, remembering how much fun they’d had outside.
In the living room, the men gathered around the television watching the football game, and Christie and her mother chatted with half an eye on the plays. When the game ended, they enjoyed the pumpkin pie. Then afterward, her parents excused themselves, Christie was sure, to give Patrick and her time alone.
Their action surprised her. Months ago, Christie’s mother had stood guard over her, concerned about her feelings and afraid of her involvement with Patrick. Today she sensed encouragement. The awareness left her thoughtful.
Patrick rose from the chair near the TV and plopped onto the sofa beside Christie.
“It’s been a great day,” he said. “Like…” His voice faded.
She shook her head. “Let’s focus on the present.”
He nodded, his face serious. “I know. Still, I can’t help but wish that things had been different.” He touched her arm, and she lifted her eyes to his. “Don’t get me wrong,” he said. “I cherish this time with you and your family. I’m so glad Sean has the opportunity to know your folks. It’s just that…”
His voice faded again, and Christie finished his sentence in her head—it was hard to stop at friendship. “I know what you mean.”
“Do you?”
“I think so.”
He rested his palm against her hand. “We’ve shared our lives in such a personal and intimate way. Sure we had bad times. I’ve talked them through until I’m weary, but I remember the good times, too. The times that were special.”
“Perfect times,” she said, feeling a deep yearning to say something she’d never said before. She drew in a deep breath. “Losing you was horrible. It hurt my pride and it hurt me. I felt lonely and empty, but I also felt deep anger.” She turned to face him squarely. “You know why?”
He shrugged. “For all the things you said, I suppose. I ruined your life.”
“You ruined my perfect life. Perfect is the key. You know how important it has always been to me to have everything orderly, to give the best party, to keep my home the neatest. Perfection. I’ll accept nothing less.”
“And that’s why we have no chance to be more than we are,” he said, his voice darkening with awareness.
“Not really. I’ve changed a little in the past months.”
His downcast gaze swung upward, a glimmer of hope reflected in his eyes. “Changed?”
“I’m still a nitpicker, I suppose, but I realize that in the Lord all things are perfected. So when things aren’t humanly perfect, we can give them to God who’ll make them better. Does that make sense?”
“Perfect sense.”
Hearing the word perfect again caused her to grin, and it felt good. “I’ve learned a perfect marriage is unrealistic. Anything takes work. Like my business. I try to do my best, but things happen—things outside my control. And I’ve learned not to give up, not to shut the door, but to open it wider and face the problem. I’ve changed that much.”
“Both of us have learned things. Keeping feelings inside gets me nowhere. How can I heal if I keep my problems and fears inside to fester and swell until the molehill has become the mountain. Knowing God has helped with that.”
“You’ve been honest with me, Patrick. I know we were both wrong.”
He reached for her hand, and clasped it in his. “Let’s look to the future,” he said, his face bright with hope. His expression was as warm and gentle as a spring breeze.
“We’re back to a solid friendship,” he said. “I can handle that for now. If God wills, He’ll direct us into something deeper. That’s what I’ve been praying for.”
“I’ve been praying, too. I care so much about you, but when I think of us going beyond the way we are today, I worry. Could we slip back into our old habits? Could the mistakes we made once have caused too much damage? Can we ever really trust each other again?” She felt tears pool in her eyes. “And Sean. Even though he’s a sweet child, will I ever stop thinking about Sherry when I look at him?”
“He’s my son, Christie. Think of me. Think of us. Think of the children we still could have, endometriosis or not. God’s in charge.”
Patrick was right. God was in charge. Yet knowing that and accepting it were two different things. Since rebuilding her friendship with Patrick, the fear of losing him again had heightened. She didn’t want to return to her empty, lonely life. Instead, she needed to cling to the happiness she felt today, knowing she and Patrick were both in the hands of a caring and loving Lord.
He touched her hand. “I’ve told you Sean and I can get by alone, but a mothe
r is important, Christie. Sean needs a mother really, and that person could be you.”
Sean needs a mother. The words punched her in the solar plexus. Was this all about Sean needing a mother? Patrick didn’t love her, but he felt so comfortable with her that he figured she’d be as good as anyone to be a mother to Sean. Was that it? Her heart ached at the thought.
A whimper struck them at the same time. Patrick released her hands and was gone before she moved. His abruptness sent her reeling, but hearing Sean’s cry and rasping cough, she rose and followed Patrick to the bedroom. When she came through the doorway, a new concern filled her thoughts.
Sean’s cheeks were fiery red, and beads of perspiration budded on his nose. She stood beside Patrick, running her hand across the child’s face and feeling the heat.
“He has a fever,” she said.
“I noticed he hasn’t been himself for the past couple of days. I shouldn’t have let him play outside. I could kick myself.”
She grasped his arm. “Playing outside wouldn’t hurt him. You had him bundled up well. This must be a virus or something. I’ll see if Mom has some baby aspirins.” She moved toward the doorway and stopped. “If she has a toy box, she should have some children’s aspirin, I’d hope.” She tried to lighten the tension she was feeling, but it didn’t work. Confusion and worry still knotted her muscles, and strain sullied Patrick’s handsome face.
In moments, Emma had joined them, hovering over the child, wiping his face with a cool cloth and checking his temperature.
“It’s one hundred and two,” she said shaking down the thermometer. “Kids often have fevers. Just keep an eye on him, but don’t let the temperature get much higher before calling the doctor.”
“I’d better get him home,” Patrick said, “before it gets colder outside.
Emma gave Sean a baby aspirin, then found a heavy blanket to protect him from the cold.
Patrick wrapped Sean like a cocoon, then lifted him into his arms.
“Now you keep us posted, Patrick,” Emma said.
“Should I ride with you?” Christie asked, following him to the doorway, forgetting her upset with what he’d said earlier. Now, she was frightened not by Sean’s fever, but his tight cough and rattling breathing.
“No. It’s not far, and then how would you get back?”
“I could follow you in my car,” she said.
“It’s still cold and slippery. I’ll call you after you get home. Sean’s had a fever before. This one just surprised me.”
Emma waited by the doorway, too, tucking the blanket around Sean’s ears until only his nose peeked out, but Christie couldn’t rid herself of the picture of Sean’s listlessness and his bright red cheeks.
She watched Patrick leave, her thoughts spiraling out of control. She’d settle her upset with Patrick later. Now the child’s illness triggered deepest concern.
Awareness charged through her. No, Sean wasn’t her child, and he never would be where blood was concerned. He belonged to Sherry and Patrick, but if she didn’t love the boy as her own, why did she feel such anxiety? Such profound concern?
Chapter Fifteen
Christie couldn’t sleep after learning Sean’s fever had risen a degree when he’d gotten home. Although Patrick promised to call if anything else happened, that didn’t help. Waiting and wondering, Christie watched the clock moving slowly, like a dirge.
After tossing and turning for hours, she rose and slipped into jeans and a holiday sweatshirt adorned with a choir of angels hovering in a blue sky. Hard to believe, but Christmas was only weeks away.
She filled the coffeemaker and sat at the table, staring at the telephone. Five o’clock. She hoped Patrick was sleeping, knowing Sean was feeling better. But she wasn’t. Alien sensations filled her mind—her feelings for Sean and the conversation she’d had with Patrick.
At first, she’d felt good about their honest discussion, but Patrick’s final statement had thrown her off balance. He’d insinuated he wanted to remarry her. To try again. Think of the children we still could have, he’d said. What else could that mean? But in the next breath, he’d let her know he wanted a mother for Sean. What did Patrick want? Did he really love her, or was she a familiar convenience?
She’d begun to think he’d fallen in love with her once more, as she had with him. Yes, she’d been afraid to admit it openly, but the feelings were there, poking her like a nail in her shoe. She’d nearly allowed herself to trust him. One minute their relationship seemed so right. The next, so wrong. Deep hurt pushed against her chest and constricted her breathing.
Christie pressed her face in her hands and prayed. Lord, I know You said we should rejoice in our sufferings, because suffering produces hope. But my hope has faded, and I can’t sort reality from dreams. I need to trust again. Help me to see clearly. Let me know Your will.
The clock hands inched around the dial. Five-thirty. Five-fifty. Christie wavered between disappointment and worry. At six she could stand it no longer. She rose and headed for the phone. Its ring just as she reached it sent her heart to her throat.
“Patrick?” she said into the receiver.
“Did I wake you?”
“Are you kidding? I’ve been awake all night.”
“So have I. I just called and got the doctor’s answering service. Now I’m waiting for him to call back.”
She closed her eyes in frustration. “How long? Did she say?”
“I don’t know. It’s a holiday weekend. He’s not in the office until Monday.”
Christie’s heart sank. “I can’t sit here any longer. I’m coming over. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
Before he could argue, Christie hung up and grabbed her jacket, figuring she’d be there before the doctor returned Patrick’s call.
Patrick put down the receiver and stared at the telephone, waiting. The two people he loved most filled his thoughts—his son and Christie. He’d sensed a problem last night when Christie had suddenly withdrawn. He’d reviewed their conversation and couldn’t understand what had triggered the change.
But he couldn’t concentrate on that now. Christie was on her way. She’d offered to come last night for that matter. His mind whirred with confusion. He couldn’t deal with any of it now. Maybe Sean’s fever was only one of those childhood scares. He knew they happened, but until he knew for sure what it was, he’d never rest.
Patrick had so hoped he and Christie could find a way to mend their wounds and grow together again. Benjamin Franklin’s adage remembered from high school leaped into his thoughts. A cracked plate never mends. Was that true for them? No. He and Christie weren’t a cracked plate. They were two people who had loved and let fears push them apart until they could no longer see each other but only feel the deep abyss between them. He’d thought they’d begun to build a bridge, a sturdy bridge to bring them back together, but something had removed a spike from the span. Once again they stood on shaky ground. Would it ever change?
The telephone’s ring sent his pulse on a sprint, and he grasped the receiver, feeling relief when he heard the doctor’s voice asking about Sean.
“His temperature is nearly one hundred and five, and I’ve given him children’s ibuprofen as often as it’s allowed, but it’s not dropping.”
“Any other symptoms?” the doctor asked.
“A tight cough, raspy breathing, and he started vomiting this morning.”
The line hung with silence, and Patrick clung to the telephone, his palms moist. “What do you think?” he asked, unable to wait for the doctor’s response.
“We’d better not take any chances,” the man said. “Take him to emergency. I’ll call to let them know you’re on your way.”
“Emergency?” Disappointment struck Patrick’s heart. He’d preferred the doctor’s office where Sean had been before, not an unfamiliar hospital to frighten him.
“If it’s nothing serious, they’ll send him back home, and you can bring him in on Monday. If he’s admitted, I’ll se
e him there.”
Patrick stared at the mouthpiece, wondering about devotion to patients and concern for little children. Shouldn’t a pediatric doctor be more caring? He pushed the thought aside. The physician received calls from frightened parents morning and night. The man deserved a day off.
When Patrick put down the receiver, he headed toward Sean’s room, but before he made it, the doorbell rang. Christie stood on the threshold, her face pinched with alarm.
“Did you hear anything?” she asked, stepping inside.
“He told me to take him to emergency.”
Without asking questions, she hurried past him, dropping her shoulder bag onto a nearby chair. “What can I do?”
In moments, they had Sean ready to go while Patrick’s father stood by, his face riddled with concern. Outside, Patrick climbed into his car after settling Christie in the back seat with Sean. Once strapped in, they were on their way.
The traffic was light early in the morning, and when they arrived, Patrick got out with Sean and let Christie park the car in the emergency area. She found them, her jacket smelling of winter air and her face mottled from the cold and, he knew, worry.
Patrick turned to follow as they swept Sean away on a gurney.
“I’ll be in the waiting room,” Christie said, backing toward the area.
He caught her arm. “No. Come with me.”
She drew back, but he pulled her along, wanting her there for his own reasons. No matter what she said, he knew her feelings were strong for his son and he wouldn’t allow her to wait alone at a time like this.
They entered the cubicle and stood aside while the orderly situated Sean. A nurse arrived, and when she took Sean’s temperature, Patrick leaned forward trying to read the numbers she’d written, but the woman had covered them too quickly. Before he could ask, she whipped through the doorway.
Patrick pulled the lone chair toward Christie and gestured for her to sit. She sank into it while he stood over Sean, listening to his ragged breathing. Guilt filled him. What could he have done to keep his son safe?
Loving Care Page 15
