One Imperfect Christmas

by Myra Johnson

  He couldn't let that happen. Leaving the slice of buttered bread on the counter, he scribbled a note to Lissa on the back of the grocery receipt and tacked it under the Pete's Pizza refrigerator magnet—not their most efficient means of communication, but it served her right. He turned the burner off under the beans, yanked his jacket from a kitchen chair, and stormed out the door.

  His Bronco still radiated warmth from his trip to the supermarket. Checking his watch, he figured if he hurried, he could arrive at Hope Gardens about the time everyone else did. Maybe he could pull Bram aside and convince him to be honest with Natalie before they moved her mother, before Natalie's hopes rose any higher—as if they weren't over the top already. He didn't blame Bram for wanting to bring his wife home to the farm for her last days, but Natalie deserved to go into the new arrangement with her eyes wide open.

  As he approached the Hope Gardens turnoff, he caught sight of Hart's pickup and Natalie's silver Saturn parked behind an ambulance near the front entrance. Bolstering himself with a deep breath, he parked the Bronco nearby and marched inside.

  He almost collided with a young, aqua-uniformed nurse carrying a food tray from the dining room. “May I help you, sir?”

  “I'm Belinda Morgan's son-in-law. I'm looking for—”

  “Oh, yes, they're preparing to transport her.” She nodded in the direction of Belinda's room.

  Daniel knew the way. As he rounded the corner, he saw the entourage emerging from Belinda's room. With Hart in the lead, two ambulance attendants guided the gurney on which his mother lay. Bram and Natalie followed.

  “Hey, bro,” Hart said, catching Daniel's eye with a look of surprise. “Didn't expect you.”

  As the group neared, Daniel's pulse quickened. He fell in step beside Hart. “I know,” he said, “but I thought … ” He glanced over his shoulder at Natalie but after a quick smile, she broke eye contact. Bram, his stoic face etched with weariness, cast him a knowing, almost apologetic look.

  A flicker of something else shone in Bram Morgan's eyes, something that drew Daniel up short. He moved aside, leaning against the wall as the group passed. Poor old Bram hadn't given up hope either. To tell Natalie the truth would mean he'd have to admit it to himself, and the elderly, careworn man, obviously still deeply in love with his wife, simply could not do it.

  Raking a hand through his hair, Daniel pushed away from the wall and started down the corridor, the ache of discouragement dogging every step. He pushed through the front doors into bright December sunlight in time to see an ambulance attendant close and latch the double doors at the back of the vehicle.

  “Dan, you coming out to the house later?” Hart called as he walked around to the driver's side of his pickup.

  “No, I'll stay out of your way for now.” He paused on the sidewalk, his shoulders caving around the lump of defeat settling in his chest. The hurried trip to Hope Gardens had been a mistake—a waste of time, hope, and energy. Hands stuffed in his jacket pockets, he trudged toward the parking lot.

  As he passed Natalie's car, she looked up from unlocking her door and offered a tentative smile. He'd fully intended to let things drop, to go on his way and try once more to trust that somehow the God he'd always believed in would work things out. But, suddenly, he couldn't help himself. He stopped, straightened his shoulders a little, and smiled at the slender, blonde beauty who was still his wife—for how much longer he would not hazard a guess. He didn't even attempt to disguise the look of love in his eyes.

  “It was nice of you to come by.” She glanced down shyly. “I didn't expect you'd be here, although I guess I should have known. You were always so good about visiting Mom even after we … ”

  Only the width of the car separated them, a mere hunk of gleaming, metallic-silver-painted steel. He could leap it if he had to. To get close to the woman he loved, he could easily lift that car and toss it across the parking lot.

  Instead, he left his hands where they were, safely tucked away, and nonchalantly walked around the front of the car. “I, uh … ” He was close enough to reach out and touch her if he wanted to and take her into his arms in one quick motion.

  He rammed his hands even farther into the depths of his pockets. His fingers closed around the cool satin lining. “Nat,” he said hoarsely, “I'm worried about you.”

  She gave a breezy laugh, and her keys jangled. “Don't be. Everything's fine.”

  “You don't know … ”

  She looked up with searching eyes. “What's wrong now? Is it something else with Lissa?”

  “No. It's … I … ” His vocal cords felt like someone had poured rubber cement down his throat. What was it about being close to her lately that turned him into a blithering idiot? Why couldn't he simply tell her what scared him so? Better yet, why couldn't he sweep her into his arms and shield her with his love from the inevitable pain and sorrow she would soon face?

  Natalie's lips twisted with annoyance. She shrugged her purse strap higher on her shoulder and fumbled for the door handle. “For heaven's sake, Daniel, every time you get that tone in your voice, I'm certain something horrible has happened to our daughter. I wish you wouldn't worry me like this.” She yanked open her door, another barrier between them.

  He set his hands atop the doorframe and held it firmly. Gathering his wits, he blurted, “Are you quitting your job at the print shop?”

  This time Natalie resorted to stammering. “I, uh … Where did you hear that?”

  “From Sue Garner.”

  “Jeff's wife?” She laughed nervously.

  “Well? Is it true?”

  She looked past him as engine sounds started up. From behind him he heard Hart's voice. “We're heading out, Nat. See you at the farm.”

  Daniel glanced over his shoulder to see the ambulance pull out, followed by Hart's pickup.

  “I really have to go.” Natalie tossed her purse into the front passenger seat. She moved to sit behind the wheel, but Daniel caught her by the wrist.

  “Wait.” His heart hammered. He couldn't let her leave like this, couldn't let another chance to break through to her slip from his grasp. “Natalie, can't you just once be honest with me about what's going on in your life? Have things gotten so bad between us that we can't talk at all?”

  She stared at his hand gripping her arm until, embarrassed, he released it. He noticed her breathing had become shallow and rapid, mirroring his.

  She blinked furiously, avoiding his gaze. “I'm not intentionally keeping anything from you. But I can only deal with one thing at a time. Yes, I've asked Jeff to look into buying me out of the partnership. Later I'll freelance from home like I used to.”

  “Home. You mean the farm.” It was not a question. He felt the stab of disappointment all the way to his spine.

  “I'm canceling my apartment lease as of December 31. I'll start moving out right after Christmas.” She brightened. “Lissa can help me. It'll be fun. Now, I really must get going. Mom will be waiting.”

  Before Daniel could utter another word, she slammed the car door and whipped out of the drive and onto the main road. The silver sedan sped from view around the next curve.

  Natalie knew she flirted with danger, accelerating past the speed limit on the rural two-lane highway, but Daniel's nearness had unnerved her. She glanced in the rearview mirror, fearing—and yet ridiculously hoping—Daniel might have followed. She had the road to herself, however, and with a deep, shuddering breath she relaxed the pressure on the gas pedal.

  Slowing the car only made her realize how severely her hands were shaking. In fact, she trembled all over. She'd be useless to her mother if she ended up in the hospital—or worse, the morgue—if in her recklessness she wrapped the car around a utility pole or rolled it in a culvert. With effort, she calmed her breathing and tried to halt this absurd fit of trembling. In her mind's eye she could still picture Daniel's strangely worried expression and the unmistakable look of love in his eyes.

  He still loves me. She felt more certa
in of it than ever.

  Heat rose in her face. Daniel, I love you too.

  Her own thoughts turned on her, bombarding her with Dr. Sirpless's implied questions from last night. When are you going to face reality, Natalie? Admit what you know is true. Stop running. Stop hiding from the people you love.

  “Dear God, I'm trying,” she said aloud, her eyes brimming. With all her heart she wanted to put her family back together. But she couldn't, not until she made amends for her failure to be there for her mother when she needed her most.

  What about Daniel and Lissa? Don't they need you too?

  The unspoken question cut her to the marrow, but she could only handle one load of guilt at a time. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. She hammered a fist against the steering wheel. Would there ever come a time when she could finally stop apologizing?

  Releasing a tremulous breath, she opened the console and found a tissue to dry her eyes. The elation of seeing Mom leave that dreary nursing home had evaporated. The peace Natalie so longed for—the renewed spirit she'd felt certain would be hers now that Mom was coming home—still eluded her. All the way to the farm she sensed some vital grain of understanding lingered just beyond her mind's grasp, something she should know already, something with the power to make all the difference in her life.

  And as she turned into the gravel driveway and parked alongside Hart's pickup, she realized Daniel knew and had tried to tell her, but she hadn't wanted to hear it.

  19

  Early Sunday morning, Natalie hurried downstairs to her mother's room, anxious to see how she had passed her first night at home. It would have seemed more right if they could have moved Mom straight into the upstairs bedroom she'd shared with Dad, but until she grew stronger, it would be easier on everyone taking care of her to have her in the hospital bed in the downstairs guestroom.

  Natalie tapped on the partially closed door and tiptoed inside. “How's it going, Carolyn?”

  The private nurse, a dark-haired woman in her late-forties, sat on the edge of Mom's bed with a bowl of Cream of Wheat. She smiled over her shoulder. “Hi, Mrs. Pearce. We're just having breakfast.”

  “Please, call me Natalie.” She moved closer and extended her hand toward the bowl. “Would you mind if I take over?”

  Carolyn offered a hesitant frown. “Are you sure? She had a small choking episode during supper last night.”

  A warning twinge pinched Natalie's stomach. “Does that happen often?”

  “It isn't unusual.” The unspoken addendum—at this stage— showed in the lift of the nurse's brow. “We just have to be careful.”

  “Of course.” Maybe if Natalie had joined the stroke support group with her father, she'd know more about this aspect of patient care.

  “Nnnn. Nnnaaaa.” With jerky motions, Mom rolled her head toward Natalie.

  “Yes, Mom, I'm here. This looks delicious. Sprinkled with cinnamon, just like you used to make for Hart and me, remember?” With a nod of assurance to the nurse, Natalie took the woman's place on the side of the bed and offered her mother a spoonful of the warm, milk-thinned cereal. A few white, grainy droplets trickled from the paralyzed side of her mother's mouth, and Natalie gently caught them with the spoon.

  “I'm so glad to have you home, and just in time for Christmas,” she said brightly as she offered her mother another bite. Wrinkled lips clamped down on the spoon. Disappointment clamped down on Natalie's heart. “Oh, Mom, don't—”

  Cream of wheat dribbled onto the snowflake-bedecked paper napkin spread across her mother's chest. The shrunken woman gave a sputtering cough and turned her head away.

  “Maybe you'd better let me,” Carolyn quietly suggested.

  Ignoring her, Natalie set the bowl on the nightstand and scooted closer against her mother's side. Tightness squeezed her chest as she pressed her mother's limp hands between her own. “You've got to eat to get stronger for Christmas—the fiftieth perfect Christmas you promised Dad.” She spoke over the silent tears clogging her throat. “You do remember, don't you, Mom?”

  Crepe-paper eyelids fluttered and closed. Her mother's breathing slowed as her head relaxed into the pillow.

  A knot of alarm swelled under Natalie's heart. “Mom?”

  “She's just very tired.” Carolyn placed a hand on Natalie's shoulder. “The move and all … it's taken a toll on her strength.”

  Natalie shot the woman an anxious glance. “You don't think it was too much for her, that we shouldn't have brought her home yet.”

  The nurse smiled with compassion. “As long as the patient's health permits, it's almost always the best thing to return loved ones to their own home.” Her voice dropped to a whisper as she added, “For the time remaining.”

  Bristling irritation corkscrewed up Natalie's spine. “You must have misunderstood. Mom came home so that we could be closer to her and help her get well.”

  Carolyn folded her hands at her waist and took a step back. “Yes, of course.”

  “So only positive talk from now on, okay?” Giving a firm nod, Natalie rose and crossed to the window. A powdered-sugar dusting of snow covered the winter-brown grass in the pastures. Rocky, the stocky bay gelding, followed Dad from the barn as he trundled out a wheelbarrow full of hay. Windy trotted close behind, and Natalie already missed her beloved Appaloosa mare. After Christmas, Mona Kauffman from Reach for the Stars would come out with a horse trailer to take Windy to her new home. At least Mona had said Natalie could visit her there anytime.

  Once more, she recalled her strange experience the night of her birthday, when the little Appaloosa Christmas ornament had almost shattered, and the amazing vision of her mother riding free and happy across the pasture on Windy's back. It had seemed so real. Like a sign. A reason to hope again. If only they could get Mom well enough—and brave enough—by springtime, maybe they could convince her to try riding therapy. Maybe they'd even let Mom ride Windy.

  Hugging herself against the chill that penetrated the windowpane, she turned toward Carolyn. “Have you heard of the therapeutic horseback riding program near Putnam?”

  “My niece volunteers there. They do marvelous things for their clients.” The nurse looked from Natalie to her mother and back again. She said nothing, but the dark expression in her eyes conveyed her doubts.

  “Seeing Mom like she is now, it may seem like a long shot. But I—” Natalie stopped herself, fearing the pragmatic nurse would only scoff at talk of visions and signs. Instead, she nodded firmly and said, “I just know she's going to be all right.” She turned back to the window, lost in thought.

  Later, Natalie offered to sit with her mother while Carolyn took a short break. In the quiet room, she tried to turn her thoughts toward prayer but couldn't seem to get past the barrier of her emotions. Finally Mom stirred. Noticing a Bible on the bedside table, Natalie found a small devotion booklet tucked inside. “How about I read to you, Mom?”

  Her mother wiggled two fingers as if asking Natalie to hold her hand. Natalie squeezed gently, feeling the warmth against her palm. Mom gave a soft cough and angled a glance toward the Bible in Natalie's lap.

  Natalie released her mother's hand and opened the devotion booklet. The day's reading was from John 14, where Jesus told his disciples, “In my Father's house are many rooms; if it were not so, I would have told you. I am going there to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am.”

  Words that should have brought comfort only chilled Natalie. Again, she had the sense of some truth lurking just out of reach. She slid her gaze from the page to her mother's serene profile. Another weak cough resonated from Mom's throat. The midmorning shadows gave her skin a bluish cast.

  Footsteps sounded on the stairway, and Natalie fumbled for the tissue she'd stuffed in her jeans pocket. She wiped the moisture from her eyes a moment before her father appeared in the doorway, looking dapper in his gray Western-cut Sunday suit, polished black boots, and string tie. He
glanced at the Bible in Natalie's lap and smiled his approval. “Reading to your mom, sweetie? I know she appreciates it.”

  Then his gaze swept over her. Disappointment clouded his face. “I was hoping you'd go to church with me, Rosy-girl.”

  Natalie shifted self-consciously in her scruffy jeans and sweatshirt. “I'd rather spend this time with Mom. Maybe next Sunday.”

  “Sure.” Dad went to the bedside and bent to give his wife a tender kiss on the cheek. Her eyelids lifted heavily in response. “Mornin', angel. Sleep well?”

  Carolyn returned just then, a steaming mug of coffee in one hand and a knitting bag in the other. She set her things by the narrow recliner that had been delivered with the hospital bed. “She was a bit restless last night, but I know she's glad to be home.”

  “Good. That's good.” Dad's Adam's apple vibrated as he stroked Mom's arm. “Belinda, honey, you won't mind if I leave you for a bit to go to church, will you?”

  Mom's drowsy gaze cleared momentarily. One corner of her mouth curled in the beginnings of a smile.

  “I've got so much to be thankful for,” Dad continued, “especially having you with me again. And everybody in our Sunday-school class will be asking about you—can't let them down. I'll come straight home after the service, I promise.”

  Mom blinked twice and then her chest rose and fell in gentle sleep. Natalie smoothed a strand of her mother's gray hair. “She looks happier already, don't you think, Dad?”

  “I reckon so.” He gave a loud sniff before he kissed Mom again and strode out of the room. A few minutes later the back door closed with a thud.

  Mom slept off and on the rest of the morning, while Natalie prepared Hart's old room for Lissa's arrival. That chore done, she stood at the foot of Mom's bed, arms folded across her ribs. The click-click of Carolyn's knitting needles played counterpoint to Mom's soft, snuffling breath, the only sounds in the sunlit room.