by Jillian Hart
The pan was sizzling and Sarah turned her attention to stirring the onion and garlic, but he could feel her listening. He just needed to talk about it; maybe that was why he kept going. “There were so many civilians this time. Old and young. Women and babies. And the soldiers, they keep getting younger every year. It took a toll.”
“I can see that, Mike.”
He figured everyone could. He sure could every time he looked in the mirror. He rinsed the cutting board and knife and stuck them in the dishwasher. It gave him enough time to gather up his words and debate if he wanted to say more or not.
Sarah kept stirring, her back to him, but it was as if her spirit was leaning toward him, listening in her compassionate way. He knew for a fact there were places on this earth and people in it who did not care who they hurt or how. He felt damaged by being exposed to so much of that world. He wanted to put his arms around Sarah and draw her close and breathe in her goodness and her innocence. To once again dwell in her life of sunshine and children’s picture books and kindness.
“A month after Ali left we found ourselves under attack.”
“I hadn’t heard.” Sarah dropped the spoon. It clattered to a rest against the steel side of the pan. When she covered her face, her hands were shaking. “You never said anything?”
“No. It was a small skirmish. We had some Rangers staying with us, good protection and within minutes air support. It happens.”
She looked so upset. Her hands dropped away to reveal tears in her eyes. “You weren’t hurt?”
“No.” He blotted out the images of the mortar hitting the edge of the camp. He fought down the sound of the explosion and the strike of flying shrapnel and debris. A nurse’s scream of terror. The shouts of agony. How he had jumped off his cot and headed into the action with his rifle and his medical kit.
“Mike?” Her hand was on his chest. He didn’t know how it had gotten there or when she had crossed over to him. He could still hear the rat-tat-tat of machine gun fire and see the blood all around him.
“Mike? Have you talked to someone about this?”
“No.” How did he tell her that it had always only been her. Just her. He had no one else. Embarrassed, hating the weakness that was taking him over, he tried to step away.
He wasn’t strong enough. He needed her sympathy and her comfort just for a few moments. Just long enough to get past this. Maybe then he could stand on his own two feet. Maybe then he could go back to not needing anyone.
“Ben, one of the Rangers who protected us, was hit and hit bad. I did everything I could for him. Everything—” He stopped short, knowing she couldn’t understand. Sometimes his best was enough. Sometimes it wasn’t. “Ben had a wife and two small boys. I failed him—”
“You don’t control life and death, Mike.” Her hand on his chest felt like comfort. Her words tempted him with peace.
That was the easy way out. He stepped back, gathering up the pieces of himself. He glanced over the counter to see Ali busily coloring, blissfully unaware of the serious discussion.
“You had better get that pan back on the heat,” he said, trying not to be terse, trying not to be cold and distant. “I’ll get the diced tomatoes from the pantry.”
“Okay.”
Sarah’s sympathy was a temptation he had to turn away from. It wasn’t until he had the pantry open and was sorting through the few cans on the shelves that it hit him. “You saw my transport plane take off?”
“I was there, Mike.” She didn’t look up from her stirring, her turn to be distant. “I came to say goodbye.”
“I never saw you. I thought you didn’t care.”
“I couldn’t face you. I couldn’t let you know how much I still loved you.” She said nothing more, stirring away.
He knew her well enough to recognize the tense line of her jaw and the way her soft lips had clamped together. There were things she didn’t want him to know, emotions she didn’t want to show him.
He put the cans on the counter, moving slow, feeling the cracks in his armor. He thought she hadn’t cared at all. It mattered that she did. Sure, it was too late for them, but it helped to know that he wasn’t wrong in how deeply he had once loved her.
Mike’s story stuck with her as she set the table. She watched him out of the corner of her eye. He stood peeling carrots at the counter next to the bowl of mixed greens. Her soul brightened with a quiet, impossible hope. It was like old times between them, working together to get the meal on the table.
“That’s my pager.” He pulled it out of his pocket and studied the screen. “It’s work. Would you mind finishing up?”
“Sure.” She put the final knife and fork in place, straightened the napkins and wove around him to the salad bowl. She took up the peeler, aware of every step he took to the living room, the way he stopped to comment on the finishing touches of Ali’s second masterpiece.
Mike would make a great dad one day. He and Ali shared grins as he picked up the cordless extension and hit speed dial.
“Sarah!” Ali dashed around the edge of the counters. “This one’s all for you.”
“For me? Should it go on our refrigerator, too?”
“Yep.” He held up the paper proudly. “It’s when we was skatin’. That’s you. That’s Mike. That’s me in the middle.”
The block figures with legs and arms and heads were side-by-side, a family. Wishes lost rose from the bottom of her soul. Those dreams moved through her heart sweetly and painfully, like melody and harmony, like dawn when there was both darkness and light, shadow and color.
If she had one Christmas wish, it would be this. That she and Mike could forgive each other for their mistakes and find their way back to one another. That love would save them.
“It’s Whitney.” Mike was at the counter, striding purposefully, as if he were holding himself up by sheer will. “She’s out of her coma. Not just responsive, but sitting up and talking.”
“That’s wonderful news. An answered prayer.” Sarah thought of the young couple and their kind letters to her morning kindergarten class months ago, before they had gone missing during their deployment. “Will she be able to go home in time for Christmas?”
“The chances sound pretty good.” Mike looked lighter, as if some of the shadows had abated. “I’m glad when things work out right.”
“You had a hand in that.” She went to him and laid her hand against his jawline, strong with a firm line of bone and rough with a day’s stubble. “You have made a lot of happy endings, Mike. I know the sad ones weigh on you, but look at all the good you have done. All the lives you have helped to save. The families who are whole again because of you.”
“That’s what I fight so hard for.”
She knew. She had always known. It had taken losing him to realize the depth of the goodness he gave to the world. She admired him. She respected him. She loved the man, heart and soul. “It’s a battle worth fighting for.”
His throat worked and it looked like he wanted to say something. Emotion clouded his eyes, and he looked vulnerable, as if her words had taken down his last defense. He no longer looked remote. “Anyway, you got another picture there, buddy?”
That was Mike, even when he wasn’t as closed off, that didn’t mean he wanted to talk feelings. But it had been enough, she realized. He had heard what she wanted to say to him. She had learned some hard lessons this past year and some good ones, too. The oven timer beeped.
“I’ll get that.” It would give Mike time to put his defenses back up—she knew how he was—and he and Ali could admire his drawing. She looked in the stack of drawers for a trivet—typical Mike. Everything was always organized and handy. And popped the pan of crisp, buttery garlic bread onto the stovetop to cool.
The rumble of Mike’s deep, kind baritone wrapped around her like a comfy blanket. He was complimenting Ali on his picture, then fell quiet, listening to Ali proudly explaining the details. The occasional “yep,” and “uh-huh” was a cozy sound. The dream of
him lifted through her like a Christmas carol, gentle and timeless. It had always been this she had dreamed of: The two of them in the kitchen with dinner ready to go on the table. A child or two between them. Happiness in the air.
Like a sign from above, Mike reached into a cabinet and brought down a platter for her. “I’ll get the salad,” he said.
Did he know how he made her ache with dreams newly remembered? She set the plate of bread on the table, watching as he carried the bowl of salad to the table with Ali at his heels, listening intently to the little boy. He looked all the stronger for his gentleness, a greater man for his unyielding kindness.
Did he know his love was all she had ever wanted? And now, more than that, loving him was beyond all that she wanted for herself. She loved him selflessly, beyond her dreams and all the way to his.
“Mike? When are you gonna get a tree?” Ali put his picture on the edge of the counter. “Are you gonna get a real big one? With lots and lots of lights? Do I getta help? I’m real good at helpin’.”
“Hold on there, buddy.” Mike’s gentle chuckle sounded relaxed and whole, the way it used to. “One question at a time.”
“What about the tree? Did you get one yet?” Ali pulled out his chair at the table and climbed up.
“I’m not going to get a tree this year.”
Ali’s jaw dropped.
Mike headed toward the stove where the pot of spaghetti, sauce and all, was keeping warm on a back burner.
“But Mike, you gotta have a tree. It’s Christmas.”
“I know it’s Christmas.” Mike took the lid off the spaghetti pot and put it in the sink. He shook his head at Sarah, amused. He had a look on his handsome face that said, I’m having trouble here.
She shrugged. How fun was this? She didn’t have any helpful advice for him. She took her chair and waited to see how this would turn out.
“You don’t got outside lights.”
“I figure I can just look at everyone else’s lights.” Mike hefted the pot and brought it to the table, where a trivet was waiting in the center of the little square table.
“Oh.” Ali didn’t look as if he were satisfied with that explanation. “We could get a tree and put it up right there.” He pointed at one of the many bare spots in the living room. “So you can see it real good.”
“You’re real persistent about this tree thing.” Mike took his chair.
Biting her bottom lip to keep from laughing, she spread her paper napkin on her lap. No way was he getting out of this.
“We got lights,” Ali volunteered. “But I used up all the soldiers.”
Including the nutcracker ornaments.
Mike reached for the spaghetti serving spoon.
“Mike, you forgot again.” Ali shook his head slowly from side to side, and he couldn’t be cuter. “You’re supposed to say grace first.”
“This is your doing, I’ll have you know.” Humor sparkled in Mike’s hazel eyes as he focused on her—and something else.
Surely that couldn’t be approval. Mike wasn’t against Christianity, but he didn’t embrace it, either. Maybe it was best to keep her tone light. “Should we let Ali say the blessing?”
“I do it real good.” Ali bowed his head, already starting. “Dear Father, thank you for the spaghetti and the garlicky bread. Please send a tree with lots of lights for Mike. Amen.”
“That’s a real good blessing, buddy.” He dished up Ali’s plate first.
“I know. I want lots.”
“No kidding.” Mike added another spoonful. “That enough?”
“Nope.” Ali shook his head.
Mike added another spoonful. “How about that? Now you’ve got a spaghetti mountain. I couldn’t eat all of that.”
There was the Mike she knew. Endless love was like a light in her soul, guiding her and making her see. She knew what he needed. She knew what path God had been leading her on. That path always had been leading her to Mike, and it would always be bringing her back to him.
Ali was giggling, taking up his spoon and waving it in the air as he spoke. “I can eat all of it. And two pieces of bread, too! No, three!”
“Three!” Sarah laughed as she dropped a piece of bread on the side of his plate. “Why don’t you start with one first? And don’t forget to eat your greens.”
“I know. ’Cuz they’re healthy.” Ali dug in with his spoon, bright with happiness. It was as if he had forgotten about his grief, as if it had sloughed off him like a coat. That was a change, too. A big step on the road to what could be.
“Here, Sarah.” Mike was watching her from the other side of the spaghetti pot, holding the loaded serving spoon. “I suppose you want a spaghetti mountain, too?”
“How about a spaghetti foothill. I’m watching my carbs.” She debated and took one piece of bread. This meal wasn’t helping. She would have an extra-large salad—not that it would help, but she would feel better.
“You look fine, Sarah. Just like always.” His voice dipped, rumbling low just as it always did when he was tender with her.
Surely she was reading too much into this? She blushed, afraid to hope. But when she met his eyes, there it was, his steady unblinking scrutiny. He did not look away. Her heart skipped a beat. Every dream she ever had felt on the verge of coming true.
“We have a lot of Christmas parties coming up this week,” she explained. “I want to be able to enjoy the goodies and still fit into my jeans.”
“We’re having a school party!” Ali burst out in mid-bite. “Sarah and me are makin’ cupcakes. And we’re singing songs. You gonna come, Mike?”
He didn’t blink. What was he thinking? Did he feel this, too? Was that tenderness in his gaze? Hope in his heart?
“The school holiday concert,” she explained. “You are welcome to come.”
“I’ll think about it.” Mike’s smile said he would do more than think about it. “If I’m not working that night.”
“Good.” Great, she wanted to shout. She wanted to leap up from her chair, skip around the table and wrap her arms around his neck. She wanted to tell him how much she loved him. She wanted to hear that he loved her, too. But she waited, and smiled quietly. This, sharing a cozy evening with conversation and happiness between them, it was more than enough.
It was like Christmas coming early wrapped up in a bright red bow.
Chapter Thirteen
Was the hour up yet? Sarah checked her watch. It wasn’t five o’clock yet. She had twelve minutes to go before Ali’s counseling session was finished. It had felt like an eternity. She worried about her little boy, of course, but she had someone else on her mind, too. That someone was meeting them here and the three of them were going to walk over to get a bite of supper before the school concert.
“Sarah?” Pastor Franklin Fields broke into her thoughts. “It’s good to see you again. Waiting for Ali?”
“Yes. He’s in with Olga.” Sarah set down her stack of papers—the last ones she would have to grade until school started back in January. Tomorrow was the last day of class. “Are you ready for Christmas?”
“Barely. I’m still working on my Christmas Eve sermon. I trust you and Ali will be there?”
“We wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Sarah liked the tall, ruggedly handsome pastor. He reminded her a lot of her dad—good heart and truly kind, someone who always did what was right. No wonder Olga was in love with him. “Olga does such fine work here. I hope you appreciate all her wonderful qualities.”
“I am well aware of her qualities, yes.” There was a little smile in the corners of his mouth. Could it be that the minister was coming around? The two had danced around the issue of love for the last few months. “I noticed Dr. Montgomery came to the last few minutes of Sunday service. I suppose you had something to do with that?”
“No. We were supposed to meet in the parking lot.”
“Like I said, I think you had something to do with that.” There was that smile again, enigmatic and kind. He opened th
e door and stepped into the grief center. Sarah caught a glimpse of the brightly painted walls and the room full of toys before the door closed again.
Usually she was comfortable in the hallway, but today she was antsy. No, she was anxious to see Mike again. Things were starting to go very well. Her hopes kept rising. How could they not? They had spoken on the phone twice already this week. The conversations had been pleasant and nothing momentous, but her love for him deepened with each passing day.
She picked up her stack of work and her sheet of gold stars. If only she could stop thinking about Mike. Her thoughts naturally went to him.
She knew the moment when he entered the hallway. Her heart brimmed with feelings too tender and devoted to voice. He ambled down the hall, looking handsome in black jeans, boots and a black sweater underneath his leather jacket.
Be still my heart, she ordered, but it was impossible. This man was her dream come true.
“I’m a few minutes early,” he said as he took the empty span of the bench beside her. “There was a lull, and I got out while the gettin’ was good. I still have that soldier in I.C.U. I’m keeping an eye on. He’s touch and go. He’s stable right now, but if that changes again, I’ll have to go.”
“Absolutely. I’ve been praying for him. If duty calls you away, I’ll let you watch the video of the concert afterward.” She gestured to her bag, where her digital recorder was tucked away.
“I’ve got to say, this is a new attitude for you.” He watched her intensely, although he appeared casual and relaxed, as if his words weren’t important.
She knew they were. She knew what he meant. “I’ve done some changing. For the better, I hope.”
“If you had it to do over—” He stopped in mid-sentence.
“I would have waited for you.” The love in her heart had.
He nodded and said nothing more, but he didn’t move away and he didn’t draw back. His eyes searched hers, letting her wish, letting her hope.
