by Jillian Hart
The grief center door opened and there was Ali. He looked somber as he tumbled into the hallway. “Mike! You’re here. I told Olga all about you.”
“You did?” Judging by the concerned look on his face, Mike had noticed Ali’s red eyes and tear tracks. “I hope you said only good things. I don’t want to get into trouble.”
“I said bad stuff.” Ali teased, managing a big grin. “How you ate four pieces of garlicky bread. You made a mountain of spaghetti.”
“You’re right. That is pretty awful. I’ll try to behave myself at dinner tonight.” Mike ruffled the boy’s hair.
“Me, too.”
There was no way to mistake the bond between them. Sarah couldn’t help adoring both of them. She blinked, realizing she was gawking at both of them. With any luck, Mike hadn’t noticed she was staring a little too adoringly. She slid her papers into her bag and stood. “Are you two ready? I’m starving, and Ali, you are going to need some fuel if you are going to sing well tonight.”
“I know all the words.” Ali took her hand and caught Mike’s in his other. He opened his mouth to start singing and stopped. “So, Sarah. What’s the first words?”
Yeah, tonight was going to be fun, she thought, and saw the same thought on Mike’s face. She helped him out, and he started singing off-key adding a few dance steps. By the time they reached the end of the hall, she and Mike were fighting not to laugh.
“After you, pretty lady.” Mike held the door for her, gentlemanly as always.
She brushed past him, unable to look away from him. He was like gravity, holding her in his magnetic pull. She stumbled onto the top step, and that’s when she saw the grief center’s door swing open and Olga and Franklin Fields walk out together, hand in hand.
One tall, strong silent type down, one to go, Sarah thought as she followed Ali down the steps. She was glad for Pastor Fields. He had taken down his walls of defense and opened up his heart to love. Maybe this time Mike could do the same—truly, without holding back.
They reached the sidewalk and walked along the town green, hand in hand together. Her shoes seemed to be barely touching the ground. She was buoyant with happiness. The bright lights of the shops and the Christmas cheer were decorations on this lovely evening together. The welcoming windows of the Prairie Spring Café drew them from the sidewalk.
“Look up, you two,” Max O’Neal called out from behind the counter. “Mistletoe.”
“Mistletoe?” Sure enough there was a plastic sprig of it dangling from the light fixture overhead. She blushed and avoided Mike, but she could feel his gaze on her lips, him drawing nearer. His strong, capable hand cupped her jaw tenderly.
“Kiss her!” Max called out. “C’mon.”
“Yeah!” One of the diners shouted. “It’s tradition.”
“Well, if it’s tradition,” Mike said in his dusty, gentle baritone. “I’m not one to buck doing things the right way.”
Her heart dropped two feet. Trembling, she watched Mike lean closer. Warmth softened the hard contours of his face, the way it had when he had once loved her. Had he fallen in love with her again? Her soul ached with the prayer. Lord, let him love me. Please.
Mike’s lips brushed hers with unmistakable tenderness. He lingered, drawing out the kiss with unfailing reverence. When he pulled away, there was a moment when she could see all the way to his heart.
“I guess we had better get to our table.” Mike smiled, genuinely, the shadows vanished.
Only then did she realize that Ali was following Max down the aisle toward a booth and she was standing transfixed, her heart whole once more.
Kissing Sarah. It was all he could think about. Throughout dinner when the three of them were talking and laughing over burgers. Through the walk back to school where he parked next to her vehicle. The three of them. As if they belonged together, just like all the other families streaming into the school’s multipurpose room.
When he had dropped Sarah and Ali off in the wings with the music teacher and the other children, he had caught the way Ali was sizing him up. It didn’t take a genius to see the wheels turning. The boy had been watching the families, especially the ones with dads. As Ali had waved to him, there had been not just hope in his eyes. There had been certainty. Now, as the kids tromped across the stage and onto the bleachers, Ali was gazing out into the audience, searching.
Mike felt anonymous in the shadowed seats. Safer. He could feel things tugging at him, pulling at the battered walls of his soul. It was because of her kiss. Because he had reached out to her with tenderness. He had been carried away, that’s what emotion did to a man, making him feel as if it was okay to open up. That it was okay not to be alone for a while.
And Sarah. She was moving through the semi-dark aisle with her video recorder in hand, searching the rows and rows of folding chairs for him. Oh, she was beauty. She was everything he needed. She always had been. She always would be.
The moment she spotted him, she brightened like the sun. She hurried toward him purposefully, as if he were the only one in the room. When she slipped into the chair beside him, he felt the walls of his defenses crack.
“Look at Ali,” she whispered, leaning close, the silk of her hair tickling his jaw.
Sweet, she was so sweet. He needed to lean on her. To put his arm across the back of her chair and tilt just enough in his chair to lay his cheek against her hair, to kiss her forehead and escape from the loneliness and pain that was burdening him.
What he had to be was strong. He had to resist the love of the little boy up there on the bleachers, singing “Jingle Bell Rock” out of key with the rest of the kindergarteners. He had to resist the weakness. He was stronger than this.
His pager vibrated. He checked the number. Work. The cavalry had ridden in at the last moment, offering him the perfect defense. Whatever it was, he was glad for the excuse to push away from Sarah.
“It’s my soldier in I.C.U.” He spoke low as he grabbed his coat off the back of the chair. “I’ve got to go.”
“I’ll keep him in my prayers,” she whispered, glancing up from her video recorder. “You’ll call?”
“Promise.” He could not turn away from her face, her dear face, radiant with love for him. Unmistakable love. His defenses were down, and Mike felt that hit full force. He reeled. A direct hit.
He turned without answering her, forcing his feet to carry him down the long, dark aisle and out the door to safety. He breathed in the cold night air, his breath rising in great misty clouds, and the children’s voices followed him. The door swung closed, mercifully cutting off all ties of the woman and child tugging at him with impossible strength.
He kept going, jogging toward his truck. His footsteps echoed in the parking lot. There was a young soldier in I.C.U. who needed him, so he kept going, shutting off his heart, severing those ties pulling at him.
Sarah was right, he realized, taking out his keys. He had kept her at a distance. He was still doing it.
She had been right all along.
Sarah held back Ali’s covers. “Okay, sweetie, climb in. Now it’s time for a good night’s sleep.”
Ali, who had just finished his prayers, hopped to his feet and dove between the camouflage-printed sheets. “Sleep? I wanna stay up with you. I wanna watch the lights blink.”
“They will still be blinking tomorrow. Now, lie down.”
He dropped onto his pillow with a thump. “Mike didn’t get to say goodbye. We gotta call him.”
“He’s probably in the operating room. We can’t reach him there.”
Ali snapped his fingers, all out of options. “I can’t wait for the party.”
“It will come faster if you close your eyes and go to sleep.” She covered him up, snug as a bug and kissed his forehead. “You have sweet dreams, sweet boy.”
“I love you, Sarah.” Ali beamed up at her. “I love you like a mommy.”
“I love you like my own little boy.” Tears blurred her vision.
Now,
please, God, let the adoption go through without a hitch. She gathered a shaky breath, hoped her knees would carry her out of the room and turned off the light switch with a trembling hand. It wasn’t easy opening her heart even wider. It wasn’t safe, but it was the right way to live. Even if she might lose him, she was going to love him with all her might.
And Mike, too.
“Good night, sweetie.”
“’Night, Sarah.”
Although the last few nights had been nightmare-free, she left the door open a crack to listen, just in case. The living room was quiet, the TV off and the Christmas tree lights blinking joyfully. Clarence lifted his head off the back of the couch as she passed by and offered a brief rusty purr. She stopped to rub his ears the way he liked it, and earned even more purring before he lowered his head, satisfied, and dismissed her.
Funny guy. She went to the entry closet and pulled out her wrapping paper storage container. She carried it to the table and popped it open. Chances were good that Ali wasn’t asleep yet, so she would wrap his presents last.
“Don’t look, Clarence,” she told him as she pulled two sacks from the pet store out of the closet.
She carried the bags to the table and sorted through the many rolls of bright Christmas paper. Mike. She wondered how he was doing. She had already said prayers for his patient. If she didn’t hear from him soon, she would say more.
She chose reindeer printed paper for the sack of catnip mice and laid the roll on the table. Tonight had been perfect. Ali’s burdens were lighter. He sure seemed to have had fun. Dinner had been a blast, talking about the little things in their day and enjoying one another’s company. The concert had been adorable. She had already watched the tape of it three times.
And there had been the kiss. The most perfect kiss ever. Gently sweet, it had filled her with dreams. Dreams that were coming true. Mike didn’t have to say it for her to know that he loved her. She had felt it in his kiss and read it in his eyes. It had been in every look and warmed his every word.
She grabbed the scissors from the top compartment of the storage container and began to cut. Was that a squeak of Ali’s bed frame? Was he up? She forgot her wrapping and tiptoed down the hall, going quietly in case she was wrong and listened for signs of his distress.
She heard little feet on the carpet and then silence. Not exactly what she was expecting. She crept down the hallway, straining to hear. Was he getting one of his stuffed animals, or was he having some sort of problem?
His nightlight made a soft glow in the corner, casting just enough light for her to see through the cracked door and into the room where Ali, in silhouette, knelt in prayer.
“God, can I please have a daddy? I got one all picked out. Mike’s real nice. He plays ball real good.”
Sarah stepped away, leaving Ali to his praying. So, she wasn’t the only one who had felt it tonight. They had become a family, not officially, but one of the heart. It had happened quietly without any of them noticing, and now it was too late to deny it. She couldn’t have a better Christmas gift.
And Mike? She hoped, how she prayed, that she and Ali were Mike’s holiday wish.
The phone remained silent as she passed by it, and she thought about calling him. Just leaving him an encouraging voice mail. She knew how hard he worked. Maybe a text message. She would think on it some more.
“Clarence!” She stepped into the dining room and shook her head at the cat. He was on the table looking at her with a serene expression. He rolled onto his side and tossed a catnip mouse into the air. Christmas for him had come early, too.
The young soldier’s wife was crying when he left her. The muffled sound of relief and fear followed him down the long shadowed corridor, echoing against the barren walls and in the lost places within him. The tiny place left of his soul hurt like it had been hit with artillery fire. He’d been able to give the young woman little hope and no comfort. The most that he could say was that her husband of thirteen months was still fighting.
It wasn’t enough. He had fought with everything he had for the young man’s life. For Zack, who was only nineteen. He had his whole life ahead of him, a nice wife and a kid on the way.
Weary, Mike rubbed his face. He was walking, his feet taking him down another long corridor. He felt restless, as if he could never be at peace again. He had blamed it on his deployment, on the stress and trauma and endless casualties, between the military and the civilians, and the inevitable death. The loss of life he couldn’t hold back weighed on him until he couldn’t breathe.
He ducked into the first doorway and stumbled to one of the back benches. Soft light from lit candles flickered like hope against the encroaching darkness. He buried his face in his hands and sat there, at rest but more tired than ever, paring down his feelings until he felt nothing, nothing at all. One day he was going to forget how. He was going to close down his heart late at night and come morning, it would be closed for good. It was coming sooner rather than later.
Maybe even now.
His phone buzzed. He’d turned it to vibrate after he’d seen Zack through recovery. He checked the screen before answering it. A text message from Sarah. It was 2:00 a.m. What was she still doing up?
He hit the Read button and her note popped up. Just wanted to say hi. Know that I’m praying for you and your soldier. Hang in there.
He closed his eyes and snapped his phone shut. He sat in silence for a long time, struggling to feel something. Fighting to feel anything. He thought of her tonight, with her delicate wholesomeness and beauty. He thought of how her laughter could warm him when nothing else could, like hot cocoa on a cold winter’s morning. She was handing him what he needed most, her comfort, her encouragement, a soft place to land when he was falling hard and fast.
And it was too late. He’d already hit ground. He shoved the phone into his pocket. She was a dream he could not have. He had nothing left. Not for Sarah. Not for Ali. Not even for himself.
Chapter Fourteen
While her dear little students were making all kinds of noise squirming and fidgeting in their seats instead of coloring, Sarah hefted the box of gift bags from beneath her desk, where she had put them this morning for safekeeping.
It hadn’t been the best morning. He had promised to call today. She had slept fitfully, wondering about Mike. She hadn’t heard from him. How was his wounded soldier doing? She feared no news was bad news. It wasn’t easy pasting a smile on her face, but she did so for her kids.
“Are y’all ready to get this party started?” she called out above their noise.
A chorus of affirmations rang out loud enough to hurt her eardrums. There was nothing like a holiday party on the last day before Christmas break to put kids in the best mood. Definitely something to celebrate. As long as she didn’t think about Mike’s silence, she didn’t have to start worrying and doubting, and she could concentrate on celebrating, too.
“Merry Christmas, Ellie.” Sarah put the first bag on Ellie Saunders’s desk and the next one on Paige Paterson’s desk. “Merry Christmas, Paige.”
Ali was next. He was hard at work coloring away at what looked like a green triangle. “A Christmas tree.”
“So I see.” She set his gift bag on the edge of his desk and moved on. She could hear the students who had opened their bags exclaiming, and more expectant faces had turned toward her, their coloring forgotten.
Time to speed up the process. She heard a knock at her door. Could it be the surprise she had planned? She gave Josie Mayhew her bag and glanced over her shoulder. She could see them through the little window. There was a man and woman standing together hand in hand.
“Ellie, would you please go see who is at the door?” Sarah continued passing out gift bags, moving faster now that their guests of honor had arrived. “Y’all remember our adopted soldiers, right?”
Paige’s hand shot in the air. “Miss Alpert? It’s them. They’re at the door.”
“That’s right. Whitney is well, and she and John
are here, just as they promised they would be.” That had been so long ago, it seemed. Before Mike’s return and Ali came into her life.
Ellie held open the door and the guests of honor, whole and healed and joyful, walked into the room, their hands linked. Despite their hardships at war so far away from home, they looked calm and centered. Maybe because they had their faith and one another to lean on, to share with and to love.
Sarah thought of Mike. He had been alone during his deployment. It hadn’t been good for him. It wasn’t the way God intended things to be. If only he would reach out to her.
She set a bag on the last child’s desk. “John and Whitney, welcome. We’re so happy to have you. You both look wonderful.”
“We’re glad to be here, Sarah.” Whitney’s smile beamed as she looked to her husband, the man who had remained unfailingly at her side. “Merry Christmas. Thank you everyone for your cards and letters. Your happy voices in those letters stayed with me even when I was sick and helped me to get better. I just want to give you all a great, big hug.”
Chaos erupted. Little chairs squeaked against the floor and the thumping of a dozen pairs of feet herded Whitney’s way. Sarah let the kids go, blinking at the tears in her eyes. It was a miracle to see the young soldier alive and well. It was proof positive of what prayer and love and God could do.
“Come color with me, Whitney!” “Come sit with me, Whitney.” “John, look at this.” “We’re havin’ cupcakes.” The children’s voices rang out with happiness, the most miraculous sound of all.
She took a moment to slip her cell out of her pocket and check the screen. Her ringer was silenced, but there had been no new calls or messages. Nothing from Mike. He could have worked all night and be sleeping today, or back at work. She shouldn’t take it personally.
The thing was, she knew Mike. Was he regretting their kiss? Was he coming to the conclusion that they may have had a great time together last night, but that he still couldn’t open his heart to her?
