Maitland Maternity Christmas

by Judy Christenberry; Muriel Jensen; TINA LEONARD

  Jason found a handheld vacuum in the utility closet in the kitchen and crawled with it under the kitchen table to be thorough. The pale linoleum looked like a forest floor, thick with pine needles and red berries. He cleaned the seats of the chairs, then folded up the newspapers spread on the table and carried it to the garbage bag left out for the mess.

  When he returned to the living room, he found Whitney standing there, her face blotchy and swollen, a crumpled tissue in her hand. "I was coming out to do that," she said, her voice raspy. She looked miserable.

  Jason's heart went out to her. "Just finished," he said, pulling a chair out for her. "And I put the kettle on. Want some... What will you have? Tea? Cocoa?"

  The kettle whistled and she went past him to take it off the burner. "I'll make it. We have an orange spice tea that's pretty good."

  He replaced the place mats Diane had removed to create a worktable. "When I was a kid my mother used to make Russian Tea using an orange-flavored breakfast drink, instant tea and some other stuff. I always liked that."

  Whitney took down three cups and a box of tea. "When my mother was in a good mood, she'd make a pot of Chinese tea and we'd share it and talk about all the things she was going to do when she had some money."

  Jason put a pot of Christmas greens in the middle of the table. "My mom and I had a lot of those conversations, too. She was single, though, and worked a lot, and there was never enough left over for the big dreams."

  Whitney nodded. "Us neither, only my mom doesn't work a lot. She's always looking for the guy who's going to support her in the way she dreams of living. But all she seems to find are men like her who are waiting for someone else to do it for them."

  Jason studied Whitney's face, its youthful lines still curved and full, and thought how sad it was that so many unloved and neglected children sought relief from their loneliness and wanting by giving birth to babies who would probably end up victims of the same situation.

  He, at least, had had a mother who was clearly in charge, who always saw to it that he had everything he needed, and who knew and understood her responsibilities. He'd never questioned his value as a human being, or felt required to validate his existence by creating another life.

  "I'm sorry you've had such a tough time," he said, at a loss as to how to comfort her. She faced such an enormous decision. And the pain it caused her was because she cared.

  She carried cups to the table, her quick glance at him showing surprise at his offer of sympathy. She sat on one side of the table, and he took the other.

  "My dad left when I was four," she said. "Was your mom divorced?"

  He remembered having this conversation with Diane. "No. My mom wasn't married."

  "Like me," she said after a moment.

  "Yeah," he replied.

  "But she was a good mother."

  "A wonderful mother."

  "So..." She sipped her tea, then asked cautiously, hopefully, "So it was okay that you didn't have a dad?"

  He had to be honest. "No," he said. "It was never okay. I had a home and enough to eat, and I did well in school, and my mom and I got along really well and we were happy."

  Whitney watched him, her eyes wide and anguished, waiting for him to go on. "But every single day of my life, I was aware that I didn't have a father, and I couldn't help thinking that everything would have felt a little more right if I'd had one. When I was little and I was scared, Mom was a lot of comfort. But when I was older, and the fears got scarier, I really wished there was a man between us and all the things that could hurt us. And I'd have liked a guy to talk to about girls and sex and a million other important things."

  It was only when Whitney made a sound of distress and he reached across the table to cover her hand, that he saw Diane standing in the doorway. He hadn't realized she'd returned.

  "I don't know what to do!" Whitney wept.

  Diane went to Whitney's chair and wrapped her arms around her. "It's a tough decision," she said gently. "Of course it's confusing."

  "I sat Edie on the sink in the bathroom," Whitney said, her voice tight and high, "and I was washing her face and then it hit me. If I give my babies up, I'll never see what they look like at four years old. I mean, if Claire and Tom took them, I'd see them, but they wouldn't be mine. But if I kept them..." She looked into Jason's face and the pain he saw in her eyes made him feel like a monster. "Would they always be wondering why they didn't have a dad? Or where he was? Even if I made it through college and got a good job, I wouldn't be able to fix that. Oh!" Whitney straightened with a suddenness that surprised Diane. She sat still a moment, both hands to her stomach, then relaxed and said with a quick, nervous laugh. "Just a kick. But they must have been working together. It was pretty hard."

  "It's late," Diane said, urging her out of her chair, "and it's been a long day. Why don't you go to bed?"

  "Okay." Whitney had wept away her makeup and looked tired and suddenly more mature. She frowned across the table at Jason. "Do you still miss having a father?"

  He nodded. "I'm finally past needing protection or advice, but I'll always feel...fatherless." He was surprised by how difficult that was to tell her. He knew it hurt her to know that a woman in her same position had done the absolute best she could, and on some level, it couldn't be enough.

  "Good night," she said, then turning to hug Diane, went off to bed.

  When the bedroom door closed behind Whitney, Diane came around the table toward Jason. Her step was determined, her eyes riveted on him. She thought he'd done the wrong thing. He'd wondered if it was fair to tell Whitney the gritty truth when she was in such an emotional turmoil, but he'd thought truth was always the right choice. The camera always found it.

  He braced himself to withstand her maternal anger. But when she sat in his lap and looped both arms around his neck, he was confused. And that confusion thickened when she kissed him, deeply and thoroughly.

  "That's for kindly but honestly making a better case for giving up her babies than I ever could," she said. Then she kissed him again with the same intensity, but with a tenderness wrapped in it that was more comfort than reward.

  "And that," she said as she drew back and kissed his forehead, "is because I'm sorry you missed so much in not having a father."

  "You didn't have a mother," he pointed out, unwilling to accept praise, but unwilling to do anything that would make her move. "And you seem to be a complete human being.

  "But I was twelve when she died, and I had the memory of her love. You didn't have that kind of backup."

  "My mother did her best to be everything to me - it just isn't possible."

  "I know." She held him close and rested her head atop his.

  He wondered if there was a more desirable place in the world than pressed against her bosom. He didn't think so.

  "You cleaned up for me," she said after a moment. "Thank you."

  "Sure."

  "You have to go home." She got to her feet suddenly. He followed her, raising an eyebrow at her sudden change of mood.

  "This means you're still not sure how you feel about me?" he asked.

  She looked into his eyes, a surprising frankness in her smile. "No, it means I'm sure I'm in love with you. But this isn't the time or place."

  "Then name it,'' he said, reaching for her, "and I'll be there."

  "It'll present itself," she said. "We have to be patient."

  "You may have to be patient." He grabbed his camera and his jacket, and let her lead him toward the door. "But I'm going to make a fuss until it does."

  She giggled and kissed him and pushed him out the door.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Every member of the Maitland and the Blake families showed up to help decorate for the reception and brought maps. There were road maps, old, outdated maps, promotional maps of Texas distributed years ago by a bank, maps from travel brochures.

  "The plan," Diane said to the assembled group as they all looked around worriedly at the large room, "is to make
a sort of border of the maps at about eye level. Austin had one of his painters come in and score off a border for us - that's those two blue pencil lines you see. Just place your maps straight between the lines or at an arty angle - whatever you prefer - and we'll tack them up with this sticky stuff." She held up a wad of the tacky adhesive. "Then that same painter is coming back when we're finished to put a coat of clear sealer over it." She smiled. "If we do a good job, he's going to leave it up and rename this The Grand Tour Room. If we don't, it comes down right after the wedding."

  Amid nervous laughter and earnest conversations on how to place the maps correctly, everyone went to work.

  Claire appeared at Diane's elbow with a colorful road map of West Texas. "I noticed Whitney isn't here," she said worriedly. "I hope it isn't because Tom and I are here."

  "Oh, no," Diane reassured her, holding her shopper's map of London to the wall with one hand while giving Claire her attention. "Her aunt invited her to dinner and to spend the night. She moved into the new house today. I guess she wants to set some ground rules about their living together."

  Claire looked relieved. "Good. I was hoping she wasn't reluctant to see us because of what's happened." She leaned a shoulder against the wall, fidgeting with the map she held. "I'm sure we'll find another baby somewhere who needs a good home. I just related to Whitney's plight and I felt a sort of bond, you know?"

  Diane put a hand to her shoulder. "I know. And she might still..."

  Claire shook her head. "If Tom and I are hanging around as though ready to pounce on her when the babies come, she'll never be able to relax and have a safe birth. Tom and I talked about it and we were going to tell her tonight that she doesn't have to worry about us being upset and disappointed. I'm sure we'll find a baby."

  Diane gave her a quick hug. "And that'll be the luckiest baby in the whole world. Come on. Help me with this map."

  It was midnight before they were finished, but the effect was surprisingly professional. Everyone stood back to look, turning in slow circles to admire the border that went around the entire room. There was a pleased silence.

  Anna came to put an arm around Diane. "I suggest you quit teaching and come to work for me full-time," she said, squeezing her close. "You have great ideas - and even better than that, the cleverness to see them through! When Austin's man comes in tonight to glaze over the border, it's going to look as though the finest decorator and craftsmen got together to do it."

  "Yeah," R. J. Maitland said. He was the oldest brother and president of Maitland Maternity. "And actually it was just the combined efforts of the Maitlands and the Blakes!"

  There was laughter and a smattering of applause.

  Anna put one arm around his shoulders and the other around Tom's as everyone continued to stare. "We may be invincible together."

  Jason, Diane had noticed, had been all over the place photographing the process. He stood on a chair, then a table, then a ladder for an aerial view. He shot hands at work, faces turned toward each other in conversation, in laughter, in serious discussion.

  Diane had little opportunity to speak with him, but saw the unspoken message in his eyes. "Tonight," it said. "Tonight is the time. This is the place."

  Everyone was preparing to leave when Austin appeared with several waiters bearing trays of champagne-filled glasses. "I think the uniting of the Maitlands and the Blakes deserves a toast," he said. "We know Megan and Hugh are solid, but it's a blessing to know that their children like each other and can come together as a family, as a force for good and - " he looked around him at their handiwork, obviously searching for the right word " - and wallpapering," he finally said on a laugh.

  Other laughter joined his and every glass was raised.

  But before he could make the toast, Anna turned to Jason, who was ready to photograph the moment, and said, "Would you put that camera down and pick up a glass. You've been a part of this so long, we've voted you one of us."

  Jason appeared stunned for an instant, then put the camera down and took the last glass from the tray offered him. Diane winked at him across the circle they'd made in the middle of the room.

  "To romantic love that lasts forever," Austin said. "And to familial love that endures everything."

  Everyone drank.

  "Please don't throw the glasses!" Austin pleaded. "Just put them back on the trays as you leave. We'll see you all in the dining room tomorrow night for the rehearsal dinner."

  There were hugs and handshakes as everyone went their separate ways. The painter appeared to apply the glazing coat of sealant on the wall.

  "Are you getting triple time for working at midnight?" Diane teased him as she gathered up her coat and purse.

  "Overtime," he replied, "and a free weekend for the wife and me in the bridal suite. With three children under five, I can't tell you how much appeal that has to me. I'd do this standing on my head if I had to."

  Diane laughed and left him to it - and found Jason waiting for her in the doorway. She went into his arms without saying a word. This night was special. A coming together of powerful forces - strong families, strong feelings, great love.

  "I booked the room where we picnicked," he said softly, brushing his lips lightly against her cheek. "Only this time I'd maybe like us to use the bed and not the balcony," he whispered.

  She wrapped her arms around him and kissed his lips, feeling curiously lightheaded yet heavy-limbed. "Yes. Me, too."

  He wrapped both arms around her and held tightly. "That's what I wanted to hear," he whispered. He led her to the elevators.

  The suite was just as she remembered, except that she'd been unwilling to walk into the bedroom the day they were here. Their lives were complicated and his plans for the immediate future weren't entirely compatible with hers. Saying yes to what she felt for him would have been foolhardy.

  But today there was hope. Whitney was about to move in with her aunt, and while Diane couldn't leave for Noumea with Jason the week after New Year's because of her teaching contract, she could meet him during spring break, then spend the summer there.

  There were red roses in a crystal vase on the coffee table in the suite's living room, and a bottle of champagne chilling in a bucket of ice on the bar into the kitchen.

  "More champagne?" Jason asked as he put his camera down on the bar.

  Diane dropped her jacket and purse on the sofa and went to put her arms around him. "More you," she replied.

  Humbled by the sincerity of her answer, Jason swept her into his arms and carried her to the bedroom. He had a vague impression of a lot of white, of lace and eyelet, and half a dozen fat pillows, but the focal point of his attention - even before Diane - was the tremor in his gut. This was important. This was... everything.

  He swept all the pillows over the side and put her in the middle of the bed. She looped her arms around his neck and held on so that he was forced to come down with her.

  Their kisses were hot and eager, their hands all over each other, removing clothing, pushing off undies and briefs, helping each other with stockings and socks and shoes.

  Free of encumbrance, they lay on the cool bedsheet, blankets pulled up, and simply held each other, bodies in full and blissful contact from shoulder to toe.

  "I've dreamed of holding you like this since the first time I saw you," he said, his hand tracing her back, shaping her hip. "I can't believe we're finally here."

  She rubbed a knee along his thigh. "I know. I thought you were going to be like all those trips I never got to take. And yet - here we are."

  He laughed softly. "So, you're likening me to a tropical vacation?"

  She kissed him soundly. "No. I always plan to go to significant places where I'll learn things, connect with history."

  "That makes me sound dull and old."

  She nipped his shoulder. "Where I know the experience will change me," she said significantly.

  Those words made lace of his usual iron will.

  He spent the next two hours pr
oving to her that he was indispensable. He touched her with passion and tenderness, his hands and his kisses saying all the things for which he simply hadn't the words.

  She replied in kind, lips and fingertips running over him with the delight of discovery, then again with knowledge and confidence.

  The newness of their lovemaking indulged and satisfied, they came together again explosively, desire given reign. Diane wrested control of the encounter from him at one point, and he let her, enjoying her bold exploration of him and the confidence with which she loved him.

  When she began to tenderly torment him with kisses down the middle of his body, he turned them so that she lay on her back with him astride her.

  He entered her with a swift, sure thrust. Her body rose to welcome him, enclose him. Pleasure consumed him, but at the core of it he was aware of his raw emotions, of a need for her that he would never be free of now that they'd made love.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Diane lay in Jason's arms, feeling as though she'd been disassembled, then reassembled into the woman she'd always wanted to be. It wasn't that Jason had changed her, but that loving him had changed her. Now she understood what love was all about. It was like traveling to a new place without having to leave home. It was the newness of discovery mingled with the comfort of familiarity. It was...everything.

  "Let's get married before I leave," Jason said, strumming his fingers up her bare arm atop the coverlet. "It'll keep me from going insane until you can meet me in the spring if I know we belong to each other."

  "Yes," she said. But she wasn't sure it would prevent her from going insane.

  "I'll do such a brilliant job on this book that they'll give me that other project so that we'll have a regular income and you can travel with me. Then we'll come home occasionally for a few months so you can be with your family and teach seminars or something."