A Family for Christmas (11 page)

T
rent stood at the window staring out at the night and remembered the last few hours.…

He had been at his wit's end, sitting in a rocking chair in the nursery with Grace screaming on his knee. Even Rachel and Daniel's attempts to distract her from Maggie's absence hadn't worked. Then Rachel had flopped at his feet, exhausted. “I wish the house was a car, Uncle Trent,” she'd said. “She always falls asleep when she's in the car and she's tired.”

A few minutes later turning the corner from Newtown Road onto Sugartown Road, Trent smiled and sighed at the blessed quiet that had settled. He made one left, then another when he came to the drive of Paradise Found. Now all he had to do was get them all in the house and into bed without waking Grace.

After accomplishing that seemingly impossible task, Trent went to check on Maggie and to give her
some aspirin and juice. Earlier she'd protested that she was only tired, but Trent was sure she was sick. He'd hated leaving her alone in the house, but he'd had to get Grace to sleep so Rachel and Daniel, who both had school in the morning, could get to sleep at a decent hour.

Maggie was still sleeping soundly, so he set the thermometer, juice and bottle of aspirin on the night table. He hated to wake her, but she needed something to bring that fever down, and he didn't think it was a good idea to let her hair air dry. While standing next to the bed for a minute, Trent drank in her sweet face. She looked almost peaceful except for a little crease between her eyebrows that told him she was in some sort of pain. Her cheeks were still flushed, too, and the rest of her face was pale. When he laid his hand across her forehead, he found more heat than before.

After locating her hair dryer and brush, Trent woke Maggie. She opened her eyes and stared up at him. He didn't trust himself to speak, but set to work. I
miss you,
he longed to confess, but just went on drying her rich, shining hair.

Her eyes widened in obvious dismay just as he turned off the dryer. “I promise not to be sick,” she whispered. Her voice was so low that he had to lean forward just to hear her. He wasn't prepared for her touch or the feelings it evoked when she reached up and rubbed her palm across his cheek. She closed her eyes and a quiet moan whooshed into the room. “I'm not sick. Can't be,” he heard her pledge.

Trent turned his face and kissed her palm. “Oh,
yes, you can be, love,” he told her. It struck him in that instant what a fool he'd been. Why had he been so determined to keep at arm's length the one person who had ever made him feel whole? And loved.

He wasn't protecting himself emotionally. He was punishing her. She'd begged, really begged, for his forgiveness. And now, looking down at her beloved, pale face, he was ashamed that he'd withheld that forgiveness for so long. She, too, had been hurt, and her leaving had been at least partially his fault.

“Here, Maggie honey, time for some juice and aspirin,” he told her as he lifted her hand and put the tablets in her palm. She looked up at him with fevered eyes and obediently took the pills. Her dreamy smile disappeared when he held out the thermometer, but she let him tuck it under her tongue. She continued to watch him with glassy brown eyes that gradually went less and less focused, then closed…

He'd read the thermometer and had rushed to the phone. His Maggie had needed more than aspirin: she'd needed a doctor and he had been bound and determined to get one to come to her. He occasionally played handball with a doctor at his health club, and in minutes had managed to cajole Dr. Jerry Wilson into coming out to the house.

A few hours later, after thanking Jim Dillon for picking up the prescription Wilson had called in, Trent settled carefully into bed next to Maggie. He didn't want to wake her. She needed her sleep and time to heal. When she turned toward him and snuggled close, Trent was glad of his decision to change things between them from that night forward. He
closed his eyes and let the glorious feeling of holding her close flow through him.

It was joy.

It was agony.

It was a long time before he slept.

The electronic
buzz
of Maggie's alarm catapulted Trent out of bed at seven the next morning. His heart pounding, he sank back down. He hated alarm clocks. He preferred to wake to music, or at least to the patter of the traffic-watch chopper pilots. Maggie, on the other hand, slept through anything except the distinctive
buzz
of an alarm clock. They'd compromised on a clock radio during their marriage, and he'd had the pleasure of waking her for nine years, eleven months and twelve days.

Trent twisted in bed and his eyes came to rest on Maggie. And now he'd have that pleasure again. But not today. She was paler this morning, though her cheeks were flushed. He reached across the bed and touched her forehead with the back of his hand. Trent frowned. She was still overly warm.

Maggie's eyelashes fluttered, then rose to reveal her fevered brown eyes. “You stayed.”

The awe in her voice shamed him. “I couldn't leave you so sick, sweetheart. Do you remember Jerry Wilson being here?”

“Your handball partner? No. Why was he here?”

Trent smiled at her confusion. “Because he's a doctor and you needed one.”

“Oh. I…You went to so much trouble.” She
licked her dry lips, and Trent remembered Jerry's orders about drinking plenty of liquids.

“I'll get you some water,” he said, then went to the bathroom to fetch it. He returned and was shocked to see tears in her eyes. “Are you feeling worse?”

Maggie shook her head and bit her lip as her tears welled up even more, then flowed from the corner of her eyes into her hair. Her heavy eyes drifted shut then, and he never found out the cause of her tears, but he was very much afraid that in some way he was responsible.

Trent got Rachel and Daniel off to school, then fed and dressed Grace. He'd just gotten off the phone with Ester, who reported that she and Nancy were both down with the same bug. What was he going to do about his afternoon meeting with the president of the conglomerate interested in buying CSD? It was only an exploratory meeting but it wasn't a meeting he wanted to postpone. Trent saw no other option. He'd just lifted the receiver to call Ellen, his secretary, to have her call off the meeting, when a knock came at the back door.

It was Jim Dillon with an elderly woman. “How's Maggie this morning?” the pastor asked.

“A little better, but not much,” Trent answered as he stepped back and gestured to them to come in. “She woke up long enough to have some juice at least. She's still pretty sick. Can I get either of you some coffee? I just made a pot”

“Goodness, no,” the round little woman with the graying hair exclaimed. “You have enough on your
plate without having to wait on us. How are you doing, Trent?” she asked, and stuck out her hand.

Bemused, Trent shook it. “I'm fine. Have we met?” he said, searching his memory for a name.

“Claire White. We met briefly at the memorial service.”

“I'm sorry I—”

“Relax, young man,” Mrs. White cut in, then laughed. It was a musical sound that had a young, carefree ring to it that surprised Trent. “No one expects you to remember the people you met that morning. I work in the church nursery with the two-yearolds. I know Grace quite well, and even Daniel and Rachel since they went through my nursery themselves. I also sat for Sarah and Mike on a regular basis. When I heard how burdened you are with Maggie so ill, I asked Pastor Dillon to bring me right on over. So…you get yourself ready for work, and I'll just go on into the family room and see my little dears.”

“I got Rachel and Daniel off to school. It's only Grace, and I got out her old playpen to keep her safe while I got the rest of the house under control. I don't know how Maggie does all this. Daniel's due home at twelve-thirty. The nursery school van brings him up the drive.”

Mrs. White patted his hand and nodded, then she took herself off to see Grace. Trent just watched her go in amazement.

“Close your mouth, my friend. There really are people in the world you can count on. And The Tabernacle just happens to lay claim to several of them.
I have some dinners in the car that have to be refrigerated. Can you help me in with them before you get ready for work? And, Trent, you can count on the Lord even more than you can His church.”

Trent nodded, not trusting the steadiness of his voice. When Jim was several yards in front of him on their trek across the lawn, Trent cleared his throat to rid it of a burning sensation that felt embarrassingly like the beginnings of tears. He wondered if Jim really knew something that he didn't. He'd never been able to count on anyone. Even Maggie's love had eventually failed him. It would be nice to have someone to lean on. There was no denying that.

He tucked the thought inside his head for later consideration, and followed Jim to the van. They transferred enough dinners for a week to the freezer and refrigerator, then Jim left.

Even with Mrs. White there, Trent was worried about leaving. But he couldn't put off the meeting. He'd had many other offers for the company over the past few years, but for the first time he found himself seriously considering selling. And that was because the company was no longer as important to him as it had once been. Time with Maggie and the children had supplanted CSD in his mind and heart.

It was a good offer, Trent thought several hours later as he pulled the car around behind the house. One he just might take. And the best part was that for the first time, the buyer hadn't tried to tie him to the company's future. If he sold out, he didn't want
to stay on, take orders and watch others make decisions about the company he'd built from scratch.

Mrs. White smiled up at him as he opened the kitchen door. “My, you're home early,” she said. “Grace is down for a nap, and Rachel and Daniel are out at their playhouse. As near as I can tell, Maggie slept the whole time you've been gone. I fixed her some broth and tea. I was about to take it up to her but since you're here, you can take it for me. That way you can check on her yourself and say hello.”

Trent didn't waste any time. He found Maggie on her way back from the bathroom. She looked weak and unsteady on her feet. Quickly he put the tray on the dresser and rushed to her side. “You shouldn't be out of bed,” he said, and scooped her into his arms.

“This is getting to be a habit,” she said, and grinned wanly.

“Complaining?”

“Not me. I always envied Scarlett O'Hara.”

“I didn't envy Rhett. I had you.”

“I'm sorry I left,” she said, as he put her down on the bed.

Trent didn't say anything. He covered her with the sheet and blanket, then sat on the bed next to her. “And I'm sorry I didn't forgive you the first time you said that. I've wasted a lot of precious time.”

Maggie's eyes widened and tears instantly glistened in their mahogany depths. “You mean that? You forgive me?”

“As if it never happened, sweetheart. I was so worried about you last night, and it made me see how stupid it was to go on the way we were. And how
stupid I was to continue to deny my feelings and to keep you at arm's length. I miss you, Mag.” He pulled her against his chest and nestled her head beneath his chin. He just held her, absorbing her softness, her nearness, for a long time. It wasn't enough, but it would have to do for now. Because even as he wished for more, he had only to feel the heat of her fevered skin to remember that she was ill.

“Come on, sweet Maggie,” he said, finally managing to break away. “Let's get some of this broth and tea into you. Mrs. White's probably as good a cook as she is a baby-sitter.”

Bedtime that night, after Mrs. White was long gone, was a repeat of the night before. Except that the ruckus started downstairs in the family room. Not wanting Maggie to be disturbed, Trent hurried the kids out to the car again. And once again, Grace fell asleep, but it took half an hour of driving the twisting roads of their little county before she did.

He was in the middle of congratulating himself when a bar of flashing red-and-blue lights came up behind him. Trent pulled over, thinking the policeman wanted to pass him on the narrow country road. But the police cruiser pulled in behind the van. After a few minutes the officer got out and approached.

“What's the trouble, Officer?” Trent whispered, hoping against hope that all his driving wasn't about to be undone.

“Sir, could I see—”

“Shh. Keep your voice down. You'll wake them.”

“I'd like to see your license and registration,” the officer said, not lowering his voice even an octave.

“Okay, but keep your voice down. I have to get back to the house before my wife needs me. She's sick.” Trent handed over the pertinent information, and the officer gave him a cool stare. “Did I run a stop sign or something?”

“We've had—”

“Keep your voice down. Please. I have to get these kids in bed before Maggie needs her medicine.”

The officer flicked a flashlight into the back of the van, and Trent held his breath. But the light didn't wake the children. “What are you doing driving around and around with a car full of kids? We've had complaints from two of the estates around here that someone is casing the neighborhood in a van. This van.”

“Casing the neighborhood? I'm trying to get my kids to sleep without disturbing my sick wife.” Had he just said
his
kids? Trent was so astonished at his slip of the tongue that he missed what the officer said next. “Excuse me?”

“I said,” the officer whispered, “at first I thought you had a screw loose. Now I
know
you do.”

Trent smiled, lighthearted suddenly. “Yeah. But what a way to go. I have another one who's eight years old, but he's in the hospital. You'd be surprised how much fun kids are. Can I go put them to bed now?”