Homefront Holiday (10 page)

Since he had two patients in ICU, he made a quick walk through, noticed a young army wife pale with worry fighting tears and he asked one of the nurses about her. Just as he suspected. She belonged with one of his patients. He gave her permission to stay with her young husband as long as his vitals remained stable. He was seeing things differently tonight and he hated to think of the reason.

It was because of Sarah.

You were always promising, and I was always waiting.
Her honesty haunted him as he retraced his steps through the quiet corridors.
I was never the woman you were going to open your heart to.

She was just plain wrong. He should have told her that, he thought as he hiked through the automatic doors and into the crisp December night. The temperature was falling, and his breath rose in clouds as he pulled his keys from his pocket. Not only was Sarah wrong, she was rewriting history. He loved her one hundred percent. He was faithful to her. He was committed to her. He had never let anyone as close to him as he had let Sarah.

He unlocked his doors and climbed behind the wheel. In the moment between inserting his key and turning the ignition, a seed of doubt took root. Sure, he had let Sarah closer to him than anyone, but what if she was right? What if he hadn’t let her close enough?

He thought of John Harpswell and the young army wife in the waiting room. If Sarah had been the one in ICU, would he have sat the whole night through waiting for her?

Sure he would. He backed out of his space and tooled through the lot. He had been devoted to Sarah. A man didn’t have to get teary-eyed and emotional to be in love with a woman.

That was someplace he wouldn’t go, even for Sarah. He didn’t do emotion. Not when he’d lost his brother, killed during Desert Storm. Not when he lost his mom. Even standing by his father’s grave as a boy, watching his mother receive the American flag in honor, he hadn’t shed a tear. He’d grown up that way. Lots of people had.

Although he supposed his career choice only accentuated his long-standing reserve. Being cold and clinical, it was what made him good at what he did. But he wasn’t uncaring.

No, Sarah wasn’t right. She couldn’t be. He turned the wheel toward the duplex—home now. The trouble was, it didn’t feel like home. He thought of the empty rooms with a few pieces of furniture. No, the only place that did these days was a little yellow house across town. Sarah’s place.

“She’s not right,” he told himself, but alone in his car, not even the darkness answered.

“A
li, you are supposed to be standing still.” Sarah repositioned her camera. She was having a little trouble keeping her subject in focus. “You’re hopping up and down again.”

“But I wanna see the lights.” He twisted around and stared up the length of the newly decorated tree. “They’re all flashy.”

“Isn’t that just special?” She was more of a non-flashing light girl, but she didn’t mind the constant on and off of what had to be two thousand lights.

Okay, so she had gone a little overboard in the store with Ali, but his elation and wonder was exactly what Christmas should be. This was, after all, a blessed season and doubly so because of the child in her care.

“I’m still waiting to take this picture,” she gently reminded him. She needed him to stand still for two seconds. “Now smile.”

Ali posed, eyes wide with wonder on his round, sweet face. She clicked just in time. Another second and he was struggling not to squirm again, his little-boy excitement getting the best of him.

“Know what, Sarah?”

She laughed. Really, she had heard that phrase how many times today? A dozen? Two dozen? It felt like a hundred. She set her camera down on the mantel, well out of danger of being accidentally knocked to the floor. “What?”

“I sure wish Mike could see this.” Ali clasped his hands together, gazing up at the white light of the angel on the tippy top. “I think he would like it lots.”

“I think so, too.” She thought of what Olga had recommended, to reassure Ali those he loved may be out of sight but not out of reach, and remembered what Mike had said tonight in her kitchen. They were united in this purpose of helping Ali through his grief. “We could send him a picture over the phone.”

“Okay!” Ali hopped, all excitement. “Then can I call Mike?”

“After we send him the picture. I can think of a problem, and it’s going to be a big one.” She winked at him as she went to the sofa table and plucked her cell from the outer pocket. “I’m gonna need your help. You are going to have to stand still for the pictures.”

He giggled. “But I got too much happy.”

“Me, too.” She dropped a kiss on his forehead before kneeling down. She angled her phone to get the best shot. She took four pictures before she was able to get Ali in a still pose. She kept the other pictures to send to Mike. He might appreciate how cute Ali looked awash with the jeweled glow from the lights and full of awe as he took in all the colors and ornaments.

“Did you send ’em?” Ali popped to her side. He understood the process, since she often sent cute, impromptu pics to her mom.

“I’m all ready.” She hit Mike’s cell number and sent one picture after another. “There, let’s go outside. Don’t forget your coat!”

Ali skidded to a stop at the door, his hand on the knob. Clarence lifted his head from the back of the couch cushion, keeping an eye on things.

“Oops.” He backtracked and yanked his coat down from the closet. The hanger went flying. “Uh-oh.”

She laughed. Someone was doing better. That was what mattered. “Don’t worry about it. Zip all the way up, and don’t forget your hat.”

“My hat!” Ali pulled it out of his coat pocket and yanked it onto his head.

She felt as bright as the lights flashing on the tree and as hopeful as the season as she grabbed her camera and fetched her coat. On her way out the door, she turned the inside lights off and followed her boy out into the yard. The outside strings were flashing cheerfully, so the tree in the window was a fitting addition.

She wanted to capture everything she could of this night and keep it in a scrapbook to treasure forever. The sparkle of glass snowflakes dangling from the tree’s branches. The cold, crisp December smell in the air that was a mix of nighttime and hope. The little boy embracing the dance of multicolor lights. She wanted to remember forever the joy in her heart as Ali took her hand.

“It’s so pretty,” he said, gazing up at the impressive display of lights.

Joy was everywhere. The brush of the crisp breeze against her face. The presence of this little boy in her life. The distant twinkle of stars in the black-velvet sky. God is gracious indeed, she acknowledged, letting the beauty of the season take her over.

This was about love. She had never felt the power of God’s presence so clearly. Love, she realized, and knelt down to snuggle the child in her care, for all children were God’s children.

There it went again. Mike pulled to a stop, cut the engine and grabbed his phone. He had six messages from Sarah. He hit Read before he could think about it.

Ali’s shining face smiled up at him from the screen. Joy filled Ali’s big brown eyes and made his grin impossibly wide. The tree they had picked out together was in the background, lit and decorated. The caption read,
There aren’t enough lights, Sarah.

He chuckled. He could picture how that must have gone. He had never seen a tree with so many lights wrapped around one branch. That was Sarah, all charm and twinkle lights. She kept a string above her top kitchen cabinets all year round, the white kind that didn’t flash, because they made her think of angel lights, she’d told him. Another set was strung up over her bookshelves in the third bedroom she used as a library, and another set slung over the curtain rods in that same room.

Why he was smiling and remembering, he couldn’t rightly say. He grabbed his gym bag, not that he had made it to the gym today, and marched into the duplex. He hit the lights, dropped the bag and hit Next.

Can I call Mike yet?
Sarah had captioned the image of Ali, hands clasped together in mid-hop. Classic. Mike had seen that pose before. His chest was expanding, pressing against his ribcage.

He selected the next message and wasn’t disappointed. Apparently in his hopping, Ali had knocked an ornament to the floor. Sarah had caught the shot as he knelt down to inspect the fallen wooden soldier, a sheepish grin on his face.
Did I do that?
she’d written.

He missed Sarah’s sweet humor.

His phone rang. Was she thinking of him, too? “Hello?”

“Mike!” Ali’s voice singsonged through the airwaves. “Did you get ’em?”

“The pictures? Yeah, buddy. They’re great.” He headed to the fridge. “You and Sarah did a fantastic job with the tree.”

“I know! I hanged the soldiers.”

“I figured.” He grabbed a can of iced tea from the door.

“Did you see the outside one?”

“I’m looking at it right now.” He scrolled ahead and there it was. Ali standing on the porch, awash in the glow of Christmas, looking more like himself. “All those lights are pretty cool.”

“I know! Know what?”

Mike chuckled. “What?”

“I saved some lights for you.” The boy sounded so proud of himself.

“Are you telling me that you had lights left over? You and Sarah must have bought out the store.”

“Nope, there were boxes left. When can I come?”

“Uh, I’m not sure.”

“You got a tree yet?”

Mike popped the top of the tea and took a cooling sip.

“No, buddy. I don’t have a tree yet.”

“I could help you. I pick good trees.”

“I can’t argue with you there.” He came to a stop outside the second bedroom, vacant and dark.

How did he explain to the kid that Christmas was just another day to him this year.

His pager beeped. Work calling him. Mike knew he had to wrap this up. “How about we talk about this tomorrow, Ali?”

By the time he ended the call, he realized he hadn’t talked to Sarah. He called in—there had been a night-training accident and a soldier was on the way—he didn’t have time to so much as text her a thanks.

Maybe it was for the best.

He grabbed his keys, killed the lights and locked the door behind him.

Mike. Sarah knew she shouldn’t be thinking about him during Pastor Fields’s closing prayer, but whenever she opened her heart her affection for him was there, stubbornly unyielding.

Help me, please, Lord. Please take this love from my heart.
She felt cold inside, asking for such a thing. She didn’t know what else to do. Last night she had lain awake long into the night, going over everything Mike had said.

Is that what I did to you? Did I keep you at arm’s length?
From the expression on his face, he had looked puzzled, as if he couldn’t understand. Mike was a good man; he hadn’t intentionally kept her at arm’s length. He hadn’t made promises to her or Ali that he intended to break. From his view, he had done his best. It was time to forgive him and let go of his failings and her own.

The closing hymn broke into her thoughts. Mom, who had driven down from Austin, was holding the hymnal open for them both. Ali was humming along, and as the sunlight spilled through the magnificent stained-glass windows, she saw a movement in the corner of her eye.

Mike. He stood in the doorway, hands in his jacket pockets, shoulders squared, looking like the outstanding soldier he was. Her soul sighed. The last thing she wanted was to feel any reaction for this man whatsoever.

The length of the sanctuary vanished. The singing silenced. They seemed alone, with no distance between them. She could see beyond the exhaustion on his face to his weary spirit beneath, and deeper, to the grief within. He was troubled. Everything within her longed to go to him and hold him until he no longer felt so alone. Love for this man shone like a beacon in her and it took all her strength of will to remain rooted to the floor and finish the last chorus.

He’s here, Lord. He’s standing in this church. Isn’t that the first step?
She prayed with all her might.
Please help him.

The hymn ended; the service was over. Conversation broke out, the pleasant din echoing above the rustle of movement and the shuffle as worshippers began making their way to the doors.

“What a nice church this is,” Mom commented. “I’m glad you have a family here.”

“I truly do. God has been very gracious. While I have you and Dad, I couldn’t have a more wonderful family, He has blessed my life to bring even more wonderful people into my family.” She stepped into the aisle and realized that Ali was standing still, listening intently. She held out her hand. “Come on, sweetie.”

Ali trudged forward. “Sarah? Do you know what?”

Sarah bit her lip, trying not to laugh. “What?” she asked for what felt like the thousandth time.

“You’re my family.” He placed his hand in hers. “You and Nanny Alice.”

“That’s right, Ali.” She knelt down right in the middle of the crowded main aisle and pulled him to her. She loved that his arms wrapped around her neck so tightly. “Do you know who I saw by the door a moment ago?”

“Who?” Ali let go, eyes bright. “Pastor Fields? Santa Claus?”

“Mike.” Sarah bit her lip again. It didn’t help that her mom was silently laughing.

“I knew he come.” Ali grinned, marching forward. “Are you comin’, too, Sarah?”

That wasn’t a trick question, was it? She wondered as she hurried to keep up. “Only as far as the door. You and Mike need your boy time.”

“You came ice skating with us.” Confused, Ali turned around, walking backward.

Sarah gently steered him by the shoulder so he wouldn’t knock into anyone. She watched her mom’s surprised reaction. Before her mom could even ask if there was a chance for her and Mike, she shook her head. “No, sorry, Mom. Ali is the reason I see Mike at all.”

“You don’t like Mike?” That was Ali, smile fading. “How come?”

“I like Mike just fine.” This is where it got tricky. Ali was watching, Mom was listening and there was Mike leaning against the wall next to the door, within earshot. “There he is.”

“Mike.” Ali ran the last few steps toward his hero. “Do you know what we
gotta
do?”

“I have no idea, but I bet you’re going to tell me.” Mike smiled, and it warmed his eyes. It didn’t chase the exhaustion from his face or the shadows lurking there, but it was remarkable.

The tension knotted in every muscle eased a notch. She blushed, realizing that she was smiling right back at him. “Hi, Mike.”

“Sarah, you’re looking good. Hello, Alice. It’s been a long time.”

“Yes it has, Mike. You’re looking well.” Mom went right up to Mike and gave him a brief, motherly hug. “I prayed for you every day you were over there. I’m glad you’re home safe.”

“Thanks, Alice. It’s good to see you again. How’s Fred?”

“Probably with his feet up in his lounger watching his favorite sports channel.”

“Please tell him howdy from me.” Mike ruffled Ali’s dark hair. “Are you ready for our big day?”

“Yes! I got it all figured out.”

“Do you, now? I’m glad. I was at the hospital until an hour ago.” He felt Sarah’s concern like a touch to his face. He didn’t want to be aware of her, so he turned toward the door. “How about we grab a bite first?”

“Pizza.” Ali led the way down the steps.

“You got it, buddy.” Mike hated that even walking away from her, his senses were filled with her. Her footsteps padding behind him down the stairs. The whisper of her coat hem snapping in the wintry breeze. The low, beautiful tones of her voice as she spoke with Alice.

When his boots touched grass, he halted and she filled his vision with her sleek red hair and wholesome beauty. She was wearing the green dress he liked so well, that brought out the jewel blue of her eyes. He forced his attention on the boy at his side.

“Sarah, I might not make it through the evening.”

“Then just let me know and I’ll come get him.” She glanced behind him at the church steps. “It’s no problem.”

“I appreciate that.” In full sunlight, he looked ashen. Exhaustion hollowed his eyes and cheekbones. His stance was straight, his shoulders were back, he walked with strength. He was a man who never showed his weaknesses. “C’mon, kid, let’s head for my truck.”

“I sure wish Sarah and Nanny Alice could come.” Ali’s sweet voice carried as he trailed alongside Mike. Man and boy trudged off together, and anyone watching would think they belonged together. There was just something about the two of them that matched.