Mixed Blessings (14 page)

“L
uke! Ricky!” Their voices formed a strained duet. His voice was hoarse with concern, hers started out coaxing and soon turned shrill with panic as they looked around the furniture and potted plants. Everything stopped in the lobby. “My sons,” Peter said in an urgent plea for help, “they're missing. Both of them. Three years old. A blond one and a redhead.”

“Boys!” Marie cried out.

“Where?” Peter wheeled around.

She shook her head frantically. “I'm calling them. Boys! Ricky! Luke! You come to Mommy right now!”

“I'll go up the stairs and look,” Anne said tearfully.

The man she'd been flirting with grimly said, “I saw you earlier. I know what they look like. I'll go check the beach.”

“The beach!” All of the color bled from Marie's sun-kissed cheeks. Peter braced her arm as the horror of the situation rolled over him, too.

“Come with me,” the young man smacked a few of his friends on their shoulders. “Let's get out there.
They're just little squirts—they couldn't have gotten very far.”

From behind the registration desk, Mrs. Reccaut ordered, “Bob, go block the driveway. No one leaves. Victoria, call every department and have them institute a search.”

She came around and took Marie's hand. “The boys probably just toddled off. Come with me to the dining room. We'll look under the tablecloths. They may think they're big white tents and are hiding under one. You can call them. Peter, try the game room.”

All around them, guests and hotel employees searched for the boys. As each second passed, Peter's horror skyrocketed. “Not again. Please, dear God—not again!” He dashed to the game room, but it was empty. He tried the men's room and found it vacant. His heart nearly beat out of his chest.

A woman exited from the ladies' room. Knowing they sometimes went there with Marie, he asked, “Were there two little boys in there? My sons are missing.”

The woman shook her head.

Peter continued to search.
It's all my fault. I brought them here, even though Marie wasn't delighted with the idea. I pressed and cajoled—and this happens. I should have never left them with Anne. Luke and Ricky are
my
sons. I should have kept them with me. Lord, please let them be safe!

A small wedge propped open a housekeeping closet. Peter's hopes soared. He burst into the closet, fumbled for the light switch and found nothing but cleaners, mops and supplies. Afraid the boys might sneak inside later, he kicked the wedge out of the way as he left.

The bridge and the bushes—the boys were so impressed with the bridge from the parking lot. They might have
gone there. Was there water under that bridge? I didn't even pay attention! My sons, God, please keep them safe.
Peter dashed toward it. He could see the parking lot was blocked off, and people were searching between the cars, calling for the boys. Peter scanned the bushes as he headed for the bridge. He got down on his knees to look beneath the bridge. Nothing. No water, to his relief—but no boys, either.

The acrid taste of fear flooded his mouth, and his heart twisted.

God, please, please, give my sons back to me. Don't let anything happen to them.

Mr. Reccaut came outside as Peter stood up. “Marie said she's taught Ricky to go to a policeman if he gets lost. I have all of the security guards standing in conspicuous locations.”

Peter nodded. “I taught Luke that, too.”

“My wife's staying with Marie. They'll keep looking inside while you and I search out here.”

Peter raked his fingers through his hair as he scrutinized a man carrying a blond boy. “It's not Luke.”

“I expect them to be together,” Mr. Reccaut said as he pointed toward a bronze castle sculpture gleaming in the sunlight. “There's a maze in the hedges just past the castle we ought to check out. The boys probably just wandered off, and they could get stuck in there.”

“Lisa—” Peter's voice broke off.

“This isn't Lisa. Those little guys are like greased lightning. I'll bet they just streaked off.”

“We found them!” someone shouted.

Peter raced toward the sound of that voice. A doorman held open a gold-framed, etched-glass door, and relief flooded Peter as he burst into the lobby. “Where? Where are they?”

“The elevator,” a clerk shouted above the celebratory din. “They crawled on the bellhop's cart and hid between the garment bags and luggage. The bellhop is bringing them back down.”

Peter elbowed his way to the elevators. He could see Marie frantically dodging furniture to get there, too. He plotted a course to intercept her and wrapped his arms around her shuddering frame. “They're okay. We found them, and they're okay.”

Folks cheered when the elevator doors opened. Peter didn't give the bellhop a chance to take the boys off. He swept Marie into the car, and they each grabbed for a boy. As the door swished closed, the bellhop asked in a sheepish voice, “What floor, sir?”

 

They sat in a knot on the sofa—Marie glued to Peter's side so she could still touch Luke. Ricky sat on her lap, and Peter's arms enveloped all of them in an unyielding hug. She couldn't stop shaking.

“Mommy, don't cry,” Ricky chirped.

“You scared Mommy.”

Peter took a deep breath and repeated again, “You boys are to never leave us. That was very naughty and dangerous.”

“We was bad,” Luke said.

“Very bad,” Marie whispered.

“Sorry.”

They'd already gone through this litany half a dozen times. Peter finally said, “You boys go sit in time-out on your beds. No talking.”

Marie hugged Luke and Ricky and cried even harder when they both kissed her and toddled away. She burrowed into Peter's shoulder and confessed, “It's all my
fault. If I hadn't turned you down, we'd never have to be here.”

“Marie!”

“I can't ever let anyone else watch our boys. Never. Never again, Peter.”

“Honey—”

“I'll marry you. I will. For the boys.”

Peter scooped closer still, cradled her head on his shoulder and took a deep breath. Could this finally be the chance he'd been praying for? It nearly tore his heart out each time Marie drove away with Ricky. Though she fought the truth, Peter knew deep in his heart that they were all meant to be a family—
one
family, not two.

Still, he couldn't take advantage of this debacle. In time, she'd resent him for it. It went against all he wanted and needed, but still, he said, “You're distraught, Marie. So am I.”

“You can't tell me it's not the right thing to do.”

He took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “Of course I can't. It's the only thing to do, the best and right thing. I wouldn't have proposed to you if I didn't believe it with all my heart. I'm afraid you're letting the emotions of this moment carry you away and say something you'll regret later.”

She burrowed closer and borrowed some of his strength. “We should get married. I mean it. I do.”

 

“I do,” Marie said almost inaudibly. She stood in the judge's chambers and stared at the small leather manual as he read off the civil vows. Acting as her maid of honor, Sandy sat to her left. She held Ricky on her lap. Peter's dad stood to his right and clasped Luke's hand. Peter's voice sounded deep and sure as he spoke his vows.

He'd refused to marry her the awful day after the boys
were found. Marie knew he was being honorable enough not to take advantage of a terrible mishap. If anything, his integrity reinforced her decision. She couldn't bear to be away from Luke. It wasn't just that Luke was the only link she had to Jack—though that, alone, provided enough cause. She adored the little boy and had to be with him. As for Ricky—he was the child of her heart. She could never relinquish him, and he needed a father's steadying influence. After thinking the matter through, she decided no man would ever do a better job as a father than Peter Hallock.

The Old Testament was full of arranged marriages—ones made not for love, but for practical purposes. She and Peter had solid reasons to combine their families. God had blessed the unions in the Bible; she prayed He'd keep His hand over their arrangement, too—unique as it would be.

Peter stood beside her, steady, caring, gentle. He'd given her every chance to back out. Repeatedly he advised, “Don't let fear rule your decision, Marie. If you do, you'll regret it later. Take a bit of time.”

“I told you once before, I rarely change my mind,” she said. “It's the right thing to do. I know it is.”

Since she'd been so adamant, he agreed. He'd allowed her to determine what kind of ceremony they'd hold. She asked for something very private and subdued. Today, of all days, she wanted no reminder of the time she'd worn romantic white satin and lace and pledged her love to the man of her dreams. She couldn't make sacred vows in a church; she asked for a civil ceremony since this wasn't going to be a true marriage. It was a partnership. A businesslike agreement. Signing the certificate would be the same as signing a contract—nothing more. Taking off Jack's ring nearly tore her heart asunder. She carefully
tucked it away in her jewelry box next to the one Jack had worn.

Now the boys each clutched a ring. Ricky climbed down from Sandy's lap and leaned against the wheelchair. Marie took the ring from him. Peter took the ring from Luke. They exchanged the bands. Peter had chosen the rings—and he'd been wise enough not to get her a solitaire since that was what Jack had given her. Instead, Peter graced her shaking hand with an eternity band. “Diamonds are the boys' birthstone,” he told her just before the ceremony. She stared down at the glittering piece and promised herself she'd make things work out. She had to—for the boys.

“You may greet your bride.”

The judge's words jarred Marie. Peter promised a platonic marriage. She knew she couldn't ever sleep with a man she didn't truly love. At the judge's direction to kiss, she gave Peter a startled look.

Peter eased the bouquet of pink roses he'd given Marie out of her hands and barely gave it a little flip through the air so it would land neatly in her sister's lap. “Let's hope tradition holds true and you're the next bride, Sandy,” he said.

Marie smiled at him. He'd said just the right thing. He smiled back at her, then stepped closer. She couldn't quite believe he was really cradling her face in his hands. His hold felt tender, his hands incredibly warm. When his head dipped, she let out a small gasp, but he caught and silenced it. His lips pressed against hers in a chaste kiss that lasted long enough to satisfy their audience. When he lifted his head, a keen sense of loss struck her. A flush of warmth stole over her.
She'd liked him kissing her!
If he ever found out, she'd be terribly embarrassed.

Peter's deep brown eyes sparkled with more warmth
than Marie had seen there before. He slowly let go of her, then slid his arm about her waist and nestled her into his side. Family crowded around to give their congratulations, and for a few moments everyone pretended like this was truly a love match.

Lauren had arranged the use of the private dining room in a local, five-star restaurant. Peter's mom and dad took the boys and his sisters took Sandy to an intimate family reception. Marie felt self-conscious being left alone with her husband.

Husband.
Even the word seemed strange. Wrong. Partner or friend, yes—but husband? She couldn't bend her mind around that concept.

Peter laced his fingers with hers and strolled to the car as if nothing were amiss. As he tucked her into his luxury sedan, he praised, “You look beautiful.”

Marie mumbled an embarrassed, “Thank you.”

Peter hunkered down, took the seat belt from her nerveless fingers and tilted her chin so she'd have to look him in the eye. “Marie, take things at face value. I'm not trying to seduce you. You're my wife. You're an attractive woman. I'm going to compliment you and buy things for you, just as I'm probably going to lose my temper and get moody. You take the good with the bad.”

“For better or worse,” she whispered.

“Yeah. Let's hope there's more better than worse.” He winked. “Here. Your hem is going to get caught in the door.” He scooped the skirt of her blue voile dress and tucked it next to her thigh. He tenderly trailed his fingers down her cheek, then stood and closed the door.

As the door shut, Marie let out a shaky breath. Her cheek and leg tingled. Her breathing was jagged—all from a few words and the brush of his hand. She pressed her head back into the padded rest and asked, “What have I done?”

P
eter did his utmost to make their move go well. Kate had pulled him aside before he, Marie and the boys drove down to see to matters. His sister had given him a few pointers about how he needed to be “sensitive during this transitional time.” Following Kate's advice and instituting plans of his own, Peter strove to streamline things for Marie.

He'd sent a van for Sandy, had her taken to Marie's house then allowed the sisters to go through the whole place. Whatever Marie no longer wanted could be used in Sandy's new place. Before her accident, Sandy had lived with a roommate, so she needed several things. Peter watched the boys while a few of Marie's friends from the church helped pack.

While the boys napped, he took Marie for a slow walk around the house. “We can take all of it, none of it—some of it. Most of my place was done by a professional decorator, so I'm not overly attached or stuck on any of the furnishings. We can trade anything you like better or scrap everything from both houses and get all new stuff.”

“Could we trade my couch for the one in the playroom?”

“Sure.” He cast a look at the brown tweed one and smiled. “Yours is a lot more comfortable. What about that picture you have hanging over it? It matches well, and I've never been crazy about that abstract thing I have right now.”

“Okay.”

Peter tried not to shadow her too closely in her bedroom. He hoped she'd leave all of this behind. There was something impossibly intimate about the bedroom furnishings she'd chosen and shared with another man. Marie slowly ran her fingertips over the polished cherrywood dresser. Her touch was gentle, loving…. Peter looked away. Kate had warned him he'd feel spurts of possessiveness and jealousy—and at the moment, her warning made perfect sense.

Marie sighed. “The knobs on this are easy for Sandy to work. I ought to let her have the bedroom set.”

Peter tried to hide his elation. “I'll have the movers deliver it to her place with her boxes.” Feeling a bit guilty, he decided to be mature and do as Kate had suggested—to accept and move ahead rather than fight the inevitable. He purposefully picked up Jack's portrait. “I'd like to be sure this makes it in one piece. The boys need to grow up knowing about Jack. He was important to both of them.”

Marie's eyes welled up with tears, but she blinked them away. “Could we put it on the shelf in their room?”

“Sure, we can.” Peter slid an arm around her. The way she shook troubled him.

She took a big gulp of air and bravely whispered, “I won't keep it in my room. I know I'm not being a real
wife to you, but I won't insult you by clinging too tightly to the past. I'll try. Honestly, Peter, I'll try.”

He set the frame down and turned her into the full shelter of his arms. “You're doing fine, sweetheart. I'm really proud of you.” He kissed her hair, then rested his cheek on her crown. “There's no hurry, Marie. We can just take clothes and toys this trip.”

“No. This is it. I have to have closure. I—I'll need to put the house up for sale, too.”

“I can take care of that for you.” He gave her a gentle squeeze. “I was thinking, though…”

“Yes?”

“The youth pastor at your church is living in an apartment. They're really strapped for money and have two little boys, too. We don't have those concerns. If you'd like, you could quit claim the property to them, and they could just take over your payments.”

“Jack would have liked that. He and Brad were good friends.”

It only took two days to take care of everything. Peter arranged for them to take a “family honeymoon” on the way home. They spent a day at Disneyland, then spent a night on the
Queen Mary.
They went to the Monterey Bay Aquarium and splashed in a hotel pool.

So much had happened in such a short time. Marie was glad they had a few days to decompress. Peter tactfully got suites so there was never an awkward situation regarding hotel beds. Since they weren't on his turf or hers, they could simply enjoy the bright summer days and the boys' boundless enthusiasm over simple things.

Peter seemed surprised at several of the things Marie did, but he didn't interfere with them. He'd made a funny face when she dumped pudding onto a paper plate and let the boys “fingerpaint,” but a few moments later, he'd
gotten two more plates and insisted she and he join along in the fun. In truth, he'd shown a remarkable propensity for getting involved, and she admired that.

 

Even honeymoons end.
The melancholy thought went through her mind, and Marie tried to quell it.
You knew,
she scolded herself,
this was the way things were going to be. It was a good trade. Wise. Give it time and work on it.

She did her best to settle into her new life. Try as she might, she didn't feel at home. The beige-and-toast living room felt far too formal and stiff. Her room seemed cavernous after she'd gotten used to having Sandy's bed and possessions crammed in with hers. She no longer changed menus on a whim or did the cooking. Peter was unfailingly polite and attentive—but that made her feel like a guest instead of a family member. She kept telling herself,
“It'll take time.”

To her embarrassment, the housekeeper immediately took the snapshots they'd taken of each other and had them enlarged. She put them in lovely pewter frames and set the one of Peter on Marie's nightstand and the one of Marie on Peter's dresser.

“Leave them be,” Peter soothed when Marie fussed.

“But—”

“We don't care what other people think, Marie. We did the very best thing possible. We're partners, and we'll make this work.”

“But it's humiliating to have Mrs. Lithmas know our private business.”

“She's not a gossip, so you don't need to worry that she'll say anything to folks in the community. My parents and sisters all know we've done this for the boys' sake, so they'll turn a blind eye to the way we've set up our
home. What we do or don't do is no one else's business. If we're happy and the boys are safe and content, we're fine!”

“Fine,” she echoed in a thoroughly unconvinced tone.

Nothing felt fine. She was used to walking around the house barefoot and propping her heels up on the coffee table. Because of the way Peter studied her feet the first morning she padded into the kitchen, she'd started wearing shoes. The bathroom cleanser Mrs. Lithmas preferred made Marie sneeze. Peter nearly scared her out of her wits when he bumped into her in the hallway the first night when Ricky cried out in his sleep. She was accustomed to a double bed and felt lost and strangely bereft in the big queen-size one in her bedroom. No, nothing felt fine.

As if he could read her mind, Peter smoothed her hair back from her shoulder and said, “It'll take time to settle in, Marie. I want you to do whatever makes you happy—rearrange furniture, select menus, go get your nails done….”

She glanced down at her bare nails. “I've never in my life had a professional manicure.”

His mouth tilted up in a grin. “Your toenails were pink that first morning.”

“Yeah, well…” Surely, her cheeks had to be pink now, too.

“You always went barefoot at home,” he persisted. “Now you don't.”

I dodged from the bathroom to my bedroom in nothing more than a towel—but that doesn't mean I'd ever do that here, either!

“Seriously, Marie, you can't act like a guest here. It's your home, too. I fully expected you to still hum in the shower and pick flowers from the garden, but you aren't.”

“You knew I hummed in the shower?”

He chortled softly. “Yep. Sunday mornings, getting ready for church. It always struck my funny bone when you chose a hymn that said something about water or a fount or the ocean.”

“You're one to talk! You whistle between your teeth whenever you can't find your car keys.” She paused, then added, “And you never set them down in the same place, so you're always doing a musical scavenger hunt for them!”

They looked at each other, then broke into laughter. Peter winked at her. “We've got a good start, Marie. We'll make great partners.”

Miss Anne had resigned as soon as the boys were found. Aware she'd been remiss in her duties and endangered the boys, she'd quit tearfully and left the hotel at once. The fifth day back at their home, Peter sat at the supper table and asked, “When will you start interviewing for a new nanny?”

Marie's fingers curled into a fist around her fork. She stared at him with nothing short of horror and said, “I'm not!”

“Marie, surely you'll want help with the boys. They're energetic.”

She shook her head adamantly. “All over the world, women have several children and manage without domestic help. We still have Mrs. Lithmas. I do nothing but play with the boys all day long. I need to do something.”

“Being with the boys is the most important thing you can do. We're agreed on that, but—”

Face pinched with strain, Marie whispered, “I came so I could mother both of them. If you want to replace me—”

“No! No, Marie. It's not that at all!”

“I won't let anyone else watch them. Never again.”

“Uh-oh!” Luke's sound diverted their attention. “Milk.”

Peter reached over and belatedly righted the now-empty glass. Before he could say anything, Ricky tattled, “Luke made a big mess!”

“Yes, he did.” Marie started sopping up the spill with her napkin. “We all do sometimes.”

Peter said nothing to her as he got up from the table, though her obvious regrets cut him deeply. He grabbed a dish towel to absorb the white puddle on the floor.
Lord, You are in control. Please work a miracle in this marriage so she doesn't go on feeling it was a mistake.

After supper, Peter excused himself and went into his study. There, where he'd comforted Marie on the couch, he sat and prayed. Things were going so well with the boys, and he enjoyed Marie's sweet presence. The pastor's recent sermon came to mind…
Don't ask God to change others. Ask God to work on your own heart and life first.
He humbly prayed in that vein, then emerged in time to read the Bible story and share bedtime prayers. He and Marie each kissed both boys, then she turned on the guardian angel night-light as he turned out the light.

As they slipped into the hallway, Peter startled Marie by wrapping his arm around her shoulders. She looked up at him, wide-eyed. “Things are going well.” He grinned. “Brother Luke and I rated ahead of Ricky's beloved fire engine tonight during prayers!”

“That's tight competition.”

“Speaking of tight…” He curled his hand over her shoulder and started to gently knead. “You're knotted up worse than the rigging on a yacht!”

“I'm okay.”

“And I'm the tooth fairy.”

A smile quirked her lips. “Actually…”

Peter chuckled. “You got me there. Seriously, though, Marie, you need to relax a bit. Let's go for a swim or have a soda out in the Jacuzzi.”

“I really don't—”

“Yes, you do have a swimsuit,” he interrupted. “I'm not taking no for an answer.”

Her brows lowered in consternation. “Now I know from whom Ricky inherited his stubbornness.”

“It's called persistence, and it's a great trait, not a flaw.” He waited a beat. “I've instilled it in Luke already. We men have to stick together, or you women would run the world!”

“This isn't fair. I'm outnumbered!”

“Aw, come on, Marie.” He jostled her lightly and continued to rub her neck. “You love a challenge!”

“There's a difference between a challenge and a demolition.”

Peter merely chuckled, led her to her room and nudged her inside. “You have five minutes. Meet me out at the pool.”

She'd felt self-conscious that day on the beach—and she'd managed to keep on the cover-up most of the time. Tonight, that wouldn't be the case. Marie skimmed out of her clothes and wiggled into the swimsuit. As she snapped the elastic on the right leg downward for better coverage, she muttered, “No chocolate and no more ice cream.”

In a move of pure vanity, she decided to run a comb through her hair before she went out. “Why am I doing this? The minute my hair gets wet, it won't make a hill of beans' worth of difference!” Her heart whispered back,
You want to look nice for Peter.
She slammed the comb down onto the dresser top and abruptly came to her senses.

In the past days, she'd grown increasingly comfortable
with Peter—maybe too comfortable. What she felt went beyond a simple partnership or friendship: those impish winks he gave her, the way his hand reached for and held hers when they walked with the boys, the way his voice dipped into a lower register as he wished her a good-night before they retired to their separate bedrooms….

Marie sucked in a sharp breath.
This isn't that kind of relationship. I can't feel that way about Peter. Merciful heavens, I'm going to make a mess of this whole deal if I let myself fall in love with him. Lord, Your word says we set our affections. Help me guard my heart, or I'll ruin everything if I—

A light tap on her door made her jump. “Marie? Ready?”