Raphaela's Gift (27 page)

Her car, a late model Toyota--the typical metallic blue--was packed to the ceiling with her belongings, mostly art supplies and clothes. Everything else had been provided by Mountain Rise, even dishes, and linens. Good thing she'd thought to store her own furniture and household things just in case. At least she'd done one thing right.

Immediately she corrected herself. She didn't deserve the mental thrashing she inflicted upon herself every time anything went wrong. Every turn of fate was not her fault. The days of blaming herself for everyone's problems were over.

Climbing into her loaded car, she glanced at the lodge, then closed the door and started the engine. Without a backward glance she drove through the gate and onto the washboard dirt road, her teeth chattering as her tiny car rattled over the bumps.

Throughout the entire drive back north, all five hours, her mind was tormented by doubts that she'd done the wrong thing--both by leaving Mountain Rise and holding Garret off. She hoped he wouldn't cut her out of his life completely.

By late afternoon, her car bounced up the drive of her grandfather's light gray brick ranch in a rural suburb of Akron, Hartville, occupied half by Amish and Mennonites--those humble people who she'd admired her entire childhood. She hadn't called to tell her grandfather she was coming, but now that he was in his eighties and alone, she knew he'd be happy for some company.

No sooner had she shifted the car into park, than her grandfather's wisp-covered head poked out the front door. "Faith, is that you? I wasn't expecting you." His gritty voice brought feelings of home to her heart. She loved this man, and this place. It was the closest thing she had to a home. A broad grin lit his heavily lined face as he stood on the porch, his shoulders stooped as he supported his weight with the metal railing.

"Hi, Grandpa, I hope you don't mind some company for a while. I'm moving back to Kent." She yanked a suitcase from the backseat and walked up to the porch. After dropping it at her feet, she hugged him, relishing the feel of his embrace, and his genuine joy.

"Mind? You know me, I love company." He opened the black metal screen door and waited for Faith to step into the house. He followed as she carried her suitcase into her bedroom, a small room with busy floral wallpaper, and 1970's orange shag carpet. The furnishings, a couple of mismatched dressers, a cedar chest, and a twin bed, were nothing special, but functional. She dropped the suitcase on the bed and inhaled that smell, the indescribable scent that couldn't be attributed to any one thing, but was always in the house. After shoving the suitcase to one side, she sat on the bed and pulled Garret's card from her purse. She ran her fingers over the lightly raised lettering. Garret Damiani, M.D. Kentwood Clinic, Kent, Ohio.

Was it too soon to call him? Surely it was. He'd have to get Raphaela settled after the long trip, unpack, shop for groceries. She'd call him tomorrow.

Was it time for bed yet?

She glanced at the clock. No, it wasn't even close. That was the only thing about this place she didn't care for: time seemed to stand still, as though Hartville, Ohio existed in its own time zone. Knowing that sitting on the bed and staring at Garret's business card would only make time drag slower, she decided to spend some time chatting with her grandfather, maybe take him to one of his favorite restaurants. Every week her grandparents used to go out to eat, usually to a buffet that gave senior discounts, but now that his wife was gone, he didn't get out very often. He was wise enough to know he shouldn't drive alone.

The rest of the day dragged along, but passed, and finally she fell into bed. The buzz of cicadas lulled her to sleep.

"What's the point of discussing this further, Marian? We're beating a dead horse, again," Garret said as he leaned back against the couch cushion, thankful to be home. He glanced at the mantle clock. "Hell, we've been at this for hours and have gotten nowhere. We're talking in circles."

Marian stared at Raphaela, who sat on the floor, toys scattered around her, her fingers wiggling in front of her face.

"I know why you want to reconcile," Garret hedged.

"Why is that?" Marian met his gaze.

"Guilt."

"You're wrong."

"Am I?" he challenged. "Guilt makes everyone do strange things, including me."

"Well, you can say what you want. I know the truth." She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back into the wingback chair facing him. "I want to reconcile because…" her voice trailed off and her face paled.

"Because what?" he asked. Leaning forward, he rested an arm on the armrest and reached his hand to her.

She dropped her hands to her lap. "Because I don't have anyone else. Because I'm so damn lonely, I can't stand going into that miserable condo again. It's so cold and sterile. I hate it. I hate my life."

Garret nodded. Although he'd had Raphaela the past three years, he still felt lonely, yearned for a pair of arms to hold him, a face to beam a greeting when he came home. "I understand. But that's not a good enough reason to reconcile. And it's not fair to either of us. We won't be happy."

"I'm willing to try."

"I know you are."

"Ella would be better off," she said, clenching and unclenching her hands around each other.

A heavy sigh huffed from his chest. "I don't know about that. What kind of life would it be for her? We might live under the same roof, but we wouldn't love each other. What kind of example would we set?"

"We would teach her about commitment and loyalty, sacrifice."

He gazed down at his baby girl. "Sacrifice," he repeated. Reconciling with Marian would be the ultimate sacrifice. That was true. He didn't love her. Would never love her. The best he could hope for was friendship. "What about your career?" he asked her. "Are you willing to sacrifice that to stay home with her?"

"My career?" For the first time since she'd stepped foot in the house, he saw a glimmer of doubt in her eyes.

"Yes. Why should we hire a nanny if there are two of us? After all, that's why we are considering this move, isn't it? So we can help Ella?" Was she so eager to find a substitute for Michael, the man he suspected she really loved, to surrender her career?

He didn't want to be her second choice. Not for the price he would have to pay. The memory of Faith, droplets of water clinging to her eyelashes, her face flushed, her hair slicked back, flashed in his mind.

"I make more money than you do. Why don't you retire?"

He nodded. "What you need is a roommate. Not a husband. Or…" He let the sentence trail off. Could he tell her what he really thought? He damned well better. Too much was at stake not to. "Why don't you swallow your pride and call Michael? He's the one you love."

Pain reflected in her eyes, she shook her head. "I can't."

"Why not?"

"I did." Her bottom lip quivered and a gathering of tears sparkled in her eyes. "He's engaged."

"Engaged," Garret repeated. He stood up, walked to the minibar in the room's corner and poured two glasses of water. The ice cubes clinked in the glasses as he walked across the room. At Marian's side, he handed one glass to her. "You need to fight for him if you love him."

"But what about you and Ella? What about everything you said?" She took a sip of the water, staring at him over the top of the glass.

"I was hurt and angry. I said things I shouldn't have. We both know we don't work. You're looking for me to replace Michael, but that's not going to happen. I’m not Michael." He smiled and she returned it with a shaky one of her own. "No one will replace him. If we remarry, you'll be more miserable than ever."

She nodded, studying the glass she held in her hands. "But I don't know how to fight for him. What if I try and he…" She shook her head. "I don't think I can do this."

"There's a reason why you were with him for three years. And there's a reason why you broke up. Only you and he know what changed. Find the magic you shared in the beginning, and he'll come back."

She smiled. "You said we could do that once. You remember that?"

"Yes, I did. The problem was we didn't have magic. Ever. I know that now."

Her gaze steady, she said, "So do I." She set the glass down on the end table next to her and stood. "Thank you, Garret." She tentatively reached to him in an offer of an embrace.

He accepted it, but felt unwelcome and uncomfortable in her arms. He stepped away and crossed his arms over himself.

She patted his arm. "You're a good man, Garret Damiani."

"No. I'm just a man. A man who doesn't have all the answers he wished he did."

"You never did give yourself enough credit." She stooped down next to Raphaela. "Good bye, sweetheart. I'll see you tomorrow."

Raphaela kept studying her fluttering fingers, seemingly unaware of Marian.

Marian sighed and stood up. "She hasn't changed much, has she?"

"She has, a little. That's okay, though. She's still our baby, and we still love her."

Marian's eyebrows lifted. "Really? Maybe you're the one who has changed."

"Maybe." He walked Marian to the door and let her out, then turned to Raphaela. "Time for bed, Ella."

With minimal effort, he managed to get her to stand and walk with him upstairs to her room, where he dressed her for bed. And once he was certain she was fast asleep, he went to his room. Bone weary, he changed into his pajamas and dropped into bed. Within moments, the fractured bits of dreams played before his eyes.

Sometime later, a strange sound, a metallic rattle, wakened him. He sat up and glanced around the room. What had he heard? Had it been a dream?

His vision still hazy, he slipped from the bed and walked down the hall to check on Raphaela. He had a habit of checking on her at least once or twice a night, fearing she might wake up and wander off, something she'd done a few times. In the past, he'd found her sleeping in the strangest places, huddled in corners of rooms they didn't often use, the library, the dining room. Once he'd even found her in the kitchen under the table.

Her bed was empty. Damn! He needed round-the-clock care for her. This was impossible. He couldn't stay up all night watching over her. He flipped the light switch and, blinking against the light, scanned her room before checking the other rooms upstairs. As each room, each hiding place, proved empty, his frustration matured into fear. And as he checked the library and kitchen, that fear changed to panic.

Garret dashed through the living room, checking behind the sofa and then under the coffee table. "Ella!" Where the hell was she?

He'd checked all her favorite hiding places. Nothing, no trace of her. He went to the front door. Surely, she wouldn't leave, would she? The heavy double doors were hanging wide open, the muggy heat outside creeping into the house.

He dashed outside, scouring the deep inky shadows behind hedges and under trees. "Ella!" His voice was swallowed by the heavy quiet.

Suspecting he didn't stand a chance of finding her without help, he ran back into the house and called the police. A car would be there in minutes, but still as each heartbeat pounded out the passage of time, he felt like time had come to a near stop.

His Ella, his baby girl, was out there, somewhere. Alone. He stood at the door and waited for the white police car, the whole time questioning his decision. He'd been a fool thinking he could care for her on his own, even for one day. What the hell had he been thinking? He needed help, or he needed to face reality--that Raphaela needed to be placed in a residential program, someplace where she'd be safe.

But the image of her locked in a room, in truth, no more than a cell with barred windows and a bolted door, left him shivering. What the hell was he going to do?

The police car finally pulled up, and a young officer in a blue uniform eyed the house as he stepped from his car. One hand resting on his belt, he walked lazily up the front sidewalk. "Good evening, sir. You wanted to report a missing child?"

Impatient, Garret stepped outside to close the distance between them faster. "Yes, she's my daughter."

The cop's gaze wandered over him, then around the foyer beyond. He slid a notebook and pen from his shirt pocket and asked, "How long has she been missing?"

"I don't know. I woke up about a half hour ago because I thought I heard something, and when I checked on her, she was gone. And the front door was hanging wide open." Panic constricted his throat. He wanted to scream, "Just get out there and look for her, damn it!" But he didn't. He couldn't.

"The front door was open? Do you keep it locked at night?"

"Of course I do." That was a stupid question. Damn it, he hated inefficiency.

The cop nodded. "Do you think she ran away or do you think someone broke in and abducted her?" the policeman asked as he inspected the door.

"She's autistic. I think she's wandered off. I told the sergeant who answered my call that. Didn't he tell you?"

The officer remained stoic, despite Garret's jab. "Has she done this before?"

"No. She's wandered around inside the house, but never outside."

"And you've searched inside?"