The Christmas Kite (15 page)

They rose, and she followed Edna up the long, curved staircase—the staircase that led to her old chambers, the prison where she had lived in exile. Her cold hands clutched the banister while she garnered courage to face her former father-in-law.

But her efforts were wasted: no courage was needed. As she gazed down at the shriveled overlord who’d made her life miserable, only pity filled her. His twisted face turned toward her with glassy, saddened eyes. A rivulet of drool ran from the corner of his mouth while unintelligible rasping words droned from his throat.

Meara shifted to step aside, and gnarled fingers extended from the bedcovers, capturing her hand. Repressing her instinct to pull away, she controlled her reactions and calmed her thoughts. A mournful look came into her father-in-law’s eyes, filling her with deep sorrow. But forgiveness lay like a lump of dry bread in her throat. She could not say the words, though she saw the desperate question in his eyes.

With only a few mumbled amenities, Meara drew back and commented on the time. Edna patted her husband’s hand, then led Meara from the room and down the stairs.

At the bottom, Meara gathered her jacket and purse. “You’ll be in my prayers, Mother Hayden. And I promise I’ll bring Mac for a visit. He’s asked about you.”

Edna’s eyes widened. “Mac has asked about me?” Joy transformed her face.

“Yes, many times.” Deep sadness knifed through Meara.

Edna grasped her shoulders and pressed her dry, thin lips against Meara’s cheek. “Thank you. Today, you’ve given me more than I had dreamed of. Thank you.”

Meara wrapped the frail woman in her embrace, then turned and fled down the stairs to hide her own tumbling emotions. At her car door she lifted her hand in a final parting, then closed her eyes to the depressing memories as she slid inside. She prayed that the only image that would remain was the glow on Edna’s face when she spoke of Mac.

The flowers drooped in the afternoon sun, and Jordan pulled the garden hose from the side of the house and turned on the spigot. His concentration had waned throughout the day as he wondered how Meara had endured her visit with the Haydens. She had called in the morning to announce her decision to go.

He was proud of her, yet apprehensive. The hurt she felt for herself and Mac had created a deep hole in her compassion. A prayer rose from his thoughts for the outcome. Would God listen to him?

The telephone’s ring sounded through the porch screen. Jordan dropped the garden hose and hurried inside, anticipating Meara’s call. When her greeting touched his ear, his stomach toppled. He closed his eyes, facing the unwanted truth. Truth he’d stifled and pushed from his mind. But a truth that filled him, despite his attempts to destroy it. She and Mac meant too much to him. His emotions scraped raw against his heart.

Sentences tumbled through the line, a jumble of words and tears. “Meara, wait. I can barely understand you. Slow down, please.”

He heard Meara’s gasping over the line.

“Can you talk now?” Jordan asked.

A controlled “yes” hit his ear.

“Okay, now tell me. What happened to Mac?”

“They broke his glasses.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know. I picked him up later than I had expected and the principal met me in the hall with Mac.”

“Did you ask for details?”

“Mac cried when he saw me. And I was so upset I didn’t listen. I just grabbed the glasses and marched—”

“Meara, there may have been a good explanation.” He envisioned her as a staunch warrior, protecting her child. “What did Mac tell you?”

“Something about getting knocked off the slide during recess. I don’t know.”

“From the top? Someone pushed him?” He climbed into his battle gear as easily as Meara had.

“I don’t know. Top or middle, but his glasses were broken.”

“Maybe he fell off?”

“Knocked…I think…” Her voice trailed off, then surged. “I’ve had it, Jordan. I’m taking him out of that school on Monday.”

“Don’t be rash, Meara. Hold on. I’ll come over. We can talk.” His thoughts bounded wildly. She needed someone, and he longed to be the one. He wanted her in his arms. In his life. Yet there were so many things that kept her at arm’s length. So much she didn’t know. Too much guilt to share.

When he replaced the receiver, Jordan locked the house and hurried to the car. Urgency filled him. But why? She would be in the apartment waiting for him, and he would change nothing.

Meara had overprotected Mac for too long. It would take more than his feeble urging to change her mind. Eventually she would learn for herself that Mac needed to grow strong and deal with life in his own way. Yes, he was disabled. Special. But he was also special in some wonderful ways that Meara had yet to understand.

Jordan wished he’d learned his own son’s specialness before it was too late. Robbie had been bright and loving. Yes, and maybe too mouthy for his own good, but—Jordan cut off his thoughts. Not now. Other things filled his mind. He’d suffered enough with the memories. Tonight was Meara’s.

Calming his thoughts, Jordan followed the two-lane highway, focusing on the road but unable to direct his rambling thoughts. His heart pounded with anticipation. For what? Longings shivered to the surface. Emotions. Feelings he’d covered, smashed, destroyed. Yet they were rousing from their years of sleep.

Trees and isolated buildings flashed past his peripheral vision. He was driven by a surging, aching awareness. He hit his brake at the first stoplight. Motels and shops lined the street ahead of him. He drew in a deep breath, amazed at his rattled emotions—excited, anxious and overwhelmed by the feelings.

M
ac rose from his nap, and Meara calmed herself. He ambled from his bedroom with a dazed squint and shielded his eyes from the late-afternoon sun piercing through the window like a fiery arrow.

He leaned his head against Meara’s shoulder, and she ruffled his hair, knowing the frightening event at school had exhausted him. He’d be ready for bed again after dinner. “Guess who’s coming to visit us.” She tilted her head to smile into his face.

Mac perked up and grinned briefly. “Jor-dan?”

“Uh-huh. I’ve invited him to have dinner with us.” She gave him a bear hug and rose, heading for the fry pan to check on their meal. Glancing over her shoulder, she noticed his renewed scowl. “Does your head ache?”

He nodded.

“Bring Mama your glasses and the tape.” She indicated her hodgepodge spot. “Do you know where it is?”

He headed for the junk drawer and hauled out a roll of white surgical tape. Waving it in the air, he carried it to her side.

Meara leaned the spatula against the spoon holder and took the tape and glasses from his hand. Lowering herself into the chair, she gazed at the jagged, broken plastic, then attempted to fit the earpiece together for a temporary repair. “If I fix this, you’ll have to be very careful.” She peered at him. “We’ll find a doctor tomorrow.”

“I’m…not sick.” His frown drew into a tighter knot.

Meara chuckled. “No, you’re not, but your glasses are. I meant an eye doctor. An optometrist.”

“Op…tom…trist,” Mac sang, and waddled on stubby legs around her chair. “Op…tom—”

A sound on the landing halted Mac’s melody, and he bolted to the door. “Jor-dan,” he cried, swinging it open. He wrapped his arms around Jordan’s legs and nuzzled his face against his jeans.

“I should be so honored,” Jordan said, peeling Mac from his limbs and lifting him into the air.

Jordan had hoisted Mac in his arms only once before. At the Fourth of July picnic when the boy had fallen asleep. The loving picture caught her unaware, and her heart tumbled. Today’s emotional events raced through her thoughts. Sorrow. Forgiveness. Comfort. Anger. Love…Heat rose to her cheeks with the thought.

Jordan snuggled Mac against his neck and then plopped him back down to the floor. “I’d say I’ve been duly welcomed.”

“Dooley?” Mac said, craning his neck to look at the doorway.

“It’s a different Dooley, Mac,” Meara said, smiling up at Jordan from her tedious repair. Meara could see from Mac’s face that he didn’t understand, but she didn’t take the time to explain. She gestured to the wad of tape. “A mighty poor mending job, I’m afraid.”

“Let me,” Jordan said. But before he took the glasses from her hand, he looked over his shoulder at the stove. “Something really smells good.”

His nearness sent her thoughts spinning. A powerful longing for home and family made her chest tighten. Jordan had become a fixture in her life. “Bubble and squeak.”

“Bubble and which?” Jordan’s voice lifted in amusement as he confiscated the roll of tape and the eyeglasses.

Mac tugged on his pants leg. “Squeak.”

“Squeak? So that’s it.” He ruffled Mac’s hair.

“A good old family recipe,” Meara said, tethering her galloping heart and rising.

“Family recipe?” He winked. “I’ll have to trust you. Bubble and squeak.” Jordan sank into her vacated chair and bent over Mac’s glasses.

Meara turned the frying mashed potatoes and cabbage patties, and then checked the oven. She studied the thick ham slices warming in the roasting pan, pleased they looked moist and appetizing.

Catching a delectable scent, Jordan gazed at Meara leaning over the open oven. “Now you’re tempting me.” The double-meaning message hung on the air.

His stomach gnawed from both the ham’s sweet aroma and the vision of Meara, her long wavy tresses glowing in the sun’s ebbing rays.
Tempting,
yes. No word was more accurate. He ached to run his fingers through her hair and kiss away the worried frown that so often marred her forehead.

“Not for long,” Meara said, giving him a smile. “I have to set the table, and then we’re ready.” She stepped from the oven and eyed his repair. “Are you finished?”

I’ve only begun,
his thoughts answered. He rose, testing the mended earpiece with his fingers. “I think we got it.” He beckoned to Mac. “Here you go. Let’s give them a try.”

Mac tilted his head upward, and Jordan slid the glasses over his ears.

Jordan inspected the slightly lopsided spectacles. “What do you think, Mac?”

“I think…I can see.” The child giggled and grasped Jordan’s hand. “Thank you.”

“You’re totally welcome, pal. And if we scoot away from this table, your mom is going to feed us some of that ‘squawking bubbles.’” He gave Mac a teasing wink.

The boy’s smile broadened to a widemouthed laugh. “Bubble and squeak, Jor-dan.”

“Okay, pal.” The child’s joy lightened his heart.

In a flash, Meara spread out place mats and handed Jordan the silverware, while she set out the dinner plates. The slices of ham appeared on a platter surrounded by fried patties that looked to him like thick mashed-potato pancakes.

When they were seated, he grasped Mac’s hand and reached toward Meara. Her face appeared flushed as she rested her small palm against his. Blood pulsed through him, and he wondered if she could feel the pounding of his heart in their knitted hands.

Mac offered the prayer, and after they joined in the “Amen,” Meara dished the food onto their plates.

“The salad,” she said, leaping from the table to the refrigerator. “Where’s my mind?”

Jordan knew where his mind was. Wound around her heart.

With heavy eyes, Mac finished his dinner and asked to leave the table. Meara sent him on his way, but waited while Jordan cleaned his plate. When finished, Jordan leaned back. “You can feed me that concoction anytime you like. It’s really tasty.” He was filled with her wonderful “bubble and squeak,” but more so with her presence.

Grinning, she rose and cleared the dishes. He lifted the serving platters and slid them onto the counter, and when she turned they faced each other, eye to eye. Surrendering his control, Jordan lifted his hand and drew his fingers through her hair, then cupped her chin in his palm.

“You’re as luscious as your potatoes and cabbage.”

Hoping humor would control his racing pulse, he stepped away and smiled, but his jaw twitched with tension.

Flashing him a nervous grin, Meara shooed him away and rinsed the dishes. Jordan watched her shoulders rise in a sigh, and he turned his back and wandered into the living room.

Mac had drifted to sleep, his chin resting on his hand against the windowsill. Outside, Jordan scanned the paper kites flapping on the end-of-summer breeze, and his gaze returned to Mac. One day he hoped to find Mac on the end of a kite string, alone, watching his kite soar into the clouds. That was his dream for the child.

“Sleeping?” Meara asked as she wandered in from the kitchen.

“Too much bubble and squeak, I think. Should I carry him to bed?”

“Please.” Meara led the way. Jordan hoisted the boy in his arms and followed.

When Jordan returned to the living room, he sat on the sofa and waited for her. He hated to ruin the pleasant evening, but they needed to talk about things. Too many things.

When Meara appeared, she paused in the doorway. “Thanks, Jordan. For helping with Mac and for coming over today. I’m sorry I was a wreck on the phone. When it comes to my son, I don’t always have control.”

“I know. Come here and sit.” He patted the cushion on his left and waited.

She sat beside him. “Please don’t lecture me.” She raised her eyes to his. “I’ve made the decision and I’m sticking with it. I’m going to homeschool Mac. For now, I think it’s for the best.”

“But—”

“No, listen. Some time ago before I registered him in public school, I’d contacted Christian Home Educators of Michigan. I studied their material, and I know what I have to do.”

Determination glinted in her eyes, and he pulled out his flag of surrender. For now. She wouldn’t listen to him or to reason. Later maybe, when she calmed down.

“Do what you must, Meara. I can’t tell you what’s best for Mac. But in my heart I think he needs to learn to live in the world. And the world isn’t you. It’s hard and scary and frustrating. But Mac will be better for it.”

Tears dropped to Meara’s lashes, warning him to ease off. “I understand. He’s your son.” The white flag was hoisted and waving. He closed his mouth and bit his tongue.

Jordan twisted on the cushion and rested his back against the sofa arm. “So tell me about your visit with the Haydens.”

He’d caught her attention and, successfully, changed the subject. Meara poured out her story—the mixed bag of joy and sorrow. When she finished, she paused and a look of concern filled her eyes.

“And I promised I’d bring Mac to visit next time.”

“Is that a problem?”

“Not visiting his grandmother.” Her face paled, and she rubbed her fingers against her temples. “I’m not sure I want him to see his grandfather.”

Jordan rested his hand on her arm. “Are you afraid Mac will be frightened of what he sees? If you explain his grandfather’s illness, he’ll probably be fine.”

“It’s not only that. I can’t forgive the man. I pity him, but I can’t forgive him. If you knew what he did to me. And to Mac. How he treated us. How he hurt us.”

“Meara, have you really looked at Mac? I don’t see a hurting child. He’s joyful and loving. Whatever went on in that house went over his head.”

She studied him as if weighing his words.

“I know they hurt you, but look at you,” Jordan said. “You have a job. An apartment. You’re making your own way. You’re happy. What good is clinging to anger? Let it go. The man is dying.”

She closed her eyes and lowered her head. “I know, Jordan, and I’m ashamed of myself. I’m supposed to be a Christian. Where’s my compassion?”

He slid his hand to her shoulder, and his fingers tapped her collarbone. “It’s in your heart, Meara. A little tug, and you’ll find it.”

“He is dying.” She lifted her gaze. “It’s awful.”

“And vengeance serves no purpose. It poisons the spirit. Take Mac to see his grandparents.”

“You’re right, I know. I’ll find the courage somehow.”

“You don’t give yourself enough credit. You have courage. And compassion. You’re gentle, yet strong.” He tilted her chin upward. “And you’re a beautiful person.”

As her eyes met his, Jordan’s heart rose in his throat, and he shifted closer, resting both hands on her shoulders. “Meara, you deserve better than you’ve had. I wish I could wash away your sorrow. I can’t. But I can tell you that you’ve eased mine. You’ve made my life worth living, and…”

Longing toppled the teetering stones of his shattered defense. His heart surrendered, and he could no longer fight his feelings.

Meara’s eyes widened as he drew her into his arms. He felt the beating of her heart against his own, and with happiness he brushed his fingers along her cheek, then pressed his lips against her warm, trembling mouth.

He heard her intake of breath, and he reined in the longing to swallow her in his kiss. He lifted his mouth and kissed the end of her nose, her eyelids. The fantasy that lived in his heart became a reality. With abandon, he slid his hands through her hair, fingering her soft, flowing tresses.

For the first time in years his loneliness faded. Holding Meara’s delicate, trembling body in his arms, he felt complete and whole.

When he released her, she gazed at him and raised her cool hand to his face. Trust and longing filled her eyes.

Jordan’s mind spun. Gently he edged away and cupped her cheeks in his hands. “You’re the first woman I’ve longed for, Meara. The first woman I’ve kissed since Lila.”

She paused, searching his eyes. “And I’ve dreamed of this moment.”

Meara nestled against his shoulder, and they sat in silence as the sun slid below the horizon and shadows filled the room. Finally Meara shifted and rose to turn on the table lamp.

He sought her gaze, wondering, worrying that she had second thoughts, but her flushed smile gave him the answer. He lowered his knotted shoulders in relief.

“I’d better be on my way, I suppose,” Jordan said, rising.

She didn’t protest. He stepped toward the door. “Did Otis tell you I’ll be at church Sunday?”

“Church? No. You mean to the worship service?”

He hated to confess that it would be his first time in church since…his family’s funeral. The old ache struggled to rise, but he pressed it down. “Yes, it seemed the best way. I’m talking to the congregation about the petition we’re distributing to squelch the saloon.”

“They passed out flyers last week,” Meara said. “People didn’t say much on Sunday. Most of them just glanced at it and tucked the paper in their pockets.”

“Otis said a few people stopped by the store during the week. At least no one seemed to disagree. The ones who said anything were willing to sign.”