The Christmas Kite (4 page)

But time after time, with each attempt to launch it, Jordan saved the nose-diving kite from a watery death. “You know, Mac, maybe you need to be one more year older. This kite-flying isn’t easy.”

“Isn’t…easy,” Mac repeated, giving his trademark nod. Then he grinned, grabbing his mother’s hand. “Mom can fly the kite.”

“‘Mom,’” Meara said. “What happened to ‘Mama’?”

“Mom,” Mac said again with a laugh, squeezing her hand.

“I think that’s my fault,” Jordan said, recalling he’d used the term earlier. “How about it? Can I show you what to do?”

Meara lifted her eyebrows as if questioning his confidence. “We shall see.”

Quickly repeating the process, he held the ball of string and kite toward her, but she hesitated.

“Let me take off my shoes. I’ll trip myself up, otherwise.” Slipping off her sandals, she dug her feet into the sun-warmed sand. “Feels good,” she said, reaching out for the kite and string.

In a moment she was rushing along the sand, the kite extended into the air. At a gleeful laugh from Mac, it lifted from her hand and sailed upward. The boy patted Jordan’s arm, then clapped his hands and bounced with pleasure.

Jordan kept his eyes riveted to the kite while Meara released the string, but suddenly a gust of wind flipped the kite into a nosedive. Panic rose on her face, and he dashed forward, wrapping his arms around her from behind and manipulating the string. With a pull and release of tension, the kite righted itself and sailed skyward again.

Her sweet, fascinating aroma filled his senses, and her soft hair brushed against his cheek. He moved back quickly, though he longed to stay in the embrace, holding her close and feeling her warm skin against his arms.

She turned to him, a flush highlighting her ivory skin. “I almost lost it again,” she said, her eyes bright with life and her lips posed in a rich smile so close he could almost taste the sweetness.

A deep breath escaped him as he attempted to control his thudding heart. You’re a fool, Jordan. What are you doing? “There’s no ‘almost’ in baseball or kite-flying. A save is a save.” He forced a lighthearted look to his face, but panic rose in his chest.

“But if you hadn’t been here, I’d be back in the cabin building Mac’s third kite.”

“Let me show you what to do when you have another problem like that.” He moved in again, knowing he was working the situation, taking advantage of her nearness. He had to stop, but the sound of her voice covered the warnings that raged in his head.

He took her hand and the string, demonstrating the tug and pull of the wind, but most of all, he reveled in the warmth of her delicate hand against his and the sound of her laughter in his ear.

“Me,” Mac called.

Jordan swung around, realizing they had all but forgotten the boy. The kite was his, not theirs. He chided himself on his self-centered urges. “Come here, Mac. You hold the string, and I’ll help you.”

Not thinking, Jordan opened his arms to the boy, and his heart all but plunged to the ground. Grief washed over him like the waves that covered the shining rocks on the beach. With Mac in his arms, Robbie’s image rose before him like a living phantom—a moving, loving memory that wrenched his entire being. A sob rose in his throat, and he coughed to cover the horrible reality that battered his happiness to deepest pain.

Mac turned his head, giving him a curious look, and Jordan forced a smile to his lips—so compacted that they felt numb. “How you doing?”

“Good,” he whispered.

“You sure are.”

With Meara watching from her log stool, they let the kite soar overhead for a time, until Mac’s attention wavered. Then, with Jordan’s help, they reeled in the string, bringing the kite to a safe landing. Meara clapped her hands, then opened her arms as Mac ran to her.

“Good job.”

“Yep,” he agreed. “I flew the kite.”

“And one of these days, you’ll do it all by yourself, Mac,” Jordan said, standing above them. “Now remember, if you have any trouble, let me know. If there’s one thing I know, it’s kites.” That’s about it, too, he thought, angry at himself for allowing his emotions to reach the surface.

“It was kind of you, Mr. Baird. Mac and I both appreciate your help.”

Meara’s gentle face caught him off guard again.

“Jordan, please, and if you don’t mind, I’ll call you Meara.”

“Not at all,” she said as her lashes lowered shyly for a heartbeat.

“It’s a beautiful name. Where did you get it?” He looked at her with longing, marveling at the mysterious aura that emanated from her.

A grin crept to her lips. “From my mother.”

“Hmm?” he asked, not understanding.

“My name. My mother gave it to me.” Her grin widened to a smile.

“Right, but I mean, what kind of a name is it?”

“I’m being silly. I knew what you meant.” She drew her shoulders as if surprised she’d allowed herself the lighthearted moment. “It’s Irish. My parents were born in Ireland like I was.”

“Ah, so that’s the lilt I hear in your voice.”

She tilted her head upward. “Lilt? I didn’t know I had one.”

“It’s lovely, really, like your name. Like music.”

“Thank you. Meara means ‘happy.’” A distant look rose in her eyes, and her face filled with a kind of sadness.

“Happy? And are you?” he asked, wondering why he had posed such a personal question. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have spoken like that.”

Her gaze drifted to the ground, then upward. “No, you’re being honest. I am…sometimes…like today with the kites.” She nodded. “Today, I was happy.” She reached toward Mac, who held the kite close to his chest. “We need to be running along. You’ve given us too much of your time. Thank you.”

She gazed at her son. “Say thank-you, Mac.”

The child lifted his excited gaze. “Thank you,” he said.

“You’re welcome. And you, too, Mac.”

They headed down the beach, hand in hand, and Jordan turned toward the house, tugging at every fiber of his good sense. How many times must he caution himself and still not listen? This woman and child needed too much, and he had nothing to give anyone. He was scarred, scarred to his core. His capacity for love had burned away the day God took his family, the day guilt and grief scorched every strand of his being…his spirit.

He tucked his thoughts back where they belonged, deep inside. No time for mourning now. He needed to face life, learn to live in the world again, not for love or family, but just to get through each day. He’d abandoned his career and lived like a hermit far too long. Good old Otis did the pickup and delivery, while he hid from the world building kites. And what was he hiding from? Memories? A person can’t hide from those. He’d tried.

Raising his eyes, Jordan saw Otis standing outside the front door. He hailed him with a wave.

“Okay, this time I knocked,” Otis said with a good-natured grin. “That didn’t work any better than the doorbell.” He chuckled, and Jordan patted him on the back.

“Sorry, I was down here helping a young man fly a kite.”

“Now, why doesn’t that surprise me?”

Jordan gave him a fleeting grin. “So what can I do for you? Hadn’t expected you today.”

“No, I was passin’ by and thought I’d stop in. I have a question for ya. And by the way, I checked out the zoning board. Looks like the church is a few feet clear of the property restriction limit, so that doesn’t help us one bit.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” He’d hoped the board might solve the problem without further action. Now he’d have to give the issue more thought. “Come in,” he said, holding open the screen.

Otis stepped inside but stayed by the door. “This won’t take a minute.”

“Sure you don’t want to sit?”

“No, the wife’s probably wondering where I am. She’s expectin’ me home. I had a question from this woman and son who came by the shop a couple times. First time lookin’ for those cheap kites. I sent her to the gift shop. Anyway, she passed by again and came in. Her boy is a charmer and loves kites.”

Curious, Jordan’s stomach tightened.

“She’s lookin’ for a rental. Happened to mention it, and I thought about the apartment above the shop. You have any interest in renting out the place? She’s alone with the boy and could probably use a cheap rental.”

Jordan stuck his hands in his pockets, trying to decide how to ask the question. “Do you know her name?”

“Nope. The boy’s name is Mac. He introduced himself to me like a little man. Down syndrome boy, but bright as a new penny.”

Jordan’s tensed shoulders rose and relaxed as he released a blast of pent-up air. “Can you guess what boy I was helping with the kite a few minutes ago?”

Otis snapped to attention. “Mac?”

Jordan nodded.

“You don’t say.”

“They’re renting a cabin down the beach. Those rustic ones.”

“She said they were down the road. Never thought you’d know her. Funny thing, I mentioned your name. She didn’t act like she knew you at all.”

He shook his head. “We introduced ourselves today.” Curious. She hadn’t shown she recognized his name. He gave a mental shrug. “I met them one day when the boy saw me kite-flying. Then Dooley knocked the woman over on the beach yesterday and we chatted a minute.”

“You sure know how to win friends and influence people, don’t you.”

Otis’s words held more truth than he knew. “I don’t seem to have the knack, Otis.”

He gave a soft chuckle. “So what about the apartment? I haven’t seen it in a long time. Not sure what shape it’s in. I told her to drop by, and I’d let her know.”

“How about checking it out. I don’t want to rent a firetrap to anyone.”

“Sure thing. Might even have the missus look it over. You know, from a woman’s point of view.”

“Do you have a key for the place?”

“I think so. It should be on the ring.” Otis pulled a set of keys from his pocket and eyed them. “Check this one out if you would. I think that’s it.”

Jordan took the key and burrowed through a drawer until he found a set of tagged keys. He matched it against the other. “That’s it, Otis.”

“Good. By the way, I mentioned earlier that I posted the Help Wanted in the window. Nothin’ yet. Darla can work only another week or so. I’ll need at least a part-timer.”

“Whatever you need, Otis. Run an ad in the paper if you want to.”

Otis stepped backward, his hand against the screen-door handle. “I’ll check the apartment in the morning.”

Jordan gave him a nod, and Otis headed back to his car.

Standing with a full view of the lake, Jordan gazed out at the glinting sun hanging low in the sky. Sparkles of gold and copper bounced on the waves. If he thought Lila’s God really cared one iota for him, he’d believe the Lord was working in his life. Meara and Mac had walked into his walled-up world, and for the first time in years, life seemed tolerable. More than tolerable. He found himself looking down the beach, wishing he’d see Mac’s smiling face and hear Meara’s soft, lilting voice.

T
he next morning Meara sat on the beach, longing for Jordan to stroll past taking Dooley for a walk. But only squawking gulls and lapping waves—and Mac—disturbed her silence. She grinned at the child making fortlike mounds in the sand and singing in his sweet voice a repetitive tune with lyrics only a mother could love.

“Dig the sand and dig the sand. Dig the sand and make a hole. Dig the sand and make a hole. Make a hole and dig the sand,” he sang.

Listening, she recognized the tune was one she’d taught him, “Jesus Loves Me.” To laugh or scream was her only way to handle his repetitiveness. She chuckled at the endless monotony. How could she do otherwise? Mac enjoyed music and loved to sing. Though he was cheated in one way, God had given him a gift.

Her heart tugged as she studied her son. He’d been cheated, and she would be, too…one day when he was gone.
Life expectancy.
She reeled, remembering the doctor’s words. It would be shortened, he had said. Tears found her eyes. She pushed them away with angry fingers.

Not her son. Not Mac. Life expectancy had nothing to do with God’s will. If she had anything to do about it, God’s will would be a long life for Mac, if…

Mac’s clear voice crooned the words again. Meara dragged her saddened thoughts upward and glanced for the fourth time in the direction of Jordan’s house, hoping. Her vision reached the curve in the shoreline. Nothing. Why he interested her, she had no idea. She recalled the day they met. He had been rude and abrupt. But since that day, he had softened and had shown kindness to Mac and to her. And beneath Jordan’s rough exterior, she suspected he was as vulnerable as she. Though she’d tried to read the hidden message in his brooding eyes, he had blocked it behind a wall of silence.

She rose from the sand chair and took a cautious step into the water. The sun’s warmth had yet to raise the temperature of the lake, and she shivered as her foot sank into the frigid surf, jolting her senses. Yet she needed a jolt. She had been protected too long from everything, including living.

“Mac, want to walk in the water?” she called.

He shook his head without a break in his song.

“Don’t go anywhere, then. I’m going for a swim.”

With one rapid motion, she dived into the water, her body tingling with exhilaration. It had been forever since she’d gone swimming—until this past week. How many empty years had passed since she’d walked along a beach and watched the sun sink into a deep purple horizon? Or watched the birds flying free—the way she felt today? Free and optimistic…and happy. She bounced to her feet, feeling the sandy bottom against her toes. She wanted to yell, sing out like Mac.

Seeing her son playing with contentment on the shore, she felt her heart squeeze and tears appear behind her eyes. They had lived like prisoners in the Hayden mansion. Their presence had brought discomfort and shame to the arrogant, wealthy family. Life had, for once, turned the tables on their elaborate plans.

Following the death of Dunstan’s childless wife, his parents had pushed their only heir, Dunstan Alfred Hayden, to woo and marry Meara MacAuley for the sole purpose of an heir. And what did Meara give him? A child with Down syndrome. And who did they blame? Her. Her Irish heritage, her lack of education and her awkward ways.

Had they considered Dunstan’s age? He was more than twice her twenty-seven years. She had been foolishly flattered—encouraged by her cousin to marry the wealthy man. “You can stay in America,” Alison had said. “We’ll be such friends.” But instead, she, too, had turned her back when Mac was born, perhaps feeling to blame for arranging Meara’s introduction to Dunstan.

Often Meara wondered why God had allowed those terrible things to happen to her. She’d been strong in her faith back then. She’d convinced herself that Dunstan glided into her life because God had planned it. He offered her a world she’d never known: wealth, security…and love. Or so she had thought. But Meara had been entirely wrong. Without love and tenderness, a baby-making machine was what she had become. She’d been the means to procreate, and once the child lived inside her, Dunstan might as well have vanished from her life. Once Mac was born, things became worse. She’d prayed and asked God “why,” but no answer came to her—until she looked at Mac. Her child was God’s gift and her special challenge. Meara clung to that belief.

No matter. Those days were over. Never again would she put herself in that position. Never again would she fall in love and allow her son to be hurt and abandoned…and let herself be hurt and abandoned.

Meara had new experiences awaiting her, and she prayed they would be blessings. Meara lifted her gaze toward heaven, then pulled her thoughts to the present and dove again into the clear, calm water, this time feeling less chilled.

The pleasant afternoon sun lay upon her arms, and she gauged from its position that it was nearly noon. She dragged her legs through the water to shore. Today she would drive into town to check the apartment. Hopefully Otis Manning would have some information.

“Hello, there,” Otis said with an easy smile as they came through the shop door.

Mac shot forward, extending his hand in greeting. Otis grinned and grasped the child’s hand in a hearty shake. “And how’s the kite-flying, son?”

Mac poked himself in the chest. “Me? Nope. But Mama’s good.”

“She is, huh? And why can’t you fly a kite?” He bent his pleasant face toward Mac’s.

“Too small. Mr…. Baird said…maybe a year.”

“Well, if anyone knows about kite-flying, he’s your man. You were talking to the horse’s mouth.” Otis patted the child’s head.

Mac let out a loud chortle. “Horse’s mouth.” He poked at Meara.

She rolled her eyes at Otis, and the elderly man grimaced.

“That’s only an expression, Mac,” Meara said. “He means Mr. Baird knows what he’s talking about.”

“Okay,” Mac said, eyeing the kites. The “horse’s mouth” was forgotten as he wandered through the shop.

“Sorry about that,” Otis whispered. “I’d better watch what slips off this tongue with that young ’un around.”

He looked so downtrodden, forgiveness was easy. “No problem. I do it myself.”

A relieved expression swept over his face. “So I s’pose you’re anxious to hear about the apartment.”

“Yes. Did you talk to the owner?”

“Sure did. Jordan told me to give the place a once-over and—”

“Jordan?” Hearing the name, she stopped breathing for a moment.

“The owner. Jordan Baird. I understand you’ve met.” He let loose a quiet chuckle. “Met head-on from what I’m told. He tells me Dooley gave you a topple. Jordan sure has amusing ways to knock a woman off her feet. Well, at least Dooley does.”

“Jordan owns this shop?” A contained breath burst from her lungs. “The other day Mac noticed a kite that we figured he had made. But I thought maybe he sold them to you.”

“Jordan made all the kites in this shop. Every last one of them.” His arm made a broad sweep of the surroundings. “Right pretty, aren’t they?”

Meara craned her neck, gazing around the room with a new appreciation. “You mean every single kite is handmade…by him?”

“None other. He’s got quite a talent, for a college professor.”

College professor.
She reeled again. What else would she learn about this man? Then her heart sank. No college campus was nearby that she knew about. “Then, he only lives here in the summer.” She faltered while finding the breath to speak. “I didn’t realize.”

“Oh, no. He doesn’t teach anymore. Something happened. He doesn’t talk about it.” He dragged his hand along his jaw and chin, then pressed his forefinger against his lips and shook his head. “Avoids the subject. I only figured it out putting bits and pieces together. Must have been a tragedy.”

Like a fist, pity and sorrow smacked her in the stomach. “A tragedy? I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine—”

“Nothin’ we need talk about. It’s his private affair, and I think that’s the way he wants it. I shouldn’t have said anything.” He shook his head. “Me and my big mouth.”

“Please, Otis, don’t worry. I won’t say anything.” With her finger, she made a small cross over her heart. “I promise.”

“Oh, I know you wouldn’t want to hurt him.” He quieted for a moment as if in thought. Then, rejuvenated, he clapped his hands and rubbed them together. “So, let’s get on with business. He told me to go up and take a look-see. I even dragged the wife upstairs. It’s not bad. Needs a cleaning, but otherwise, it just might work for you.” He beckoned her to follow.

With her mind still sorting Jordan’s possible tragedies, Meara stuck close to Otis’s heels. As she reached the back of the congested shop, she waved to Mac, and they passed through the outside doorway and up an enclosed staircase to the second floor.

Through the windows of the enclosure, Meara viewed the wide parking lot of the ferry landing and the lake beyond. With the official summer still a month away, the lot held many empty spaces. She guessed that in the thick of summer when the public schools let out, the slots would be packed with sightseers.

As they neared the top landing, sounds came from the open doorway. Stepping inside, Meara was greeted by a smiling, rosy face framed by a halo of white hair.

“So, this must be Meara and Mac.” The woman scurried across the room, one arm spread open wide and the other sporting a broom. “I’m Nettie, Otis’s wife. Come in and see the place.”

Meara gazed at the bright, cozy kitchen with apricot walls lined with cabinets, a long Formica counter and a small maple table surrounded by four chairs.

“The kitchen is nice,” Nettie said. “Lots of cupboards. Someone must have remodeled not too many years ago. Go ahead. Go inside.” She shooed them through the next doorway.

Meara stepped into the large living room. Tall windows in front looked out on the busy street below. An arch opened on the right to a hallway with a front and back bedroom and bath in between. Exactly what they needed…at least, for the time being.

“You’ve cleaned,” Meara said, looking at the gleaming table next to a love seat and the shiny windows.

“Oh, not much. Just dusted and swept,” she said.

Meara chuckled, adding, “And ran the vacuum, washed the windows and…” She stepped into the bathroom. “You cleaned the tub, sink, everything.”

“Makes a place look more homey when it’s not covered with dust.”

“Well, thank you so much.” Meara longed to give her a hug.

Otis stepped beside his wife and slid an arm around her shoulder. “I’ve got quite a woman here. Always doin’ somethin’ for someone. Over at the church, she’s got her nose in every committee. Visits the sick, cares for the altar, attends Bible study, works on the dinners. You name it.”

“You’re a blessed man, Otis,” Meara agreed.

“S’pose I am.” He gave Nettie a loving hug and strode across the room to the front windows.

“What do you think?” Nettie asked.

“I think it’ll do fine for us,” Meara said. “But I need to pick up a few things before we can move in. I’ll make a list of necessities before I leave.”

“Now, you check with us first,” Otis offered. “We got a pile of furniture sittin’ in the basement and all just lookin’ for a home.”

“He means that, Meara.” Nettie gave her a warm smile. “Such a pretty name,” she added.

“Thank you,” Meara said. “Both of you are too kind.” Recalling the years she had rarely heard a kind or loving word, she felt about to bust with gratitude. She looked across the room at Mac and a twinge of sadness ran through her. He’d never experienced a loving father or grandfather.

A sound drew her attention. Mac had his nose pressed against the single window that overlooked the other single-story shops. “Kites,” he called, pointing wildly through the pane.

Meara joined him and witnessed a multitude of kites sailing high above them from the small park between the road and the ferry parking lot. “I suppose you like this apartment, huh, Mac?”

“I like it,” he said, keeping his focus fastened to the view outside.

Meara turned to Otis. “Before I get too excited, I’d better hear what he’s asking for rent.”

“We didn’t discuss that, fully.” Otis pinched his lip. “He said the place has been sittin’ empty for so long that five dollars would be more than he was gettin’ before.” He chortled.

“Yes, but I expect it’ll be more than five dollars. I’d have to pay a fortune anywhere else.”

“I think two hundred a month should do it.”

Meara gaped. “Two hundred. No. You mean four hundred.”

“Cat’s whiskers,” Otis said with a grin. “Two hundred is about right.”

“Oh, I feel—”

“You feel like you’ll say, ‘It’s a deal,’” he said.

She nodded and smiled. “Mac, you think we should move in here?”

Mac giggled. “Cat’s whiskers,” he said.

Otis stepped back. “Oops! There I go again.”

“Otis Manning,” Nettie said, shaking her finger at him. “I’d better wash both your mouths out with soap.”

Bubbling with giggles, Mac hurried to Otis’s side and wrapped his arm around him. “Both get our mouths washed out, don’t we?”