The Plan (34 page)

Claire did her best to hide her disappointment. She knew he wasn't lying about being tired, but she wasn't quite ready to let him go for the night. Callum wasn't acting like his usual self and Claire had hoped, if they spent a little time alone, she could jostle him back into place.

“Sure. I'll head upstairs.”

Nora had shown Claire her room as soon as they'd walked in the door. Claire got the feeling she was silently laying down the ground rule that Claire would have her own room and not be sharing one with Callum.

Which, of course, was fine with Claire. She would never have expected to stay with Callum in his parents' home. It seemed inappropriate and rude. Plus, Callum and Claire weren't in the habit of spending the night together. She'd fallen asleep with him on his couch a few times and slept there until morning, but she and he had yet to fall asleep in his bed.

Most likely because they were yet to do
anything
in his bed.

She bent down and kissed him on the lips.

“I love you,” she said.

He nodded and, for a moment, Claire wondered if he was going to say anything back.

“I love you, too,” he finally whispered. And though Claire knew the sentiment was sincere, she felt a hesitation in his words she'd never sensed before.

If Callum wasn't himself the night before, he showed no signs of it in the morning. Claire was relieved to see the vivid smile lighting his face when she came down to breakfast the next morning.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” Callum said, as she walked into the kitchen. “We were beginning to make bets on whether you'd wake before noon.”

“My money was on one o'clock,” Patrick said, lowering the newspaper he was reading. “It's a good thing we hadn't finalized anything yet, as it's only…,” he glanced at his watch, “eleven twenty-four.”

Claire sat down at the table, which was full of bacon, sausage, eggs, baked beans and Irish soda bread. She took in the scene, startled by the amount of food.

“Are you having company for breakfast?” Claire asked, turning to Nora, who was at the stove, already preparing the evening meal, knowing everyone would walk in the door, famished, when they returned from church.

“This is how my mam cooks anytime I'm home,” Callum said, sticking a piece of bacon in his mouth. “Isn't it grand?”

Claire, who was used to nothing more than raisin bran and coffee in the morning, had to smile at the smorgasbord in front of her. Her waistline couldn't afford for her to eat like this forever, but for the next couple of weeks, she felt she could make the exception.

“Baked beans for breakfast?” Claire said, startled to see them on the table.

“Callum told me, on our first trip to America, that people there only eat baked beans at barbecues. Americans don't know they're missing out on a wonderful breakfast treat.”

“Apparently not,” Claire said, spooning a plentiful serving onto her plate.

“So, the plan for today is that we hang around here all day,” Callum said. “I have a few presents that still need to be wrapped.”

“And I could use some help in the kitchen, if you don't mind, Claire,” Nora said.

“Of course not,” Claire said. “I love to cook.” And she did, though she had a feeling Nora needed no help preparing the meal. She wanted to spend time with Callum's girlfriend and it was the worst-kept secret in Ireland.

“Enjoy your cooking with my mam,” Callum said. “You'll be happy to know she doesn't let me do any of the cooking while I'm here.”

“Does he scare you, too?” Claire asked his mom.

“Terrifies me,” Nora said, with a wicked grin. “I taught him to be self-sufficient, but my heart couldn't take him in the kitchen.”

“I'm right there with you,” Claire said, putting a forkful of eggs into her mouth.

“What are you going to do, Dad?” Callum asked.

“Read my paper,” Patrick said, not lowering the news this time as he spoke.

“Well, then, I guess I'll leave you to it,” Callum said. He paused for a moment, glancing at Claire, before he hopped off the chair and onto the floor. “I'll be in my room if anyone needs me.”

He began to scoot out of the kitchen without looking at Claire again.

“Hey,” Claire said softly, touching his shoulder.

He looked up at her right away, but his face was impassive.

“I love you,” she mouthed.

This time he didn't hesitate. “I love you, too,” he mouthed back, as he used his arm to pull himself out of the room.

Claire watched him go. She would be lying to herself if she didn't say it was a jolting sight to see Callum on the ground like that. It made him seem so much more vulnerable. So much more
disabled.
She hated to think that way. In America, he was so sure of himself, so confident. And yet, bumming around on the floor, as Callum called it, well, it was different. It was going to take Claire some time to get used to it.

As if reading her mind, Nora broke the silence.

“You're not used to seeing him like that,” she said. It was a definite statement and not a question.

Claire paused, unsure how to respond. Finally, she decided honesty was the best choice.

“No.”

“We weren't used to seeing him in his chair so much, or walking, the first time we came to America. It seemed odd to us, just as I imagine seeing him get around on the ground is to you.”

Claire nodded.

“You don't need to be ashamed of feeling uneasy. Callum is not your typical man, in any sense of the word. With him, you get immense strength and confidence and, dare I say it as his mam, sex appeal.”

“Nora, will you, please?” Patrick bemoaned from behind his paper.

“I'm merely saying I would understand why Claire might see a dichotomy between the Callum she knows in America and the one he is here. He could, of course,” Nora said, looking back at Claire as she stirred something in a giant pot, “continue to act, while he's here, as the Callum you know in America. He would do it, if it made you more comfortable. But…” Her voice trailed off for a moment and then regained its composure. “I get the sense you want to know the true Callum, with all his faults and limitations, and not just the one he portrays on his best days. Am I right?”

Claire nodded. Nora was right. She did want to know every aspect of Callum. Even the ones that might make her a little bit uncomfortable.

“My advice to you, Claire, having lived and loved Callum for all these years, is not to pretend something doesn't make you uncomfortable when it does. He'll see right through that. He's been down this road many, many times, with friends and extended family members and school mates, even employers. And not only will he see right through it, he'll start not to trust your feelings when you say what they are. That would be the beginning of the end and I get the sense you have no interest in reaching the end, do you, dear?”

“Nora,” Patrick warned, from behind his paper.

“Okay, okay,” Nora said, returning her attention to her pot. “I'll stop now. Enjoy the rest of your breakfast, Claire. There's no need to hurry. But, when you're done, I could really use some help preparing a salad for tonight.”

Claire nodded and poured herself a cup of coffee from the pot on the table. Nora was right. She and Callum hadn't kept any secrets from each other up until this point. She had no intention of keeping them now.

If she thought about it, the whole situation was really about nothing more than geography.

Considering all she'd overcome thus far in her life, geography was something she could handle.

•  •  •

It turned out, handling Callum on the floor proved even easier than she'd expected. Once she got used to seeing him there, which only took a few hours, Claire barely gave it a moment's thought.

“You look beautiful,” Callum said, as Claire walked into the living room in the dress she was going to wear to church. He was in a suit, which made him look even more handsome in Claire's eyes, and back in his chair.

She didn't comment on the chair, but he did.

“The floor would cause me to get lint on my suit,” he said and Claire merely nodded in response.

“Everyone ready?” Patrick said, pulling on his winter coat in the hallway.

“Yes,” Nora said, hurrying into the living room, already wearing her coat. “Come on. Come on. If we don't get there early, we won't get a seat.”

Claire grabbed her coat off the chair and had to hurry to catch up with Nora, Patrick and Callum, who were already out the door and heading to the van.

“Um, do I need to lock the door or something?” Claire called after them.

“No, dear,” Nora said, opening the passenger-side door to the van. “We don't do that here.”

•  •  •

The church service was beautiful and Claire found herself tearing up at more than one part. Callum squeezed her hand numerous times during the program, a silent reminder he knew the holiday was going to be difficult for her, but he was by her side.

Claire wasn't just teary-eyed over her lost family. She felt her eyes fill with tears over the beauty of the Irish music in the large cathedral. It all seemed so peaceful, so sacred. It was how Christmas Eve should feel in church and Claire was very, very grateful she was getting to spend it here.

When the family returned home, they immediately convened to the dining room. The children, who were fidgety little munchkins in church, were wearing out and more than once, Claire had to gently lift Keara's head from the table, in order to keep her hair out of her soup.

“We'd better get them to bed,” Fin said, once the meal was complete, but dessert had not yet been served. “They'll be up early enough tomorrow.”

Claire offered to help him carry the children to bed, seeing as Jilleen was too pregnant and Callum wasn't able to help.

“Oh, you don't have to,” Fin said.

“It's okay,” Claire said, lifting Keara to her hip, as the girl rested her head, sleepily, on Claire's shoulder. “I'd like to.”

Fin nodded in agreement as he hefted Hugh onto his shoulder. The kids were all going to be sleeping in one of the guest rooms upstairs, next to where Claire was staying. One of the nice things about Callum's parents' home was it had plenty of rooms. It fit Callum and Claire and his brother's entire family with ease. They probably could've had about three more families in here and it wouldn't have seemed snug in the least.

Claire carried Keara up the stairs, remembering, fondly, how many times she'd carried her own children to bed. None of them had ever grown too heavy for her to do that, not even Luke, as he'd been small for his age. Claire was grateful for that small blessing. She would've been so sad on the day she went to lift one of them and realized she no longer could.

Claire gently placed Keara in her bed and pulled the covers up to her chin. The girl looked so peaceful in her sleep, but then, didn't all kids? Claire used to joke to Jack, “I sure do love our kids when they're sleeping.”

She bent down to kiss Keara on the forehead before she left the room. Jilleen and Fin were so blessed to have such beautiful children. She was pleased with herself that she felt no jealousy at that thought. Just joy. Joy that beautiful children still existed in this world. And, for this moment, she was given the gift of being with them.

•  •  •

Christmas morning came all too quickly. Claire felt she'd just closed her eyes when she heard the squeals of little children and tiny footsteps on the hardwood floors.

For the briefest of moments, right before she opened her eyes, she wanted to say, “Jack. Tell them it's too early.”

But within a second, she knew there was no Jack. Those children she heard weren't hers. They were Callum's nephews and niece. They were someone else's little angels, anxious to see what Santa had brought them.

Claire didn't want to cry. Truly, she didn't. And, after carrying Keara to bed last night, she'd thought she'd be able to handle this morning with minimal agony.

But she'd been wrong. Her chest hurt. Her eyes stung. She wanted to go back to sleep and find it had all been a dream. Her children weren't gone. They were downstairs, waiting for her to descend the steps, so they could begin to open her gifts.

She put her head into her pillow and began to cry, as quietly as she could. She didn't want any of the others to hear her. She certainly didn't want to put a damper on any part of their holiday.

She wasn't sure how long she wept. She knew, by the sounds of talking and the screams of joy from the children downstairs, the present unwrapping had commenced. She wiped the tears from her face and wondered how she was going to go down there and act as if nothing were wrong.

There was a slight knock and then the door to her room opened ever so slightly.

“Claire?” The voice was Nora's. “Can I come in?”

Claire wiped at her face again and sniffled as quietly as she could.

“Okay.”

Nora tiptoed into the room, as if she was afraid of waking someone, though Claire didn't know who that could be. By the noise level, it seemed everyone else was up and having a wonderful time.

“Callum asked me to come check on you. He has a difficult time on our stairs. It seems he's not as spry as he was as a child.”

Claire nodded. “I'm okay. I'll be down in a bit.”

Nora walked the rest of the way into the room and sat on the end of Claire's bed. “You don't have to come down until you're ready. And, if you're never ready today, that's okay, too.”

“Oh, no,” Claire said, mustering as much strength as she could. “I'll be down. I just need to get my act together.”

Nora sat silent for what, to Claire, seemed like an endless amount of time. So endless Claire began to wonder what the woman could possibly be thinking.