A Gift for All Seasons (22 page)

He covered her hand with his, his fingers bumping over her knuckles and a gentle smile curving his lips, even as apology swam in his eyes. “This habit you have of always seeing the good in people? Really annoying.”

She forced herself to smile back. “So I’ve been told,” she said, straightening when she heard the bathroom door bang open, followed by Lili charging down the hall.

“Did you wash your hands?” Patrick asked.

“Uh-huh. See?” She held them out. Presumably to show they were still wet. Then they resumed trimming the tree, as though everything was hunky-dory when everyone in the room knew it wasn’t. April could only guess what was going through Patrick’s head, although his seeming reluctance to look at her for more than a second or two—when before he’d had no problem telegraphing exactly what he was thinking—told her everything she needed to know.

At last the tree was done, a bright spot of magic in the cramped little room, and, after a few minutes of well-earned tree worship, Patrick whisked away a protesting Lili to put her to bed. Her chest tight, April washed the mugs and set them in the drainer, then returned to the living room to straighten up the empty ornament boxes, collect a dozen scattered toys and return them to the wicker basket on the bookshelf beside the TV. A nice room, she thought, the mishmash of cast-offs and hand-me-downs somehow coalescing into something warm and appealing, despite the generic off-white walls and plain beige carpet remnant covering most of the worn wood floors.

And Lili was everywhere, from the plastic art easel set up in one corner to dozens of paintings and drawings tacked up on one wall, to a bright red beanbag dog taking up most of another corner, to the slew of Dr. Seuss hardbacks scattered across the coffee table, all of it shouting,
This is my life
.

First and foremost, this is who I am
.

Her hands like ice, April stacked the books, gathered her coat and purse, then sat on the edge of the same chair Patrick had been in earlier. The tree’s colored lights looked like melted gumdrops through her flooded eyes as she waited for him, fighting the urge to run.

But that would be rude. And very un-her. So she stayed, feeling her stomach turn inside out when she heard his footsteps coming down the hall. Seeing her with her purse and jacket, his brows crashed.

“You’re leaving?”

As she stood, a light snow began to tick against the windows. Heaven knew she’d given this thing her all. As had Patrick, more than either of them had probably thought possible a month ago. And the idea of giving up, of giving up on
him,
made her ill. Then again, she could still change her mind, couldn’t she? What was preventing her from dropping her things, taking his hand and leading him to his bedroom?

Then she felt it, like a hand on her shoulder, heard a voice whisper,
“Let go.”

She’d only wanted to bring him joy, not more stress. And she’d like to think she had, even if only for a while. But if the timing wasn’t right, it wasn’t right, and all the wishing in the world wasn’t going to change that. “I never meant to make things worse, Patrick. For either of you.”

“Damn, April—”

“So I think it’s best. That I leave.”

After a moment, he closed the space between them to pull her tight against his chest, rubbing his cheek in her hair. When she felt him swallow, she shut her eyes, still wishing...hoping....

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “So, so sorry. But please...” He took her face in his hands, ducking to meet her gaze, his own so tortured it tore her in two. “It’s not your fault.”

He’d never said he loved her. In fact he’d gone out of his way not to lead her on or fuel her dreams. Yet her hands fisted against the breath-stealing pain—no less excruciating because she’d known the blow was coming. How her heart was even still beating, she did not know. Or maybe it wasn’t, it was hard to tell, what with feeling like all the air had been crushed right out of her.

“I’m sorry, too,” she said, and he kissed her, killing her a little more before she pulled away, gathered her things and left. Miraculously she held it together while she drove, so she wouldn’t start bawling and drive off the road and get herself killed, no matter how much she didn’t much care right then if she lived or not.

And yes, she thought when she got back to the inn, sneaking in through her private entrance so she wouldn’t run into anybody, she was acting like a melodramatic fifteen-year-old. Since she’d never had a reason or the opportunity to act like a melodramatic fifteen-year-old when she
was
fifteen, she figured she was overdue. As long as nobody saw her, what difference did it make?

The light knock on the door to her den made her jump.

“April?” Mel said. “Come on, I know you’re home, I saw you pull in as I was walking out to my car.”

And of course she hadn’t
kept
walking.

“I thought you were spending the night at Patrick’s? Is everything okay?”

April opened her mouth to say
Of course it is, why wouldn’t it be?
except nothing came out except this hideous sound, like a wounded moose.

“That’s it, I’m coming in...”

Two seconds later she was wrapped in her cousin’s arms, blubbering for all she was worth.

Chapter Eleven

A
s the late December night swallowed up the dusk, Patrick stood at the end of the marina, Lili’s hand firmly grasped in his as dozens of brightly lit boats chugged past in the nautical parade, another St. Mary’s tradition going back twenty years or so and drawing more of a crowd every year.

Three days before Christmas. A week since April walked out of his apartment.

A week since he’d
let
her walk out, telling himself it was for the best, he should have never dragged her into this mess he called a life, anyway. That there simply wasn’t enough of him to go around.

And yet, when he’d spotted her and Mel at their booth in the town square earlier, heard her laugh long before he saw her, he’d felt sliced in two. When Nat had left them, there’d been pain, sure—of failure, of rejection. But to be honest there’d also been relief, that he’d no longer have to see the disappointment on her face, or feel the frustration that came from trying to revive something long dead. With April, though, there was just pain.

Like being ripped apart from the inside.

“Wondered where you’re gotten to,” his mother said as she squeezed in beside him to link her arm through his. He’d said little to his family other than it hadn’t worked out between him and April, and amazingly enough, they’d all kept their traps shut. Except for Luke, who’d suggested they go get wasted—apparently he was having woman troubles, as well—and Neil and Frannie had doled out nearly identical “You’re an idiot” looks that had almost made him laugh.

But other than giving him a hug, his mother had remained silent. Until now, he suspected. He also figured that, as with some of the more gruesome remedies she’d inflicted on them when they were kids, the sooner he let her do what she was gonna do, the sooner it would be over and he could go back to suffering in peace.

“Right here, Mrs. Claus,” he said, and she chuckled. His father had been playing town Santa for as long as Patrick could remember. Even had a special pair of wire-rimmed glasses so the kids wouldn’t recognize him. Made a damn good one, too, perched on his gold-and-velvet throne in a heated, over-decorated tent in the square. He’d even tricked Lili tonight, Patrick thought, his gut knotting as he remembered that shared glance with his father when Lili really did ask him to bring her mother back.

“Saw April earlier,” Ma said, softly enough that Lili wouldn’t hear. “She looks more miserable that you do.”

And here it comes
. “I saw her, too. She looked fine to me.”

“Then I’m guessing you didn’t see her up close.”

He pulled in a breath. It didn’t help. “She broke it off, Ma—”

“Hey, Lili!” They turned to see his sister Frannie, practically swallowed up in a wooly hat and long scarf. “One of Uncle Neil’s buddies said we could go out on his boat to see the lights better! Wanna come?”

Lili spun around to Patrick, eyes huge, an irresistible grin lighting up her whole face. “Can I?”

For tonight, she’d been happy, perhaps because she’d finally been able to put in her request to Santa. If she missed April, she hadn’t said. And no way was Patrick going to bring up the subject.

“Oh, I suppose,” he said with an exaggerated sigh guaranteed to make her giggle. “But make sure she’s wearing a life jacket!” he yelled to his sister as the kid bolted away like a rabbit with a coyote on her tail. Laughing, Frannie grabbed Lili’s hand, yelling back they’d take her home with them when they were done, to pick her up later.

Patrick turned back to the water, leaning his forearms against the railing bordering the end of the dock. “And I smell a setup.”

His mother smiled. “I prefer to think of it as God working out His purpose through us.”

Yeah, she would think that. “It would have ended, anyway. Between April and me.”

“Since you’d already predetermined the outcome, you mean?” When he tensed, she patted his arm and said, “I’ve watched you guys nurse a lot of heartbreaks over the years. Relationships don’t always work out, I get it. And sometimes, they shouldn’t. I get that, too. But I also know that when a breakup leaves both parties as unhappy as you and April seem to be, then something’s not right.”

“Ma—”

“Look, simply because Natalie left you high and dry doesn’t mean every woman will—”

“But April
did
leave.”

“And what did you do to stop her?”

“What makes you think there’s anything I could have done? Look, Lili’s going through all this crap about her mother, it just seemed best to call it off now. Before anyone got hurt.”

“Before you let yourself need her too much, you mean.”

His stomach clenched. “And you’re overstepping.”

“We’ve already established that. And unless you push me into the drink I’m going to continue to overstep because I love you. You deserve someone special in your life, sweetheart. You and Lili, both—”

“We’ve got you guys. We’re fine.”

“And you can’t keep leeching off of us forever, you know.”

Patrick jerked his head down so fast his neck popped. “Is that what you think I’m doing?”

“Actually, yes. I do. Because we’re safe, and we’re here, and it’s easy. And of course we’ll always
be
here for you and Lili. But honestly, Patrick—here this lovely, lov
ing
woman comes along, someone who clearly adores Lili
and
can put up with your chronic grumpiness, and you didn’t even think to fight for her? And don’t you shake your head at me, young man. I saw how you looked at April when you were over for dinner last week. More importantly, how she looked at
you
. And heaven knows I never saw Natalie look at you like that—”

“Ma. Please. Let it go, okay?”

He got maybe five, six seconds of peace before his mother withdrew her arm to rub his back. “You’re one of the bravest, most generous people I know, my love. But you’re also one of the most mule headed. And thank God for it, or there’d be a couple men who wouldn’t be alive right now. In fact, I can’t recall you ever backing down from a challenge, or giving up on something simply because there was a chance it wouldn’t work out.” She paused. “Or that you might get hurt. So how is this any different?”

Irritation heated his face. “How about, because someone else’s happiness is at stake here? Lili’s
and
April’s.”

“And your own?”

He looked away. “That’s not important.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, of course it is. Because Lili’s never going to heal until you do. What kind of example are you setting for her if you keep closing yourself off?”

Her cell phone buzzed. She dug it out of her coat pocket, extending it slightly to read the text. “Ah. Your father. Wondering where I am.” After texting him back, she slipped the phone into her pocket again and said, “You know, giving is all well and good, but the concept doesn’t work without someone to receive the blessing on the other end.” Palms up, she imitated a scale coming into balance. “Yin/yang and all that. Otherwise the giving goes to waste, doesn’t it?”

With that she pulled him down for a hug, then wove back through the crowd to find his father.

Thinking a triple dose of cod liver oil would have been preferable to that conversation, Patrick gave up his prime spot to another dad and his kids, then wandered back off the pier and toward the square, feeling adrift as he wended his way through the irritatingly jolly crowds. All of Main Street sparkled, ancient tinsel wreaths adorning the streetlamps like so many spunky old chorus girls brought out of retirement every year. Anchoring one corner of the square was his old parish church, that great-aunt in her conservative brown tweeds quietly reminding everyone what the fuss was really about. Should be, anyway. A weathered, life-size nativity scene graced the winter-withered lawn on one side of the church steps; above them, a warm glow beckoned from the open center doors, inviting passersby inside, even if only to peek at the “famous” stained-glass windows, a gift from some moneybags resident in the early 1900s.

It’d been years since he’d been inside any church, let alone this one, and he had no idea what led him to enter now. Nostalgia, perhaps. A yearning for that time Before, when everything had seemed so much simpler. Or perhaps it was the organ music—practice for midnight Mass, most likely.

Habit steered him to dip his finger in the font of holy water in the vestibule, to cross himself, to at least give a cursory nod toward the altar before slipping into a smooth, wooden pew near the back of the empty church. And indeed, he found the familiarity comforting, even if he was reminded far more of the shenanigans he and his siblings would get up to during Mass than any spiritual revelations he might have had. Inhaling the slightly musty, old church scent, he felt himself relax against the pew’s back—as much as he could, anyway—shutting his eyes and letting the music, and the solitude, wash over him.