A Wish for Christmas (7 page)

CHAPTER THREE

D
AVID KNEW THEY WEREN’T MAKING NOISE ON PURPOSE. THEY weren’t intentionally trying to drive him crazy. But how long did it take for three people to eat breakfast and leave the house, for goodness’ sake?

He lifted his head and peered at the clock on the nightstand. Half-past eight. If he were still in the army, that would be . . . the middle of the afternoon.

But he wasn’t a soldier anymore. He wasn’t running on the army’s schedule. He wasn’t on any schedule. All he wanted to do was sleep, to sink into blessed, unconscious oblivion.

Was that so much to ask?

Obviously it was, he realized as the door opened a crack, and his father stuck his head inside.

“Oh, you’re awake. I thought you were still sleeping.”

“I want to be,” David mumbled.

“Sorry. I just wanted to see if you needed anything before we leave for church. There’s some coffee left. Want a cup?”

“I can get it for myself later, Dad. Thanks.”

His father paused and glanced at his watch. “The service doesn’t start till ten. Want to come? We can wait for you.”

David shook his head. “No thanks. I’m just going to hang out here.”

“Okay, sure. See you later.” Jack nodded and closed the door.

David sank back into the pillows. A few minutes later he heard the sounds of the front door closing and his dad’s pickup driving away.

He was glad his father hadn’t tried to persuade him. It was funny how fighting in a war zone had made him more inclined to think about spiritual things, to even say a prayer from time to time. But less inclined to go to church. Maybe it was because he just didn’t like the idea of struggling with the walker, everyone turning to look at him.

He wasn’t ready for that.

The house was so quiet. He could hear squirrels running around on the flat roof above his room, and water dripping into the kitchen sink.

He didn’t think he would fall asleep again, but he did. Then suddenly, he woke up.

Someone down at the tree farm was ringing the bell for service. It had been ringing a lot this weekend, ever since his father put it back together the day after Thanksgiving.

David checked the clock. Ten thirty. The family wouldn’t be back until at least noon. The customers would have to wait until then. He sure couldn’t run out there to sell Christmas trees.

The bell stopped. Then started again. David pulled a pillow over his head, but it was impossible to block out the noise. Finally, he gave up. The ringing had stopped but it was too late; he couldn’t sleep anymore.

He sat up and flipped off the covers, feeling a sharp pain in his hip that radiated down his entire leg. He took a deep breath, then leaned over and grabbed the support he always had to wear now on his right leg due to the numbness in his foot. He strapped it on grudgingly. He knew it helped some, but he hated it, a daily reminder first thing in the morning that his body was damaged—probably irreparably.

The custom-fit device was state-of-the-art, made of two thin, light plastic pieces that fit the front and back of his foot and lower leg, secured with Velcro straps. A thin layer of plastic covered the bottom of his foot, holding it at the proper angle. Since the nerves in that foot had gone numb after his last hip surgery, his body was no longer able to do this. So if, and when, muscle control in that area came back, his foot would not be damaged by dragging it.

The house felt chilly. He pulled sweats over his boxers and T-shirt, then peered at his face in the bathroom mirror. He needed a shave but didn’t feel like bothering. He splashed his face with cold water and brushed his teeth. His army buzz cut had grown out, and his thick, dirty blond hair needed a real haircut, but he hadn’t made it yet to the barber.

Out in the kitchen, he found the coffee and fixed a bowl of cold cereal. Katie’s brand. So sweet it made his teeth ache, but the box and bowl were right on the table. Proximity was all these days.

He picked up a few sections of the newspaper, balanced them on the walker, and ambled into the living room.

He was just about to sit down when a knock sounded on the front door. These people wanted their Christmas trees. They didn’t care how rude they were.

David decided to just ignore it. They would go away eventually, like the bell ringers. Still, curiosity made him peer out the window to get a look. He tried to step back quickly but it was too late.

She had seen him.

Christine. She was at the door.

What was she doing here?

She knocked again, harder this time. Then she called out to him. “David? Are you there? It’s just me, Christine.”

Just
Christine? The two words were totally contradictory. At least, by his definitions.

He let out a long breath and stood up straight. Would she go away if he said he wasn’t feeling well? Doing that meant he would have to talk to her, through the door. That seemed childish, weak. He didn’t want her to think he had turned into a complete invalid.

At least he was dressed, sort of. He looked down at his bare feet and wished he had put on shoes. Too late now.

He had to face her sooner or later. It was probably better to get this over with. Like yanking off a bandage. He looked like a slob, but maybe that was better, too.

“Just a minute. Be right there,” he called back.

He smoothed his hair down with his hand and headed for the door. He had been to war, for Christmas’ sake. He had fought in battles with bullets whizzing by his head and mortar explosions. But he suddenly felt he would rather face enemy gunfire again than open that door and face her.

You can do this, he coached himself. It’s
just . . .
Christine.

David settled the walker to one side of the door, then pulled it open. She stood in the doorway a minute and stared, taking him in from head to toe.

It was just for an instant—a heartbeat, really—before her features relaxed into a smile. But that single, swift look spoke volumes. His appearance had shocked her. He looked worse than he thought, her reaction said. Much worse.

He suddenly felt embarrassed. Why had he opened the door for her? He couldn’t remember now.

“Hey, David. I hope you don’t mind me dropping by like this. I was on my way to town and I wanted to say hello. I called a few times, but I kept missing you.”

“Yeah . . . I know. Sorry about that.” David didn’t know what to say. If she suspected that his father had been making excuses for him, she hid it well.

“You’re up and around, I see,” she said cheerfully. “That’s good, right?”

“I’m pretty mobile with this thing.” He slapped the side of the walker, which felt like a metal cage about then.

“How do you feel?” she asked, her voice low and sincere.

“Oh . . . coming along. I had a few operations. On my legs mostly.” He wanted to slap himself for going into that. She didn’t need to hear his medical history. He was starting to sound like an old man.

“Yes, your father told me. At a hospital in Germany, right?”

“That’s right. I was airlifted there after . . . after the army medical unit in Iraq.” He felt suddenly awkward, unsure of what to say or do next or how much to tell her. It had been a long time since he had been in the company of a girl.

He looked up and forced a smile. “You look great,” he said sincerely. She did, too. She hadn’t changed a bit. Tall and slim with long blond hair, pulled back today in a ponytail. She had the best smile. He’d always thought so anyway.

“How’s school going?” he asked her. A good topic to get into, instead of his ailments, he thought.

“School is great. I’m just finishing my course work. Next semester, I’ll be student teaching. Then I’ll graduate.”

She smiled at him, and he felt as if his heart stopped beating.

Or maybe it was just that feeling he got, staring into her very blue eyes. As if time just stopped.

She was prettier than he remembered. Beautiful, truly. Hard to believe now that back in high school, she had been his steady girlfriend. She only wanted to be with him, nobody else, though a lot of other guys had been after her. How had he been so lucky to have won her? What had she seen in him way back when? He had never been able to figure that one out.

“Sounds great,” he said finally. He nodded and took a breath. “Sounds like you found something you really like to do.”

“Yes, I did. I love teaching.”

“You always liked babysitting. I used to come visit and help you, remember?”

Christine laughed. “Yeah, I do. You’d get me into trouble with the parents, usually. It’s not quite the same thing, David. But I’ve always loved kids. I wasn’t sure when I first started college what I wanted to do. Somehow, though, it all fell into place. Now all I have to do is find a job once I graduate.”

She hadn’t mentioned anything about getting married this summer, he noticed. She had told him about her fiancé when he saw her last Christmas. He pushed that thought aside, unable to ask about those plans.

“So, four years,” he said. “That went fast.”

“It did, didn’t it?” She sounded wistful.

He wondered if she was thinking the same thing he was. Thinking back to their senior year in high school, the year his mother died and he ran away from home right after school ended. He had been at odds with his father all through high school, all through his mother’s long battle with cancer. Then one day, they’d had the usual argument—he couldn’t even remember now what they’d been shouting about—and he just up and left. Stopped at the bank in town, withdrew the pathetic amount in his account, and hitched a ride out of town with just the clothes on his back.

“
Some
of it went fast,” he corrected himself. “The last year or so in the army . . . that didn’t exactly fly by for me.”

Her expression grew suddenly serious. “I’m sure it didn’t. You were very brave, David, to enlist and go over there.”

David felt the blood rush to his cheeks. Was he blushing, like a girl, from her compliment?

“Brave? More like plain ignorant. I wanted to do some good, I guess. I didn’t know what I was getting into. Nobody does. You have some idea of what it’s like, what you’re going to do, and what you’re going to feel. The training is supposed to prepare you. But when you get out there, it’s a whole different ball game. It’s nothing like you see in the movies—or even on the news. There’s just no way to imagine it. . . .”

He took a breath, realizing he was going off on a tangent.

“I don’t think I could imagine it.” Christine’s voice was soft, understanding, the way it always had been.

He didn’t know what to say. He met her warm eyes and looked away.

This was too hard. He didn’t want to see her. Not like this. She only came because she felt sorry for him. She was so good-hearted. That was one of the things he had loved about her.

“Listen, you must be tired.” She leaned over and briefly touched his arm. “I just wanted to say hello.”

David nodded, staring down at the place where she’d touched him. He felt it deep inside, that brief connection. It made him realize suddenly how much he had lost.

“I am tired. It’s hard to stand for a long time like this, talking. I think you’d better go,” he said harshly.

He felt startled at the sound of his voice, the cold tone he had suddenly taken with her. What had come over him? He couldn’t control his anger sometimes; it just burst out. Like a gunshot.

Maybe she didn’t mean to react, but he saw her move back, her expression frozen. Oh, for crying out loud. Now he had scared her. She was going to think he’d gone nuts or something.

“Thanks for stopping by. It was good to see you. Really,” he added in a quieter voice.

“It’s good to see you, David. I’m glad you decided to answer the door.”

“I’m glad I did, too.” He sighed and looked at her. He wasn’t entirely. Half of him was glad. The other half felt like a dagger was plunged into his head. She was so pretty, it almost hurt to look at her.

She seemed about to go. He didn’t want her to. There were things he wanted to say to her. Things he had thought about for months, imagining a day when he would be with her again. Alone, just talking together, the way they were right now.

“Listen,” he said quickly. “I wanted to tell you something if I ever got the chance. . . . I really liked those letters you wrote to me. They were really good. I mean, it helped a lot, hearing from someone at home.”

He stopped, unable to say what he really meant. That he had lived for her letters. That he read them over and over again and carried them in the pocket of his flak jacket. Right over his heart.

Christine didn’t answer, just smiled at him, a soft look coming over her eyes. “That’s okay. I wanted to stay in touch. I said I would write, remember?”

She had promised when they had seen each other last year, but he hadn’t been sure she would. Maybe her fiancé wouldn’t like the idea of it, David had thought, or maybe she would just forget after a while. But she did write. Very faithfully, too.

“Of course, I remember. It’s just that . . . well, you didn’t have to. I mean, we hadn’t been in touch for years, and I just came to see you out of the blue last winter and said, ‘Guess what, I’m shipping out to Iraq next week,’ ” he tried to make a joke out of it, but he could tell it wasn’t coming out right. “Someone else would have said, ‘Well, good-bye and good luck, pal.’ They wouldn’t have gone to all that trouble.”

She didn’t answer for a minute. He thought she looked a little embarrassed. Had something he’d said upset her?

“I liked reading your letters, too,” she said finally. “They were very descriptive. Lots of good stories. It helped me understand a little of what you were going through.”

She glanced at him but he didn’t answer. He had wanted her to know what he was going through, what he saw and how he felt over there. He had poured out his heart to her, as well as he could. He’d never been a great student or very good with words.