Loving Care (10 page)

In a heartbeat, Christie rose and grabbed her bag. “Bring Sean to Loving Care in the morning,” she said, and vanished through the doorway.

Helpless, he watched her go.

She didn’t trust him, and he feared she never would.

“C
hristie.”

Christie looked up to see Bev Miller standing inside the doorway.

“Could I talk with you a minute before I leave?”

“Sure.” She studied the woman’s troubled face, wondering if she were planning to ask for time off. Christie’s day had already been stressful. Patrick had dropped off Sean without completing the paperwork for his enrollment and said he’d come by after his hospital visit. Since they would be closing soon, he’d be showing up any minute to pick up Sean.

“This is just a question,” Bev said stepping toward Christie’s desk. “My mom is moving back to Loving to be closer to us. She misses the grandchildren. Anyway, she’s just retired from nursing,
and I wondered if you might be able to add someone here, part-time maybe, with those qualifications.”

Christie’s mind filled with questions. If Bev’s mother needed income, why had she retired? “She needs to work?” Christie asked, forming the question so it sounded tactful.

“No. She has a good pension, and she’s only a few years from social security. I’m just worried she’ll have too much time on her hands. She’ll need something to do with herself, and I’m thinking ahead.”

Christie got the silent message. “She’ll be living with you?”

“For a while until she gets settled. I just hate to see her moping around, bored out of her mind. Not to say she won’t be a help with the kids. Since I’ve been alone, it’s—”

“You don’t have to explain. I understand.” The vision rose in Christie’s mind. If she and her mother lived together, it would be a disaster. Not that she didn’t love her mother with all her heart, but Emma’s directive nature and Christie’s stubborn one would be at blows in a heartbeat.

“So, you’re thinking ahead. When is your mother coming to Loving?”

“In a few months. I know the question is premature, but I’ve been wondering.”

Christie smiled as the expanded facility came to mind. “We’re growing, Bev. Your mother could be
a nice addition to the staff. I’d love having a nurse around. Why not talk with me after she gets here?”

Bev backed toward the exit, her face less stressed. “Thanks. I really appreciate it.” She gave a wave and hurried through the doorway, her shoulder bumping Patrick as he stepped across the threshold into her office.

“I’m late,” he said. “I hope I didn’t keep you.”

Her chest tightened as he strode into the room, his broad shoulders emphasized by the horizontal stripes of his knit shirt.

“You didn’t keep me,” she said, avoiding his eyes. “How’s your father?”

“So far, so good. They did a triple bypass today, and he’s doing okay. It saved his life. The surgeon said the stress on his heart would have been too much for him.”

“Then everything happened for the best, even with the scare.”

“God works wonders,” Patrick said.

She tried to look the other way, fearing he’d sense her riled emotions. Her pulse surged at the memory of his gentle kiss—his mouth against hers, so wonderfully familiar.

Averting her gaze, she rose and pulled out the enrollment forms. “You can sit at the worktable there if you like and complete these.” She extended the forms, her free hand gesturing toward the table. “Or just bring them back in the morning.”

“Thanks. I might as well do them here.”

She felt the papers leave her hand, and she moved across the room to the worktable and rolled the blueprints into a cylinder, clearing a space for him. Seeing the blueprints was a constant irritation. She had finally called the bank and set up the appointment, but she’d lost her spirit for the addition. Was it Patrick’s caution that had dampened her enthusiasm? Why should she listen to him? Even the possibility irked her. Christie stiffened her back, determined to call Jeffers tomorrow and get things rolling.

Patrick adjusted a wooden chair in front of the cleared spot at the table. He pulled a pen from his shirt pocket and leaned over the forms. As he worked, Christie watched from behind, enjoying the sight of his back straight and tall. He shifted his weight to pull his wallet from his pocket—his insurance information, she guessed—and she admired his strong hands fumbling with the leather, the familiar movements of his lean body.

Refocusing and bending over her own paperwork, Christie struggled to concentrate. Without permission, her eyes shifted toward Patrick, her thoughts drifting to years earlier before settling on yesterday, then today. The future—she couldn’t face it. Not yet.

The chair legs scraped against the flooring, and Patrick’s shadow fell across her desk. For the first time, she directed her gaze to his. Her hand trembled as she reached for the documents, then she pulled her attention downward and scanned the forms.

“They look fine, Patrick.” She wanted to press her hand against her chest to hold her heart in place. The beating rang in her ears.

Patrick reached behind him and pulled out his wallet again. “I’ll pay you now for the first month. Is that right?”

“That’s fine,” she said. “You can read your options in the information sheet I gave you. Credit cards are welcome, too.”

“I have cash,” he said, handing her the bills.

Their voices sounded so businesslike—such a paradox from the day before when she had curled up beside him on the sofa, his hand on hers, his lips plying against her mouth. She couldn’t bear the loneliness that raced through her limbs and settled in her chest.

“I’m sorry for running off yesterday.” The sentence shot from her mouth, surprising her, but she’d said it and felt relieved.

Patrick’s face reflected his surprise at her apology. “I shouldn’t have done what I did without asking, Christie. It seemed so natural. So right.”

“Let’s not blame ourselves or each other. It happened. That’s the problem of getting too close. Since we have to see each other with Sean here, let’s make the best of it.”

He nodded. “That’s fair. I won’t let it happen again.”

“Good.” She said the word, but while her head agreed, her heart cried no. Fear pitted in her stom
ach. She was doing something she’d never thought possible. She was falling in love with Patrick all over again.

Patrick leaned back against the uncomfortable hospital chair, watching his father sleep. His color looked bad, and he’d seen the nurses check his vital signs too often for his comfort. But when he asked, they waved it off as normal.

The past week had dragged by. The hospital, the hardware store, the tension with Christie, it all seemed too much. He hated the way things had gone. Why had he kissed her? They’d just made strides toward friendship, and he’d botched it with his unharnessed affection.

He’d acted out of nostalgia. Familiar longings had risen from his bound desire. He hadn’t cared about a woman since Sherry died. But now, with Christie around again, everything seemed so good. So directed. So predestined.

He wondered if God were working in his life to bring him full circle. To turn him around and head him back in the right direction. Back home. Not Loving, Michigan, but to loving again. His first love. The love he had promised to cherish until death.

His heart had hardened over the past two years, but in the past weeks, it had opened like his father’s bypass, sending warm blood flowing through his veins again, allowing his heart to beat with hope.

In another half hour, he’d return to pick up Sean,
and he’d see Christie again. Each day he struggled to keep his distance, trying to be friendly rather than fawning. It all seemed so hopeless.

Sean’s smiling face jigged into Patrick’s thoughts. His son had adjusted well to Loving Care. He gave Christie credit for that. The first day when he stepped toward the door, his son had reached out for him, clung to his pant leg, breaking his heart. But despite Christie’s feelings about Sean, she’d opened her arms to his son, and before he’d closed the door the first day, he’d seen him in Christie’s arms, almost as if he’d already forgotten about his father.

Father.
The word roused him, and he rose, eyeing his dad again. He seemed too still. Fear charged up his spine. He stared at his chest, then the monitors. “Dad.” Patrick touched his father’s arm with a gentle shake. “Dad.” Panic flooded him.

“Dad!”

Please Lord. Not yet. Not now.

Christie checked her watch. Only a few children remained, and concern ruffled through her. Patrick was usually here by now. She eyed Sean playing, unaware that his father should have arrived a half hour ago.

When she heard the door bell, she rose and grasped Sean’s hand. Preoccupied with the blocks, he grumbled before following her. But the parent wasn’t Patrick. The telephone’s ring alerted her, and she swept Sean into her arms to catch the call.

She’d grown attached to the boy. He was no more loveable than the rest of the children, but he seemed special. As much as the “other woman” hurt, Sean was part of Patrick.

She lowered the child to the ground and grabbed the receiver. Patrick’s voice rasped with alarm.

“Christie. I’ve run into problems here, and I don’t want to leave.”

“What is it?”

“Dad’s had a cardiac arrest.”

“Oh, no,” she said, sorrow striking her. “Is he…?”

“No. They’ve resuscitated him, but he’s slipped back into some abnormal rhythm again. I don’t want to leave until I know he’s okay.”

Christie rubbed the back of her neck, feeling his fear. “I understand, Patrick. You should be there. What can I do?”

“I’ll give you my neighbor’s telephone number—the one who sits with Sean occasionally. Could you call her and see if she could pick him up. It’s late, but—”

“Patrick, stop worrying. I’ll take Sean home with me. You can come by whenever you feel comfortable leaving.”

“I can’t do that to you again, Christie.”

“Yes, you can.” She looked at the boy gazing at her with curious eyes. “Do you have a minute to talk with him?”

“Sure put him on.”

She handed the telephone to Sean. He jabbered about nonsensical things, but Christie knew Patrick would be comforted hearing the child’s voice.

After a moment, she took the phone and let Patrick get back to his father.

Christie looked down at the child’s curious face. “I guess it’s you and me, Sean.”

He looked at her. “You and me,” he said.

The next hour trudged by. She said good-night to her last parent and staff, locked the doors and headed home with Sean in a car seat she kept in a storage room for emergencies.

At home she occupied the boy with some toys she’d brought along from the center while she prepared dinner. Her gaze drifted to the clock, and when eight-thirty came, then eight-forty-five, she tucked Sean into her bed, read him a book, then sang him the lullaby she’d remembered at Patrick’s. Another came to mind, and she sang along, making up words when she couldn’t remember them. Soon the boy had drifted to sleep, and she rose, relieved.

She’d never experienced having children in her home. Yes, she cared for many at the center with many helpers and all the right equipment. At home, she faced a different situation. Sean had gotten under the sink and found some cleanser, he’d unloaded her cabinet of pans, and he’d dropped his shoe in the toilet. She made a horrible mother.

But Christie loved children, and she could adore Sean so easily if it weren’t for—

The doorbell rang, and she tiptoed from the room. When she swung the door open, Patrick stood there, his shoulders bent, his face strained, his eyes tired.

“How’s he doing?” Christie asked.

“Better.”

“I’m so glad. You look awful.”

“Thanks. It’s kind of you to say so.” He gave her a feeble smile.

She swung the door open wider.

Patrick came inside and crumpled into a chair. “I can’t take this stress much longer. If I had siblings…someone to spend time at the hospital, but I don’t, and I don’t want to leave Dad there without family.”

“I know. It’s difficult.” She had been family once. She would have been at Patrick’s side, or taken turns so they could each rest. Tension showed on his face, and her heart ached. “Is he conscious?”

“On and off. He’s sleeping a lot.”

“Can I fix you something to eat?”

“No. Thanks. The nurse gave me a sandwich while I waited.” His mouth curled faintly at the corners. “And some of that famous hospital coffee.”

“Are you sure? I can make you some fresh coffee.”

He nodded. “I need sleep, that’s all.”

“Sean just drifted off a few minutes ago.”

Patrick eyed his watch. “I hate to disturb him.”

“Once he’s sound asleep, he’ll probably stay that
way.” She moved closer. “Want to rest a while on the sofa? I’ll bring you a pillow.”

“You’re too good to me, Christie. I’d better stay awake, or you’ll never get rid of me.”

Part of her wished that were the case. She’d love to wake up in the morning and see Patrick’s face, his whiskers peeking from his chin, his hair tousled and his eyes heavy with sleep. The memories wrapped around her, dragging out a desire she’d kept bound inside her. She missed being a wife. She longed to be a mother. Even her endometriosis couldn’t dampen the feeling.

Patrick rose and gestured toward the hallway. “He’s in your room?”

“It’s right down the hall.” She led the way and stood in the doorway while Patrick lifted the boy in his arms and kissed the top of his head. Sean gave a faint moan, but remained asleep.

The scene touched her heart. Father and son. A love so pure and precious. She stepped back as Patrick maneuvered his weighted arms through the doorway.

At the front door, Christie put her hand on the knob and captured Patrick’s gaze. “You can’t go on like this. Let me take a turn.”

“You take a turn?” His eyes narrowed.

“Tomorrow after work, I’ll bring Sean to the hospital, and you can take him home while I sit with your dad. You need to spend time with your son, and you need to rest.”

“That’s kind to offer, but you haven’t talked with my dad in years and—”

“And it’s about time I did.”

He studied her, tenderness written on his face. “Are you sure?”

“You couldn’t stop me.”

Before she could think, Patrick leaned over and pressed his lips to hers. She opened her eyes and studied his tired but tender face. Without a moment’s hesitation, she lifted her hand to his roughened cheek and felt the growth of whiskers. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”