Loving Care (16 page)

“Christie?”

Patrick’s voice roused her, and she looked at him, surprised her mind had drifted.

“I realize our thoughts are on Sean right now, but I have a question to ask you.” He faltered, lowering his head before raising it again to focus on her. “Something that’s been troubling me since yesterday, along with my worries about Sean.”

She felt a frown settle on her face, amazed he could think of anything but his child. “What is it?”

“I’d like to know what happened yesterday.”

“What do you mean?”

“What happened between us? All of a sudden…”

His voice trailed off as Christie’s thoughts struggled back to the conversation that seemed so long ago, yet had only been the day before.

How could she talk about it without letting him know how much she cared? The last thing in the world Christie wanted to do was gain Patrick’s pity when he learned his ex-wife had tumbled head over toes again.

“What happened?” he repeated.

She struggled over how to answer him. She’d already said too much the day before, and she didn’t want to go there today. “A reality check. That’s all.”

“A reality check? What does that mean? You told me that you cared. I know you worry whether or not we can make things work. Whether we can let go of the past. All I can say is I feel empty without you and I think you feel the same. Yesterday we were this close,” he said lining his index fingers side by side. “This close to resolving issues. This close to being honest about our feelings and fears. This close. Then without an explanation you turned me off. You turned cold.”

You turned cold.
She’d done it again just as she had years early. When Patrick needed her love and warmth to draw him closer, she’d become aloof and sent him away. She’d slept on her side, facing away from him. Rigid. Unloving. Would this always be the way she handled problems? Fear clouded her reasoning.

“I can’t talk about this now. Please.” She longed to wrap her arms around him and find some solace against his chest. “I have to think about this, Patrick, and right now all I can think about is Sean.”

Patrick’s face sagged, and he fell against the seat back. “I’m sorry. It was selfish of me to ask you now. Just know that I want…more than friendship. I want you by my side where you should have been all along. I’ve asked God to forgive me for what I
did to you. Now I’m asking you. Please forgive me. I can’t ask you to forget, but maybe someday the hurt will fade. Can you trust me, Christie?”

Tears welled in her eyes. Trust? The one thing she couldn’t promise, not after hearing him say he wanted her as a mother for Sean. What about loving her as a wife? Her mind rattled with questions. Did he love her for herself? So often she thought he did. Then, moments came when she knew he didn’t.

“Trust is difficult,” she said finally. “I’m trying to do that. Trying with all my heart.”

“That’s all I can ask,” he said, sadness flooding his face.

“No. You can ask me to be with you through Sean’s illness.”

He lifted his downcast eyes. “Will you?”

“Yes. That, I can promise.”

B
efore visiting hours began Saturday morning, Patrick and Christie rode the elevator to Sean’s room. Patrick hesitated outside the door, seeing a doctor hovering above Sean.

He gave a rap and stepped inside, his gaze riveted on Sean’s mottled face. “Is something wrong?” He stopped at the edge of the bed while Christie clutched his arm.

The doctor—one Patrick had never seen before—turned to face him. “Are you the boy’s father?” the physician asked.

“Yes,” he said, extending his hand.

The doctor grasped it in a firm shake.

Noticing the man’s serious face, Patrick’s pulse jolted. “What’s wrong?”

“Your boy’s not doing as well as we’d hoped.”

“What happened?” Patrick asked, hearing his voice raise in pitch.

“He had a seizure early this morning.”

“Seizure?” Panic rolled over Patrick like a truck.

“Oh, no.” Christie clutched his arm in a vicelike grip. “What kind of seizure? What’s—”

“It was minor. It’s caused by the fever. We’re waiting for the report on the culture so we can ascertain the most effective medication for this particular bacteria.”

Anger charged past Patrick’s panic. “Where’s Dr. Kedar?”

“He’ll be in later this afternoon.” The doctor stepped back and regulated the IV drip. “Your son will be fine. Seizures happen occasionally with high fevers. It’s nothing to worry about.”

“Nothing to worry about. That’s easy for…” Patrick felt Christie’s fingers press into his arm, and he lowered his voice.

“I’ll call the lab again,” the doctor said as he headed through the doorway.

Patrick stood frozen to the spot. Fear and frustration tore through him as his gaze shot to Sean, lying deathly quiet, his arms bound to the bed. Patrick jabbed at the straps. “I know this is for his safety, but I hate this.”

“He’d pull the needle out if they didn’t do something, Patrick.” She wrapped her arms around his waist from behind, and he could see her looking at Sean around his back.

Her touch filled him with hope, and he pivoted to face her. Tears pooled in her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. Patrick gathered her into his arms, and she pressed her head against his chest, silent tears turning to soft sobs. He found comfort for himself in her sorrow and rested his cheek against her hair, drawing in the lemony scent of her shampoo and a whisper of sweet perfume.

He held her close, turning so his gaze lingered over his child’s face, mottled by fever and sickness. “Pray with me, Christie.”

She nodded and lifted her chin to face him.

“Heavenly Father,” Patrick said, his voice hushed, “keep Sean in your loving care and bring him back to full health, if it’s Your will.” He said the last four words, then sent a counter thought. “And please, Lord, let it be Your will.”

“Amen,” Christie said, easing away to move nearer to Sean. She leaned over the bed railing and kissed his cheek.

Patrick’s emotions overflowed. Her compassion for his son rocked him to the core. No matter what she said in words, he knew the truth through her actions. And that’s all he needed to know.

Christie moved aside and sank into a chair beside the bed. Patrick pulled another near hers, and they sat in silence, waiting for the doctor, waiting for Sean to open his eyes. His tiny chest rose and fell in uneven breaths, and Patrick returned to his prayer, this time silently.

When he refocused, his gaze settled on Christie’s face. Strain and anguish pulled at her features as he knew they did on his own. If nothing more, this horrible situation shed light on his situation with Christie. He needed her, not for Sean, but for himself.

His thoughts settled on First Corinthians. God’s description of love.
Love is patient, love is kind. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails.
He’d gone wrong years ago. He’d been impatient and unkind. He’d lacked trust and hope. He’d failed miserably, but not today. Today he knew what love was, not just from God’s Word, but in his heart.

Christie knew it, too. Perhaps she always had, and he’d not given her a chance.

Patrick riveted his gaze to his son while moisture welled in his eyes. Sean looked so helpless, so small, so lifeless. His chest lifted and fell with each raspy breath. If he could, Patrick would willingly take the illness from his son and give it to himself.

“We have to think positively,” he said, surprised to hear himself speak aloud.

Christie reached over and touched his hand, drawing it to her face still damp with tears. She pressed her cheek against his knuckles, then kissed his fingers.

When she drew his hand away, he met her gaze. “Thanks for being here,” he said. “I can live with this rather than not have you at all.”

A jaw muscle twitched with his falsehood. Patrick had wanted more. No matter what had happened before, he wanted Christie again. He believed he would never find a woman more beautiful, inside and out. Her lovely face and slender frame tempted him, but more than that, she had a special spirit—generous and caring, sometimes too independent, too unbendable.

But he could live with that by harnessing his own need to control. These were attributes he’d never noticed in Christie years ago. Then she’d keep her feelings inside, afraid to let her needs show until they turned to bitterness.

But she’d lost her bitterness over the past weeks. She was still unbendable at times, but that’s what made her Christie. Spunk and spirit. He loved both sides of her. He had to face it. The day she’d admitted her part in their failed marriage and walked away had been one of the loneliest days of his life.

Looking at Christie now lifted his morale. With her hand enveloped in his, he counted the minutes until he heard footsteps. This time, Dr. Kedar entered the room.

Patrick leaped up. “I thought you wouldn’t be here until later today.”

“My plans changed,” he said, moving to Sean’s side. He listened through the stethoscope and checked Sean’s pulse. “Sean has bacterial pneumonia along with a staph infection. We’re changing the antibiotic to Vancomycin. That will make all the
difference. You’ll have a new boy in a couple of days.” He grasped Patrick’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “I’m sorry. Until we get the lab tests, we do the best we can.”

“He’ll be fine?” Patrick asked.

“Perfect. The new med is on the way.”

“Thank you,” Christie said.

Patrick nodded, sliding his arm around Christie’s waist and drawing strength from her presence. With the Lord and Christie at his side, Patrick knew his life was on the mend.

Monday afternoon Christie pulled into the hospital parking lot. The day at Loving Care had dragged until she could scream. With her thoughts on Sean, she longed to be with Patrick at the hospital.

She hurried inside and took the elevator up to the fourth floor. At Sean’s doorway, she stopped, amazed to find her parents at his bedside. “What are you doing here?”

“Same as you,” Emma said. “We’re worried about the boy.”

“How is he?”

“Doing better,” Wes said. “The fever’s coming down.”

Relief washed over her. “Praise God.” She gripped her father’s arm. He shifted and wrapped it around her shoulder, giving her a hug. Her gaze took in the room. “Where’s Patrick?”

“We sent him down for some coffee. The poor boy needed a break,” Emma said.

Christie moved closer, noticing Sean’s eyelids flutter, then open. Her heart swelled at the sight.

“Chwistie,” Sean said, his voice as soft as a breeze.

“Hi, pal,” she said, drawing closer and clasping his tiny hand in hers. “Feeling better?”

He gave her a faint nod.

Christie studied the child’s face. His mottled look had faded to ivory with small rosy patches on his cheeks. The perspiration she’d witnessed days earlier had vanished.

“Water,” he said, shifting his head to look toward the tray nearby.

Christie eyed the IV still in his arm. “Can he drink liquids?”

Her mother handed her a paper cup with a straw. “The nurse said tiny sips.”

Christie cupped his head in her hand and lifted him until the straw met his lips. She lowered him again, set the cup aside and leaned down to kiss his cheek.

“I yove you, Chwistie,” he said.

She harnessed the emotion that pressed against her eyes. “I love you, too, Sean.”

Turning to hide her tears, Christie stepped away. She had to gain control otherwise she would scare the child.

Her mother grasped her hand and gave it a pat.
“Sean’s doing well. Why don’t you go down and find Patrick?”

She took another look at the boy before heading through the doorway. Amazed at the feelings that washed over her, Christie calmed herself in the hallway before taking the elevator to the first floor and turning toward the cafeteria.

When she came through the doorway, she bypassed the food stations and made her way into the dining room. Patrick sat alone, his back to her. She had to stop herself from running to him. When she reached him, she felt tears well in her eyes as she smiled in happiness. “He looks so much better.”

Patrick rose and took her hands in his. “I’m so relieved.”

“I know,” she said.

He pulled out a chair, and she sat, her fingers wrapped in his.

“I was surprised to see my parents up there, but I’m not sure why. They’re crazy about Sean.”

Patrick smiled, realizing she was too, but he wouldn’t push. Not anymore. “I know they are. You have good parents. Really special people.”

“Thanks,” Christie said. “They are. And how’s your dad doing? I’m sure it’s hard on him to be stuck at home.”

“I told him I’d bring him up if Sean doesn’t get home soon. But it looks as if he will.”

“Really? When?”

“Dr. Minkin was in a little while ago and said if
he keeps improving he can go home in a couple of days. Wednesday, he told me.”

“Wednesday. That’ll be something to celebrate.”

He glanced at his watch, checking the date. “Speaking of celebrating, your birthday’s in a few days.”

She shook her head. “I’m too old for birthdays. Thirty-six is nothing to celebrate.”

“Sure it is. We have two things to be happy about.”

“Three things,” she said, her face filling with emotion.

“Three?”

“I have to tell you something,” Christie said.

“Tell me something?”

“It’s about Sean.” She wove her fingers between Patrick’s and cupped them with her other hand. “I’ve tried to push him away. You know that. I’m constantly reminding myself he’s your son and another woman’s child. I can’t say I’m free from resentment, but these past days, seeing him this way, I don’t care whose child Sean is. He’s an innocent beautiful boy, and I love him, Patrick.”

Tears misted her smiling eyes—tears of happiness and revelation, Patrick knew. Joy sprang to his heart, hearing her words, and he leaned toward her and kissed her cheek. “Thank you,” he whispered.

Though he’d seen her compassion and tenderness long before she would admit it, hearing the words wrapped him in a soothing balm.
Thank You, Lord.
He sent his praise heavenward, knowing God was in charge and all things happened for His purpose, just as Emma had reminded him.

Patrick stood in the living-room doorway, watching his father play with Sean. All his prayers had been answered, and though Sean was still a little peaked, his energy was back and he’d run around the house as he had before he became ill. Seeing his father in good spirits with color in his face was another gift that the Lord had given him.

Patrick thought back to the troubles in his life. He’d not handled them well, and he couldn’t excuse them away. Yes, a mother was important. He’d missed having one, but he’d allowed the absence of a female in his life to let him give way to morbid fears and noxious doubts that had grown into monsters.

Hope. Patience. Forgiveness. The Lord had led him back to the living, and in the past months, he’d begun to feel whole again. Whole and ready to move ahead.

“Are you sure you can handle this boy, Dad?” he asked from the doorway.

“Sure as sunshine. We’ll take care of each other.”

“I take care of Gwanpa,” Sean said, grinning from his pile of blocks on the floor.

“Then I’ll see you later.” Patrick stepped forward and gave Sean a squeeze. “You be good.”

“I be good,” he said.

Patrick grabbed his jacket and headed to his car, his feet sliding into the ruts of the frozen earth. He started the engine, then pulled the scraper from the back seat and chiseled at the ice beneath the crusty snow. Finished, he climbed in and rubbed his hands together, appreciating the heater’s warmth.

He’d asked Christie to house-hunt with him today, and she’d agreed. His heart skipped as he thought about the day. He’d found a place he liked not too far away from his dad’s and close enough to town for convenience. His only hope was that Christie liked it, too.

She was ready when he backed into her driveway. She waved from the doorway, and in a heartbeat, slid beside him before he could be a gentleman and open the door for her.

“Ready?” he asked, feeling a grin fill his face.

“You look like the cat who ate the canary,” she said. “What have you got up your sleeve?”

“Nothing,” he said, pulling his jacket sleeves open and shaking his arms. “Empty.”

She laughed, and Patrick’s stomach tightened as he felt amazement at his joy in their relationship now that it had become a solid friendship. Hope. Patience. Forgiveness. The words rang in his head like a litany.

As he drove, he described what he wanted in a house to Christie, hoping his needs were hers.

“You already know what you want. Why do you need me?” she asked.

He ignored her question and pulled up in front of the house for sale. The realtor met him at the door.

When they stepped inside, Christie paused. “It’s lovely, Patrick.” She headed for the stone fireplace, its broad mantel flanked by two windows that looked out to a landscaped lawn. “You’ll have to hire Annie’s husband to be your landscaper.”

“I already thought of that,” he said, beckoning her into the next room.

The realtor waited in the living room while they toured the house—dining room, large family kitchen, four bedrooms, and a family room with space for a computer desk.