Loving Care (3 page)

“Hello, Patrick.” Before she let him respond, Christie shifted her attention to the boy. “Are you enjoying the kites?”

“That one,” the child said, pointing toward a box kite with multicolored sides bobbing in the air.

“That’s a nice one,” Christie said, unable to take her gaze from the boy. She’d seen pictures of Patrick when he was young and the child looked identical, except for his chin which seemed more peaked and lacked the hint of a dimple.

Patrick rested his hand on the child’s shoulder. “Christie, this is my son, Sean.” He sighed. “That’s why I wanted to talk with—”

“Hi, Sean.” Christie kept her back turned. She
didn’t want to hear the rest. She’d longed for a child throughout their seven-year marriage, but he’d opposed it.
Wait until we’re settled. Wait until we have a bigger house. Wait until we have savings. Wait. Wait. Wait.
Her life had been on hold, waiting for some undefinable goal that Patrick had firmly established.

The boy grinned at her, his eyes twinkling with curiosity. “Who are you?”

“Your daddy’s…old friend.” The word
daddy
wrenched her heart. Patrick with a son. Christie, childless.

The boy stared at her as he licked the edge of his cone.

“How’s your father, Patrick? I didn’t ask what’s wrong when we spoke before.”

“His heart. He’s had a couple of minor attacks. They’ve taken a toll on him.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Christie said.

“Thanks.”

Christie glanced over her shoulder to search for Jemma. She spotted her beside Ellie, holding an ice cream and catching the chocolate as it ran down her fingers. The unmerciful sun made eating the treat a challenge.

When Christie looked back, Sean was stopping a drip of his own while Patrick clasped a soggy cone holding untouched ice cream. A look of sadness had replaced his discomfort, arousing a new feeling in
Christie. Her self-pity faded to compassion. Patrick was raising the child alone.

Swallowing her prideful indignance, Christie tilted her head toward the boy. “This must be difficult.”

He shrugged. “At times, but a gift, too.” His eyes searched hers. “If I’d only known years ago—”

She raised her hand. “It’s too late for that.” Too late. The meaning pressed against her heart until it ached.

Jemma had moved closer, and when Christie noticed, she beckoned her to join them. “Patrick, I don’t think you know Jemma Somerville. Her husband owns Bay Breeze Resort.” She reached down to fondle Ellie’s head. “And this is Ellie. She’s one of my day-care children.”

Addled by the situation, Christie remembered the young boy. “Jemma, this is Sean, Patrick’s son.” Her voice caught in her throat.

Jemma greeted the child, then shook hands with Patrick, and when he knelt down to speak with Ellie, Jemma mouthed her concern. “Are you all right?”

Christie sent her a private look to indicate she was okay. But she wasn’t. Her heart felt crushed, and she wanted to pummel Patrick’s chest, to stomp her foot and demand her rights.

Rights? She had every right to have her own child. Milton had hinted at marriage more than once, but she’d steered him away from the topic, determined to remain single. Had she made a mistake?
She could change her way of thinking and become Mrs. Milton Garrison. Maybe that’s what she needed to do despite her beliefs that God did not bless a marriage after a divorce.

Patrick hadn’t noticed until too late that his ice cream had tilted on the cone. The melting glob slipped from its housing and dropped to the ground. “I didn’t want it anyway,” he said, shaking his head and pulling another napkin from his pocket to mop the mess from his hands, then retrieved the fallen glob and tossed it all into a nearby waste basket.

“Sorry,” Christie said, feeling responsible for the mishap.

“Not your fault,” he said.

Christie grasped Ellie’s hand, a defensive move on her part, she realized, but she needed to feel motherly and loved. “We’d better let you go.”

“Oh…then, I’ll call you sometime,” Patrick said as they moved away.

“Sure,” she said, wanting to say no, but how could she? He had every right to come back to Loving, and she’d have to learn to live with it.

W
ednesday, Patrick clutched the inventory clipboard and tallied the rows of hammers. He felt as if he’d been hit in the head with one since seeing Christie at the restaurant a little more than a week ago. The image glared in his memory. Christie with another man. Patrick had no cause for jealousy, but he couldn’t explain his feelings except pure rivalry. He didn’t want Christie with another man.

Next had come the Kite Fly. That had added to his misery. His head pounded; and he’d not been able to ease the stress since that afternoon. In the past two days, he’d snapped at Sean without thinking and ripped at his father for forgetting to take his medicine. He’d done everything but lambaste the person who’d caused him stress. Christie.

If she’d given him her precious time to talk, to
tell her about Sherry and Sean, his son’s presence wouldn’t have thrown her as it had. He’d seen the expression on her face. Watched the downturn of her mouth as she tried to be civil. She didn’t fool him. Not one iota. Christie had a way of turning him off when she wanted to hurt him. That had been their past. He figured she hadn’t changed.

Suddenly, Patrick had another recollection—the look on Christie’s face when she’d shown her concern.
This must be difficult,
he could still hear her say. Something had caused her to soften. Something had turned her biting tone to a gentler one. He thanked God for that.

He checked his own behavior. He’d been uncomfortable telling her about Sean. How could he allow his feelings for his son to be affected by guilt? Sean had done nothing but be born to brighten his and Sherry’s lives. After Sherry’s death, he would have fallen apart except for Sean. The boy needed him, and he needed his son.

No matter, he wanted to smooth things with Christie. They lived in the same town. They would meet as they had in the past week or two. He owed her an apology.
Apology.
The words seemed so empty. He owed her much more than that.

“Excuse me.”

A voice brought Patrick back from his thoughts and he turned to face the man.

“Could you point me to the three-way plugs?”

“They’re right over here,” Patrick said, leading
the way. In a few steps, he showed the man the display.

“Thanks.” The gentleman turned and extended his hand. “I’m Pastor Tom Myers from United Christian Church. I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“Pastor Myers.” Patrick took his hand. “My father has spoken of you. I’m Joe Hanuman’s son, Patrick.”

“Ah. Welcome home, Patrick. Your dad’s looked forward to your coming back to Loving.” He gave Patrick’s shoulder a squeeze. “I hope we’ll see you in church.”

“If Dad’s feeling better, we plan to come this Sunday. He’s anxious to get back to church, too.”

“Glad to hear it,” Pastor Tom said, eyeing the plugs and pulling a couple from the hook. “Before you slip away—” he turned to face Patrick “—my wife asked me to pick up some of that green stuff you use to arrange flowers. You know, you can shove the stems right—”

“Oasis.” Patrick grinned at the man’s description. “It’s in the gardening department. Let me show you.”

“No need. Thanks. I’ll find it myself.” Pastor Tom turned away while Patrick’s mind resettled on Christie and something the man had said that had triggered a brilliant idea. Flowers. Christie loved them, and a bouquet might be just the thing to soften the tension between them.

He looked down the aisle toward the retreating
clergyman and thanked God the man had needed Oasis. If anything could open the door with Christie, it would be a floral arrangement…and, without a doubt, the Lord’s help.

While Christie shuffled papers on her desk at Loving Care, footsteps caused her to lift her head. Annie Dewitt came through the doorway carrying a bouquet wrapped in florist paper.

“This just arrived,” Annie said. “Is today your birthday? I’m sorry I didn’t—”

“It’s not my birthday,” Christie said, eyeing the wrapper. “It’s from Milton or Jeffers Construction, I’ll bet. They’ll do anything to get someone to sign on the dotted line.” But in the back of her mind, Christie guessed the flowers were from Milton, remembering how upset he’d been the day he’d met Patrick.

Annie waited while Christie peeled back the paper.

As soon as she made an opening, a sweet scent escaped the wrapping. Christie peeked inside and eyed the colorful mixed bouquet, too beautiful and expensive to be from a builder trying to beguile a customer.

“There’s the card,” Annie said, pointing to the square envelope on a plastic card holder sticking up through the blossoms.

“Hold these,” Christie said, handing Annie the lovely arrangement while she pulled the card from
the paper jacket. She stared at the message, allowing time for reality to settle in.

“I was wrong,” Christie said, feeling her pulse pick up speed.

“Then who?”

“Patrick.”

“Your ex?”

Nodding, Christie released a weighty sigh and studied the large bouquet. “I don’t know what I’m going to do, Annie.”

“What do you mean?”

Christie handed her the card and waited while she skimmed the note.

“He’s just asking to talk with you. That can’t hurt, can it?” She returned the card to Christie, then crossed to the desk, pulled off the rest of the florist paper, and placed the bouquet on the corner.

Could it hurt? Christie had finally overcome those earlier years. She’d struggled to regain her feelings of self-worth, and though she’d tried to understand what had happened, she’d failed. Nothing had come to help her understand why Patrick had faced her one day to say he wanted out of the marriage.

“It’s complicated.” Adamant about her privacy, Christie broke her rules and gave Annie a sketchy picture of the situation.

“You didn’t know he had a child?” Annie’s expression showed her surprise.

“No. I wouldn’t have known he’d married if my mom hadn’t heard the news. The grapevine must
have lost interest in Patrick since his wedding. That’s the last I heard.”

“I’m sure it hurts,” Annie said. “Wanting a child for so long and then…” She shook her head, her eyes downcast, her face reflecting a deep-felt emotion. When she lifted her gaze, a renewed spirit lit her eyes. “But you can’t let it hold you back from living your life. Look at Ken and me. We’re in our forties and adopting a child. But you. You’re young enough to marry and have kids of your own. It’s not like you don’t date. I’m sure Milton would give his—”

“I can’t remarry, Annie, even if I wanted to. I realize I haven’t been a good Christian these past years. I’ve been angry at God for what happened, but I still believe, and the Bible says, that marriage after divorce is a sin.”

Silent, Annie stared at her a moment. “I don’t know what to say.”

Her voice faded with the same hopeless feeling Christie had felt for years as she clung to that belief, despite her longing to be a mother. The day care had provided a weak facsimile to parenthood.

“What about Patrick?” Annie asked. “He married again.”

“Patrick’s never been a believer. Without faith, he didn’t follow God’s rules or anyone’s, for that matter. He followed his own.”

Hearing her bitter words, Christie shook her head. “I shouldn’t have said that. I’m making Patrick
sound like an ogre, and he’s not. I loved him once. More than I can say.”

Christie quieted, uncomfortable with the disclosure she’d made. When she’d calmed herself, another problem shot through her mind—a problem that had rattled her since she’d learned the truth. “Being a mother is just about impossible for me anyway. I have endometriosis of all things. It’s difficult for me to get pregnant, and I’ve waited so long now…”

Annie’s expression drooped to dismay before she rallied. She wrapped her arm around Christie’s shoulders and gave her a squeeze. “But remember, with God all things are possible. You know that.”

With God all things are possible.
Christie wondered. Images darted through her head, images of wonderful days when she and Patrick were young and in love. “I want to be happy for Patrick. I feel like putty—stretched one way then the other. Patrick seems like a good father, and the child is bright and has Patrick’s good looks and sparkling eyes.”

Annie grinned at her. “And you’re still noticing those eyes?”

Her question hit home. “Me? No. I’m thinking back.” Christie spotted the questioning look on Annie’s smug face and countered. “Not me, Annie. Never. I can read your mind. I’d never get involved with Patrick again. Never.”

“Never? That’s a strong word.”

“I feel strongly about it. I could never trust him again.”

“But you could be friends. You live in a small town. And you could forgive him for the past. Remember, God says if we want to be forgiven we must forgive.”

“Don’t talk about forgiveness.” She felt her shoulders stiffen and fire burn in her heart. She liked Annie. She’d become a good, trusting friend, and Annie had gone through difficult times, too. But forgiveness?

“Sorry. It’s none of my business, I know,” Annie said, taking a step backward as if Christie had slapped her.

Christie chastised herself for the burred remark. “It’s not you, Annie. It’s just that you don’t really understand the situation.”

“You’re right. I’m sure I don’t.” Annie checked her watch, then glanced over her shoulder toward the doorway. “I need to help get the kids ready for their parents’ arrival before the crew hunts me down.” She gave Christie’s arm a squeeze and vanished through the doorway.

Forgiveness? Christie closed her eyes. How could she do what the Lord asked? She blamed God as much as Patrick for her problems. Why did she have endometriosis to make things worse? The message seemed loud and clear. She wasn’t meant to be a mother. Maybe she would have botched the job. Christie had always believed the Lord could work
miracles. She’d prayed to Him day and night to fix her marriage. But God had done nothing to make things better. Neither had Patrick.

Hearing sounds from the front, Christie realized parents were arriving. She put on a pleasant face and headed toward the entrance to greet them.

Parents. Her shoulders lifted as she drew in a calming breath. Patrick was a parent. A single parent. The same way he’d been raised. That had to be difficult.

She pictured his face again as he’d looked at his son that sunny Sunday afternoon at the Kite Fly. The hurt he’d felt from her barbed comments plunged through her thoughts. If she called herself a Christian—even a weak one—she knew she should show compassion. Patrick had asked her to talk. Something so simple. Why couldn’t she say okay?

The question sat like a heavy weight in her heart.

Patrick came through the Employees Only doorway and stopped cold. Christie stood near the checkout, talking to one of the clerks. The man’s arm raised and pointed toward the door Patrick had just come through, and when Christie’s gaze shifted, he realized she saw him.

As she headed his way, Patrick stood still, fearful she would blow her top in the store. He felt for the door behind him. He was near enough to the employee area and could drag her into the stock room
if necessary. The image pulled a faint grin to his mouth and eased the tension.

But the closer she came, he saw something different on her face—something softer. Her lips curved to a shy smile and he relaxed.

“Surprised?” she asked.

“Yes,” he admitted, realizing his mouth had been gaping. He returned her smile. “I wondered where you were hiding the bat.”

“Bat?”

“Baseball bat. To whack me a good one.”

She lifted her arms and flexed her wrists front to back. “See. Empty-handed.”

“Then why am I so honored?”

“I came by to say thank-you for the flowers. They’re beautiful…but totally unnecessary.”

“I’m glad you like them.” A strand of hair had drifted from behind her ear and caught on her cheek. Patrick longed to reach over and brush it from her face. He recalled its silkiness, the way it slid through his fingers.

A faint frown fell across her eyes and pulled him from his reverie.

“I thought they were necessary,” he said.

He sensed her reticence to agree and curbed his desire to offer a lengthy explanation. Now wasn’t the time. “I recalled how much you loved flowers. I used to surprise you with them. Remember?”

“I remember,” she said.

A look filled her eyes, sparking a heady sensation
through his chest. He glanced around, looking for some place to sit, then pointed toward the door behind him. “Let’s go inside where we can have some privacy.”

She eyed the door a moment, then fumbled with her shoulder bag. “No. I don’t want to take up your time. I was nearby and just wanted to thank you for the flowers.”

“I have time, Christie.” He searched her eyes, wanting to tell her so much—how pretty she was and how sorry he felt about their failed marriage. He wanted her to know about his faith. There was so much he couldn’t say standing here with customers and employees scooting past.

“You look great. Like you did when you were twenty.” He let the words glide from his mouth, then noticed a flush rise to her cheeks.

“Don’t get sentimental, Patrick. I’m long past twenty. You need to add another fifteen years onto that.”

“Look in a mirror,” he said.

She gave him a pessimistic frown.

“I’d really like to sit a minute…if you could spare the time.” He watched her look turn to a frown. “I think we have some things to clear up.”

She took a step backward. “Don’t confuse me, Patrick. I know about Sean now. That’s what you wanted to tell me. So what do we have to talk about? You have your life, and I’ve cleared up mine. I’ve started fresh. My world has order and goals. Talking
about old times will only drag out ancient feelings. We don’t need that. I’m happy just as I am. Really happy.”

He looked at her sullen face, the misery in her eyes and couldn’t stop himself.

“If you’re happy, Christie, why aren’t you smiling?”