Mixed Blessings (18 page)

Peter tucked her into the car and sniffed. “Whatever that is you're wearing, I hope you bought a big bottle of
it.” When she didn't answer, he clucked his tongue. “I'll be right back.”

He strode into Harlan's and reappeared a few slim minutes later. He carried the glitzy gold-and-black net bag with the careless disregard only a man fully assured of his masculinity could display. Once he got in the car, he tucked the bag next to her and didn't say a word. From the chinking sounds and the way it bulged a bit, Marie knew he'd filled the bag with more than just a single bottle of that outrageously expensive perfume.

“That's it, Peter. You've won your arguments.”

He winked. “No, I haven't. We didn't argue about that at all. It's a man's privilege to pamper his wife. Think of it as something you do for me. That scent is great. Wear it because you know I like it.”

“I don't want to sound ungrateful, but—”

“Then don't say anything,” he cut in smoothly. He steered into traffic, deftly changed lanes and said, “I've found a few cars. Would you like to see them now, or do you need to go home and rest?”

“I don't need a new car, and I'd like to go get the boys.”

“While you were at Harlan's, I called. Mom and Dad promised to take them out for pizza and a movie. We'll get them back tomorrow.” He glanced at the lane adjacent to them, merged and entered a left-turn lane. In a careless tone, he revealed, “I test drove a van and a station wagon. They both maneuver smoothly, but I'm not sure which will be easier for you in terms of handling the boys and their car seats.”

“Peter!”

He chuckled. “I'm winning this argument, Marie.”

“You're taking advantage of the situation!”

“I grew up with a bunch of sisters—I learned to do that to survive.”

“I'm the one who is outnumbered in our home!”

As he pulled into a car dealership, Peter countered, “Then I need to be extra careful to spoil you.”

Marie shook her head. “Stop. Peter, I need to talk to you.”

He glanced at her. “Okay.”

“No, really talk.”

“Fine. Shoot.”

“Not here—someplace else.”

Something in her tone got through to him. “Fine. Where?”

“I don't know. What about a park?”

“Sure.” He drove around the block to the park where he'd proposed. Marie wondered if it was an intentional choice, but she didn't ask. Once he parked under the shade of an old magnolia, he turned in his seat and raised his brows. “What's so important?”

“Peter, you can't buy me.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

Marie knew she was treading on sensitive ground, but she couldn't let this go. She put her hand on his and quietly said, “I remember you saying Darlene wasn't ever satisfied with you or your gifts or vacations. I'm not like her, and I don't want you to feel like you have to jump through hoops so I'll stay in this marriage.”

His brows knit. “All I wanted was to give you what you need.”

“I have all I need.” She gave him a tender smile. “Sooner or later, you'll finally learn I have simple taste. I married you because it was the right thing to do. Don't you think we're building a pretty good family?”

“Absolutely.” He didn't pause for even a split second, and his smile reinforced his opinion.

“Then do me a favor and stop acting like money or things will make us better. Stop insulting yourself—you're a terrific dad and a solid husband. You don't need to buy our affection or allegiance.”

“I'm not!”

Marie let out a sigh. “Okay, Peter. If that's what you believe, I must have been out of line. Please forgive me.”

He started to chuckle, and his eyes twinkled. “It'll cost you.”

She leaned back against the headrest and groaned. She'd married the ultimate gamesman. Barely peeking at him from the corner of her eye she asked, “What is it going to cost me?”

“Gracious acceptance of a new van.”

 

Mrs. Lithmas came back from her time off and took over the kitchen and housekeeping once again. The timing was perfect, since Marie was supposed to be mindful of her arm. Peter tapped on her bedroom door that morning. He assigned himself the job of combing her hair. “It's too hard on you.”

“Really, Peter, I can do it.”

“Take it easy.” He snatched the brush.

Marie didn't want to admit it, but the way he drew the brush through her hair over and over, filtered his fingers through the strands and toyed with the curls felt wonderful. He didn't hasten through the task. Instead, he drew it out. When he set down the brush, he slid one hand beneath her hair. As his thumb stroked back and forth on her nape, he asked, “Where are your ribbons?”

Startled, she looked at his reflection in the mirror. “I
didn't bring them when we moved here. Sandy—her boyfriend likes her hair in the ribbons.”

“I like your hair, too. It always looked soft and feminine when you wore ribbons in it. I wondered why you'd stopped.”

He noticed. What does that mean?
Inside, she felt an odd mixture of confusion and hope. Marie forced herself to sound blasé, “So now you know.”

“I guess so.” Peter still kept one hand cupped around her neck. He leaned around her, curled his long fingers around the perfume bottle and murmured, “Here you go.”

Marie reached for it, but he drew it back. Chills ran up and down her spine as he lifted her hair and spritzed her nape. She avoided looking in the mirror. She didn't want to see his expression, but even more, she didn't want him to see how she was responding to his tender ministrations.

“Wrists,” he ordered.

Marie pulled away from him. She couldn't bear to have him stand that close and touch her. It made her feel things that went far beyond their partnership agreement. Frazzled, she stammered, “That's enough. Thanks. If, um, I, ah, get that on my stitches it'll burn. Sting. You know?”

His features pulled taut. He nodded once, set down the bottle and strode from her room.

Marie melted onto the edge of her bed. The feel of his touch lingered every bit as strongly as the perfume's fragrance.

P
eter headed straight out the door. He had to get away before he made an utter fool of himself—if he hadn't already done a royal job of it. She'd flinched, then recoiled from his touch.
What was I thinking? I'm torturing myself and scaring Marie half out of her wits. She could scarcely stand to have me touch her!
He paced to the side yard and sank onto the bench.

The revelation that Ricky was his son had stunned him in this very place. Ironically, this was the very spot where Darlene had told him she was pregnant and didn't want his child any more than she wanted him. He'd pleaded with her to go to family counseling, but she refused. Finally, he'd agreed to her greedy terms: She'd carry and turn over “the brat” if he'd grant her a divorce and a huge settlement—otherwise, she'd have an abortion.

In the end, she'd already been sucking money out of accounts and running up charge cards. Peter hadn't told anyone that in the Dear John letter she'd left, she'd basically told him he'd have to renegotiate with her for more money if he wanted the baby.

So here he sat, in the early-morning quiet, reliving old hurts and wondering what to do. Last night, he came to the staggering realization that he loved Marie. How could he possibly mess up his life? She'd committed to a partnership—not a true marriage. Companionship and parenting were the bargain—not loving and certainly not love-making. He'd told her he'd never love a woman again. Foolishly, he hadn't counted on the fact that God might have other plans.

Peter hunched forward and rested his forearms on his knees. He'd been down this torturous path before of loving a woman who didn't love him back. This was different, though. Darlene didn't love anyone but herself; Marie loved everyone more than herself. Dedicated to Ricky and Luke, she'd willingly sacrificed her own happiness and freedom for them.

Only he didn't want her sacrifice. He wanted her to come to him freely, of her own will. How was he to break past her fairy-tale memories of a storybook marriage? How could he compete?

He'd had a knee-jerk reaction to Marie's assertion that he was trying to buy her affection and allegiance, but her words haunted him. In fact, they felt uncomfortably true, now that he'd thought about it. He wasn't enough to make Darlene love him, so he'd used such things as money, gifts, vacations… And now, he feared Marie wouldn't love him, so he'd started to do the same thing—only she stopped him and pledged her commitment, loveless as it was.
What is it about me? Why can't a woman love me, Lord?

“Whoa, that sounded pretty heavy duty.”

He lifted his head. “Huh?”

“You groaned.” Kate walked up and sat down beside him.

He gave her a questioning look.

“I left for work a little early so I could stop by to see if Marie needed any help. I saw you headed this way.” She paused a moment, then quietly invited, “Want to talk about it?”

“There's nothing to say.”

She squirmed for a second so she was in a comfortable position, then quietly refuted, “I think there's plenty to be said. You're in love, and after getting burned by Darlene, you're not sure if you want another commitment.”

Peter winced. “You knew about her?”

Kate wasn't one for pretenses. “Yes, I did. I wanted to throttle her for being indifferent to you, but it wasn't my place to get involved.”

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye and said softly, “Marie likes you.”

“Is that your way of appealing for me to get involved this time?”

Peter rose and paced around the circle of flowers. Raking his fingers through his hair, he said, “I don't know what to do. At first, all that mattered was that the four of us were together. Now, it's much more than that. I don't want a partner or a buddy anymore. I want a wife.”

“Have you told Marie that?”

“Are you kidding?” He wheeled around and lifted his hands in a helpless gesture. “It'll send her into a total panic. We made a bargain, and she's sticking to it. If I say anything at all, it's likely to ruin everything we've achieved. The problem is, Marie is still in love with her dead husband!”

Kate nodded. “That's actually a good thing.”

“Good!” he exploded.

“Yes. It shows how dedicated she is to those she loves—and that'll open all sorts of opportunities for you.”

“I want her to be connected to the boys, but…”

“You want her to want you, too,” Kate finished for him. “She will. Peter, Marie may not understand it, but she feels betrayed by her husband—he left her. She feels guilty, and that's what makes her cling so desperately to her memories. Don't try to compete—she'll dig in deeper.”

“So what do you suggest?”

Kate looked at him somberly. “Remember that night you told me about, when you finally had a breakthrough at the pool and accepted God's healing from the wounds your marriage left? Marie has to be scared of loving again, Peter—she already got hurt once before.”

“I wouldn't ever leave her! I love her!”

“I know that, but does she? You can't guard her from the fact that accidents happen, Peter. You have to make it safe for her to love again. My guess is, you've already done all of that. She just needs to realize it.”

“How do we get her to realize it?”

“Pray.” Kate waited a moment, then said, “You're too intense, and you'll force the issue before she's ready unless you calm down. Get away. Go on a trip and think things through carefully. When you come back, take things one step at a time. Don't expect Marie to suddenly bow to your wishes just because you've changed. Court her. Most of all, have faith.”

 

Peter's mother came over that day. Marie enjoyed her company, and she appreciated having help with the boys. Each time she moved, her arm burned. As the morning passed, Marie had the strange feeling Lauren had some
thing on her mind. After they put the boys down for a nap, Lauren turned to her.

“Do you need to lie down?”

“Not at all. I'm thirsty, though. How about some lemonade out by the pool?”

They passed through the kitchen, and Mrs. Lithmas clucked and fussed for a minute before insisting she'd bring out a tray. Marie noticed that Lauren stood over by the table and read that morning's verse.
Lord, open her eyes and heart.

Mrs. Lithmas tilted her head toward the table. “John 3:16 today. It was the first verse I memorized as a child, and it's still my favorite. Do either of you want a sprig of peppermint in your lemonade?”

“You spoil us,” Marie said appreciatively.

“Oh, now, who's talking? You're the one who sneaked behind my back and paid the dentist. And who sends an old housekeeper a bouquet just because? Don't think I didn't know who put those new tires on my car, either.”

Marie merely laughed off those assertions and drew her mother-in-law outside. A few minutes after they took seats under a poolside umbrella, Mrs. Lithmas brought out a tray and left.

Lauren picked up her glass and took a sip of lemonade. She kept hold of the glass, stared at it and absently played with a water droplet as it wended down the side. “Ever since your arm got hurt, I've been wanting to talk with you.”

“Oh?”

“When I wiped up the cookie mess on the kitchen table, I found this.” Lauren pulled a verse from the pocket of her neatly tailored aqua slacks and read aloud, “Romans 5:8—‘But God commends his own love toward us, in that while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us.'”
She smiled self-consciously. “Luke told me it means even though little boys are naughty sometimes, God still loves them so much, He sent Jesus to die on the cross.”

Marie felt a spurt of joy. She sometimes wondered if what she and Peter told the boys got through. She looked Lauren in the eye. “It's the truth.”

“I've been thinking about that. About what you did that day, too.”

“What I did?”

“You got hurt, rescuing Luke. Then, I realized something. Had I been standing there, I would have reached down to protect him, too. Love makes us act, even though it causes us pain—because we'd rather take the pain, ourselves, than see someone we cherish get hurt.”

Every one of her words resounded with truth. Marie hoped this was an open door, an answer to her prayers for her mother-in-law's soul. She whispered an urgent word for the Holy Spirit to grant her the right words. “So when you think that way, what do you think of God's plan for salvation now? Does it make sense to you that He loves us so much, He willingly gave His own Son?”

“I was thinking about that.” Lauren then set down the slip she'd taken from the kitchen table. Side by side, the verses started to fit together in a salvation puzzle. “This John 3:16 says so.”

“God didn't begrudge us His mercy. He acted out of His compassion and love. He's our Heavenly Father, and He reached down to rescue us.”

“Like you reached down to save Luke.” A shadow crossed Lauren's face. “If God can do that, why didn't He reach down and protect my Lisa?”

“If evil didn't exist, God wouldn't have ever needed to send Christ. He gives us a choice whether or not to
follow Him. Those who don't follow Him can do terrible things.”

“But I'm a good person,” Lauren said in a plaintive tone. “I was a good mother. I didn't deserve that, and I don't see why I'm not good enough for Him.”

“Lauren, you were an excellent mother. I look at Peter and his sisters and hope Ricky and Luke turn out half as well. Still, being good isn't what it takes. We're all sinners. God's children admit that and ask for forgiveness. We don't earn our salvation—it is His gift.”

Lauren took another sip of lemonade and stared out across the pool.

Marie thought aloud. “A while back, you said you were angry at God, that you couldn't accept Him because He gave up His Son. Now you're telling me you understand that sacrifice.”

Lauren sighed. “I don't even think I'm angry anymore. This may sound silly because I have a husband who loves me, great kids and adorable grandsons, but I sometimes feel so…” She waved her hand in a helpless gesture.

“Empty?”

“Yes.”

Marie nodded. “Some of that is grief. Most of it is the fact that we were created with a need to commune with God. When we're not in relationship with Him, there's a void in our lives and souls. He's reaching down to you, Lauren. He wants to fill you up with His love and happiness.”

“I think I'd like that.”

Marie got up and embraced her. They prayed together. Afterward, Marie said, “The angels are singing in heaven.”

Lauren smiled at her through tear-glossed eyes. “Someday, I'll make it to heaven to hear them firsthand.”

 

Peter knew something was up when Marie met him at the door that night. Her eyes sparkled, and she could barely wait for him to set down his briefcase. “What's up?”

“It's really your mother's news—”

“Mom?”

Marie nodded.

Peter caught his breath. “She's been asking a lot of questions about God. Did she—”

Marie nodded enthusiastically.

He let out a whoop, swept her into a hug and gave her an exuberant kiss.

Marie pulled away and was twelve shades of red. She cleared her throat and wouldn't look at him. “My, um…arm.”

“I'm sorry, sweetheart. Is it okay?”

“Yeah. It just got bumped.” She rubbed it, looked at his chin and flashed him a smile. “Anyway, I thought maybe you'd like to call Mom before we sat down to dinner.”

“Absolutely.” He took that as an exit cue and hastened to his study. He desperately wanted to share the good news with his mother…but he also felt a pang. Had he really hurt Marie, or was she simply pushing him away yet again?