Mixed Blessings (19 page)

P
ray. Court her. Have faith.
Kate's advice echoed in his mind. Peter kicked the door shut to his hotel room and tossed the suitcase on the bed. Marie had packed everything for his trip. He hadn't even asked—she simply took it upon herself. She'd ascertained that he needed casual clothes and one suit, then gone to his room and taken care of the task. For the first time, she'd dared to enter his domain.
Was she glad to get rid of me, or did she do it because she wanted to be supportive?

A whole week away from home. He'd been careful not to do this since Luke was born. If Peter had to travel, he'd always taken the red-eye and allowed only three days' separation. This time, he'd needed extra time to think. This convention was a perfect excuse to get away. The seminars would start the day after tomorrow, but he could meet with a couple of surgical equipment suppliers beforehand to assure his hospital would get priority shipping. Marie would love the boys to pieces, but leaving the three of them felt awful.

Marie insisted upon them all seeing him off. Instead of
going to a major airport, Peter took a charter flight out of a local airfield. They went with him to the check-in desk, then sat with him on a tiny, oak park bench. Each boy sat on one of his thighs, and Marie managed to sit pretty close—but he wondered if it was because the bench was so small. They'd gotten there a bit early so he could stand by the fence with the boys to watch the takeoffs and landings. When his boarding call blared over the loudspeaker, Peter kissed them, hugged them and reminded, “Be extra good for Mommy.”

When he stood, Marie automatically gathered Luke and Rick to herself. It was an instinctive move—that of a protective mother who would safeguard her children at all costs. Reassurance mingled with disappointment. With a child in front of each of her legs, she wasn't exactly accessible. Peter leaned over and dared to brush a kiss across her cheekbone. “I'll be home soon.”

She kept her lashes lowered. “Be careful.”

“I will. You be careful, too. Call Mom or Kate or someone if you need a break.”

“We'll manage.”

“I'll call at seven-thirty, your time, each night.” He barely resisted gathering her curls in his hand. She was wearing a red satin ribbon in her hair. It looked flirty and feminine. He wanted to fill his palms with her soft hair, cup her head and angle it so their lips would meet…. Instead, he stepped back, lifted his briefcase and strode toward the plane.

Marie's words floated to him. “God go with you!”

She'd called those words to him five hours ago. It seemed like a lifetime. Peter slipped his wallet out of his back pocket and reached for the phone. He paused for a moment. A picture of Marie and the boys he'd snapped at the park came into view. It had been a happy day—
sunny, filled with laughter. She'd grabbed the boys and seated them ahead of herself on a big rocket ship–shaped slide. He'd snapped the picture as they zoomed toward him. The boys' mouths were wide-open—Luke's with a scream, Ricky's with a laugh. Marie's lips formed a gleeful smile. He treasured that candid snapshot.

The rapid drone of a phone-off-the-hook warning snapped Peter out of his reverie. He dialed a 1-800 number, flipped open the trifold and pulled out a credit card. “Yes. I'd like to send a dozen roses. Red. Long stemmed. I'll charge them….”

Promptly at seven-thirty, Peter dialed home. The phone rang twice, then Marie answered. Her voice had a hollow, echoey quality. “How was your flight?”

“Fine. How are you and the boys?”

“Sticky.” Her laughter filtered over the line. “We were just finishing ice-cream cones. I put you on the speakerphone.”

“Good idea.” He raised his voice slightly. “Hi, boys!”

“Daddy!” Both voices mingled in a heartwarming duet. Even across the miles, their excitement came through loud and clear.

“Were you good for Mommy today?”

“Uh-huh. We gots ice cream,” Ricky said.

“Choklit,” Luke chimed in.

“That sounds yummy. Tell Mommy she can eat my scoop, too.”

“Mommy, you eat ice cream,” Luke chirped. “Daddy said.”

Ricky tattled, “Mommy doesn't got ice cream.”

“No?”

Ricky continued to chatter. “Nope. Mommy says she already sits on enough ice cream.” Boyish laughter rippled over the line.

Peter tried to muffle his chuckle. Marie must be blushing again. “Tell Mommy she doesn't need to worry about an ounce.”

Luke repeated, “Mommy, Daddy says, ‘Don't worry 'bout your bounce.'”

A garbled sound somewhere between a choke and a groan came from Marie.

Peter chortled. Luke's version though mangled, actually fit quite nicely. Peter eased back onto the bed and chatted for a few more minutes. Marie managed to regain some semblance of control. Before they hung up, he promised, “I'll call again tomorrow night.”

“Seven-thirty?”

“On the nose.”

He had a hard time letting Marie go. Peter talked a while longer and finally hung up. Afterward, he stared at the room service menu and started to chuckle. He grabbed the phone again.

 

“Hi! How are you all doing?”

“Give me just one more minute,” Marie said in a breathless rush. “I didn't want to miss you—” She turned and tossed a towel around Ricky. Luke was racing down the hall in true superhero style, his towel flapping behind his still-wet little body. Marie captured him, flipped the towel around him and barely dried him as he squiggled. “Daddy's on the phone!”

Ricky held the phone and babbled, “Daddy? Daddy? Hello, Daddy.”

Marie took the phone from him. “I'm back.”

“What in the world is going on?”

“The boys are fine. I just scrubbed at least three inches of grime off of them. The gardener watered that patch
he's turned over and mulched. Ricky and Luke got so dirty, it was hard to tell them apart.”

Peter chuckled.

Merriment filled her voice as she confessed, “I played beat-the-clock to get them out in time to talk to you.”

“By their standards, I'd judge it was a terrific day.”

“You could say that.”

“And how about yours? How's your arm?”

“The stitches came out today. It's ugly, but not sore.”

“Nothing about you could be ugly. You got that by protecting our son. To me, it's a beauty mark. Still, if it bothers you, we'll have a plastic surgeon look at it.”

“That's going too far.” Her tone lifted in an attempt to change the subject. “Speaking of going too far, someone sent a special delivery, chocolate ice-cream cake here today. If there were designated pews at church for the seven deadly sins, I'd be a permanent fixture on the one marked Gluttony.”

Peter's rich laughter warmed her like a towel fresh out of the dryer.

She tried to interject mock sternness into her voice. “Oh, it's easy for you to chuckle. I'm the one who's going to have to repent to the tune of half a billion situps a day for the rest of my life.”

“When I come home, I'll hold your feet.”

“With friends like you…”

“Happy homes are made,” he filled in.

His assertion caught her off guard. “The boys do seem happy.”

“I am, too, Marie. You're a wonderful wife and mother. Thanks for those notes and pictures.”

A flood of warmth filled her. She'd had the boys draw pictures for him and she'd written notes on them. As she packed, she'd layered pictures between Peter's slacks and
shirts in the suitcase. She'd also slipped Bible verses into some of his pockets. As soon as he picked up the suitcase and put it in the back of her new van, she'd begun to worry—had that been too corny? Too intimate? Too desperate? No—he liked them. The tension in her shoulders melted away.

After they hung up, Marie read to the boys, helped them say their prayers and tucked them into bed. She sauntered through the house. It felt too quiet. Too empty. By no means was Peter noisy, but he seemed to fill the house with his presence. The whole place felt barren and desolate without him. Marie didn't like the feeling—and she was all too familiar with it. She'd lived with this sensation after Jack died. She'd even asked Sandy to come up and spend the week with her—both because she loved her, and also because she longed for some companionship. This loneliness made her feel so terribly empty inside, but Sandy couldn't come.

Marie wound her arms around her ribs and winced at the pulling pain in her right arm. She tried to ignore the fear and ache in her heart as she looked around the much-too-quiet house and whispered urgently, “Dear God, bring Peter home safely.”

 

Peter called each night. Each day, he had something delivered—pizza for lunch, a family of teddy bears, a fruit basket… Marie and the boys anticipated his calls. The last night, they waited in vain for the phone to ring. Marie let the boys stay up a bit later than usual, but she finally decided to call Peter. He'd admitted to being tired the night before. “Maybe Daddy fell asleep. Let's call him tonight.”

She dialed, and the phone rang only once. “Hello?”
After a brief pause, a distinctly feminine voice repeated, “Yes? Hello?”

Marie fumbled and hung up. Plastering a smile on her face that she hoped would hide the pain and confusion she felt, she said, “I guess Daddy is too busy. Let's go tuck you in.”

Eight-fifteen. Eight-thirty. Nine-thirty. Ten. Marie lay on her side and watched the neon numbers change on her bedside clock. She did the math. Chicago was two hours ahead. That made it ten-fifteen. Ten-thirty. Eleven-thirty. Midnight.

When the phone rang, she stared at it. Did she dare answer? She almost didn't, but what if something happened? What if Peter had gotten hurt? “Hello?”

“Sorry I'm late, Marie. Things got a bit involved.”

Man, oh, man—he really had to think long and hard to come up with that line.

“Are you okay?”

“I'm tired,” she said flatly.

“Yeah, I'll bet you are. I'll be home tomorrow.”

“I know. Peter? Instead of us picking you up, would you mind just coming home in a taxi?” Marie knew she had to put distance between them. A married man—even if it was strictly a marriage of convenience—had no business having some other woman in his hotel room. She was afraid she'd take one look at him and give him a healthy chunk of her mind if she didn't settle down and think through her options quickly.

“Sure. No problem.”

“H-have a safe flight.”

“I missed talking to the boys. Are they all right?”

I don't want to talk to you. Can't you just let me go? I don't want to think about how you've betrayed me, betrayed the vows we took. I cared about you. I cared for
you. At least this happened before I made an utter fool of myself.

“Marie? Are you okay? Is it your arm?”

“My arm is fine.” She glanced down at how long and red the new scar was. “The stitches are out.”
There. I hope I sound normal. Oh, no. I already told him that days ago.

“And the boys?”

She owed him information on the boys. Being petty wouldn't do her any good. “Ricky's okay. Luke seemed a bit grumpy when I put him down.”

“I hope it's not his ear again. Was he running a fever? Rubbing his ear? Having trouble swallowing?”

“No. It was nothing.”

“You really do sound tired, Marie. I won't keep you any longer. Oh, Marie? If Luke gets sick and you need me, I'll be in room…ah, um…821 for tonight.”

“'Bye.” She hung up before she reacted or questioned him. Why give him an opportunity to lie? He'd had a woman in his room, and now he was going to spend the rest of the night in a different bed. It was almost as if he taunted her, wanted to goad her into asking him painful questions. She refused to play that game—not on the phone, not separated by thousands of miles and several hours. Their time of reckoning would come tomorrow.

As she forced her fingers to uncurl and let go of the receiver, sobs tightened her chest. Marie tried to choke them back, then gave up and buried her face in her pillow. She wept until she had no more tears.

The day's verse echoed in her mind and heart.
Casting all your worries on Him, because He cares for you…
Marie let out a soul-deep sigh of despair. She lay in bed
and watched the neon numbers on her clock change for most of the rest of the night. Sleep simply wouldn't come. She knew God cared for her; she wished her husband did, too.

P
eter hung up and headed for the sink. He needed to take some aspirin. His head ached. The day started out badly and never improved. The hotel manager woke him at five-fifty with the news that there had been a minor mishap. Peter guessed as much since the bedside light wouldn't turn on and the carpeting squished beneath his bare feet as he'd walked over to answer the knock. “The patrons in the room adjacent to yours left the tap flowing for the Jacuzzi. Since the connecting door can be opened to create a suite of these rooms, we worried the water might have flown freely into here, as well.”

Peter frowned at his cold, wet feet. “Rightfully so.”

“We turned off the power so you wouldn't electrocute yourself. Please accept my deepest apologies. I'll have someone gather your belongings. We've prepared a lovely suite for you.”

“Wait. I need to get—”

“Sir, I can personally guarantee everything will be brought to you.”

Peter cinched his robe a bit tighter. “I'll just grab my wallet and laptop.”

Once awake, he couldn't get back to sleep. The seminars for that day were poorly presented, and the one he most wanted to attend was canceled. He went back to his room and decided to nap instead of going to supper. Just as he started to coast off to sleep, the phone rang. Some of his acquaintances were going out for the evening and invited him along. The whole time he was out, Peter felt awkward. He knew two of the men had escorts who were not their wives. He'd missed calling Marie and the kids. He slipped away to a pay phone, but the call didn't go through. All in all, the day rated as an unmitigated disaster. Plainly put, he was homesick.

After tossing and turning all night, Peter dozed during the flight home. Though not completely refreshed, he felt better equipped to handle two rambunctious three-year-olds. He'd come to the decision that he'd ease Marie into things gently. First, he'd reassure her that he wanted them to all be one family—forever. He'd adopt Ricky. Then, as time passed, he'd teach her to trust him and love him as much as he cherished her.

A taxi dropped him off at home, and he dumped his suitcase inside the front door. “Where are my boys?”

“Daddy!” Luke and Ricky screamed the duet as they tore through the house and flung themselves into his arms. If only Marie would do the same, he'd truly feel he'd come home.

 

“I'd like to talk to you about something.”

Marie gave Peter a worried look. He rarely sounded this formal. She'd tried to stay in the background and let the boys monopolize Peter's afternoon. It was too hard to be near Peter. Everything inside of her shook, and she
fumbled with anything she held. Now that prayers were over and the boys were in bed for the night, Marie had no convenient excuse to avoid him. She gingerly sat on the sofa in his study and stared up at him.

Peter paced the full length of the carpet, turned abruptly and returned. He stared at her, then out the window and finally walked away and back again. Each step seemed to measure more than a stride. It seemed to measure a heavy weight.

Her pulse skipped a beat, then thrummed faster and faster as her anxiety skyrocketed. She couldn't bear waiting for him to build up his nerve anymore. Marie clenched her hands in her lap until her knuckles went stark white and blurted out, “What is it?”

Peter hunkered down in front of her and locked eyes. He took her hands in his, then repeated, “I have to talk to you about something.”

There's another woman. He's going to try to ease into a divorce.
She gave him her bravest smile, but inside, everything felt like it was falling apart. “Okay. Whatever it is, I'll handle it.”

He straightened up and let off a tense laugh. He still kept hold of her hands. After a second, he sat beside her on the cushion and still kept possession of her hands. His fingers were long and warm. The way he hung on to her made Marie's apprehension soar. “What is it?”

“Ricky.”

“What about Ricky?” Her mind whirled.
Ricky? What could possibly be wrong with Ricky?
Horror streaked through her.
He wants to keep Ricky for himself. He's found another woman, but he wants to keep both of my boys!

Peter looked at her with an intensity that made her heart twist. “When we were goofing off in the pool that night,
I realized we hadn't decided what would become of the boys if something were to happen to both of us.”

Marie went completely still.
Is that all? I got paranoid for no reason at all!

“I'd already made out a will as soon as Luke was born, designating Kate as his guardian.”

She shifted to let go of a bit of her tension and agreed, “I think she's the best choice. As good as your parents are, the boys need someone younger to keep up with them. Jill and Brianna love them to pieces, but they're not settled yet. Sandy would offer, but she has some special needs of her own, and I want her to adjust to them and hopefully have this relationship with Brent without having that possible obligation hanging over her head.”

“Good, then we're agreed.”

“So, see?” She relaxed a bit. “Everything is fine.”

“Fine,” Peter echoed. He didn't look very relieved. He then continued, “I can't take care of doing that with the attorney just yet. We have to tend to another matter first.”

The way he paused struck Marie as odd. Her sense of panic crashed back in, only it had doubled. She watched him diligently, her eyes scanning his features carefully to glean a clue as to the gravity of what he'd say next. He said nothing yet, so she waited.

“Marie, I can't do that until I have legal rights to determine what is in Ricky's best interest.”

She scrambled to come up with a reasonable way to dodge this. If he adopted Ricky, she'd never be able to keep custody in a divorce. “That's silly. Anything we've done is subject to legal interpretation and red tape. The courts would have a heyday trying to determine who was the parent of which child.” She paused a moment, then proposed what she hoped would sound like a compromise. “Wouldn't it be simpler if we just asked an attorney to
draft a joint will or a…what do they call it? A living trust.”

“Yeah, we could do that.” Peter still didn't look finished. Marie smiled at him. “Peter, don't be so upset. I seriously doubt the boys will ever have to face this. The odds of anything happening to both of us are incredibly slim. I'm sure anyone would agree, we've already suffered more than our fair quota of disasters.”

“I know, but there's just one more issue.”

“Another one?” her voice shook.
Is this ever going to come to an end?

“It's about Ricky.” Peter's fingers held hers more securely as he softly said, “His name.”

Marie frowned. “His name? What's wrong with his name? Do you want to call him Richard? Dickie?”

“No, Marie. I want to legally change his last name.”

It took a moment for the words to sink in. Marie jolted. He was using this as a back door into adoption. He'd thought it through and approached it far more shrewdly than she'd ever imagined. He'd always been honorable with her—and this maneuver almost blindsided her.

Peter's hold on her tightened. “You took my last name. Ricky's the odd man out. I think it would be best.” He paused momentarily, then hastily added, “And he truly is my biological son.”

Her fingers went ice-cold. All of her went cold—ice-cold. She shivered, then stiffly pulled from Peter's contact. He could have held on, but he relinquished his hold as soon as she started to draw back. Marie stared at him and rasped, “Then what about Luke?”

“What about him?”

“Do we change his last name to Cadant?” Her chin went up a notch, as did the volume of her shaky voice. “He's Jack's biological son.”

Peter's dark eyes narrowed, and his face went taut. For a moment, he stayed silent and the muscle in his cheek twitched. Clearly, this matter was just as emotionally charged for him as it was for her. She'd countered with a move he hadn't anticipated. Finally he shook his head. “I want us to all have the same last name.”

Marie felt as if he'd punched his fist into her chest and pulled out her heart. She stood on very stiff legs and woodenly shook her head. “No. No. You can't do this.”

“Why not?”

You're the one who told me the marriage was inviolate. You're the one who promised you'd never fall in love with another woman. You said we'd be together and make a home for our sons. How can you do this?

Peter stood, too. He folded his arms across his chest in a move of pure stubbornness. “Why can't I? If this is about Jack—”

“Oh, you want to talk about Jack?” she cried. “You want to make this all about Jack? Okay. We'll do that. You've tried to wipe out every bit of Jack in my heart and life and want to pretend he never existed, but you can't do that. He was my husband and he fathered our son. That son is all I have left of Jack.”

“But, Marie—”

“How can you be so cruel that you'd rob Jack's son of his birthright?”

“Luke never knew Jack, Marie. I'm not being cruel at all. The only name he's ever known is mine.”

She stared at him through a sheen of tears. She'd trusted him.
I've been a complete fool. I knew you loved the boys, but I never imagined you'd go to these lengths to have them all for yourself.

“It's important for the boys to both be mine.”

“Yours!” Angry beyond anything she'd ever felt, Marie choked on that one word.

“You know what I mean.”

He looked like he expected an immediate capitulation, but Marie knew he'd never accept it if she flatly refused, so she whispered thickly, “I'll think about it.”

“Marie—”

“I'm tired. Really tired. Good night.” She half dashed out of his office, down the hall and into her room. She shut the door and sat on her bed. Even here, she found no refuge. This wasn't their house—it was his. Marie hugged a pillow to her chest, bowed her head and tried to gulp back tears.

He didn't want her; he wanted her son. From the time she'd admitted to herself that she felt a spark of attraction for Peter, she'd wondered if he could feel the same for her. Now she knew: He didn't want her for herself. He only included her because it meant he'd have Ricky. She was merely a means to an end. Once he adopted Ricky, she'd be expendable.

God, please don't let this be.

How long she sat there with tears streaming down her face, she couldn't say. Steeped in misery, she'd lost track of time. The sound of Luke's crying broke through to her. Marie set aside the pillow, hastily wiped her face and headed into the boys' room.

Peter got there before she did. He picked up Luke and cradled him to his chest. His voice was low and comforting as he crooned nonsensical sounds. He glanced up at Marie and said, “He's hot.”

She closed the small distance between them and instinctively reached for her son. “How hot?”

Peter pulled away and held Luke tighter. “You can't have him.”

Marie started to shake, and tears welled up again.

“Marie, your arm is too sore to hold him. Go get the thermometer. I'll meet you in the playroom.” Peter brushed past her.

Marie quickly checked on Ricky, then did as Peter bade. Her heart was breaking, and every step was an effort. Peter sat on her old couch in the playroom. Luke huddled close and looked pitiful. “It's probably his ear again,” Peter said. He took the thermometer from her nerveless fingers. “Let's get his temperature, then I'll call the doctor.” He frowned. “Are you okay? You're flushed, too.”

“I'm fine.”
As fine as I can be, considering you're stomping on my heart.

“Sit down.” He shook down the thermometer, then tucked it under Luke's arm. He was running a bit of a fever and complained about his ear. Peter directed Marie where to find some numbing eardrops and the liquid fever reducer the pediatrician prescribed. Once they took care of things and Luke fell back to sleep, Peter carefully tucked him back into bed. They tiptoed out to the hallway. Peter halted her by lightly cupping her shoulder. “Are you sure you're okay? Is it your arm?”

Marie self-consciously wrapped her arms around her ribs, careful to slip the left one over the right to cover the unsightly red scar. “You don't need to worry about me.”

“Of course I worry about you. You're my wife!”

“For how much longer? Until you can secure your rights to Ricky with an adoption?”

“Marie!”

She jerked away from him and whispered harshly, “I'm not stupid.”

“Then I must be. What in the world are you talking about?”

“Oh, come on, Peter! Don't act like I'm a total fool. You pushed me to let you adopt Ricky right after you went away and stayed out 'til all hours of the night. A woman answered your hotel room phone. I—”

“What?”

“They're my sons, too. I'm not—”

“I know they're your sons, too!”

“Then why are you doing this to me?” She couldn't hide her pain and fear anymore. Marie started to sob.

Thunderstruck, Peter stared at her for a split second. When she tried to turn and bolt away, he lunged and swept her into his arms. He carried her over to the corner of the living room and sat in the center of the oversize love seat. Marie tried to squirm away, but he held her tight.

“Let go of me!”

“No. Not now. Not ever.”

His words only made her weep harder. She shuddered and soaked his shirt with her tears. Peter held her close. She finally went limp across his lap. He tenderly stroked her back and tucked her hair behind her ear so he could look down and gauge her expression. She'd taken him by complete surprise with her accusations and this emotional storm. He'd been so wound up in his own doubts and concerns, he hadn't thought to look at things from her vantage point.