Mixed Blessings (7 page)

After the usual prayer he'd said by rote, she'd taught Ricky to ask God to bless others. Tonight, his clear, sweet voice continued, “And God bless Mommy and Auntie Sandy and my fire truck. God bless Angel Daddy in heaven and—” he paused, cranked his head to the side and peeked with eyes rounded with adoration “—and God bless Mr. Peter and Brother. Amen.”

Marie tenderly tucked Ricky in bed and avoided looking at the tall stranger, but she felt his eyes on her. Ricky's prayer knocked him for a loop, and she should have known it would happen, but the last part almost tore her apart, too. She turned on the night-light and made her way out to the hallway before she had to slump against the wall.

Peter came out, wrapped an arm around her and led her out to the patio. She melted almost spinelessly onto one of the battered lounge chairs. Before she could say anything, he asked softly, “When did you start praying for ‘Mr. Peter' and ‘Brother,' Marie?”

She stared at her hands. “As soon as I knew.”

“We rated below his fire truck,” he said ruefully. “I guess I have my work cut out for me.”

“His fire truck is his all-time favorite.”

“I noticed that when we played in the dirt today. He's a joy, Marie.”

Nodding, she made no effort to converse.

He tested the webbing on the other lounger, then sat down. The plastic made an odd screech beneath him, but it held his weight. Silence swirled between them.

Leaning forward so his forearms rested on his knees, Peter stared at her intently. “Marie, let's make this work. You've been so gracious today. You even let me play with the boys all alone. You've even included Luke and me in your prayers. I scared you terribly yesterday. First im
pressions are hard to shake, and I don't blame you for being wary. Believe me—nothing is more important to me than the boys. By that, I mean both of them. Give me a chance to prove that we can work together for their sakes.”

“I'm not a gambler, Mr. Hallock. You want me to risk everything. I can't—” her voice cracked, and she finished in a sickened hush “—do that.”

“Maybe we need to think of this as gaining our new sons without losing our old sons. This doesn't have to be a loss—not if we're creative.”

“I don't believe in deluding myself. It's much less painful in the end if I face facts early on.”

“What facts?”

“You're wealthy and powerful. I'm poor and very ordinary. In the passage of time, you'll play those strengths against me.”

“What does that mean?”

“Luke is spoiled beyond imagining with every material thing a child could want. You'll be able to do the same for Ricky. You can hire others to do chores and manipulate circumstances to your benefit. I have nothing to offer but my love.”

“Nothing is more important than that!”

Tears streaked down her cheeks. “True, but you can offer that, as well, Peter Hallock. You love those boys, too. In the end, the scales won't balance. I wish I wouldn't have ever pursued this mess, because I'm going to lose everything now.”

S
he'd sounded so bleak and hopeless. Peter sat on the sofa and stared at Marie's dilapidated home. The outside she'd dolled up with flowers and such, but the inside and patio showed the true age and wear. Though the cops from her husband's station obviously pitched in, the place needed renovation that would demand far more time, strength and money than Marie had.

The house was just like her—on the outside she seemed so composed and together, but inside she was only a prayer away from collapsing. How was he to reach out to her? After all she'd been through, he couldn't fault her for her fears. He'd made her feel that she had to give up everything. He'd pressed her too far, too fast. It made his heart ache to see how frightened she was, and he felt all the worse for having compounded the problem.

All afternoon he'd had such a great time with Luke and Ricky. When they were together, lost in play, the ache went away. But Marie kept a sense of perspective. At some point in the future, Peter knew he'd count that quality as a virtue. Right now, it was a barrier.

He'd called home as Marie napped. Luke chattered cheerfully with his nanny for a moment. Peter knew Anne treated Luke well. Still, he doubted she ever chased Luke around with the vacuum hose. Marie Cadant would open her heart to Luke and enrich his life in countless ways. She'd kneel with him to say those sweet, sweet prayers and sew him homemade pajamas out of flannel any little boy would covet. Peter wanted her in their lives.

But she didn't want him in hers.

He ached to help her. She wanted to live here for sentimental reasons, and he couldn't fault her for that; but one look let him know the place needed a lot of work—expensive work. Marie would be too proud to accept his offer to fund those repairs. Against his protests, she'd doggedly insisted upon paying him for the groceries; she'd never consent to accepting anything from him.

He'd never been in a stickier situation. If he offered assistance, he'd be wielding the financial power she already feared he'd exercise. If he didn't, he wouldn't be caring for his son and providing to the best of his ability. If he used that argument, then she'd counter it with the fact that she wasn't contributing to Luke's upbringing.

Love didn't have an economy. Who could assign a value to everything?
You make pajamas for Luke, and I'll…repair your car? Fix the plumbing? I'll trade you—a weekend together with the boys at my place for…what?
His head banged back on the wall. This wasn't business. Dickering over everything like a cold, hard transaction simply wouldn't work.

He shamelessly pumped Sandy for information that noon, and she'd been surprisingly forthcoming. Marie received Social Security benefits for Ricky and earned a pittance at the day care. Jack hadn't been on the force long enough to earn retirement or a pension. According
to Sandy, men at the police station were wonderful about helping out—they fixed the leaking roof that winter, patched together the plumbing, even brought a tree at Christmas.

Marie brought an armful of sheets, a blanket, a brightly colored quilt and a pillow. “I'm sorry about the couch.”

“It'll be great, Marie.” He pressed on a cushion. “Comfy—but one blanket is plenty. Neat quilt. Did you make it?”

“Long ago. I'm starting to think even if this situation weren't so weird, you'd still ask half a million questions.”

His mouth bowed upward into a sheepish smile. “Curiosity is one of my greatest failings. I drove my parents nuts when I was a kid because I always asked so many.”

“Ricky's favorite word is why. Now I know who to blame.”

“Speaking of the rascal, I can hear him.” Peter grinned at the mumbled stream of gibberish coming from the boy's room.

“He talks in his sleep.” Marie looked at him, silently inviting him to tell her about Luke.

He picked up on the cue and hastily provided, “Luke is a quiet sleeper. Real quiet. I don't think he's ever talked at all. Barely even tosses or turns.”

“Ricky's worse than a top. He whirls and turns. About once a week, he gets tangled into the blankets like a little burrito and wakes up crying because he's stuck.”

“So I'll be sure the boys don't share a double bed when we go on vacations. Luke'll be so black and blue he won't—” He stopped midsentence. “I did it again, didn't I?”

“We never said anything about vacations.”

“No, we didn't. I'm full of ideas. Why don't Luke and I tag along to Yosemite? It would be fun. It'll also be
safer with two adults to keep an eye on the boys.” He nodded definitively. “When they turn six—”

“Your enthusiasm is nice, Peter, but it may be premature, if you think about it. We're not out of the woods.” She sighed. “You and I don't exactly mesh perfectly, and the boys might not become close friends. At best, the weekend deal will only work for a few years. After that, school, ball teams and friendships will complicate it.”

“You're right. We need to give it time. Planning that far ahead is foolish.”

“Oh, no! Not foolish—every parent has dreams for his child. It's just that we aren't…like everyone else.” Her gaze skittered to the side as she mumbled, “This is a unique situation. I think we'd better take things a week at a time.”

“Okay. For now, you're tired. Go on to bed.”

“Good night.”

He watched her pad down the hall and felt a wave of male admiration. She smelled vaguely flowery, and he couldn't help appreciating the gentle sway of her hips.

A little later, he heard Marie moving about in the bedroom. The chain on the trapeze over Sandy's bed rattled as the women exchanged a few sentences. Soon, things went quiet.

Peter lay in the dark and stared at the ceiling.
Lord, I don't understand any of this. I don't know why You allowed this to happen. Ricky is such a miracle. Thank You for bringing him into my life. But Father, I already love him. You know how fiercely I already feel about him. Even Solomon wouldn't have the wisdom to solve this. Help me. Help us. Show us Your plan.

He turned his head to the side. The gold-edged pages of Marie's Bible gleamed dully in the dim room. He'd
been in such a hurry to pack and come down, he'd left his own Bible on his nightstand. He didn't mean to make any noise, but as soon as he stood up and a floorboard made a faint protest, she rocketed out of her room.

“It's me, Marie. I just got up to borrow your Bible.”

“Oh.”

“I didn't mean to alarm you.”

Marie made no reply. She took a glass from the cabinet and dumped a few ice cubes into it before filling it at the tap. “Would you like some water?”

“Sure. Thanks.” He padded into the kitchen.

Taking care not to brush his fingers, she passed a glass to him and took a jerky sip from her own. “If you're hungry, there are apples in the refrigerator or cookies.”

“No, thanks.”

“Sleep well.” She set down her glass, turned and left.

Peter sipped the water and listened. Her bedsprings didn't make a sound. She was out of sight, but not in bed. The woman didn't trust him one bit. Instead of reading the Word, he decided he'd go lie down and pray. Maybe Marie would relax once she decided he'd settled down for the night. He set the empty glass in the sink, went back to the couch and peeped at her as she crept past and into Ricky's room. When she didn't come back out, he finally went to the door.

She'd curled up on the floor at the bedside. The colorful rag rug gave the room a cheerful air, but it hadn't been comfortable at all as they knelt on it for bedtime prayers. Lying on it had to be murder.

“Marie, this isn't necessary.”

She sat cross-legged and pushed her hair off of her face.

Peter took his wallet out of his pants and placed it on Ricky's dresser. He added the keys to the rental car. “I can't go anywhere without ID or money. See? I'm not
going anywhere. I'm certainly not trying to swipe Ricky from you—yes, Sandy told me you misinterpreted what I said last night. I blew it, and I understand why you're nervous. At least you can see I've brought Luke along. That gesture should restore your peace of mind.”

She let out a mirthless laugh. “I don't remember what that is.”

He cringed. “You need to sleep. Can Ricky sleep in your bed with you? I'll carry him.”

Marie nodded and gracefully rose from the floor. Peter scooped Ricky from the bed. He padded after her until she stopped on the far side of the master bedroom. Sandy was asleep, so neither of them spoke. He laid down his son, lovingly ruffled the carroty curls on the pillow and turned toward Marie. Resting his hands on her shoulders, he leaned close. He didn't hear her gasp, but he felt it beneath his hands.

“I'm sorry I disturbed your sleep, Marie.” He went back to the couch and knew he was in big trouble. He'd almost kissed her.

T
hey went to church the next day. Marie wore an ordinary-looking cotton shirtwaist. Her figure did wonders for the style. The plum color of it accentuated the circles under her eyes, though.

After the worship service, Marie and Ricky waved Sandy off on her date. Peter picked up Ricky and popped him onto his shoulders. “I think we ought to take Mommy to lunch. What do you say, tiger?”

“Hungreee!”

Marie smiled. “He's always hungry.”

A wolfish smile creased Peter's face. “I'd say it's hereditary, because I'm the same way, but then I'd have trouble explaining why Luke has a hollow leg.”

Luke bent down and stabbed a chubby finger at his leg. “Hello, leg.”

She laughed and held out her arms. Luke straightened and let her lift him. Marie watched as Peter swung Ricky down and blithely buckled him into his car seat. He hadn't even thought to defer to her for that small act of care. He'd helped Ricky comb his hair and brush his teeth for
church, too. It was nice to have some help…but it made her feel uneasy. Peter plowed in and simply made himself part of whatever was going on.

Peter started toward home but made a wrong turn. Just as she opened her mouth to correct him, he shot her a smile. “I'm dying for Italian food. On my way to the grocery store, I spotted a place around here…. There it is!”

“We can't go there!”

“Why not?”

“Figaro's is—it's—we can't eat there!”

“Of course we can.” He ignored her nonspecific protest and stopped the car. The valet smoothly helped Marie from the car, and Peter claimed both boys. Within moments, they were shown to a table.

Eyeing the snowy linen tablecloth, Marie swallowed hard. The last time she'd eaten at a fancy restaurant was on her first anniversary. It had been ages since she indulged in anything this frivolous—or expensive. Peter squeezed her hand. “So what if the boys spill? Do you think that's novel around here?”

“Yes! There isn't another child in the place!”

“Big deal. They're well behaved, and wine stains far worse than tomato sauce, so stop fretting.”

“How would you know what stains worse?”

“I worked my way through college by doing any number of odd jobs. A linen supply place hired me one summer.”

“It's hard to imagine you were once young.”

“It shouldn't tax your imagination at all.” Peter tilted his head toward Ricky. “Just look at him.”

Peter was a great conversationalist. He entertained the boys as they waited for the meal and managed to put Marie at ease. She found herself smiling at him and ap
preciating his sense of humor. At his request, the waiter brought out large dish towels to use as a makeshift bibs for their sons…and by the time Ricky decimated a plate of spaghetti, Marie told him, “Good thing you asked for that dishcloth! I would have had to toss out Ricky's shirt!”

“Luke's just as messy when he eats.” He wiped one of Luke's hands as Marie grabbed Ricky's and tried to clean off the sticky red sauce. “I have a video of Luke eating chocolate pudding for the first time. It's guaranteed to send you into hysterics.”

“I'd love to see it.”

Peter nodded. “I'll have it ready when you come up next weekend. Do you have some films of Ricky stashed away that I can take up with me?”

“No.”

His brows knit. “Marie, I won't keep them. I'll just have them copied.”

“I don't have any videos, Peter.” She hastened to explain, “We didn't have a camcorder.”

“Oh.” From his flummoxed expression, Marie gathered he was momentarily stunned that anyone wouldn't own such an expensive item; but to his credit, he quickly recovered. “Okay. While you were napping, Sandy let me look through those memory albums you've made for Ricky. You must have spent all sorts of time on them. They're incredible.”

“Thanks.”

“If you remember to bring them up with you, I can scan them and keep the reproductions.”

Though Figaro's was the most expensive restaurant around, Marie noted Peter barely even bothered to look at the total on the tab the waiter slipped to him. With a wave of his platinum credit card, and a flourish of a pen,
the bill was settled. A small twinge of regret hit as she reached for her purse. It had been years since she'd had such a nice time.

“This was a wonderful surprise, Peter. I enjoyed it—” she ruffled Ricky's fiery curls “—and I think you can tell Ricky did, too.”

“Terrific. Luke and I loved the company even more than the good food.” He stood and lifted Ricky into his arms as if claiming a father's privilege. Marie's heart beat faster. They looked so right together. She took Luke into her arms and felt a spurt of pure joy. Sharing the boys pulled her heart in opposite directions—she loved gaining Jack's son, but she feared loosening the exclusive bond she shared with Ricky.

When they got home, Peter winced as he consulted his watch. Marie waited until they walked up the wheelchair ramp to the door before asking, “Have to leave soon?”

“A little over an hour left.”

“Was there anything special you wanted to do?”

“Would you mind if I rocked Ricky and put him down for his nap? He's about to conk out on us.”

“Go ahead.” She cuddled Luke close to her heart. “Shall we put him down in there, too?”

Peter thought for a moment, then shook his head. “Lie him on the couch. That way, we won't bother Ricky when we leave.”

Marie and Luke stayed in the living room. The minute she sat on the couch and reached for him, he'd come to her and snuggled. The affection and trust he showed made her glow inside. He yawned. “Sleepy, honey?”

As he nodded, his head rubbed her shoulder and his soft baby curls brushed her neck. She wanted to memorize every second, every sensation. His chubby little hand
came up, curled into a fist and he popped his thumb into his mouth.

Ricky seldom sucked his thumb. He was a bit longer, definitely lighter than Luke—but those comparisons didn't warrant more than a fleeting awareness and acknowledgment. Both boys deserved to be cherished just as they were.

Luke's body slowly went limp as he fell asleep. When he grew too heavy for her to hold any longer, Marie grudgingly slipped him onto the sofa and listened to the soft creak of the rocker in Ricky's room. Peter's low rumble sounded foreign. He spoke softly to Ricky, gentling him into his naptime. Long after the little boy's body went lax with sleep, Peter continued to cradle him. He didn't even look up when Marie slipped in.

She quietly took a few pictures. Ricky deserved to have a memento of the first days of his reunion with his father. When Peter startled at the click and whir of the camera, she gave him an apologetic smile. Her eyes filled with too many tears to see him silently mouth words of appreciation.

He gently laid Ricky on the small bed and drew a blanket over the boy. Bending over, he unabashedly placed a kiss on his son's forehead. “I'll see you soon.”

They went back to the living room. Peter sat down on the edge of couch and patted the cushion next to himself.

Marie sat down in the chair directly opposite him. With no more than one day's acquaintance, this man had asked her to move into his home. Keeping distance seemed wise—even though it meant she couldn't reach over and touch Luke. She fiddled with the camera strap.

“May I have the roll of film? I'll have duplicates made and give them to you right away.”

“I suppose so.” She checked the dials. “There are two shots left.”

“Good. We'll take snaps of one another. That way, Luke and Ricky can each have a picture of us.” Peter mugged for the shot she took, then swiped the camera away. “Sit over there in the sunshine. It'll look pretty on your hair. Come on, smile.”

“I'm nervous!”

“Luke doesn't have to know that. Turn this way a little more. I want him to see your dimples. There!” He smiled broadly. “I got it! I'll have them ready next weekend. You're coming up, aren't you?”

“I don't know….”

“Please, Marie. You know how important this is.” He leaned toward her. “Sandy is already wild about Luke. I know you both want to spend more time with him. When do you get off work on Fridays?”

“Five-thirty, but I don't know—”

“Marie, please come. Why don't we have you fly this next time, until your car is repaired?”

“Fly!”

“I have so many frequent-flyer miles, we could go around the world six times. Ricky would love being chauffeured up on a fire engine, but I think he'll still enjoy flying, don't you?”

She relented because she wanted to see Luke so badly. “Are you serious about it being free?”

“It won't cost a single cent.” Peter then pressed, “About your car, Marie—”

“It's running.”

“But not for long. An oil leak can cause major engine damage. If you catch it early, it'll be nothing. I tell you what—I called my mechanic. His brother-in-law owns a
garage not far from here. Let him have a look under the hood. I'd feel so much better if you did.”

“Is your past haunting you?” she asked softly.

“Yes.” He hadn't paused to even take a breath or think. The answer shot back with such conviction, she knew he'd been stewing over this.

“Then I'll get an estimate.”

He frowned. “Not an estimate, Marie. Get the work done. You'll drive up to see us for some of your visits, so the least I can do is pay for this.”

“No!”

“Marie—”

“I'm not a charity case!”