Mixed Blessings (8 page)

H
e paced back and forth with long, impatient strides, then walked to Ricky's bedroom door. Bracing an arm against the doorsill, he looked at his son, then drew in a deep breath. Without turning around, he said, “We'll compromise. I'll split the cost with you.”

“No, I can rework my budget.”

He pivoted sharply and snapped, “I don't want you to!”

Glowering at him, Marie said, “This isn't about what you want. This happens to be you trying to impinge on my private life.”

His lips parted, then closed for a second. He came closer and rumbled, “Marie, this isn't about money—it's about keeping you, Ricky and Sandy safe.”

“No, it isn't. Clearly you have vast funds and I don't, but I'm not going to allow you to do anything financial.”

Peter groaned. “I'm not trying to buy my way into your lives.”

“It feels like you are,” she admitted all too promptly.

“Then I'll ask you to forgive me, Marie. I don't know what more to say.”

“I believe in forgiveness, Peter, but I also know I have to exercise common sense and wisdom. I don't know you at all, and I don't know just how much trust I can put in you. People with wealth are inclined to try to buy their way out of problems or patch things up with money, but there are some things in life that don't have a price tag.”

“I only want to take care of a few car repairs!”

“This time,” she said. “But then where do I draw the line? It's a subtle form of control, and I'd be a fool to even think of it. I won't tolerate you tossing your money at me as if I were a charity case or a poor relation. Am I clear on that issue?”

His face stayed grim. “Will you at least go to the guy my man recommended? It's probably something minor, but mechanics see a woman like you coming and a cash register in the back of their brains starts
chinging.
At least we'll know he'll be honest.” He'd scrawled the mechanic's name and address on a piece of paper and held it out to her.

Marie let out a rueful laugh. “If Ricky or Luke end up half as stubborn as you, I'm going to wear my knees flat, praying for patience!”

“Then we'll match,” he countered as he pressed the paper into her hands.

She fingered the slip. “I guess we'll see you Saturday.”

He tilted her face up to his. “No, Marie. Friday evening. The nice part about flying is that you'll be able to spend more time with us. My secretary will make the flight arrangements. She'll call you with the details and have the tickets waiting at the counter. Her name is Paulette.”

She gave him a tentative smile. “We'll see you Friday.”

 

Friday, Peter could hardly wait for them to get off the plane, yet a long trail of passengers came toward the baggage-claim area and Marie still didn't appear.
Did she chicken out?
He'd wanted to call her every single day this week—both to talk to his little son and to reinforce how much he anticipated their visit. It took all of his self-restraint to phone only twice.
Did I push too much? Did I act too casual so she decided it wasn't important?

Luke rode his shoulders to keep from being mowed over by travelers. Just about the time Peter decided to ask one of the passengers if they'd seen Marie, Ricky and Sandy on the plane, they came into sight. Marie held Ricky in her arms and walked behind Sandy's wheelchair. Peter's heart sped up another notch. “There they are!”

Luke clapped his hands and shouted, “Ricky! Ricky! Marie!”

Peter watched Marie's reaction as he jogged toward them. The time he'd spent using the photos and teaching Luke to recognize Ricky and Marie had paid off in spades. Marie stopped in her tracks. Her breath caught and tears glossed her eyes.

Peter swept Luke into Sandy's lap. “Give Auntie Sandy a big hug, Luke.” Luke wound his arms around Sandy as Peter gathered Ricky and Marie together in one, all-encompassing hug. He gave Ricky an extra squeeze, then smiled at Marie. “Luke recognized you from the picture. I got the film developed and have been showing your photos to him all week. Smart kid, huh?”

“Luke takes after his aunt,” Sandy declared as she hugged her nephew. “At least in the brains department. He certainly took after you with his looks, Marie.”

“Here, Marie. I'll take him.” Peter eagerly curled his
hands around Ricky's ribs and tugged. “This little monster is too heavy for you to carry!”

Marie relinquished him and turned to get Luke. “Then I'll take Luke.”

Sandy shook her head. “Nothing doing, sis. It's my turn to hold him. Besides, he weighs more than Ricky, and you still have a gigantic bruise from the lab drawing your blood.”

Peter looked at the dark purple splotch at the bend in Marie's arm and frowned. “That looks sore. Luke bruised, too—but not like that.”

She tugged at her sleeve to cover the mark. “Ricky wasn't happy at all about getting stuck. How did Luke do?”

“I bribed him with ice cream,” Peter confessed. He noted how Marie redirected the focus to the boys. She wasn't one to want to be the center of attention. He didn't let on how seeing her held almost as much appeal as seeing Ricky. Instead, he directed them toward the baggage carousel and let the boys start up some nonsensical chatter.

The boys continued to prattle to one another the whole ride home. During one of the phone calls, Peter mentioned he'd gotten a car seat for Ricky, so Marie didn't need to lug one along. On the ride home, Peter pointed out a few sights and pulled into his drive.

“Wow. Marie told me you lived in a nice place, but she didn't say it was a mansion!” Sandy gawked at it.

Peter grinned at her. “I hope you'll be comfortable here.” Peter had gotten advice from the rehabilitation department and rented a hospital bed for Sandy. When he took their luggage into the bedroom and Marie noticed that, she was pleasantly surprised.

“The bathroom is through that door.” Peter handed
Marie her cosmetic case and indicated the way. He waited in anticipation of Marie's reaction.

“Oh, my word!” She stuck her head out of the door, and her eyes were wide with delight. “Sandy! Come look at this.”

“What?”

“Peter put in grip rails, a handheld massage nozzle and a shower chair!”

Squeezing Sandy's shoulder, Peter said, “You're family.”

 

For the next month, they traded weekends. True to his word, Peter gave Marie copies of the pictures she'd taken of him and Ricky together. He added an additional stack of carefully labeled snapshots of Luke. She'd pored over them as if she could recapture the lost years. The intensity of her love would have shocked him if he hadn't felt the same way about Ricky.

On the weekends when Peter and Luke went down to Orange County, Marie obviously fretted about him sleeping on the couch. Peter handled the matter with his usual forthrightness. “Stop worrying, Marie. In the overall scheme of things, this is small potatoes, so let it go, okay?”

She nodded and murmured about something she needed to do. Peter watched her walk away, then frowned at the door frame when he started to follow. Sandy showed a lot of skill, maneuvering her wheelchair around as she did. The scuffs and scrapes might have been from her first weeks in the chair, before she gained proficiency…but even that thought didn't hearten him. The reminder that Marie and Sandy were crammed into the bedroom of a house that offered neither of them any privacy or space—that bothered him plenty.

Even when Sandy left to live independently, she'd still be a guest. Marie wouldn't do a thing to change the furniture arrangements.
She needs more space…space she'd have in my home.

Peter forced that thought away. It haunted him, but nagging Marie wouldn't get him anywhere. He hadn't managed to keep his own wife happy and at home; why should it be a surprise that Marie didn't want anything to do with him, either? He'd have to accept things as they stood, leave her in God's hands and do what he came down here to accomplish—to spend time with the other half of his family.

Things seemed to work out just fine until the week the blood tests came back. Peter had arranged for all of the specimens to be taken to the premier experts so they could be confident with the results. Though the envelope had arrived at his office via special messenger the day before, Peter left it sealed and brought it down to Marie's with him. While the boys played in Ricky's bedroom, Peter took Marie's arm and led her to the living room.

“What's up?” Her bright expression clouded over. “Is something wrong?”

“Have a seat, Marie.” He wouldn't let her slip over to the wing-back chair. He pivoted and pulled the envelope from the side pocket of his suitcase. “The results are back. I didn't open them yet. It didn't seem right for me to without you.”

She sank onto the couch and chewed on her lip. She stared at the envelope with all of the anxiety and dread he felt.

Peter sat beside her and left the results sealed. “No matter what it says, Marie, both boys are special, and I want us to share them.”

For the first time, she initiated contact. Her fingers curled around his. “Can we pray before we open it?”

Peter clasped her hand tightly and bowed his head. “Heavenly Father, You are the first and best parent. You gave Your Son to us and knew the pain of separation from Him—but God, You knew He'd return to Your side. We feel like Abraham, walking Isaac up to the altar. Faith tells us You have a solution, but we don't see the answer. Lord, whatever Your plan is, reveal it to us. Give us the faith and love necessary to see this through. In Jesus's precious name, amen.”

Peter urged, “Go ahead. Open it.”

“I can't. You do it.”

Nerves stretched taut, he crammed his forefinger into the edge of the envelope and tore off the flap. He'd botched it badly—a ragged, impatient rip that tattled on how little control he possessed at the moment. The single sheet inside crackled as he unfolded it, and the words leapt off the page.

Luke and Peter Hallock have no genetic markers in common. Ricky and Marie Cadant have no genetic markers in common. It is not possible for these boys to have been conceived by the respectively aforementioned adults. Further comparisons show an extremely high correlation of common genetic code between Luke and Marie, making the certainty of him being her son at 99.9987%. Peter and Ricky also share genetic code…

“Just as we suspected,” Peter said in a hushed tone.

Marie compressed her lips and nodded.

“We knew it, but it still feels different, having the news actually written down in black and white.”

She closed her eyes and nodded again. “Do we have to tell the boys yet? I don't know how to tell them.”

“There's no hurry.” Peter set the letter off to the side.
Since the envelope had come the day before, he'd had a chance to steel himself for the revelation. From her pallor, he knew Marie felt overwhelmed. Peter wasn't sure what to say or do.

Taking advantage of a few minutes of distraction, the boys decided to go exploring. A lot of giggling and an odd squeak jarred Marie out of her shock. She rose and went to investigate. Peter followed right behind, and they found the boys jumping from her dresser onto her bed. Marie stood in the doorway, frozen. Peter cupped her waist, set her off to the side and tucked a boy under each of his long arms.

“Hey, you rascals! You're in the wrong spot. You have a date in the backyard. Go race cars in the dirt. Ask Aunt Sandy to take you.” He got them out of there and turned to face Marie. She'd turned hideously pale and wore a very phony, brittle smile. Peter spied a photo that lay on the floor, undoubtedly knocked off during the boys' shenanigans. He knew he needed to acknowledge things, yet ease the strained situation. “That must be Jack. Do you mind if we take it out of here? It would be nice to see how Luke compares to his father.”

“I'll get it.” She hesitantly picked up the portrait and slipped from the room.

Peter steered her to the couch and sat next to her. One arm went around the back of the sofa and barely missed wrapping about her; the other hand helped steady the frame. He said nothing about how badly her hands shook. They both stared at the portrait. “You're right,” he decided after a few quiet moments. “Luke does have Jack's mouth.”

“He gets the same gleam in his eye, too,” she whispered hoarsely.

Peter curled his arm around her shoulders and tipped
her head onto his chest. “Bittersweet, huh?” When she nodded, he murmured, “Go ahead and cry, sweetheart.”

“I have to be strong.”

“Sandy and the boys are outside.” He gave her a gentle squeeze. “They won't get upset if they don't see you cry.”

Marie folded the photo to her chest, let out a long, choppy sigh and shook her head. “It doesn't make any difference. Giving in to tears only makes matters worse.”

Peter couldn't imagine how matters could get any harder. To his way of thinking, the situation was untenable. Each weekend, separating the boys grew more difficult. Luke and Ricky had grown attached immediately. For Marie and him, trying to ignore the tug of wanting to be with their biological children also tore at their hearts. The simple upheaval each weekend took its toll, as did the constant travel.

Peter had another reason he hated it.

He was jealous. Very few people knew Darlene had left him when she'd been in that fatal accident. He'd come home to a nasty, terse note informing him she no longer wanted to be his wife. Five frantic hours later, a phone call informed him of the birth of a son and the death of his spouse.

In the back of his mind, he'd sometimes secretly wondered if Luke was truly his son. Though Luke looked a bit like Darlene, he didn't look anything like the Hallocks. It bothered Peter that he couldn't see even the slightest bit of himself in his own flesh and blood.