One Imperfect Christmas (9 page)

She couldn't answer over the ache in her chest. Dr. Sirpless might eventually help her cope with the massive guilt, and now this anger. But all the therapy in the world would never change the fact that this time of year, a season when the whole world should be joyful and full of love, would never be that way for Natalie again.

“Come on, Nat, talk to me. Haven't you heard a thing I've said?”

Her cracked words came out in a ragged rush. “How many times do I have to say this? I can't deal with it now. Birthday, Christmas, any of it.
Please
.”

“Fine. If you don't want to come to dinner, then don't. Happy birthday, Natalie Rose.” The phone slammed in her ear.

Don't you cry, Natalie Pearce, don't you dare cry.

She sucked in a breath and gripped the arms of her desk chair. She had entirely too much work to do, and she couldn't let herself be sidetracked by Hart's disappointment. Blinking several times, she watched the Christmas shoppers bustling in and out of shops along the sun-dappled town square. Despite all the holiday advertisements she'd prepared for clients, she hadn't let herself think about her own Christmas shopping. She should find something for Lissa, at least, but she wasn't sure she even knew what her daughter wanted this year.

Sighing, she allowed Deannie's elaborate Christmas window art to distract her, and once again gratefully transferred her prickling irritation from herself to her capricious red-haired assistant. If Deannie so desperately needed an outlet for her creative energies, she could do something useful instead of wasting office time and resources.

Oh, great, Natalie, you're starting to sound like Ebenezer Scrooge.

Still, picking on Deannie gave her a moment of perverse pleasure. Who could deny that Jeff Garner's niece had grown into the classic underachiever? She'd been a problem child ever since Natalie used to babysit her some twenty-odd years ago. Several years later she and Daniel made the mistake of trusting Deannie as Lissa's babysitter, only Deannie couldn't keep her mind on her duties and off her many boyfriends. She'd taken almost seven years to finish college, changing her major at least that many times, and then flitted from one dead-end job to another, trying to “find herself.”

In October, when Deannie expressed an interest in learning the printing business, Jeff had hired her as Natalie's assistant, over Natalie's protests and against her better judgment. Someday, somehow, she'd get back at her partner for this. He owed her. He owed her big-time.

As she toyed with how she could plot her revenge, her gaze settled on Deannie's window stencil of a horse and sleigh. The horse reminded her of the farm, which reminded her of the birthday dinner, which reminded her of Mom.

Face it, Natalie, you've let down your mother. You've let down your husband and daughter. And now you're about to let down your dad.

You can change things
, a voice in her head seemed to whisper.

It sounded too easy. Was it even possible that one birthday dinner with her family might be the beginning of a way back?

She pressed shaking hands to her cheeks. For the first time in months, a genuine prayer filled her thoughts.
Dear God,
please give me the strength to do the right thing … for my family and for myself.

Summoning her courage, she picked up the phone and dialed Hart's number at the veterinary clinic, but almost changed her mind again as she waited for his receptionist to get him on the line.

Too late. “Hey, Nat, I'm sorry for picking on you. This is a rough time for all of us. If you're not up to celebrating your birthday this year, Dad will understand. We all will.”

“It's okay. I'll come. What time?”

A pause. She could picture the satisfied grin accompanying her brother's intake of breath before he asked, “When do you close up shop?”

She glanced at her watch and tried to control the tremor in her voice. “I should be out of here by seven.”

“Great. See you at the farm at seven-thirty.”

Daniel unsnapped his Putnam Panthers jacket as he sidled into the chair opposite Superintendent Luper's polished desk. “Thank you for making time to see me, sir.”

The balding man swiveled sideways in his executive chair and stretched out his legs. “I appreciate the fine job you're doing with the middle-school athletes. Coach Moreno has told me on countless occasions he doesn't know what he'd do without you.”

“I think the world of Carl too. When I heard there might be an opening for a freshman coach over at the high school, he told me to go for it.” Daniel shifted and cleared his throat. “I realize it wouldn't mean much of a pay increase, but—”

“That's the thing, Pearce.” Luper's avoidance of eye contact should have been a warning from the moment Daniel entered the office. “Putnam's budget is so tight that we're not even planning to fill that vacancy. The other high-school coaches will have to take up the slack.”

“I see.” Disappointment settled like a rock in the pit of Daniel's stomach. He stood slowly. “If something should change … ”

“You'll be the first to know.” Luper rose and offered Daniel his hand. “Great game last night, by the way. You've done wonders with those boys.”

Praise but no raise. Why should he be surprised? Shoulders hunched with disappointment, Daniel slogged out to his Bronco. He made it back to school in time to surprise his afternoon history class with a pop quiz, but when his puberty-challenged, seventh-grade basketball team hit the gym floor for practice, he turned the warm-up drills over to the team captain. “Back in fifteen,” he said, heading to his office. He needed a few minutes of quiet to get his head back in the game.

Carl found him there. “How'd it go, bro?”

The look in the big man's eyes said he already had a pretty good idea. “Looks like you're stuck with me awhile longer.”

“Yes!” Carl pumped his fist.

“Gloating is not allowed. Neither is saying 'I told you so,' even if you did.”

“There'll be other opportunities.” Carl flipped a folding chair around and straddled it. “You got what it takes, Dan. Brains, guts, talent. One of these days somebody's gonna notice. And then I'll be stuck training
your
replacement.” He grimaced. “And I ain't looking forward to it.”

“You could do a whole lot better than Putnam, yourself.” Daniel shoved a stack of folders aside and rested his elbows on the desk. “Hey, we could promote ourselves as a package deal—two of the winningest middle-school coaches in the central United States. We might even get picked up by the Spurs or the Bulls.”

Carl tilted back his head and guffawed. “Brother, when you dream, you dream big!”

“Might as well.” Daniel drew a hand down his face, the momentary lightness fading.

Carl quirked an eyebrow. “Natalie problems again?”

Daniel leaned back and laced his fingers behind his head. His gaze slid to the filing cabinet across the room and the framed snapshot of Natalie, him, and Lissa two summers ago at Disney World. Since he realized a few days ago that Natalie's birthday was coming up, he hadn't been able to get her out of his mind. “Today's her birthday. I don't know how she's going to cope.”

“First one since her mother got sick. You've told me how that family always had big doings this time of year.”

“ 'Big doings' is putting it mildly.” Belinda Morgan had created a mid-December birthday celebration for Natalie that launched the entire family headlong into the Christmas season.

“You gonna try to see her?”

His hands fell limply into his lap. “You honestly think today would be any different from all the other times I've tried to reach out to her? Whatever I do, whatever I say, Natalie's bound to slam the door in my face.”

Nope, especially now that they were separated, he couldn't imagine her welcoming his interference. As for joining the Morgans for Natalie's birthday dinner, not even his family status as Lissa's father seemed adequate justification for intruding on what was bound to be an evening of painful reminders for the entire Morgan clan.

A knock on the office door pulled him from his thoughts. Carl slid off the chair and opened it to a sweaty kid in a basketball jersey. “Hey, Jason. What's up?”

The team captain stuck his carrot-top through the opening and sought out Daniel. “You comin' out, Coach?”

Daniel rubbed his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, sorry, Jason. Be right there.”

“Stay put.” Carl waved a hand toward Daniel. “I'll cover for you. You got more important stuff on your plate.” He edged Jason out the door and closed it behind them.

What exactly Carl thought he could do about this “stuff on his plate,” he wasn't sure. On the other hand, he couldn't abide the idea of sitting here and doing nothing. There'd been too many months of feeling helpless and “doing nothing” since Natalie had shut him out of her life. Somehow he had to make her understand how much he wanted to be with her today—how much he wanted to be with her always.

An idea surfaced. He tugged open a squeaky desk drawer and searched beneath loose newspaper clippings and random paperwork for the phonebook. Riffling through the Yellow Pages, he found the number of a local florist and keyed in the number on his cell phone.

“I need to order a birthday bouquet. Something really nice. Can you do red roses?” He gave the address for Natalie's apartment.

He heard the youthful clerk slurp something from a straw. “How do you want the card signed?”

He tossed around several alternatives, none of which seemed appropriate, considering how long they'd been apart. The best he could come up with was:
Thinking of you. Daniel.

Taking advantage of some quiet time in his office, he checked the pop quizzes from this afternoon's history class and entered the scores in the grade book. When the final bell sounded, he gathered up his things and drove around to the front of the school to meet Lissa.

As they drove home, he broached the subject of Natalie's birthday dinner. “About tonight, Liss, why don't I drop you at the farm around six? You can give me a call when—”

He felt her gaze slash through the space between them. “What do you mean, drop me off? Aren't you coming too?”

“Not a good idea, sweetie. I don't want to make your mom uncomfortable—especially today.”

“I can't
believe
you, Dad! Mom's birthday, and you're not going? What's
wrong
with you?”

He felt like both his heart and his ego had been run over by a semi. His fingers bit into the steering wheel, and he willed himself not to lose his temper.

“Try to understand, Lissa. You know how easy it is for your mom and me to get into an argument. Why would I want to risk spoiling her birthday?”

“That's just an excuse. You won't go because you're scared.”

“I am scared, yes. I'm scared of upsetting your mom when she's already so vulnerable.”

Lissa's voice turned shaky. “But Mom
needs
you, Dad. If you would just
try
, I know you could help make her feel better about Grandma, and Christmas, and just
everything
.”

He wished that were true. He'd lost count of how many sleepless nights he'd spent agonizing about his wife and his marriage. And these days he couldn't seem to communicate any better with his daughter.

“Don't push it, Lissa,” he finally told her as he drove through the ivied entrance to Putnam's Deer Creek apartment complex. Finding himself at an utter loss, he stated his intentions as simply as he knew how. “My decision is final. I told you, I'll drive you out and pick you up afterward, but I'm not staying.”