Loving Care Page 2

  His dad raised an eyebrow and gave him a steady look. “Did you get my medicine?”

  Patrick nodded. “It’s by your recliner.” The words struck him. Times like this he missed Sherry—a woman in his life, a mother with common sense for his son. “I suppose I should put it away before Sean gets into it. I wasn’t thinking.”

  “You better start thinking, boy. That little one is precious.”

  Drawing a deep breath, Patrick nodded, angry at himself for being so careless. “You’re right, Dad. I’m distracted.”

  His father wiped his mouth again and drew back his head, eyeing Patrick from beneath knitted eyebrows. “What’s bothering you, Patrick? You’ve been my son for a long time. I know when you’ve got something on your mind.”

  Patrick never could hide anything from his father. He’d hoped to avoid talking about Christie, but the same facial expression that had gotten him in trouble as a child was doing it again.

  He dropped his half-eaten sandwich onto the paper plate. “I ran into Christie today at the pharmacy.”

  “Christie.”

  “Right. It just threw me off-kilter a little.”

  His father leaned one elbow on the table and rubbed the side of his head. “Was she civil?”

  “She was surprised to see me, but she acted fine. Told me about her child-care business.” Patrick broke eye contact and turned his plate ninety degrees, then pulled it back. “That bothered me.”

  “Why?”

  He shook his head. “She’d wanted to run her own center when we were married. I…I asked her to wait until we were financially stable.”

  Joe nodded. “Yes. I remember that. So what is it then. Did she say something about Sherry or Sean?”

  Patrick’s stomach knotted around the piece of bread and meat he’d eaten. “I don’t know if she knows about them.”

  “You mean you didn’t tell her?”

  “I didn’t say anything. It wasn’t a good time.”

  “You’re not ashamed of your son, are you?”

  His father’s words struck Patrick like a knife. “How can you ask that?” But looking at his father’s face, he sensed his answer. Christie didn’t hesitate to let him know about her success…and with pride. He’d cowered, fearing to mention his son.

  His father’s question had struck a heavy blow. He could have mentioned that his son was also staying at his father’s. He could have said more…even about his wife’s death. Why hadn’t he? Instead, he’d avoided mentioning it as if he were ashamed.

  “This is a small town. Gossip flies like a house afire,” his father said. “If she doesn’t know already, then you need to—”

  “I know, Dad.” His thoughts whirred while unexpected visions rose in Patrick’s mind—Christie sitting by the firelight when they went camping, Christie picking wildflowers in a spring meadow, Christie laughing, with the wind blowing her honey-brown hair. The images rolled over him like waves on a beach. “I owe her the decency of telling her myself…and I will.”

  His father’s eyes narrowed. “Okay.” He shoved the paper plate away from him. “When?”

  Chapter Two

  Christie slid the blueprint around so she could look at it more carefully. “I’d like to have more storage space in this area.” She pointed to the spot on the proposed floor plan for the day-care-center addition. She’d been contemplating the changes for months. She demanded perfection.

  “Storage, huh?” The builder studied the drawing again.

  The telephone jingled, and Christie paused to see if one of her assistants would grab it. When it rang a third time, she excused herself and crossed the room to her desk. “Loving Care.”

  “Christie, this is Patrick.”

  Christie’s chest tightened. A week had passed since she’d seen him. She gripped the receiver, pulling it close to her mouth to keep her voice from reaching the man standing by her worktable. “What do you want, Patrick?” The cross words flew from her, but she didn’t care, assuming Patrick was pushing to see the day-care facility. Seeing him hurt too badly. When he walked out on their marriage, she’d struggled to make her life meaningful. She couldn’t do it again.

  For a moment, only silence seeped across the line. Finally he spoke. “I thought we…I wondered if we could talk. I—”

  “I’m sorry, Patrick. This is a bad time for me. I’m very busy.” Realizing her volume had risen, she lowered her voice. “And I don’t see what we have to talk about. We talked eight years ago.” Her knees had begun to shake, and she felt light-headed. She longed to sit, but she felt the contractor’s eyes on her back so she fought to remain calm.

  “Yes, I know, but…” His voice faded to resignation for a moment. With a new fervor, he continued. “I’ll try again when you’re not so busy. Sorry I bothered you.”

  When Christie realized he’d hung up, she lowered the telephone and closed her eyes. His voice had sparked with anger, and she felt riddled with regret. What had happened to her clear thinking? Her control?

  Having Patrick back in town threw her off course enough. Talking to him, rehashing the past seemed useless and could only stir up emotions she’d packed away.

  Managing a pleasant look, Christie spun around to face the contractor. “So, where were we?” she asked, crossing the room to the worktable.

  He tapped the blueprint. “You asked about storage.”

  “Yes,” she said, struggling to keep focused.

  “I think we could shave a little off this new playroom.” The contractor ran his finger along the line of an imaginary wall. “Or we could add some built-ins here. Large shelves maybe along this wall and some benches under these windows. You know, the kind that serve as storage chests.”

  “Benches? I like that idea.”

  “So?” The contractor tapped his foot as she perused the blueprint. “What do you think?”

  “I like what I see. At least, with the changes. I would still have plenty of room for the children’s outside play, and—” Her heart sank as she realized since Patrick’s call she’d lost interest in talking about an addition.

  “I’ll tell you what,” she said. “Let me study the drawings for a few days. If I decide to go through with this, I’ll check with my bank for a loan approval.”

  She noticed a concerned twist to his face.

  “I’ll have no trouble getting approval,” she added to assure him, “but I need to be confident I’m moving in the right direction.”

  “Certainly,” he said, regaining his salesman’s smile. He did a full turn looking around her office. “You have a nice facility here. You might as well make it the best you can, and we’re just the company that can bring your dream to life.”

  Christie had heard that line before, but she shook his hand and smiled. When he vanished through the door, her pleasant expression faded. She left her copy of the blueprint on the table and was heading for her desk when the telephone rang again. Patrick. She grabbed the receiver.

  “Loving Care,” she said, controlling her tone, yet wondering if Patrick would ever give up.

  “Christie, this is Milton.” His voice held a question. “Are you okay?”

  “Sorry, Milton. I’m just busy.” She massaged her forehead with her free hand, angry at her loss of composure.

  “I won’t keep you. I just wanted to make sure we’re still on for tonight.”

  She sank into her chair. “How could I forget? Sure we’re on.”

  “Good. I’ll pick you up around seven-thirty.”

  “See you then,” she said, determined not to let Patrick’s reappearance mess up her life.

  When she’d hung up, Christie kept her fingers wrapped around the receiver and thought. Despite her decision to remain single, she’d found the company of men pleasurable, and Milton Garrison had accepted her rules—a date was nothing more than companionship. But she didn’t love him. She’d only ever loved one man—Patrick.

  Patrick. Had she been unfair to him today? Maybe she should phone him back and apo
logize for her brusque treatment. She stared into space.

  Stupid idea. I owe him nothing, and all he wants is to ease his guilt.

  But was that all? The more she pondered, the more her curiosity took over her thoughts. He wanted to talk, he’d said, but what did he want really?

  More important, what did she want really?

  Christie placed her knife along the edge of the plate and pushed it aside. She hadn’t felt hungry, and she’d let Milton do most of the talking through dinner. She could tell by his expression he wondered what was wrong. She managed to brighten her smile and look interested. “You didn’t tell me how your meetings went.”

  His attention sharpened, and he gave her a faint smile. “They went well. Sorry I had to be out of town last weekend.” He slid his hand across the table to brush her arm. “I hope that didn’t upset you. I missed you.”

  He’d thought she was upset with him, Christie realized. She knew she should say she missed him, too, but she hadn’t. Since she’d run into Patrick on Saturday afternoon, followed by his telephone call, the next week, she hadn’t thought about anyone else. Instead of telling a lie, she smiled and patted Milton’s hand resting on her arm.

  “I’m glad the meetings were worthwhile,” she said.

  He looked thoughtful and nodded.

  Christie grappled for conversation. “By the way, I met with a contractor from Jeffers Construction today. He brought over the blueprints.”

  His eyes widened, and a look of interest replaced his dour expression. “And what do you think?”

  She heard him, but something had drawn her attention to the dining-room entrance. Heat rose up her neck as she spotted Patrick standing in the doorway waiting for the hostess. When the woman guided him to a table nearby, Christie cringed. Discomfort rattled her, and she felt like a woman cheating on her husband.

  “Is something wrong?”

  She shifted her gaze to Milton, yet in her peripheral vision, she could tell Patrick had seen her. Moments passed before his question settled in her ears.

  “Sorry. Nothing’s wrong.” She managed a grin and took a sip of her ice water, hoping she wouldn’t get sick right there in the restaurant.

  “I asked you what you thought of the blueprints?” Milton’s forehead creased as he studied her.

  “Oh…the blueprints. Yes. Good. They looked pretty good. I made a couple of suggestions.”

  Milton glanced over his shoulder as if searching for what had caused her distraction. When he turned back, he was unsmiling. “Do you know that man?”

  Christie nodded. “It’s Patrick.”

  He glanced again. “You mean your Patrick.”

  “Yes. No. Not my Patrick. Not now, but he used to be.” She kept her eyes directed at Milton, struggling with what to do with Patrick so near. Speak to him. Ignore him.

  “Would you like to leave?” Milton asked, his curiosity switching to a look of irritation.

  “No. Not at all.” In truth, Christie longed to run. She and Milton had been dating for many months, a year maybe, and today she wanted to hide their relationship. She resented the feeling and felt frustrated for reacting that way.

  She tried to pretend she didn’t know Patrick was there, but her conversation lagged worse than before while her mind filled with questions. Where was his wife? Why had he come to this restaurant? And why tonight? It had been one of her favorites. He shouldn’t have come here.

  The thought plagued her. Why had she come here? He had every right to eat here. Patrick had loved the place as much as she had. It had been their special restaurant—the one they’d come to during one of their college breaks when he’d first told her he loved her.

  “I should speak to him, I suppose,” Christie said.

  Milton tilted his head. “I’m guessing you mean Patrick.”

  Mortified that she’d blurted out her thoughts aloud, she nodded. “Sorry. Seeing him here surprised me.”

  “You didn’t know he was in town?” Milton asked.

  “I did, actually. We ran into each other at the pharmacy on Saturday.” She swallowed, knowing she had to be candid. “He’s come back to town…to stay.”

  A shadow fell across Milton’s face, and his look darkened. “You mean to live?”

  She gave a faint nod. “His dad’s ill. Hanuman’s Hardware belongs to his father, and he needs Patrick’s help.” Christie realized for the first time that she hadn’t even asked Patrick what was wrong with his dad.

  Milton pushed his plate aside and twisted in the chair to flag the waitress.

  Knowing that she’d dampened his mood and ruined his meal, Christie wished she could backtrack and choose another place for their dinner. Why had she picked Anton’s Bistro tonight of all nights?

  The waitress came, and Milton paid the check. He gave Christie a nod and stood to assist her rising. She slung her bag over her shoulder, and when she turned, her gaze riveted to Patrick’s.

  “Hello,” she said, feeling more awkward than she had since being a teenager. “Patrick, this is my friend, Milton Garrison.”

  Patrick slid back his chair and rose, the cloth napkin dangling from his fingers. He grasped Milton’s outstretched hand with a steady shake. “Nice to meet you.” He shifted his gaze to Christie. “Did you enjoy your dinner?”

  “Yes, I did.” Before you came in, she added as she felt her food churn in her stomach.

  “We always liked Anton’s,” Patrick said, his narrowed gaze not shifting from hers.

  With his last pointed comment, she unleashed her question. “Where’s your wife, Patrick? I heard you were married.”

  His face drained of color, and she realized too late she’d stepped on sensitive ground.

  “Sherry died a couple of years ago.”

  “Died? Oh, Patrick, I’m so sorry. I hadn’t heard. I—I didn’t know.”

  “It was sudden.”

  Words failed her, and Christie felt the pressure of Milton’s fingers against her arm, urging her toward the door. “We need to get going, Patrick.” Her voice trailed away, longing to tell him how sorry she was, not only at his wife’s death, but at her tactless question.

  “See you around,” he said, sliding back into his chair and draping the napkin across his lap before he scooted forward.

  “See you,” she said, moving away on Milton’s tense arm.

  “Look, Ellie,” Christie said, nestling the two year old in her arms. She pointed to the sky. “See all the kites.”

  “See da kites,” Ellie mimicked.

  “Jemma,” Christie said, “your daughter talks better than some of my three-year olds at the day care.”

  Jemma Somerville grinned. “She takes after her daddy.”

  “Daddy,” Ellie said, twisting her body to search the crowd at the Grand Haven Paint the Sky Kite Fly.

  “Your daddy’s working,” Christie said, nuzzling the child’s rosy cheeks. “Thanks for inviting me to come along, Jemma. The kites are beautiful.”

  Ellie wiggled in Christie’s arms.

  “You want down, sweetie?” Christie asked. She lowered the toddler to the ground but gripped her hand so she wouldn’t wander off.

  “Let Mommy tie your shoe,” Jemma said, crouching to redo the child’s laces. “You’ll be falling on your face if we aren’t careful.”

  While Christie waited beside them, she lifted her head toward the sunny sky, admiring the shapes and colors dipping and soaring on the breeze. She loved feeling summer’s warmth on her skin. The smell of Lake Michigan tantalized her senses along with the nearby food booths that tempted her palate.

  She turned toward the stands to check the length of the lines. Her breath halted. Patrick. Again. His dark hair and broad shoulders stood out from the crowd as he waited at an ice-cream concession. She gazed at his profile while an unwanted sensation rippled along her spine. She’d always known he was handsome, but now he’d ripened like a summer peach—rosy tan from the sun and so tempting.

  Washed in unexpected feelings, she
shifted her gaze and noticed a boy—three years old, she guessed—standing beside him. The child’s dark hair and the same sculpted nose sent her heart on a downward plunge.

  “What’s wrong?” Jemma asked as she rose from the shoe-tying. She turned to look in the direction that Christie’s gaze had frozen.

  “Patrick’s over there by the ice-cream stand.”

  “Which one is he?”

  “With the dark hair and—”

  Jemma touched her arm. “You mean the good-looking man with the child?”

  Christie swallowed. “Right. The good-looking one.”

  “Is the boy his?” Jemma asked.

  Distraught, Christie shrugged. “I’m guessing he is.”

  “He never told you?”

  She gave a single shake of her head while anger and envy pelted her.

  Jemma’s arm slid around Christie’s shoulders with a quick embrace. “You could be wrong. The boy could be a relative…or neighbor.” She nudged Christie forward. “Talk with him.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Ice cream,” Ellie called, her arm, straight as an arrow, pointing to the booth. “Ice cream, Mommy.”

  “Ellie wants a treat. Let’s go over there,” Jemma said, lifting Ellie in her arms and stepping ahead before Christie could stop her.

  Christie waited a moment, not wanting to move, not wanting to learn the truth, but Jemma flagged her forward and she followed against her will.

  As Christie approached, Patrick was handing a small cone to the young boy. As he straightened, he saw her. His flustered glance at the child validated her guilty verdict. Christie had no question that the boy was his, and the closer she came, the more she recognized the child’s large brown eyes, so like his father’s.

  “Hello, Patrick.” Before she let him respond, Christie shifted her attention to the boy. “Are you enjoying the kites?”

  “That one,” the child said, pointing toward a box kite with multicolored sides bobbing in the air.

  “That’s a nice one,” Christie said, unable to take her gaze from the boy. She’d seen pictures of Patrick when he was young and the child looked identical, except for his chin which seemed more peaked and lacked the hint of a dimple.