The Christmas Kite Read online

  Her shy gaze caught his. “Would you like to stop by and see the place? And Mac? He’d love to see you, I know. He talks about you all the time.”

  The child’s image rose in Jordan’s mind—his trusting face and beaming smile. The picture rent his heart. “Well, I just stopped by to pick up dinner for Dooley.” Surprising himself, a grin pulled on his lips. “Sounds like a play or movie. ‘Dinner for Dooley.’”

  “Breakfast at Tiffany’s,” she added. “Or Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner?” She appeared to relax.

  Her eyes glinted with amusement, and they warmed him. “I suppose he can wait a few minutes.”

  “Wait?” She tilted her head quizzically.

  “Dooley. He can wait to eat. I’d like to see Mac.”

  “Good,” she said. “Follow me.” A laugh bubbled from her throat, and she looked at him with embarrassed eyes. “I suppose you know where the apartment is.”

  He grinned and headed for his car. He wished his mind and mouth would work out a deal. Cooperation. Maybe compromise. He said one thing and his heart wavered whether it was what he should have said. Too late now. But he could make it a short visit.

  Meara’s pulse raced as she headed back to the apartment. Though only a week had passed, it seemed like forever since she’d seen Jordan. She glanced in her rearview mirror, admiring his reflection, handsome with his strong jaw and sculptured nose. She admired the wispy strands of graying hair that graced his temple. Though at first glance he looked distinguished, almost aloof, in time his quiet, gentle nature revealed a different image, gracious and vulnerable.

  She pulled into the parking lot behind the shop, and Jordan parked alongside. Mac spied her from the back workroom and rushed outside. Though he headed for her, his rubber-soled shoes skidded to a halt when he eyed Jordan. He veered in his direction and stuck out his hand. “Hi, Jor-dan. Otis said ‘horse’s mouth.’”

  Jordan faltered at Mac’s words while laughter rippled from Meara’s chest.

  “That will take some explaining, I imagine,” she said as she lifted the trunk lid.

  Jordan ruffled Mac’s hair. “Just a little.” He returned his gaze to her and reached for the heaviest bag.

  Seeing him with Mac, her heart swelled with tenderness. Mac had been fatherless even with a father. No man had tossed him a ball or pitched him a Frisbee. Or had gone outside on a summer day to fly a kite. Nothing…until Jordan.

  And now her son idolized him. She winced, thinking how hurt Mac would be when Jordan lost interest or returned to his college life again.

  “Come, see my room,” Mac said, pulling Jordan along by his fingers.

  “That’s why I stopped by. And I wanted to say hello.”

  “Hello,” Mac said. “Come and see.” He beckoned him to follow, and the two climbed the staircase.

  Meara gathered up the second bag and followed them, her mind wavering between avoiding this man who tugged at her heart or pursuing him for Mac. For Mac? Who are you kidding? she thought. Yet Jordan was a stranger in so many ways. She knew nothing of his life—only vague references to some tragedy that had taken him from his career. Was it a wife? Divorce, perhaps? Or her death? What would cause a man to run away from his familiar surroundings and comfortable life?

  She knew why she had run. But in her case not from life, but to life. She had been without an existence for so long. Her small world had been confined mainly within the walls of the Hayden mansion. “No, Meara, you stay home with Mac. The excitement will be too much for him.” “People stare at the child when you take him out, Meara. Stay home where you belong.” The horrid, remembered words…

  “Okay, Mama?”

  Mac’s voice jolted her from the frightful memories. “What? I didn’t hear you.”

  “Jor-dan said I can come to his house and help build a kite. Can I?”

  “Probably, Mac. Let’s see when the time comes.”

  The answer suited him. He swung through the doorway with Jordan in his wake. When she stepped inside, she heard Mac giving him the “five-dollar” tour of the small apartment—Jordan’s apartment, no less. But he listened, and his pleasant, throaty voice drifted from Mac’s bedroom.

  She stored the groceries, then waited in the living room. Within a minute, Jordan came through the doorway.

  “It looks like home,” he said. “You did good.”

  She grinned at his playful bad grammar. “Thanks. I’m surprised the furniture looks as together as it does, coming from so many places.”

  “I’m sure you feel more settled…with a place to live and a job.”

  Nodding, she motioned to the love seat. “Sit for a minute. Would you like some iced tea? Or a soda?”

  He glanced at his watch. “Sure. Thanks. Iced tea sounds fine.”

  Meara turned toward the kitchen and spotted Mac lingering in the kitchen doorway, watching.

  “Mac, you’d better get back downstairs before Otis thinks you’re lost, okay?” Meara said, shooing him toward the door.

  “I’m not lost. I’m here.” He poked his chest.

  “I know that, but Otis doesn’t. He’ll be sending out a search party.”

  “Party,” Mac said, giving them one last ray of his smile before heading back down the staircase.

  Meara grabbed the drinks and returned to the living room. Jordan had settled on the love seat, and she handed him a glass, then sank into the chair.

  She took a sip and continued their earlier conversation. “I feel at home here, and I’m relieved about the job. Mac can play nearby, and I won’t have to worry about him.”

  “And I mean it, you know. He’s welcome at my place, too. I’ll let him build a paper kite. He’ll enjoy it.”

  “Probably mess it up, but thanks.”

  Jordan shot her a pointed frown. “Why ‘mess it up’? He can learn…like anyone.”

  Cold shame poked her conscience. She shouldn’t have said that about Mac. But it was true. She worried about his ability to learn. His education. Her thoughts stirred her latest concern. “I’m not sure what I’m going to do with him this fall.”

  “This fall?” He lifted an inquisitive gaze to hers.

  “School.”

  “Oh, yes.” He sipped the tea and continued. “What did Mac do last year?”

  “He’s been homeschooled with a tutor. But I want him with other children now. He’s been hidden away too long.”

  Jordan’s eyes widened. His mouth moved as if to question, but instead, he clamped his jaw. His perplexed gaze searched hers.

  Hidden away. She’d said far more than she had meant to. “Do you know anything about the schools around here? Is there a school for…special children? Disabled children.”

  His gaze stayed riveted to hers. “This is a small town. If there were, I suppose I’d have heard of one.”

  “I wonder what they do for children who are…children with special needs.” Muscles tightened in her neck, and she raised her hand and kneaded the ache. “I should drop by the school offices and talk to someone.” She dreaded the tedious job of finding a proper school for Mac. Not because it wasn’t important, but because she’d heard horror stories from the Haydens about those schools.

  “What about a regular classroom?”

  “No, that’s not for Mac. I don’t want him treated—I don’t want him to feel different. Children can be very cruel.”

  “Some are, I suppose. But Mac’s not really disabled in the serious sense of the word.”

  “What are you talking about?” she snapped. “He has Down syndrome. He’s a slow learner. To you, he probably looks younger, but he’s eight.”

  “Yes. You told me, but—”

  “I want him to have the best education he can.” A ragged sigh shuddered from her throat. “I’m sure I’ll find something.” She didn’t want to defend her belief. She’d seen how people treated Mac. How the Haydens treated Mac. She wouldn’t allow her son to be rejected or scorned ever again. He needed love and protection.

  Jordan loo
ked away and sipped his tea in silence. Meara hesitated, wondering if she’d offended him. He stared at his tumbler.

  “I was rude,” she said finally. But he didn’t understand. People didn’t understand what she’d been through and how her heart cried out to protect her son. “I’m sorry. I—”

  “Mac’s schooling is none of my business. I shouldn’t have said anything.” He rose, and with a final swig from the glass, he set it on the table and strode toward the door. “I should probably stop to see Otis while I’m here. When I show up, he thinks I’m a mirage.”

  Without another word, he vanished through the kitchen door.

  Meara sat nailed to the cushion. She’d offended him with her sharp tongue. But he was right, Mac’s schooling was none of his business. No one’s business but hers.

  Chapter Six

  Jordan fled down the steps and entered the shop through the back door. Meara’s defenses had triggered his memories. Parents protect their children. But what had she meant by “hidden away”? Did she really mean Mac? And from what? His mind churned, trying to make sense of what she had said.

  When he stepped from the small workroom into the shop, Otis’s head jerked upward and he stared at Jordan with surprised eyes.

  “Hold on there. Am I seein’ a ghost?” Otis’s astounded expression flickered a glint of good humor.

  “No ghost,” Jordan said. “I ran into Meara at the IGA and she invited me to stop by and see the place. She’s fixed it up pretty nice with all your hand-me-downs.”

  “Yeah, but it takes talent to do that, you know.” He laid a hand on Jordan’s shoulder. “Well now, what do you think? You haven’t seen this place in a while.”

  “It looks good.” He surveyed the walls and displays, then added, “Where’s the Edo warrior kite?”

  “Someone bought that beauty. For a wall hangin’. Perfect, if you think about it.”

  “I suppose.” The three-hundred-dollar price tag rose in his mind and amazed him. People spent money on anything.

  As Jordan focused on Otis, Mac shot around the corner.

  “I heard you,” the boy said.

  “You did?” Jordan grinned at the child’s eager face.

  Otis chuckled. “Doesn’t miss much, does he?” He shifted his gaze toward the boy. “Tell Jordan what you’re doin’, Mac.”

  “Me.” The child jabbed his index finger into his chest. “Making kites.”

  Confused, Jordan eyed Otis. “Making kites?”

  “Designin’ is a better word,” Otis said. “Crayons and paper. I told him to draw some pictures.”

  “Ah.” Jordan rested his hand on Mac’s shoulder. “When you come over to my place, you’ll have to bring along your designs. Maybe I can use one of them.”

  “A kite for me?” Mac asked, his eyes as wide as silver-dollar pancakes, his grin as sweet.

  “Maybe. I’ll look at them and see.”

  “Okay.” The final word drifted behind him as he disappeared around the corner.

  When Jordan shifted his attention back to Otis, a serious expression had settled on the man’s usual jocular face.

  “Something wrong?” Jordan asked.

  “I’m glad you stopped by. I know you don’t like to socialize much, but you might want to drop next door to the gift shop and talk to Dawson. He mentioned the place might be sold soon.”

  “Hatcher finally made a good offer, I’d guess.” What now? If Hatcher bought the gift store, the others might give way to the pressure. And Otis was correct. Jordan didn’t want to see the town dirtied by a topless—or near-topless—saloon. “I’ll go over and see what Dawson says.”

  Otis squeezed his shoulder and dropped his hand. “Good. You might get more out of him than me.”

  Distracted, Jordan mumbled an agreement and headed for the front door. “I’ll talk to you later.”

  He stepped outside, surprised at the orange and purple trails that cut across the sky. He glanced at his watch. His short visit hadn’t been so short, and poor Dooley was probably waiting by the door for his supper. At the thought of food, the scent of baked bread taunted his tastebuds. He eyed the bakery, wondering if the owners were caving in to Hatcher’s offer to buy their building. The bakery would be a real loss to Mackinaw. The gift store was another story.

  He opened the shop door and stepped inside. Customers wandered down the aisle, fingering the cheap souvenirs and a few worthy gift items. “Junk,” thought Jordan. Most of the items were cheap, useless knickknacks.

  The manager, Bernard Dawson, stood behind the cash register, and when he noticed Jordan he did a double take. “Do my eyes deceive me?”

  Jordan stretched his hand across the counter toward the man. “No, how are you, Bernie?”

  Dawson took his hand in a firm shake. “Not bad, Jordan—and you?”

  Jordan nodded. “I’m doing fine. But you probably guessed I’m not here to talk about our health. Do you have a place we can speak privately for a few minutes?”

  Dawson surveyed the customers and waved over another clerk to handle the cash register. He maneuvered himself from behind the counter, and Jordan followed him toward the back room.

  “I’m curious about the rumor that Cliff Scott might sell the place,” Jordan said when they were alone.

  Whether from surprise at seeing him or amazement at Scott selling the store, Dawson spilled the story quickly, and Jordan did what he was compelled to do. “Tell Scott before he signs any agreement to talk with me. I’ll up the price if I must. I’m not willing to see a tacky bar take over this spot, Bernie. How about you?”

  The man agreed, and with another quick handshake, Jordan stepped back outside, wondering why in the world he’d offered to spend that kind of money for the gift shop…junk shop, really. Shaking his head, he wandered toward the bakery. The delicious smells emanating from the place lured him. But Otis’s face peering from the kite shop window stopped him, and he decided to return and talk to the man.

  Quickly he told Otis the results of his conversation, and as the last word left his mouth, Mac appeared at his side, pulling him toward the back of the shop.

  “Mama says time for dinner, Jor-dan.”

  “Time for you, Mac.” Jordan was sure Meara was in no mood to include him in a dinner invitation.

  “You, too,” Mac said, tugging at his leg.

  “Time for me to eat, yes, but I have to get home and feed poor old Dooley.”

  “Poor old Dooley,” Mac repeated. But persistently he prodded Jordan toward the back door.

  Jordan knew that once outside he could make his escape. His car was parked next to the door. But as he stepped into the fresh air, Meara appeared from the enclosed staircase.

  “I thought you left,” she said, peering at him. Her curious eyes drifted to Mac.

  “I had to take care of some business,” Jordan said, “but I’m on my way.”

  “To eat with us,” Mac said, singing the words.

  Jordan’s lips curved to a grin at the child’s simple aria. “I didn’t realize we have a Pavarotti here,” he said. The word we jabbed back at him.

  “Mac likes to sing his sentences. I suppose it is like a little opera.” She grinned at Mac, then returned her less-friendly gaze to Jordan.

  The brilliant green color of her eyes, like gemstones, glinted shards of gold in the setting sun, and Jordan caught his breath at the sight. He raked his fingers through his hair and stepped backward toward the car to make his escape. But Mac still clung to his leg, pushing him forward.

  “Eat with us.” The child’s words sounded like a proclamation, but he looked questioningly at Meara.

  “Yes, if he’d like to, Mac. But Jordan said he has to go home.”

  “After,” Mac said. “Dooley eats after.”

  Jordan squirmed. “I told him I had—”

  “Dinner for Dooley,” she said, her face softening in the brilliant fireworks of the setting sun.

  If she’d been angry before, her displeasure had faded like the van
ishing rays.

  “You’re welcome to eat with us,” she added. “I have plenty. Then you can make a quick escape and feed Dooley.”

  Her eyes locked with his. Quick escape. He wondered if she had read his mind.

  “You won’t have to cook for yourself, at least,” she added.

  “That’s true.” He had beef waiting in the car. Garbage, now.

  “Come,” Mac said with a final prod. He edged toward the wooden staircase and beckoned with his fingers until Jordan yielded to his whim and followed him up.

  A delectable aroma wafted through the doorway as Jordan reached the landing. He glanced behind him at Meara, who trailed up the staircase. “Something smells great.” He stepped through the doorway.

  “Hamburger stroganoff,” she said with a grin. “I like beef stroganoff, but that takes time. Hamburger’s quicker.” She passed by him and pulled out a chair. “Sit. We’ll eat in a minute.”

  In a moment she slid a place mat and table setting in front of him, along with a glass of iced tea. With another sashay, she added a bowl of rich beef in thick sour cream sauce, another of white rice, and a plate of sliced fresh vegetables.

  Jordan eyed Mac, who sat patiently in the chair with his hands folded. When Meara joined them, she bowed her head and began to pray.

  Discomfort settled over Jordan. He hadn’t prayed in so long, not since his wife and Robbie died. He had never totally accepted Lila’s strong faith in God and the Savior she had taught Robbie to accept. But he hadn’t argued with her. Maybe she had been correct.

  He’d read the Bible countless times—each year at least once while teaching a class called “The Bible as Literature.” As he’d tried to show the students the Bible’s incongruities, those who’d believed fervently justified the discrepancies. His message hadn’t swayed them from their faith.

  After a while, he began to wonder if what they said had meaning. Sometimes, the individuals who defended the Bible as God’s Word made sense. But then came the car accident. And he realized, if God was real, He was not a loving God. And Jordan closed his eyes to the new beliefs that were pressing on his mind…and his heart.