A Family for Christmas (9 page)

“We're going to pray for Mickey to come home soon,” Rachel said as she broke ranks and ran forward to hug Pastor Jim, her hero.

“He's all settled at Shriners?” Jim Dillon asked Maggie.

“Uncle Trent's visiting him this morning,” Daniel added.

“That's why Uncle Trent isn't here,” Rachel went on. “You can meet him next week. He doesn't look like Daddy. He looks more like you.”

“Is that so?” Pastor Jim asked, amusement making his green eyes sparkle.

Maggie grinned and teased. “You've met him. What do
you
think? Tall. Dark. Handsome.”

“Maggie!” someone called from inside the church.

Turning toward the voice, Maggie waved. “Oh, there's Mrs. White,” she told the children.

The older woman had a well-rounded figure, saltand-pepper hair and the kindest smile this side of heaven. She was in charge of the two-year-old nursery room where her patience was much needed. Mrs. White rushed forward toward the children on surprisingly light feet. “How's my munchkin? Oh, I've missed you.” She bent down and hugged Grace.

“I had lauk up dare,” Grace proudly told her teacher.

“Chalk,” Maggie clarified. She lifted Grace into her arms, needing once again to reassure herself that the toddler had suffered no ill effects from the harrowing
night before. “I'll tell you later how she terrorized the entire ER staff.”

“Goodness, this must be such a difficult adjustment for you, Maggie dear. Suppose I take the others to their rooms for you so you can chat with Pastor Jim.” She clapped her hands then held them out to Grace. The child giggled and dove from Maggie's arms to Mrs. White's.

“So, what's the real reason Trent didn't come today?” Jim Dillon asked, as several other children fell in behind Daniel and Rachel to follow Mrs. White as if she were the Pied Piper.

Maggie felt a blush steal across her cheeks at his question. “Trent doesn't think he needs ‘religion,' so he opted out.”

Jim nodded. “I know how he perceives us. He said much the same thing after the funeral, when I tried to talk to him about Jesus. How are things between you two?”

“Better than they were, but far from ideal,” Maggie answered. She couldn't bring herself to explain further, but she took comfort in Pastor Jim's promise to pray for their marriage, and his offer of an ear if she needed one.

T
rent stopped at the entrance to the hospital the next morning and took a few calming breaths. He hadn't even been this nervous on his wedding day. What if he only made things worse? What then? He wished he understood Maggie's unflagging confidence in his ability to help Mickey.

His hand went automatically to his forehead, where a steady ache pulsed. If only he'd been able to get more than a few hours of restless sleep. But sleep had been an unattainable goal because he'd been haunted by the look of rejection he'd last seen on Maggie's face. And his mind went into guilt mode when he also thought of his years of lying to her.

He knew he should come clean and admit the full truth about what he knew must have looked to Maggie like an unreasonable stand on adoption. But he just couldn't bring himself to tell her that he'd never wanted any children. Theirs or anyone else's.

He still harbored a secret shame because he'd felt only relief when Maggie had been so devastated by the news that she was completely infertile. And now her acceptance of all of the blame for the breakup between them haunted him as well. He had to continue lying to her, but only because he couldn't think of a way to stop without risking everything.

It was the lies, he'd admitted to himself in the dark hours of the night, that kept him from taking the next step toward a complete reconciliation between them. The trouble was that only the lies made reconciliation possible. If she knew the truth about his adoption, she would want nothing to do with him.

It's the only way,
he told himself again as the elevator opened on Mickey's floor. He'd have to keep quiet and be the best husband and father he could be. The latter of which might actually be simpler than he'd thought He was beginning to see that he'd been wrong in his assessment of his ability to love a child. He didn't know about the parenting part yet, but he couldn't imagine loving anyone more than he did his brother's children—and Maggie.

Trent shook his head as he walked absently along, lost in thought. He couldn't risk losing them over a truth Maggie never had to know. There was no reason to open up that Pandora's box and risk everyone's happiness. He just had to get up the courage to risk his heart all the way by moving into the main house— into Maggie's bedroom.

Mickey's therapist had just put him back in bed as Trent entered the room. “Hey, Mick. How was therapy?”

The therapist was a tall African-American woman with the most expressive eyes Trent had ever seen. And those eyes shouted worry. She frowned and glanced down at Mickey. “He has to try harder, Mr. Osborne. I know he could be on his feet right quick if he'd just try.”

Mickey crossed his arms and frowned. “I told you! I'm tired. I'm ready for a nap,” he muttered.

Trent put his hands on his hips and considered Mickey for a long minute. Mickey squirmed a bit under his scrutiny, giving Trent the hope that his opinion might actually matter to his nephew. “Don't be disrespectful to Ms.…?” He raised an enquiring eyebrow toward the therapist.

“Deanna Hart,” she replied.

“Don't be disrespectful to Ms. Hart,” Trent repeated.

“Sorry,” Mickey told the woman, then looked uncertainly back to Trent.

“You know, Mick, I've known you since before you were born. I even bounced you on my knee a time or two at midnight when you were driving your parents crazy because being tired was the last thing you'd admit to. Where do you suppose
that
Mickey's gotten to?” Trent asked Deanna Hart, while pulling on his earlobe in pretended deep thought

“Can't say, Mr. Osborne.”

“Think maybe somebody stole him?” Trent made a grand gesture of checking under the bed. “He's not under here.”

“Well, this is the only Mickey Osborne I've ever met. And let me tell you, he's a sleepy little son of a
gun. I've got lots of wide-awake patients to see today, so I'd better run along. You give a shout if you get rested up, Mickey Osborne,” she called as she sauntered out of the room.

“Mick,” Trent said and straddled a chair he'd turned backward. He propped his arm across the back, trying to look relaxed when he was anything but. “That lady does have lots of other patients to see, and very few of them are as lucky as you.”

Mickey looked startled. “Lucky?” he all but snarled. “Me?”

“You! Oh, I know what you're thinking—your parents are dead, you're stuck here needing therapy to be able to walk again. But you know what? At least you'll be
able
to walk soon. Many of these kids in here have never walked and never will walk.”

“Then why aren't they already in a crippled kids' institution? Or is that what this is?”

“This is a hospital, Mickey. A hospital dedicated to children who need help. I wouldn't call it an institution.”

“Then when am I going to the institution?”

Trent frowned. What was going on? Something about this conversation seemed off-kilter. “You're coming home to us as soon as you're well enough.”

“No!” Mickey shouted. “I don't want to come home.”

Trent felt sweat trickle down his back and pepper his scalp as he grappled to understand what had the boy so upset “I know it's scary, this new life since the accident. The idea of Aunt Maggie and me being your guardians now must be very hard to grasp along
with missing your folks. But we're going to be there for you no matter what. You have to trust us. We love you, Mick.”

“But I
want
to go to the institution. I do. Really!” Mickey cried out. He sounded almost desperate as tears flooded his dark-chocolate-brown eyes.

What bothered Trent about the entire conversation suddenly crystallized. “Mickey, what institution are you talking about? Where did you hear that word? And why would you want to go anywhere besides home.”

“Please, Uncle Trent,” the boy sobbed. “I know! I know I won't ever get better! I know I'm a burden. I don't want to be. Honest. I know it's a lot of work being our guardian. You sure don't need a crippled kid, too. If I'm not around, it won't be as hard for you and Aunt Maggie to put up with the other kids.”

Trent stood and walked in silence to the window. Somebody had been filling this boy's head with a lot of garbage. Stuffing his fisted hands in his pockets, Trent came back to the bed, doing his best to hide his anger. “Mick, I want to know right now where you got these crazy ideas. We don't ‘put up' with any of you. We love you. All of you.”

Mickey just stared, his eyes confused and tear filled. “I heard them, Uncle Trent. In the hallway. In Florida. They said I would have to go into an institution or be a burden. So I asked some old lady volunteer, and she told me what it meant. I don't want to be a burden,” he sobbed. “I don't mind going away.”

Trent sat on the edge of the bed and took Mickey's
hands in his. “Mick, son, I don't know who you heard outside your room, but they were dead wrong. You
will
walk again, and I'd never let you go into an institution. Neither would Maggie. Not if we could take care of you properly at home. And you could never be a burden to either of us.”

“Yes, I am! Please stay with the other kids and be their daddy. Aunt Maggie just can't do it by herself. Mommy always needed Daddy's help. You got to stay.”

His heart stuttered. Words like
institution
and
burden
just weren't in Maggie's vocabulary. Ed would never have presumed to suggest such a thing. Which left only his parents having been at the hospital. And
burden
and
institution
were certainly in
their
vocabulary.

Narrow-eyed, Trent looked down at Mickey. “Did you know the people who you heard talking?”

“They said they were my grandparents, but that their visit was a secret. They didn't stay long, but she said I looked like my daddy. I thought I liked them sort of. At first. But then they said those things outside my room.”

“And none of it was true. I want you to believe that. I'm going to tell you a secret, Mick. Your daddy and I are nothing like our parents.”

Mickey didn't say anything, but he looked confused “Do you mind the kids?” Mickey ventured, looking up at Trent, hope blazing in his gaze. “They can be noisy.”

“I don't care. I love all of you.” Trent chuckled, thinking of “noisy,” and told Mickey about the excitement
his littlest sister had caused the day before. Mickey laughed, and it was the most beautiful sound Trent had ever heard. He found himself wishing Maggie were there to hear it.

Trent was still conflicted with emotions of amazement and anger when he pulled into his parking spot next to the carriage house a few hours later. He felt awe, at what he'd been able to accomplish with Mickey that morning. He'd watched a remarkable change come over the boy and had accompanied him to his second therapy session of the day. A session during which Mickey had made what Deanna Hart had called real progress.

But the anger—lifelong, it felt like—toward his parents roiled deep inside him. Mickey had also overheard a remark about how much more intelligent Trent had always been than Mike. Trent had taken long minutes explaining different talents people have, that they also have different ways of learning, and that his and Mike's parents had never understood that. He tried to paint them not as villains, but as onedimensional people who didn't understand anyone at all different from themselves.

He found Maggie on the back porch, reading to Daniel and Rachel. He guessed Grace was napping. He checked his watch. This was the time she'd put her down the two previous days. It jolted Trent to realize that they'd only been back from Florida for two days. So much had happened. High on his success, he'd thought as he drove home about moving into the house. But it was too soon—too quick. He
had to be sure that it would work between him and Maggie before he trusted her with his heart again.

“How was he?” Maggie asked, as he walked toward her across the yard.

“Good. We had a long talk.” He looked significantly toward the two children at her feet. “I'll tell you about it later.”

“Rachel, why don't you and Daniel play on the tire swing for a few minutes,” Maggie suggested.

Rachel sighed. “I know. Like Grandmom says, ‘It's-little-pitchers-have-big-ears time.' Come on, Daniel. I'll push you.”

Daniel's voice drifted back at them on the fall breeze. “There's another weird thing big people say. I don't have big ears. And pitchers don't have any ears at all.”

Maggie chuckled. “He's so literal. I find myself constantly analyzing every old expression now, just the way he does. So tell me about Mickey. Was he really doing better today, or was that for Rachel and Daniel's benefit?”

Trent smiled and settled in the wicker love seat next to her. “He's doing better. Now.” He found it impossible not to reach out and take her hands in his. “You were right. He opened up to me.” He squeezed her hands, pure joy bubbling inside him. “I helped him, Mag. Just the way you said I could.”

He went on to relay the conversation, and felt a renewal of his anger toward his parents. “I want to go over there and give them both a piece of my mind.”

Maggie frowned and shook her head. “Not a good idea. Let's not call attention to ourselves.”

“Oh, I won't. But I'd like to.”

“I keep hoping that they'll get involved with their lives again and forget about us. I mean, it isn't as if the children, or even you and I, were part of their everyday world.”

“That was my take on it, too,” Trent said, and let go of one of her hands. He settled back in the love seat but kept her other hand in his grasp, resting their joined hands on his thigh. “Ed's preparing a case even though everything's been quiet.”

“That's…that's good.” The sudden hesitation in her voice made Trent look up. He hadn't even realized that he'd been stroking the back of her hand with his thumb. Maggie's gaze flicked from their hands to his eyes at the same time. They stared at each other, and he knew that the longing in her gaze had to be in his as well.

Then he looked at her mouth. And nothing on earth could have kept him from leaning forward to cover her lips with his.
It's all still there. Love. Need. Home. You can have it all. Risk it,
his heart urged. He slid his fingers into her hair to cup her head and deepen the kiss. That was when his brain intruded.
She'll leave you one day. No one's ever stayed in your life. No one's ever wanted to. Especially not Maggie.

The war still waged inside him, but the kiss continued of its own accord until a child's voice broke in. “Yuck! I thought you guys didn't do that kissy stuff with each other.” Daniel's disgust changed what could have been an awkward moment into a hilarious
one. Maggie was laughing before their lips even parted.

“Oh. You just want me to kiss
you?”
Maggie asked as she pulled Daniel, squirming and shrieking, onto her lap and kissed him innumerable times anywhere she could. His thick auburn hair felt like silk as it rubbed against her cheek.

“You're kookoo, Aunt Maggie,” Daniel said when she let him go. He scrambled off her lap and scowled in an obvious bid to gather his dented four-year-old dignity. But then he cocked his head to the side and grinned at her, wrinkling his freckled nose comically, before turning to run across the yard for his turn on the tire swing.

Trent was instantly alarmed when Maggie pivoted toward him with tears forming in her eyes and her chin quivering. “He laughed,” she blurted on a sob. “I made him laugh.”

Self-protection and self-preservation didn't matter a whit to Trent at that moment. He pulled her into his arms to comfort her. It was his duty, he told himself, but with her softness pressed against him, it didn't feel like duty. It didn't feel like duty when he drew in her light spring scent or luxuriated in her lush and silky sable hair, either.