Delivered with Love (16 page)

"Julia, you look beautiful. I don't think you'll need much in the way of alterations." Sandy wiped tears from her cheeks.

"Mom, don't start crying." Julia fanned her face with a hand. "If you start crying again, I know I will too." Her eyes softened. "You think I look beautiful?"

"You're gorgeous, honey." Sandy reached into her purse, pulled out a tissue, and dabbed at her eyes. "Don't you think so, Mom?"

Geraldine had the cutest grin on her face. "You make a beautiful bride, Julia."

"Grandma, we need to find you a dress." Julia made quarter turns to accommodate the seamstress.

"My friend here will help me." Geraldine patted Claire's hand. "Won't you, dear?"

Claire nodded. "I'd love to."

"I'm sorry, Claire. You remember my daughter, Julia." Sandy blew her nose. "I don't know why I'm falling apart . . ."

"Nice to see you again." Claire lifted a hand.

"Thanks so much for caring for my grandmother. She speaks highly of you."

Claire's face warmed at the compliment.

Julia turned for the seamstress once again. "Feel free to find a dress, Grandma. And remember, the bridesmaids are wearing pink."

Geraldine grabbed both handles of her walker and slowly hoisted herself to standing. "Okay, Claire. Help me find a knockout dress."

Claire giggled and followed Geraldine to the front of the store. Rows of gowns filled the small room.

"What size do you wear?" She guessed Geraldine to be less than five feet tall, and not much more than one hundred pounds.

"Good question. I think I'll have to try them on." Geraldine stopped abruptly and pulled on the skirt of a pale pink dress. "I like this one. Look, it has a lace jacket to match. Help me try this one on, dear. If it's too big, I'll have the seamstress take it in."

Claire liked Geraldine's no-nonsense approach. She carried the dress and helped Geraldine to the fitting room.

After disrobing, Geraldine sat down on the seat and stepped into the pink gown. She stood, and Claire zipped the back of the dress. "This one was made for me. Hand me the jacket, dear."

Claire held up the lace fabric while the elderly woman placed her arms inside the sleeves. "You look beautiful."

"Aren't you sweet." Geraldine slowly twirled around, then opened the door. "Let's see what Sandy and Julia think."

Remembering the photo from Geraldine's antique picture frame, Claire could picture Geraldine getting dressed up for a man. She was quite the romantic at heart.

"Claire, dear?" She interrupted Claire's thoughts. "How's it going with Blake?" The elderly woman scooted toward her. A smile was plastered across her face.

"He's taking me out to dinner on Saturday . . . if Nancy or Vivian can stay with you." Her feelings about Blake were a jumbled mess. Did she want the sisters to be available? Her heart skipped a beat.

"Don't you worry. Perch me in front of a good movie and I won't budge." She motioned to Sandy.

"Mom, that dress looks nice on you." Sandy eyed her from all directions. "A few alterations are needed, but otherwise it's perfect."

Geraldine grinned.

"Mom, remember I'm meeting my friend for lunch. We should get going soon."

"Oh, that's right. Claire, please help me get changed. "Geraldine shuffled back into the fitting room. "We wouldn't want Sandy to be late. Her friend Debbie DeWitt is always on time."

Claire was close behind. Her mind raced. "Did you say DeWitt?" her palms were suddenly moist. "Any relation to Martin DeWitt?"

M
ichael drove his BMW into the parking lot in front of Pacific Coast Manor. He hadn't seen his friend Martin in three years. He pushed his guilt to the back of his mind as he slid out of the seat and locked the door.

He hoped Martin's brain stem injury didn't keep him from remembering the good times. Knots formed in his stomach as he approached the double doors. He wiped his sweaty palms on his slacks and hesitated before going in. Before he could change his mind, he stepped through the doorway.

"Can you tell me the number for Martin DeWitt's room?" He leaned his arm on the front counter.

The young secretary looked him over. "I can ring his room to see if he's up to visitors." She fiddled with her shirt collar. "Your name?"

"Michael Thompson," he answered. "A friend from high school."

The woman nodded and punched in a series of numbers on the telephone.

Michael looked around the room. A couple of chairs flanked a potted ficus tree. A coffee table perched in front of the chairs held various magazines. The place seemed neat and clean.

"He'll see you now. Room 131." The secretary gave a curt smile. "To your left, and down the hall. You can't miss it." Her fingers flew over the keyboard sounding like raindrops on a windowpane.

"Thank you."

The antiseptic smell filled his nostrils the moment he stepped into the hallway. An elderly woman pushed a walker as a nurse stayed close to her side. The place was quiet, except for the squeak of a lunch cart. He continued down the hall.

Michael froze the minute he located Room 131. Was this a mistake? Why'd he come? It was Sandy's idea. She had suggested he visit his high school friend today while she went out to lunch with Debbie. He had a feeling Sandy wanted his relationship with God to get back on track. Martin's faith never wavered.

He peeked inside the doorway. A curtain draped the opening so he couldn't see inside. The last thing he wanted to do was startle his old friend. He'd have to make his presence known. "Here goes," he muttered under his breath.

"Martin?" Michael pulled the curtain back a few inches. "Are you there, Buddy?" The endearing name slipped off his tongue. The sight of Martin in a wheelchair made him cringe. Even now years after the car accident, the thought of a man in his fifties wasting away caused him heartache. He had to give Debbie credit for sticking by a man who could never walk again, much less anything else.

He approached with cautious steps. Would Martin be worse? By the blank look on his face, Michael wondered if he remembered him.

"What are you doing here?" Martin's words slurred together like a man who's had too much to drink. "Your wife make you come?" He blinked as if in slow motion.

Got me there.
"I wanted to see you." Michael pulled up a chair and sat mere inches from his high school chum. "I know it's been a while." He might as well acknowledge the obvious.

"I've been here." Martin's brows furrowed.

"Our wives are having lunch today." Michael attempted to avoid the jab.

"I know. They have lunch
every
Thursday." Sweat trickled down Martin's forehead; the exertion from a simple conversation was apparently too much for a man in his situation.

Michael jumped up from his seat, walked to the window, and slid it open. "Our wives have become close friends." Debbie had approached Sandy twenty-five years ago when Michael and Sandy were having marriage problems. Sandy had been amazed at the timing of their friendship. Michael knew better. "Look, Martin, we've got to get past this wedge that's grown between us. It's gone on too long."

Martin looked past him toward the open window. The wind pushed the vertical blinds back and forth, casting shadows on the wall and floor. He seemed to be fascinated with the movement. "It's up to you." The words burst from his lips.

"Yes. It's my fault." Michael sat back down in the chair, rested his elbows on his knees, and clasped his hands together, causing his knuckles to turn white. "How can I make it up to you?" He glanced down at the floor.

"Not me. Sandy."

A nurse walked in. "Time for physical therapy."

A sense of relief washed over Martin's face. Michael sensed his friend was eager to get away from him. The thought soured Michael's stomach. If he'd come to visit him more often, Martin would believe he cared for him. The thought jarred Michael. Of course, that's it.

He glanced at his watch and noted the time. Martin had physical therapy at 12:30. Next time he'd come a little earlier. Michael stood and placed a hand on Martin's shoulder. "I'll come again next Thursday, I promise."

Martin turned away. "No promises."

"I will, you'll see."

The nurse unlocked the brakes, grabbed the handles of the wheelchair, and pushed him out of the room.

Michael pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger. A headache was forming. He'd tried to prepare himself for such a meeting, but the reality was like a knife to his heart. If only he could reverse time. He'd change so much about the past—and maybe a little about the present too.

Geraldine's stunned expression told Claire all she needed to know. Debbie DeWitt was related to Martin. She had to find out how. "Is Debbie Martin's wife?" Claire slipped the lace jacket off Geraldine's shoulders.

"Why, yes. How did you know?" Geraldine pointed to the back of her dress. The zipper was well hidden.

"Haley sent me Mom's journal. She mentioned Martin's name. So, when you said Sandy was meeting Debbie DeWitt, I guessed."

"I can change the rest by myself, dear." Geraldine pushed Claire out the door and locked the dressing room behind her.

Interesting.
She had a feeling the older woman knew more than she was letting on. She had avoided the conversation on more than one occasion. And they all pertained to her mother.

"Julia left to go back to work. You ladies ready?" Sandy approached.

"Almost, dear," Geraldine's voice piped in.

"I'll drop you both off at home before I meet Debbie for lunch. We're going to Gayle's Bakery and Rosticceria." Her voice oozed with enthusiasm. "Say, why don't I call Debbie and tell her you and Claire will be joining us? I know you'd love this place, Mom—"

"That's sweet of you, dear, but I'd like to go home. I need a nap." Claire heard Geraldine shuffling around in the fitting room. "I hope you don't mind me saying so, but the bed in your guest room is a little lumpy."

Claire stifled a laugh.

Geraldine stepped out.

"Well, then, why don't you take a nap . . ." Sandy tapped her chin with a manicured fingernail. "And Claire can join Debbie and me."

What would it be like to meet Martin's wife? Claire smiled. But one look into Geraldine's eyes told her she'd better return home. She didn't want to upset her employer. "Maybe another time. I'd like to get Geraldine settled. I have plenty of food in the refrigerator. Blake keeps us well stocked." Her stomach fluttered at the mention of Blake's name. "Can we have a rain check?"

"Most certainly. I meet Debbie for lunch every Thursday, so we can plan it another time." Sandy held her hand out to carry Geraldine's gown to the cash register.

Once home, Claire helped Geraldine settle into bed for a nap. Then she reached for her mother's journal and situated herself in the recliner in the family room.

Since that first mention of Martin DeWitt, her mother wrote about teenage life as a senior at San Diego High. But mostly she wrote about boys—those who were cute and athletic, the ones she liked, and the one who took her to the prom. Michael's name wasn't mentioned once. In fact, Martin was referred to only a handful of times. Carrying on a long-distance romance would have been difficult for a teenager.

Her thoughts turned toward the letter. Claire couldn't identify her feelings. Was she disappointed? Relieved? Maybe Blake was right and she was obsessed with it. The caring look in Blake's eyes last night made her shudder. She couldn't believe she had pushed him away. Claire set the journal on the coffee table, stood and paced the floor. Was it time to let go of the past? She fingered one of the red candles left on the dining room table. Why had Blake tried to kiss her? To help her move on with her life?

Claire inhaled, then let out an exaggerated sigh. She didn't have much practice with men. In fact, she couldn't remember the last time a man had kissed her.

She heard footsteps on the front porch. Then, as quickly as they came, they disappeared. Claire rushed to the kitchen window and looked out. Her heart skipped a beat at the sight of Blake walking toward his house in his police uniform. She continued watching him. He slid inside his white truck and drove down the street. Why did he come to her door? Claire raced to the door and opened it. A long-stemmed red rose stood in a tall, thin vase. Claire reached for the vase and brought it inside before reading the note that was attached.

To the Lady in Red,

Until Saturday night.

Yours, Blake

Goosebumps ran up and down her arms. Right there and then, she decided she'd go to Bella Roma.

And forget about the letter. At least for now.

M
ichael tried to concentrate on his wife's words. He dug his hands in the soapy water as she rambled on about her lunch date with Debbie. He rinsed the pan and handed it to Sandy.

". . . and you should see Debbie's new van. It has all kinds of features for the handicapped. She plans on picking up Martin tomorrow and taking him for a drive." Sandy wiped the pan dry with the towel and set it on the counter.

The uncomfortable visit with Martin replayed in his head. Martin's distrust of him had been palpable. He didn't believe for one minute Michael would return. That didn't say much for how he treated people. He'd prove Martin wrong. But paralyzed or not, Martin had been his best friend for thirty- five years. And Michael planned on visiting him again next week.

"Honey, did you hear me?" Sandy took a step toward him, a frown creasing her forehead.

Michael pulled the plug from the sink and watched the dirty dishwater disappear. "Did you say something?"

"I told Debbie it will be like old times." Sandy turned and stacked the pots on the counter. "We could make a picnic lunch, meet them at New Brighton Beach, and hang out for a while. The weather's supposed to be gorgeous on Sunday."

"Sandy, I told you my meeting with him didn't go well. He doesn't want to see me again." Michael threw his hands up in the air, water spraying the already dried pans.

"Did he tell you that?"

"No. He turned away from me when I told him I'd visit him again."

"It'd been three years."

Ouch.
Michael wiped his hands on a towel. His wife was right.

"You can't expect Martin to be like he was before. He's a different man." Sandy leaned against the granite counter, her arms folded across her chest. "Goodness knows Debbie's had to make adjustments." She approached Michael and rested her hands on his shoulders. "The more time you spend with Martin, the more comfortable you'll be. Please?"

Michael didn't think it was possible. The secret Martin had been hanging on to would hopefully go to his grave. Debbie had been sworn to secrecy too. Martin had told Michael for years to come clean and ask his wife for forgiveness, but he didn't want to risk it. Not now with Julia's wedding around the corner—maybe not ever.

Michael looked down at Sandy's chocolate-colored eyes. She was beautiful—inside and out. He didn't want her to suspect anything. He'd have to concede.

"Okay, honey. Sunday. We'll have a picnic with the DeWitts."

Sandy reached up and pecked him on the cheek. "Let's invite your mother and Claire too."

"My mother? Really? Wait a minute. You didn't say anything about making this a family affair—"

"I thought having them at the picnic would be a nice buffer, you know, in case there's a moment of awkward silence. Your mom usually keeps the conversation going."

Thoughts of the past month swirled in his mind. He liked having his mother around. She was fun, caring, and always ready to share a good laugh. But there was the serious side of her too. She was stubborn, proud, and took the high road with relationships. She wanted Michael to take care of his past and was here to make sure he did.

Michael clenched his fist, then slid it into his pocket. Did he want his mother involved? She might say something she would later regret. And Claire. Why should she have to know his mistakes from the past?

"Honey? What do you say?" Sandy's brown eyes pleaded. A clear indication that she wanted his answer to be "yes."

"Why not?" He said it more like a question than a definitive answer. As long as his wife was happy and unsuspecting. Michael would need to bend over backward to keep his mother busy. And Claire. Hopefully, she'd forgotten about the letter. Michael's stomach tightened into a hard knot. He was not only going to face his past head-on, but bring his mother and caregiver to watch his life unfold.

"I told Debbie I'd go to church with her in the morning. She doesn't want to be alone her first time back." Sandy's face softened. "Thought you'd understand. Honey, the accident shook
both
yours and Debbie's faiths."

The accident wasn't the only thing that had shaken his faith. Michael's insides twisted. The news he had shared with Martin before the accident had triggered his downward spiral away from God. Sure, he shot arrow prayers every now and then, but that was the extent of his relationship with the Almighty.

Michael flopped down on the couch and grabbed the remote. "I'm not ready." He flipped channels until he found a college football game. He didn't care who was playing.

Sandy came up behind him. "Think about it." She massaged his shoulders and neck. "We'll take one week at a time. Okay?"

Making an appearance at church was as intimidating as looking Debbie in the eye. He felt as though everyone would see straight to his soul. And they wouldn't like what they saw. Darkness. A hole. A spot that he knew only God could fill.

And yet, he couldn't go there. It had been years. He didn't feel worthy.

But he couldn't make excuses any longer. He was tired. Tired of the mess he'd made.

"Maybe next Sunday." He stared at the television as the football passed the goal line for a touchdown.

Sandy swung around the couch and sidled up to him.

Michael knew he had scored a few points himself.

Claire hadn't thought about the letter in a couple of days. She had wedged it between the pages of her mom's journal and tucked the book in her dresser drawer. It had been nice to concentrate on her own life—taking care of Geraldine, and dreaming about her upcoming date with Blake. Life had taken on a nice rhythm.

As she doled out the pills into the seven sections of Geraldine's pillbox, her cell phone jingled in her back jeans pocket. She quickly completed the row before she reached for the phone and answered it. "Hello?"

"Claire, it's me, Samantha."

"Samantha, it's so good to hear your voice! What's been happening with the most put-together woman I know?" She envied Samantha's life—her family, her college degree, and her ability to make it on her own. And she had a boyfriend to boot. Some women had all the luck. Claire needed someone in her life to inspire her to keep going. And Samantha was that person.

"Oh, not so put together. The opposite, in fact." Samantha let out a breath. "Would you believe me if I told you my landlord is selling my house, I've been laid off from my job, and my boyfriend told me he's in love with someone else?"

"NO!" Claire's voice lowered. "You can't be serious." She twisted the lid back on the medicine bottle.

"Yes, it's true."

Claire stared at the row of pill bottles. She would hold off finishing her task until her phone call ended. She didn't want to mess up when Geraldine was counting on her to keep track of her medications. "Don't keep me in suspense." She heard shuffling noises in the background.

"My landlord put up a for sale sign yesterday. I discovered it when I came home after being laid off."

"So, what are you going to do?"

"Move. I'm packing right now. Mom and Dad want to help me out until I land another job and find a new place. Nice of them, huh?"

"Speaking from experience, don't stay too long." One year with Haley was more than enough.

"Oh, no. It's definitely only temporary."

"Capitola is a beautiful place. You should move here." The idea popped out. "We'd have so much fun!"

"Thanks, but I don't know if I'm ready for a drastic change. I want to stay here in case Jason changes his mind." Samantha's voice sounded desperate.

"Jason, as in the guy who thinks he's in love with someone else?" Claire placed a hand on her hip. "Any man who dumps
you
for another woman is crazy. He's not worth the effort." She swatted the air as if she were shooing away a fly. "Forget about him and come to Capitola."

"Two years of dating down the tubes. A promising career cut short. Life is the pits."

"Samantha, you sound like Eeyore." Claire slouched down in her chair.

"I guess I do seem pretty miserable . . . but I am."

Claire would be miserable too if she dated Blake for two years and then he dumped her. She panicked. Should she cancel their date tonight before their relationship progressed any further? No. She couldn't do it. Geraldine was looking forward to a visit from Nancy and Vivian. And if she was honest with herself, she was looking forward to spending time with Blake.

"Hello?"

She realized Samantha was waiting. "Hey, look on the bright side."

"And what could that be?"

"Things could be worse."
Your mom is still living.

"How's it going for
you
in the love department? Any chance encounters with the handsome neighbor?" Samantha teased.

"Since you mentioned it, yes." Claire took hold of the rose from the vase sitting in the middle of the table, brought the lovely flower close to her face, and inhaled the sweet fragrance. "We're going out tonight."

Samantha's tone lifted. "What if he tries to kiss you?"

"I don't want to think about kissing—yet."

"Wise woman."

Butterflies danced in Claire's stomach. She hoped they'd fly away by six o'clock. "I'm not ready for anything—you know—serious."

Claire could hear the sincerity in Samantha's voice. "I can't wait to hear all about it. Have a good time, friend."

"Thanks. You hang in there. And think about Capitola, okay?"

"Will do."

Claire clicked her phone shut, set it on the table, and continued counting Geraldine's pills. Samantha's words played over in her mind. "What if he tries to kiss you?" The thought sent a shiver down her spine and a smile to her lips. Would she let him this time?

At 5:00 p.m., Nancy and Vivian appeared at the door with a red dress, a stack of DVDs, and a large pepperoni pizza.

"Here you go." Nancy handed her the dress. "It's an Ann Taylor. Simple, yet elegant."

"Thank you. I knew you were the right person to call. "Claire held the dress under her chin. "How do you think it'll look?"

"Beautiful."

Claire grinned. "Thanks again. I'll go hang it in my closet."

After she hung up the dress, she remembered the two hundred dollars she received from Haley. Now was a good time to make her first payment to the two sisters. As she entered the kitchen, the smell of cheesy pizza wafted through the air. Her stomach growled. All of a sudden a relaxed girls' night in sounded more fun than a fancy night out.

"Movie night with Geraldine." Nancy laid the Meg Ryan flicks on the coffee table. "Too bad you can't join us." She winked at Claire.

"Of course, she'll be in the presence of a handsome man." Vivian pulled out paper plates and plastic forks. "I'd rather be in her shoes."

Shoes that were too high and uncomfortable?
Claire walked over to the pizza and took a whiff. "Do you have to torture me? This smells good." She handed Vivian two twenty-dollar bills. "For the paint," she whispered.

Vivian tucked the money in her pocket.

"Help yourself to a slice. But I wouldn't if I were you. Bella Roma has the best Italian food in town." Nancy looked around. "Where's Geraldine?"

"In her room. She's folding laundry. I told her I'd do it, but she insisted on doing it herself." Claire shrugged.

Nancy approached the kitchen and grabbed plates from the cabinet. "That's how she stays young—by keeping active."

Claire slipped forty dollars into Nancy's hand. "For the valances," she spoke in a hushed tone.

"Claire." Nancy's eyebrows were arched, her voice soft. "We can work this out later."

The ends of Claire's lips turned up in a mischievous smile.

"I'd let Nancy fold my clothes anytime." Vivian let out an unladylike snort. "I'm willing to fold Nancy's laundry, even Tom's boxers, so I figure we're even."

Nancy placed both her hands on the back of Claire's shoulders and pushed her to the bathroom. "Take a bubble bath, pamper yourself. Don't worry. I'll check on Geraldine right now."

A night off sounded better with each passing minute. "Thank you for coming. And for letting me borrow the dress." Claire tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "I think I'll take that bubble bath now."