Delivered with Love (18 page)

S
unday afternoon Michael sat on a rock, allowing the sun to warm his body. He had to admit New Brighton State Park's setting was tranquil with its beautiful Monterey cypress, oak, eucalyptus trees, and wild berry vines. People came from all over the world to visit the ninety-three-acre park and take in the spectacular view of the Monterey Bay. But Michael was anything but peaceful. He didn't want to be there waiting for Martin and Debbie to show up. He'd rather be on his couch watching football.

Michael glanced at his mother and Claire, who stood near the fence overlooking the towering bluffs high above the Pacific Ocean. Sandy was busy setting the picnic table. She hummed as she worked, probably enjoying the thought of getting old friends together.

The crunch of tires caught his attention. A blue Toyota Sienna pulled up next to his BMW. Debbie was behind the wheel while Martin sat next to her in the passenger's seat. The time had come. Michael cracked his knuckles and pushed himself to standing.

"They're here." Sandy dropped silverware on the table and rushed to the van.

Debbie stepped out and greeted Sandy with a hug.

"You made it. What can I help you with?" Sandy's voice sounded eager.

"Can you grab the food from the back while I get Martin settled?"

"Sure."

Michael walked up to the front of the van. "Anything I can do?" He forced a smile.

Debbie walked around and pressed a remote. The sliding door opened and a ramp appeared. "I can get Martin out if you'd like to help Sandy with the food."

"Hey, Martin." Michael nodded. He didn't want to make the situation any more awkward than it was.

Martin passed him a look. Michael remembered that look from when they were teenagers. Martin had used it to challenge him in a game of basketball, dare him to ask out a girl, or as he did today—make him face his mistakes. With one glance, Martin said all he needed to say.

The look reminded Michael of the message Martin left on his cell phone earlier that morning. "Today's the day to make things right—that's if you have the courage." Martin's slow speech came through loud and clear.

It's complicated.
Didn't his high school friend understand that?

Michael stared at the floorboard where Martin's wheelchair was held in place. "When did you buy the van?"

"Just last week. It's going to make a world of difference. I'll be able to take Martin out more. Won't I, honey?" She rubbed his arm.

Michael respected Debbie. She was a bright spot in Martin's otherwise seemingly dark world.

Sandy approached, carrying an aluminum-foiled covered bowl and a plastic-wrapped plate of fruit. "Michael, can you grab the cooler?"

"Certainly." He walked to the back of the van and drew in a deep breath. Every time he saw Martin in that wheelchair, he felt sad and helpless. Why did God allow this to happen? He wiped his brow and watched as Debbie maneuvered the wheelchair. God had a plan and was in control, right? His shoulders sagged. People make their own choices. And the drunk who hit Martin's car had a choice whether or not to get behind the wheel. Martin was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Michael's stomach churned. If he hadn't asked Martin to meet him that night, his friend wouldn't be in a wheelchair today. Michael hoisted the cooler out of the back of the van and slammed the rear hatch.

Claire and his mother helped Sandy arrange the food. Mounds of fried chicken sat heaped on a plate. Sandy placed a vegetable tray in the middle of the table next to the potato salad and fruit. Michael set the cooler off to the side and opened the lid to find cans of soda and bottled water mixed in with the ice. "Who wants one?" he offered.

Claire's hand shot up. "Is there diet?"

Michael pulled out a Diet Coke.

"You young things worry too much about your weight." His mother leaned over to take a peek. "Diet soda has just as much sugar. Give me a dew, son."

"Mountain Dew?" Michael chuckled, then handed his mother the soda.

Sandy placed the napkins on the table. "Bottled water, please."

"Me too." Debbie chimed in.

Michael pulled out two water bottles. "Martin?"

Martin was situated at the head of the table. "You don't remember?" he asked with slurred speech.

Had it been so long since they've shared a meal that Michael couldn't remember what they used to drink? He dug his hand in the cooler and pulled out a Dr Pepper. "How about one of these?"

Martin nodded.

Michael passed the soda to Debbie and grabbed a Dr Pepper for himself. It was a lucky guess. He couldn't recall the last time he had had the soft drink. Then, like a punch in the gut, he remembered. It was that night. The night Martin's car got hit after Michael spilled out his past. He dropped the lid shut and took a deep breath to steady himself. He would make it through lunch—and keep his emotions in check. Michael sat down next to his wife at the picnic table, reached over, and grabbed a drumstick.

Claire couldn't believe her good fortune when Nancy had called and invited her and Geraldine for a picnic lunch. She never imagined she'd meet Martin DeWitt—the man from her mother's journal. And the letter.

Since Debbie and Martin arrived, Claire couldn't stop staring in Martin's direction as he sat in his wheelchair by the picnic table. Probably he had been a good-looking man when he was in his early twenties. He had a nice head of dark brown hair, and mysterious hazel eyes. She tried to picture her mother falling for him when they were young. What did the letter say? They rode the roller coasters at the Boardwalk, hung out at the beach, and held hands as they strolled under the stars. Claire tried to imagine Martin as a romantic all those years ago.

Claire mulled over the conversation she'd had with Geraldine as they took in the view a short time ago.

"A drunk driver plowed into Martin's car." Geraldine's voice shook. "Left him paralyzed from the waist down and slow from the brain injury."

Claire's eyes misted.

"Debbie and Sandy have been best friends ever since. They're kindred spirits."

They had appeared that way when Sandy introduced her to Debbie when the couple first arrived. "Claire, I'd like you to meet Debbie DeWitt." Sandy had gestured to the woman standing next to her.

So, this was Martin's wife. "Hi, nice to meet you." Claire shook Debbie's hand.

"Nice to meet you too." Debbie smiled and placed an arm around Geraldine's shoulder. "And it's good to see you too, Geraldine."

"The good Lord has yet to call me to my heavenly home." Geraldine grinned.

Claire had studied Debbie as the women chatted. She was a beautiful woman—with her straight teeth, blonde hair, and a dainty nose. She must be approaching fifty, but Claire didn't think she looked a day over thirty-five. Debbie was one of those women who aged gracefully and naturally.

At this point, Claire was more interested to get to know Martin and whether he was the writer of the letter. Now with lunch finished, Claire had to find a way to talk with him alone. She tossed the paper plates in the trashcan. How could she orchestrate a few minutes of his time? It didn't look like it was going to happen. She glanced at Sandy and Debbie chatting and laughing together as they folded the tablecloth. And Geraldine, bless her heart, had closed her eyes as she sat on the rock enjoying the sunshine. Michael was packing the picnic basket in his BMW.

"Photo time!" Sandy cheered. She grabbed her digital camera from the car. "Debbie, stand close to Martin so I can get a picture of you two first."

Michael moaned. "You have boxes of pictures to put into albums as it is, plus the ones in our computer."

"Come on, it'll be fun." She snapped a photo of the DeWitts.

"Okay, let's get it over with." Michael placed a hand on Martin's shoulder. "Cheese."

Claire's mind whirled. Michael was obviously ready to leave. How could she stall? An idea hit her. "There's a perfect place for a picture down the trail."

Sandy smiled. "The one down to the beach?"

"Martin and my mother can't go down there." Michael shook his head.

Claire saw her chance. "I'll stay here with them. Go on ahead."

Michael's brows furrowed.

"Thanks, Claire. That's sweet of you." Debbie placed her hand on the back of her husband's neck. "Okay, Martin? We'll only be a minute."

Sandy grinned at Michael. "And when we get back, Claire or Debbie can take a picture of you and me with your mom. "She hooked her small camera around her wrist.

Claire hoped it'd be more than a minute. She wanted to find out all she could about her mother and Martin's relationship. She sat down at the picnic table and watched Debbie, Sandy, and Michael disappear down the trail.

"Martin, do you remember my mother, Emily James?" The question popped out like a kernel of corn in a popcorn machine the minute the three were out of view.

Martin's eyebrows shot up. "Emily was your mother? Yes, I couldn't forget her. She was my teenage crush." His halting speech was painful to listen to. Claire's heart went out to him.

Now she was getting somewhere. She moved closer and focused on Martin's caring eyes.

Martin continued. "We spent time together one summer." A grin tugged at his mouth. "She came to visit from . . ."

"San Diego." Claire finished his sentence. She didn't want to be rude, but she didn't have much time. "Martin, do you remember writing my mother a letter?" Claire leaned forward, her elbows resting on the table.

"A letter?" Martin's eyebrows furrowed. "No, I don't."

Claire reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out the tattered envelope. "This one. Someone with the initial 'M' wrote this to Mom back in 1972." She handed the letter to Martin.

Her heart pounded as she waited. She glanced over her shoulder. Geraldine stood and headed in their direction
. Hurry, Martin.
What did she see in his eyes? Confusion? Embarrassment? Guilt? He flipped the envelope over.

"July 1972." He shook his head.

"Claire, dear, is there any fruit left?" Geraldine called as she ambled toward the table. "It keeps me regular."

"In the cooler." Claire pointed. Her voice held a hint of annoyance. She shouldn't treat Geraldine that way, but at the moment she needed to find out all she could from Martin.

"I didn't write this." Martin's eyes reached hers.

His words registered in her brain. "If you didn't, then who?"

"Claire, can you help me, dear?" Geraldine held on to her walker with one hand as she reached down with the other. "I can't seem to grab the grapes."

Debbie, Sandy, and Michael approached. Claire closed her eyes and exhaled. She felt the heat rise in her cheeks.
Lord, help
me.
She jumped up from the picnic table, leaned down, and picked a bunch of grapes for Geraldine.

"What do you have there, honey?" Debbie came up beside her husband. "May I?"

Martin gave Debbie the letter. She read it aloud.

"That is so romantic." Sandy's hand touched the side of her face. "And sweet."

"I agree. But—" Debbie bit her lip.

"I didn't write it." Martin glared at Michael. "But I can guess who did."

Michael shook his head.

Sandy looked from Michael to Martin and back again. "Can I see the letter?"

Debbie handed the piece of paper to Sandy. "Michael. This is
your
handwriting."

The weight of the truth pushed on Claire's shoulders. She was right. Michael had been hiding something all along. It was time he faced the truth.

Michael looked over his wife's shoulder. His laugh sounded forced. "Martin and I hung out with Emily one summer. You know, teenagers. I probably got those sappy words out of a book. I didn't mean anything by it."

Sandy handed the letter back to Claire. "I received quite a few love letters myself when I was a teenager. Of course, I didn't keep them." She snuggled into Michael's side. "They didn't mean anything to me once I met the love of my life."

"I thought it was from Martin." Claire tucked the letter back in her purse. "My mother wrote about him in her journal."

Sandy turned to Michael. "Michael, I thought we went to Emily's funeral because we were down south visiting your mother." Sandy folded her arms across her chest. "How come you never told me you knew her when you were a teenager?"

"Look, baby, I didn't think it was important." Michael wrapped his arm around his wife. "Can we talk about this later?" He gave her a peck on the cheek.

The air felt thick.

Claire saw Debbie touch Martin's hand and pass him a tender look.

Sandy turned toward Geraldine. "Mom, did you know Michael and Emily had a relationship?" She frowned.

"Vaguely." Geraldine picked a purple grape and popped it into her mouth.

Claire could see the hurt in Sandy's eyes. She never intended for Sandy to see the letter, let alone upset her. Claire felt like crawling down the nearest gopher hole.

Twenty minutes later, after saying good-bye to the DeWitts, Claire sat in the backseat of Michael's car next to Geraldine. The silence in the front seat was unnerving. Michael gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles, while Sandy leaned against the passenger-side door. Neither of them said a word. Geraldine, on the other hand, talked nonstop.