The Christmas Kite (3 page)

“You know, Mac, we can’t keep eating all these treats. We’ll both be as big as elephants.”

Mac giggled, dropping one of the new miniature trucks to the floor, and ran to her side. “I love you, Mama.”

“I love you, too, Mac.” She gave him a big hug. Discouraged, Meara tossed the newspaper on the small table. Most rentals were summer cottages only meant for a one- or two-week vacation. One apartment seemed too expensive and was unfurnished. Only one held promise. Maybe later they would take a ride and check it out.

Mac wandered to the sofa and picked up the yardstick-shaped package. “Make my kite, please,” he said, handing it to Meara.

She unrolled the flimsy tissue paper and thin dowels, and, following the instructions, constructed the kite.

Mac hung over her shoulder, watching, his eyes wide with wonder. “Can I…make it…fly?”

“That, we’ll have to see,” Meara said, wondering what she owned to make the tail. She looked around the room, mentally assessed her wardrobe, and finally remembered a few pieces of ragged cloth in her trunk, kept there to clean her windows or wipe up spills.

She went to the bedroom and returned with the cloth, tearing it into strips. After she tied the pieces together, she fastened them to the end of the kite, and Mac herded her to the beach.

A light breeze stirred the trees near the cabin, but closer to shore a gusty wind blew, whisking the shimmering water into rolling whitecaps. Meara struggled to keep the paper kite from ripping away from her. She’d never flown a kite before, though she’d seen it done in movies or by others when she was a child. She prayed she wouldn’t disappoint her son.

As if considering her the expert, Mac followed her every move. She unrolled a host of cord and let it fall to the ground.

“Now, hold the ball of string, and I’ll run ahead with the kite.”

Having no idea what she should do, she bit her lip and waited to make sure Mac appeared ready. While the wind pushed against her, she ran along the beach holding the kite in the air. Suddenly an air mass caught the paper and lifted it from her hands.

“Hang on to the string,” she called, rushing back to Mac. But before she returned to him, the lengthy measure of string coiled on the ground offered no resistance to the aerodynamics, and the kite rose, then nose-dived into the water.

Mac let out a cry, but she was helpless. The kite lay on top of the water, rising and falling with the waves. She looked at Mac’s downhearted expression, and disappointment coursed through her. She should have asked the shop clerk for tips on flying a kite. The “kite man” had made it look so easy.

With her eyes on Mac’s disappointed face, she stepped forward to offer a consoling hug just as a huge red dog bounded between them. She struggled to keep her footing in the loose sand, wavering between success and failure, but the ground rose up to meet her. Though startled, she and Mac both laughed as the dog hovered above them, panted for a moment, then stayed long enough to lick her cheek.

When the large, rambunctious dog settled into Mac’s awareness, his laughter faded. He let out a cry and dashed behind Meara, sending out sounds—a confused mixture of giggles and whimpers. With one hand, Meara patted Mac’s arm wrapped around her neck, and with the other, she held the dog at bay.

A voice rose on the wind and she looked down the beach. The kite man raced forward toward her while she sprawled, pinioned to the spot by Mac and the big Irish setter.

“Come, Dooley,” the man called. The dog lifted its head and turned toward him. “I’m sorry. Did he hurt you?”

Dooley. The dog’s name. “No,” Meara said, a grin curling her lips, thinking of what she must look like. “Just my dignity, a little.”

He grabbed the dog’s collar, pulling him away. “I’m usually more careful. I was maneuvering a kite through the door, and he shot out between my legs. He only does that when he sees the ducks.”

“Ducks,” Mac repeated. “I want…to see…the ducks.” He punched the final word, tilting his head upward with a widemouthed smile.

“Dooley scared them away, I’m afraid.” His gaze shifted from Mac to Meara, still sitting in the sand. “Let me help you.” He held the dog back with one hand and reached down for her.

She felt like a downy pillow when he lifted her with ease. “Thank you,” she said, brushing the sand from her slacks and hands.

His brooding eyes seemed friendly this afternoon, perhaps altered by the embarrassing situation Dooley had caused. His tight-pressed lips of yesterday looked more relaxed and the flicker of a grin curled the edge of his mouth.

Meara’s gaze drifted to the thick cords of muscle that ribbed his arms as he controlled Dooley’s exuberance. The vision brought warmth to her cheeks. She realized Mac still clung to her side.

“Mac, the dog won’t hurt you. That’s his way of being friendly.” Looking at her child, Meara saw the beads of tears in his eyes.

He took one step backward, but his grip on her arm tightened.

“Would you like to pet the dog?” the man asked, his gaze searching Mac’s face. “I’m sorry Dooley frightened you.”

“It’s not just the dog,” Meara said, noticing he had seen Mac’s tears. “It’s the kite.” She gestured toward the lake.

He followed the motion of her hand. “Oh, I see.”

Lapping against the sand, Meara spied the crossed dowels splotched with fragments of torn, soggy tissue. The rag tail advanced and ebbed in the undulating waves. “Not very successful, was I?”

A wry grin teased his mouth. “It takes a knack.” He reached forward as if to touch Mac’s head, but drew back. “I’ll tell you what, pal. If your mother buys another kite, I’ll show you how to fly it.”

Mac’s eyes widened, and he dragged his arm across his moist eyes. Apparently he’d forgotten the dog, because he stepped forward, his grin spreading from ear to ear. “Okay,” he said.

Dooley’s tail flagged the air as he strained forward. When Mac noticed he stepped away, but the new promise seemed to give him courage, and he edged closer, eyeing the large dog.

“He likes you, lad,” the man said.

Mac eased nearer, inching his hand toward the dog’s shiny red coat. Finally his fingers touched the setter’s fur.

Though his action was fleeting, Meara reveled in the progress Mac had made and the kindness of the man. The man. She had not introduced herself. Before she could follow through with the amenities, he turned and stepped away.

“When you buy the kite, let me know,” he said, his face darkening as he distanced himself.

“Thank you, Mr….” But he was out of earshot.

Down the beach, he gave the dog free rein.

Meara held Mac’s hand and watched the man following the dog until he disappeared around the bend in the shoreline.

Jordan raced through the sand with Dooley a long stretch ahead of him. He sensed the woman watched, but he didn’t turn around to see if he was correct. Earlier she’d studied him, and he had watched her lovely face shift from laughter to concern to curiosity. So much life in one delicate face. Lila’s face had been round and sturdy, but this woman—He snapped his thoughts closed like a book he’d finally waded through and finished. No more of that. The child and his mother pressed against his thoughts too often. Talk about curiosity. He was as inquisitive about the child’s mother as she appeared to be about him.

He skidded to a stop in front of the house and drew in a deep calming breath. Dooley had run a good race, but Jordan’s heart hammered for more reason than the swift dash along the sand. Mac had pierced his barricade. Why had he offered to teach the child to fly a kite? He should have escaped immediately. Instead his fatherly instinct had led him to open his foolish mouth. Now he would pay.

Jordan remembered years earlier when he had built Robbie his first kite. The boy had a knack—like father, like son, as they say. With little help, Robbie ran through the field, the bright yellow tissue billowing, diving and soaring toward the clouds. A warm summer day, it was. And he’d thought then that they had so many bright sunny days to share.

His chest tightened, holding back the emotion that burned his throat. His gaze lifted to the cerulean-blue sky, and he longed to shake his fist at Lila’s God. But the gesture was useless.

No fist, no anger, no cursing could bring Robbie or Lila back.

T
he following day, Meara drove Mac past the apartment listed in the newspaper. The location was near town, but the building needed paint and the grounds needed trimming. Was the inside as badly in need of care? She hesitated. Saying nothing to her son, she continued down the road. Maybe she’d check the newspaper one more time for another option before looking at this apartment.

In town, Meara found parking and headed for the gift shop. Two kites seemed safer than one, after their last fiasco, and she let Mac select the ones he wanted. When she paid and stepped outside, the bakery lured her again, and she headed that way with the wavering promise she would only buy bread.

Passing the kite shop, the Help Wanted sign rose to meet her. She paused. Closing her eyes, she asked God for a hint of what to do. When she opened them again, the elderly gentleman smiled through the store window and waved them in. Before moving she looked heavenward. Was this God’s doing, or just an older man’s friendly bidding?

She pulled open the door, and Mac stepped in ahead of her.

“Good morning,” Otis said. “I see you got a couple more kites today. No luck with the last one?”

Meara chuckled. “‘No experience’ is the best way of putting it. I should have asked for a hint about launching one of these things. I’m grateful it was the two-dollar-and-fifty-cent version and not one of these.”

Otis nodded. “Yep, you don’t wanna spend your money on one of these gems unless you know what you’re doin’. Now, that’s for sure.”

Otis bent down and gave Mac a hearty smile. “How’s things goin’, sonny?”

“Good. I like…kites. They’re high in the sky.”

“They sure are.” He patted Mac’s head as the child’s focus swept the kite-filled ceiling. “You want to look at all the kites, boy? You can wander around if you want.”

Mac looked at Meara, who gave an agreeable nod. “But not too long,” she added. “And don’t get into anything.”

He wandered away, his mouth gaping at the colorful creations.

“That’s a nice boy you got there.”

“Thank you.” Flustered, she wondered if the comment was meant to open the door to questions about Mac.

“I had a cousin with a Down syndrome boy. He threw temper tantrums till you could hardly bear it. Your son seems easier goin’.”

Her question had been answered. “Mac’s no problem. He frightens easily. You know—dogs, birds, anything that comes up on him too quickly. But he’s a good boy.”

“You’re a visitor in town. Tourist, I suppose.”

Meara glanced down the aisle, checking on Mac. He stood near the back of the shop, staring at the kite they’d watched sailing over the lake. “No, we’re staying in a cabin up the road. I’m looking for a place to rent for a while.”

“You and the boy are alone?”

Her stomach jolted. She’d not been asked the question before and the reality shivered through her. “Yes, my husband died a few months ago. We lived with my in-laws and…” She ran her fingers through her hair. “I guess you didn’t ask for my life story.” She managed a smile. “We need a furnished place. Do you know of any?”

He hesitated, pinching his lower lip between his thumb and finger. “So happens, there’s an apartment over this shop. Not too big. Couple of bedrooms and bath.”

“We don’t need anything fancy for now. The cabin only has one bedroom, so most anything would be a mansion to us.”

Dunstan’s family home was a mansion. The thought slammed into the pit of her stomach. Never again would she want to live in a huge estate like his, especially not as a prisoner. That’s how she’d felt. When she focused on the kite shop proprietor, he was studying her.

“I even think the place up there has a few pieces of furniture,” he said, pointing his thumb toward the ceiling. “But it hasn’t been rented out since I can remember. Might be a mess now, for all I know.”

“I’d like to take a look. Could I contact the owner?”

“Let me talk to Mr. Baird. I’m not sure he’s even interested in using it as a rental. Right now, this whole strip of shops is in a bit of trouble…. But then, you don’t need to hear about that.”

He gave her a friendly smile, just as she had given him. The “bit of trouble” phrase caught her curiosity.

“Drop back tomorrow,” Otis said, “and I’ll let you know what he says.”

“Thanks. I’d really appreciate that.”

Mac wandered back down the aisle, and she called to him. His grin stretched across his rosy cheeks. She held out her hand, and he rushed to her side. After thanking the man again, she and Mac left the shop, her spirit lifting with hope.

Jordan hung the last pieces of cotton to dry. For the past two days he’d worked with batik wax-painting to design patterns on the cloth for an Edo warrior kite. Though beautiful, the design work was arduous, and the buyer would pay dearly for the creation.

Dooley nuzzled his nose against Jordan’s leg, then rushed toward the door. With the family down the beach, Jordan hated to give the dog free rein. Rather than taking a chance, he tucked the leash in his pocket, opened the door and stepped outside, needing some fresh air himself. Dooley darted toward the lake. Jordan scanned the water’s surface for any poor, unsuspecting ducks that might be lolling on the waves, but none was in sight.

At the water’s edge, Jordan turned left, then halted. Maybe today, for a change, he’d walk east along the beach.

Who are you kidding?

He shook his head. He knew full well why he was headed that way. Dooley sped off ahead, and he hurried behind the dog, glancing, now and again, into the woods, for the dilapidated cabins.

He slowed his gait as they reached what he suspected was the area. A child’s laugh drifted from the trees, and Jordan looked through the foliage. Mac waved and lurched down the inclined path toward him.

“Good morning,” Jordan said as the boy reached his side.

Mac’s gaze drifted from his to Dooley’s, and he teetered backward, a look of fright rushing to his face.

“It’s okay, Mac. Dooley won’t hurt you. Only thing he might do is knock you down trying to give you a big wet kiss.” He caught the dog’s collar, keeping him close to his side.

“Dooley,” Mac repeated, maintaining his distance.

The dog looked at the boy, his tongue hanging from his mouth in a rapid pant. Jordan tightened his hold, monitoring Dooley’s movement as the dog strained toward the child.

With caution, Mac garnered courage and stepped toward the dog, his hand outstretched. Dooley shot his tongue forward, dragging a slobbery kiss across Mac’s fingers.

The boy’s eyes widened, and Jordan expected him to cry out, but instead he laughed and leaned forward. Dooley swiped his tongue along the child’s cheek.

“A big wet kiss,” Mac said, his eyes twinkling.

Jordan looked back toward the foliage. Would the woman let him play outside without keeping an eye on him? He saw nothing near the cabin. “Where’s your mom?”

“Making a kite. Come and see.” He grasped Jordan’s hand and pulled him toward the grassy path.

“And your father? Where’s your dad?”

Mac clung to his fingers with one hand while his free hand pointed skyward. “Up,” Max answered. “In heaven. Two fathers…in heaven.”

Two fathers? His mind spun, wondering what kind of life this young boy must have experienced. “Two?”

Mac gave an assuring nod. “Come.” He beckoned with his free hand. “See my kite.” He tugged at Jordan’s arm, and, reluctant to hurt the boy’s feelings, Jordan followed.

His memory of the cabins was correct. Though the word
ramshackle
had come to mind first, he altered that to
rustic,
out of kindness.

“Mama,” Mac called as they neared a cabin nestled in the trees closest to the beach.

In a flash a screen door swung open and the woman faltered in the doorway. “Oh, it’s…you.” She grinned and stepped outside. “Good morning. Is something wrong?” Her gaze shifted to Mac and returned to Jordan’s face.

“No. Mac invited me up to see the kite. I’m sorry. I don’t believe I’ve introduced myself.” He forced his hand forward. “Jordan Baird.”

Meara chuckled and grasped his fingers. “Glad to learn your name. You’ve been only the ‘kite man’ to us, Mr. Baird. I’m Meara Hayden, and this is—”

“Mac. He told me his name the first day we met.” He glanced behind her into the shadows of the cabin. “Mac tells me you bought another kite.”

“Two kites.” Her delicate features curved to a lovely full-lipped smile. “Just to be on the safe side, this time.”

Two kites. Two fathers.
And he deduced,
two
husbands. Her lilting voice unsettled him, almost like music, and he longed to ask her heritage but muzzled his curiosity. “Do you need any help?”

“I’m not sure.” She glanced over her shoulder. “This place isn’t elegant, but would you like to step in? You can give me your expert opinion.” She pulled the door open. Mac skittered inside and he followed.

In the dusky light, he agreed. The place was not elegant. It was barely passable for this woman and child. He scanned the sagging upholstered sofa and rickety side table while an acrid smell of mildew and cleaning fluid hit his senses.

A bright yellow kite lay across the small Formica kitchen table. He picked it up and studied her amateur workmanship. “Not bad. Looks like you followed directions.” He glanced around the room. “How about a tail?”

“I used an old cloth from my car trunk for the last one.”

“Let’s…fly the kite,” Mac decreed, his smile flashing like neon.

“In a minute, Mac. I might have another rag,” she continued, looking at Jordan. “Let me see.” She stepped toward the door.

“No need.” The boy’s bright smile motivated Jordan’s offer without thinking. “You and your mom follow me. I have plenty of tail cloth at the house.” He could have bit his tongue, but it was too late. The boy tugged at his heart like wind caught on a kite. Mac grabbed his hand, leading him back down the trail, and the intriguing woman—Meara—followed them.

Dooley, minding his manners, trotted beside the boy as if he understood that he must behave. Mac’s grin swiveled like a weather vane in a wavering wind between Jordan and the dog. The child captivated his spirit.

In the heat a sweet scent permeated the breeze. Jordan glanced for wildflowers along the way, but Meara stepped into his line of vision. And he knew. The scent was hers, a fascinating aroma lingering in the heated air. Delicate and sweet, the woman pried into his closed heart with a new awareness. How long had it been since he’d allowed a woman in his thoughts or wanted a woman in his arms? He pulled his attention to the sand and the water, anything to drive away the longing.

Relieved, Jordan watched the house appear, but as he neared, the Private Property sign glowed in the sun like chastening neon. With what he hoped was a subtle yank, he jerked it from the sand, tossing it into the tall grass. He’d retrieve it later for the trash. But a quick glance at Meara’s grinning face told him she’d witnessed every embarrassing move.

At the door, he invited them onto the porch. “I’m thirsty. How about you? Can I offer you a soda?”

“No, thank you, I think—”

“Okay,” Mac countered. “A soda.”

Meara closed her open mouth and aimed a warning look at Mac.

A chuckle rose in Jordan’s chest, but he clamped his lips.

She gave an embarrassed grin. “I guess we’ll trouble you for a soda, if you don’t mind.”

“Have a seat,” he said, and went inside for the soft drinks. Mac chattered behind him. Surprised, he glanced over his shoulder and saw Mac at his heels. Despite having the boy underfoot, he made quick work of the tumblers and soda cans. “Here,” he said, pouring Mac’s drink into the glass, “you can carry your own.”

Obviously pleased, the boy concentrated on the liquid and headed back to the porch.

“Careful, Mac,” Meara said when he reached her.

“He’s okay,” Jordan said, and handed her a glass. He set his drink on a small side table and, before joining her, grabbed a handful of colorful tails from a storage box.

When he turned, Mac stood nearby, gazing with his trusting eyes at the strips of cloth.

“Okay, Mac, here are all the colors I have,” he said, dangling the strands in front of the child.

Mac’s face filled with wonder as he gazed at the bright strips. “Yellow, red, blue, purpo—”

“That’s purple, Mac,” Meara corrected. “Pur…ple.”

He repeated the word, mimicking her careful enunciation.

Selecting purple and yellow, Mac handed Jordan the cloth, who knotted and attached them to the end of the kite.

“Ready?”

Mac gave an emphatic nod and Jordan led his guests to the beach. He located a log and upended it to form a stool for Meara. Then, explaining as simply as he could, Jordan described the major issues of aerodynamics. Mac listened as if he understood while Jordan demonstrated.

Meara watched him, her face as animated as Mac’s. Losing himself in the process, Jordan moved closer and wrapped his hands around the boy’s to give him the feeling of the tug and pull of the wind on the string.