The Christmas Kite (5 page)

“Looks like it, son,” Otis said, rumpling Mac’s hair.

With her spirits lifted, Meara drove down the lane to their cabin. Soon they’d be in a more comfortable setting, but first she had work to do and so much to buy. Supplies and linens, dishes and pans, and beds. The Mannings had taken her list and had said they would gather up what they had, and Nettie had said the church was having a rummage sale the next day. She could pick up a few things there, perhaps.

She parked, and Mac flung open the door, anxious to get outside. He’d been in the shop and apartment much of the afternoon, and his energy was straining for release.

As she unlocked the cabin, a new thought struck like a hammer. She would be five miles away from Jordan. From what she could tell, he went into town for groceries and supplies, but little else. And she had no reason to come here anymore.

Her thoughts clogged like a bad drain. Why did she care about Jordan? He’d been kind to Mac…and to her. Picturing herself sprawled on the sand by Dooley’s exuberance, she smiled. Life in the cabin had offered her fresh air. Sunshine. A new beginning. Forget Jordan. She and Mac would create a new life in town.

Meara tossed her purse on the sofa, locked the door and dropped the keys into her pocket. She would thank Jordan for the apartment. This time she had a reason to speak with him. She and Mac followed the pine-shaded path to the sunny beach. The glimmering lake rolled in like blue corrugated paper sprinkled with gold dust.

She drew in a deep, refreshing breath. Her life was about to begin, a new adventure. Her life before…She stopped herself. Memories rushed in like a river, washing away the joy that she had gathered on the banks. She did not need self-pity. Her new adventure had opened doors she’d never known before. Hope and happiness flooded her.

Mac toddled along beside her while she reviewed her plans for the coming days. Tomorrow morning she would go to the church, and then she could shop for the other things she needed. Perhaps she’d go into Cheboygan. The town was larger and had well-stocked shops. But thinking of Mac, her spirits were dampened. She’d kept him bound up in the apartment all morning, and tomorrow would be the same.

As they rounded the tree-lined curve in the shore, a long, disjointed kite drifted in the sky above the water ahead of them, its sections undulating on the lake breeze. Her pulse skipped. Mac saw it, too, and let out a joyful cry. They hurried ahead, and the distant figure of Jordan grew nearer until they were at his side.

“What is that?” Meara asked, gasping for breath.

Mac’s face skewed, and a giggle rose. “A kite, Mama!”

She dropped her hand on his shoulder. “Yes, a kite, Mac, but what kind?” She pointed at the sections rising and falling with the air current. “See how it moves on the wind.” She looked to Jordan for the answer.

“It’s centipede style,” he responded. “It’s created in sections.” He aimed Mac toward the front of the kite and pointed. “See the head, Mac? It’s a dragon. When the Chinese fly this kite for their New Year’s celebration, they’re asking the gods for good luck.”

“God?” Mac said. “Ask Jesus for good luck.”

Jordan raised an eyebrow. “No, they…well, something like that.” His shoulders tensed, and he tightened his rein on the thick string as the kite looped on the billowing wind.

Mac clapped his hands. “Me. Me.”

“This one is hard to manage, Mac. I’ll let you try a smaller kite another time. Okay?”

Disappointment registered on Mac’s face, but he nodded, his focus still glued to the mesmerizing kite.

Jordan tightened his grip and wound the thick string, bringing the lovely creation back to earth. The kite soared and plummeted as he manipulated the cord. Finally, he took backward steps to avoid the water, and Meara shot forward to grasp the kite as it dipped toward the damp, shell-speckled sand.

“A save,” she called, smiling over her shoulder at Jordan, then returning her gaze to the amazing centipede. Its body was sectioned, and the colorful green-and-red cloth was connected with some kind of plastic tubing. The dragon’s head appeared painted, rather than dyed, in blues and greens with blazing red eyes.

“It’s wonderful,” Meara said, lugging the cumbersome kite toward him. “It must have taken you forever to make this.”

In awe, Mac clung to the centipede’s red-rimmed tail. “I helped,” he said, settling his section of the kite in Jordan’s outstretched hand.

“You’re a big help, Mac. Thank you.”

The fluttering wind tugged at the taut fabric, and Meara struggled to keep it close to her side until she could place the burden in Jordan’s arms. He gathered the cloth-covered frame and headed toward the house.

Mac followed but Meara remained behind until Jordan’s voice reached her ears. “Come up to the house, Mac, and I’ll show you what I’m working on now.”

The child glanced over his shoulder, beckoning her to follow. Wisdom told her to hightail it back to the safety of the cabin. In Jordan’s company, life brightened as brilliantly as his kites. But she saw no future in it, only a deeper loneliness for having known him. Yet Mac’s eager face loomed before her, and she pushed back her fears and hurried up the path.

With Mac manning the door, Jordan wrestled the large, jointed kite onto the porch. Managing his heart was as difficult. Each time he saw the boy he ached and yearned to be the father he could never be. And when he gazed at the delicate, fiery-haired woman, he felt a longing he couldn’t explain. If he had a brain, he would discourage their entrance into his house and into his life.

Hearing the ruckus, Dooley bounded to the porch from inside the house. In a flash of fear, Mac stepped backward as Meara drifted through the doorway. In a heartbeat, Mac’s chin jutted forward, and with renewed courage, he stood his ground while Dooley’s wet tongue drenched his cheek.

“More kisses,” Mac said, his voice a mixture of fear and laughter.

“Dooley, down,” Jordan commanded. “Let the boy be.” He grasped the dog’s collar and pulled him away as the setter strained to give Mac one final slurp.

Jordan gave a decisive tug on his collar, and Dooley obeyed, coiling himself on the porch rug and panting as his eyes focused on Mac.

The boy kept himself aimed at the dog. “Good dog,” Mac said with a noticeable lack of confidence.

With amusement brightening her face, Meara covered her curving mouth, obviously hiding a chuckle, and wrapped a protective arm around Mac’s shoulder. “Dooley likes you, Mac. He thinks you’re pretty special.”

“Yeah,” Mac said. But his positive comment didn’t disguise his real attitude as he backed against Meara’s leg.

Jordan’s mind and emotions raced as he watched them. “Have a seat.” He motioned to the cushioned wicker furniture. “How about something cold to drink? I have lemonade. Anyone interested?”

“Me,” Mac said. “I like…lemonade.”

“And how about you?” His gaze drifted to Meara, who sank into the wicker seat with his question.

“Lemonade’s fine, if it’s not too much trouble.”

“No trouble,” he said, turning away and heading into the house. The lemonade was no trouble, but she was. She tugged at his emotions as powerfully as a kite on an escalating wind. The truth rose in his thoughts. He had to reel in his heartstrings before they broke or knotted in his rising panic. He’d had too much heartache. He couldn’t bear any more. And love? It had been buried with his family. He had no more to give. Jordan knotted his heart to stop his thoughts, poured glasses of the tangy liquid and carried them back to the porch.

Dooley had edged forward, but now, relaxed and smiling, Mac leaned forward and petted the dog’s back. Jordan shook his head. The dog didn’t mind him any better than he minded his cautious inner voice.

“Here you go,” Jordan said, handing a glass to Meara and one to Mac. He settled into a wicker chair and stared out through the rust-pocked screen to gain control of himself. Meara’s musical voice wrenched him back.

“I came down for a reason, by the way. I wanted to thank you for letting us rent the apartment. It’s perfect for now, until we decide what we’re going to do. But I wonder if…”

Her eyes widened, and she seemed to struggle for the right words. “If Otis didn’t make a mistake. I don’t think he quoted me the correct rent, and I wondered…what you had in mind.”

Jordan dragged his index finger through the condensation that had formed on his glass. With control, he lifted his gaze to hers. “What did Otis tell you?”

“But…I want you to tell me.”

“You can’t remember?”

She blinked. “No, I remember. He said two hundred dollars, but I don’t think—”

“Yes, two hundred. That’s what I told him. Is that too much?” He kept his voice steady to cover his falsehood.

A flush rose on her fair skin. “Too much? No, it’s not enough.”

Jordan studied the pinkish blush that colored her cheeks. The summer sun had tugged a smattering of freckles from hiding and the faint brown flecks spattered her nose and forehead. He studied the pattern, thinking of the dot-to-dot pictures he had drawn as a child.

Meara nailed him with her steady gaze. “Why are you smiling?” Her soft lilt sharpened as her shoulders tensed, and she pulled them erect. “You think I’m foolish for asking. I don’t want charity. I can pay my own way.”

Her words jolted him from his reverie.

“Charity has nothing to do with it! That apartment has been sitting empty since I bought the shop. The rent is pure profit.”

“But you have to consider the utilities—the electricity and water and gas.”

He ran his fingers through his hair. “I suppose, then, I’m only making one hundred and fifty a month profit. Really, don’t worry about it. You’re doing me a favor.” His mouth tugged toward a grin. He focused on Mac, who had shifted his petting to the dog’s head. “I have someone else to pet Dooley instead of me all the time. Mac’s a great dog-sitter.”

Mac let out a widemouthed laugh. “Dog-sitter,” he repeated.

Dooley rose and plopped his head in Mac’s lap, and the child leaned down and pressed a loud smacking kiss on his brow.

Meara opened her mouth to speak, then closed it. She shifted her gaze and stared through the screen. “Well, thanks, then, if you’re sure.” She heaved a great sigh. “I have so much to do. Nettie told me about a church sale tomorrow, and what I can’t pick up there, I’ll have to buy in Cheboygan, I suppose.”

“That’s probably the best place to shop,” Jordan agreed, thinking of the stores in Mackinaw. “Most stores in town are for tourists. But if you’re looking for a seashell ashtray, you can probably get one next door to the kite shop.”

Meara’s tense face shifted to a smile. “I’ll keep that in mind, though I have little use for an ashtray.”

Feeling more relaxed, he grinned back. Thinking about her lone car and no trailer full of furnishings, his curiosity was aroused. “You don’t have anything from your old home?”

“No, nothing except our clothing. And a couple of Mac’s toys. The furniture wasn’t mine.”

Nothing was hers? She rented, then? Maybe those two husbands Mac had mentioned were wastrels or gamblers. Sadness caught in his chest. What a depressing life she and Mac must have had.

Her face brightened. “Otis said they had a few pieces of furniture stored in their basement. He’ll let me know tomorrow what he has that I can use.”

“So tomorrow begins your furniture hunt. What will you do with Mac?” His stomach churned. Why had he asked?

Her gaze drifted toward the child, then to him. “He’ll have to go with me, I suppose. I dragged him around today and he did okay. He’ll manage.”

“A boy needs to play. Bring him down in the morning and I’ll keep an eye on him.” He swallowed the knot that rose to his throat. Why couldn’t he control his mouth? “Would you like to help me build a kite tomorrow, Mac?”

“Sure. Build a kite.” With enthusiasm, Mac flung his head forward and back.

“Don’t knock yourself out, Mac,” Meara said, shifting her gaze to Jordan. “Are you sure? He’ll be fine with me.”

“I’m sure.” Fool. “Mac’ll have more fun making a kite than shopping. Trust me.”

“I do trust you. And thanks. To be honest, I hated to make him spend the day in captivity again.”

She set her empty glass on the nicked side table, and before he could offer her a refill, she glanced at her wristwatch and stood.

“I’d better get back. It’s getting late, and I’m sure you have lots to do.”

He rose and looked at Mac. “I’ll show you the new kite tomorrow. Okay, Mac?”

“Okay. Tomorrow,” the boy said, slipping from the chair.

Dooley rose and stretched his legs, the muzzle of his nose pressing against Mac’s leg. The boy eyed the dog and wiped the damp spot with his hand. “Down, Dooley,” he said in a commanding voice that mimicked Jordan’s. The dog peered at him and, in slow motion, lowered himself to the floor.

“Good job, Mac,” Jordan said. “First time I’ve known Dooley to listen to anyone but me.”

Mac grinned. “I’m a dog-sitter.”

“And I’m a Mac-sitter.” Strangely warmed, he tousled the child’s hair and followed them to the door. “See you in the morning, then.”

“Thanks,” Meara repeated, and taking Mac’s hand, she headed down the path to the beach. With a final wave, she turned toward the cabin.