The Christmas Kite (6 page)

Jordan watched them until they rounded the bend, still wondering why he’d agreed to watch Mac. “Just curiosity,” he said aloud. He wanted to know more about them. Where had they lived? What kind of men were Mac’s two fathers? Tomorrow he could garner some information from the child.

M
eara surveyed the cozy apartment. In only a week, she’d gathered bits and pieces of other people’s lives and now called it “home.” The Mannings surprised her with much of what she needed, and the church rummage sale filled in the rest. In Cheboygan, she bought bedding and bath linens, a few odds and ends, and that was it.

Footsteps sounded on the outside landing, and Nettie called out a greeting. Meara swung the door open wide, pleased to see the elderly woman who had become, in the past days, an important figure in her life.

Nettie, her plump cheeks glowing from her climb up the stairs, beamed at Meara. Her generous arms were burdened with a large cardboard box.

“My word, Nettie, what do you have there?” Meara reached out and lifted the cumbersome carton from her grasp.

“Another little treasure I found in the basement. Just look.”

Meara eased the carton onto the table and pulled open the lid. Inside, special protective wrapping hid the contents. With care, she lifted an item and pulled off the thin foam covering. Her breath caught in her throat. “China cups,” she whispered, eyeing Nettie’s instigating grin. She picked up the translucent cup spattered with delicate shamrocks and turned it over. “
Real
Belleek. From Ireland. Oh, Nettie, you shouldn’t.”

“Don’t ‘you shouldn’t’ me. I should and I want to. Keep looking, dear.” The older woman pulled the box lid back as Meara laid the lovely pieces on the table.

“And the matching teapot,” Meara cried as she lifted it from the box. “But don’t you want to keep this yourself?”

“I have an old teapot I’ve used for years. This one seemed too lovely for just Otis and me. You have years of entertaining ahead of you.”

“But—”

Nettie shushed her. “And since I’ve been listening to that Irish brogue of yours, I knew the charming set belonged to you. No one would love it more.”

Meara cradled the pot against her chest. “I do, Nettie. It takes me back home. Thank you.” She lifted a finger and wiped away the pooling tears that escaped her lashes. “Sit, please. I’ll make us a pot of tea.”

Meara turned on the burner and rinsed the kettle with hot water. “Is Mac behaving himself downstairs?” she asked over her shoulder.

“He’s as good as gold. Don’t you worry about him.”

“I don’t want him to drive Otis crazy, that’s all.” She filled a tea ball with leaves.

Nettie chuckled. “Too late for that. Otis has been crazy for years.”

Her description of Otis caused Meara to smile. She had grown to love the man.

“Really, Otis loves children,” Nettie said. “He’ll find all kinds of ways to keep the boy busy.”

“You’re both so kind.” The kettle whistled, and Meara poured the hot water into the pot. “I have so many things on my mind, sometimes I don’t know which way to turn.”

“Something bothering you?”

“Not really.” The truth prodded her. “Yes, I suppose it has. I’ve been thinking about work. Finding a job.”

“You’d like a job?”

“
Need
a job,” Meara responded as she carried a small tray into the living room and set it on a side table. She sank into an overstuffed flower-print chair. “I’m trying to get by on a small inheritance.” She cringed when the words left her mouth. A payoff is what it was. She could hear them.
“We’ll pay you to leave our home and our lives.”
She had rights as Dunstan’s wife, but she could no longer bring herself to live under their scornful eye. She accepted the money, but heated shame shot through her. She’d cheated Mac of his rightful legacy. How could she explain it to anyone? She couldn’t.

“A job,” Nettie repeated. “That shouldn’t be too hard. What about the kite shop? Otis needs another clerk. The woman he has now is leaving. And soon. Look how handy it would be for you.”

“I saw the sign in the window, but I wasn’t sure what I would do with Mac.” A sinking sensation weighted her. “And I’m scared, Nettie. To tell the truth, I haven’t worked since I left County Kerry.” Images of the small shop floated through her mind, its shelves filled with souvenirs and gift items covered with symbols of Ireland: shamrocks, claddagh, Celtic knots and crosses, leprechauns, and rainbows. “I worked in a small gift emporium.”

“Well, a kite shop can’t be much different. The hardest work is the tourist season, but you’d be surprised how many interior decorators drop by to look at the kites, even in winter.”

“Interior decorators? You mean they use kites in their decor?”

“Surprised me, too. They buy them for business offices and lobbies, restaurants, and even some private homes.”

“I’d never have thought of that.”

“No. But they do. So how about getting downstairs and talking to Otis. I’m sure he’d be relieved to know he has a good worker. Especially someone he can count on.”

Nettie’s words marched through her head.
Someone he can count on.
That’s what she needed. She hadn’t really had a cherished friend, someone to depend on, since she’d left her homeland. She’d been so naive. So hopeful. Yet what a horrible mistake she had made in marrying Dunstan. A mistake…except for Mac.

“And a pound of lean beef,” Jordan said, watching the man wrap his ground round in white butcher paper.

A shopping basket jostled him, and he pulled his cart closer to the counter. The aisles were narrow, and it being Friday, all the campers and tourists had crowded into the small IGA store for their groceries. Next time he’d go to Food Town in Cheboygan. Today he’d manage, since his list was short. Dog food, mainly.

“Anything else?”

His mind adrift, he lifted his eyes to the butcher.

“Will this be all?” the man asked again.

“Yes, thanks.” He dropped the wrapped beef into the basket and maneuvered down the next aisle. Dog food. He stacked the cans beside the carton of orange juice and six-pack of soda. A loaf of bread and that was it.

The checkout line wound down the aisle and around the magazine rack. He eyed the only other register, but that line was as long. He settled back to wait. Nearing the periodicals, he passed a candy display and, instinctively, grabbed a package of suckers. For Mac. The boy entered his mind too often.

His thoughts drifted back to the day Mac had stayed with him while Meara shopped. His reasoned incentive had been as successful as Meara’s first attempts at kite-flying. He’d learned little about them—only that Mac and Meara had lived in a big house with his grandparents. He grimaced inwardly, recalling his attempt to pry information from the child.

The customers inched forward, and finally, he paid for the items and pushed his empty cart against the wall. When he veered toward the doorway, his stomach dipped to his shoes. “Hello,” he said, gazing into Meara’s surprised eyes. “Terrible day to shop.”

“I was thinking the same thing.” She stepped away from the other checkout counter with two large, unwieldy bags clutched in her arms. One appeared to be escaping her grasp, inching downward toward her legs.

“Let me help you,” he said. He slid his arm around the bulkiest sack of groceries, then opened the door and held it with his back.

Meara wrapped both arms around her lone paper bag and stepped outside, her hair ablaze in the sunshine. “Thanks, but I could have managed.”

“I know you could have, but why should you, when I can help?”

The tiny freckles on her nose had darkened in the past week, and he fought the desire to linger on her lovely face, clean and natural without makeup, as always.

She gestured toward her car, and he followed, his pulse skipping as he viewed her trim figure from behind. Petite. Delicate.

When she opened her trunk, she tucked the bag into a corner. He followed her example and propped the larger paper sack beside it. “There you go.”

She stood with her hand on the trunk lid, gazing up at him. When her hand swung down, dropping the lid, he winced at the unexpected slam.

Delicate. He nearly chuckled aloud at the paradox. She was strong and capable. He had to remember that. “So, how’s the apartment? And Mac?” he asked. And
you,
he said to himself.

She searched his face before answering. “Fine. Everything’s fine.”

“Good.” He wanted to say more, but what? His tongue tied itself in a knot. Get yourself away from here, he thought.

“Otis hired me to work in the shop. Did he tell you?”

“No. No, he didn’t, but that’s great.” He stared at her again, longing to escape, yet not wanting to leave her side.

“Mac loves looking into the park and watching the kites. He’ll never want to move.”

“I’m pleased he’s so happy.” With the suggestion of her staying in the area, his chest restricted. Did that make
him
happy?
Happy?
How long had it been since the word entered his thoughts?

“It’s comfortable there. And Nettie has become a good friend.”

“She’s a nice lady.” He could barely speak. Meara glowed in the late-afternoon sun, warm and shining…and beautiful.

Her shy gaze caught his. “Would you like to stop by and see the place? And Mac? He’d love to see you, I know. He talks about you all the time.”

The child’s image rose in Jordan’s mind—his trusting face and beaming smile. The picture rent his heart. “Well, I just stopped by to pick up dinner for Dooley.” Surprising himself, a grin pulled on his lips. “Sounds like a play or movie. ‘Dinner for Dooley.’”

“
Breakfast at Tiffany’s,
” she added. “Or
Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner?
” She appeared to relax.

Her eyes glinted with amusement, and they warmed him. “I suppose he can wait a few minutes.”

“Wait?” She tilted her head quizzically.

“Dooley. He can wait to eat. I’d like to see Mac.”

“Good,” she said. “Follow me.” A laugh bubbled from her throat, and she looked at him with embarrassed eyes. “I suppose you know where the apartment is.”

He grinned and headed for his car. He wished his mind and mouth would work out a deal. Cooperation. Maybe compromise. He said one thing and his heart wavered whether it was what he should have said. Too late now. But he could make it a short visit.

Meara’s pulse raced as she headed back to the apartment. Though only a week had passed, it seemed like forever since she’d seen Jordan. She glanced in her rearview mirror, admiring his reflection, handsome with his strong jaw and sculptured nose. She admired the wispy strands of graying hair that graced his temple. Though at first glance he looked distinguished, almost aloof, in time his quiet, gentle nature revealed a different image, gracious and vulnerable.

She pulled into the parking lot behind the shop, and Jordan parked alongside. Mac spied her from the back workroom and rushed outside. Though he headed for her, his rubber-soled shoes skidded to a halt when he eyed Jordan. He veered in his direction and stuck out his hand. “Hi, Jor-dan. Otis said ‘horse’s mouth.’”

Jordan faltered at Mac’s words while laughter rippled from Meara’s chest.

“That will take some explaining, I imagine,” she said as she lifted the trunk lid.

Jordan ruffled Mac’s hair. “Just a little.” He returned his gaze to her and reached for the heaviest bag.

Seeing him with Mac, her heart swelled with tenderness. Mac had been fatherless even with a father. No man had tossed him a ball or pitched him a Frisbee. Or had gone outside on a summer day to fly a kite. Nothing…until Jordan.

And now her son idolized him. She winced, thinking how hurt Mac would be when Jordan lost interest or returned to his college life again.

“Come, see my room,” Mac said, pulling Jordan along by his fingers.

“That’s why I stopped by. And I wanted to say hello.”

“Hello,” Mac said. “Come and see.” He beckoned him to follow, and the two climbed the staircase.

Meara gathered up the second bag and followed them, her mind wavering between avoiding this man who tugged at her heart or pursuing him for Mac. For Mac? Who are you kidding? she thought. Yet Jordan was a stranger in so many ways. She knew nothing of his life—only vague references to some tragedy that had taken him from his career. Was it a wife? Divorce, perhaps? Or her death? What would cause a man to run away from his familiar surroundings and comfortable life?

She knew why she had run. But in her case not
from
life, but
to
life. She had been without an existence for so long. Her small world had been confined mainly within the walls of the Hayden mansion.
“No, Meara, you stay home with Mac. The excitement will be too much for him.” “People stare at the child when you take him out, Meara. Stay home where you belong.”
The horrid, remembered words…

“Okay, Mama?”

Mac’s voice jolted her from the frightful memories. “What? I didn’t hear you.”

“Jor-dan said I can come to his house and help build a kite. Can I?”

“Probably, Mac. Let’s see when the time comes.”

The answer suited him. He swung through the doorway with Jordan in his wake. When she stepped inside, she heard Mac giving him the “five-dollar” tour of the small apartment—Jordan’s apartment, no less. But he listened, and his pleasant, throaty voice drifted from Mac’s bedroom.