The Red Gloves Collection (22 page)
“No … no, you didn’t bore me, Megan.” He slid to the edge of the sofa and moved closer so that their knees were touching. Then he lifted his hand to her face and framed it with his fingertips. “I think it’s a beautiful story and one that … that doesn’t have to have a tragic ending.”
It took all Megan’s effort to concentrate on finding an answer. The nearness of Casey made her emotions war within her in a way she couldn’t sort out. “It … it already did. George died before we ever figured out a way to love like that.”
Casey lifted Megan’s chin so that their eyes met and held. “What was your name back then? Your maiden name?”
The question pulled her from the moment and made her want to laugh. “Why?”
“Because … ” Casey searched her eyes, looking to the depths of her soul. “I want to picture everything about the way you were, back when you still wanted to believe in love.”
“Howard was my maiden name.” Megan lifted her shoulders. “And I wasn’t Megan, I was Maggie. Maggie Howard.”
Even in the dim glow of the Christmas tree, Casey’s face seemed to grow a few shades paler. Again, Megan wasn’t sure what she’d said, but the magic of the moment was gone. Casey stood and gathered his red gloves and the photo of him and Jordan. “I guess I better go.”
“Yes.” Megan chided herself for being so transparent. A man like Casey had his own ghosts to deal with on Christmas Eve.
They walked to the door, and before Casey left he cupped his hand along the side of her face once more, leaned close, and for a single instant brought his lips to hers. The kiss was over before Megan realized what had happened, and Casey whispered, “Merry Christmas, Megan.”
Not until he was gone did Megan realize something. The glistening look in Casey’s eyes hadn’t been a reflection from the Christmas tree.
It had been tears.
I
t was a miracle.
No other explanation existed, except that in His ever-lasting mercy, God had stepped into Casey Cummins’s world and handed him a Christmas miracle. The kind Amy had always believed in.
But not the one he’d been praying for these past few weeks. And not one he was sure he wanted. Not yet, anyway.
Casey’s head spun, and his heart wasn’t sure whether to take wing or drop to his shoes. Under the circumstances he couldn’t possibly ride a taxi home, so when he reached the ground level of Megan’s apartment he began to walk. Strong and hard and fast into the chilly night, and after less than a block he felt his eyes well up.
He hadn’t asked for any of this. He’d wanted only to befriend a young boy, to bring hope and light and healing to a heart that had grieved as much these past two years as Casey’s had. If he’d known he would find love, he wouldn’t have made the call. Amy deserved more than that. It had only been two years, after all. Two years. How dare he give his heart to someone else after so little time?
His feet pummeled the ground, carrying him south and taking him into Central Park. The lights were still lit, and couples strolled the paved walkways. Casey stayed on the less traveled paths and let the tears come.
He walked until he reached the bench at the back of the East Meadow play area, the place where he and Amy had come so many times before. Then he sat down and dropped the gifts from Megan and Jordan on the cold wood beside him. How was it possible? The whole time while he’d been taking Megan and her son out, God had been orchestrating the events to lead up to this one night, that one conversation with Megan.
And that was something else. What had he been thinking, kissing her?
Amy … Amy, if you can hear me, I’m sorry, honey. I love you, still. I’ll always love you.
His tears came harder now, and he covered his face with his hands. The thing of it was, it had already happened. All of it. And there was nothing he could do about it. Being angry at God wouldn’t change the truth. He loved Megan with a fierceness that scared him, loved her in a way he hadn’t even realized until a few hours ago. Loved Jordan, too. And now … after what he’d just learned … he was certain he would share his life with them, love them and live with them forever.
As sure as Christmas, it was all about to play out.
Casey wished for just a moment that Amy could be there beside him again, to hold his hand and hug him, tell him it was all okay. That none of them could do a single thing about time or the way it marched on without respecting loss or feelings or memories.
That sometimes life could hurt as much as death.
His fingers were wet from his tears, and an occasional icy gust of wind burned against them. He sniffed and remembered the gift Megan had given him. The red gloves. He pulled them from their wrapping once more and slid them onto his fingers. Then … as he stared at his hands, he realized something.
Amy had told him that red was the color of giving. That had come from her, not him. And if there was one thing she would’ve wanted to give him this Christmas, it was the gift of freedom. Freedom from the pain of losing her, freedom from holding on.
Freedom to love again.
She’d given him so much in life, and now, in death, she would give him this. But if that was true, if he was going to let go and move on with life, he needed this time to tell her good-bye. He lifted his eyes to heaven and spoke in a voice that even he could barely hear. “Amy … I never wanted it this way, you know that. But … it happened. And the way it happened … well, it can’t be anything but a miracle.”
He dried his tears with the red gloves and thought back to the night with Megan. “I love her, Amy. I love her son. Even before I found out about the miracle. And I was wrong about the two of you. I think you would’ve liked her. Maybe a lot.” He felt another tear spill onto his cheeks, and his voice grew tight. “I’ll always hold you close inside, Amy. But for now … for now I have to let go.”
For a long while he sat there, longing for a chance to see her again. Instead he closed his eyes and felt it. Something had released in his heart, and at the same instant, he felt as new and alive inside as the fresh fallen snow. He dried his eyes one last time and stood. Then, without looking back, he jogged to the closest street and hailed a cab.
The time for tears had passed, and Casey grasped the reality at hand. It was December
24,
and a miracle no less amazing than Christmas itself was about to occur. Carrying Jordan’s gift under his arm, he raced up the stairs to his apartment and headed for his bedroom. The box was at the bottom of his closet near the back corner, tucked behind his clothes in a place where it had been all but forgotten.
Casey slid it out and tore through it until he found the old Bible.
The one he’d had as a fifteen-year-old boy.
Then, as carefully and quickly as he could, he thumbed his way to the back, to the thirteenth chapter of
I
Corinthians, to a place where he was convinced he’d find it. And sure enough, there it was. The pressed purple flower, the one Maggie had given him that week. And written in his own youthful handwriting was this simple sentence:
Pray for a miracle for Maggie Howard.
Casey stared at it until the words faded and became pine trees, tall and proud, anchored in the sandy shore of Lake Tahoe. He’d gone there every summer with his parents, even after he met Maggie. Every year until he graduated from high school he’d looked for her, but she never returned to the lake.
She had seemed so sad back then, so sure that love was a fraud. And he, a preacher’s boy, had been so sure otherwise. Love was good and kind and pure and true. Love never failed. Wasn’t that the message of his boyhood days, the message his father preached from the pulpit every Sunday?
His name was Kade Cummins, and back then he’d gone by Kade.
But sometime during his freshman year on the baseball team, the players began calling him by his initials, K. C. And in time, it was the only name he knew. Casey Cummins. He’d kept his promise to Maggie, praying for her every time he opened his Bible until he left for Haiti. That year his father gave him a new Bible as a going-away present, and his old one was packed away in a box of baseball trophies and old high school mementos.
He still thought about Maggie often that first year in Port-au-Prince.
But after he met Amy, his thoughts took a different direction, and not until tonight, when Megan told the story, did the pieces all finally and completely fall together. He’d spent years praying for Maggie Howard, praying that she’d find real love one day. And then— when his life had been little more than a chance to remember the past—God had brought the two of them together so that he, he himself, could be the answer he’d prayed for all those years ago.
And it had all happened on Christmas Eve.
If that wasn’t a Christmas miracle, Casey wasn’t sure what was.
Of course, it wasn’t a complete miracle, not yet. Not until he could look into Maggie’s eyes, the eyes he’d first met as a boy, and know without a doubt that she believed in love again. The kind of love he’d taught her to believe in back on the sandy shores of Lake Tahoe.
It was nearly midnight, but Casey didn’t care. He picked up the phone, punched in Megan’s number, and waited. She answered on the third ring.
“Hello?”
“Megan, it’s me, Casey. I’m sorry to call so late.”
“No … no, it’s fine. I was up.” She hesitated. “Are you okay? You sound like something’s wrong.”
“Everything’s just fine, actually, but I have a favor to ask you.”
“Anything, Casey.” He could hear the relief in her voice. “Whatever you want.”
Casey kept his words as slow and calm as possible. “Have your mother watch Jordan tomorrow morning at ten o’clock. Meet me at the East Meadow, at the bench near the big slide.” He stopped himself from saying anything more. “Please, Megan.”
She paused. “Of course. I’ll be there at ten.”
After they hung up, Casey found a blank Christmas card and began to write. When he was finished, he searched his top dresser drawer until he found an old velvet box. His heart raced as he checked the contents. It might not be a perfect fit, but it would work for what he wanted to do.
Sleep came slowly, in fits and starts, but Casey didn’t mind. He couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened, and more than that, how the timing was so utterly fitting. Everything was coming together on the most beautiful day of the year, the day when miracles truly did happen all around them.
Christmas Day.
M
egan arrived at ten o’clock exactly.
It was cold and windy, a Christmas morning when nearly everyone else was still opening gifts and enjoying the warmth of their families. Megan looked beyond the empty play area to the bench at the back near the big slide, the one nestled against the bushes. She pulled her long wool coat tight around her neck, and lifted the collar to ward off a gust coming off the reservoir.
Casey was nowhere.
She checked her watch and saw that it was a minute after ten. Strange … Casey wasn’t usually late. Careful on the icy gravel, she slowly made her way toward the bench. She was ten feet away when she saw it.
Sitting squarely on the middle of it was a wrapped gift. Megan’s heart beat faster, and again she glanced around, looking for Casey. Had he already come and left her this present? It seemed an odd thing to do. After all, he’d brought her roses the night before, and if he’d had another gift, he would’ve given it to her then.
She shivered and walked the remaining distance to the bench. The gift was large, about the size of a big book. On the top was a card with her name written across the front, and tucked beneath the ribbon was a small pressed azalea, pale purple and tinged brown around the edges of the petals. Megan brought it to her face and breathed in the faint musty smell. Something about the flower was strangely familiar. Where had she seen it before?
She lowered the gift and turned enough to scan the play area. “Casey?” She waited, but there was no response. He must’ve left the gift, but why? Why here, and why hadn’t he waited for her?
She opened the card, pulled it from the envelope, and began to read.
I’ve prayed for you a thousand times, Maggie Howard. Open your present and turn to
I
Corinthians, chapter 13. Then you’ll know what I mean.
Megan’s hands began to shake, and once more she glanced around, looking for Casey. A wind gust played with her hair, and she brushed it away from her eyes. Whatever did he mean, he’d prayed for her a thousand times? And why had he referred to her by her maiden name, the name she’d used as a little girl? She took the delicate pressed flower and set it in the card, then slipped them both into her pocket.
Without waiting another moment, she slid her fingers into the seam in the paper, and pulled it off the gift. Beneath the wrapping was an old, worn Bible, cracked and faded from the years. And embossed at the lower right corner was the owner’s name.
Kade Cummins.
Megan gasped and nearly dropped the Bible. With her free hand she brought her fingers to her mouth and stared at the cover as everything around her began to tilt. How had Casey gotten Kade’s Bible? And what about the flower? Was that the one she’d picked twenty years ago, the one she’d asked Kade to hold on to so he wouldn’t forget her? And what did Casey mean by having her open it here, now?
She tucked the Bible beneath her arm and checked the card once more, 1 Corinthians, chapter 13. Megan slid the card into the front part of the big book, and after a few frantic moments she found the place. There, written in fading ink, were words that made her heart stop.
Pray for a miracle for Maggie Howard.
Nothing made sense, and Megan wondered if she might faint. If this was Kade’s Bible, then how had Casey gotten it? And why had he said in the card the prayers had come from him, and not Kade? She was about to gather the Bible to her chest and sit down on the bench when she heard something behind her. Her heart jolted into an unfamiliar beat and she turned around.
“Merry Christmas, Maggie.” Casey was coming toward her, his eyes sparkling as he made his way.