Debbie Macomber (17 page)

His father hung up the phone. “He can only stay until morning, Carter.”

Carter nodded. It wasn't long enough, but for this one last night, Rusty was his.

“T
hey're here!” Rosalie shouted from the living room. Her voice rose with excitement. She'd gone to look out the window every few minutes, waiting for their daughter and her husband.

“Is it Donna?” Harry asked. He was no less excited than his wife.

“Yes,” Rosalie said, letting the curtain fall back into place.

Harry struggled to get to his feet, and instantly Rosalie was at his side. She brought him the walker he hated and then slid her arm around his waist, guiding him into the hall.

“How do I look?” she asked.

Harry pretended to study her, noting her carefully combed hair, a soft lovely gray, and the antique cameo she wore with her dark green dress. “You couldn't be more beautiful if you'd tried.”

“Oh, Harry.”

At his words, Harry could see the blush of pleasure that crept across her cheeks.

The door opened and in breezed his daughter, with Richard, their son-in-law, both of them laden with parcels and bags. Soon everyone was kissing and hugging. Rosalie had tears in her eyes and, for that matter, so did Harry. Seeing his daughter renewed his waning strength.

All their married life, Rosalie had been a gracious hostess, and as soon as Donna and Richard had taken their coats off, she led them to the formal living room and brought out a tray of coffee and cookies.

Donna helped serve, and before long they were all sitting together, chatting and catching up. Harry watched his daughter's animated gestures, and his heart swelled with love. In appearance, Donna resembled Rosalie's family, with her dark brown hair and eyes. Her personality, though, was all his. She was practical but enjoyed taking a risk now and then.

Donna was a teacher and had taught kindergarten and first grade for nearly thirty years. She was close to retirement, as was Richard. They'd met in college and married soon after. They'd presented him with two wonderful grandsons, two years apart.

“Tell me about Scotty,” Rosalie said, eager for news of their youngest grandson. In a recent conversation, Donna had hinted that she had something special to share.

Donna and Richard smiled at each other, and Richard reached for his wife's hand.

“Scott's engaged!” Donna said happily.

“Is it Lana?” Harry asked. Their grandson had stopped by to visit in September and had brought a young woman to meet them. Harry recognized the look in his eyes. The boy was in love.

“Yes. Everyone likes Lana,” Donna said. “We're all so pleased. Rich and I recently met her parents, and they're just as thrilled as we are.”

“When's the wedding?” Rosalie asked.

“February,” Donna told her mother.

“So soon!” his wife trilled, her eyes glowing. “Oh, I'm so glad.”

“Lana wanted to wait for June,” Donna said, “but Scott said a Valentine wedding was more romantic.”

“Who would've guessed that about Scott?” Richard asked.

Rosalie glanced at Harry and they exchanged a smile. “He gets his romantic heart from his grandfather.”

“Dad?” Donna did an exaggerated double take.

“Your father's sent me flowers every Valentine's Day since the year we met. Even during the war.” Her eyes filled with tears as she looked at him. Pulling her lace-edged handkerchief from her sleeve, she dabbed her cheeks. “This is such good news, isn't it, dear?”

Harry nodded. All his grandchildren would be married now. Although Harry had only met Lana that one time, he believed the young woman was a good match for his youngest grandson.

“That's not our only news,” Donna said. Once again she smiled at Richard. “Phillip called last week and Tiffany's pregnant.”

Rosalie squealed with delight.

“Rich and I are going to be grandparents.”

“Oh, my goodness,” Rosalie said, clasping her hands. “That means Harry and I will be
great
-grandparents.”

“You're much too young to be a great-grandmother,” Harry teased, just so he could watch Rosalie blush once more.

“Nonsense,” his wife countered. “Some of our friends are great-grandparents several times over.”

That was true, and Harry didn't bother to comment. He'd hoped to live long enough to meet his first great-grandchild but that wasn't to be.

Richard helped himself to another cookie. Rosalie had picked them up at the bakery on Saturday, and although he wouldn't tell her this, Harry thought they were as good as any she might have baked. Actually, he wouldn't mind a second one himself. As soon as he stretched out his arm, Rosalie immediately lifted the platter and offered it to him.

Donna was still talking about the baby. She'd be the perfect grandmother, Harry knew. She'd been an excellent mother, and after all those years spent teaching six-and seven-year-olds, she had a real way with kids. Donna's students loved her; it wasn't unusual for teenagers and adults to come and see her—people, who at one time, had been in her class.

“When's Tiffany due?” Rosalie asked.

“July,” Donna said. “We don't know if it's a boy or a girl, although I don't think anyone really cares. The timing is certainly good.”

Richard smiled. “Phillip's out of graduate school now and the job he got with Microsoft seems secure. Or as secure as any corporate job is these days.” He turned to Harry, who nodded. Over the years, they'd often discussed the economy and related issues.

“Phillip does a bit more traveling than either of them would like,” Donna added, “but he's in training, so that goes with the territory.”

Richard sipped his coffee. “I understand the two of you are planning to sell the house,” he said.

Rosalie sighed and aimed a sad smile at Harry.

“Unfortunately we had some bad news regarding Liberty Orchard,” Harry told him. In retrospect he'd give just about anything to have handed the administrator a check for the deposit the day they'd toured the facility. “Apparently the only available unit has already been taken.”

Donna leaned forward. “That's what Mom said, so I phoned Liberty Orchard and talked to Elizabeth Goldsmith myself.”

“She can't wave a magic wand and make another unit appear.” Harry didn't want to admit how much the news depressed him. This was to be his last gift to Rosalie before he died, and now it wasn't going to happen.

“When I phoned,” Donna went on to say, “Ms. Goldsmith said she was just about to contact you.”

“The unit's available?” Harry felt a surge of hope.

“Not the one you originally saw, but another one.”

“Did someone die?” Rosalie asked, frowning.

“No, it belonged to a couple. Perhaps you met them. Ralph and Daisy—I can't remember their last name.”

“McDonald,” Harry supplied. He remembered talking with the two and had quite liked them. Their children both lived in Chicago. “Are they moving closer to their son and daughter?”

“Yes.”

“When?” Rosalie asked.

“They hope to be out by the fifth of January. It'll take a couple of days to give the unit a thorough cleaning and then it'll be ready for you and Dad by the tenth.”

“I'll get them a check right after Christmas,” Harry said, unable to hide his pleasure.

“It's all taken care of, Dad,” Donna said. “I knew you'd want the unit, so Rich and I put it on our credit card.”

“I'll get the check to you then. Immediately.” The fact that they'd used credit bothered him; he couldn't help it.

Donna gestured magnanimously. “Consider it your Christmas gift.”

Harry wouldn't allow his daughter to do that; still, the certainty of acquiring the unit afforded him real peace of mind.

“That's wonderful news,” Rosalie agreed, nodding vigorously.

“It's even better than you realize,” Donna said. “I'll be here the entire time to help you move.”

“What about school?” Harry asked.

Donna smiled. “That's my other surprise. I'm retiring. As of now.”

Harry stared at her. “But…it's the middle of the school year.”

“Actually, this is a good news/bad news situation,” Rich explained. “Donna needs knee-replacement surgery.”

Their daughter nodded. “I guess that's what I get from all those years of crawling around on the floor with my kindergarten classes. It isn't extensive surgery, but it'll require several weeks of rehab. I'd already decided to retire at the end of this school year. But with the wedding, the surgery and the baby, Rich and I felt it made more sense to do it now.”

“I think this is wonderful,” Rosalie said again.

Rosalie had always supported their children's decisions, even when they gave Harry pause. She was loyal to a fault; he loved that about her.

“The paperwork's been turned in and everything's a go.”

“You should've told us,” Rosalie chastised.

“I couldn't until I got the final word. I didn't mean to hide it from you, Mom, but I know how you worry.”

While Donna claimed it was the surgery, the wedding and the baby, Harry suspected there was another reason his daughter had chosen to retire early. “So you'll help us pack up the house,” he said.

“Absolutely. Lorraine, too.”

This was welcome news to Harry. His prayer had been answered—they had a place at Liberty Orchard now. And his daughters would both be here. If God should choose to bring him home, Harry could be assured that Rosalie would be well looked after.

This was going to be the best Christmas of his life. And the last…

B
eth yawned. It'd been a long day, beginning with church that morning and then brunch with her family. Now, at almost ten, she was tired and ready for bed. She'd logged on to World of Warcraft a little while ago and was disappointed to discover that Peter wasn't online. Still, she felt relieved that they'd decided to postpone their meeting until after New Year's. That gave her time to make a few decisions, time to assess the situation and consider how to deal with what she'd learned.

The doorbell chimed. Beth frowned, wondering who'd stop by this late at night.

When she checked the peephole, she saw a lovely woman standing in the hallway. Whoever it was had the most incredible blue eyes. Beth didn't recognize her. But even though she didn't know who this woman was, she unlatched the door and opened it.

Instead of the woman she'd seen through the peephole, a man stood there in front of her. Not just any man. John Nicodemus, her ex-husband.

Peter.

If Beth was shocked, it was nothing compared to the look on Peter's face.

“Marybeth?”
he whispered as if he couldn't seem to find his voice. “What are you doing here?”

“I live here.”

“No, you don't,” he argued.

“Are you looking for Borincana?” she asked.

Peter went pale.

“You're Timixie,” she added. It was obvious that they both needed to sit down, so she stepped out of the doorway and waved him inside.

Peter moved into the living room and sank heavily onto the sofa. Elbows balanced on his knees, he thrust his fingers through his hair and stared down at the floor.

Beth understood exactly how he felt because she'd experienced the very same mix of emotions when she'd seen him in Leavenworth. It had felt as if the sidewalk had started to crumble beneath her feet. The shock had been followed by anger and disbelief.

Yesterday in Leavenworth, she'd suspected him of somehow arranging this. As she watched his face, she could see that he was feeling doubt, incredulity, suspicion—just as she had.

“How can this be?” he murmured after several minutes.

“I asked myself that, too.”

His eyes narrowed. “How long have you known?”

She wanted it understood that she hadn't arranged this, any more than he had. “Since Leavenworth.”

His mouth tightened. “You were there?”

Beth nodded. “You were standing by the gazebo, exactly as we'd agreed. Then I saw that red rose and I nearly fainted.”

“Who was on the phone?” he demanded. “I would've recognized your voice.”

“My friend Heidi. She's a new friend—you never met her.”

He straightened, then leaned back against the sofa as he absorbed her words.

“Why are you here?” she asked. Beth studied him carefully. He was even more attractive than she remembered. The years had matured him, and his features had lost their boyish quality. He looked more serious now, more…adult. They'd both been so juvenile and irrational, so quick to get out of the relationship. Beth had felt blindsided by the pain of it and she thought that John…Peter might have been, too. Certainly, his online confidences suggested as much.

“I shouldn't have come,” he muttered. “The whole time I was driving here, I couldn't figure out why I was doing this.”

Beth didn't understand it, either. They'd already said they'd wait until after New Year's.

He closed his eyes for a few seconds, then opened them again and looked directly at her. “This afternoon we made our plans but all of a sudden that wasn't good enough. I couldn't stop thinking about you. I was afraid that if we delayed meeting again, neither of us would ever be ready. It was just too easy to keep putting it off.”

Beth could see that was true.

“Once I made the decision, waiting even an hour seemed intolerable. I had your address from the phone call in Leavenworth—thanks to your friend, as it turns out. I decided to meet you and I didn't care that it was after nine at night and I was coming uninvited.”

“Only you
had
met me.”

“Well, I could hardly know that, could I?” he snapped, then seemed to regret his outburst. “How did something like this happen?” he asked helplessly.

She responded with a question of her own. “When did John become Peter?”

“When I began working in the corporate office at Starbucks. There were four Johns, so I decided to use my middle name and I just got used to it. The only people who call me John these days are my parents.”

In other words, his name change had come about in a perfectly rational way—it was certainly no attempt at subterfuge.

“What about you, Mary
beth?
”

“Marybeth became Beth after the divorce.”

He regarded her skeptically. “Any particular reason?”

“I wanted a new start, and Marybeth sounded so childish and outdated to me, so I shortened it to Beth. The only people who still call me Marybeth are my family.”

“I see.” He rubbed his face. “I don't mean to be forward here, but I could use a cup of coffee.”

“Of course. I'm sorry, I should've asked.” She stood and took two steps toward the kitchen before abruptly turning back. “How'd you do that, by the way?”

“Do what?”

“I checked the peephole in my door before I unlocked it and there was a woman on the other side.”

“A woman?” He wore a puzzled frown.

“She was attractive and had blond hair and striking blue eyes.”

“It wasn't me.”

“Obviously.”

He met her gaze head-on. “I was the only one there, Beth. Maybe you should have your eyesight examined.”

“Maybe you should—” She clamped her mouth shut. They had too many other things to discuss. An argument would be pointless; it didn't matter what or whom she'd seen—or
thought
she'd seen. “Give me a minute to make that coffee.”

Unexpectedly, Peter followed her into the kitchen. “What just happened back there?” he asked with obvious surprise.

“What do you mean?” She efficiently measured the grounds and poured water into the coffeemaker.

“You dropped the discussion.”

Confused, Beth glanced over at him. “What discussion?”

“It used to be that you absolutely
had
to be right,” he told her. “You'd go ten miles out of your way to prove how right you were and how wrong I was.”

“I did?” Beth didn't remember it like that.

“You always had a point to prove.”

“Yes, well, people change.”

Peter didn't speak for some time. “I've changed, too.”

“I'm sure we both have.” For the better, although she didn't say that. After six months of being his partner on WoW, she knew this man, knew important things about his character, and he wasn't like her ex-husband at all.

The coffee started to drip and Beth got two mugs from the cupboard. Staring down at the kitchen counter, she gathered her courage to ask him a question.

“Did you mean what you said this afternoon about…still loving me?” The words seemed to stick in her throat.

“Yes.”

She wished he'd elaborate—and a moment later he did. “I never stopped loving you, Marybeth. That was one of the problems. For years, the people closest to me have encouraged me to find someone else and remarry. I tried.”

She jerked up her head. “So it's true?” Abruptly her heart sank, and she actually felt ill. “You did marry again.”

“No,” he returned vehemently. “Who told you that?”

“A friend. Well, sort of a friend. Lisa Carroll. Remember her?”

“Yeah.” Peter frowned. “She told you that?” When Beth nodded, he pressed his palms on the kitchen counter. “That isn't even
close
to being true. Why would she do that?” He paused. “What about you? Have you…did you find someone else?”

Beth shrugged, unwilling to disclose that she'd been practically a hermit in the dating world. “I went out some. No one for long.”

“I occasionally dated, too,” he confessed. “Including Lisa,” he added in a low voice. “For about two weeks.”

Well, that explains it,
Beth thought—but didn't say.

“No one clicked with me,” she said after a brief silence.

He offered her a sad smile. “No one clicked with me, either.”

“Mostly I was afraid.” Because she needed something to do with her hands, she filled the two mugs with coffee, welcoming the distraction.

Peter reached for his mug and she automatically opened her refrigerator and took out the milk.

He smiled. “You remember that I take milk in my coffee.”

“How could I forget?” she asked, a smile tugging at the corners of her own mouth. “Don't you remember we had that huge fight over milk? I'd forgotten to pick some up on my way home.”

Peter threw back his head and stared at the ceiling. “I was pretty unreasonable back then.”

She'd thought the same thing. He'd accused her of intentionally forgetting the milk, apparently convinced that she'd done it in retaliation, since he'd been right in a silly argument they'd had the day before. It'd all been so stupid, so adolescent.

Peter poured a dollop of milk into his coffee, then returned the carton to the refrigerator. Beth watched in amazement. While they were married, he'd driven her to the brink of insanity by leaving everything out. He left drawers open, newspapers on the floor, dirty dishes everywhere.

When she complained, he'd accused her of being too fastidious and a “neat freak.” Beth hadn't seen herself as either; however she'd considered him lazy and disorganized—and had told him so.

They both sipped their coffee for a couple of minutes, leaning casually against the kitchen counters. Despite her relaxed pose, Beth felt anything but.

“Did you mean what
you
said?” Peter gazed at her over the top of his mug.

She knew what he was asking. “I always loved you. Even when I filed for divorce, I loved you. I couldn't live with you, but that didn't change how I felt about you.”

He chuckled softly and nodded. “It was the same with me. You were driving me crazy.”

“We did it to each other.” Beth set her mug on the counter. “So,” she said, sighing. “This afternoon you said you don't want to look back and that it's time to move forward.”

He nodded again. “It's time for
both
of us to let go of the past, Marybeth.”

“And…what about the future?”

He didn't answer right away. He glanced at her, his eyes uncertain, then looked away. “In other words, you're asking where we go from here.”

“It's a fair question, don't you think?”

“I agree. Only I'm not sure what to say. Is it just a coincidence that we've been online together for the past six months and neither of us realized it?”

“I never dreamed it could be you,” she said. “I didn't set this up…I wouldn't know how.”

“I believe you. I couldn't have, either.”

Suddenly she recalled the conversation she'd had with her mother and the fact that Joyce had even lit a candle in church on her behalf. She took a deep breath. “It seems to me that we were brought back together for a reason.”

“Yes.”

Beth's heart pounded frantically as Peter put down his mug and walked around the counter to stand in front of her. He settled his hands on her shoulders and stared into her eyes.

“If you're willing to give us another chance, I think we should do it,” he said in an urgent voice.

Beth gave him a tentative smile. “I'm willing.”

That was when he kissed her. As he lowered his mouth to hers, Beth closed her eyes and slipped her arms around him. His lips were soft, pliable, warm. The years fell away, and it was as if they were college students again, hungry for each other, desperately in love and ready to take on dragons and warriors and despots and worse.

Beth eased her mouth from his. “Do you want to spend Christmas with me and my family?” she asked, smiling up at him.

Peter laughed. “If you'll spend New Year's with mine.”

 

“Very clever, Goodness,” Mercy said, sitting on the counter in Beth Fischer's kitchen, swinging her feet.

“I had to do something,” Goodness told her. “Peter and Beth were content to delay their meeting, so I had to put an end to
that.
” She turned to Mercy and smiled. “I've learned men are much more suggestible than women.”