One Imperfect Christmas (16 page)

That left Dad. But if something were seriously wrong, if Mom had become ill or … worse …

Natalie felt as if an iceberg had lodged in her core.
Oh, Mom, no!
No matter what guilty thoughts she'd wrestled with, she suddenly realized she'd never be prepared for the news of her mother's death—never be ready for that final good-bye.

Yet if it were true, if Mom had passed away, how could she possibly thrust the burden of discovery upon her father? Hadn't he suffered enough already? It wasn't much and would never make up for all the other mistakes she'd made, but placing this call herself might serve as one small act of redemption.

Lips pressed together, she dialed the number. “Mrs. Blaylock, this is Natalie Pearce. You called?”

“Ms. Pearce, I thought you understood.” The administrator's clipped tone set Natalie's teeth on edge. “All items brought to the patients' rooms must be cleared by the nursing staff.”

Relief flooded Natalie in the brief moment before utter confusion set in. She pressed a finger to her temple. “I'm not following you, Mrs. Blaylock. What items are you speaking of?”

“The Christmas gift you left for your mother this morning, of course. She's made quite a mess.”

“Excuse me, but I did not visit my mother this morning.” Confusion shifted to annoyance. “Besides, you have instructions to call my brother regarding any problems with my mother's care.”

“Yes, I understand, but since it was a paint set, I just assumed … .” The woman fell silent.

Slowly, Mrs. Blaylock's statement filtered through. A paint set? Natalie pinched the bridge of her nose. Where could a paint set have come from? She had no reason to think Mom was capable of holding a paintbrush again. If there'd been even the slightest hint of improvement, Dad or Hart would have said something. Unless maybe Dad brought Mom the paints in hopes of stimulating some sort of response. But that didn't make sense, either. Natalie had always been the one holding out false hope.

Giving her head a small shake, she returned her attention to the woman on the phone. “Are you telling me someone visited my mother and no one noticed? Aren't visitors supposed to sign in?”

“Well, actually, with everyone occupied with their duties and all … ” Mrs. Blaylock's embarrassed tone lasted only a moment before she went on the offensive again. “But
someone
came to your mother's room before visiting hours, which is another policy violation, I might add. A nurse found your mother with torn Christmas paper and ribbon in her lap and this watercolor set and artist's sketchbook. She had the paints open and must have tried to use them. She was soaked with water from her bedside pitcher, and she'd smeared paint all over the sheets. Ms. Pearce,” continued the flustered Mrs. Blaylock, “we simply cannot have—”

“Wait.” Natalie held up a silencing hand as if the other woman could see it. Her voice shook. “My mother tried to
paint?
And you're upset about it? For heaven's sake, Mrs. Blaylock, it's the most encouraging sign we've had that my mother is still in there.”

She slammed down the receiver, pushed away from her desk, and began to pace, feeling oddly hopeful for the first time in months.

“Excuse me.” Deannie knocked softly on the doorframe.

“What is it, Deannie? This isn't a good time.”

“Even to say your husband just called?”

Natalie froze.
Lissa. “
Daniel called? Did he leave a message?”

Deannie chewed her lip as if replaying the call in her head. “He said not to worry. Lissa's at school, and everything's okay.” Then the usually animated assistant fixed Natalie with an enigmatic gaze. “It will be, you know.”

Natalie stared in puzzlement. She had to consciously force her jaw shut. “Will be what?”

“Okay. Everything will be okay.” Deannie stared at something over Natalie's shoulder. “Lissa painted that landscape, didn't she? Obviously, she inherited your talent.” Her mouth twisted in a crooked frown. “I should be so lucky.”

Deannie's random remarks always threw her off. Natalie lifted an eyebrow before turning to admire the painting Lissa had done as an art class assignment last year. Yes, her amazing daughter had artistic talent.

Just like I inherited Mom's
. An unexpected sense of pride washed over her before regret settled in once more. She hadn't picked up a paintbrush since the day of her mother's stroke.

“Yeah,” Deannie said, her tone laced with dejection, “if I'd inherited some of my uncle's business sense, maybe I'd be his partner instead of you.” She smiled ethereally and left.

Deannie's comment banished all other thoughts from Natalie's mind, and she could only stare open-mouthed at the empty doorway.

Lissa—the paint set. Of course!

11

A
n annoyed groan rumbled in Lissa's throat as she used her hip to shove open the heavy glass door of the school office. She glanced in both directions before maneuvering into the stream of students headed toward the main exit—no simple thing with her cumbersome artist's portfolio slapping against her legs. Her art teacher would pick tonight, when Lissa already had tons of homework in other classes, to give a complicated weekend drawing assignment.

Her friend Jody caught up with her on the front steps and grabbed one corner of the portfolio. “Here, let me help.”

Lissa puffed out her cheeks, wishing she had a free hand to tug on one of Jody's perky French braids. “Thanks.”

She didn't know what she'd do without Jody, whose presence had helped ease Lissa's transfer to Putnam Middle School. The two girls had met in second-grade Sunday school class where their families attended church in Fawn Ridge. They'd been best friends ever since.

Jody nodded over her shoulder toward the school building. “So how much trouble are you in?”

Lissa tipped her gaze toward the slip of blue paper peeking from the side pocket of her purse. It required a parent's signature and had to be returned the next day, or she'd get detention. No big deal, right? And so totally worth it. She gave her head a toss.

“Just another tardy slip. I'm cool.”

“With the school, maybe.” Jody raised a dark eyebrow. “What about your dad? You were late for first period yesterday too.”

“Because I was
talking
to my dad.” Lissa grimaced. “I can't believe he missed my note on the fridge this morning. I'm lucky he didn't call out the National Guard. Bad enough Lurking Lattimore nabbed me the second I got here.” The students' nickname for the nosy assistant principal couldn't be more fitting, the way he skulked around campus flipping pages in his little notebook.
Get a life, man!

Jody started down the steps. “When your dad showed up looking for you at my house, I didn't know whether to lie for you or what. And when you weren't in class when the tardy bell rang, I wondered if you really had run away again.”

“Run away, are you kidding? My super-dense parents didn't get the message the first time.” Reaching the sidewalk, she shifted under the weight of her backpack. “Besides, if I'm not around, who's going to look out for my grandmother? Nobody else has time for her anymore, and those nurses treat her like she's not even a real person.”

“How mean! I hope my grandma never has to go to a nursing home.”

Lissa bit down hard on her lower lip to keep the tears from spilling over. “Nobody understands, Jody, nobody!”

“Hang in there, Liss, it'll be okay.” Jody bumped Lissa's shoulder with her own and beamed a sympathetic smile. “Hey, there's my mom. Call me later, okay?” She helped Lissa get a better grip on the portfolio before releasing it. Walking backward down the sidewalk, she added, “And good luck with your dad.”

“Thanks, I'll need it.”

Wiping her cheek with her coat sleeve, Lissa scanned the driveway for her father's car. Unless he had a meeting or late practice, he usually pulled around front to pick her up, but today she didn't see the green Bronco anywhere.

“Jody, wait.” She trotted after her friend. “I may need to bum a ride with you. Dad must have had a coaches' meeting and forgot to tell me.”

Jody slowed and motioned her over. “No problem, if you can handle sitting through my boring piano lesson.”

Just then Lissa saw her mother's silver Saturn pull into the drive-through. Chilly fingers of dread tickled her spine. “Never mind. My mom's here.”

Jody made a face. “That can't be good.”

“Only one way to find out.” Lissa waved good-bye to Jody and marched toward her mother's car. She lifted her chin and tried to look as if she couldn't care less, but her insides felt like Jell-O.

Even from five feet away, Lissa could hear Mom's car stereo blasting out a thunderous, heart-pounding symphony. The whole car hummed and thrummed, vibrating the sidewalk beneath Lissa's feet. Yep, definitely bad news. Mom hardly ever tuned to the classical station except when she was really, really upset.

Taking a deep breath, Lissa reached for the door handle. “Mom, what are you doing here?” She had to shout over the music.

Her mother switched off the radio but scarcely looked at her—another bad sign. “I told your dad I wanted to pick you up today. I believe we have a few things to discuss.”

“Okay,” Lissa said. As she slid her portfolio behind the passenger seat, she purposely swung her hair across her face as a temporary shield against Mom's simmering anger. With a disgruntled huff, she dropped her backpack onto the floorboard and settled into the car. A furtive downward glance revealed a computer disk protruding from the outer pocket of her backpack. Nonchalantly, she tucked it deeper inside and tugged the zipper closed.

She looked up to see her mother glaring at her, brows lifted expectantly. Mom made no move to start the car.

“Wha-at?” Lissa rolled her eyes and fidgeted with the gold metallic clasp on her purse. No way would she come right out and confess about this morning. If Mom suspected anything, she'd have to spell it out.

Mom drummed her fingers on the steering wheel and stared at Lissa.

Lissa made a strangling sound in her throat. “Okay, can we just get this over with? Obviously, you're mad about something.”

As if she didn't know what. Dad probably couldn't wait to get Mom on the phone and describe all the juicy details about this morning's little escapade.
Today
he decided he and Mom needed to talk.
Nice, Dad. Real nice.

Yeah, but talking was talking, right? Lissa slid her right hand down between the seat and passenger door and secretly crossed her fingers. She could survive a whole year of being grounded if it meant getting her parents back together.

Just when she thought the strained silence would suffocate her, Mom finally spoke. “Why would I have anything to be angry about, you may ask. Hmm. How about sneaking out without telling your dad? How about hitchhiking from Putnam to Fawn Ridge and back? How about visiting your grandmother without telling anyone and—”

“First of all, I did not sneak out.” Good grief. Adults could be so clueless. She shot her mother an exasperated glare. “I left Dad a note on the refrigerator.”

“Oh, like last time?” Mom cocked her head. “How thoughtful of you!”

“I can't help it if he didn't look under the grocery list. And I didn't hitchhike. I bummed a ride from a—” Lissa winced. “From a friend in the high-school youth group.” Okay, so maybe she stretched the rules a teensy bit too far with that part. Her parents had stressed to her time and time again never to ride with a teenage driver without their explicit permission.

Mom pressed her lips together. “That issue will be dealt with later. For now, I'd like to hear your explanation about a watercolor set found in your grandmother's room. I caught you-know-what about it from Mrs. Blaylock.”

“That witch.” The beady-eyed woman gave her the creeps, watching her like she was a criminal every time she visited Grandma, like she'd break a bedpan or something, or run up and down the halls and terrorize the patients, just because she was a kid. She cut her eyes at Mom. “All that lady cares about is bossing people around. She never wants the residents to have any fun.”

“From what I hear, the nurse found your grandmother having all kinds of 'fun.' “ Moisture filled Mom's eyes. She twisted in her seat and reached across the console to press Lissa's face between her hands. “Honey, you know your grandmother's condition. What on earth were you thinking?”