One Imperfect Christmas (34 page)

Silent night, holy night! …
The beloved words of Belinda Morgan's favorite Christmas carol enveloped her like comforting arms. Even more lovely, she breathed in the blessed smells of home. Under her hand she recognized the feel of a favorite cotton quilt, one her own mother had made, worn soft from years of use.

She sensed a presence nearby but could not find the strength to open her eyes. A gentle hand brushed her cheek, adjusted her pillow, and tucked the quilt around her tired frame.

Natalie?
Did she speak her daughter's name, or only think it? Nothing about her body seemed to work right anymore. She felt her useless head begin to rock, as it seemed to do so often of its own volition. Again, the gentle touch to still it.

“It's all right, Belinda. Just rest quietly.”

She should know the voice by now. Such a kind, gentle voice. Oh, yes, the nice lady named Carolyn, the nurse who did all the things for Belinda that she could no longer do for herself. She wished she could thank the woman for her tender ministrations.

“How's she doing?”

Oh, Natalie, there you are. Come and sit near me, my darling girl. We must talk.

“Still sleeping.”

“You'll call me if she should wake up?”

“Of course.”

But I am awake, can't you see? Natalie, please hear me.

There was so much she needed to make her daughter understand … so much left unsaid between them.

Oh, my dearest Natalie, this wasn't your fault, it was mine. I'd known for weeks that something wasn't right, but I didn't want to worry any of you—didn't want to admit it to myself. You mustn't blame yourself any longer. Your husband needs you. Lissa needs you. The whole family is counting on you now, more than you realize.

She felt her hand go into spasms. She clutched the quilt, grasping, clawing, reaching out in a desperate attempt to break out of this frightful state of
not being.

All is calm, all is bright …

Another raspy cough strained her tired chest muscles. She must be calm, save what strength she had left.
Lord, I'm not quite ready to come home to you. Much as I long to, I have unfinished business here.

She could almost hear the soft whisper of his reply.
Don't worry, Belinda. When the time comes, you will have the strength you need.

As Natalie put away the leftovers from lunch, she heard a car in the driveway. She glimpsed Daniel's Bronco and hurried to greet her daughter at the door. “You're early,” she said, giving Lissa a hug. “I didn't expect you until later.”

“How's Grandma doing?” Without waiting for an answer she squirmed out of her mother's embrace and hurried toward the hallway.

“Hi to you too,” Natalie mumbled.

“Sorry, but Lissa couldn't wait any longer.” Daniel stood outside the screened porch next to a massive pile of luggage, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. His breath formed clouds in the December air.

An awkward silence stretched between them. Natalie shivered as the cold edged its way inside. “Um, do you want to come in and warm up? I can stir up some hot chocolate.”

He looked uncertain, a kind of puppy-dog loneliness in his eyes that tugged at her heart. Still, she hoped he'd say no. Memories of yesterday's encounter outside the nursing home played in her mind, and she almost feared the nearness of him. Worse, she didn't want to risk their falling into the inevitable argument, especially with Christmas only a couple of days away and Mom right down the hall. She'd made up her mind to make this as pleasant and hope-filled a Christmas for their daughter—for the whole family—as she possibly could.

She came out of her brief mental fog to realize Daniel had opened the screen door and started inside with two of Lissa's bags. He propped them against the side of the refrigerator. “Sure, I'll stick around. Never been able to turn down your hot chocolate.”

“Okay, great!” Could she sound any more like a lovesick teenybopper? She cleared her throat and shifted her voice to a lower register. “I'll get it started while you bring in the rest of Lissa's things.”

As she set the teakettle to boil, she looked at the growing stack of luggage and wondered where in the world Lissa planned to put it all. Hart's old room was the smallest bedroom in the house.

Several minutes later, she sat across from Daniel at the oak table, marshmallows melting into a creamy froth in their steaming mugs. She blew gently and took a careful sip.

“How did your mom handle the move home?” Daniel asked.

She averted her eyes from his strong hands wrapped around the mug and the manly, curling hairs peeking from beneath the cuffs of his blue corduroy shirt. “She's been tired—not eating much.” She glanced toward the hallway, where sounds of Lissa's cheery chatter echoed. “But she's getting lots of rest, and I know she'll come around. It's almost Christmas,” she went on with a laugh that belied her doubts, “and when have you known my mother not to celebrate Christmas to its fullest?”

Daniel chuckled softly. “Never.”

“I've already been thinking about how she can paint the fiftieth star for the nativity scene. On Christmas morning we'll prop the backdrop beside her on the bed, and I'll help her hold the brush and guide her hand.” She smiled, her eyes misting, her heart clenching. “And that way she'll be able to keep her promise to Dad.”

“Fifty perfect Christmases. Can you believe it?” Daniel stared into his hot chocolate. His voice grew thick with emotion. “Dear God, I wish … ”

She stifled a tremor. “What? What do you wish, Daniel?”

He chewed his lip but did not meet her eyes. “Seeing how happy your parents have always been, I had dreams of you and me celebrating our fiftieth anniversary someday.”

The bitter taste of guilt rose in Natalie's throat. “And obviously I ruined it for us.” Too late to stop it, she heard the cynicism in her voice.

Apparently, Daniel heard it too. He snorted. “Heaven knows I did
my
best.”

Suddenly all rational thought flew from her mind, and raging self-pity flooded in. “Your
best?
You call moving to Putnam with Lissa and leaving me when I needed you the most, your
best?”

“Leaving
you
?” His voice rose. He leaned forward, forearms pressed against the tabletop, hands fisted until his knuckles turned white. “I think you've got it backwards. You left me, remember?”

Her body tensed in response. She returned his angry glare. “I did not leave you. You made me move out.”

“As I recall, I told you that if you didn't want to be a wife and mother anymore, you'd better find another place to live, because
somebody
had to make a home for Lissa.”

Natalie trembled with rage and fought to keep from screaming her reply. The words came out in a strained, ragged whisper. “You never once tried to understand what I was going through, never—”

“Like you ever cared about my feelings, what I wanted.” He thrust himself backward and crossed his arms, the violent motion shaking the table and sloshing hot chocolate across the pinecone-print placemats.

“Coaching, that's all you ever think about.” She twisted sideways in her chair, hardly able to bear the sight of him. “One more scouting trip, one more win, one more chance to be picked up by a big-city high school.”

Daniel's jaw clenched. He sat forward again and drummed his fingers. “I was going to wait until things settled down after Christmas, but since you brought it up … I've had a job offer, a good one. It'll mean moving—”

She swung around to face him, her fury now laced with alarm. “Don't even think about taking Lissa with you. I'll sue for custody. I'll—”

Carolyn stepped into the kitchen. Her expression, though calm, held an urgency that abruptly silenced Natalie. “Mrs. Pearce, you'd better come quickly.”

20

N
atalie sprang from the chair, talons of dread clawing at her throat. She rushed past Carolyn, barely hearing the nurse's request that Daniel call Natalie's father in from the barn and get word to Hart.

She slowed as she entered the bedroom. Her gaze took in the scene, and time seemed to stop. To her left, the lights on the misshapen miniature Christmas tree twinkled in merry oblivion, the dresser mirror reflecting the colorful display. A patchwork quilt outlined the shape of her mother's thin legs. The amber glow of the bedside lamp cast highlights on the woman's silver hair.

Lissa sat close to her grandmother, clutching the thin, age-spotted hands. “Grandma, hold on. You've got to,” she pleaded through her tears. “You
promised.”

Carolyn touched Natalie's arm and drew her aside. Keeping her voice low, she explained, “Your mother is running a temperature, and her breath sounds are diminished. After her choking incident yesterday, I'm afraid it might be aspiration pneumonia. I've called her doctor and started oxygen.”

“Pneumonia?” The word wedged in Natalie's throat like a block of ice. She glimpsed the plastic tubing attached to a portable oxygen tank beside the bed. Her mother's chest rose and fell in ragged, shallow breaths. “Can't you do something else? What did the doctor say?”

“We'll start her on antibiotics and try to bring the fever down. I've raised the head of the bed to ease her breathing. Beyond that, it's a matter of keeping her comfortable.”

Mom's head lay weakly against the pillow. Perspiration dotted her temples. Her eyelids drooped heavily … and yet, as Natalie drew close, Mom's eyes seemed to focus clearly on her. Natalie placed one hand on Lissa's heaving shoulder and rested the other on her mother's bony arm. “It's okay, Mom. I'm here. I'll take care of you.”

Her mother's gaze filled with determination. The urgency spilled over into a choking cough and a fruitless attempt to speak. “Nnnaaaa. Luuuhh.”

Shaking her head, Natalie smoothed a hand across her mother's brow. “I can't understand you, Mom. Don't try to talk. Just rest.”

Her mother's mouth and throat labored, evidence of her frustration. “Luuuhh,” she tried again and sputtered meaninglessly before another coughing spell wracked her body.

Natalie sensed her father's presence beside her and glanced toward him with a helpless frown. The musky-sweet scent of hay and horses permeated his work-stained barn jacket. He pulled off his soiled leather gloves and stuffed them into a pocket.

Carolyn appeared at the foot of the bed. “I'm sorry for alarming you, but I thought you'd want the family together in case … ”

“Yes, thank you,” Dad said. “Do"—he swallowed with difficulty—“do you think it's close?”

Carolyn shook her head. “There's no way to know.”

Natalie edged away, her own breath catching in her throat. This could not be happening. Not now—the day before Christmas Eve! There were promises to keep, a star to paint.

Fifty perfect Christmases, Mom, you promised!

The bedcovers rustled, and the raspy voice murmured again, “Luuuhh.” Her gaze locked with Natalie's. “Nnaaa. Luuuhh.”

“Mom,” Lissa urged through her sobs, “listen to Grandma. She's trying to tell you something. I know it's important.”

Natalie moved her head slowly from side to side. Her limbs felt leaden, her mind numb. “I … I don't understand.”