One Imperfect Christmas (4 page)

Her father came to visit after lunch, and Natalie welcomed a couple of hours to escape. She ventured as far as the lobby but couldn't bring herself to go home. Instead, she settled onto a plaid sofa with some magazines and tried her best to avoid the inquisitive looks of the elderly residents.

Around three, she glanced up to see her father shuffling across the speckled Berber carpet. He sank onto the sofa next to her and gave a tired chuckle. “What am I going to do with you, Rosy-girl?”

The childhood nickname pricked her heart. “I'm fine, Daddy. It's you I'm worried about.”

“Don't tell me you're fine when I can see plain as day you're not.” His knee brushed hers as he shifted to face her. He held out a colorful brochure. The central graphic depicted a middle-aged couple surrounding an elderly man in a wheelchair. “I think we should do this.”

She looked askance at the words under the picture:
Surviving Stroke: A Family Matter. “
What exactly is it?”

“A support group for families with loved ones who've suffered a stroke.” Dad flipped open the brochure. “See, they meet once a week at Fawn Ridge Fellowship.”

“At our church?”

“Al and Betty Grumbacher told me about it. Betty's dad had that stroke two years ago, remember?”

“I know, but … ” Natalie edged away. Her pain was still too raw—too private.

“Just think about it, okay? I've got to get going.” He winked. “Daniel asked a favor.”

She didn't have the energy to ask what, and did she even want to know? She gave her dad a hug and kiss good-bye before returning to her mother's room.

Too bleary-eyed to face another siege at the computer, she'd been sitting next to her mother's bed, a year-old gossip rag lying open in her lap, when Daniel breezed in, a bouquet of scarlet roses in his outstretched hand. “Happy Valentine's Day, sweetheart.”

She looked up from the article she'd been skimming about some movie star's recent stint in rehab. Only it was old news now. The star had been arrested two weeks ago for driving under the influence. Natalie had watched the twenty-four-minute car chase live on the tiny TV in Mom's hospital room.

The magazine slid from her lap. “Is school out already?”

“It's nearly five.” He laid the bouquet on the bedside table. Taking both her hands, he pulled her to her feet and wrapped his arms around her. His suede jacket smelled of roses and wood smoke. “Honey, you need to get out of here. Let's go to dinner tonight—just the two of us. I made a reservation at Adamo's.”

“What about Lissa?”

“Your dad picked her up from school. They're ordering pizza.”

The favor. Of course. “I shouldn't leave Mom.”

“She'll be fine. It's just for a couple of hours.”

Natalie pulled away and fiddled with her mother's pillow. Her gaze fell to her mother's bony right wrist, stiff and misshapen from the arthritis that had set in after—

A shiver ran through her. She'd never forget that terrifying night. “
I'll be all right, Natalie. Do what you have to do.”

Daniel came up behind her and slid his arms beneath hers. His warm chest pressed against her back. “You're exhausting yourself, Nat. Come with me tonight. It'll be good for both of us.”

Resentment frayed her nerves. How could her husband even talk about celebrating Valentine's Day? She edged out of his embrace. Her thoughts skittered in a thousand other directions, all leading back to her mother. “The Putnam Starving Artist Show is next weekend. Mom should be packing up all her beautiful paintings and pricing them.”

“Celia said she'd take over a few. Maybe you could go with her—take some of yours this year. Your mom would like that.”

An invisible hand closed around her throat. She should realize Daniel only meant to make her feel better.
He
should realize it wasn't working, and she wished he'd stop trying. The words she'd repeated countless times already slipped out once more. “If I'd been there that day, if I hadn't been so stupid and self-centered—”

“You can't keep doing this to yourself.” Daniel paced across the room and swung around. “Nobody blames you for your mom's stroke. You've got to get over the idea that you could have kept it from happening.”

She glanced away, too tired to argue. “If you won't try to understand my feelings, then why don't you just leave?”

“Nat, come on. You don't mean it.”

“Yes, I do. Go!” Her voice broke on a sob. “Get out of here, and just leave me alone.”

“Fine, if that's the way you want it.” Hurt and confusion clouded Daniel's eyes. He hesitated, looking as if he expected her to take back her words. When she didn't, he snatched up the roses and stormed out.

In the silence that followed, something in Natalie shattered. Turning to her mother, she brushed a tear from her cheek. “You gave up so much for me, Mom, and look how I repaid you. If it takes the rest of my life, I'll find a way to make you well.”

Daniel sat at his coach's desk and proclaimed this year's Valentine's Day the worst on record as he ate another cold burger and fries alone. If only he could figure out what was going on with her. Why the guilt? Why didn't she want to talk about it? A month later and he still didn't have a clue. Trashing the burger, he walked out onto the gym floor just in time for his next class.

“You're zoning out again, man.” Carl punched him in the arm in time for him to dodge a poorly aimed volleyball served by a skinny kid in his sixth-period P.E. class.

Daniel chased down the ball and rolled it under the net to the server on the opposing side. “Control, Len. You've got to power that thing straight over the net.”

“Marie sent another casserole for you. It's in the break-room fridge.”

“Thanks. You guys are too good to us.” He checked his watch, relieved to see he'd somehow made it through the hour. He blew a shrill blast on his whistle.

“Time's up, guys. Hit the showers.”

Carl lumbered along beside Daniel on the way to their offices at the rear of the gym. “Got time for coffee before you head home?”

“Sorry. Got an appointment with my pastor at four.” He scraped a hand through his hair. “Natalie may not be ready for counseling, but if I don't get some perspective soon, I'll lose my mind.”

“She still spending every waking minute with her mom?”

Daniel shoved through his office door and collapsed into the squeaky chair behind his desk. “Waking, sleeping, morning, night. And the sad thing is, it's like she's not really there at all. Most of the time I find her glued to her laptop, like she's trying to block out the world.”

Carl used his shirtsleeve to buff a smudge off the glass trophy case. “Bummer, man.”

“That's not the worst of it.” Daniel jammed the heels of his hands into his eye sockets. “When I paid bills last weekend, I discovered she'd made another big withdrawal from our savings.”

“What's she doing with the money?”

Daniel lowered his hands. “She gave her dad some money to help with the medical expenses. The other night I found her surfing the Web for anything she could find about strokes. Then yesterday all these books and DVDs arrived in the mail.”

“Sounds like she's desperate.”

“Which is exactly why I want to get her into counseling. Her dad joined a stroke support group, and Hart and Celia have gone with him a few times. I took Natalie once and she refused to go back.”

“You can't force her if she's not ready.”

“Yeah, but what do I do in the meantime?” Daniel's gut wrenched. He thrust to his feet but remained hunched over the desk. “I feel like my wife is disappearing right before my eyes.”

Natalie paused on the sidewalk outside Garner Printing and Advertising and took a couple of calming breaths. She knew she was on emotional overload, but at least the work Jeff supplied her with kept her from dwelling too much on her mother's illness. Thankfully, Jeff didn't press her to talk about it. All anyone else seemed to care about was convincing her to relinquish the guilt she knew for certain she could never escape. Though people never came right out and said it, the message was crystal clear: Get over it.

And the stroke support group? The worst. How could she sit there and listen to her father and the others talk about feeding tubes, tracheotomies, memory loss, bouts of depression?

At least she'd finally torn herself away from the nursing home. She wasn't sure her mother even knew she was there. Besides, it was better to remember her as she was before the stroke—happy, healthy, and fully alive.

Natalie shifted the strap of her briefcase higher on her shoulder and headed into the shop. The young Tom Cruise look-alike delivery driver stood behind the front counter sorting boxes.

She stepped forward. “Hi, Alan. Is Jeff around?”

The driver slid mirrored aviator sunglasses up his nose and hefted a box. “In the back. Follow me.”

Passing through the large workroom, Alan nodded to his right and continued out the rear exit. Natalie spotted Jeff Garner's broad back as he squatted in front of a monstrous printing machine trying to clear a paper jam. “Quite a mess you've got there.”

“Hey, Natalie. Be with you in a sec.”

The sharp chemical smells of ink and toner invigorated her while she watched Jeff work the ink-smeared paper wad free. He straightened and tapped some buttons on the control panel. Seconds later, the machine resumed its normal hum, spitting out page after printed page faster than Natalie could blink.

Jeff tore a paper towel off a dispenser and wiped his hands. “Let's go talk where it's quieter.”

He made a quick detour to grab two mugs of coffee and then joined her in his chrome and fake-walnut office. “Any problems with Mr. Cronnauer's requests? He can be such a fuddy-duddy.”

“Under control.” She unzipped her briefcase and retrieved the artwork samples she'd prepared. “If these pass inspection, I've got everything on CD ready for printing.”

Jeff flicked a strand of auburn hair off his forehead as he perused her samples. “These look great.”

She crossed her legs and reached for her coffee. “I aim to please.”

“You do way more than that. Businesses around town are specifically requesting you. My layout skills aren't hacking it anymore.”

The compliment brought a warm glow to Natalie's heart. How long had it been since she'd felt valued? She smiled her gratitude.