The Christmas Sisters (28 page)

“To Park's credit?”
Nic spoke over her young sister's explanation. “You saying you feel better after reading these things?”

“He hasn't given in to temptation—as of the last note she sent a few hours ago. She's as baffled by his up and taking off as I am.
Except, well, now I'm not so much.”

“Not so much what?”

“Baffled.
Having this little piece of the puzzle brings it all together for me. It makes perfect sense now that Park has run off.”

“Because he needs to think things over?”
Collier sat
back,
cross- legged, and ran her hand through her short hair.

“Thinking?
He's not thinking, honey; he's hiding.”
Petie
laughed. “Parker
Sipes
never had to make a real decision in his life. His family circumstances put him on a path that he has followed from the first time he stepped onto a peewee league football field.”

“You don't sound nearly as mad and upset as you did a minute ago.” Nic relaxed enough to let her chair rock gently.

“Well, you
have
to laugh, don't you? The man is so on time for his midlife crisis,
it's
clichéd and apparently
that
isn't even his idea.
Poor sweet boy.”

“He's hardly a boy.” Collier rolled her eyes.

“He is to me,”
Petie
murmured.

Nic didn't know whether to groan or grin. Seeing her sister's burden lightened had lightened her own. She just felt better.

“Right now just thinking back, I can still see his fresh, young face.”
Petie
laid her hand to her cheek. “The first boy who ever kissed me, my date to the high school prom, the nervous groom standing at the end of the church aisle—all of them my Parker.”

“Have you lost your mind?” Collier croaked.

“I haven't lost anything. In fact, I may have just found something very precious.”

Collier threw her hands up. “Like what?”

“Like perspective.”

“Oh, well, now that is the very last thing I'd say you have,
Petie
.” Collier sprang to her feet like a fighter hearing the bell announce the second round. “Only a minute ago you were devastated by what you'd discovered about your husband. And have you forgotten he told your children that he might not come for Christmas?”

“I haven't forgotten.” She laid her hand over her heart, her eyes bright with tears. “You think I could forget something like that? Think I can put it out of my mind for more than a few seconds at a time? But there is more going on here than just that.”

“Such as?”

“My marriage has taken a slow, downward spiral over the last year. I don't think either of you can deny you've noticed that.”

Collier and Nic exchanged glances but held their opinions.

“Sam noticed it when we first got here. He recognized it right off even when my own family didn't seem to take my state seriously.”

Nic clenched her teeth and flicked at a strand of tinsel swaying in the draft from the old heating vent.

“That Sam, he spotted it right off as empty-nest syndrome.”
Petie
walked across the room, stopping in front of the tree. She reached out to finger a soft-needled branch tip. “Park and I, our lives have changed drastically now. No kids in the house, no comfortable roles that we both enjoyed and embraced so fervently—that safety net is gone. Sam pegged it just right.”

“That hardly excuses Park's actions.” Nic wriggled out of her cardigan sweater, not sure whether to blame the emotional intensity in the room or the old furnace for her sudden discomfort. She totally discounted that mentioning Sam and how right he had been could be the cause.

“I'm not making excuses for anyone. I don't think either one of us has handled this past year very well, truth to tell.”

Collier cocked her head to the left to study
Petie
, looking and sounding as innocent as a child when she asked, “So what are you going to do now?”

“Do?”
Petie
shook her head. “Pray. It's all I can do, and it's still my best plan of action.”

Her sister's hair did not move. Even in a time of total crisis, Nic noted, the woman had fortified herself with faith—and a goodly portion of
ultrahold
hair spray.

“Well, let us in on it, too, then.” Nic pushed herself up from the rocker,
then
held out her hand to Collier. “What shall we specifically pray for, just so we don't cancel one another out?”

“Pray that Parker finds his way.”
Petie
drew her shoulders up.

Nic eased her arm around
Petie's
back.

Collier's arms fit around both her sisters' waists.

The three of them leaned in just enough to rest their heads together.

“Pray that Parker finds his way home to me,”
Petie
whispered.
“And that I find my way back to being his wife, not just the mother of his children.
Pray that God restores my marriage, renews all our spirits, and refreshes our love for one another. Can we agree to pray for that?”

“We just did.” Nic gave her a squeeze.

“Amen,” Collier added.

“Amen.”
Petie
shut her eyes and sighed.

Tw
enty

“Amen.” Sam lifted his head and his gaze rose immediately to the polished wooden cross behind the pulpit in the silent sanctuary. He studied it, letting the beauty of the object and the awe of what it represented sink so deeply into his soul that it actually seemed to converge at the center of his being, then intensify and radiate outward again. That's how it had felt to him.

He shifted on the hard seat of the pew and sighed. Grace would see him through, but that did not guarantee a smooth ride or an easy road. The frustration left brewing since his talk with Nic in his office two days ago flashed hot in his chest.

He had hoped, in the time since their initial confrontation of the situation, they would have both thought things over.
That they would be able to discuss it calmly and openly.
If by openly he had meant in an open forum of all her family members, then

yes
, that could have been accomplished. Calm was another matter.

Nothing about Christmas in the Dorsey household bespoke calm.
First there had been the rafts of relatives descending for too much food, too many joke presents, and too many mouths moving at once. That had gone on long past the time Sam had retreated to his room, purely a matter of self-defense so he didn't get caught praising one of The Duets' potluck contributions more highly than another and starting a war.

After a truly dismal budget meeting at the church, for which they had to pull Big Hyde in off the porch of
Dewi's
to attain a quorum, Sam had returned to the Dorsey house to find the sisters had gone, lock, stock, and family portfolio off to the bank. He suspected Nic was examining her options regarding staying versus selling the house but knew better than to ask anyone when they returned in the mood for hot cocoa and a Christmas movie. By late afternoon another round of friends and family crowded into the living room to send Lula off to her daughter's for the holidays.

For a woman traveling an hour or so away for all of a ten-day visit, the other Duets made out like she was boarding the
Titanic
for the new world, never to be seen again.

And much as he had kidded them about it, something in Sam envied it. No one had ever cared much whether he came or went anywhere. His mother walked away without
so
much as a real good-bye. His father never asked where Sam was going or cared when he'd be back. Even at his old church, where he'd had lots of friends no one had made much ado over his leaving. They had the party, made the expected jokes, wished him the best then turned their attention to the new minister coming to take his place.

Sam had hoped that Persuasion would be different. He had
hoped this church would be a home to him in ways he had never known before. He had hoped...

Foxes have holes and birds of the air have nests, but the Son of Man has no place to lay his head.
The verse from Luke echoed in his mind again. Surely the Lord was telling him something with this.

He folded his hands and fixed his eyes on the cross again. “I will seek peace in your will. I will find strength in your grace. Everything I had hoped and planned for has fallen away it seems, but I know you have a better plan than my own. Help me to embrace with gratitude the gifts you have given me. Guard me against bitterness and despair and guide my ways. Amen.”

Sam stood, drew a deep breath, then smiled and walked down the aisle and out of the sanctuary. He paused beside the outside door long enough to grab his leather jacket off the peg in
the foyer and zip it up. Sometime in the last twenty-four hours a storm front had blown in and left things as cold and dreary as his mood of late. The weather would lift, he told himself, and so would this cloud over him. Nic could not avoid him for long, and after all, it was Christmas.

He peeked out the window of one of the large doors. The community Christmas tree, though not thick with ornaments or contributions, did look beautiful.
Petie's
son and daughter had decided upon their arrival that what the tree needed was popcorn garlands. It had taken all three children, all four of The Duets, Collier, and a handful of volunteers from among the scads of folks in and out of the house the better part of a day to create enough strings for the big tree.

Sam had helped Willa with her part of the project. She had been especially clingy to him the last two days, but he didn't mind, not one bit. He loved the child.

He could tell she had wanted to ask him something. She kept working around to it, working her courage up. But before she could get to it, Sam had always changed the subject or distracted her. He wasn't 100 percent sure what she was going to ask him, but he sensed it was not the kind of thing he should field. He cared about Willa with his whole heart, but even if he were her biological father, he was really a virtual stranger to her and did not fully understand her. There were some questions he had no right answering.

He wasn't even sure he had the right answers. That was Nic's territory. He would not intrude, not now while it was all so fragile and new.

His gaze rose to the top of the tree then down again, smiling at their recent handiwork. By nightfall yesterday they'd marched over and ringed the big evergreen with the ropes of popcorn. Sam had to admit it did it a world of good and hoped it would offer the birds some nourishment just as the weather had turned wicked.

A flutter in the shadows of the lowest branches drew his attention and he grinned. Spirit lifted, he pressed his hand flat to the door, gave it a big push, and stepped outside. The flurry of small, dark wings welcomed him as the tiny flock beneath the tree took flight. He squinted skyward to watch them. Sparrows, he thought. No, too dark for sparrows. Maybe chickadees or...

The birds rose above him, exposing their white underbellies. At last he could see the reddish beaks against the slate gray of their feathered heads. Just like the delicate ornament he'd held in his hands when he first met Willa.

It wasn't miraculous, Sam understood that, but it was a marvel. He smiled, tucked his hands in his pockets, and looked heavenward as he started out for the house. He couldn't wait to tell Willa. The snowbirds had returned to Persuasion.

“Did you really see them?” Willa skipped along at Sam's side.
“Really?”

It did Nic's heart good to see the child's eyes glowing with excitement like this, but selfishly she wished she'd played more a part in putting it there. Everything that seemed to matter to Willa now had to have some connection to Sam. For the last two days, Sam, Sam, Sam.

“Yes, ma'am, I really did see them.” He maneuvered his hands to keep his grip on the cardboard box filled with groceries and still manage to point to the tree across the street. “A small flock of snowbirds right under that Christmas tree.”

“Sam saw the snowbirds. Sam saw the snowbirds!” Willa sing-
songed
the chorus she'd regaled them with at least a hundred times since getting Sam's news and their getting ready to walk over to the church for the Christmas Sing.

Nic scrunched her collar closed in one gloved hand. She huffed out a sigh that created a puff of moist air.

Sam elbowed her in the side. “Sort of makes you yearn for a few days back when she got stuck singing the last stanza of 'Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer,' doesn't it?”

“Sam saw the snowbirds.” The family-sized can of soup Willa had insisted she would carry all by herself jounced up and down with each step, making Nic grateful he had not let her carry the bottle of soda pop she'd originally requested.