The Christmas Kite (21 page)

He grinned. “I love you, too, son.”

Amazed, she shook her head slowly, her heart ready to burst with wonder. “Who would have thought?”

He grasped her two hands in his and pressed them to his heart. “God. I figure He thought up the whole thing.”

L
eaning against the windowsill, Meara stared out the front window of her apartment and watched the December snow flutter down, thick and feathery like goose down from a torn pillow.

Feeling snug and warm, she moved to the sofa and stretched out, thinking back. Following the hospital vigil—those long days and nights when Meara stayed near Mac’s bedside—her son’s health had returned to normal. God had answered her prayers…in so many ways.

She glanced at her wristwatch. Within minutes, Mac would bound through the doorway with Jordan, who’d graciously agreed to pick him up from school. They had the Christmas tree to decorate and then Mac’s first Christmas concert.

When Mac returned to school at the end of November, Meara was still struggling with the decision. Despite Jordan’s logic and her own faith-filled reasoning, she allowed the reality to sail in one ear, bang around against her own stubborn will and limp out the other side.

But she’d caved in to wisdom and Mac’s persistence. She’d registered him for the second marking period, and after only a few weeks he had come home telling stories of new friends and exhibiting new skills. His slow but steady progress was more than she had ever hoped for. And she had to admit, Jordan had been correct.

Jordan. Even the thought of his gentle, kind eyes nudged a smile to her face. The image of him standing on the beach, his kite floating high above their heads, lingered in her mind. He’d appeared out of nowhere like a glorious oasis, offering her and Mac sanctuary from a dull, barren life and filling her days with laughter and contentment.

The telephone’s ring interrupted her meandering thoughts. Glancing again at the time, a tiny fear jarred her. She’d expected Jordan and Mac by now. Hurrying to the phone, she snatched the receiver. But her worries faded when she heard Roger’s excited voice.

“We have a baby daughter, Meara. Melissa Kay. Born late last night. Six pounds, eight ounces. And she’s perfect. Absolutely beautiful.”

“Roger, I’m so happy for you. And how’s Alison?”

“She’s wonderful. Thrilled and thankful.”

For a dark moment Meara’s mind plunged back nearly ten years to when Mac was born, and to Dunstan’s angry, unthankful face. She let the thought fade and rallied with Roger’s joy. “Tell her how thrilled I am, Roger.”

The back door flew open, and Mac’s voice drowned out Roger’s next comment. Meara lifted her finger to her lips, but Mac seemed to ignore the telephone pressed to her ear, bubbling his own excitement.

“Hold on, Roger. Mac just got home from school.” She pressed the heel of her hand over the telephone. “Mac, hush, please. I’m on the telephone.”

The child softened his chatter to no one in particular.

Meara lifted the receiver to her mouth to continue. “Some Sunday afternoon we’ll take a ride over to your place. I can’t wait to see the baby.”

“That would be wonderful.”

“Tell Alison I send my love, and kiss the baby for me.”

Following her goodbye, Jordan came through the doorway and Meara plopped into a chair.

“Roger just called. Alison had a beautiful baby girl. Melissa. Absolutely perfect.” She tilted her head coyly. “Just the way God wanted her to be.”

“I’m glad,” Jordan said. “God only gives special children to special parents. Did you know that?”

She blinked her eyes playfully. “No, but I’m glad you let me know. I told Roger we would come for a visit some weekend.”

“Okay,” he said, sliding his arm around her waist and pecking her cheek.

Meara jerked backward. “You’re cold. You, too, Mac.” She opened her arms and gave him a bear hug, then glanced at the wall clock. “I suppose we should get busy.” She grinned at Mac. “We have to go to your concert tonight.”

He stood with his chest expanding, stretching his shirt. “And I’m in the front row.”

“The front row. Mac, that’s wonderful,” she said.

“Does that mean you have the best voice?” Jordan asked, ruffling his hair.

“No. I’m the shortest, Jor-dan.”

Meara and Jordan burst into laughter.

Jordan gestured toward the door. “I’ll bring in the tree. Get the stand ready.”

Meara could hear Jordan’s footsteps banging down the stairway, and she felt a smile settle on her face. Life had taken a big turn for the better. The best, she thought. “Come here, Mac, and help me.”

Her heart lifted, thinking of Christmas with Jordan. She loved him. She loved Mac. She even loved Dooley.

Jordan returned, and after helping him settle the tree in the stand, Meara snapped on her radio, dialing until she found Christmas music. As they strung lights and hung bulbs, she was filled with contentment.

By six o’clock they’d attached the last Christmas decoration—all brand-new, like her life. New and promising. Each ball hung blocked a memory of Meara’s past. Each light that twinkled reminded her of God’s shining promises. Though the world had crumbled at her feet, God’s hand held her firm and sure. Today life held so much hope.

Though he’d made no promises, Jordan had opened a door that filled her with expectation. She’d learned to give him time. God had validated her need for patience. In His time and in Jordan’s time. She was a slow learner, too. Maybe slower than Mac when it came to patience.

After their quick dinner, Jordan cleaned the kitchen while she and Mac dressed. When she came from her bedroom, Jordan was clipping Mac’s tie to his shirt.

“You look pretty handsome, son.” Jordan stepped back and eyed him.

Son.
Meara gazed at them both. Both handsome. Both perfect. Her pulse tripped seeing the two most important people in her life looking happy and content.

Jordan clapped his hands. “Are we ready? The star singer can’t be late.”

“Me?” Mac asked, looking up at him with loving eyes.

“No one else, Mac,” he said with a tenderness that melted Meara’s heart.

When they reached the school, they followed the crowds inside. Meara’s apprehension faded as she watched the choir line up on the small stage, Mac in the front row, chattering to the boy beside him like one of the regular kids.

Isn’t that what Jordan had tried to tell her? Mac had become one of the regular kids. When she looked up, Mac grinned and gave her a little wave. She waved back as Jordan’s arm slid around her shoulder and drew her closer.

She glanced up at him, seeing his rugged profile looking ahead at Mac, proud, like a father watching his son’s first concert. When the room hushed and the lights dimmed, Mac focused on the director as she lifted her baton, and Meara held her breath, wondering if Mac’s singsong voice would stand out from the rest.

“Away in the manger, no crib for a bed…”

Meara’s eyes filled with tears. She heard nothing. Only the lovely voices of children, blending together in praise for Jesus’ birth.

Jordan gave her shoulder a squeeze.

She turned toward his loving face to hear him say, “Perfect.”

Mac jabbed at the packages lying beneath the tree.

“Tomorrow’s Christmas Day, Mac. We open our gifts tomorrow morning.”

His sad face looked up at her. “But you said today is Christmas.”

Meara shook her head at the whiny voice. “Christmas Eve. There’s a difference.” Looking at Mac’s face, she didn’t think words would explain.

She heard a noise on the landing and sighed, knowing she would have a reprieve.

The door opened and Jordan appeared carrying a Christmas gift. He stomped his snowy feet on the mat, set the package on the table and slipped off his coat. He hung it over the kitchen chair and drew Meara into his embrace.

His cold hands on her arms made her shiver, and she wiggled away. “You’re too icy.”

“But not my heart. It’s warm as toast,” he said, his handsome face sending her heart into a whirl.

“A present,” Mac said, pointing to the gift on the table. He eyed Meara, then gave Jordan a plaintive look. “But we can’t open it today, Jor-dan.”

“We can’t?” Jordan said.

“It’s only Eve. That’s what Mom said.”

“Eve? It might be only Eve, but in my family we open our Christmas presents on Christmas Eve, so I think we could make an exception.”

Meara grinned. “I don’t want to ruin tradition.”

Jordan grabbed her hand. “Come on.” He motioned to the living room. “Christmas gifts have to be opened by the tree.”

Mac’s face glowed as he hoisted the package from the table and followed them.

Jordan settled on the sofa and patted the empty cushion. Puzzled, Meara sat beside him. She knew Jordan had something on his mind.

Mac set the package beside the tree and waited.

“It’s yours, Mac. You can open it,” Jordan said.

Meara gave an approving nod. New life. New tradition. She could handle it.

As Mac tore away the gift wrapping, dowels clanked to the floor and red and yellow tie-dyed cloth unrolled, unveiling the fabric for a kite. A long, multicolored tail slipped to the ground.

A squeal rose from Mac’s throat. “A kite!” He clutched the cloth to his chest. “I’m one year older. I can…fly a kite.”

Jordan shook his head. “It’s too cold now, Mac. You’ll have to hang it in your room until spring. Then you can fly it.” As he spoke, he stretched open the cloth and held it toward Mac. “What do you see?”

Mac’s eyes widened, looking at the letters that decorated the kite. “Me. It’s
M-A-C.
Mac.”

“You got it. I made this one especially for you.”

Meara gazed at Mac’s name emblazoned on the kite fabric and touched Jordan’s arm, her heart thundering at the special gift and realizing why he’d been so excited to give it to him. “It’s wonderful. He’s thrilled.”

Mac hugged the fabric against his chest, pressed it to his cheek.

“Would you like me to put it together?” Jordan asked.

Without hesitation, Mac handed Jordan the fabric.

Jordan retrieved the dowels that had fallen to the floor and threaded them through the kite seams. With his experienced hand, he wound the heavy cord, pulling the joints together and stretching the fabric tautly across the strips of wood.

Meara watched in amazement, seeing him assemble the beautiful creation. “What do you think, Mac?” she asked, when Jordan handed him the finished kite that was bigger than Mac.

He clutched the kite, grinning. “I think it’s Mom’s turn.”

Meara shook her head. “No, Mac. I don’t get a gift today. Jordan was just anxious—”

“Hold on,” Jordan said. “I have a little something for you, but first we need to talk.”

His sudden seriousness caught Meara off guard. Puzzled, she frowned and searched his face. “Just me?”

“No, both of you.”

Both of you.
His tone set her on edge. Anticipating the worst, Meara sat stone still, her hands as cold as Jordan’s when he arrived. She’d been a fool to think their friendship could be more than that. He’d mentioned the college contract and had talked about moving away. She held her breath.

Concerned, Meara eyed Mac. He’d swiveled on the floor, his eyes following Jordan’s every move.

Leaning forward, Jordan rested his arms on his knees and looked from Mac to Meara. “Next September I’m going back to Kalamazoo…to the university. I’ve given it a lot of thought. Since my old position is open, the time is right, and I’ve already signed the contract.”

Meara’s stomach dropped, and she knew her premonition had been correct. Her hidden hopes slipped from her grasp. Unconsciously, she clutched her chest, then slid her trembling hand into her lap, hoping he hadn’t noticed. She struggled to control her voice.

“Then, you’ll be selling the house?”

“No. I’ll close it for the winter like people do with their cottages.” He shifted toward her. “And I’m keeping the kite shop. I’ve asked Otis to stay on as manager. It’ll be more work, but if he runs into a problem, I’m not that far away. And I’ll spend the summers here.”

“The summers,” she said, lowering her eyes and fighting back the tears.

Seemingly unaware of her concern, Jordan caught Meara’s hand and chuckled. “I couldn’t sell the house anyway. It means too much to me…and Dooley. He’d miss the ducks.”

Mac giggled, then sidled around to lean on the sofa arm. Jordan tucked his free arm around Mac’s shoulders.

“Both of you are my best friends. You know that.”

“Best friends,” Mac said, shifting to squeeze in beside Jordan. He rested his head against Jordan’s shoulder.

Jordan didn’t have to say another word. She already understood. Struggling, she swallowed back her tears.

“You helped me learn how to live again,” he continued. “And because of you, I found God. My empty life is whole and wonderful. You know I love you both.”

Meara’s pulse surged. She wanted to scream, telling him to stop. Was he saying goodbye or not?

Jordan squeezed her hand as if reassuring her.

“What is it, Jordan? Just say it.”