Читать книгу A Holiday Prayer - Debra Kastner - Страница 11

Maddie sighed and brushed a stray tendril of hair from her forehead. She felt hot and sweaty and her muscles ached from carrying boxes up from the basement. Yet she hadn’t ventured to open a single one of the cartons that now filled her living room.

It was the handwriting scribbled in wide, black marker ink that stopped her.

Peter’s handwriting.

Christmas. The boxes set aside for the happiest time of year, laden with bright and glittering decorations that she knew would delight her young son.

But the sight of the festive decorations had no effect on her, except maybe to tighten the vise around her heart.

She wasn’t happy. And she didn’t know if she could fake it, even for Nicky. Could she really put together a six-foot artificial tree by herself? Never mind lift Nicky to place the angel on top—a tradition formerly and laughingly performed by Peter.

She muttered a prayer for help, but it smacked against the ceiling of her apartment and came showering down again in thousands of tiny pieces. Or at least that’s how it felt to her.

She was living in a tiny wooden crate with no air and no light. She’d been abandoned. First by her father. Then by Peter. And now, it seemed, even God had left her to flounder on her own.

Madelaine Anne! She could hear her mother’s voice as if it were yesterday. If you can’t find God, it’s because you’ve backed off. He hasn’t gone anywhere.

She toyed with the idea of making a phone call. Mom always knew what to say. But Maddie’s faith wasn’t as strong as her mother’s. In fact, she wasn’t sure if she had faith at all. Would someone with real faith question what God had done?

Maddie did. Every single day. Peter’s death didn’t make any more sense to her now than it had a year ago. Even the newspapers had called it a senseless tragedy.

God is in control.

If that was true, why hadn’t she even been able to find a crack in the woodwork of this crate of hers?

Except, perhaps, last night. Last night, for one brief, shining moment, she had remembered what it was like to laugh. The deep melodic voice of her Phantom rang through her memory, and she smiled. He had given her a precious gift. He had helped her laugh again. She would always be grateful to him for that.

Her smile faded. Last night it had been easy to think about celebrating Christmas again. Last night she’d even believed she might enjoy the festive spirit, revel in the preparations.

But not now. Not with all these boxes as glaring reminders of the love she and Peter had shared, love that had brought her dear Nicky into the world.

She would not cry.

And she would not let Nicky down. He deserved a memorable Christmas. And if God was here, she was going to give Nicky the best Christmas of his life.

She gritted her teeth against the waves of nausea in her stomach and the ferocious pounding in her head. The huge box containing the Christmas tree was waiting for her attention. With a deep breath for courage, she plunged her arms in, triumphantly emerging with an armful of tree limbs in various shapes and sizes.

After five minutes of work, she’d managed to find the tree base, and had buried herself knee-deep in branches.

She’d never paid the least attention to Peter when he put the tree together, but if he could do it, so could she. Didn’t the dumb tree come with instructions?

She burst into frustrated tears. What a stupid thing to cry over, she reprimanded herself. But she didn’t try to brush the tears away. If it wasn’t this, it would be something else. She hadn’t realized how much she depended on Peter.

And now she was alone.

“Why did you leave me, Peter? Why? I never was good enough for you, was I?” The words echoed in the empty room, an echo answered in her empty heart.

She scrubbed a determined hand down her face, resolving to divide and conquer. No stupid artificial tree would get the best of her, even if it took her all day to assemble.

Her lips pinched with determination, she leaned into the box until she felt as though she were being swallowed. She groped around the bottom, her fingers nimbly searching for anything resembling paper, but found nothing but a stray line of garland.

What might Peter have done with the instructions?

Tossed them.

The thought caught her by surprise and she barked out a laugh. Of course. That’s exactly what her handyman husband would have done. In his opinion, written instructions were the bane of a “real” man’s existence, to be scoffed at and referred to only as a last resort.

Which left her with a gigantic, tree-size problem. Hands on her hips, she surveyed the limb-strewn room.

Christmas music. She’d throw on a CD of favorite Christmas tunes for a little holiday spirit. Maybe all she needed was to set the mood. Though she thought it highly improbable that the tree would put itself together even with the proper ambience.

“Oh, Mama!” Nicky exclaimed, scuffling sleepily from his bedroom. He was still clad in his superhero pajamas, his white-blond hair rumpled from sleep. “A Christmas tree!”

Her heart warmed at the sight of her son’s glowing eyes. It was worth any amount of pain to give her son some joy in his life. And perhaps—if God were merciful—she could partake in a moment or two of Christmas joy herself.

She wanted to wrap her arms around him in a bear hug, but knew he would take that as a personal assault on his big-boy dignity. Instead, she ruffled his hair. “Well, it’s supposed to be.”

She laughed as Nicky threw himself into a pile of limbs as if it were a mountain of crisp autumn leaves.

“As you can see, Mom’s having a little bit of trouble putting this thing together.”

Nicky’s expression became serious, his brows knit together. “I’ll help.”

The look was so much his father’s that Maddie’s throat tightened.

Nicky began gathering limbs in his stout little arms. “Look, Mom. They have colors on the ends.”

Hmm. So they did. How had she missed something so patently obvious? She couldn’t say, but she felt the heat rising in her cheeks. Leave it to her six-year-old son to solve the problem before she did.

She picked up one of the smaller branches, marked with yellow paint on the end that stuck into the base. “These yellow ones must go on top.”

Humming along with “Jingle Bells,” she began poking the metal end into the top of the base. They’d have a Christmas tree yet. And maybe even before the new year hit!

“No, Mama. The big branches first. That’s how Daddy always used to do it.”

Tears sprang again to her eyes, and she quickly brushed them away before her son could see. How could he possibly remember Peter putting up the Christmas tree? It had been two years—two achingly painful years—since there’d been no tree last year. Last year they’d celebrated Christmas in Children’s Hospital.

How could Nicky possibly remember that far back? He would have been four, watching Peter with wide-eyed wonder and the universal childhood belief that Daddy could do anything.

But somehow, he remembered.

She cleared her throat against the pain choking the breath from her lungs. The picture of flames engulfing the Santa’s workshop display overwhelmed her, as if she were trapped in a theater, forced to watch the same movie over and over. She could smell the acrid smoke…hear her son screaming.

Daddy. Daddy. Daddy!

“Mom?” Nicky pulled on the sleeve of her sweat-shirt. “Mom? Are you okay?”

She shook her head to clear the memories. “We’re going to the zoo tonight,” she said a little too brightly, forcing her mind to shift gears.

“Will we get to see the elephants?” Nicky asked, excitement brimming from his eyes and voice.

Maddie nodded. “Yes, honey. We’ll get to see some very special elephants. They’re opening the new Pachyderm Pavilion tonight, and we get to be the first ones to see it.”

“What’s a pack-eee-drum?”

She laughed and hugged her bouncing, squirming child to her chest. “It means elephants, I think. And maybe rhinos, too. Can you guess why the Pachyderm Pavilion is so special?”

Nicky nodded solemnly. “My teacher told us at school. It has Daddy’s name on it, right Mom?”

“Right, sweetheart. And that’s why we get to be the first ones to go inside!”

“Do you think I can feed one of the elephants?”

“I don’t know about that. But it wouldn’t hurt to ask. You’re Peter Carlton’s son, after all.”

“Yesss!” Nicky bunched his fist and brought his elbow into his hip.

“I think I can safely promise you can feed the ducks. Now, why don’t we try and get this Christmas tree up before Christmas has come and gone. Can you help me sort the branches into piles?”

Neil March pulled his wool coat more tightly around his chest and stared dully at the pond where ducks quacked and vied for his attention. The bridge he stood on elevated his contact with the biting wind, and he shivered.

He shouldn’t be here. It was too risky. What if she saw him? Then she would know…

But he could no more keep himself from coming tonight than he could stop his heart from beating. He had to see her. At least one more time.

He’d stay well hidden. She’d be busy with the press. There was no way she’d spot him in the crowd. And it wasn’t as if she would recognize his face.

She would never have to know the truth.

The air was bitterly cold. He glanced up at the sky, wondering idly if it was going to snow.

He didn’t know why anyone would want to come to see the Denver Zoo’s Wildlights in this nasty weather—but the park was crowded. Probably the grand opening of the elephant exhibit lured them in. It had been well publicized.

As for him…he was here for her. There was no sense denying it. He was here because he couldn’t stand the thought of going through life without looking once more into those sparkling brown eyes.

He wanted so much more, but that was impossible for him. For them. They had barriers between them that made the Great Wall of China pale in comparison. Walls of which she knew nothing, and of which he knew too much.

His life was spiralling from painful to unbearable since meeting Maddie face to face, and he could do nothing to stop it. How could he? He deserved to suffer.

He was after all responsible for the accident, for the fire, for his store going up in flames. And ultimately, for Peter Carlton’s death. He’d have to live with that knowledge for the rest of his life.

With all the strength of his will, he pushed his mind from the future. And from the past. Brooding wouldn’t help matters.

At least he had tonight. Another chance to look at her. To see her shining eyes and glowing face. To listen to the sultry hum of her voice.

Even if she didn’t know he was there.

He wondered why she had given so much money to the zoo. Not that he begrudged her the money. He was glad she was spending it, remembering all too well her refusal to sully her hands with his pathetic attempt at atonement. As if anything could make her life better.

It was his fault that she was alone, and the guilt pierced his heart like a lance.

Why had she chosen elephants? They had been his childhood favorite, both at the zoo and the circus. Perhaps her son had chosen where the money went.

Or had they been Peter Carlton’s favorite, too?

A mallard swam up to the bridge and quacked loudly, flapping his wings for attention.

Neil glanced at his watch. He had a few minutes left before he needed to join the crowd heading toward the pavilion for the grand opening.

Fishing in his pocket for change, Neil smiled. “You’re in luck, Duck. I happen to have a quarter. And I happen to be in a good mood.”

It wasn’t exactly the truth. But it would have to do. He put the coin in the machine dispensing duck pellets and cranked the handle.

He didn’t have much to offer. But at least he could feed the ducks.