Alison shifted her gaze again. “Why, that would be nice. We’ve heard the fireworks are wonderful.”
“Wonderful,” Meara agreed, “and unique. You can see three separate displays. One in the park, another in St. Ignace across the bridge, and another on Mackinaw Island. I suppose there aren’t too many places that can boast that.”
They chuckled politely, but despite their attempts, Meara sensed their discomfort.
“While you finish your tea, let me get the basket ready. If we want a table, we need to get going.”
Within minutes, Meara and her guests descended the stairs and trekked the fifteen-minute walk to the park. A few revelers had gathered, but Meara found a table beneath a shade tree and spread out the picnic: cold fried chicken, salad and a loaf of crusty bakery bread, along with fruit and sweets from the bakery.
“This is wonderful,” Roger said, gazing at the array of food.
“May we pray first?” Meara asked.
“Certainly,” he said, quickly bowing his head. The others followed.
“Heavenly Father,” Meara began, “we thank you for the lovely day, for food to fill our stomachs and for family to share our meal. We ask that whatever sorrow or pain lives in our hearts, You heal it quickly. In Jesus’ name we pray. Amen.”
When she opened her eyes, Alison and Roger looked at her with knowing eyes, but said nothing, except to repeat the “Amen” and dig into the fare.
Mac held out his plate, and Meara forked a piece of chicken, but before it hit the plate, Mac let out a yell. “Jor-dan!” The child crawled from the bench and headed across the grass.
Jordan wheeled around and met Mac, whose outstretched hand beckoned him toward the picnic table.
Meara rose as they neared and made swift introductions. “Join us, please. There’s plenty.”
“Come!” Mac directed, slapping his palm against the bench next to him.
A silly grin stretched across Jordan’s face, and he caught Meara’s eye. “It works for Dooley.” He slid next to Mac at the table.
Meara handed him the utensils, and Jordan filled his plate. The conversation moved from babies to kites to the pesky seagulls, and, to Meara’s relief, no more mention was made of the Haydens.
Jordan pushed his plate back and sipped the iced tea while Mac sang one of his senseless songs in his ear. As Meara opened her mouth to suggest he give up the tune for a while, Jordan tousled Mac’s hair.
“You’ve been patient enough, pal,” Jordan said. “Let’s go down by the water and take some crusts of bread. Maybe we can distract these irritating birds for a while.”
He rose, and Mac scampered from the bench and trailed after him.
Alison followed him with her eyes. “He’s a handsome man, Meara. Where did you find him?” Her eyebrows lifted as she spoke.
“Mac found him on the beach.” The image of Jordan lollygagging among the shells and driftwood made her chuckle. She controlled herself and continued. “Jordan owns the kite shop, and he designs and builds all of the wonderful kites in the store. He’s also my landlord.”
“Landlord. That’s all?” Alison’s face shifted to disbelief. “No teeny bit of romance?”
“No. Sorry to disappoint you.” Meara didn’t admit to the emotions that wrought her heart, nor confess her dreams.
“Too bad,” she mewled. “He looks like a great catch.”
“Alison,” Roger said, resting his hand on her arm, “the man’s not a fish, and I don’t think this is our business.”
“All I mean is, he’s wonderful with the boy,” she said to Roger, then turned to Meara. “Wonderful with Mac. He seems kind. And sincere. And he’s so handsome.”
“I’ll give him that,” Meara said, hoping she sounded casual. “Jordan’s kind and sincere.” And much more than that, she thought. So much more her heart hurt. “But it’s too soon, Alison. I’ve only been on my own for a few months.”
“But that can’t be much fun.”
“Not fun, but I’m learning a lot about myself. I like that.”
“You see, Alison,” Roger said, “once you have this child, life will be different, too. Everything doesn’t have to be entertaining.”
Her lower lip protruded like a pouting child’s. “I know, but I…Never mind, Roger.”
Roger turned from his wife and focused on Meara. “Did Alison tell you about Dunstan’s father?”
Meara’s stomach dipped and rose. “No.” His expression looked serious. “Is something wrong?”
Alison’s hand shot forward and grasped Meara’s. “Oh, I’m sorry. I was so busy talking about the baby I completely forgot.”
“What is it?” Meara’s eyes shifted from Alison to Roger.
“He had a severe stroke—just terrible,” Roger said. “He’s quite feeble.”
Meara wanted to say that he got what he deserved, but compassion shuffled her negative feelings aside. “I’m sorry. And Mother Hayden? How is she?”
“As well as can be expected,” Alison said. “Mr. Hayden ruled the home. She’s had to take over now, and it’s not easy for her.”
“No, I suppose it isn’t.” Meara envisioned the meek, silent woman. “Send her my regards if you see her, please.” Shame nudged her as she intentionally neglected reference to Dunstan Sr.
Then guilt surfaced. In Christian love, she should do something. But what? She’d lived unhappily in the home for years. Yet Edna Hayden was not the thorn that prickled Meara’s life. She and Meara were in all essence roses between two thorns: Dunstan and his father. Two men made from the same mold, she’d sadly learned.
The conversation shifted to the crowd, water crafts, and how expertly Jordan played with Mac. Finally she caught sight of Jordan heading back, with Mac a few feet ahead. When Jordan’s attention veered and he waved, Meara followed the direction and saw the Mannings coming across the lawn, weaving their way through the crowd.
“Hello,” Meara called, motioning them to the table. She unfolded a blanket and spread it out in front of the table. She offered Nettie and Otis the bench and slid to the blanket with Mac leaning against her side.
Following the new introductions the conversation was filled with Nettie’s chatter and Otis’s witty tales, and Meara peered across the water, her heart lifting with the rising colors against the evening sky and the closeness of her son and Jordan. Peace. For once in her life, for this fleeting moment, she was filled with peace. The sunset spread across the horizon in swatches of gold and coral, blending to purple and blue like Joseph’s coat—a message from God that everything happens for a purpose and good can come from evil. This time felt perfect.
Darkness lowered, and they sipped tea between their chatter and moments of lovely silence. Others lit lanterns or camping lights, but they remained in the shadows of the gaining half-moon in a cloudless sky.
“It’s about that time,” Jordan said, slipping from the bench beside Meara. He glanced down at the heavy-eyed Mac. “How’s my pal doing?”
Mac gave him a lazy grin and rested his cheek on Meara’s leg.
Jordan leaned toward her ear. “I have a feeling he’ll miss his first big fireworks display.”
She grinned and ran her hand along her son’s hairline, wishing she could run her fingers through Jordan’s graying, breeze-blown locks that lay in soft waves against his ears.
Jordan curled his legs, Indian-fashion, and she shifted to make herself more comfortable. The table conversation droned like a distant bee, but her thoughts tuned to the soft sound of Jordan’s breath so close to her ear.
“Would you be more comfortable if you lean against me a little?” He shifted his shoulder and braced it with his arm behind her.
In breathless delight, she rested against his firm, muscular body. No words acknowledged the action. She couldn’t speak for fear of weeping in sheer contentment. So often she blamed God for her hardships. Today she sent a hushed thank you for the glorious evening.
As the silent prayer rose to heaven, the first brilliant dis
play shot into the darkened sky. Mac jerked in his sleep and opened his heavy eyes.
“Sparkles,” the boy exclaimed, pushing himself up with his arm.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” she whispered.
“Beautiful,” Jordan murmured.
His voice drew her gaze from the spangled sky to his eyes. Fireworks shimmered through her body. His tender face spoke to her—words she would never believe if she heard them aloud.
“Pretty,” Mac called, as the sky filled with multiple swirls and sprinkles of color.
The crowd oohed and applauded with each fiery blast, and Meara’s heart thundered as loudly as the missiles that soared like dazzling flowers into the sky.
Jordan caught his breath, gazing at Meara’s profile in the glowing light. Her slender back pressed against his shoulder, and he could smell the delicate scent of flowers in her hair.
With a subtle shift of his body, he nuzzled closer and he felt the rise and fall of her breathing against his arm. A shiver pulsed through her. Was she chilled on such a warm night? But her face shone with contentment.
In sudden awareness, his stomach twitched. What was he doing? In the cover of darkness, he’d lifted the gate of his fortress—a fortress already crumbling from Meara’s presence. Once, he was safe behind those walls. But he’d opened the door, and the hinges grated in his ears, determined to remain ajar.
A reverberating tumult boomed in the evening sky, shapes and colors bombarding overhead with glorious showers of swirling fairy dust. Cheers and applause blended with the fireworks thunder, and when the last glowing ash fell to the dark water, hushed silence settled over the crowd.
Shifting his weight, Jordan rose and gave Meara a hand, then helped a sleepy Mac to his feet. The others spoke their goodbyes, each heading in a different direction. Jordan lifted Mac in his arms as Meara gathered the blanket and empty basket.
He wanted to offer them a ride—his car was nearby—but he couldn’t, and he couldn’t explain. Instead, he cowered under avoidance. “I’ll carry Mac home for you.”
“Please, Jordan, no. He can walk.” She tilted her face close to Mac, nestled in his arms. “You can walk, can’t you, Mac.”
Mac’s sleeping eyes stayed closed, and she didn’t insist. “Thanks. I suppose it’s foolish to wake him.”
The boy was light in his arms, and he ached, carrying the child so close to his heart. Robbie had been larger, more solid, but the memory rose like a dark cloud. He forced it away.
They walked in silence, only occasionally commenting on the evening. He wondered about the cousin. He hadn’t known Meara had family nearby, but tonight he wouldn’t ask. Perhaps the question would stir memories, and the evening was too tender to ruin with inquiries.
At the apartment, he laid Mac in his bed, wished Meara a quick good-night and hurried down the stairs. He was wracked with confusion. He’d allowed too much to happen. And he had his dark secret that would send Meara scampering away from him.
He rounded the strip of shops and turned toward the park. His car was a block from the silhouetted lighthouse, and he was glad that they hadn’t passed it on the way to the apartment. What would he have told Meara if she had recognized it nearby?
Chapter Eleven
Meara combed her flyaway hair and caught it in a scarf at the back of her neck. She needed a haircut, but Jordan had mentioned how pretty her hair looked long, and she hesitated to make a change. Foolishly, she hung on to every word he said, savoring it like a rare fruit.
Tonight she was curious. Along with Otis, Jordan had invited her and Mac to his house. Business, he’d said. Praying nothing was wrong, she hurried Mac out of the apartment and they climbed into the car. In the afternoon, the sky had been overcast and the temperature cooler than usual for August. Clouds had billowed on the horizon and moved across the lake in dark brooding masses.
Now they hung over the area, heavy with rain. Flashes of slithering light darted across the horizon. Meara glanced in the back for her umbrella. The brightly colored fabric lay folded on the seat.
Before they’d gone a mile, large drops splattered on her dusty hood and blurred in rivulets down her windshield. The wipers splashed back and forth across the glass in a steady rhythm, their music only muffled by the occasional rumble and clap that rolled through the sky.
Through the curtain of trees, the sky ignited like a raging forest fire followed by a deafening roll of thunder. Mac ducked and clutched her arm.
“Careful, Mac, I’m driving. We don’t want an accident.”
He placed his hands over his ears. “Stop the noise, Mama.”
“I can’t. We’ll listen to the music.” She snapped on the radio and searched amid the crackle and fizz of static until she found some pounding rock music. She hiked up the volume, hoping it would drown out the frightening storm.
The dark road hazed in the pelting rain, and oncoming lights blurred her vision. She gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles and swung into Jordan’s driveway, parking next to Otis’s sedan. As she reached into the back seat, the house’s back door opened, and Jordan darted outside, flinging open a wide umbrella. In two strides he was at the door, and then he sheltered them as they hurried inside.
As they dashed through the doorway, another jagged bolt ripped through the sky, and Mac slammed his hands over his ears. “Stop it,” he ordered.
Jordan wrapped a protective arm around his shoulder. “You’re inside, pal. Nothing can hurt you now. I turned the TV on for you.” He addressed Meara. “It’s an African safari program about animals. Is that okay?”
“He’ll like that.”
After being greeted by Dooley, Mac headed for the living-room entertainment.
Meara hesitated for a moment, wishing things were different. Once again she and Jordan weren’t alone. Lately their meetings were business or casual conversation with others around and no time to talk privately. They hadn’t talked about their Fourth of July evening, and since that night, a twinge of discomfort crept through Meara when they were together. Besides, she was still curious about Jordan’s friend Blair. What offer had he made?
“We’ll talk at the kitchen table. The TV noise won’t bother us that way.” He glanced through the window. “It’s bad out there. How was the driving?”
“Terrible. Really hard to see the road between oncoming traffic and the lightning. Look at my hands.”
Trembling, she held them side by side, and he pressed them together with his palms.
“How about some coffee? That will, at least, give you a different reason to have the shakes.”
She grinned and followed him into the kitchen.
“Bad driving?” Otis asked.
She nodded and repeated her tale.
“I’ll want to get moving as soon as we’re done here. Nettie is not a brave soldier in thunderstorms. She’ll be on her knees, pleading with the Lord for protection. So I need to get home to give God’s ears a break.”
Meara laughed at Otis’s accurate description of Nettie. She was a strong believer, faithful in prayer and an avid talker. Jordan motioned her to a chair and slid a steamy mug of coffee in front of her.
After refreshing the other two cups, Jordan joined them and shared his news: the gift shop deed was in his pocket, and he needed to decide what to do with the building.
“I’d like to hear your thoughts. Right now, I’ve been thinking I’ll just close the place. See if I can sell the junk to another souvenir shop. Maybe rent the space out or use it for storage for the time being.”
“Seems like a waste of money to me,” Otis said, leaning back in the chair.
“Before I do too much, I’d like to see what else Hatcher has up his sleeve,” Jordan said. “I go to the board of appeals on the zoning law early next week. At least I’ll know where I stand on that issue.”
“Next week?” Meara asked.
“No worries, remember?”
She nodded and swallowed the other comments vying to be released.
“S’pose you could get a little for the trinkets if you sell them in a lot. Maybe the Bargain Hut,” Otis said with a chuckle. “But some of those thingamabobs would bring in more money if you sold them yourself in the shop.”
“I know, but it’s a hassle. That means hiring more help. I can’t ask you to run the gift shop, too, Otis.”
Otis leaned on his elbows and peered at Jordan. “You blind? How about this lovely lady sittin’ with us here. She’s got a head on her shoulders. And good ideas, too.” He gave Meara a merry wink.
On Jordan’s serious face, a grin flickered. “So tell me about these good ideas.”
His gaze nabbed Meara’s darting eyes, and she steadied herself. Here goes, she said to herself. “You know how some of your kites sell as wall hangings for restaurants and other businesses. Homes, too. Otis mentioned it when I was hired, but now I’ve seen it with my own eyes. I’m surprised at how many are bought to be used as home accessories.” She hesitated, overwhelmed suddenly by a sense of incompetence. “Maybe I don’t know what I’m talking about.”
Otis gave her a playful nudge. “Go ’head. I’ve had to listen to your ramblin’. Tell the horse’s mou—” He stopped abruptly, then breathed a sigh. “The big ears is in the living room. Gotta keep a leash on my tongue. Nettie’s soap tastes horrible.”
His silliness made Meara harness her courage. “Maybe we could add other decorative items to the inventory. Little by little. You could do what you said, and sell the souvenirs to other shops.”
“Or toss them in the trash bin in the back,” Jordan said.
“That, too.” He made her smile. “But some of the bric-a-brac is quality porcelain and china.”
Otis chuckled. “You can tell she’s been scoutin’ the place out ever since she knew you were buying the shop.”
“Is that right?” Jordan ask, touching her arm with a gentle pat.
Heat rose to her cheeks. She hated her fair skin. Every emotion lit up her face. “Guilty as charged.” She lifted her gaze to his smiling eyes. “Anyway, as I was saying before Otis tattled, we could add wall accents, pillows, vases, scatter rugs, candles, dried flowers. The kite shop could become a mecca for professional home decorators. Or just tourists wanting to buy pretty things.”
The Christmas Kite Page 12