The Christmas Kite

by Gail Gaymer Martin

  Otis was right. Jordan had promised himself to ease away from Meara and Mac. Not run. He’d deserted her when she needed him most. Pulling a trembling hand through his hair, Jordan leaned against the wall. Could he go to her without crumbling? Would she even want to see him?

  A sound at the doorway caused Meara to look up from the newspaper. When she spied Jordan, her stomach knotted. The past few days, he’d vanished from their lives. She’d wept tears for herself. Tears for Mac. But she felt helpless. Empty. Today she looked in his eyes and saw tension.

  “Jordan?”

  He took a hesitant step into the room and paused. “I hear Mac’s doing better.”

  Searching his face for more but seeing nothing, she nodded. “They’re going to take out the chest tube today.”

  “Today? That soon?”

  “I’m waiting for them now.”

  He edged into the room and moved to Mac’s bedside. “He’s sleeping again.” He eased his hand forward and brushed his fingers across Mac’s hair.

  “The nurse put something in his IV to relax him. But they have to be careful. He can’t tolerate strong pain medication. It’s too dangerous.”

  Jordan swung around. “Dangerous? How?”

  “His heart. And he needs to cough when they take out the tube. To keep his lungs clear. Otherwise, they’ll have to put it back.” She ached at the thought. What she wouldn’t give to take Mac’s place. To be the one suffering instead of her son. “I wish it were me in that bed.”

  “No, you don’t. Think. Mac’d be scared to death. Who’d be with him to calm his fears? Only a mother can do that.”

  Or a father, she thought. But Jordan was right. “I can’t bear seeing him this way. I know you understand, Jordan.”

  His controlled expression caved to one of excruciating sadness.

  Meara paled. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

  “It’s true, Meara. No need to be sorry.”

  A noise from outside captured their attention. Two orderlies came through the doorway, and Meara rose, stepping out of their way. Jordan stood behind her, his breath brushing her cheek. She ached to have him touch her, give her a reassuring pat or tilt her chin and offer a comforting look. But she paused, untouched, until the orderlies rolled the bed through the doorway.

  “Do you have time to wait with me?” she asked.

  Following a lengthy silence, he nodded. “For a while.”

  She wanted to tell him to leave, that she didn’t need him. But truth was, she did. Not just anybody, but Jordan.

  She muttered her thanks, and Jordan followed her through the doorway and down the corridor to the waiting room. There, he stopped at the coffeemaker and brought back two cups of steaming brew.

  “It smells fresh for a change,” she said, taking the cup from him. “Thanks.”

  He didn’t respond, but sank into the chair next to her.

  “So what was the result of the council meeting?” she asked, breaking the silence.

  “We were tabled to a special meeting. Sounds like Hatcher has his own contingents. From what I hear, the T-shirt shop owner—not sure of his name—and Lombardi, the owner of the restaurant, have both agreed to sell.”

  “I’m really sorry, Jordan. You and Otis, even the churches, have put so much effort into the petitions. I’d thought that would be enough.”

  “I’d hoped so, but, like I said, what you want isn’t what you get. Life’s tough.”

  Bitterness filled his voice, and Meara cringed at the brutal sound. Her life certainly hadn’t been easy. “Life is tough. Lately, everything seems like a lot of hard work and difficult decisions.”

  “Decisions about what?”

  “Many things. Moving from the apartment this spring…and Mac’s schooling.”

  “You’re still struggling with that?”

  “Naturally.” She flung a stabbing look at him, realizing too late that she’d shown her anger. “Yes. I admit that withdrawing Mac from school was presumptuous. We’re doing better with the homeschooling, but…”

  “He missed the science lesson. I’ve thought about that.”

  That shocked her. “You have?”

  “I said I’d help out, and I try to keep my promises, but then, neither of us had a premonition about the accident.”

  “I appreciate that, Jordan. Maybe when they take the tube out…” She bit her tongue. Begging was not in her. No. If he cared about them, he’d suggest it. “Anyway, up until this, Mac asked nearly every day about going back to the school. I did call a couple of days ago to find out about reregistering him.”

  “What did they say?”

  “It’s easy. They’ll just add him back on the roll. I heard the music teacher would like him to be in their choir. Somehow they know he likes to sing.” She chuckled for the first time in days. “I can guess how they found out.”

  Jordan grinned, and her heart soared.

  “You mean, our…your Pavarotti gave them a little concert.”

  “If I were a betting woman, I’d wager he did.” Our Pavarotti. She’d caught it even though he’d tried to cover his slip.

  The tension in his arm eased, and instead of holding himself like a corpse, he leaned back and stretched his hard, long legs in front of him.

  “So what’s holding you back?” he asked. “Remember the article I gave you a while ago? The studies show he’d do well back in school.”

  “I worry whether they’ll expect enough of Mac. He has limitations, but I want him to go as far as he can. He needs to be as perfect as he can be.”

  Jordan shrank at the word. Perfect. His son had died because Jordan had wanted perfection. Mac’s “perfection” wasn’t the same as another child’s. One person’s difference was another person’s individuality. It had taken him too long to learn that.

  “What do you mean you want Mac to be perfect? What are your expectations?”

  “I want him to reach his potential. You said it yourself. What will happen to him when I’m not here to take care of him? Who’ll watch out for him? Who’ll protect him from hurt and ignorance of a world that gawks and stares at disabled people?”

  “You’re talking in riddles, Meara. What you’ve said is a paradox. Ambiguous. You can’t have both.”

  His frown sliced her confidence. “I don’t understand.”

  Jordan wasn’t sure he did, either, but he loved that boy. Yes, no matter what his mouth said, no matter where his reason led him, his heart knew the truth. He loved Mac. He wanted the best for the child. And Meara needed to face reality.

  “Mac is perfect,” Jordan said.

  “How?” She arched an eyebrow as if waiting for a trick response.

  “Through God. You’re a believer, Meara. You follow the Bible’s teachings. I know those teachings. I taught the Bible for years. As literature, but I taught the philosophy. The beliefs. Mac is perfectly what God wants him to be. The struggle we have is to understand the difference between what God wants and what we want.”

  “I still don’t understand. How is Mac perfect?”

  “Name a person who isn’t flawed. ‘Normal’ or disabled. Name one. You?” He struck his chest. “Me? Otis? Mac?”

  “I won’t mention Nettie.” He couldn’t stop the grin that reached his lips.

  A full smile rose to Meara’s face. His heart lifted at the sight.

  “You really can’t name one unflawed person, can you,” he continued. “And why? Because there aren’t any. God made us as perfect as He wanted us to be. Each of us has limitations. Still, we’re perfect, because God made us according to His will. With all our imperfections.”

  “Okay, so I admit no one’s flawless, but that doesn’t mean I’m wrong to want Mac to meet his potential.”

  “Nothing’s wrong with that. But we have another challenge to face—to recognize the opportunities life gives us. To accept our purpose.”

  Confusion crossed her face. “You think I’m talking in riddles? You are, Jordan.”

  “Look
, I know I’ve struggled accepting God’s Word, but I know what the Bible says…whether I believe it or not. Our purpose is to align ourselves with God and totally give ourselves to Him. This means, to let our own will go by the wayside and accept God’s.”

  She fell back against the chair. “Are you saying that I’m trying to push my will over God’s?”

  “I’m not your judge, Meara. But when we manipulate situations to our needs, when you influence Mac’s learning by your own fears—”

  “You’re saying what Nettie said. I’m an overprotective mother.” Her eyes narrowed and she knifed him with her stare.

  “I guess that’s what I’m saying. Mac won’t always have you around. We’ve both said it. So how will he meet challenges and survive if you shield him from it while you are with him?”

  Meara seemed to crumble. “I don’t know.”

  She closed her eyes, and Jordan’s heart raced; he feared he’d made her cry. But finally, she opened her eyes filled with stinging confusion, but no tears.

  “I’m sorry if I hurt you, Meara.”

  “I needed to hear it. I keep pulling my mind back to the eight years of Mac’s life when he was scorned by the exact people who should have loved him. I can’t wash that from my mind.”

  “But look at him. He’s okay, Meara. Remember, we talked about this before. He’s happy, loving, gentle. A child without his problems couldn’t be any more perfect.”

  Hope filled her face, and she straightened in the chair. “You’re right. He’s wonderful. The decision is already made. He should go back to real school.” She shot him a knowing smile. “That was easy.”

  “I wish mine were.”

  “Yours?” Meara heard the ominous tone in his voice. “What decisions?” She tilted her head, waiting for his answer yet afraid to hear.

  “Decisions about going back to teaching, moving back to Kalamazoo, changing my life.”

  Cold fear snaked through Meara. “You’re leaving Mackinaw?”

  “Blair called a couple of days ago. The dean wants me to sign a contract for next September.”

  “I’m glad for you, Jordan.” Her dishonest words lay like putty in her heart.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Jordan pushed his foot against the accelerator. His own words shot through his head. Words he’d used to lecture Meara—a message he needed to heed.

  He’d longed to say “your” God or “Lila’s” God while spouting his wise proclamation, but he couldn’t. No matter how hard he’d tried to deny “their” God, the Lord had become his. How could he be angry and demanding of a God who wasn’t there?

  As he expounded about accepting God’s will, a will he wanted so badly to understand, he recalled Meara’s Bible verse from weeks earlier. “‘Now we see through a glass, darkly,’” she’d said. He’d plowed through his memory to recall the promise of something better.

  Today the rest of the verse hit him in the pit of his stomach: “When we meet God, face to face, we will know all things.” That promise wasn’t enough. He couldn’t wait to reach heaven before understanding life’s complex happenings. If God were truly merciful and loving, Jordan demanded to know why. Why did children suffer? Why did death snatch innocent babes?

  Suffer. The word hung in his thoughts. Jesus suffered. God’s only son, pure and sinless, suffered for humanity’s offenses so they might have…They. No. “So I can have salvation,” he said aloud. The meaning overwhelmed him. Me. And Meara and Mac. Christ was made perfect. Sinless. Total perfection. Yes. Christ was perfect so He could suffer for the world’s sins and give believers eternal life. Not death, but life.

  A glaring red traffic light loomed. Distracted, Jordan slammed his foot on the brake and came to a grinding halt, avoiding an accident by sliding through the intersection. Close. A blast of air shot from his lungs.

  A healing touch of humor settled over him as he contemplated the horror of what might just have happened. God could have answered his plea at that very moment. A quick, unexpected face-to-face meeting with the Lord.

  He sent his thanks heavenward, adding, for good measure, that he’d rather wait for that promised appointment.

  A warming calm wrapped around Jordan. God had answered his fervent prayer. In time, Mac would be fine. Jordan also knew he, too, would survive. More than survive. He released his death grip on the steering wheel, washed in God’s promise. In this life he would have griefs and troubles, but nothing he couldn’t endure. And he had endured. Death, loneliness, pain, heartache.

  But he was still here and a God-given new life waited for him.

  Following the special Saturday-afternoon meeting, a crowd poured from city hall. Jordan stepped exhausted into the brisk November air. Though they’d won the battle to ban the saloon from Mackinaw City, the tension had taken its toll.

  “Good job,” Otis said, giving his upper arm a friendly shake. “Glad it was you talkin’ up there and not me. I’m a glib ol’ guy when it’s me and someone else, but in a crowd I fade away like a hermit crab.”

  Jordan shook his head. “I have a hard time picturing you as shy, Otis, but if you want me to believe it, I’ll give you a million for the Brooklyn Bridge, too.”

  Otis chuckled. “You know what I mean. I’m not a smooth talker like you, Jordan.”

  Jordan gazed at his elderly friend, remembering the telephone call that “sweet-talked” him back to the hospital. And he could never thank Otis enough.

  Passersby greeted Jordan with a nod as they left the city building. Others stopped to shake his hand, clasp his shoulder or exchange a few friendly words.

  Bernie Dawson hailed Jordan with a wave as he came through the door. “Congratulations,” Bernie said. “You made a lot of sense up there.” He released a hearty chuckle. “Lot more sense than Dom Lombardi. Didn’t you love his comment when they asked him to cite the benefits of Hatcher’s proposed saloon?”

  Otis slapped his leg. “Never heard anything so funny.” He puffed out his belly and cheeks, attempting to mimic Lombardi. “‘Gives a man something better to do at night than sit home with his wife.’ Bet the women in the crowd loved that one.”

  “And the city council,” Bernie agreed. With another shoulder pat, Bernie headed for the parking lot.

  “I’m glad it’s over,” Jordan said. “I think we should send thank-you letters to the churches for their support.”

  Otis shot him a hearty smile. “Don’t ya think they should be sendin’ you one?”

  Jordan pressed Otis’s shoulder. “Not me, Otis. Better you.” He ambled to the sidewalk and paused. “I’m heading for the hospital. I promised Meara I’d give Mac a science lesson a while back. Today, I’m keeping my promise.”

  “Give the lad a hug from me.” His devilish eyes sparked. “And you give that lovely woman a big kiss, too.” He took a step backward and stopped, tossing out his final comment. “Figured you would, anyway.”

  Waving, Jordan headed down the sidewalk and climbed into his car.

  With light traffic on U.S. 23, Jordan made good time. He turned into his driveway and rushed inside to give Dooley a run before heading to Cheboygan. A little later, on the highway again, he spied the rustic cabins a mile or so down the beach and relived the morning he’d first met Meara and Mac. So much had happened since that day. His life had soared toward heaven like one of his kites.

  If he went back to teaching, he’d miss this life. He’d miss everything: the kites, Otis and Nettie, life on the water, Dooley’s race for the ducks, even The New Curiosity Shop.

  “Thank you, Grandma,” Mac said from a seated position in his hospital bed. He turned the pages of his new book, a gift from her.

  Meara nodded her approval, and Edna Hayden patted her grandson’s hand. “Your mom says you’ve been very brave.”

  “Brave,” Mac said, his index finger poking his chest. He beamed her a bright smile.

  “I’m glad you could come, Mother Hay—”

  Edna pressed her hand on Meara’s arm. “My dear, with a
ll that’s happened in our lives, call me Edna. Let’s be friends, not former in-laws.”

  “I’d love that,” Meara said.

  She reached forward to embrace the woman, but uncomfortable with her action, she hesitated. Instead, Edna opened her arms, and Meara stepped into them, finally released from the plaguing memories.

  “Hug,” Mac said, opening his arms to them both.

  They laughed, and in a cumbersome circle of arms and contorted bodies, they joined in a huddled hug.

  “Interesting,” Jordan said from the doorway.

  Startled to see him, Meara jerked upward.

  Mac let out his yell: “Jor-dan!”

  “How are you doing, pal?”

  “Good.” His gaze aimed at the bag under Jordan’s arm.

  Pleased, yet puzzled, Meara watched Jordan. She resisted the urge to mention it had been days since she’d seen him. “Jordan, this is Edna Hayden, Mac’s grandmother.”

  “Jordan Baird,” he said with smile.

  “How do you do?” Edna offered her thin hand and Jordan shook it. “I’m glad to meet you…finally. You seem to be one of Mac’s best friends.”

  “I should hope so. He’s certainly one of mine.” He gave Mac a wink and tousled his hair. “So what do you think I have here?” Jordan asked, displaying the chunky sack that clunked and chinked when he dropped it on the hospital tray-table next to Mac’s bed.

  Meara watched the interaction, gladdened at their loving relationship.

  Mac stared at the bag and shrugged. “Don’t know, Jor-dan.”

  “It’s our science lesson, young man. Are you ready?”

  Mac nodded, and Jordan rolled the tray closer and settled it in front of Mac.

  Mac eyed the bag for a minute until Jordan gave him a nod. The boy beamed an eager smile and pulled open the sack. He turned over the sack, toppling out a myriad of shells. “Seashells,” he cried, and delved into the chalky houses, grabbing them in his hands and spreading them back out on the table.

  “That’s a wonderful sight to see,” Edna said, rising. “And now, I suppose I’d better be on my way. Mac has his lesson.”