A Family-Style Christmas and Yuletide Homecoming

by Carolyne Aarsen

  “No, Simon, don’t say that.” She sat down beside him, the chair pulled up close.

  “Are you going to stay with me?”

  She nodded, laughing shortly. “Yes, it seems that is to be my fate. Holding your hand through your various crises.”

  He smiled weakly, then closed his eyes again. Unorganized thoughts were coming back, spinning around, sucking him down.

  “Caitlin,” he whispered.

  “What, Simon?”

  “Pray for me.”

  “I always do,” she replied. “Now just rest. I’m here.”

  And that knowledge made it easier for him to sleep.

  The dreams came anyhow. Unbidden and unorganized—a jumble of memories and people from his past and present melding, accusing. Verses from Bible passages he read condemned him, his lifestyle. In his dreams he tried to run away, to leave the voices behind him, but they always found him, circling, attacking. He tried to beat them off but couldn’t. There were too many—old girlfriends that he walked away from without a second glance, foster parents he left with a shrug, people he had ignored. Jake. His brother, his only brother.

  They all hovered and tormented...

  “Comfort, comfort my people, says your God.”

  There were those words again. Simon strained toward them, reaching out. Caitlin was reading, her voice an anchor, the words soothing. “Speak tenderly to Jerusalem, and proclaim to her that her hard service has been completed, that her sin has been paid for, that she has received from the Lord’s hand double for all her sins.”

  Simon heard the words of assurance, the same words he had read only a few days ago. They gently brushed away the confusion.

  Paid for, Caitlin had read. Hard service completed, sin paid for. It sounded too easy.

  Simon opened his eyes. The first thing he saw was Caitlin’s bent head. She was still reading aloud, her voice resonant with conviction. She glanced up as she turned a page and met his gaze with her own.

  “Hi,” she said with a hesitant smile. “You were so restless, I thought I would read for you.” She held up the Bible. “You had a bookmark in this section. Isaiah 55.”

  Simon felt a blessed moment of coherence. “Yeah,” he said with a short laugh. “Thought it was appropriate, considering where I’ve been.”

  Caitlin lowered the Bible to her lap. “And where was that?”

  Simon heard the concern in her voice and once again wondered at this woman. Wondered why she willingly spent time with him in spite of what he had said and done to her.

  “If you don’t want to talk about it I understand.”

  He shook his head and smiled. “No. I want to.” He drew in a slow breath. “I’ve been all over and nowhere.”

  “Where did you start from?”

  “Foster home.”

  “What about before that?”

  Simon was quiet, remembering Tom Steele, his adoptive home and the vague memories he had of a mother before that. He had tried to keep the memories alive but over time they had faded into the dim picture of a smile, dark hair and the faint smell of bread baking. It was all he had left of her, and it was all he had left of Tom Steele, the only father he ever knew. Memories.

  “My mother gave me and my brother up when I was four years old. I don’t remember much of her.”

  Caitlin leaned closer. “Do you know why she gave you up?”

  “No.” His head ached again and he felt a burning pain in his leg. “I wanted to go looking for her but Jake didn’t.”

  “Jake is your brother?”

  Simon nodded, turning his head to look back at the ceiling. “We used to visit each other after we got split up. He ended up in a great place.”

  “And you got split because of your running away?” Caitlin sounded surprised.

  “Well, I was the bad boy and Jake was the good boy. Special Services wanted to give him a chance separate from me.” He felt the ache behind his eyes and a peculiar pressure building in his chest. “But Jake didn’t want to leave. Didn’t want to come with me. He made the right choice, I think.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “I don’t know.” Simon drew in a long breath, surprised at the emotions those few words brought out. Sorrow, regret, pain. In his weakened state he couldn’t fight them. Had no defenses to draw from. “When he wouldn’t leave with me,” he continued, “I told him he’d never hear from me again. And he hasn’t.”

  “Would you want to see him again?”

  Simon shrugged, but the movement sent a wave of dizziness over him. “I don’t know,” he said, suddenly weary. “It’s been so long. I don’t feel I have the right.” He closed his eyes and felt Caitlin lightly lay her cool hand on his forehead.

  “You’re burning up,” she murmured. “I’ll see if I can get you something.”

  She walked out of the room, a shadow in the half light and Simon felt bereft.

  How had she done it? he wondered. How had this woman managed to so completely take hold of him, invade his thoughts and dreams, make him talk about things he had long buried and tried to forget? Remind him of where he had come from and make him wonder where he was going?

  He needed her and didn’t want to need her.

  Simon forced that thought aside. He couldn’t allow those emotions to take over his life, determining what he would do. He had been too long on his own, too long independent. He couldn’t afford to lean on anyone, to be weak. Caitlin had the potential to destroy everything he had worked so hard to build. He reminded himself that she was a temporary part of his life. She told him over and over again. She was a Christian, far removed from him. She had a boyfriend. A family—something he knew nothing about.

  So why did he feel this way about her? Confused, frustrated. Seeking.

  Comfort, comfort my people. Those words again, he thought, clinging to them, remembering that God promised that sins would be paid for. He remembered vague snatches of Sunday school songs, words of promise and hope, but also of responsibility.

  He had to confess, to show his need to God, to recognize his part in what had been happening in his life. He had to open himself up, look at what he had done.

  He didn’t know if he could.

  His thoughts circled again and when Caitlin returned he was tired and confused.

  “Here,” she said, lifting his head again. “Take this.”

  He obediently swallowed the pill she gave him and laid back. She placed a damp cloth on his forehead and he felt immediate relief.

  “That feels good,” he murmured. “Thanks.”

  “You want to sleep?”

  “No. Just talk to me.” He was tired, but he feared the confusion of his dreams. He wanted to hear her voice, to keep the connection between them, however fragile.

  “About...” she prompted.

  “Tell me about you.”

  “I already have,” she replied quietly. “You know most everything about me.”

  Simon turned his head, his eyes blinking slowly. “No, I don’t. I don’t know your favorite color, what you like to do when you’re not holding my hand, what you order in a restaurant?”

  “I like the color blue, I read books in my spare time and I always order chicken.” She fussed with his sheets, her fingers lingering on his shoulder. “Now rest.”

  Simon laughed shortly. “That was supposed to be the start of a longer conversation.” His head ached and his body felt as if it were slowly being pulled in different directions. He should be sleeping, but he had Caitlin all to himself. She wasn’t going to rush off to be with another patient, she wasn’t here as a nurse, but as a visitor.

  He didn’t want to speculate on the reasons she was at his side. He was thankful for her presence and for the moment he just wanted to enjoy having her undivided attention.

>   “I could ask you a few questions,” she said.

  “You already have.”

  “These will be simpler. Your favorite color.”

  “Brown.”

  “Favorite food.”

  “French fries.”

  “Hobbies?”

  Simon paused. “I don’t know. I keep pretty busy with my work.”

  “Which is?”

  “Work. Just work.”

  “Sounds fishy, Simon.” Caitlin leaned back, crossing her arms, her I-mean-business pose.

  “I don’t know what else to say,” he replied defensively. “I’m self-employed. I buy and sell stocks and businesses and real estate. I have a couple of fast-food franchises, a soft-drink franchise. I manage my own funds....” He stopped, looking at her, trying to read her expression, feeling as if he had to justify what he did. “It’s not your usual nine-to-five, pack-a-lunch job. I worked enough for other people, spent enough of my life trying to rise up to other people’s expectations and failing....” He stopped again, realizing he had said more than he had wanted to.

  “Do you mean the foster homes you lived in?”

  Simon said nothing, as a band of sorrow squeezed his heart into a tight knot.

  “You said your mother gave you up when you were four,” Caitlin persisted.

  “You said easy questions,” Simon said, trying to smile.

  “Sorry.” She leaned forward. “I can’t help it. I want to know more about you. More than you’re telling me.”

  Simon met her eyes and once again felt as if he were falling. He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths. “When my mom gave us up we were brought to a foster home. The man was an older man. A widower. We were only supposed to be there temporarily, while we waited for an adoptive home. It took a little longer than Social Services thought it would. He got attached and adopted us. He took care of us until we turned twelve. Then we were moved.”

  “How come?”

  Simon clutched the bedsheet as he stared sightlessly up at the ceiling tiles. “It wasn’t because of our father. Tom Steele was a good man. He took us to church, taught us about God. He took us to hockey games, came to parent-teacher interviews. Did all the right things.” Simon stopped, untangled his hand from the sheet and closed his eyes.

  “What happened?”

  Caitlin wouldn’t let up, he thought. Her soft-spoken questions slowly kept him going back to places he had thought he had long abandoned.

  He drew in a deep breath, swallowing. Sixteen years had passed and dredging up this memory still hurt.

  “He died.” He ignored Caitlin’s cry of dismay. “And Jake and I were moved.” He waited a moment, letting the pain pass. “Jake seemed to take it better than me. I couldn’t take it at all. So I ran away. I said it was to find my mother. The home they moved us to couldn’t handle it so Social Services moved us again. I kept running. And we were moved again.” He stopped.

  “What happened at that time?” she said, her voice quietly persistent.

  “Jake went to stay on a farm in the country and I ended up in a treatment foster home. But I kept running.”

  “Why?”

  The question was simple enough but it required so much. He didn’t want to analyze his past. It was over. There was nothing he could do about it. But against his rational judgment, he wanted her to know all about him. Wanted her to see what his life was like. That way, if she stayed then it meant...it meant...

  “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I’m getting nosy.”

  “No,” he replied, looking back up at the ceiling. “That’s okay.” He went back through his memories, digging up old emotions, realizing he was laying himself bare for her. But he didn’t want to analyze, to defend, to hold back. He wanted her to know. “I hated everyone for a long time. I hated my mother for giving us up. I hated Tom Steele for dying and leaving us. I never knew what to do with the emotions. The first home we were moved to was a good place, but I never gave it a chance. I didn’t want to. I figured the only way I would be in charge was if I was the first one to leave. The family kept coming after me and finally they couldn’t handle it anymore. So Jake and I got moved. And the same thing happened. Finally we were split up. Jake hated me for a while. I hated him. He ended up in a good place, and I ended up in a sterner home. So I kept running. I suppose by that time it was just a habit, a way of avoiding life.”

  “And where is Jake now?”

  Simon shrugged. “I don’t know. Once kids in foster care turn eighteen, they’re on their own. I figured he left there, too!”

  “Have you ever tried to contact him?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  Simon felt it again. Regret, hurt, pride. “I don’t know if he’d want to hear from me.”

  “But he’s your brother.”

  Simon shook his head slowly. “Family doesn’t work the same for me as it does for you. We’ve been apart longer than we’ve been together. He’s got his own life. He doesn’t need me.”

  Simon stopped, reaching up to touch his forehead.

  Caitlin got up right away, took the now warm cloth off his forehead and replaced it with another. She gently smoothed it against his head, her fingers lingering at his temple, stroking his damp hair back. He saw pity on her face.

  He caught her hand, squeezing it hard. “Don’t do that, Caitlin,” he said, his voice low. “Don’t feel sorry for me.”

  She only smiled, turning her hand in his to curve around his fingers.

  “That’s not what I want from you.”

  “That’s not what I feel for you,” she whispered.

  Caitlin’s eyes met his, held, and Simon felt his breath leave his chest.

  Then she bent forward, touching her lips to his cheek. Her mouth lingered a moment, then she raised her head, clutching his hand.

  “What am I going to do with you, Simon?” she asked.

  He didn’t answer, only held her gaze with his own, yearning and fighting at the same time. He felt a fear grip him at the feelings she evoked in him, the vulnerability she was creating. But he knew that for now, he needed her. “Just stay here, okay?”

  She nodded and gently touched his eyelids. “Go to sleep now,” she said, her voice quiet, weary.

  He kept his eyes closed and clutched her hand as he slowly slipped away into a dreamless sleep.

  * * *

  Caitlin yawned and stretched her arms in front of her.

  The light above Simon’s bed reflected off the ceiling, creating a soft glow, a soft intimacy.

  Beyond the drawn curtain, the bed was empty. Shane had left this morning.

  Déjà vu all over again, Caitlin thought remembering another evening, sitting at Simon’s bedside. Except this time she was dressed more for the part with sensible shoes and pants. This time she came out of choice.

  And this time she couldn’t keep her eyes off Simon’s face, couldn’t keep herself from touching him, connecting with him however she could. In sleep he looked defenseless, his features relaxed, the parenthetical frown between his eyebrows eased. His mouth lost its cynical twist, softened and curved into a gentle smile.

  Caitlin tried to reason out her attraction to him, hoping that by doing so she could deal with it and maybe, understand it.

  Simon wasn’t as handsome as Charles, she thought, her eyes traveling over his face. He didn’t have the classical profile or the even features. If she was to be honest, his nose was a little large, his eyes deep set, yet as she looked at him she felt a yearning, a need to touch him, to comfort him. Thinking of his eyes made her heart give a silly jump. Thinking of his kiss made her jittery.

  All the things Charles had never made her feel.

  Caitlin knew it wasn’t enough to build a relationship on. As Rachel had said, maybe
it was merely rebound. Maybe once she was in Portland she would discover that it was Charles she really wanted.

  If dating for the rest of your life is what you want, she thought wryly. And that was the harsh reality of going out with Charles. That and moving to L.A.

  What kind of relationship did we have? she wondered, leaning back in the chair. We dated for three years. I’m apart from him a couple of weeks and I easily forget him.

  She slouched down in the chair, opening the Bible. As she flipped through the pages she stopped to read a few Psalms, then turned to Isaiah, still puzzled as to why Simon had chosen this particular book. She turned to the passage she had read to him just a few moments ago remembering how it had settled him.

  He was seeking, she knew that. How close he was, well, that appeared to be another question. Simon didn’t answer them very readily.

  Help me to understand what I should be feeling, Lord, she prayed. I want to serve You, I want to do what is pleasing in Your sight. I want to be a faithful child of Yours and I know that any future partner must also be Your child. Otherwise it just doesn’t work.

  She knew what happened to relationships where one was a Christian and the other not. She had seen evidence of it over and over again. Even in her own family. She wasn’t going to make the same mistake her brother had.

  Simon moaned softly and laying the Bible down, Caitlin got up. The cloth she removed from his forehead was warm, attesting to the fever that racked him. She took it to the bathroom sink, soaked it in cold water and when she came back, he was awake. Barely.

  He smiled at her, his eyes blinking slowly. “Dear Caitlin,” he whispered as she laid the cool cloth carefully on his forehead again.

  He watched her as she carefully wiped away the excess water that ran in a rivulet down the side of his head. She tried to ignore him, tried not to answer the gentle summons of his gaze.

  But she couldn’t. As their eyes met, she felt her heart lift. Then he smiled once again, and drifted back off to sleep.