She’d sounded so bleak and hopeless. Peter sat on the sofa and stared at Marie’s dilapidated home. The outside she’d dolled up with flowers and such, but the inside and patio showed the true age and wear. Though the cops from her husband’s station obviously pitched in, the place needed renovation that would demand far more time, strength and money than Marie had.
The house was just like her—on the outside she seemed so composed and together, but inside she was only a prayer away from collapsing. How was he to reach out to her? After all she’d been through, he couldn’t fault her for her fears. He’d made her feel that she had to give up everything. He’d pressed her too far, too fast. It made his heart ache to see how frightened she was, and he felt all the worse for having compounded the problem.
All afternoon he’d had such a great time with Luke and Ricky. When they were together, lost in play, the ache went away. But Marie kept a sense of perspective. At some point in the future, Peter knew he’d count that quality as a virtue. Right now, it was a barrier.
He’d called home as Marie napped. Luke chattered cheerfully with his nanny for a moment. Peter knew Anne treated Luke well. Still, he doubted she ever chased Luke around with the vacuum hose. Marie Cadant would open her heart to Luke and enrich his life in countless ways. She’d kneel with him to say those sweet, sweet prayers and sew him homemade pajamas out of flannel any little boy would covet. Peter wanted her in their lives.
But she didn’t want him in hers.
He ached to help her. She wanted to live here for sentimental reasons, and he couldn’t fault her for that; but one look let him know the place needed a lot of work—expensive work. Marie would be too proud to accept his offer to fund those repairs. Against his protests, she’d doggedly insisted upon paying him for the groceries; she’d never consent to accepting anything from him.
He’d never been in a stickier situation. If he offered assistance, he’d be wielding the financial power she already feared he’d exercise. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t be caring for his son and providing to the best of his ability. If he used that argument, then she’d counter it with the fact that she wasn’t contributing to Luke’s upbringing.
Love didn’t have an economy. Who could assign a value to everything? You make pajamas for Luke, and I’ll…repair your car? Fix the plumbing? I’ll trade you—a weekend together with the boys at my place for…what? His head banged back on the wall. This wasn’t business. Dickering over everything like a cold, hard transaction simply wouldn’t work.
He shamelessly pumped Sandy for information that noon, and she’d been surprisingly forthcoming. Marie received Social Security benefits for Ricky and earned a pittance at the day care. Jack hadn’t been on the force long enough to earn retirement or a pension. According to Sandy, men at the police station were wonderful about helping out—they fixed the leaking roof that winter, patched together the plumbing, even brought a tree at Christmas.
Marie brought an armful of sheets, a blanket, a brightly colored quilt and a pillow. “I’m sorry about the couch.”
“It’ll be great, Marie.” He pressed on a cushion. “Comfy—but one blanket is plenty. Neat quilt. Did you make it?”
“Long ago. I’m starting to think even if this situation weren’t so weird, you’d still ask half a million questions.”
His mouth bowed upward into a sheepish smile. “Curiosity is one of my greatest failings. I drove my parents nuts when I was a kid because I always asked so many.”
“Ricky’s favorite word is why. Now I know who to blame.”
“Speaking of the rascal, I can hear him.” Peter grinned at the mumbled stream of gibberish coming from the boy’s room.
“He talks in his sleep.” Marie looked at him, silently inviting him to tell her about Luke.
He picked up on the cue and hastily provided, “Luke is a quiet sleeper. Real quiet. I don’t think he’s ever talked at all. Barely even tosses or turns.”
“Ricky’s worse than a top. He whirls and turns. About once a week, he gets tangled into the blankets like a little burrito and wakes up crying because he’s stuck.”
“So I’ll be sure the boys don’t share a double bed when we go on vacations. Luke’ll be so black and blue he won’t—” He stopped midsentence. “I did it again, didn’t I?”
“We never said anything about vacations.”
“No, we didn’t. I’m full of ideas. Why don’t Luke and I tag along to Yosemite? It would be fun. It’ll also be safer with two adults to keep an eye on the boys.” He nodded definitively. “When they turn six—”
“Your enthusiasm is nice, Peter, but it may be premature, if you think about it. We’re not out of the woods.” She sighed. “You and I don’t exactly mesh perfectly, and the boys might not become close friends. At best, the weekend deal will only work for a few years. After that, school, ball teams and friendships will complicate it.”
“You’re right. We need to give it time. Planning that far ahead is foolish.”
“Oh, no! Not foolish—every parent has dreams for his child. It’s just that we aren’t…like everyone else.” Her gaze skittered to the side as she mumbled, “This is a unique situation. I think we’d better take things a week at a time.”
“Okay. For now, you’re tired. Go on to bed.”
“Good night.”
He watched her pad down the hall and felt a wave of male admiration. She smelled vaguely flowery, and he couldn’t help appreciating the gentle sway of her hips.
A little later, he heard Marie moving about in the bedroom. The chain on the trapeze over Sandy’s bed rattled as the women exchanged a few sentences. Soon, things went quiet.
Peter lay in the dark and stared at the ceiling. Lord, I don’t understand any of this. I don’t know why You allowed this to happen. Ricky is such a miracle. Thank You for bringing him into my life. But Father, I already love him. You know how fiercely I already feel about him. Even Solomon wouldn’t have the wisdom to solve this. Help me. Help us. Show us Your plan.
He turned his head to the side. The gold-edged pages of Marie’s Bible gleamed dully in the dim room. He’d been in such a hurry to pack and come down, he’d left his own Bible on his nightstand. He didn’t mean to make any noise, but as soon as he stood up and a floorboard made a faint protest, she rocketed out of her room.
“It’s me, Marie. I just got up to borrow your Bible.”
“Oh.”
“I didn’t mean to alarm you.”
Marie made no reply. She took a glass from the cabinet and dumped a few ice cubes into it before filling it at the tap. “Would you like some water?”
“Sure. Thanks.” He padded into the kitchen.
Taking care not to brush his fingers, she passed a glass to him and took a jerky sip from her own. “If you’re hungry, there are apples in the refrigerator or cookies.”
“No, thanks.”
“Sleep well.” She set down her glass, turned and left.
Peter sipped the water and listened. Her bedsprings didn’t make a sound. She was out of sight, but not in bed. The woman didn’t trust him one bit. Instead of reading the Word, he decided he’d go lie down and pray. Maybe Marie would relax once she decided he’d settled down for the night. He set the empty glass in the sink, went back to the couch and peeped at her as she crept past and into Ricky’s room. When she didn’t come back out, he finally went to the door.
She’d curled up on the floor at the bedside. The colorful rag rug gave the room a cheerful air, but it hadn’t been comfortable at all as they knelt on it for bedtime prayers. Lying on it had to be murder.
“Marie, this isn’t necessary.”
She sat cross-legged and pushed her hair off of her face.
Peter took his wallet out of his pants and placed it on Ricky’s dresser. He added the keys to the rental car. “I can’t go anywhere without ID or money. See? I’m not going anywhere. I’m certainly not trying to swipe Ricky from you—yes, Sandy told me you misinterpreted what I said last night. I blew it, and I understand why you’re nervous. At least you can see I’ve brought Luke along. That gesture should restore your peace of mind.”
She let out a mirthless laugh. “I don’t remember what that is.”
He cringed. “You need to sleep. Can Ricky sleep in your bed with you? I’ll carry him.”
Marie nodded and gracefully rose from the floor. Peter scooped Ricky from the bed. He padded after her until she stopped on the far side of the master bedroom. Sandy was asleep, so neither of them spoke. He laid down his son, lovingly ruffled the carroty curls on the pillow and turned toward Marie. Resting his hands on her shoulders, he leaned close. He didn’t hear her gasp, but he felt it beneath his hands.
“I’m sorry I disturbed your sleep, Marie.” He went back to the couch and knew he was in big trouble. He’d almost kissed her.