Gail Gaymer Martin - The Christmas Kite

No fist, no anger, no cursing could bring Robbie or Lila back.

The following day, Meara drove Mac past the apartment listed in the newspaper. The location was near town, but the building needed paint and the grounds needed trimming. Was the inside as badly in need of care? She hesitated. Saying nothing to her son, she continued down the road. Maybe she’d check the newspaper one more time for another option before looking at this apartment.

In town, Meara found parking and headed for the gift shop. Two kites seemed safer than one, after their last fiasco, and she let Mac select the ones he wanted. When she paid and stepped outside, the bakery lured her again, and she headed that way with the wavering promise she would only buy bread.

Passing the kite shop, the Help Wanted sign rose to meet her. She paused. Closing her eyes, she asked God for a hint of what to do. When she opened them again, the elderly gentleman smiled through the store window and waved them in. Before moving she looked heavenward. Was this God’s doing, or just an older man’s friendly bidding?

She pulled open the door, and Mac stepped in ahead of her.

“Good morning,” Otis said. “I see you got a couple more kites today. No luck with the last one?”

Meara chuckled. “‘No experience’ is the best way of putting it. I should have asked for a hint about launching one of these things. I’m grateful it was the two-dollar-and-fifty-cent version and not one of these.”

Otis nodded. “Yep, you don’t wanna spend your money on one of these gems unless you know what you’re doin’. Now, that’s for sure.”

Otis bent down and gave Mac a hearty smile. “How’s things goin’, sonny?”

“Good. I like…kites. They’re high in the sky.”

“They sure are.” He patted Mac’s head as the child’s focus swept the kite-filled ceiling. “You want to look at all the kites, boy? You can wander around if you want.”

Mac looked at Meara, who gave an agreeable nod. “But not too long,” she added. “And don’t get into anything.”

He wandered away, his mouth gaping at the colorful creations.

“That’s a nice boy you got there.”

“Thank you.” Flustered, she wondered if the comment was meant to open the door to questions about Mac.

“I had a cousin with a Down syndrome boy. He threw temper tantrums till you could hardly bear it. Your son seems easier goin’.”

Her question had been answered. “Mac’s no problem. He frightens easily. You know—dogs, birds, anything that comes up on him too quickly. But he’s a good boy.”

“You’re a visitor in town. Tourist, I suppose.”

Meara glanced down the aisle, checking on Mac. He stood near the back of the shop, staring at the kite they’d watched sailing over the lake. “No, we’re staying in a cabin up the road. I’m looking for a place to rent for a while.”

“You and the boy are alone?”

Her stomach jolted. She’d not been asked the question before and the reality shivered through her. “Yes, my husband died a few months ago. We lived with my in-laws and…” She ran her fingers through her hair. “I guess you didn’t ask for my life story.” She managed a smile. “We need a furnished place. Do you know of any?”

He hesitated, pinching his lower lip between his thumb and finger. “So happens, there’s an apartment over this shop. Not too big. Couple of bedrooms and bath.”

“We don’t need anything fancy for now. The cabin only has one bedroom, so most anything would be a mansion to us.”

Dunstan’s family home was a mansion. The thought slammed into the pit of her stomach. Never again would she want to live in a huge estate like his, especially not as a prisoner. That’s how she’d felt. When she focused on the kite shop proprietor, he was studying her.

“I even think the place up there has a few pieces of furniture,” he said, pointing his thumb toward the ceiling. “But it hasn’t been rented out since I can remember. Might be a mess now, for all I know.”

“I’d like to take a look. Could I contact the owner?”

“Let me talk to Mr. Baird. I’m not sure he’s even interested in using it as a rental. Right now, this whole strip of shops is in a bit of trouble…. But then, you don’t need to hear about that.”

He gave her a friendly smile, just as she had given him. The “bit of trouble” phrase caught her curiosity.

“Drop back tomorrow,” Otis said, “and I’ll let you know what he says.”

“Thanks. I’d really appreciate that.”

Mac wandered back down the aisle, and she called to him. His grin stretched across his rosy cheeks. She held out her hand, and he rushed to her side. After thanking the man again, she and Mac left the shop, her spirit lifting with hope.

Jordan hung the last pieces of cotton to dry. For the past two days he’d worked with batik wax-painting to design patterns on the cloth for an Edo warrior kite. Though beautiful, the design work was arduous, and the buyer would pay dearly for the creation.

Dooley nuzzled his nose against Jordan’s leg, then rushed toward the door. With the family down the beach, Jordan hated to give the dog free rein. Rather than taking a chance, he tucked the leash in his pocket, opened the door and stepped outside, needing some fresh air himself. Dooley darted toward the lake. Jordan scanned the water’s surface for any poor, unsuspecting ducks that might be lolling on the waves, but none was in sight.

At the water’s edge, Jordan turned left, then halted. Maybe today, for a change, he’d walk east along the beach.

Who are you kidding?

He shook his head. He knew full well why he was headed that way. Dooley sped off ahead, and he hurried behind the dog, glancing, now and again, into the woods, for the dilapidated cabins.

He slowed his gait as they reached what he suspected was the area. A child’s laugh drifted from the trees, and Jordan looked through the foliage. Mac waved and lurched down the inclined path toward him.

“Good morning,” Jordan said as the boy reached his side.

Mac’s gaze drifted from his to Dooley’s, and he teetered backward, a look of fright rushing to his face.

“It’s okay, Mac. Dooley won’t hurt you. Only thing he might do is knock you down trying to give you a big wet kiss.” He caught the dog’s collar, keeping him close to his side.

“Dooley,” Mac repeated, maintaining his distance.

The dog looked at the boy, his tongue hanging from his mouth in a rapid pant. Jordan tightened his hold, monitoring Dooley’s movement as the dog strained toward the child.

With caution, Mac garnered courage and stepped toward the dog, his hand outstretched. Dooley shot his tongue forward, dragging a slobbery kiss across Mac’s fingers.

The boy’s eyes widened, and Jordan expected him to cry out, but instead he laughed and leaned forward. Dooley swiped his tongue along the child’s cheek.

“A big wet kiss,” Mac said, his eyes twinkling.

Jordan looked back toward the foliage. Would the woman let him play outside without keeping an eye on him? He saw nothing near the cabin. “Where’s your mom?”

“Making a kite. Come and see.” He grasped Jordan’s hand and pulled him toward the grassy path.

“And your father? Where’s your dad?”

Mac clung to his fingers with one hand while his free hand pointed skyward. “Up,” Max answered. “In heaven. Two fathers…in heaven.”

Two fathers? His mind spun, wondering what kind of life this young boy must have experienced. “Two?”

Mac gave an assuring nod. “Come.” He beckoned with his free hand. “See my kite.” He tugged at Jordan’s arm, and, reluctant to hurt the boy’s feelings, Jordan followed.