Gail Martin - Finding Christmas

He needed to guard his heart and his good sense. She’d always been Greg’s wife, and she still was. He’d cared so deeply for her and Mandy, just as he’d loved his friend, Greg, but Joanne had always held a special place. Tonight his feelings were growing like vines of morning glories entwining through the secret places in his heart.

“I’d better go,” he said, pushing his chair back with such speed that he surprised himself.

“Did I say something?” Joanne looked startled by his abruptness.

“No. I have a busy day tomorrow and it’s getting late.”

He rose, and she stood, too, gathering their cups and placing them in the sink.

Joanne came around to his side of the table and touched his arm. “Thanks for being a good friend, Benjamin. I’m so happy you’re home.”

“Me, too,” he said, giving her a quick embrace. “Now, don’t worry about the dreams.”

“It’s not just dreams. I hear it when I’m awake.”

He forced himself to let her go. “After tomorrow, it’ll pass. The anniversary will be over, and then you’ll move ahead again.”

“I hope so,” she said, but a look on her face said she didn’t believe it.

As he stepped outside, her voice followed him through the doorway.

“It means something, Benjamin. I feel it in my heart.”

An uneasy sensation crept over him as he descended the porch steps, but he covered his concern and waved.

Joanne waved back and then closed the door.

Before Benjamin slipped into his car, the wind caught his jacket, and a chill gripped him—the wind, or was it apprehension?

It means something. The words echoed in his mind.

Headlights glinted off the snow, and Benjamin squinted to shield his eyes from the glare. He had a headache. His feelings had knotted throughout the evening like a noose. Joanne seemed troubled. He recalled she’d seen a therapist after the accident, and maybe it was time for her to have a therapy booster shot.

Yet that wasn’t all that concerned him. Joanne had grown even more beautiful since he’d seen her at the funeral. Maturity and grief had added lines to her face, making her more real, more vulnerable, and the look touched him deeply.

As they’d talked this evening, his mind had journeyed back to that horrible night when Joanne called him. He had barely grasped what she’d told him through her sobs. Greg and Mandy drowned. No, he’d thought. The police have to be wrong. They made a mistake, he’d told himself over and over as he raced to her house through snowfall so similar to tonight’s.

But they hadn’t been wrong. The next morning Greg’s body had been found in icy Lake St. Clair, his still belted into his car. And Mandy…the divers never found her.

Pain knifed Benjamin’s heart at the thought. The beautiful child gone, her car seat still attached to the back seat, the belt unbuckled…The police said she must have disappeared through a partially opened window. The horror of it washed over him now, as icy as Lake St. Clair must have been. If he still felt the powerful emotion of Mandy’s death, he couldn’t imagine what Joanne must feel.

He drew in a ragged breath and tried to push the vision of that night from his mind. His headache thumped in his temples, and he pushed his fingers against one side to ease the ache.

Everything had seemed confused tonight. For years, he’d had strong feelings for Joanne, but he’d controlled them. She was his good friend’s wife—charming, amiable and lovely. Her mothering skills had amazed him. When Mandy was born, it seemed as though God had created Joanne for motherhood.

Though Greg had worked long hours, Joanne had never complained. She had done all she could to support his career and still have interests of her own. She’d been active at church and had participated in community drives and so many activities, Benjamin was amazed. He had always admired her, but then one day, he realized that Joanne also had begun to fill his dreams.

He felt ashamed when he finally admitted to himself that he was attracted to his best friend’s wife. The emotions had sneaked up on him. He’d thought his admiration was friendship, but it had become far more than that. He’d prayed, asking God to help him find a solution. Benjamin couldn’t stop being Greg’s friend without an explanation, and he couldn’t avoid Joanne if he was Greg’s friend.

The answer came at the law firm with the out-of-state project. He’d jumped at it. After Greg’s death, he left his heart in Detroit and moved to Seattle, built a life there. Women came and went, but no one captured his heart. He left the problem in God’s hands—he hadn’t known what else to do.

Now, project completed, he was back home where he belonged, and the same problem faced him. How could he be Joanne’s friend when he wanted so much more?

Donna Angelo stood inside the bedroom door and looked at her stepdaughter nestled in bed. Connie’s deep breathing assured Donna she was asleep. Her heart eased at the sight of the child so warm and cozy. Donna hadn’t felt warm and cozy for a long time.

She stepped into the hallway and closed Connie’s bedroom door. If her husband came home tonight with too much to drink and more ranting, she hoped Connie wouldn’t hear the noise. The child needed to sleep in peace—something rare for their household.

No matter how many times Donna waded through the details, she could never figure out when it had happened. She guessed their problems had begun slowly and built into a frightening undertone in their relationship.

Donna’s hands trembled as she headed down the long hallway to the kitchen. She wanted to have Carl’s plate ready when he arrived, hoped that the scent of food would make him less irritable. She rubbed her upper arm, feeling the tenderness resulting from last night’s fiasco.

Most every evening, Carl arrived home late. Sometimes he smelled of liquor, but she’d learned not to say anything. He always insisted his business had kept him out late. She never understood why the owner of a trucking company didn’t have someone who worked the night shift.

Then, when she caught sight of his duffel bag filled with hundred-dollar bills, she’d begun to wonder if the business fronted something illegal—but Donna knew better than to ask questions.

Yet tonight she had questions, not about his business, but about a restraining order she’d found in an old metal box in a basement storage closet. Why had his first wife obtained an order to keep him away? Had he knocked her around, too? Finally she decided the order had to mean Carl and his wife had separated. Yet Donna knew that Carl had been a widower. Nothing made sense. She wasn’t sure she could hold back her curiosity—although if she had any brains, she would.

The garage door rumbled open, and Donna hurried to the refrigerator. Before the door had opened, she’d popped Carl’s meal into the microwave. She hoped he would be in one of his rare good moods tonight.

When the back door opened, she glanced toward the sound.

Carl lumbered inside and tossed his keys on the counter by the door. “What you gawkin’ at?” he asked.

“Nothing.” She rubbed the bruise on her arm and studied his expression. Then she turned away to pull his salad from the refrigerator.

What had happened to the man she’d met? Carl—a widower with a small child—had swept her off her feet. Her heart had gone out to the little girl. Connie had seemed so timid, and Donna had realized the loss of a mother must have been devastating for the child.

When they’d met, Carl had shown Donna a good time. Though unpolished in many ways, he knew about fine restaurants and bought her expensive gifts, and before she knew it, he’d asked her to marry him. The courtship had been too short, Donna realized now.