Cathy Hake - Mixed Blessings

Nervously crushing the dishcloth into a ball, she blurted out, “I want the nightmares to stop!”

Peter took the dishcloth from her and set it off to the side. He slid his hand over hers. “Tired of it all?”

She bit her lip and nodded. Blinking madly, she pleaded, “Don’t get me started crying. I can’t do that.”

“But, Marie, in less than two years you’ve suffered not one, but three staggering blows. Think about it. You’ve lost your husband, your sister got injured and became totally dependent on you and you’ve discovered your son isn’t yours. How are you supposed to cope? I think you’re more than entitled to sob your guts out.”

She averted her face. “It upsets Ricky and Sandy too much,” she whispered thickly. “I need to be strong for them.”

Peter gently tilted her face and forced her to look back at him. In a low, insistent tone, he asked, “But, Marie, who’s strong for you?”

The obnoxiously loud buzzer on the dryer sounded. Startled, Marie jumped. “I have to get that.”

His hands immediately went to her waist. He gently squeezed, then pulled her to the edge of the counter and lifted her down. She shivered from the contact—or was it from the emotions shimmering just below the surface that he’d almost bared? He didn’t know. Clearly, Marie was a woman of great depth, but she guarded her heart just as closely as she guarded her child.

“You do too much,” Peter decided aloud a few minutes later as he watched her sit on the couch and fold clothes. The vacuum cleaner still rested in the corner, and a grocery list lay beneath a toy car on the coffee table.

“I do what every other mother does. I’m not complaining.”

His hands itched to pull away the laundry basket and make her stop taming the jumbled clothes into neatly folded squares. The intense concentration she aimed at the simple task seemed ridiculous—but then he realized she was trying to get lost in the rhythm of a familiar task so her life wouldn’t feel so chaotic.

“How can I get you to reconsider, Marie? I really want you to move in with Luke and me.”

The distinctive fragrance of fabric softener drifted in the room as Marie folded a pair of Ricky’s pants with jerky motions. They look just the same as the pairs in Luke’s drawers—same pint size, same style, same fold. That odd fact strengthened his resolve.

“I’ll do whatever it takes to make this work, Marie.”

“There’s nothing you can do. I’m not about to change my mind.” The next few garments were disciplined into perfection under her moves.

“I’m not trying to put you on the defensive, Marie. It’s the best option available, especially since we live several hours apart with the wrong biological kids.”

“Give me other possibilities, Peter.”

He sat opposite her and let out a heavy sigh. “We can trade. We each keep the child we’ve been rearing during the week, then switch them on the weekend.”

“That’s pretty disruptive. As soon as they start school and ball teams that won’t work.”

Peter reached up and rubbed the awful knot of tension at his nape. “Let’s try to limit our plans to the present.”

She nodded and smoothed a collar on a tiny, golden yellow rugby shirt.

“I could have them both one weekend, then you could have them the next.”

“I don’t think that’s workable—at least not now.” She tilted her head to the side a bit and shot him a rueful look. “Luke is too shy, and Ricky hasn’t ever been away from me.”

“All of that is probably valid, but I like the idea of them being together. Right now, you and I are feeling the impact of this whole mess, but in later years, they will. I want them to have each other. No one else could possibly understand how this upheaval will affect them.”

Marie’s fingers curled into the little shirt, and she unconsciously brought it up and crushed it to her heart. She looked at him, her eyes pleading. “I could keep both boys down here during the week, then bring them up for the weekends—”

“No!” Peter scowled. “I’m not one of those cardboard fathers. I take my place in my son’s life—in my sons’ lives—seriously. That plan makes it impossible for me to see my sons each day!”

Marie bit her lip. Blinking furiously, she set the shirt aside. Her hands shook terribly and tears shimmered in her eyes. Finally she whispered unsteadily, “No matter what we do, we’re not going to be able to see both of them on a daily basis.”

“If it upsets you so much, Marie, why don’t you accept my offer?”

Raw pain ravaged her features, twisted her mouth and leeched the color from her cheeks. In a low, pained rasp, she asked, “How can I? I don’t know you at all. We’re total strangers.”

“We’re both motivated. We could make it work.”

She shook her head. “You’ve been masterful at this, Peter. I can see why you’re so successful. You’ve enticed me with everything I could want. The temptation is incredible—to have both boys all of the time, to be able to help Sandy more. You offered me everything my heart longs for—but it goes against my soul.”

Peter winced. She certainly knew how to hit the bull’s-eye. He tried to hide his feelings by momentarily cranking his head to the side. He drew in a steadying breath, then turned back. “You’re mobile. I’m not. I’m locked into a five-year contract with the hospital.”

“Sandy’s doctors and rehab experts are down here. She’s made such good progress.”

“I guarantee you the rehab department at my place is top-notch. If you came up there, Sandy would get excellent attention, and I’ll put in whatever equipment she needs or adapt her room so she’ll be comfortable.”

Marie shook her head. “It’s not just a matter of physical care. Tomorrow she’s supposed to go out on her first date since the accident. At some point in the fairly near future, she’ll move into a living center, but until then, I can’t abandon her, and I can’t take her away from here.” She pulled another of Ricky’s little shirts from the basket and shook it out, almost as if the action were sketching an exclamation point to the end of her assertion.

Peter groaned, “Solomon had it easy. Those two women only brought one kid to him.”

“He had God’s blessing and wisdom, too,” Marie tacked on.

“We’re both believers. God can and will grant us wisdom if we ask.”

The little shirt rumpled into a messy knot in Marie’s hands. “I’ve been praying for His wisdom and will, but I still don’t have any sense of direction. I don’t want you to put pressure on me to act in haste.”

“I’ll try my best. Look—you’re understandably distraught, but I want you to know it’s not my intent to make things harder on you.”

“You just want to make them easier on yourself—even though it costs me everything.”

“But you’ll gain seeing Luke every day.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” she cried. “But I refuse to be reliant on your whims and goodwill. I can’t leave this house. Jack bought it for me. He was fixing it up on his days off. It’s all I have left.”

“Why don’t you look at me?” He didn’t understand her aversion to him. It stung.

Swallowing hard, as if trying to dislodge the huge ball in her throat, Marie confessed, “You look too much like Ricky. I love his dear little face, and when I see you…” She shrugged.

“It’s confusing,” he finished softly. He gently set the shirt aside and folded her hand between both of his. “You look so much like Luke, it takes my breath away. Because of it, I feel as if I already know more about you than two short meetings would yield. My impulses to protect, keep and touch you probably come from that.”