One Imperfect Christmas (35 page)

It was more than her mother's garbled words she couldn't make sense of. She no longer understood anything. All her restored hopes, and now this?

God, how could you!

Natalie's father knelt at the bedside, pressing his wife's face between his hands, drawing her attention to him. “We're listening, darling. Take your time.”

Natalie watched through the mist of her tears as a strange and beautiful clarity came over Mom's face. With an effort drawn from her deepest being, she spoke: “T … tell Nnnatalie … nnnnot her fault … ffforgive … lllearn … to love.”

Her clear, determined gaze fixed on Natalie. She drew in several gasping breaths, and her eyes fell shut.

Daniel paced the hallway between Belinda's open bedroom door and the kitchen. With each trip, he glanced out the kitchen window in hopes of seeing Hart's pickup drive up. Pausing at the bedroom door, he saw his mother-in-law's frail body writhe in a series of raking coughs. She was already so weak. How would she ever survive this new assault?

A long, aching sigh scraped through his chest. He longed to help somehow, but Natalie had made it abundantly clear that she found his presence more an intrusion than a comfort. No reason to expect today to be any different, especially after the argument they'd just been having.

And Lissa. What could he possibly say to reassure his daughter, after all her hoping and praying and childlike tenacity?

His moment of anguish was interrupted by the rumble of tires on gravel. Tearing his gaze away from his sobbing wife, Daniel strode to the kitchen to meet his brother-in-law.

Hart burst through the door, eyes wide with panic. “Mom—how is she?”

Daniel laid a firm hand on Hart's arm, halting his headlong dash toward the hallway. “It doesn't look good. I'm sorry.”

Shoulders sagging, Hart let his head drop forward as he expelled a shuddering breath. He rested one hand on the back of a chair and took a moment to compose himself. “Are Dad and Nat with her?” At Daniel's nod, he hurried from the kitchen.

Daniel hated feeling so helpless, so useless, so … in the way. He collapsed into the nearest chair and pressed his palms against his eyes. Tears would have been a welcome relief, no matter if some of his coaching colleagues might think them weak and unmanly, but at this moment Daniel felt only chilling numbness.

“Daddy?”

Lissa's shaky voice and tentative touch on his arm caught him by surprise. When he looked up into his daughter's tear-streaked face, his heart wrenched. He opened his arms to her and she collapsed onto his lap, burying her damp cheek against his neck.

“It's okay, sweetie.” He tenderly stroked her hair.

“Why, Daddy? Why'd Grandma have to get sick like this? She's supposed to get better. I've prayed and prayed for her to get better.”

“We all have, honey.”

What was he supposed to say? That even though Grandma was dying, she'd be going to a better place? That time heals all sorrows? Platitudes never brought the comfort they were intended for. And they certainly wouldn't dry a little girl's tears. For now, holding her would have to suffice.

Trembling, Lissa lifted her head. “Oh, Daddy,” she said, tears falling afresh, “I've messed things up so bad.”

He crooked a finger under her chin, not sure what to make of this unexpected confession. “Lissa, what are you talking about?”

“It's so bad, I can't even tell you. You'll hate me.” She buried her face deeper into the crook of his neck.

More confused than ever, Daniel kissed the top of his daughter's head. “I have no idea what this is all about, but I guarantee you, nothing could ever make me hate you, sweetheart. Come on, you can talk to me.”

Her sobs grew louder, the wetness soaking through his shirt. He stretched one arm across the table to grab a napkin from the ceramic dispenser. Coaxing her to sit up and blow her nose, he willed himself to remain silent and wait, even as his mind raced in search of possible explanations. He couldn't for the life of him imagine what Lissa would have to feel guilty about, least of all concerning her grandmother. More than any of the rest of them, she had faithfully visited her grandmother at the convalescent home, talked to her as if she understood every word, prayed every night for her recovery.

Lissa wiped at the tears still streaming down her cheeks. “Everything I did—it was all for you and Mom. And now Grandma could die, and I'm so scared for her, and I'd miss her so much, but … ”

She clenched her fist around the soggy napkin. “But what scares me even more is that if Grandma dies now, Mom will never forgive herself, and she'll go back to working even harder, and she'll never make up with you, and you guys will get divorced for sure, and—”

“Hold on, hold on.” Daniel pressed his daughter's face between his palms and tried to keep his voice level. “Lissa, honey, what exactly did you do?”

She closed her eyes for a moment and sucked in a quivering gulp of air. The revelation that followed left Daniel staring open-mouthed at his shamefaced child. Sinking deeper into the hard wooden chair, he felt the spindle-back press into his spine as Lissa told him how she'd schemed with Deannie.

“I thought if Mom didn't give all her time to working, she'd start thinking about how much she missed us and would want to make up with you. But I also wanted to help Grandma. I didn't know if she really could get better, but then after I brought Grandma the paint set, Mom seemed to think so, too, and if Grandma did get well, it would be even better because then Mom wouldn't have any reason to feel guilty anymore, and then you two could get back together and … and then we could be a family again.”

She sighed as she ran out of steam. Her blue eyes shone. “But if Grandma doesn't get better … oh, Daddy, what are we going to do?”

Daniel slowly shook his head, still trying to comprehend what he'd just heard. “First of all,” he began, “I want you to understand that whatever you've done, you are absolutely not responsible for whether Mom and I get back together.” He tugged on a lock of her hair. “The problem is, Liss, no matter how good your intentions are, manipulating other people's lives and emotions is never the answer. It only makes things even harder to unravel in the end.”

He cringed inwardly.
Look who's talking, fella.
He'd sure done his share of manipulating this past year. Maybe a good chunk of it was the passive-aggressive kind, but he couldn't deny the many ways he'd tried to manipulate Natalie into seeing things his way.

“But can you? Unravel things, I mean?” The plaintive note in her voice tore at his heart.

“We can sure try. But it's going to take some time. We all have a lot of healing to do.” Again, he extended his arms and enfolded his daughter in his embrace. “And eventually you're going to have to tell your mother everything you've just told me.”

“I know,” she said into his tear-soaked collar.

He held her close, half listening to the muted sounds coming from down the hall and wishing he could hold and comfort Natalie like this. Her hopes for a “perfect Christmas"—maybe even her hopes of ever forgiving herself—could vanish forever if Belinda didn't pull through this crisis. He hated to admit how right Lissa might be, that any chance he and Natalie had of getting back together would die as well.

Lissa gulped and peered up at him. “What happens now? Will they take Grandma back to the hospital?”

“I'm not sure. Probably they'll try to take care of her here.” Hard to explain to a scared little girl that in a case like Belinda's, extreme lifesaving measures usually weren't taken. His thoughts ventured again to Natalie and what this must be doing to her. He tried to think of ways he might help, errands or phone calls he could handle for the family.

On the other hand, considering Natalie's current state of mind, she'd probably see anything he did as interfering.
Tell it
like it is, Pearce. Manipulating.
Yeah. Maybe he'd best stay out of the way for now.

He worried about Lissa too—the shock of witnessing her grandmother in such distress, coupled with remorse over the problems her scheming had caused. “Your mom and Granddad and Uncle Hart will be very preoccupied today,” he began carefully. “It might be a good idea if you and I went home to the apartment for a while. We can check later—”

From behind him he heard a startled intake of breath, then Natalie's bruised retort. “You're not taking Lissa anywhere. I want her here with me, with my family.”

Daniel turned and faced his wife, realizing he'd once again said the wrong thing. “I just thought—”

“You just thought you'd deprive me of one more person I love. No. Go if you want to, but Lissa stays. I need her.” Her tone vibrated with desperation.

“Natalie, please.” He lowered his voice. “You don't realize the effect all this is having on our daughter.”

Hart appeared in the doorway beside Natalie. “Listen, Daniel, we're all pretty rattled about Mom. And Lissa's not a little kid anymore. If Natalie wants her here, let her stay.”

“I'm only trying to think about what's best for everyone.” Frustration burned behind his eyes. He turned to his daughter. “Liss, it's up to you.”

Avoiding eye contact, she whispered, “I'll … I'll be okay, Dad. I can handle it.”

Outnumbered, he raised his hands in surrender. “Fine. I'll get out of your way. But please let me know if there's anything I can do.”

“Thanks.” Hart placed a protective arm around Natalie's shoulder. “I know you meant well, Dan. We'll keep you posted about Mom.”

Daniel lifted his suede jacket from the hook by the door. Shrugging it on, he walked over to Lissa and gave her a hug. “Hang in there, kiddo. If you need anything, call me. And remember what we talked about.”

“I know,” she answered shakily.

His heart ripping in two, he left.

Christmas morning dawned with blazing glory, a golden sunrise more fitting for Easter Sunday than for the nativity. Shafts of sunlight sliced through the east windows of the farmhouse, a jarring, glaring light that seemed to mock Natalie's despair. Her mother, now unaware of her surroundings, had barely survived two grueling days and nights of coughing spasms. With each passing hour she grew more frail.

Natalie sat alone in the living room, a chair pulled close to the library table where the nativity scene stood in silent tableau. She'd spent the rest of Sunday and most of Christmas Eve at her mother's bedside, pleading with God for a miracle and yet increasingly convinced it would never come. She'd tried to catch an hour or two of sleep last night, but her tormented thoughts wouldn't subside. Giving up, she'd wandered the dark house until she found herself in the living room. She settled into the overstuffed chair and kept vigil there through the hushed early-morning hours, staring into the darkness, wondering, doubting, remembering.