One Imperfect Christmas (5 page)

Jeff came around the desk, pushed some papers aside, and sat on the edge. He clasped his hands and leaned toward Natalie, giving her a look that raised the fine hairs on her arms. “I've got a proposition for you.”

“A proposition?” Her fingers curled around the padded armrests.

“I'd like you to go into business with me—a full partnership. I'd continue overseeing the business and technical side, and you'd take charge of the design aspects. Graphics, layout, all the artistic stuff.” He stood, one hand held out in appeal. “What do you say, Natalie? We could be quite a team.”

She pressed a palm to her stammering heart. “Wow! I wasn't expecting this.”

“I realize the timing may be bad, what with your mother and all—”

“No, actually, the timing is perfect. Work is the only thing saving my sanity. Except—” Her stomach clenched. Daniel was already furious with her for draining their savings account. “I have nothing to invest in the company. It's costing every spare cent we have to help with my mother's care.”

“Not an issue. We'll figure out a fair amount to deduct from your salary each month to buy you into the business.”

It sounded exciting and challenging—new motivation to drag herself out of bed every morning. Natalie rose and gripped Jeff's hand in a firm shake. “I'm in. Let's do it.”

“Don't do it, Mom.” Lissa fought the tremor in her voice as she scraped a plate and set it in the dishwasher. She saw little enough of her mother already. Now Mom would be spending hours and hours every day at Mr. Garner's print shop.

“I need to do this, honey.” Her mother whisked a kiss across the top of her head on her way to the fridge with a plastic container of leftovers. The tart aroma of sausage and kraut hung in the air. “You've got school expenses. Your dad's car is in the shop again. And Grandma's medical bills are piling up.”

Lissa marched to the table and wrapped her arms around her dad's neck. “Talk to her, Daddy. We need Mom at home.”

He cast her a tired glance and flicked to the next page in the sports section. “I've already tried, kiddo. Your mother's mind is made up.”

Sucking in short, quick gasps to keep the tears from spilling over, Lissa wrapped her arms around her chest and bolted from the kitchen. Her whole life felt like a roller coaster on rocket fuel, speeding out of control and plummeting toward certain disaster. Mom and Dad were hardly ever home at the same time. When they were, if they weren't arguing about something, they weren't talking at all. It would only get worse with Mom working full time.

4

W
ith Natalie's long hours at the print shop and his school and coaching duties, Daniel hardly ever saw his wife anymore. Not that it mattered. Ever since Valentine's Day, their marriage seemed to be on hold. Life for Daniel had become one long waiting game, waiting for Natalie to work through her guilt, waiting for any kind of change, positive or negative, in Belinda Morgan's condition. Only then could he hope for the return of any semblance of normalcy. It was May. How long was he supposed to wait?

A four-way stop loomed at the edge of his headlights. He applied the brake and glanced in both directions. With little traffic this time of morning, he hit the gas pedal, ready to zip through the intersection. Until the Bronco coughed, sputtered, and died.

“Come on, start, you blasted machine.” Daniel twisted the ignition key and jammed his foot on the accelerator, but the engine refused to turn over. Nerve endings screaming, he slammed his fists against the steering wheel and squeezed out a long, pained moan. So much for getting to school early to finish typing up the final exams for his history classes.

After a few calming breaths, he climbed out of the car and gazed up and down the empty stretch of highway between Fawn Ridge and Putnam. Not a headlight in sight. A chilly, pre-dawn breeze whipped at his open windbreaker. He reached into his pocket for his cell phone.

“Nat, it's me. The Bronco died again.”

The whoosh of the bathroom shower blunted her disgusted huff. “Where are you?”

“About five miles up the highway.” He squinted to read the road signs. “At Connealy Road.”

“Okay, I'll be there in fifteen.”

She arrived in twenty, give or take five minutes of chewing him out for making her late for her own job.

It didn't end at supper that evening—or the next. Between driving him the rest of the way to Putnam Middle School, arranging for a tow, and then haggling with the repair shop, she made sure he knew exactly how severely she'd been inconvenienced. Once they sent Lissa to bed Friday night, the argument continued behind their closed bedroom door.

Daniel flung his shirt into the laundry hamper. “I can't help it I don't get paid more. You're the one who won't leave Fawn Ridge. You're the one who won't let me apply at a higher-paying school.”

“You know what my family means to me. And it's not like I don't contribute. I've been making good money at Garner and Pearce.” Natalie yanked her gown over her head and plopped onto the mattress. “Besides, it's your stupid car that keeps breaking down.”

“It's not just my stupid car that's eating through our bank account.” He tore his belt from around his waist and slung it on the closet floor—right on top of a brand new pile of books and pamphlets about strokes and alternative therapies. Heat seared Daniel's chest. He understood how badly Natalie wanted her mother to get better, but some of the unconventional approaches she'd been reading about were downright ludicrous. Before he could stop himself, he scattered the books with a well-aimed kick. And nearly doubled over as white-hot pain sliced from his big toe straight to his knee.

Natalie glared from her side of the bed. “Feel better now?”

He seethed with embarrassed rage. Every breath scraped his lungs like sandpaper. Without a word, he scooped up his pillow and the chenille throw at the foot of the bed and marched upstairs to the guestroom.

After a couple of hours tossing and turning, he gave up on sleep and went down to the den to boot up the computer. By morning he'd updated his résumé, printed out thirty copies, and addressed envelopes to the highest-rated school districts in three states.

Only after stuffing the letters through the post office mail chute did he pause to consider the possible repercussions. What if he actually got an offer? Would Natalie come to her senses and let go of false hopes about her mother? Would he finally convince her to leave Fawn Ridge with him and start fresh? Or had he just signed his marital death warrant?

Natalie shuffled in from the garage and dropped her purse onto the nearest kitchen chair. Her keys slipped out of her hand and clattered to the floor. When she bent to pick them up a muscle in her neck cramped. She winced and pressed a hand to the sore spot.

“Hard day at work?” Daniel leaned in the doorway from the den. His tone was anything but sympathetic.

“As a matter of fact.” She straightened and glanced around the kitchen, her nose detecting the aromas of pepperoni, tomato sauce, and mozzarella. “Any pizza left?”

“After Lissa had her fill, I finished it off. It's so late, I figured you'd already eaten.” Daniel went to the refrigerator and poured himself a glass of milk.

“Thanks a lot.” Cactus nettles jabbed Natalie's spine. She shouldn't feel resentful—it was her choice to work late—but she did. She found a can of soup in the pantry and retrieved a saucepan from beneath the range. “Where's Lissa?”

“Spending the night with Jody.” Daniel set his milk glass on the counter and folded his arms. “You and I need some time by ourselves.”

Her head shot up at his words, and for a millisecond she felt a shiver of warm anticipation. Then she caught the look in his eyes—a look that held not the least hint of romance, not the least hint of love.

A sense of dread curled through her abdomen and quelled the last remnants of hunger. Exhaling slowly, she turned off the burner and stepped away from the stove. “You sound serious. What is it?”

“I can't go on like this, Natalie. The arguments, the blame— when you're here at all, that is.”

She hugged herself against a sudden chill. “What are you saying?”

“I'm saying if you can't be a wife to me—a mother to Lissa—then I want you to move out. We need you full time or not at all.”

“What?” Natalie spun around, one hand on her forehead.
Move out?
The stove burner still glowed orange beneath the edge of the saucepan. She thought about touching a finger to it. Maybe the shock would wake her from this living nightmare.

A trembling started deep in her core. She crossed to the table and sank into a chair. “You can't mean this, Daniel. Think about what you're saying.”

“I have thought about it. Plenty.” He stood over her with arms crossed and jaw clenched. “You spend every waking minute either at the print shop or working on your laptop at the dining room table. I go to bed alone; I get up alone. I take care of Lissa alone. It's not fair to me, and it's definitely not fair to our daughter.”

Her hands balled into fists. Her eyes burned. She could hardly get a full breath. “You don't understand—”

“That's the problem. I
don't
understand.” Daniel gripped the back of a chair. His head wagged like a pendulum. “You've stopped visiting your mother at the nursing home. You won't go with me to counseling. I don't know what else to do.”

He turned away, his next words barely audible even as they exploded on Natalie's eardrums. “This is Saturday. Next Thursday is the last day of school. I want you moved out before Lissa and I get home.”

“Daniel and I are separating.” Natalie rested her forehead on clasped hands and stared at a scratch on her parents' kitchen table—an old scratch, long and wavy and deeper on one end. She probably gouged it with a pencil while doing her homework a thousand years ago.