One Special Christmas & Home for the Holidays (6 page)

All Kate knew was that suddenly she found herself laughing—and relaxing. It took her by surprise, but it also felt good. So good, in fact, that for a moment it made her eyes sting as she recalled the fun and laughter that had once been part of her normal, everyday existence. Nothing had been “normal” in her life for years, but tonight reminded her of what she had once had—and so often had taken for granted. This brief reprieve from the deep-seated sadness that had shrouded her existence for so long was like a life vest thrown to one adrift, and she clung to it greedily. Even if it only lasted tonight, she thought, it gave her a precious moment in the sunlight after years of darkness.

As Kate won her fourth round of lawn darts, Frank held up his hands in defeat. “That's it. I give up. I'm not a glutton for punishment. I duly declare Kate the Queen of Lawn Darts. And now I think it's time to move on to something more important. Let's eat.”

Mary poked him in the ribs good-naturedly. “Is that all you ever think about? Food?”

He glanced down at her five-months-pregnant girth and grinned. “Obviously not.”

She blushed and rolled her eyes. “I'm not going to touch that one with a ten-foot pole,” she declared. “Let's eat.”

“Isn't that what I just said?” he teased.

Kate watched their affectionate interplay with both amusement and envy. She and Jack had once shared that kind of closeness, where a look spoke volumes and a
simple touch could unite two hearts. Even after all these years, whenever she saw a couple communicating in that special nonverbal way reserved for those deeply in love, her heart ached with the realization that for her those golden days were gone forever.

Eric saw the sudden melancholy sweep over Kate's face, and he frowned. He'd been keenly attuned to the nuances in her mood all evening, watching with pleasure as her initial uncertainty and subdued demeanor gave way to tentative smiles and then relaxed interaction. Eric was taken aback the first time he heard her musical laugh, then entranced by it. He was captivated when her eyes occasionally sparkled with delight. And he was charmed by her unaffected beauty and unconscious grace. It had been an incredible transformation—and he intended to do everything he could to sustain it.

“Did I hear someone say food?” he asked, coming up quickly behind her.

Mary gave him a rueful grin. “You men are all alike.”

“Well, I certainly hope so,” her husband countered with a wink. “Come on, we need to lead off or no one will eat.” He took her arm and led her purposefully toward the buffet table.

Eric nodded toward the food line. “Shall we?”

Kate stepped forward, and he dropped his hand lightly to her waist, guiding her toward the serving table with a slight pressure in the small of her back. His touch startled her at first. She knew it was an impersonal gesture, born more of good manners than attraction, yet it sent an odd tingle racing along her spine. It had been a long time since she'd been touched like this. She'd almost forgotten the sense of protection it gave her—and how good it felt. She'd missed these simple
little gestures, she realized with a pang. They went a long way toward making a person feel cared for. Yet she'd never recognized their importance until they were absent. And by then it was too late to experience again and savor those special, everyday moments that truly defined a relationship.

Eric heard her small sigh and looked at her with concern as he picked up two plates. “Is something wrong?”

She summoned a smile, but it was edged with sadness. “I was just remembering that old cliché, about how you never really appreciate something until it's gone.” Her gaze strayed to Frank and Mary, who were holding hands as they carried their plates to a table. “They're a really nice couple.”

Eric followed her gaze, then handed her a plate. “Yes, they are. It renews your faith in romance to see two people who are obviously in love.”

They filled their plates in silence, and when they reached the end of the line he led the way toward a secluded table. Kate hesitated and glanced back toward the group.

“Shouldn't we mingle?”

“We've been doing that all night. Don't worry. Frank won't take offense.” He deposited his plate on a table for two under a rose arbor and held out her chair. “This is a perfect spot for dinner, don't you think?”

Kate couldn't argue with that. It reminded her of an old-fashioned garden—the kind she'd once planned to have. Nowadays she had to content herself with a few ferns and African violets tucked into sunny corners of her apartment. She couldn't even give Sarah a proper yard to play in, she thought dispiritedly, her gaze drifting back to Frank and Mary. Their child would be blessed
with two loving parents and plenty of room to stretch his or her legs—and wings, she thought wistfully.

As Eric sat down, one look at Kate's face made him realize that there was no way he could salvage her lighthearted mood. And maybe he shouldn't even try. Maybe she needed to talk about the things that had made the light in her eyes flicker and die.

“I have a feeling that watching Frank and Mary reminds you of your own marriage,” he remarked quietly.

She looked at him in surprise, then gazed unseeingly at her plate as she toyed with her food. At first he wasn't sure she was going to respond. But a moment later she spoke.

“In some ways,” she acknowledged softly, “Jack and I weren't as outgoing, but we had that same kind of special bond. I guess once you've experienced it, you just recognize it in others. Seeing Frank and Mary together makes me remember what I once had.”

“I'm sorry about how things turned out, Kate. I guess the only consolation is that at least you had that special bond once.”

She glanced at him. He was staring at his own plate now, apparently lost for a moment in his own memories. He seemed sad, and there was disillusion—and regret—in his eyes. Obviously she wasn't the only one with grief in her past, Kate realized with a sharp pang. Apparently Eric had not only gone through a painful divorce, but a painful marriage as well, devoid of the kind of love all young couples dream of. In some ways, perhaps the death of that dream was worse than living the dream and then losing it, she reflected. At least she had happy memories. His seemed depressing at best.

“Now it's my turn to say I'm sorry.” She watched as, with an effort, he pulled himself back to the present.

He shrugged. “I survived—with the help of my family and my faith.”

She looked down. “I had the family part, anyway.”

Eric frowned. “No faith?”

“Not anymore.”

“But Mom said that Sarah mentioned Sunday school.”

“My mother used to take her. I feel badly that I haven't followed through, but my heart's not in it.”

“What happened?”

She played with the edge of her napkin. “Jack and I went to church regularly. I used to think God really listened when we prayed,” she said haltingly.

“And now?”

“Let's just say I haven't seen much evidence that He does. I prayed when Jack was injured. Pleaded, actually. And bargained. And begged. I put my trust in God's hands, always believing He'd come through for me. But He didn't. So I figured, what's the use? If God wasn't listening to me, why keep talking? That's when I stopped praying. And going to church. Mom picked up the slack with Sarah, but I've kind of dropped the ball since she…since she died. I feel guilty about it, but I just can't go back yet. Maybe I never will. I'm still too angry at God.”

“You know, there's a simple fix for the guilt about Sarah, at least.”

She gazed at him curiously. “There is?”

“Yes. Mom and I go to church every Sunday. We'd be more than happy to take her with us.”

Kate looked at him in surprise, then frowned. “But
you've both done so much for me already. It just doesn't seem right.”

“Well, then, think of it this way. We'd actually be doing this for Sarah.”

She conceded his point with a slight lift of her shoulders. “I can't argue with that. Are you really sure you wouldn't mind?”

“Absolutely. We'll start tomorrow. You'd be welcome to join us anytime.”

“I'll keep that in mind.”

“It really might help, you know,” he pressed gently. “It was a lifesaver for me. We have a wonderful minister. He's helped me through some pretty rough times.”

Kate didn't want to discuss the state of her soul with anyone. She had too many conflicting emotions about her faith, too many unanswered questions. But she
would
like to know more about what had happened to turn Eric so completely off marriage. So far, he'd asked most of the questions. It seemed only fair that she return the favor.

“I take it your marriage wasn't exactly…memorable,” she ventured.

An expression of pain seared across his eyes, like the white-hot flash of fireworks—brief but intense. “Oh, it was memorable, all right.” Though she saw he tried to mask it, the bitterness in his tone was unmistakable.

“Is it something you can talk about? Sometimes that helps. And I used to be a good listener. I'm a little out of practice, but I can give it a try.”

Even as she spoke the words, Kate was startled by their truthfulness. For the last few years she had been so focused on her own pain that she'd been oblivious to the pain of others. In one blinding moment of revelation, she realized that she had slipped, without even being
aware of it, into self-pity and self-absorption. It was a disturbing insight. One of the things Jack had loved about her was her openness to others and her ability to empathize. He would hardly have recognized her now, she conceded. Since his death she'd closed herself off to everyone and everything except Sarah, her mother and her sister. And it had been an effective coping mechanism, insulating her with a numbness that made the pain in her life bearable.

But living the rest of her life in darkness and grief wasn't going to bring Jack back, she acknowledged sadly. Somehow she had to find her way back to beauty and joy and hope, because suddenly she knew she couldn't go on marking the days instead of living them. It wasn't fair to her, or to Sarah—or to the memory of Jack, who had loved life intensely and lived each day with passion and appreciation, fully embracing all the blessings the Lord had bestowed on him.

But Kate had no idea how to begin the rebuilding process. It seemed like such a daunting task. Maybe listening to Eric, as he had listened to her, would be a way to start connecting with people again.

When her gaze linked with his, she found him watching her intently and she shifted uncomfortably. Was he angry that she'd turned the tables and asked about
his
private life? she wondered anxiously. She hadn't meant to offend him. “Listen, I didn't mean to pry, Eric. I'm sorry.”

“It's not that,” he assured her quickly. “It's just that you— I don't know, you had a funny look on your face for a minute.”

“Did I?” His perceptiveness surprised—and slightly unnerved—her. “I guess I was wondering if maybe I'd overstepped my bounds, asking about your marriage,”
she hedged, reluctant to reveal the personal insight that had just flashed through her mind. “It's just that talking to you about Jack and my faith helped tonight. I thought maybe it might help you to talk, too. But I understand if you'd rather not.”

He looked at her for a moment before he spoke, as if assessing whether her interest was real or just polite. “Actually, I haven't talked much about it to anyone. Except my minister. Maybe because there isn't a whole lot to say. And because it still hurts after all these years. And because it's hard to admit failure,” he confessed candidly. “But I'll give you the highlights—or low-lights, depending on your perspective—if you're really interested.”

“I am.”

He gave a slight nod. “Cindy and I met when I was in medical school,” he began. “She was blond and beautiful, carefree and fun, always ready for the next adventure. I was the serious, studious type and it was exciting just to be with her. I never knew what she'd do next. All I knew was that she added a whole new dimension to my life. As different as we were, something clicked between us and I proposed a year after we met. We got married a few months later.”

“Sounds like a promising beginning,” Kate ventured.

“Yeah. Except things just went downhill from there. She didn't like my choice of specialty, and she grew to resent the intrusion of my career on our personal lives. We both changed through the years—or maybe we just became more of what we'd always been. In any case, the differences we once found so appealing gradually became irritating and hurtful. In the end, we were barely speaking.”

He paused and looked down at his iced tea. The drops of condensation on his glass reminded him of tears, and he suddenly felt sad. “To be honest, I don't think either of us was blameless in the breakup, but I feel most responsible,” he said heavily. “Cindy was right about my career—it takes an inordinate amount of my time. And it was a self-perpetuating kind of thing. As our marriage disintegrated, I spent even more time in the office and at the hospital, which only made matters worse. I don't know…. Maybe she would have been more tolerant of my schedule if I'd been doing heart transplants or something.”

Kate frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Cindy wanted me to be a surgeon. That's considered one of the more ‘glamorous' specialties. And when we got married, I thought I wanted to do that, too. But eventually I realized that I didn't enjoy practicing medicine in that sterile environment. I wanted to interact with people. And I love kids. Pediatrics was a natural fit for me. But Cindy hated it. It didn't have enough prestige. She was bitterly disappointed in my choice—and in me. Over time, our relationship grew strained and distant, and in the end it just fell apart.” Eric didn't tell Kate about the final hurt—the reason he'd finally agreed to the divorce. Even now, five years later, it made him feel physically ill to think about it.