Sweet Christmas Kisses (7 page)

But within the hour, the three of them were in the car and headed north so that Izzie could see her oncologist. Hemorrhaging was a danger during the end-stages of leukemia. The harsh chemicals used in treatment could damage the blood vessels. When Izzie had complained of a headache, Christy felt they should give the doctor a call.

She sat in the back seat, and Izzie was leaning heavily against her. Frequently, Aaron glanced at Christy in the rearview mirror, her heart aching to say something that would ease the anxiety that strained every muscle in his face.

This is nothing, you’ll see.

Everything is going to be all right.

But as much as she wanted to assuage his fear, she couldn’t bring herself to tell him what she knew would be an outright lie.

Christy became conscious of Izzie’s ring on her pinky finger and she reached to remove it. But Izzie placed a firm hand on hers, stilling Christy’s efforts.

“But I want to give you back your ring,” Christy whispered.

The child shook her head. “Later. I want you to wear it now.”

Aaron’s voice contained a false brightness as he said, “Izzie, honey, look. It’s snowing.” He stared at his little girl in the rearview mirror. “And it’s only a day late.”

“Look, Christy.” Izzie’s voice was weak. “Snow.”

“It’s beautiful, sweetheart.”

Izzie slid her journal onto Christy’s lap. “Would you check that off my list?”

The shift-change meeting had been utterly routine, and now that she’d finished up her final check on her patients, Christy was ready to go home. The break room door opened with a whoosh. The metal latch on her locker stuck, as usual. She shrugged into her coat, letting her eyes scan the room.

She went still. Something wasn’t right. Christy looked around slowly and realized that Izzie’s box was gone from where it had been stored on the deep window ledge. She snatched her purse from the hook in the locker and slammed the door shut.

Bridget was the first person she met when she left the break room.

“Did Aaron come in today?” Christy asked.

“Aaron?” Total incomprehension forced Bridget’s gaze to narrow.

“I’m sorry. Aaron Chase. Izzie’s father. Did he come in today to pick up her things?”

Bridget offered up both palms. “I have no idea. I didn’t see him.” Then she added, “But I know housekeeping was in there just a while ago. I saw her go in.” Wordy as ever, Bridget continued, “I heard that Abigail called the cleaning company and fired a rocket up somebody’s butt because the techs have been bypassing all the break rooms. They…”

Without another word, Christy turned and hurried down the hall, past the next nurses’ station. As she made her way along the corridor, she absently twirled the ring she still wore on her pinky finger.

The Claddagh. Izzie’s ring.

God only knows why she still wore it. While Izzie was so ill, Christy couldn’t bring herself to remove it. Her wearing it had seemed so important to the child. Then after Izzie’s passing…

Christy shook her head. She just couldn’t take it off. It was a connection to precious Izzie, and it helped Christy through those first very dark days. It was also a connection to Aaron who, Christy knew, must be going through hell.

When she reached the break room on the opposite end of the wing, she shoved her way inside, and there in a large trashcan on wheels sat Izzie’s box on top of a huge, black bag of garbage. The tech was busy scrubbing the sink, her yellow plastic cleaning bin filled with spray cleaners, disinfectants, brushes, and an extra pair of gloves.

Christy slid the box off the trashcan. “What are you doing?” The question came out much louder than she’d intended, but her anger flared seemingly out of nowhere.

The young woman stopped and turned around. “Beg your pardon?”

“Why did you take this out of the break room?”

Bridget entered the periphery of Christy’s vision, but Christy kept her narrowed gaze locked on the tech who said, “I was just doing my job.”

“Don’t you know this is somebody’s
life
in here?” Sudden fury burned Christy’s throat. Her gaze darted to take in all the items in the box. Izzie’s journal was there. Ernie the Elephant. Books, children’s magazines. Pictures she’d drawn. An array of those pretty elastic bands Izzie wore on her head, as well as a Phillies baseball cap. Pads of paper. A cup of colored pencils. A plastic container of markers.

Tears blurred her vision and she had difficulty getting the words out. “These are precious memories for a little girl’s father. You can’t just pick up a box and throw it away just because you don’t know what’s in it.”

“I’m sorry,” the woman said. “I didn’t know.”

Bridget put her hand on Christy’s arm. “It’s okay.”

Christy balanced the box on one arm and dashed away a tear. “Bridget, she threw away Izzie’s things.”

“But you found the box.” Bridget gently steered Christy toward the door. “It’s safe.”

Bridget was right. Christy took a slow, full inhalation, held it for a second, and then released the tension and alarm that had built up inside her.

She’d been an emotional wreck since returning from Ocean City with Aaron and Izzie. She’d helped them create a near perfect Christmas filled with the simple things that really mattered—sharing time with loved ones and creating memories to treasure. But the idyllic holiday had ended in tragedy.

What Christy had hoped was a simple nose bleed had turned out to be hemorrhaging that ended up weakening Izzie and her already jeopardized immune system. Her condition worsened when she’d contracted pneumonia, and no amount of medical attention could keep her failing organs from eventually shutting down completely. Izzie had slipped away from them before New Year’s Day.

The two weeks that had passed since then felt like a day, but it also felt like a lifetime.    

“Why don’t you take it home?” Bridget urged. “The box will be safe with you.”

“Yeah.” She nodded. “Yeah, I think I will.”

As Christy drove home, she kept glancing at the box she’d set on the passenger seat beside her. She could take the box to Aaron. His address had been on lots of the paperwork in Izzie’s file. It had been printed on the sympathy card that had been passed around for all the doctors and nurses to sign. She knew where Aaron lived; she could drive there right now. But after what he’d said to her at the funeral, she didn’t think she could face him.

The services had been jam-packed. Aaron had been surrounded by family and friends and colleagues. Christy had waited in the long reception line with Bridget and several of the other nurses who worked on the floor. When she’d finally reached him, she’d offered her condolences. He’d hugged her tightly and thanked her, over and over, for coming.

His words had been spoken by rote; it was clear he’d greeted so many people that his brain was on auto-pilot, and that was understandable. But his hug had been warm and heartfelt.

He’d looked so tired, so sad.

“If you need
anything
…” she’d begun.

“Christy—” his eyes bored into hers “—I’m so sorry for… I shouldn’t…
we
shouldn’t have—”

A funeral home staffer had approached Aaron from behind and the two men had conversed quietly, heads bent. Christy had been nudged forward by the people waiting behind her, and she’d allowed the momentum of the throng to carry her along.

She’d actually been relieved that Aaron had been interrupted. Her face and neck had been set afire by the mortification. Bridget and the other nurses had, thankfully, mistaken her reaction for grief. She’d been terribly upset about Izzie, that was true, but Aaron’s apology had set her on what felt like a razor’s edge that sliced her heart clean in two.

Maybe he’d merely been expressing regret. Maybe he was sorry for having taken his daughter away when she’d been weak. Maybe he’d felt the need to confess to someone who would understand.

Oh, who was she kidding? There had been no love-making. They’d had sex.

Two people who had gotten caught up in the moment. Two people who had—

Then it had hit her like a baseball bat to the forehead.

She
had gotten caught up in the moment. However, he had come into that room after hearing her crying. He had reached out to her in comfort. He had hugged her, kissed her, touched her in all those pleasurable ways because he felt sorry for her.

He pitied her.

Even now, as she maneuvered through traffic on her way home from work, the idea made her body flush hot with fresh embarrassment.   

For three days, the box mocked her. It sat on the back counter in the kitchen, the spot where junk mail and sales catalogs tended to land. She’d plunked the box down right next to the ceramic bowl she used as the home-base for her car and house keys. The counter was located right inside the kitchen doorway, so she passed it each and every time she went into the room for a cup of coffee, or a meal, or a simple glass of water.

A constant reminder of Aaron.

A constant reminder of the promises she’d made to Izzie.

What did you do?
Izzie had asked.
Did you cry?

Izzie’s heart-wrenching questions rolled through Christy’s mind.

Aaron was grieving. Most certainly, he was crying. Although she doubted he would want anyone to know it. Men tended to think displays of sadness or grief somehow demeaned their manhood, so they hid these feelings and did everything they could to show the world a brave face. She’d seen it, time and again, in the parents of the children she cared for at the hospital. But the hearts of daddies were just as vulnerable, just as breakable, as those of mommies. 

Were you lonely?

When Christy had lost Danielle, she’d felt lonely. But, moreover, she’d felt completely and utterly
alone
. Yes, there was a difference. At first, friends had flocked around her. But soon—all too soon—reaching out to others had no longer been an option since she could see she was a constant source of pain and suffering to those around her. She saw it in the expressions of her friends, neighbors, and co-workers. Interacting with her brought everyone down.

The grieving process is different for everyone. But statistically parents of deceased children took the longest to sort through the chaotic feelings, the guilt, the anger, the silent but overwhelming this-is-not-fair railings. Going through the steps took forever it seemed, until somewhere down the road, the sense of resignation settled in.

You didn’t get over it. You learned to live with it.

Christy knew exactly what Aaron was mired in.

Will you watch over my daddy?

Izzie’s sweet, innocent voice plagued her.

Will you be his friend?

The promise to be Aaron’s friend sat like a chunk of granite on Christy’s shoulders, and in the end, outweighed the embarrassment that had her staying away from the grieving man. And that’s why she’d stowed the box back in her car and was driving across town toward Aaron’s home in north Wilmington.

And as she rang the bell, she hadn’t given a thought to what she would say or what she would do; she only knew she had to begin fulfilling the promises she’d made to little Izzie who had been so worried about her father.

“
Christy
.” Aaron’s gaze widened, his lips parting in surprise.

God, he looked awful. The circles under his eyes made him look exhausted.

“I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to visit. I brought lunch.” She balanced the box on one forearm, a few grocery items in a fabric bag slung over the opposite shoulder. She bustled past him. “I hope you’re hungry.”

The living room was a mess. A shirt, a jacket, shoes and socks were strewn about the furniture and floor. A messy pile of newspapers and mail sat on the coffee table along with dirty glasses, soda cans, a pizza box.

“Sorry,” he murmured. “The cleaning company should be here tomorrow. Or the next. I’m not quite sure. I wasn’t expecting company.”

“Obviously,” Christy teased as she crossed the room. The goal was to keep things light. “The kitchen through here?”

“Yes.” He followed her.

She shoved a second pizza box over to make room on the counter for the groceries. After scanning the kitchen, she found a perfect spot for Izzie’s things—a desk area that looked clear and unused. He wouldn’t have to touch it until he was ready.

“We’ve been keeping this box for you at the hospital,” she said. “I thought I’d deliver it and save you a trip.”

Christy breezed back over to the bag she’d brought and began unloading lettuce, tomatoes, cucumber, and the roasted chicken.

“When’s the last time you ate a vegetable?” she asked.

He didn’t answer, just stood in the kitchen doorway and watched her work.

The surprising weight of the pizza box had her peeking inside to see the now cold, dried-out pie had been untouched. “Let’s make that when’s the last time you ate?”

Again, he didn’t answer. The white, v-neck t-shirt he wore looked rumpled. His jeans sagged around his waist. The stubble shadowing his jaw looked at least three days old.

Finally, he said, “I order that stuff, but by the time it arrives—” he shrugged “—I’m just not hungry.”

Christy nodded as she pulled the head of red lettuce from its plastic bag. “Yeah, I can understand that. But you have to eat, Aaron. Even if it’s just a little bit.” She glanced at him and saw that he was staring at his bare feet.

“Why don’t you go have a shower while I make us lunch?” She put enough firmness into the words to make the question sound more like an order.

He said nothing, only sighed, and then left the kitchen.

She went right to work. She left the veggies and chicken on the counter and loaded the dirty dishes into the dishwasher. Then she pilfered through several cabinets, finally finding what she was looking for in the pantry. She shook out the large trash bag, tucked the disgusting pizza inside, then moved to the living room. Making an efficient, clock-wise circle, she tossed the trash, gathered up the clothes, hung up the jacket, set the shoes in the hall closet, and took the glasses into the kitchen and put them in the dishwasher. She folded the blanket that was on the sofa and fluffed the throw pillows. After tying the trash bag securely, she set it outside the back door. Neither the living room nor the kitchen were in perfect order, but the rooms were in better shape than they had been.