The Christmas Kite

“Good. I like…kites. They’re high in the sky.”

“They sure are.” He patted Mac’s head as the child’s focus swept the kite-filled ceiling. “You want to look at all the kites, boy? You can wander around if you want.”

Mac looked at Meara, who gave an agreeable nod. “But not too long,” she added. “And don’t get into anything.”

He wandered away, his mouth gaping at the colorful creations.

“That’s a nice boy you got there.”

“Thank you.” Flustered, she wondered if the comment was meant to open the door to questions about Mac.

“I had a cousin with a Down syndrome boy. He threw temper tantrums till you could hardly bear it. Your son seems easier goin’.”

Her question had been answered. “Mac’s no problem. He frightens easily. You know—dogs, birds, anything that comes up on him too quickly. But he’s a good boy.”

“You’re a visitor in town. Tourist, I suppose.”

Meara glanced down the aisle, checking on Mac. He stood near the back of the shop, staring at the kite they’d watched sailing over the lake. “No, we’re staying in a cabin up the road. I’m looking for a place to rent for a while.”

“You and the boy are alone?”

Her stomach jolted. She’d not been asked the question before and the reality shivered through her. “Yes, my husband died a few months ago. We lived with my in-laws and…” She ran her fingers through her hair. “I guess you didn’t ask for my life story.” She managed a smile. “We need a furnished place. Do you know of any?”

He hesitated, pinching his lower lip between his thumb and finger. “So happens, there’s an apartment over this shop. Not too big. Couple of bedrooms and bath.”

“We don’t need anything fancy for now. The cabin only has one bedroom, so most anything would be a mansion to us.”

Dunstan’s family home was a mansion. The thought slammed into the pit of her stomach. Never again would she want to live in a huge estate like his, especially not as a prisoner. That’s how she’d felt. When she focused on the kite shop proprietor, he was studying her.

“I even think the place up there has a few pieces of furniture,” he said, pointing his thumb toward the ceiling. “But it hasn’t been rented out since I can remember. Might be a mess now, for all I know.”

“I’d like to take a look. Could I contact the owner?”

“Let me talk to Mr. Baird. I’m not sure he’s even interested in using it as a rental. Right now, this whole strip of shops is in a bit of trouble…. But then, you don’t need to hear about that.”

He gave her a friendly smile, just as she had given him. The “bit of trouble” phrase caught her curiosity.

“Drop back tomorrow,” Otis said, “and I’ll let you know what he says.”

“Thanks. I’d really appreciate that.”

Mac wandered back down the aisle, and she called to him. His grin stretched across his rosy cheeks. She held out her hand, and he rushed to her side. After thanking the man again, she and Mac left the shop, her spirit lifting with hope.

Jordan hung the last pieces of cotton to dry. For the past two days he’d worked with batik wax-painting to design patterns on the cloth for an Edo warrior kite. Though beautiful, the design work was arduous, and the buyer would pay dearly for the creation.

Dooley nuzzled his nose against Jordan’s leg, then rushed toward the door. With the family down the beach, Jordan hated to give the dog free rein. Rather than taking a chance, he tucked the leash in his pocket, opened the door and stepped outside, needing some fresh air himself. Dooley darted toward the lake. Jordan scanned the water’s surface for any poor, unsuspecting ducks that might be lolling on the waves, but none was in sight.

At the water’s edge, Jordan turned left, then halted. Maybe today, for a change, he’d walk east along the beach.

Who are you kidding?

He shook his head. He knew full well why he was headed that way. Dooley sped off ahead, and he hurried behind the dog, glancing, now and again, into the woods, for the dilapidated cabins.

He slowed his gait as they reached what he suspected was the area. A child’s laugh drifted from the trees, and Jordan looked through the foliage. Mac waved and lurched down the inclined path toward him.

“Good morning,” Jordan said as the boy reached his side.

Mac’s gaze drifted from his to Dooley’s, and he teetered backward, a look of fright rushing to his face.

“It’s okay, Mac. Dooley won’t hurt you. Only thing he might do is knock you down trying to give you a big wet kiss.” He caught the dog’s collar, keeping him close to his side.

“Dooley,” Mac repeated, maintaining his distance.

The dog looked at the boy, his tongue hanging from his mouth in a rapid pant. Jordan tightened his hold, monitoring Dooley’s movement as the dog strained toward the child.

With caution, Mac garnered courage and stepped toward the dog, his hand outstretched. Dooley shot his tongue forward, dragging a slobbery kiss across Mac’s fingers.

The boy’s eyes widened, and Jordan expected him to cry out, but instead he laughed and leaned forward. Dooley swiped his tongue along the child’s cheek.

“A big wet kiss,” Mac said, his eyes twinkling.

Jordan looked back toward the foliage. Would the woman let him play outside without keeping an eye on him? He saw nothing near the cabin. “Where’s your mom?”

“Making a kite. Come and see.” He grasped Jordan’s hand and pulled him toward the grassy path.

“And your father? Where’s your dad?”

Mac clung to his fingers with one hand while his free hand pointed skyward. “Up,” Max answered. “In heaven. Two fathers…in heaven.”

Two fathers? His mind spun, wondering what kind of life this young boy must have experienced. “Two?”

Mac gave an assuring nod. “Come.” He beckoned with his free hand. “See my kite.” He tugged at Jordan’s arm, and, reluctant to hurt the boy’s feelings, Jordan followed.

His memory of the cabins was correct. Though the word ramshackle had come to mind first, he altered that to rustic, out of kindness.

“Mama,” Mac called as they neared a cabin nestled in the trees closest to the beach.

In a flash a screen door swung open and the woman faltered in the doorway. “Oh, it’s…you.” She grinned and stepped outside. “Good morning. Is something wrong?” Her gaze shifted to Mac and returned to Jordan’s face.

“No. Mac invited me up to see the kite. I’m sorry. I don’t believe I’ve introduced myself.” He forced his hand forward. “Jordan Baird.”

Meara chuckled and grasped his fingers. “Glad to learn your name. You’ve been only the ‘kite man’ to us, Mr. Baird. I’m Meara Hayden, and this is—”

“Mac. He told me his name the first day we met.” He glanced behind her into the shadows of the cabin. “Mac tells me you bought another kite.”

“Two kites.” Her delicate features curved to a lovely full-lipped smile. “Just to be on the safe side, this time.”

Two kites. Two fathers. And he deduced, two husbands. Her lilting voice unsettled him, almost like music, and he longed to ask her heritage but muzzled his curiosity. “Do you need any help?”

“I’m not sure.” She glanced over her shoulder. “This place isn’t elegant, but would you like to step in? You can give me your expert opinion.” She pulled the door open. Mac skittered inside and he followed.

In the dusky light, he agreed. The place was not elegant. It was barely passable for this woman and child. He scanned the sagging upholstered sofa and rickety side table while an acrid smell of mildew and cleaning fluid hit his senses.

A bright yellow kite lay across the small Formica kitchen table. He picked it up and studied her amateur workmanship. “Not bad. Looks like you followed directions.” He glanced around the room. “How about a tail?”

“I used an old cloth from my car trunk for the last one.”

“Let’s…fly the kite,” Mac decreed, his smile flashing like neon.

“In a minute, Mac. I might have another rag,” she continued, looking at Jordan. “Let me see.” She stepped toward the door.

“No need.” The boy’s bright smile motivated Jordan’s offer without thinking. “You and your mom follow me. I have plenty of tail cloth at the house.” He could have bit his tongue, but it was too late. The boy tugged at his heart like wind caught on a kite. Mac grabbed his hand, leading him back down the trail, and the intriguing woman—Meara—followed them.

Dooley, minding his manners, trotted beside the boy as if he understood that he must behave. Mac’s grin swiveled like a weather vane in a wavering wind between Jordan and the dog. The child captivated his spirit.

In the heat a sweet scent permeated the breeze. Jordan glanced for wildflowers along the way, but Meara stepped into his line of vision. And he knew. The scent was hers, a fascinating aroma lingering in the heated air. Delicate and sweet, the woman pried into his closed heart with a new awareness. How long had it been since he’d allowed a woman in his thoughts or wanted a woman in his arms? He pulled his attention to the sand and the water, anything to drive away the longing.

Relieved, Jordan watched the house appear, but as he neared, the Private Property sign glowed in the sun like chastening neon. With what he hoped was a subtle yank, he jerked it from the sand, tossing it into the tall grass. He’d retrieve it later for the trash. But a quick glance at Meara’s grinning face told him she’d witnessed every embarrassing move.

At the door, he invited them onto the porch. “I’m thirsty. How about you? Can I offer you a soda?”

“No, thank you, I think—”

“Okay,” Mac countered. “A soda.”

Meara closed her open mouth and aimed a warning look at Mac.

A chuckle rose in Jordan’s chest, but he clamped his lips.

She gave an embarrassed grin. “I guess we’ll trouble you for a soda, if you don’t mind.”

“Have a seat,” he said, and went inside for the soft drinks. Mac chattered behind him. Surprised, he glanced over his shoulder and saw Mac at his heels. Despite having the boy underfoot, he made quick work of the tumblers and soda cans. “Here,” he said, pouring Mac’s drink into the glass, “you can carry your own.”

Obviously pleased, the boy concentrated on the liquid and headed back to the porch.

“Careful, Mac,” Meara said when he reached her.

“He’s okay,” Jordan said, and handed her a glass. He set his drink on a small side table and, before joining her, grabbed a handful of colorful tails from a storage box.

When he turned, Mac stood nearby, gazing with his trusting eyes at the strips of cloth.

“Okay, Mac, here are all the colors I have,” he said, dangling the strands in front of the child.

Mac’s face filled with wonder as he gazed at the bright strips. “Yellow, red, blue, purpo—”

“That’s purple, Mac,” Meara corrected. “Pur…ple.”

He repeated the word, mimicking her careful enunciation.

Selecting purple and yellow, Mac handed Jordan the cloth, who knotted and attached them to the end of the kite.

“Ready?”

Mac gave an emphatic nod and Jordan led his guests to the beach. He located a log and upended it to form a stool for Meara. Then, explaining as simply as he could, Jordan described the major issues of aerodynamics. Mac listened as if he understood while Jordan demonstrated.

Meara watched him, her face as animated as Mac’s. Losing himself in the process, Jordan moved closer and wrapped his hands around the boy’s to give him the feeling of the tug and pull of the wind on the string.

But time after time, with each attempt to launch it, Jordan saved the nose-diving kite from a watery death. “You know, Mac, maybe you need to be one more year older. This kite-flying isn’t easy.”

“Isn’t…easy,” Mac repeated, giving his trademark nod. Then he grinned, grabbing his mother’s hand. “Mom can fly the kite.”

“‘Mom,’” Meara said. “What happened to ‘Mama’?”

“Mom,” Mac said again with a laugh, squeezing her hand.

“I think that’s my fault,” Jordan said, recalling he’d used the term earlier. “How about it? Can I show you what to do?”

Meara lifted her eyebrows as if questioning his confidence. “We shall see.”

Quickly repeating the process, he held the ball of string and kite toward her, but she hesitated.

“Let me take off my shoes. I’ll trip myself up, otherwise.” Slipping off her sandals, she dug her feet into the sun-warmed sand. “Feels good,” she said, reaching out for the kite and string.

In a moment she was rushing along the sand, the kite extended into the air. At a gleeful laugh from Mac, it lifted from her hand and sailed upward. The boy patted Jordan’s arm, then clapped his hands and bounced with pleasure.

Jordan kept his eyes riveted to the kite while Meara released the string, but suddenly a gust of wind flipped the kite into a nosedive. Panic rose on her face, and he dashed forward, wrapping his arms around her from behind and manipulating the string. With a pull and release of tension, the kite righted itself and sailed skyward again.

Her sweet, fascinating aroma filled his senses, and her soft hair brushed against his cheek. He moved back quickly, though he longed to stay in the embrace, holding her close and feeling her warm skin against his arms.

She turned to him, a flush highlighting her ivory skin. “I almost lost it again,” she said, her eyes bright with life and her lips posed in a rich smile so close he could almost taste the sweetness.

A deep breath escaped him as he attempted to control his thudding heart. You’re a fool, Jordan. What are you doing? “There’s no ‘almost’ in baseball or kite-flying. A save is a save.” He forced a lighthearted look to his face, but panic rose in his chest.

“But if you hadn’t been here, I’d be back in the cabin building Mac’s third kite.”

“Let me show you what to do when you have another problem like that.” He moved in again, knowing he was working the situation, taking advantage of her nearness. He had to stop, but the sound of her voice covered the warnings that raged in his head.

He took her hand and the string, demonstrating the tug and pull of the wind, but most of all, he reveled in the warmth of her delicate hand against his and the sound of her laughter in his ear.

“Me,” Mac called.

Jordan swung around, realizing they had all but forgotten the boy. The kite was his, not theirs. He chided himself on his self-centered urges. “Come here, Mac. You hold the string, and I’ll help you.”

Not thinking, Jordan opened his arms to the boy, and his heart all but plunged to the ground. Grief washed over him like the waves that covered the shining rocks on the beach. With Mac in his arms, Robbie’s image rose before him like a living phantom—a moving, loving memory that wrenched his entire being. A sob rose in his throat, and he coughed to cover the horrible reality that battered his happiness to deepest pain.

Mac turned his head, giving him a curious look, and Jordan forced a smile to his lips—so compacted that they felt numb. “How you doing?”

“Good,” he whispered.

“You sure are.”

With Meara watching from her log stool, they let the kite soar overhead for a time, until Mac’s attention wavered. Then, with Jordan’s help, they reeled in the string, bringing the kite to a safe landing. Meara clapped her hands, then opened her arms as Mac ran to her.

“Good job.”

“Yep,” he agreed. “I flew the kite.”

“And one of these days, you’ll do it all by yourself, Mac,” Jordan said, standing above them. “Now remember, if you have any trouble, let me know. If there’s one thing I know, it’s kites.” That’s about it, too, he thought, angry at himself for allowing his emotions to reach the surface.

“It was kind of you, Mr. Baird. Mac and I both appreciate your help.”

Meara’s gentle face caught him off guard again.

“Jordan, please, and if you don’t mind, I’ll call you Meara.”

“Not at all,” she said as her lashes lowered shyly for a heartbeat.

“It’s a beautiful name. Where did you get it?” He looked at her with longing, marveling at the mysterious aura that emanated from her.

A grin crept to her lips. “From my mother.”

“Hmm?” he asked, not understanding.

“My name. My mother gave it to me.” Her grin widened to a smile.

“Right, but I mean, what kind of a name is it?”

“I’m being silly. I knew what you meant.” She drew her shoulders as if surprised she’d allowed herself the lighthearted moment. “It’s Irish. My parents were born in Ireland like I was.”

“Ah, so that’s the lilt I hear in your voice.”

She tilted her head upward. “Lilt? I didn’t know I had one.”

“It’s lovely, really, like your name. Like music.”

“Thank you. Meara means ‘happy.’” A distant look rose in her eyes, and her face filled with a kind of sadness.

“Happy? And are you?” he asked, wondering why he had posed such a personal question. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have spoken like that.”

Her gaze drifted to the ground, then upward. “No, you’re being honest. I am…sometimes…like today with the kites.” She nodded. “Today, I was happy.” She reached toward Mac, who held the kite close to his chest. “We need to be running along. You’ve given us too much of your time. Thank you.”

She gazed at her son. “Say thank-you, Mac.”

The child lifted his excited gaze. “Thank you,” he said.

“You’re welcome. And you, too, Mac.”

They headed down the beach, hand in hand, and Jordan turned toward the house, tugging at every fiber of his good sense. How many times must he caution himself and still not listen? This woman and child needed too much, and he had nothing to give anyone. He was scarred, scarred to his core. His capacity for love had burned away the day God took his family, the day guilt and grief scorched every strand of his being…his spirit.

He tucked his thoughts back where they belonged, deep inside. No time for mourning now. He needed to face life, learn to live in the world again, not for love or family, but just to get through each day. He’d abandoned his career and lived like a hermit far too long. Good old Otis did the pickup and delivery, while he hid from the world building kites. And what was he hiding from? Memories? A person can’t hide from those. He’d tried.

Raising his eyes, Jordan saw Otis standing outside the front door. He hailed him with a wave.

“Okay, this time I knocked,” Otis said with a good-natured grin. “That didn’t work any better than the doorbell.” He chuckled, and Jordan patted him on the back.

“Sorry, I was down here helping a young man fly a kite.”

“Now, why doesn’t that surprise me?”

Jordan gave him a fleeting grin. “So what can I do for you? Hadn’t expected you today.”

“No, I was passin’ by and thought I’d stop in. I have a question for ya. And by the way, I checked out the zoning board. Looks like the church is a few feet clear of the property restriction limit, so that doesn’t help us one bit.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” He’d hoped the board might solve the problem without further action. Now he’d have to give the issue more thought. “Come in,” he said, holding open the screen.

Otis stepped inside but stayed by the door. “This won’t take a minute.”

“Sure you don’t want to sit?”

“No, the wife’s probably wondering where I am. She’s expectin’ me home. I had a question from this woman and son who came by the shop a couple times. First time lookin’ for those cheap kites. I sent her to the gift shop. Anyway, she passed by again and came in. Her boy is a charmer and loves kites.”

Curious, Jordan’s stomach tightened.

“She’s lookin’ for a rental. Happened to mention it, and I thought about the apartment above the shop. You have any interest in renting out the place? She’s alone with the boy and could probably use a cheap rental.”

Jordan stuck his hands in his pockets, trying to decide how to ask the question. “Do you know her name?”

“Nope. The boy’s name is Mac. He introduced himself to me like a little man. Down syndrome boy, but bright as a new penny.”

Jordan’s tensed shoulders rose and relaxed as he released a blast of pent-up air. “Can you guess what boy I was helping with the kite a few minutes ago?”

Otis snapped to attention. “Mac?”

Jordan nodded.

“You don’t say.”

“They’re renting a cabin down the beach. Those rustic ones.”

“She said they were down the road. Never thought you’d know her. Funny thing, I mentioned your name. She didn’t act like she knew you at all.”

He shook his head. “We introduced ourselves today.” Curious. She hadn’t shown she recognized his name. He gave a mental shrug. “I met them one day when the boy saw me kite-flying. Then Dooley knocked the woman over on the beach yesterday and we chatted a minute.”

“You sure know how to win friends and influence people, don’t you.”

Otis’s words held more truth than he knew. “I don’t seem to have the knack, Otis.”

He gave a soft chuckle. “So what about the apartment? I haven’t seen it in a long time. Not sure what shape it’s in. I told her to drop by, and I’d let her know.”

“How about checking it out. I don’t want to rent a firetrap to anyone.”

“Sure thing. Might even have the missus look it over. You know, from a woman’s point of view.”

“Do you have a key for the place?”

“I think so. It should be on the ring.” Otis pulled a set of keys from his pocket and eyed them. “Check this one out if you would. I think that’s it.”

Jordan took the key and burrowed through a drawer until he found a set of tagged keys. He matched it against the other. “That’s it, Otis.”

“Good. By the way, I mentioned earlier that I posted the Help Wanted in the window. Nothin’ yet. Darla can work only another week or so. I’ll need at least a part-timer.”

“Whatever you need, Otis. Run an ad in the paper if you want to.”

Otis stepped backward, his hand against the screen-door handle. “I’ll check the apartment in the morning.”

Jordan gave him a nod, and Otis headed back to his car.

Standing with a full view of the lake, Jordan gazed out at the glinting sun hanging low in the sky. Sparkles of gold and copper bounced on the waves. If he thought Lila’s God really cared one iota for him, he’d believe the Lord was working in his life. Meara and Mac had walked into his walled-up world, and for the first time in years, life seemed tolerable. More than tolerable. He found himself looking down the beach, wishing he’d see Mac’s smiling face and hear Meara’s soft, lilting voice.

Chapter Four

The next morning Meara sat on the beach, longing for Jordan to stroll past taking Dooley for a walk. But only squawking gulls and lapping waves—and Mac—disturbed her silence. She grinned at the child making fortlike mounds in the sand and singing in his sweet voice a repetitive tune with lyrics only a mother could love.

“Dig the sand and dig the sand. Dig the sand and make a hole. Dig the sand and make a hole. Make a hole and dig the sand,” he sang.

Listening, she recognized the tune was one she’d taught him, “Jesus Loves Me.” To laugh or scream was her only way to handle his repetitiveness. She chuckled at the endless monotony. How could she do otherwise? Mac enjoyed music and loved to sing. Though he was cheated in one way, God had given him a gift.

Her heart tugged as she studied her son. He’d been cheated, and she would be, too…one day when he was gone. Life expectancy. She reeled, remembering the doctor’s words. It would be shortened, he had said. Tears found her eyes. She pushed them away with angry fingers.

Not her son. Not Mac. Life expectancy had nothing to do with God’s will. If she had anything to do about it, God’s will would be a long life for Mac, if…

Mac’s clear voice crooned the words again. Meara dragged her saddened thoughts upward and glanced for the fourth time in the direction of Jordan’s house, hoping. Her vision reached the curve in the shoreline. Nothing. Why he interested her, she had no idea. She recalled the day they met. He had been rude and abrupt. But since that day, he had softened and had shown kindness to Mac and to her. And beneath Jordan’s rough exterior, she suspected he was as vulnerable as she. Though she’d tried to read the hidden message in his brooding eyes, he had blocked it behind a wall of silence.