My Kind of Christmas
Page 23

“Well, accidents happen, honey,” Angie reassured her. “I was in a car accident and broke my leg—and other stuff. It was hard for me to be patient while I was getting better, too.”
And other stuff, Patrick thought. Like a near-death experience, a swelling brain, a possibility of permanent disability and brain damage…
Patrick had spent the past few hours understanding and feeling Angie’s vulnerability and it made him want to protect her in a way he’d never wanted to protect a woman before. Not even Marie. Yet despite her vulnerability, she fought to be strong and independent and his admiration for her only grew.
“Me and Frank, we talked about what we could sell. We have the land—his father was a homesteader, so we have land. But it’s not great farming or ranching land and most of the maximum allowed lumber was sold off before it came to us—and no one’s buying mountain land without a view these days. We talked to some real estate people—in a good economy, we could clear and sell parcels for houses, but not right now....”
“You won’t have to sell off your land,” Angie said.
And Patrick wondered, What has she got up her sleeve?
“Ladies, I’d like to take you out for a nice lunch, my treat. I’m hungry and I know you are.”
Looking in the rearview mirror, he noticed Megan get a startled look and then tug on her mother’s sleeve before whispering in her ear.
“Oh, we can’t let you do that, Patrick. You’ve already done so much, what with the driving and gas and all. I brought along enough money to buy us something we can just eat in the car. If you’ll accept that, I’d like to treat. Please.”
It was early afternoon and they hadn’t eaten since breakfast, if they’d even had that. He understood the nerves prior to the doctor’s visit, but now it was time to have a reward. And he thought he understood the problem. He pulled into the parking lot of a Red Lobster restaurant. The lunch crowd had already vanished and even the earliest dinner crowd had not arrived. He parked near the entrance and turned around to face Megan and Lorraine in the backseat.
“I’d like to do this for you,” he said. “Megan, you’ve been very brave today and I think we should celebrate. If you’ll stick with me, I promise no one is going to stare at you or ask you questions about your scar. I’ll find you a place to sit, in a booth, so no one can even look at you. Not even the waitress. Trust me?”
It was a moment before she nodded.
“Good,” Patrick said. “We’re going to have a nice lunch. We’ve earned it!”
He got out and opened the door to the backseat. Patrick pulled Megan out, positioned her at his side so that the scarred part of her face was next to him, put an arm around her to pull her close and led her into the restaurant. Angie and Lorraine were left to follow and once Paddy was inside with Megan he looked around a sparsely populated restaurant. The hostess approached and asked, “How many?”
“Four,” Patrick answered. Then he pointed to a row of booths and asked, “Can we have one of those booths, please?”
“No problem,” she said, gathering up four menus. “This way.”
When they got to the booth, Patrick slid Megan in. The flawed side of her face was next to the wall, her back to the room.
He stood in wait for Angie and Lorraine, allowed Lorraine to slide in next to her daughter and Angie on the opposite side. When they were all seated, menus in hand, he looked at Megan and winked. She smiled at him and said, “Thank you.”
* * *
“I’m completely exhausted,” Angie told Patrick right after they dropped off Lorraine and Megan.
“I know,” he said. “Hungry?”
“Not really—I had so much pasta for lunch. I wouldn’t say no to a glass of wine by the fire, though.”
“I have some of your favorite at the cabin. How are you fixed for adult beverages at yours?”
“Cleaned out.”
“My place, it is,” he said. “Need anything from home first?”
She shook her head. “I’m good. I’ll run home in the morning to change clothes.”
When they got to Patrick’s cabin she pulled off her boots, sank into the leather chair by the hearth and leaned back while Patrick built the fire. “Aren’t you exhausted, too?”
“Not really. It was a good day. I learned a lot.”
“Then if you’re not totally shot, I’m going to let you serve me. After you’ve built my fire, that is.”
He laughed at her and continued his assigned chores. With the fire going strong, he handed her a glass of wine. With his boots off, as well, beer in hand, he slid behind her into the big leather chair, his long legs stretched out on the ottoman alongside hers. She sat in the vee his legs made.
“This isn’t really a two-person chair,” she pointed out to him.
“And yet…” he said.
“Why aren’t you as whipped as I am?”
“Because I’m not an introvert. I watched you struggle. I hope you don’t mind that I noticed—I think you did great. But I could tell that wasn’t easy for you.”
“Never is,” she said with a shrug. “I’m much happier alone with a book. I’m trying to grow out of that.”
“I’ll help you search for funds when you have to get out there and thump for money.”
“No! No, I’m going to do it. It’s sometimes not easy for me, but I’m going to do it.”
From behind her, he ran his knuckle along her cheek and chin. “Will you tell me when it would help to have me along? Because the priority here is Megan.”
“Yes. Of course. But I’m going to do it. I’m not shy, it’s just that it’s easier for me in familiar surroundings, with people I know. With Lorraine’s permission, I’m taking the before and after pictures Mel has on file to small and large businesses and ask for donations to the Megan Reconstructive Surgery Fund that my aunt Brie set up for me at Farmers Trust Bank. I’m also going to create a Facebook page that I can take down as soon as we have enough funding.”
“Even though it’s hard…”
“Even though,” she said. “The thing is, I’ve always been okay with showing off my gray matter. I didn’t mind if people thought it made me look dorky or dull—that only meant they’d leave me alone. But when I have to try to showcase my looks or personality, it’s tough. I can’t help but feel like I don’t measure up. You know?”
“You don’t give yourself enough credit, Ange. You measure up and then some.”
“You’re being very sweet. Is it because you think you’re getting sex tonight?”
He laughed at her. “I assume I’m getting nothing more than the sound of your snoring unless you feel like sex....”
“I don’t snore.”
“Oh, yes, you do. It’s very cute.”
“I doubt I’ll be able to sleep while I’m with you now,” she said. But a big yawn followed that statement, making them both laugh.
“I was very proud of you today,” he said. “You knew what you wanted, what you needed, and although it wasn’t easy for you, you got the job done. Very proud.”
She turned her head to look back at him. “I don’t know if you’ll understand this, but since meeting you I feel like my best self is coming out. Maybe it’s because of your confidence in me. It kind of trumps my own lack of confidence.”
They talked for a little while, snuggled together in the chair in front of the fire. Angie hadn’t realized she’d fallen asleep until she felt herself being lifted into his arms and carried to bed.
“Let me help you get comfortable,” he said, pulling off her clothes. “Want a T-shirt?”
“Yes, please,” she said, holding her arms out for him.
He stripped down to his boxers and crept under the covers where he curved himself around her back.
“Did you know I’ve never slept with a man before?”
“Sure you have. You had that ex-boyfriend.”
“Mmm-hmm. But I didn’t sleep with him. He couldn’t get out of bed fast enough.” She burrowed into his arms. “He didn’t know what he was missing. Snoring or not, I’ve never rested better in my life.”
It was quiet for a long moment before Patrick kissed the back of her neck and said, “Me, too.”
* * *
After Angie had left in the morning, Patrick dialed Marie’s cell phone.
“What great timing,” she said. “I’m sitting in the parking lot outside the day care at my mom’s church. It’s my old church, but from a long time ago. My mom convinced me to let Daniel go to day care a couple of mornings a week. She didn’t want me to get too clingy right now and then get a job and suddenly shift him into full-time or almost full-time. She’s right. He doesn’t realize he lost a father. And he needs other children.”
“Probably wise. How are you doing?”
“Up and down,” she said. “You know—I have periods of thinking I’m doing better, then I have a couple of days I don’t want to get out of bed. This is when having a two-year-old probably saves my life—my mom would let me lie in the bed, I think. But Daniel won’t. How are you doing?”
“Okay,” he said, feeling so guilty that his life had never felt better. “I got involved in a special project. There’s a young woman here, a visiting relative of someone in town, actually. She’s on break from med school and she helps out at the clinic and she became aware of a problem that needed fixing. A little girl with a bad facial scar and no money to repair it. So this woman took it upon herself to find funding through donations and I offered to help. It’s kind of taking the focus off me and my self-pity.”
“Really, Paddy? That sounds wonderful. Where did you meet her?”
“In the bar—the town bar. She’s the niece of the owner. She’s pretty young, but she makes up for it with a lot of courage.”
“Aw, you sound so tender when you talk about her....”
He wanted to tell her more—about Angie’s accident, her struggle to recover, the issues with her family and her efforts to make her own way in the world. To pay back or pay forward. And he wished there was someone he could tell that his life had never felt this kind of peace, not even before his losses. But he said, “It’s easy to admire her efforts. I would have seen that little girl’s scar and just felt bad about it. Not Angie. She saw it and said, ‘What can we do?’ and got after it. She’s trying to get financing for corrective surgery. I found out that rather than going back to medical school right away, she’s going to give a couple of years to the peace corps.”
“Do you think she’ll get the funding?” Marie asked.
“She’s making the rounds right now, going from business to business, from organization to club. She even put up a Facebook page that gives instructions for donating. Her aunt helped her set up an account for donations at a local bank. And what people don’t realize about her is that it’s actually pretty hard for her to put herself out there like that. She’s studious, an introvert.”
“What’s the Facebook page called?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t even looked. I think it’s probably Megan’s Reconstructive Surgery or something. Now tell me what you’re doing, besides sitting in your car outside day care?”
“People try to keep me busy,” she said. “It verges on annoying, to tell the truth. From family and extended family to old friends from high school, I get invitations and visits and offers of things to do. I still need some time alone, though. I need time to grieve. According to my grief group, there’s no bypassing it by staying active, even though some activity helps.”