Bridge to Forever Page 30

  Boy, had she ever been right about the challenges of joining two families! First there was Bryan’s trouble, and now this run-in with her darling Belle.

  Belle glared at her, brow creased. “Humph!” she said after a long pause. “I guess I still do like you a tiny little bit.” She raised her thumb and forefinger to show Mickelle how small. “But I don’t have to do what you say!”

  “How about we do it together? Then maybe after dinner we can make real cookies. What do you say?” She wouldn’t have used this tactic with the boys; she simply would have demanded that they obey or else. Unfortunately, that never worked with Belle. The other alternative was to threaten Belle with the horse her father had promised her if she behaved, and Mickelle didn’t want to do that, either. She wanted Belle to obey out of love.

  She wasn’t fooling Belle, not for a minute. Belle understood only too well that making the cookies still required her to clean her room. Silently, Mickelle prayed for guidance.

  “All right,” Belle said with a disgusted sigh. “I guess so.”

  They bent to the task, Mickelle purposefully slowing her efforts so that Belle did most of the cleaning. As they worked, they talked about Halloween and what princess Belle should be. At last everything was back in its place and relatively clean, except for the mixing bowl Belle held in her hands to take down to the kitchen.

  “There.” Hands on her hips, Mickelle surveyed their work. “Now that looks like a princess’s room, don’t you think?”

  “I guess it does look kind of good.”

  “Shall we go downstairs?”

  “Yeah.”

  At the door, Belle paused and stared gravely up into Mickelle’s face. “I really do like you a lot, Mickelle. I don’t want you to ever go away.”

  Mickelle felt terrible for even having made the suggestion. Since Belle’s birth she had been with nannies—and they had all eventually left. How can I have forgotten that even for a moment?

  She knelt down in front of Belle, seeing again a glimpse of the vision she had seen so many months before, on the day of Riley’s funeral. “I shouldn’t have said that, Belle. I would never leave you. You know, I love your Daddy very much, but even before I met him, I dreamed about you.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes. I saw you in a dream. I was holding you, and I knew that you were going to be my little girl. I knew it from the moment I saw you.”

  Belle was obviously impressed, but then her brow furrowed. “So when are you going to get married? I miss Daddy being here.”

  Mickelle realized how unfair she was to hold everyone in limbo. “How about around Thanksgiving? That’s only a month away.”

  Belle shuffled her feet excitedly. “I can’t wait to tell Dad!”

  “No!”

  Belle gazed at her sharply.

  “I mean, I should be the one.”

  “Okay.” Belle gave Mickelle one of her angelic smiles before walking down the hall.

  Mickelle followed her, feeling almost giddy with her new commitment. This was the right thing. So why did she feel so nervous?

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Cammy glanced up as Mickelle came into the kitchen. “My special meatloaf is nearly ready; it only needs a few minutes more in the oven.”

  “I can take it out,” Mickelle offered. “You go if you need to. I’ll also take a plate down to Stan. Mrs. Mertz is out, but we’ll leave hers in the fridge.” Even when she was home, Mrs. Mertz preferred to eat her dinner in her own comfortable room in front of her TV set.

  Cammy smiled and began removing her apron. “Thanks. I really do need to get going. Tonight’s Aaron’s birthday, and I want to have a surprise ready for him when he comes home from class.”

  “Go right ahead. Hope it works out.”

  “It will.” She started for the door, but paused and faced Mickelle again. “How are you feeling? I mean, your leg and all?”

  For a minute, Mickelle had to stop and think what she had told Cammy about her thigh. She certainly wasn’t advertising that her son had gone berserk on her, but she had let the staff know she’d been hurt. Most assumed she had tripped on the shoe shelf in the mudroom. “My leg? Oh, it’s good. I still have a whopping bruise, but the swelling’s gone way down.”

  “I noticed you weren’t limping.”

  “Nope. Thanks for asking.”

  “I—uh . . .” The woman still hesitated, tugging at the elastic band that held back her hair.

  “What is it?”

  Cammy shifted nervously. “It’s just that Aaron is graduating in December. He got a job back in Minnesota where my family is from. It’s a good thing with the baby coming and all—we can live in my parents’ basement apartment. There’s even an old couple next door who would hire me to cook part time.”

  “So you’re giving me notice?”

  She gave a sheepish nod. “I hate to do it, you know. Damon’s been so good to me and Aaron. I don’t know what we’d have done if I hadn’t found a job like this—dinner five times a week plus the grocery shopping. It’s really not a lot of work for what he’s paying. I’ve enjoyed it. It’s been good since the pregnancy, too, since I’m only sick in the morning.”

  “You don’t have to feel bad, Cammy. You need to do what’s best for you and your family. I think I’ll be able to handle things.”

  “I knew you could. It’s just—I didn’t want to leave you in the lurch, what with the wedding and Jennie Anne and all. But everything should be taken care of by December, don’t you think?”

  “Sure. That’s great. I’m happy for you. It’ll be good to be near your mother when you have your first baby.”

  “I think so, too.” Cammy backed toward the door. “Well, I’d better go. Goodbye.”

  “Goodbye!” Mickelle called after her. “And have fun!”

  Mickelle hummed as she put dinner on the table. She knew many women didn’t enjoy this chore, but she derived a satisfaction from the ritual. Secretly, she was glad Cammy had given notice, though she would miss her company.

  Mickelle walked to the intercom that would send her voice throughout the house. “Kids, dinner’s ready!” She knew it would be a few minutes until they all gathered, and by then Damon should be home.

  Two strong arms crept suddenly around her from behind. For a brief, terrifying moment, Mickelle was back in her small house fighting a masked intruder. Her heart banged fearfully inside her chest.

  Then warm lips caressed her neck.

  “Damon!” she exclaimed with relief.

  “Who else would it be?”

  She didn’t reply, but he read the truth in her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay. I’m okay.” She hugged him, and lifted her lips to his. Instant electricity flowed through her body, causing every nerve to tingle in anticipation. She pushed herself closer to him and their kiss deepened.

  “Daddy, Daddy!”

  Mickelle sighed, but Damon chuckled and said in a low voice, “It’s just as well. They keep us honest.”

  “Daddy!” Belle threw herself into his arms. “Isn’t it wonderful? I can’t wait to be a flower girl!”

  “What?”

  Belle looked anxiously at Mickelle. “You did tell him, didn’t you?—that you’re getting married by Thanksgiving.”

  “I hadn’t gotten around to—” Her words were choked off by Damon’s hug. He picked her up and spun her around.

  “Thanksgiving, Thanksgiving,” sang Damon. “I’m going to be married by Thanksgiving! Oh, Kelle.” He kissed her again in front of their growing audience.

  Belle and Jennie Anne clapped, while Tanner and Jeremy made catcalls. Bryan walked stiffly out of the kitchen. He didn’t say a word, but Mickelle saw his angry glare.

  Damon’s smile faltered only slightly. “I’ll go after him.”

  Tanner was already out the door. “Let me,” he called over his shoulder. “You guys go ahead and eat.”

  * * *

  Anger welled up inside Bryan until he wanted to bur
st out with every swear word he knew. He clenched his fists. His rage made him so furious that he wanted to break things or punch someone. Anyone.

  Even your mom?

  Even the thought left a nasty taste in his mouth. No, he didn’t want to hurt his mom. It was Damon he wanted to kill, but if he made one false move, they would call the cops and he’d have to go back to juvenile detention. He shivered, though he still felt flushed with his rage.

  “You want to hit someone?” a voice challenged.

  Bryan swiveled on his heel to see that Tanner had followed him into the game room.

  “If you do, then you’d better try me.” Tanner’s lean face looked mean, without a trace of his usual good humor.

  “I just don’t want to eat. What’s it to you?”

  “I’ll tell you what,” Tanner said. “It’s your mother. I hate the way you glare at her. I still can’t believe that you hit her. Your own mother.”

  Bryan shook his finger at Tanner, forgetting for a moment that the older boy had nearly a foot and twenty pounds on him. “You stay out of this. It’s none of your business!”

  “It is my business,” Tanner returned, his voice increasing in volume. “You heard them, they’re getting married. Duh! That means we’re going to be a family.”

  “No we’re not! Just because they get married doesn’t mean we’re family.”

  “It does to me.”

  “I’ll never accept Damon!”

  “So? Who cares? Not me. You’re the one with the problem.”

  “My dad’s dead!” Bryan yelled, not knowing where it fit in the conversation, but somehow needing to voice the thought.

  “So? My mother’s dead!” Tanner retorted. “I watched her get sick and die. When all the other boys were playing with their moms in the park, or their mothers were cheering for them at baseball games, my mother was in bed dying of cancer. She couldn’t even get up to make dinner.” Angry tears started down Tanner’s face and he wiped them impatiently away with the backs of his hands. “Sometimes I can almost remember a time when she wasn’t sick, but then it’s gone, and I see her lying on that stupid bed, getting skinnier . . . losing her hair. I would lie awake in bed at night hearing her cry and wish there was something I could do for her.” Tanner paused for a breath before rushing on. “I wish like anything that she was here, but she can’t be! She can’t! You ought to be grateful you even have a mother. Instead you hit her.” This last was delivered with a scorn that ate into Bryan’s heart.

  “I don’t care how you feel about my dad,” Tanner continued, “but you better stop hurting your mother—I won’t let you hurt her. Not even her feelings. She’s wonderful . . . and so’s my dad, but you’re just too stupid to see it. Why don’t you grow up and realize that you’re not the only one who matters here?”

  “Leave me alone,” Bryan muttered.

  “I will. We all will. But you’re the one who’s losing out. Man, don’t you see it? We have a chance to make something great! Something that really means something! A real family. But, no, you’re too selfish.”

  Bryan watched Tanner leave the game room, banging the door on his way out. For a moment, Bryan felt lost. Once he had admired Tanner, had considered himself lucky to have him as a friend. What had gone so terribly wrong?

  Hot tears burned the backs of his eyes and bitterness stung his throat. My dad’s dead.

  So was Tanner’s mother. He had watched her die.

  What’s more, Tanner wished his mother was here. Could Bryan say the same about his father?

  Bryan tried to see his father’s face, to remember what he looked like, but he couldn’t get a clear picture. What he did see was a series of images—playing Game Boy on the couch, fishing on the lake, soccer in the yard. Then came a vision that was clearer than the rest: his father yelling at Jeremy for opening a drawer.

  Bryan doubled over with anguish as he recalled the instance, sinking to the floor by the pool table. Jeremy had finished eating and wanted to draw a picture of Pikachu, his favorite Pokémon, but Dad was still eating dinner at the bar. He sat in front of the drawer holding the markers. Jeremy reached in to get a marker and Dad slammed the drawer, narrowly missing Jeremy’s fingers. Dad began to yell. Mom put her arms around Jeremy, comforting him, hustling him away.

  More about his father came to the surface of his memory, disjointed bits that weren’t as clear as the scene with Jeremy. Mom’s face. Empty, yearning, wanting. Tears in the night, sobbing. His father’s scornful voice . . . degrading . . . shameful.

  Bryan clutched his stomach, willing the images to fade. They refused to leave, but instead narrowed on the times when his father’s wrath had turned on him. Dad’s face going red as he yelled at him for scaring away the fish, for not being quiet when he wanted to watch TV. Yelling . . . always yelling . . . or sneering. Disgust. And always the question: why doesn’t my Dad love me? What’s wrong with me?

  Bryan closed his eyes against the memories.

  “Bryan, Bryan?” The soft voice penetrated his visions. Small fingers slid along his arms. “Bryan, are you okay? Tell me you’re okay!”

  He forced his eyes open to see Belle kneeling before him where he crouched by the pool table. “I’m okay,” he managed, his voice sounding like rocks grinding together.

  She put her arms around him and Bryan hugged her back. Her love flowed throw him like a river of water, dousing the flames of his hurt and shame. “I’m sorry you’re mad,” she whispered. “I wish you wouldn’t hate my daddy.”

  “I just wish mine wasn’t dead,” he answered, though suddenly he wasn’t sure it was true.

  “I don’t remember my mom much,” Belle said. “She was sick all the time. But I love Mickelle. I want her to take care of me until I go back to heaven with my own mommy.”

  “I know.” Bryan vowed then that he would try to fight the anger and confusion inside him, if only to make Belle happy. He only hoped he could succeed.

  * * *

  Fortunately, dinner was saved by Belle, who disappeared halfway through the meal and returned with a subdued Bryan. Mickelle didn’t know what had transpired between any of the children, but she hoped they could all survive the growing pains. Only Jeremy seemed completely oblivious to the undercurrents of emotion.

  After dinner, Damon took Mickelle’s hand and they went into his study and shut the door. “Okay,” he said. “We need to talk.”

  “I’m not sure where to begin.” She settled on the black leather sofa next to the bookcase. Damon sat with her.

  “You want another child, isn’t that it?” His tone wasn’t accusing, but concerned.

  “Yes, and you don’t.”

  “It’s not that.”

  “I know. You just never thought about it. You don’t feel a lack in your life.”

  He took her hand. “Why does it mean so much to you? Can you help me understand?”

  “I’ve thought a lot about this.” She met his gaze, willing him to feel her sincerity. “At first I thought it was because I craved another baby. You know, the miracle of the birth, the new baby smell of them. The little clothes. The hugs.” She sighed. “But it’s not that at all. I don’t crave having a baby so much as I crave having something that’s yours.”

  “You have my heart.” He touched the ring on her finger.

  “I know, but after . . .”

  “You’re worried about your marriage to Riley, aren’t you?”

  Mickelle tried to explain. “It’s not that.” She held him with her eyes, willing him to understand. “I love you so much. It almost scares me how much. It fills me—my whole heart.” She made a circular motion over her chest with her hand. “If I go by what’s happened between us so far, my feelings are only going to increase.”

  “That’s good—exactly how I feel about you.”

  She took a breath. His amber eyes were so startling, so expressive. She loved him so much. “I know that we hope to be together forever, but we don’t know about Riley and Charlotte. They . . . they wi
ll have their chance to progress to gain eternal life, and what if . . . Well, I feel now that we’ll be together, but if things work out that we are with them instead of each other—” He tried to interrupt, but she held up her hand. “No, let me continue. I believe the Lord will give us happiness, no matter what. I know He will. Even though it hurts so much to think of not being with you.” Tears gathered in her eyes now, and she tried unsuccessfully to blink them away. His features were unclear, but she still felt his eyes boring into hers, holding her in place. Supporting her. “I think why I want a baby so much is because I want something that is yours and for you to have something that is mine—no matter what happens in the next life.”

  Damon’s eyes showed his understanding, but he shook his head. “I can’t think of an eternity without you, Kelle. I can’t. You’re a part of me. But regardless of what happens after this life or whether or not we have another baby, I’ll be raising Jer. And Bry, too. I will laugh with them, play with them, cry with them. There will always be a piece of them in me, and me in them. I will always be interested in their welfare. The same holds true with you and Belle and Tan. We will raise these children together. They are ours.”

  When he put it that way, Mickelle could hardly argue, except the yearning inside didn’t go away. She took his hands. “I know all that with my mind, but in my heart. . . I want something even more, something that is only yours and mine, not Riley’s or Charlotte’s—not one tiny bit.” She shrugged. “I know it sounds selfish, but I want something together that we won’t share with them or with anyone else. A bond that will never end.”

  His eyes searched hers. “Oh, Kelle. We have that, don’t you see? I love you, and I’ll love you forever. We’ll always share a unique connection. I promise you that. What more can I say? If having another child makes you believe, then let’s do it. I’m willing to try, to have surgery, if that’s what it means. Anything.” His tongue wet his lips nervously as he waited for her reply. She followed the motion with her eyes.