In Firefly Valley (32 page)

“Constantly, but there's been no answer.”

“Then it's not yet the right time. Have faith, my boy. Have faith.”

“I'm trying.”

The house was quiet. Lauren and Drew had gone somewhere and Fiona was asleep, leaving Marisa alone with her thoughts. Tonight they were uncomfortable companions. She'd tried reading but couldn't concentrate. TV hadn't kept her attention, either, so she had finally decided to wrap gifts and had dragged the shopping bags filled with presents to the kitchen table along with rolls of paper and ribbon. Even if she couldn't corral her thoughts, at least she could accomplish something.

As she'd feared, her mind continued to whirl. She measured a length of ribbon, then began to wind it into a bow, wishing it were that easy to arrange her thoughts. Instead, memories of Blake's face when he'd said good-bye were juxtaposed with Eric's expression when Hal declared that he'd set him on the right path.

Marisa snipped the ends of the ribbons, admiring the way they curled. Fiona would enjoy ripping this bow from the package of half a dozen pairs of socks in assorted bright colors. There was enough variety that they could clash with everything Fiona owned. Smiling at the thought of the child wearing orange and purple socks with lime green shorts, Marisa reached for the next box. It had been more difficult to find something for Lauren, but when she'd seen the apricot sweater at the goat farm, Marisa had known it was the perfect gift for her friend.

Angora. Blake. Eric. Hal. One memory led to the next, creating a tangle of thoughts worse than the ball of wool her neighbor in Atlanta's cat had decided was a plaything. Determined to unravel the mess, Marisa focused on the easiest part: Hal.

Perhaps it was because she had less invested in him; perhaps it was because he had obviously changed. Marisa wasn't sure of the reason why it had been so easy to accept his apology. All she knew was that when she and Hal had said good-bye, she had felt a sense of completion. The past they'd shared, brief and painful as it had been, was over. There was nothing left to regret.

She couldn't say the same thing about Eric. Like Hal, it appeared that he had changed. Like Hal, he'd apologized. But though accep
tance had been easy with Hal, Marisa was unable to take that step toward Eric. Why not? She'd trusted both men, and they'd both betrayed her. Admittedly, it had been on a different scale. With Hal, it had been one time, not a matter of many years and many, many instances. Her relationship with Hal had been casual, not the deeply intimate relationship she'd had—or wanted to have—with Eric. But even considering those differences, Marisa couldn't explain why it was so difficult to offer Eric forgiveness.

As odd as it seemed, she felt as if there were an iron gate between her and that forgiveness. Though the anger that had always erupted at the thought of Eric had dissipated, a barrier remained. She could see her goal, but she could not reach it. Why not? Marisa closed her eyes, trying to understand, and as she did, the scene changed. The gate vanished, replaced by a wall covered with shiny stainless steel, a wall that reflected her image. She was the barrier.

But that made no sense. Her eyes flew open and she shook her head. Where her relationship with Eric was concerned, she wasn't at fault. She wasn't the one who'd ignored a daughter's cries. She wasn't the one who refused to change, no matter how many pleas a child uttered.

This was crazy. Marisa looked down at the ribbon that she'd twisted into a mangled mess. If she continued at this pace, she'd need to buy more wrapping supplies. Disgusted, she rose from the table, pulled a saucepan from the cupboard, and splashed some milk into it.

When Marisa had had trouble sleeping as a child, Mom would make her a mug of warm milk. Not ordinary milk, though. Mom always added a dash of cinnamon, claiming it was the spice that brought slumber. Dad—Eric, Marisa corrected herself—insisted that nutmeg was better, so Marisa's warm milk had had both spices. She opened the cabinet door and stared at the spices, sighing softly as she added both cinnamon and nutmeg to her milk.

A few minutes later, she returned to the table, a mug of spiced milk in her hand. Why hadn't Eric heeded her pleas? She'd cried and cried, telling him how she hated it every time he collapsed on
the sofa, oblivious to her and the fact that she needed him to be part of her life, and yet he'd continued to drink himself into a stupor. Why hadn't he stopped? Marisa had done everything she could, but it still wasn't enough. Where had she gone wrong?

“No one can change another person. That's up
to the individual and God.”
Blake's words echoed through her brain, and on their heels, Marisa heard Eric telling her,
“Thanks to God, I'm sober.”
Her hands cupped around the mug, Marisa nodded. That was the answer, the piece of the puzzle she'd been missing for all those years.

She'd been so arrogant, so convinced that she had the answers. The truth was, she couldn't change Eric, no matter what she did, no matter how hard she tried. That simply wasn't in her power. Only God had that power; only God could change a person. Thinking she could do anything other than love Eric had been wrong, the worst kind of pride.

The hostility Marisa had shown Eric had hurt not only him but God himself, for she had broken one of his commandments. She had not honored her father. And through her stubbornness and her anger, she'd hurt Blake, the man who'd shown her how wonderful love could be. If anyone needed to change, it was Marisa.

She folded her hands and bowed her head. “I'm sorry, Lord,” she said, tears sliding down her cheeks. “Please forgive me. I know I can't do this alone, but I pray that you'll give me the strength to conquer my anger.”

Marisa wasn't certain how long she sat there, the aroma of warm spiced milk wafting through the air, but as she did, she felt a mantle of peace settle over her.

“Thank you, Lord.”

“I'm going to have a new daddy,” Fiona announced as she made her way into the kitchen. Though she'd become adept with her crutches, her pace was still slower than normal, the thump of the cast on the floor marking her progress.

Marisa smiled at the striped sock that covered the cast, clashing beautifully with the floral print sock on the uninjured foot. Many things had changed last night, but Fiona was not one of them. “Yes, I know.”

“He said I could call him Daddy Drew, even before the wedding.” Fiona plunked herself into her chair and grinned. “Isn't that great?”

“It is,” Marisa agreed. “Before you know it, you'll get to be a flower girl.”

For the first time, Fiona frowned. “Yeah, but Christmas comes first. I'm worried, Aunt Marisa. I don't have a present for Daddy Drew.”

“I'm sure your mother will take you shopping.”

Fiona shook her head, setting her braids to swinging. “She said she already bought something from both of us. That's not right. I want Daddy Drew to have something special just from me.” Fiona's eyes brimmed with tears as she looked up. “Can you help me?”

Marisa hesitated, remembering Lauren's story of Fiona's determination to make penuche for her father one Christmas and what a disaster that had been. “What did you have in mind?”

“Socks. Special socks. Not the kind you can buy here or at Walmart.”

As memories of the goat farm flashed through Marisa's brain, she smiled. “I know just the place. As soon as we finish breakfast, you're going to buy Daddy Drew the best socks he's ever owned.”

And while they were there, Marisa was going to make a purchase of her own: a certain blue scarf and matching sweater for Eric.

T
his is the coolest thing I ever saw.” Fiona stroked the side of the ark, as if she somehow believed the painted hippopotamus peeking through the window was real.

The school grounds, which had been designated as the staging area for the parade, were growing crowded when Drew dropped Fiona off at the curb, but though vehicles queued behind him, he waited until Marisa reached her before he left. It might be six weeks until the wedding, but Daddy Drew was taking his parental responsibilities seriously, and both Lauren and Fiona were flourishing as the result of his love.

Though Fiona had chattered about what seemed like a hundred different things as she and Marisa had walked to the ark, her conversation became narrowly focused when they reached the Rainbow's End float. She oohed and aahed over the ark, unaware that a month ago it had been nothing more than a large wooden box. Eric had worked wonders with it, somehow managing to make it appear that the sides and ends were curved.

“Alice can't believe you're gonna let us ride in it.”

Biting back a smile at the girl's enthusiasm, Marisa forced a deadpan tone to her voice. “We needed two porcupines, and I
hate to say this, but there's something pretty prickly about you and Alice.”

Fiona gasped then giggled. “You're just kidding, Aunt Marisa. I know you.”

“And I know you—prickly to the core.” She bent her head and pretended to study Fiona's neck. “Aren't those quills I see there?”

“No way!” But Fiona had taken the bait and rubbed her neck to convince herself there was nothing odd on her skin. Fiona was still rubbing her neck when Alice arrived, trailed by her mother.

Susan Kozinski gave Marisa a warm smile. “I can't thank you enough for including Alice in this. It's all she's talked about for the last week. Bert and I are thrilled that we have a reprieve from the ‘why won't Santa bring me a puppy?' refrain.” Susan's smile widened. “Those animals are a great substitute for a live one.”

Marisa wrinkled her nose as she watched the two girls petting the painted animals one last time before they followed Kate to the costuming area.

“I'm beginning to think we created a monster.”

“Not at all.” Susan shook her head. “You gave everyone another reason to watch the parade. It's good to have a new float, especially one that's as nice as this.”

“That's what Kate and Greg thought.” The seed of the idea had been planted when they'd attended the Independence Day parade, but it might not have germinated had it not been for Eric. Kate had admitted that he was the one who'd lobbied for it, insisting he could finish the float in time for the Christmas celebrations.

Susan looked around the grounds, her eyes narrowing as she studied a couple other floats. “It seems the rumors are true. I'd heard that some of the others were going to spruce up their floats. They didn't want to be overshadowed by Rainbow's End.”

Since she hadn't been to a Dupree parade in eight years, Marisa had no way of knowing which floats had changed, but the word
rumor
triggered a memory. “The rumor I heard is that your son is going to wear swaddling clothes tonight.”

A frown was Susan's response. “That had been the plan. Bert and I couldn't say no when the church committee asked us. After all, it's a Dupree tradition that if there's a baby under six months old in town, he or she plays Jesus. We were all set, but Liam's been throwing up since early morning.”

“Oh no.” No wonder Susan looked slightly harried.

“Doc Santos assures me it's nothing serious, but a sick baby would not make for a very pleasant manger scene. Fortunately, my mother volunteered to stay with Liam so Bert and I can watch Alice's moment of glory.”

A wide grin split Susan's face as two familiar figures pranced toward them. “There they are, Dupree's prettiest porcupines.”

Pretty
wasn't the word Marisa would have used.
Odd
or even
bizarre
seemed more appropriate. Like all of the costumes for the Rainbow's End float, the girls' consisted of only enough porcupine to cover their head and shoulders. Below the dark brown head, Fiona's red sweatshirt and jeans were clearly visible, as were the split pant leg that accommodated her now colorfully painted cast and two mismatched socks. Alice's outfit was slightly less jarring, because she wore a navy sweatshirt and socks. Despite—or perhaps because of—their unusual costumes, the girls were hopping up and down in a decidedly unporcupinelike manner.

“Marisa,” Kate called from the other side of the ark. “Time to get ready.”

Nodding, Marisa bade Susan farewell. “The next time you see me, I'll be masquerading as a dove.”

“Have fun.”

“I expect we will.”

Five minutes later, Marisa was in the float with the others. Kate and Greg were dressed as giraffes, Mom and Eric as elephants. In addition to them and the porcupine girls were Marisa and one of the teenagers who waited tables as the ark's doves. Knowing that the sides of the float would cover most of their bodies, Kate had ordered the half costumes, but now that they were inside, Marisa
wondered if that had been a mistake. It was clear that Fiona and Alice wanted to wave at their friends. Unfortunately, if they did, their sweatshirt-clad arms would destroy the illusion.

“You can pretend you're royalty and simply nod,” Marisa told the girls.

“But even the queen does that little wave,” Fiona whined, giving a surprisingly good imitation of Britain's monarch.

“Not tonight, Queen Fiona. Your subjects don't want to see red arms.”

“Okay.” It was a grudging acceptance, but with the mercurial change of mood that was so common for her, a second later, Fiona was nudging Alice and giggling.

“We'll have the porcupines and elephants on the left side, doves and giraffes on the right,” Kate announced.

Marisa nodded. It was just as well. She wanted—no, she needed—to talk to Eric, but this was neither the time nor the place. They needed privacy and plenty of time. Marisa suspected she would also need a box of Kleenex.

After the parade ended and Fiona was back home with Lauren, Marisa would drive to Rainbow's End. Eric had been busy all day, putting the finishing touches on the float, but once his masterpiece was safely in the garage, there would be time for Marisa to say everything that was in her heart. For now, she would enjoy the parade.

Within minutes, the ark had taken its place in the queue, and the parade had begun. One of the things Marisa had always enjoyed about life in Dupree was the way almost everyone in town participated in community events like the Independence Day and Christmas parades. If residents weren't riding on a float or marching, they lined the streets as spectators, cheering on those who had a more active role.

The high school band marched, followed by the cheer squad, who paused at each intersection to give onlookers a sample of their repertoire. Various organizations sponsored floats. The police chief
rode in an antique cruiser, and not to be outdone, the fire department drove its largest engine, with four firefighters ready to give spectators the waves that Fiona and Alice could not.

Though the shopkeepers on Pecan Street did not have a float, Lauren and Samantha planned to stand in front of their stores, serving cookies to paradegoers, while Russ Walker handed out cups of coffee and hot chocolate at the Sit ‘n' Sip. The parade created a party-like atmosphere that brought the community together.

Marisa stood next to Kate, laughing at the residents' reactions when they heard the sounds coming from the ark. Though other floats played Christmas music, Greg had insisted that Rainbow's End's float be true to its theme, and so they had a soundtrack of animal sounds.

The donkeys' braying and the elephants' trumpeting made spectators laugh. Or perhaps they were laughing at the fact that this ark defied natural law, and doves were almost as large as giraffes, with porcupines only marginally smaller than elephants. No one seemed to care. What mattered was that Rainbow's End was once again a vital part of the community.

It was the perfect evening for a parade, cool but not cold, clear skies with a half moon, only a light breeze. Fiona and Alice squealed with delight when they passed by friends but somehow remembered to keep their arms at their sides. Marisa smiled. This was an evening both girls would long remember. And so would she. Even though they hadn't spoken, Marisa had given her father a warm smile and had seen first his surprise, then his delight. The best was yet to come.

As the parade made its way at its traditional snail's pace, Marisa sniffed, then sniffed again. It was difficult to be sure, since the mask blocked much of her face, but she thought she smelled wood smoke. Someone must be using their fireplace tonight. Though almost everyone in Dupree came out for the parade, there were always a few—the bedridden and the curmudgeons—who stayed home.

The parade continued, following its traditional route from the
park, east on Avenue N, south on Maple past the fire department and the bowling alley, west on H, and then north on Pecan back to the park. Altogether it was less than two miles, but those were two miles of pure excitement for the porcupine girls. Marisa heard their exuberant cries each time the float rounded a corner.

The ark was traveling west on H when Alice's cries of delight faded and she began to scream, her voice filled with panic.

“My house! My house is on fire!”

“You didn't need to do this, Blake.”

He smiled at the petite woman whose auburn hair bore no trace of silver. Hilary was looking around the dining room of the small restaurant that had the reputation for serving the best steaks in three counties. “It's my pleasure. I consider it a small thank-you for your potato salad and a big thank-you for making my dad so happy. He's a lucky man to have you in his life.”

Blake had liked Hilary from the moment he met her. With a ready smile and startling green eyes, she seemed years younger than the sixty-two Dad had told him was her true age. And watching the two of them together had only reinforced Blake's belief that this was the woman his dad was meant to marry.

“I'm the lucky one,” Hilary countered. “I never thought I'd find someone like Gus.”

Dad laid his hand on Hilary's. “That's enough. Blake doesn't want to spend the evening with two love-struck seniors.”

“Actually, I do.” It was heartwarming to see such a happy couple. “I want to get to know the lovely lady who's going to be my stepmother.” Dad had proposed to Hilary last night, and they'd chosen her ring this morning. That was one reason Blake had insisted on taking them to dinner tonight: he wanted them to have an engagement party.

“There's not much to tell,” Hilary said, giving Dad another of those smiles that announced she was as smitten as he.

“You taught school for forty years,” Blake told her. “There must be a story or two in there.”

There were. They were all laughing at one of Hilary's more amusing anecdotes when Blake felt a chill run down his spine. He blinked, trying to dismiss the feeling that something was terribly wrong, but it only intensified. He closed his eyes for a second, and as he did, Marisa's face flashed before him.

“She needs me.”