Mixed Blessings (17 page)

P
eter walked down the hallway and slowly let out his breath. He'd wanted to gather Marie in his arms, bury his face in her hair and comfort her. She was a real armful of woman. She sure wouldn't appreciate knowing he felt that way about her. Marie didn't even like it when he paid her simple compliments. He'd wanted to brush kisses on her face and give her get-better kisses on her fingertips. Instead, he'd made as hasty a getaway from her room as he could without seeming rude.

At midnight, he gathered up his nerve and went into Marie's room again. It took a bit of doing to shake her awake. Finally, her eyes opened to a sultry half-mast. “Huh?”

“I have your pills, sweetheart. Let me help you sit up.”

He sat on the edge of her bed and slipped his arm behind her shoulders.

She wiggled and settled into his side with a small, kittenish sound.

“How are you feeling?”

“Arm burns.”

He pressed his lips to her temple, then across her forehead. He'd hoped she was just warm from having been burrowed beneath all of the covers, but he discovered otherwise. “Marie, honey, you're running a bit of a fever.”

“'Sokay. Gave me an'biotic shot at the 'mergency room.”

“Let's wash you up and have you take some aspirin. You'll feel better if you do.”

“Need to take the boys—”

“I'll go take care of them.” He nudged Marie into her bathroom. “Can you manage by yourself?”

She gave him a wide-eyed look and actually blushed. He couldn't attribute the color to fever because it didn't just ride on her cheeks—it tinted her entire face. “I'm fine.”

“Honey, if you get dizzy or faint, call me.”

She didn't agree, but she didn't protest, either. Peter decided not to press her. He left the bathroom door open just a crack and went to see to Ricky. When he came back, Marie was leaning against the bathroom doorsill.

“Beddy-bye time, Mrs. Hallock.”

“Mrs. Hallock is thirsty. She didn't drink anything because you said she needs to take an aspirin.”

“Ahhh. I knew I married a brilliant woman.” He noted how she managed to cradle her right arm with her left—a definite giveaway that she was hurting. “I'll pop aspirin and pain pills into you. What would you like to drink?”

“Just water, please.”

She'd washed off a bit. The scent of her soap clung to her. Before they'd gotten married, she wore one certain perfume all of the time. He'd liked the fragrance—it reminded him of sunshine and wildflowers. She'd stopped wearing it, and he suspected that was her subtle way of making sure he didn't suspect her of having any seductive
designs on him. He knew he ought to appreciate her integrity and motive, but it bothered him that she'd given up on it—just as she had stopped doing so many other things.

On occasion, she used to band her curls back with a satin ribbon—but she didn't now. She used to have breakfast before she put on makeup; now she appeared at the table with her “face” on. Marie did her utmost to be the bandbox, perfect image of a wife—but at the same time made it clear this was all smoke and mirrors. Tempting him was the least of her motives.

Pathetically, none of that mattered. He couldn't think of another woman on the face of the earth whom he found half as intriguing, yet honor demanded he ignore the ever-increasing pull he felt toward her. He'd tried to convince himself at the office today that all he felt for her was a simple partnership, but the wild drive home and worrying about her in the emergency room disabused him of that notion. He'd started to develop feelings for her—feelings he never thought he'd have again.

Her steps were unsteady as Peter led her to the bed and nudged her to sit on the edge of the mattress. She obediently swallowed the pills he slipped to her, then blinked at him. “Sorry I'm keeping you up. You look tired.”

“Tomorrow's Saturday. We'll all sleep in.”

 

At seven the next morning, Peter woke abruptly. He'd come conscious at once, thinking the sharp jarring and shaking of his bed meant they were in the midst of an earthquake. He bolted upright, only to discover Luke and Ricky scrambling across his mattress with all of the enthusiasm only two preschoolers could muster at such an hour. “Sport! Tiger! What are you doing out of bed so early?”

“Hungreee!” Ricky announced.

“I should have guessed,” Peter muttered. “It's not breakfast time yet.” He raised the covers in a silent invitation. The flannel pajamas Marie made for the boys rubbed against his ribs as his sons crept under the blankets on either side of him.

“Mommy sleeping.”

“Yes, Ricky, she is. We're going to let her sleep in late. Do you both understand? Leave Mommy alone today. Her arm hurts.”

Peter wasn't surprised the boys went to her room first. It came as no wonder that she hadn't awakened, either. At five, he'd slipped aspirin and another pain pill into her. Hopefully, she'd wake up in better shape late in the morning. In the meantime, he'd keep the boys relatively quiet and under control.

Resting with the boys bracketing him was as realistic as expecting to stay dry while walking through a car wash. Peter soon gave up. For the first time ever, he was going to play solo parent to both boys.

 

Marie emerged from her bedroom at eleven o'clock. She half staggered into the playroom and slumped onto the tweed couch she'd brought from home. Once there, she closed her eyes to stop the dizziness that assailed her. “I don't care what those pills are. Don't give me any more of them.”

Peter tossed a soft acrylic throw over her legs and lifted them onto the couch. Marie automatically grabbed for him since that motion sent her world reeling. Marie thought he brushed a kiss on her temple and murmured, “I like what those drugs do.” It must have been the drugs. He'd never do that.

Washed out as she felt, Marie spent most of the day
lying on the couch. She loved watching Peter with the boys. An odd mixture of intensity and careless abandon characterized his interactions with them. Though a big man, he never towered over them. He spent most of his time lying or sitting on the floor. They made a tent out of a blanket and the trestle table. To the boys' delight, Peter dug out flashlights. They “camped” and had a picnic lunch under the dark cloth folds.

Brianna showed up in the late afternoon. She brought a casserole. As it baked, she started to draw a bath for Marie. Marie gave her a whimsical smile. “Okay, so I already thought you were a cool sister-in-law. The supper you brought smells great, but this—well, it just might make you my favorite person. You're a blessing.” Marie gave her a quick, one-armed hug.

“So are you.” Brianna turned off the water. “Can you get in and out okay?”

Marie didn't bother to muffle her laugh. “I'm a mom— I'm used to doing things one-handed!”

She felt far better after her bath. Though she would have liked to wash her hair, she couldn't manage that feat. Getting dressed posed some problems, but Marie managed and arrived at the supper table just in time for prayer.

Jill came over after dinner. “I volunteered to do night shift with the boys. In the morning, I'll take them to church. Mom and Dad will take them home and bring them back on Monday or Tuesday.”

Marie gave Peter a startled look. “But—”

“Thanks,” he said. He patted Marie's left hand and whispered, “You need to rest. This is what family is for, and it'll get Jill and my folks to go to church!”

How am I supposed to argue with their plan? I can't imagine being without the boys for that long.
“I don't know if Ricky is ready to be away from me.”

“Mom said if there's a problem, she'll bring them back and stay here. I happen to know she's been concocting all sorts of schemes to get you to let her have the boys for a weekend, so this isn't an imposition.”

Marie looked at Peter. He subtly winked. She let out a long sigh. “Okay. We'll try it.”

The next morning, she accepted the boys' sloppy kisses and looked at Peter. “Go on to church.”

“No, sweetheart. I'll stay home with you. If you're feeling better later, we can go to the evening worship service.”

“I'd like that.”

Jill grabbed the boys' hands and said, “I'm taking Marie's car. It has the car seats in it.”

“The transmission is stubborn,” Marie mumbled. “You'll need to double-clutch.”

“I'll talk with you about that later.” Peter scowled as he strode toward the door. “My car has car seats in it, too. Take it, Jill. I'll grab my keys for you.”

Peter hovered all day. He insisted on pouring fluids into her even though the fever had passed. After lunch, he led her to bed, tucked a blanket over her and firmly declared she needed to nap. Marie stared up at him. “I'm not sleepy.”

He toed off his shoes and surprised her by lying down on the other side of the bed. “Then we'll talk a while. With the boys underfoot, we don't get much time just to converse.”

“Do you think they're all right?”

“Yes.” He stacked his hands behind his head and looked over at her. “Mom's been worried that you wouldn't trust her since you found out Lisa was kidnapped. Asking her to mind the boys means the world to her.”

“My hesitance isn't because of Lisa—it's because Ricky and I are nearly inseparable.”

“The two of you are practically joined at the hip,” Peter agreed. He said the words in such a kind tone, she took no offense. He grinned and continued, “Luke's about caught up on that, too. He clings to you every chance he gets.”

“They're good boys.”

“And you're a good mommy. We did the right thing, getting married.”

“I'm glad you think so.” She wiggled onto her side.

Peter turned to face her and carefully arranged a pillow under her hurt forearm.

“Thank you.”

His fingers trailed down hers slowly. His eyes went darker than usual, and his voice took on a husky tone. “You're more than welcome.”

“I feel so ridiculous about this.” His touch felt so reassuring, so comforting. She didn't want him to leave her. “Talk to me about Isaac's House.”

“Sure. The owner of the lot next to where we bought contacted me this morning. If we want to buy his land, he'll sell it at the same cost as our current lot.”

“Which side? The one with the neat, old trees?”

“Yes, the one to the east. Due to space constraints, the architect had to pare down our original plan from twelve apartments to ten. If we buy this extra land, we can build mirror image complexes, and I'm almost sure we can keep the trees as a central common.”

“Oh, that would be wonderful. Can we afford it? Could we still keep the therapy pool?”

“They're taking measurements. We already know the city zoning code will let us do it. Finances aren't an issue. The only thing is, if we do this, it'll set back when we
break ground because we'll want to resituate where the buildings are located on the lot.”

“Sandy might need to live with us for a while.”

“Fine by me. You know she's always welcome.” He glanced downward. “How's your arm?”

She shuddered. “I don't want to talk about it.”

“Why won't you take something? I know you hurt.”

“I'll just nap.”

His knuckles slowly trailed down her cheek, then he carefully pulled the blanket up to her nape. “You make it hard for me to respect your wishes when I know there's more that can be done.”

“More isn't always better,” she whispered.

“If I let you win this disagreement, you have to let me win the next three.”

“Not a chance.”

“Okay, the next two. But I'm warning you now, that's the best deal you'll get out of me.”

“Shush.” She closed her eyes. “I'm trying to sleep.”

P
eter made grilled cheese sandwiches, burned the first batch, and gamely made more. Marie tried not to laugh at him—he'd blithely ignored the skillet the first time, and now he hovered over it like a tiger ready to pounce on…
Well, it is his next meal,
she admitted to herself.

No one could have ever put plates on a table with more pride and glee. Marie smiled up at Peter, then watched as his brow furrowed. “What's wrong?”

“Well, maybe we ought to have other stuff with the sandwiches. You know—round it out, make it nutritious.”

She started to stand. “I'll get—”

“Stay put.” He glowered at her. “I'm making supper.”

Entertainment of this variety came only once in a lifetime, Marie decided. She leaned back in her chair and watched Peter root around in the cabinets and refrigerator. He plopped a fistful of baby carrots on each plate, added some chips, wrinkled his nose and an aha! smile tilted his mouth as he dived toward the freezer.

Marie prayed over their meal and asked the Lord to bless the hands that prepared it. The sandwich was cold,
the ice cream was hot, and the chips were stale—but no meal had ever been better.

“I think you need to rest tonight,” Peter decided as he drank the last of his ice cream from the bowl.

“I can sit in a pew just as easily as I can sit on the couch.” She smiled. “I really want to go to service tonight.”

He sighed. “Luke gets that same ‘pretty-please' look on his face. It's irresistible.”

Peter watched as she emerged from her bedroom fifteen minutes later. Though the early-autumn evening was warm, she'd chosen a dress with loose-fitting long sleeves to hide the bandage on her arm.

“Um, Peter?”

“What is it?”

He hadn't noticed she'd kept her left hand behind her back until now. She brought it around and smiled sheepishly. A pair of strappy black shoes dangled from her forefinger. “Daddy, will you peese hep me with my shoes?”

Lord, it's a good thing I'm going to church, after all. My mind is heading toward things of the flesh. She's my wife, and it's not supposed to be a sin…but Father, I don't know how to handle this attraction and still honor my promise to her!

Once he walked her into the sanctuary, he realized the spiritual renewal she found here was every bit as important as the physical refreshing she got from sleep.

Folks who had been away on vacations heard through the grapevine that he'd married, and a few came over after the service to meet his bride. To her credit, Marie carried off her role as wife beautifully. She didn't fawn over him or put up any pretenses, yet she stayed close and smiled
freely as she mentioned the boys and made it clear they were all enjoying family life.

As he helped her into the car and leaned over her to latch the seat belt, Peter murmured, “I'm glad we came.”

“So am I. I like your church.”

“It's
our
church now.”

The corners of her mouth rose. “Is this the first disagreement I'm supposed to let you win?”

“No, we're not disagreeing at all. It's an undeniable fact. In your own words, ‘The music here makes me feel right at home.' You can't argue with that.”

“Your debating skills leave my head spinning.”

“Then I'd better get you home and tuck you into bed. I have a busy day planned for you tomorrow.”

“Busy? Life is going to be quiet as a tomb with the boys at your mom's and you at work.”

“I'm taking the day off.”

 

To Peter's relief, Marie wasn't running a fever the next morning. He took her out for breakfast, then insisted, “We're going shopping.”

He'd called his folks and let Marie get a report on how the boys were doing, then swept her into several boutiques. Peter knew she'd lived frugally, but her reaction to the price tags was far from amusing. He inched closer and murmured in her ear, “Sweetheart, stop looking at the tags and start looking at the merchandise. You deserve some new stuff.”

She gave him an appalled look. “This robe costs more than Sandy and I paid for a whole week's groceries!”

“I see we have a problem.” He waggled his brows. “Whenever I see you in it, I'll have cravings for meat and potatoes.”

Marie giggled. “You're outrageous.”

“Me?” He gave her a wounded look.

She hissed under her breath, “And so are these prices!”

“I'd pay ten times that so you wouldn't wear that ratty old T-shirt.”

She squared her shoulders. “It's not ratty. It's broken in.”

“I've always heard wine and cheese are the only things that improve with age.”

A twinkle lit her eyes. She rocked to and fro from toes to heels and back. “You're wrong. Definitely wrong. Blue jeans improve dramatically with age.”

“Ahh, you have me there. I'll have to pay a forfeit for losing the bet.” He snagged three nightgowns from the display and marched toward the sales associate.

That was only the beginning. Peter calmly handed over the garments and said, “My wife needs to replenish her supply of intimate wear.”

“I'm sure we can take care of her.”

Marie stared at him. He wasn't sure whether she was angry or embarrassed. Peter strode back to her, gently pulled her into his arms and whispered in her hair, “I know you don't want me to see what you end up getting. I brought you here because this is where Mom always comes with my sisters. Promise me you'll get some pretty stuff. Enough for two full weeks, and I'll step outside while you shop.”

“Two weeks!”

“Okay. I'll make a better deal.” He leaned back and tried not to smile at her flushed cheeks. “Two weeks for you, and two weeks for Sandy, too. Get her some pretty nighties and stuff. She could probably use a little boost.”

“You don't play fair.”

Peter lightly kissed her forehead. “Do it, Marie. If you don't, I will.”

She gasped.

“Promise, and I'll step outside. I'll even go into the shop next door, so I can't see whatever you choose through the window.”

“I could sew—”

“No!” he hissed. Visions of her in flannel decorated with silly cats or cartoon cars flitted through his head.

“Can't we just go to a discount department store? This place is outrageously expensive.”

“You're worth it. Do it for yourself. Do it for me, because I want to provide for you. If neither of those matter, do it because you know Sandy would enjoy some pretties.”

“You're my husband. How you feel is more important than my sister.”

“You're some woman, Marie.” He caressed her cheek with the backs of his fingers.

“I must be insane. I'm putting a blackmailing husband before common sense.”

Peter chuckled. Mindful of her arm, he gave her a careful hug then cruised toward the door. He paused a second, then came back. He handed the sales associate his platinum card and tilted his head toward Marie. “She might need a bit of help since her arm is hurt. Thank you in advance for all of your assistance.”

While Marie got her lingerie, Peter went into a little boutique next door. He cruised around the clothing racks and realized he didn't even know what size his wife wore. “Do you have the phone number for the place next door?”

“Probably. If not, I could get it for you.”

A smile lit his face. “Better yet, can you estimate a woman's size? The blond—”

“I'd be happy to.” The clerk left, then returned a few
short moments later. “The blond lady with the huge blue eyes and dimples?” Peter nodded. “Six petite. Definitely a size six.”

“Thank you. I'm going to ask a little favor…” He quickly selected a wide variety of dresses, shirts and slacks. Before the woman put them in the dressing room, she followed Peter's instructions and cut off the price tags.

Peter claimed Marie and sat on a plush couch as she was ushered into the dressing room. Bags of lingerie lay at his feet, but he resisted the temptation to peek. He insisted, “My wife is to come out and let me see each outfit.”

“Peter!”

He laughed and turned to accept a cup of espresso from one of the employees. Moments later, Marie timidly emerged. He lifted his forefinger and rotated it in a silent entreaty for her to turn. She did. “No, sweetheart, that dress doesn't do you justice.”

Her lips parted in surprise.

He winked. “Try on that blue one next. You wear a lot of blue. Is it your favorite color?”

Her left shoulder hitched a bit and she flickered a tiny hint of a smile at him. “I guess so. I never really thought about it.”

When she reappeared in the dress he'd suggested, he again motioned for her to turn. He nodded his head once, emphatically. “Yes. It's a perfect match to your eyes. That'll make a nice church dress for you.”

The storekeeper did an excellent job of cajoling, shepherding and prodding. From hushed whispers, Peter knew she zipped, unzipped, buttoned and moved with cheerful efficiency to make sure each garment hung right before she'd let Marie out of the dressing room. He was glad of the clerk's assistance. The timing was bad—Marie cer
tainly couldn't do much for herself. He should have taken her shopping long ago. At least Marie was in the hands of a woman who seemed to treat her with the right combination of matter-of-factness and fun. He'd be sure to slip her a sizable tip. Commission, alone, on these things would be hefty; but Marie required and deserved extra help, and Peter wanted to show his gratitude.

Marie continued to reappear in new combinations and ensembles. He'd never seen anyone so transparent—when she liked something, her eyes lit up. When she didn't like it, her lips pressed together in a prim, tense line. She emerged yet again. Peter took his cue from her. “I don't care for that one. What do you think the problem is? I've never seen you wear that shade.”

“I look bilious in this color green.” She glanced down and made a hopeless gesture. “Peter, you've gone way overboard. This is far too much.”

“We're just getting started.”

“You already said yes to six things!”

He patted the cushion next to himself. Marie came over and hesitantly sat down. Peter wrapped his arm around her and held her for a few silent moments. He eyed her bandage. “Is your arm hurting?”

“Only when I bump it.”

“Would you feel better if you got to rest a bit before we continue?”

“Peter, you're not listening to me. I don't need all of this!”

He ran the blunt edge of his fingers back and forth very slowly along the shallowly scooped neckline of the yellow-green dress. “Gifts aren't supposed to be only what you need. They're supposed to be ‘just because.' I want to do this for you. I want to do this
with
you. Please, honey, stop being practical and just enjoy yourself.”

She let out a deep sigh, but to his delight, she nodded. She gave him a game smile, then whispered, “All of this stuff is so pretty.”

He grinned. “Pretty things for my beautiful wife.”

 

He took her to two more stores, out for a quiet lunch then stopped at a white building graced with pink awnings. “It's too hard for you to wash your hair. Mom suggested I bring you here.”

“Harlan's! Peter—this isn't just a little corner hair salon.”

“Do me a favor—stop having a hissy fit.” He got out of the car before she could formulate a response. Peter took her inside and glanced at his watch. “I'll be back in three hours,” he told the receptionist. “Remember what I said—only a trim. I don't want her hair cut short.”

Three hours!
Marie gaped at him.

Peter smiled at her and slowly ran his hand down her hair. “Your hair is beautiful, sweetheart. I hope you don't mind if I got a little bossy about that. Now tell me—if I gave you a choice between a station wagon and a van, which would you prefer?”

“Peter!”

“You can't keep driving that old car. You're double-clutching. That means the transmission is ready to go out. We'd be silly to repair it. You can count this as one of the arguments I get to win, so which is it—a van, or a station wagon?”

She gave him a hopeless look.

“Okay. I'll do some legwork. Enjoy yourself.” He brushed a kiss on her cheek and left.

Three hours later, Marie didn't know whether to strangle Peter or kiss him. She'd been pampered outrageously. The stylist fidgeted with one last strand of her shining
hair, then the flamboyant cosmetologist spritzed her with a decadent fragrance. “Marvelous, darling. Marvelous!” she oozed.

Marie smiled at her. “Remember that scene from
The Wizard of Oz
where Dorothy goes to the beauty shop? I feel that way.”

One of the women from their congregation was having a manicure. She laughed, “With a man like yours, you can certainly click you heels and say, ‘There's no place like home!'”

Uncertainty swamped Marie as she stepped out to the reception area. What would Peter think? He sat over by a leafy palm, thumbing through a magazine. The moment he caught sight of her, he set aside the magazine and stood. He didn't smile, and that made her even more nervous than if he would have. Marie wasn't sure how she expected him to react, but he wasn't behaving along any line that she might have concocted.

He walked around the small, lacquered coffee table and stopped almost a yard from her. He scanned from her crown to her sandaled feet. When he'd finished that slow once-over, a smile lit his face. “You had your toenails painted.”

Embarrassment streaked though her. “Yes.”
Please, can we go? Everyone is standing here, staring at how you're reacting!

“I want you to come back here every week.”

“We'll talk about it later,” she whispered. Dollar signs danced in her head. Peter was nuts if he thought she'd squander money like that! She turned and thanked everyone, then left.