With Christmas in His Heart. Gail Gaymer Martin
what else he knew about her family. “A Caribbean cruise.”
“Warm weather in the Caribbean. Sounds nice, although I like winter,” he said. As a second thought, he added, “Nice you’re filling in for them.”
Nice probably wasn’t the word. She’d resented it, but she’d come. “They’re celebrating their fortieth wedding anniversary.”
Will drew her tighter against his shoulder. “Forty. That’s great. Your parents are nice Christian people.”
“They are,” she said, feeling on edge again. Her Christian upbringing had taught her to honor her parents and show compassion, but while her parents followed those rules, she wasn’t always very good at it.
The road veered to the right, past the governor’s summer residence, then at the fork, the driver turned onto Cupid’s Pathway. When she saw the house ahead of her, she pulled away from Will’s protection, hoping to regain her composure.
“Here we are,” he said, as the driver reined in the horse beside the lovely Victorian home. The house tugged at her memories—summer memories, she reminded herself.
Will jumped off the rig and extended his hand. She took it, thinking he was not just irritatingly charming but a gentleman. When her foot touched the ground, Christine felt off balance. She steadied herself, not wanting to let Will know how addled she felt.
He released her and scooted around to the back of the carriage while the driver unloaded her luggage. When the large bag hit the road, Will pulled out the extension handle, grasped her carry-on and paid the driver.
Will led the way, and by the time she’d climbed the porch steps, he’d given a rap on the door, opened it and beamed his toying smile. “I live here.”
Christine gave a nod, thinking he might live in the house, but her grandmother wasn’t his. She hoped he remembered that. Hearing her grandmother’s welcoming voice, she surged past him.
“Grandma,” she said, sweeping into the cozy living room. She set her case on the carpet and opened her arms to her grandmother, noticing the droopiness on the right side of her face. Seeing her made the stroke seem so much more real. “You look good, Grandma Summers. As beautiful as ever.”
Her grandmother shook her head, her hair now white, her body thinned by age and illness. “That’s a wee bit of stretching the truth, Christine, but thank you. The truth is, you’re as lovely as ever.” Though her words were understandable, Christine noted a faint slur in her diction.
Christine ached seeing her grandmother’s motionless left side. Her mind flew back to the first time she was old enough to remember a visit from her grandmother. Ella Summers had appeared to her as a tall, well-dressed woman with neat brown hair the color of wet sand and a loving smile. Today she still had a warm, but lopsided smile.
Choked by the comparison, Christine leaned down to embrace her. When she straightened, she glanced behind her, wondering what had happened to Will.
“I’m happy you’re here,” her grandmother said, “but I’m sorry it’s because of my health. I feel so—”
“Just get better, Grandma. Don’t worry about feeling guilty.” Let me do that, Christine thought, as her grandmother’s words heightened her feeling of negligence.
She slipped off her coat, but before she could dispose of it, a sound behind her caused Christine to turn.
Will stood with his shoulder braced against the living room doorjamb. He had removed his jacket, and she noticed his chestnut-colored sweater, nearly the color of his eyes. She pulled her attention away and focused on her grandmother.
“Now that I’m out of the hospital’s rehab and you’re here, I’ll get better sooner,” Ella said, trying to reach for her hand without success.
The picture cut through her. “Mom and Dad told me what happened, but I’d like to hear it from you.” She draped her coat on the sofa, then sat in a chair closer to Grandma Summers.
Her grandmother’s face pulled to a frown. “You know, Christine, my memory fails me when it comes to those first days. I can remember details of my childhood, but all I remember about my stroke is Will found me and called nine-one-one. I’m not even sure if I remember that or if he told me about it.”
“I can tell you what happened,” Will said, stepping more deeply into the room.
Christine ignored his offer. She’d heard secondhand details. She wanted it from her grandmother. “I see the stroke affected your arm,” Christine said, watching her grandmother’s frustration grow when she’d tried to gesture.
“My left arm and leg. My leg doesn’t cooperate, and I’m a little off balance.” Discouragement sounded in her voice. “But I’ve made progress.”
Christine patted her hand. “I’m so sorry.”
“Where do you want her bags, Grandma Ella?”
Christine froze. Grandma Ella? At least, he could call her Grandma Summers. Even better, Mrs. Summers. She opened her mouth to comment.
“The room at the top of the stairs,” her grandmother said.
Will winked and tipped an imaginary hat—cowboy hat in Christine’s mind—before he headed up the staircase with her luggage.
“How long has he been here?” Christine asked, fighting the unexpected interest she had in him.
“Will’s such a nice young man.” Ella turned her gaze from the staircase to Christine. “He moved in at the beginning of the season last year in May. I decided I’d like to have someone around, and he’s been a blessing. He’s like a grandson.”
A grandson? Christine weighed her grandmother’s words, confounded by the unknown relationship. “Mom and Dad approved?”
“Certainly. They met him on visits before my stroke, but they became much better acquainted when they were here recently. You should come here more often, dear. You’re out of the loop.”
Christine could have chuckled at her grandmother’s modern lingo, but guilt won out. An occasional trip to the island wouldn’t hurt her.
“Will’s been through so much with me. He’s the one who called nine-one-one when he realized something was wrong. He saved my life.”
She realized her grandmother had already told her that, but it was a point she couldn’t forget. How could she dislike someone who had saved her grandmother’s life?
Will’s footsteps bounding down the stairs drew Christine’s attention to the hallway. He whipped around the corner like a man who owned the place.
“How about some cocoa?” he asked. He gave her grandmother a questioning look.
“That would be nice,” Ella said. “And you can bring in some of the cookies Mrs. Fields baked.”
Christine chuckled.
“It’s really Mrs. Fields, the neighbor. Not the franchise,” Will said.
Christine watched him head into the next room, tired of his knowing everything. Right now, she really did feel out of the loop.
“Linda Fields has been helping me in the morning since your mother left. Dressing myself is difficult. She does other things for me when Will’s at work. She’s been so kind.”
Christine felt herself sinking lower in the chair. “You can’t dress yourself?”
“I had therapy.” She rubbed her temple with her right hand. “Occupational therapy, I think is what they call it. They showed me how to get dressed, but sometimes it’s so frustrating. The therapist guarantees me I’ll be as good as new again.”
The vision of a neighbor helping her grandmother dress wavered in Christine’s mind. She’d never dressed anyone, and the indignity for her grandmother seemed unbearable. “How long?”