“Never a bad thing.” He nodded his understanding, wishing he could help more with her finances, and just as certain she’d refuse the offer. “I’ll call you tomorrow, okay? I thought we could take Anna to the mall tomorrow night, when it’s not so busy. If it’s all right with you, of course. We could see the lights and hear the music of the stores at Christmas. And visit Santa, if there’s time.”

  She hesitated as if wanting to put him off, but in the end she relented and nodded. “I would like that, Mitch. And Anna would love it, of course.”

  Her reluctance wasn’t based on lack of feeling. Her gaze, her smile, her voice all showed rising emotions, but something always tugged her back, into the shadows.

  Fear? Regret?

  Mitch knew enough about old wounds to respect the need for time. His heart was geared for full steam ahead. Hers?

  She needed time. He’d give her that because he understood its healing properties all too well.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Lena!” Francine’s voice hailed Lena as she passed the second floor solarium. “Happy Thanksgiving, pretty girl!”

  “And to you.” Lena slipped into the chair next to the older woman’s and patted her hand. “How are you? How was your holiday? Busy?”

  Shadows dimmed the old woman’s eyes, but she pretended them away. “Marvelous! A stream of people, in and out yesterday. Folks coming by to have dinner with their old ones. And some of us were even taken out to dinner!” She voiced the words like a teen girl, explaining an eagerly awaited date.

  “Did you people watch?” Lena wondered. “I would have.”

  Francine gripped Lena’s hand. “Old Myron’s son-in-law came in with brown hair. And you know when a man that age starts dying his hair, there’s usually a young blonde in the picture.”

  “Francine!” Lena laughed, than clapped a hand over her mouth. “We know no such thing.”

  “And Tara McCloskey’s daughter was wearing a cancer hat.” Her face shadowed deeper. “So pretty, so young to be fighting that disease. And her with two teenage children.”

  “Our prognosis is much better these days.” Lena voiced the optimism as she lifted a heartfelt prayer to the heavens. “And her daughter, Kathleen, is a strong person. She will do well in the face of adversity.”

  “It is harder on some,” said Francine. A serious undertone deepened her voice. I always wondered why God makes some resilient and others fall apart. Is it accident? Is it design? Is it of science or God and does it matter?”

  “Perhaps faith is the equalizer?” Lena laid her hands out flat, palms up. “If we are born with varied talents and strengths, perhaps it is the valor of God which brings us to new heights?”

  “You are wise for one so young,” Francine chided. “I look so forward to your visits when you’re working. I see much of myself in you, Magdalena.”

  “Tough, bossy, stubborn?”

  Francine acknowledged the truth of that with a grin. “Most likely. But I was thinking the willingness to do what had to be done. Self-preservation.”

  Francine’s troubled gaze mirrored Lena’s internal guilt. The realization made her pause and then she laid her hand over the elderly woman’s and left it there. “Life has many challenges, does it not?”

  Francine’s eyes clouded, then grew moist. She nodded, unable to speak, suddenly overcome. With emotion? Memories? Regret? With the growing grip of Alzheimer’s robbing her faculties, Lena couldn’t be sure. Happiness shifted to sadness all too quickly for Francine these days. “But we rise to the challenges, from the ashes. As we will on judgment day. And we will meet our Savior forevermore.”

  Tears streamed down the old woman’s face. Lena moved to her side and held her, letting her cry. With so many diseases of the aged, her heart bore the least patience for this slow, troubling killer, a disease that robbed the mind and tried to steal the soul.

  Not on her watch. As the tears abated, she knelt back and handed Francine tissues. “I brought pie today. A delicious pumpkin baked by a lovely woman I met yesterday. May I get you some?”

  “It’s breaking the rules.” Francine glanced around, suspicious. “We could get into trouble.”

  “I will get special permission to share,” Lena promised, and her words eased Francine’s concern instantly.

  “Well, in that case, yes! With whipped cream, if there is any.”

  There was. Consuelo had sent two pies home with Lena, too much for her and Anna to eat themselves. Sharing with folks on the second floor, those that were not on restricted diets, wasn’t unusual. Many of the patients had family that brought treats in.

  But an equal number had no visitors. No treats. No notes or cards. The sadness of no one caring pushed the staff to watch over them. Nurture them. Now and again another patient would offer complaint about special treatment, but that was usually defused with tender, loving care.

  She brought Francine the pie, spent the rest of her break chatting with the lonely old woman, and left her more at peace than when she’d found her an hour before.

  On her way out later, she checked the Thanksgiving Day log and found exactly what she expected. With all the people signing in and out, not one had come to see Francine Green.

  And that made Lena’s heart ache for the old soul upstairs.

  “Mitch, it’s Deidre. Haven’t heard from you in forever. Where are you at this hour on a holiday Friday? Call me when you can, I’ll give you my latest tracking update.”

  Dee’s voicemail made Mitch grin. He hit speed dial. “What?” he growled when she picked up her phone.

  “Mitchell. Where have you been?”

  “Working.”

  “Night and day? Why do I not find that a strange concept?”

  “Because I’m driven and focused and unashamed of my work ethic.”

  “Puhlease. Spare me the public servant drivel. Save it for the next campaign, which will be on us before we know it. Now ask me how great that company party really was a few weeks back, and who I’ve been seeing ever since?”

  Mitch scanned the paperwork he’d need at home and carefully placed it in his attaché. “I’ll bite. Who?”

  “Joaquin Banderas.”

  “With Barclay, Randolph, and Randolph? You’re seeing him?”

  “Yes.” Her breathless tone said this was news. He smiled as he filed a few more things into his case. “Is it serious?”

  “It feels serious,” she confessed. “I have no idea. I’m serious. I hope he is. I’ve never felt like this before. Upside down, inside out, and outrageously happy all at once. Is this what it’s supposed to feel like?”

  “Sounds familiar.”

  “You felt like that with Shannon?”

  Mitch paused in thought. Had he? Then he realized that he hadn’t, not that way. He loved her, there was no doubt there. Still did. They’d been good together, an evenly matched pair. Maybe that was part of the problem. A problem he hadn’t seen in his twenties. “Let’s just say I’ve been there. He’s good to you, Dee?”

  “He’s got a heart of gold. I can’t believe he’s a lawyer. Definitely not your typical variety.”

  “Bad rap for your chosen profession.”

  “Hmm.” Her voice said otherwise. “So, how’s everything with you? I can’t believe we haven’t seen each other in weeks. What’s new?”

  “I’m falling in love with a beautiful refugee from Chechnya and dreaming about filling my house with olive-skinned children.”

  “Ha, ha. No, seriously, Mitchell. How is everything?”

  He laughed out loud, knowing he’d sounded more than a little out of character. He repeated himself, slowing his speech to make certain she understood, “I’m falling in love with a beautiful woman. She’s an immigrant from Chechnya. Her name is Magdalena Serida, she’s a Christian refugee from an Islamic region. She has managed to turn my world upside down in a few short weeks. I’m hoping to take her Christmas shopping tonight.”

  “First, you’re crazy, the mall will be packed. It’s Black Friday.”

  “Not so packed at night and Nancy assured me that online shopping has calmed Black Friday down considerably,” he replied as he closed the case and grabbed his coat.

  “Mitch. You’re serious?”

  He chuckled as he strode to the door. The clock hands pointed to five; time to put the work of the day behind him and anticipate the evening to come. He poked the button for the elevator, impatient. “Very serious. Lena’s incredible. She and her little sister have snagged my heart, hook, line, and sinker.”

  The elevator dinged open. Mitch stepped in and hit the button for the lowest level.

  “And she’s not just after marriage to validate a green card?” Dee’s bluntness sounded less than pleased. In Dee’s separatist world, people knew their place and stayed there. Not unlike his mother.

  “Of course not. She’s a refugee, Dee.” Mitch shot back as the elevator lowered him six floors. “Follow the conversation. She’s staying, regardless. Am I so unlovable that you find this impossible?” he asked, surprised.

  “Unlovable, no. Unreachable, yes. Mitch, you and I are a lot alike. We don’t look down very often. It just seems odd that you would be traveling in the same circle with a refugee from anywhere. Where did you say she was from?”

  “The Chechen Republic. Russia. She came here as a Christian refugee during the aftermath of the uprisings.”

  “I’m dumbfounded.”

  “Am I that plastic?” He paused in the parking garage as he voiced the question. Dee had known him since boyhood as both friend and playmate. Later a shoulder in times of trouble. Her opinion had always mattered. Her answer sobered him.

  “Kind of. I just... I can’t imagine it, Mitchell. The part of you that errs on the side of snobbery must be kicking up a storm.”

  “I’m not a snob.”

  “Not dyed-in-the-wool, maybe.” Dee’s response was slow in coming. “But you’ve always liked things just so. Ordered. Predictable. Now you’ve gone off and fallen in love with someone who may or may not be an asset and that’s not something politicians do without consideration. You have a future to think of. A career. Negative ramifications could spell the death knell for that.”

  Rising heat tightened Mitch’s collar. “Shannon was more than an asset. She was my wife.”

  “And well-known among east-side voting circles,” Dee reminded him. “She brought the Corcoran family name and lots of influence to that wedding. I don’t see this liaison as being politically wise.”

  “It’s not a liaison, it’s a relationship. And who really cares about things like that?” Mitch didn’t bother to hide the exasperation in his tone. Dee had no clue what she was talking about, none whatsoever.

  She stayed silent for long seconds before she answered his question in soft, firm tones. “You, Mitchell. At least you always have.”

  Stewing, Mitch hung up the phone, climbed into the car, started the engine and eased the cold SUV out of the space, angling toward the exit.

  Was Dee right? Was he his mother’s son? A well-disguised snob who checked every angle from a voter’s perspective?

  Sure, he paid attention to the voter climate. That was understood when re-election campaigns were a given. But he’d never rested his personal decisions on an outcome-based level. Had he?

  He pulled up in front of Lena’s house in a funk. Dee’s words had held a mirror up to his face, and the reflection wasn’t all it could be. Was that how she truly saw him? Shallow and conniving? A likeness of her?

  The possibility bothered him. Was he that person?

  Sometimes. Maybe. A quick examination of conscience said it might lean more toward yes than maybe, a troubling realization.

  And yet, his constant work was to keep people safe, to clean the streets of danger, to work the criminal law system to the advantage of the innocent. Didn’t that classify him as one of the good guys?

  Yes.

  But was his example of life all it could be?

  Not even close. So it was small wonder that Dee saw him as a mirror image. The thought shamed him.

  His rush of misgiving was pushed aside by a little girl proudly sporting a white hat and gloves, wearing pretty princess boots.

  “Mr. Mitch! Mr. Mitch! I was watching for you. Lena said I could once my work was done, so I hurried up and did it. Then I watched from the window until you came! I am so glad you called her and asked us to go shopping with you!”

  He scooped her up, feeling the chill of her cheek against his, the soft crown of blond curls that refused to be tamed. Then he raised his eyes as Lena stepped out in the child’s wake.

  “Hello.”

  Lena flashed him a warm smile, eyes bright.

  “I missed you.”

  “All day?” Her voice was tenuous and teasing all at once.

  “All day,” he confirmed, backtracking to the SUV and sliding Anna in once he’d transferred the car seat. He watched as she successfully fastened the buckle, slapped her a high-five, then turned to offer Lena a kiss hello.

  She was milk and honey, sweet and smooth all at once. He deepened the kiss, his hand cradling the nape of her neck, then eased back, smiling. He noted the look of simple trust and devotion she gave him. A look of love, there but unstated. The same look he reflected to her. He smiled, his heart full and his mind at ease. Obviously Dee didn’t have a clue.

  “Where shall we go first?” Mitch put his signal on as they edged past the police car that still maintained a regular presence.

  “Can we visit the mall? See Santa?” Childish excitement laced Anna’s request, and Lena didn’t have to look back to know she was wriggling in her seat.

  Mitch angled Lena a look. “What do you say? You know I’ll back you up either way.” He kept his voice low.

  Lena thought hard.

  Her reluctance to have Anna sit on Santa’s lap came from simple necessity. There was not enough money to promise the moon and she hated the thought of the precious girl having a disappointing Christmas. Still...

  “I meant what I said the other night, Lena. I’ll help. It couldn’t hurt, could it?” Still whispering, Mitch added his entreaty to the child’s. His voice reminded Lena of what he missed, the childhood sights and sounds of Christmas. And of the boy he’d never held, the things he would never do with his lost baby son. She worried her lower lip with her top teeth, then said yes. “I think it would be all right.”

  “Really, Lena?” The tone in the child’s voice showed how much she’d hoped for that answer. “I’ll be soooo good.”

  “You are a good girl, Anna,” Lena admonished in a gentle tone. “You have always been so. Mama and I called you a blessing from the very beginning.”

  “And what did Papa call me?”

  The lie fell smoothly from Lena’s lips and she hated herself for it. “Dear one.” Turning slightly, she smiled at the child that regarded her with big, blue Russian eyes. “Papa called you his dear one.”

  And he would have, too, if he’d been alive. If she’d been his child. The thought and the lie sobered Lena. She rubbed her hands together.

  “Cold?” Anticipating her answer, Mitch hit the higher fan setting on the heat. “This should help.”

  She smiled at his thoughtfulness. His kindness. “Thank you, Mitch.”

  They arrived at the mall a quarter-hour later. The exits and entrances to the brightly lit shopping center were clogged with anxious shoppers. They found a spot big enough for the SUV in an overflow lot, then walked long steps to the nearest door.

  Mitch scooped Anna up, despite her boots. “We don’t want to get Santa’s lap all dirty, do we?”

  Anna’s eyes went wide as saucers and bright as the moon on a clear autumn night. “No.”

  Christmas music greeted them as they stepped through the entrance. Anna’s grin widened as they approached the center display. Lena pressed her hand to Anna’s arm and pointed. “Look, little one. Just ahead. Do you see what I see?”

  The weathered North Pole dwelling had seen years of use, but the little girl didn’t notice that. With a tiny squeal, she wiggled to get down and touch the evergreen-draped fence and the candy-striped poles surrounding Santa’s Arctic lodge. The life-sized robotic reindeer had lost a few tufts of hair but Anna’s eyes stayed round, her mouth open in a silent “O” as she looked from one thing to the next.

  “Let’s get in line,” suggested Mitch. The line snaked out and around, with dozens of children looking forward to their time with Santa.

  “It is, I believe, a long line.” Lena gave him a questioning glance.

  “Builds the anticipation,” he answered. “Time to think about what to say.”

  “And not say, as well,” Lena cautioned the child.

  Anna nodded, earnest.

  Lena bent low. “And remember, Anna, it is not our birthday we celebrate, but that of the Lord. The very one who died for us, who saved us from our sins. Do not ask for too much. And remember to bless Santa. Thank him.”

  “I will.”

  Mitch scooped her up. “You can see better from here,” he explained.

  Anna nodded, using his height to her advantage, peering this way and that. When they drew closer to the green-velvet clad elf, she gripped one hand with the other in anticipation. “We’re getting closer!”

  “Yes.”

  She clapped mittened hands to her mouth. “I can’t remember anything.”

  Mitch hugged her and laughed. “You will, Minx. Once you’re all tucked in with him, it’ll all come rushing back.”

  “Are you sure?” Anna’s face puckered in worry, her eyes full of questions.

  “Positive.”

  When her moments with Santa had come and gone, Anna ran down the ramp to Mitch’s waiting arms. “I did it, Mr. Mitch. Lena, I did it! I remembered to ask him to have God bless Mama and Papa and I asked him for a baby doll and a coat and a new bike for springtime.” She turned anxious eyes to her sister. “That wasn’t greedy, was it?”

  “No.” Lena smiled at the delight in the child’s eyes. “No, it was not. Did you remember to thank him? Bless him?”

  “Oh!” Anna broke free and raced back up the narrow ramp, dodging green-skirted elves as she went. “Santa!”

 

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