The Christmas Kite. Gail Martin Gaymer

couple times. First time lookin’ for those cheap kites. I sent her to the gift shop. Anyway, she passed by again and came in. Her boy is a charmer and loves kites.”

      Curious, Jordan’s stomach tightened.

      “She’s lookin’ for a rental. Happened to mention it, and I thought about the apartment above the shop. You have any interest in renting out the place? She’s alone with the boy and could probably use a cheap rental.”

      Jordan stuck his hands in his pockets, trying to decide how to ask the question. “Do you know her name?”

      “Nope. The boy’s name is Mac. He introduced himself to me like a little man. Down syndrome boy, but bright as a new penny.”

      Jordan’s tensed shoulders rose and relaxed as he released a blast of pent-up air. “Can you guess what boy I was helping with the kite a few minutes ago?”

      Otis snapped to attention. “Mac?”

      Jordan nodded.

      “You don’t say.”

      “They’re renting a cabin down the beach. Those rustic ones.”

      “She said they were down the road. Never thought you’d know her. Funny thing, I mentioned your name. She didn’t act like she knew you at all.”

      He shook his head. “We introduced ourselves today.” Curious. She hadn’t shown she recognized his name. He gave a mental shrug. “I met them one day when the boy saw me kite-flying. Then Dooley knocked the woman over on the beach yesterday and we chatted a minute.”

      “You sure know how to win friends and influence people, don’t you.”

      Otis’s words held more truth than he knew. “I don’t seem to have the knack, Otis.”

      He gave a soft chuckle. “So what about the apartment? I haven’t seen it in a long time. Not sure what shape it’s in. I told her to drop by, and I’d let her know.”

      “How about checking it out. I don’t want to rent a firetrap to anyone.”

      “Sure thing. Might even have the missus look it over. You know, from a woman’s point of view.”

      “Do you have a key for the place?”

      “I think so. It should be on the ring.” Otis pulled a set of keys from his pocket and eyed them. “Check this one out if you would. I think that’s it.”

      Jordan took the key and burrowed through a drawer until he found a set of tagged keys. He matched it against the other. “That’s it, Otis.”

      “Good. By the way, I mentioned earlier that I posted the Help Wanted in the window. Nothin’ yet. Darla can work only another week or so. I’ll need at least a part-timer.”

      “Whatever you need, Otis. Run an ad in the paper if you want to.”

      Otis stepped backward, his hand against the screen-door handle. “I’ll check the apartment in the morning.”

      Jordan gave him a nod, and Otis headed back to his car.

      Standing with a full view of the lake, Jordan gazed out at the glinting sun hanging low in the sky. Sparkles of gold and copper bounced on the waves. If he thought Lila’s God really cared one iota for him, he’d believe the Lord was working in his life. Meara and Mac had walked into his walled-up world, and for the first time in years, life seemed tolerable. More than tolerable. He found himself looking down the beach, wishing he’d see Mac’s smiling face and hear Meara’s soft, lilting voice.

      Chapter Four

      The next morning Meara sat on the beach, longing for Jordan to stroll past taking Dooley for a walk. But only squawking gulls and lapping waves—and Mac—disturbed her silence. She grinned at the child making fortlike mounds in the sand and singing in his sweet voice a repetitive tune with lyrics only a mother could love.

      “Dig the sand and dig the sand. Dig the sand and make a hole. Dig the sand and make a hole. Make a hole and dig the sand,” he sang.

      Listening, she recognized the tune was one she’d taught him, “Jesus Loves Me.” To laugh or scream was her only way to handle his repetitiveness. She chuckled at the endless monotony. How could she do otherwise? Mac enjoyed music and loved to sing. Though he was cheated in one way, God had given him a gift.

      Her heart tugged as she studied her son. He’d been cheated, and she would be, too…one day when he was gone. Life expectancy. She reeled, remembering the doctor’s words. It would be shortened, he had said. Tears found her eyes. She pushed them away with angry fingers.

      Not her son. Not Mac. Life expectancy had nothing to do with God’s will. If she had anything to do about it, God’s will would be a long life for Mac, if…

      Mac’s clear voice crooned the words again. Meara dragged her saddened thoughts upward and glanced for the fourth time in the direction of Jordan’s house, hoping. Her vision reached the curve in the shoreline. Nothing. Why he interested her, she had no idea. She recalled the day they met. He had been rude and abrupt. But since that day, he had softened and had shown kindness to Mac and to her. And beneath Jordan’s rough exterior, she suspected he was as vulnerable as she. Though she’d tried to read the hidden message in his brooding eyes, he had blocked it behind a wall of silence.

      She rose from the sand chair and took a cautious step into the water. The sun’s warmth had yet to raise the temperature of the lake, and she shivered as her foot sank into the frigid surf, jolting her senses. Yet she needed a jolt. She had been protected too long from everything, including living.

      “Mac, want to walk in the water?” she called.

      He shook his head without a break in his song.

      “Don’t go anywhere, then. I’m going for a swim.”

      With one rapid motion, she dived into the water, her body tingling with exhilaration. It had been forever since she’d gone swimming—until this past week. How many empty years had passed since she’d walked along a beach and watched the sun sink into a deep purple horizon? Or watched the birds flying free—the way she felt today? Free and optimistic…and happy. She bounced to her feet, feeling the sandy bottom against her toes. She wanted to yell, sing out like Mac.

      Seeing her son playing with contentment on the shore, she felt her heart squeeze and tears appear behind her eyes. They had lived like prisoners in the Hayden mansion. Their presence had brought discomfort and shame to the arrogant, wealthy family. Life had, for once, turned the tables on their elaborate plans.

      Following the death of Dunstan’s childless wife, his parents had pushed their only heir, Dunstan Alfred Hayden, to woo and marry Meara MacAuley for the sole purpose of an heir. And what did Meara give him? A child with Down syndrome. And who did they blame? Her. Her Irish heritage, her lack of education and her awkward ways.

      Had they considered Dunstan’s age? He was more than twice her twenty-seven years. She had been foolishly flattered—encouraged by her cousin to marry the wealthy man. “You can stay in America,” Alison had said. “We’ll be such friends.” But instead, she, too, had turned her back when Mac was born, perhaps feeling to blame for arranging Meara’s introduction to Dunstan.

      Often Meara wondered why God had allowed those terrible things to happen to her. She’d been strong in her faith back then. She’d convinced herself that Dunstan glided into her life because God had planned it. He offered her a world she’d never known: wealth, security…and love. Or so she had thought. But Meara had been entirely wrong. Without love and tenderness, a baby-making machine was what she had become. She’d been the means to procreate, and once the child lived inside her, Dunstan might as well have vanished from her life. Once Mac was born, things became worse. She’d prayed and asked God “why,” but no answer came to her—until she looked at Mac. Her child was God’s gift and her special challenge. Meara clung to that belief.

      No matter. Those days were over. Never again would