The Christmas Kite. Gail Martin Gaymer

outside.

      Meara turned to Otis. “Before I get too excited, I’d better hear what he’s asking for rent.”

      “We didn’t discuss that, fully.” Otis pinched his lip. “He said the place has been sittin’ empty for so long that five dollars would be more than he was gettin’ before.” He chortled.

      “Yes, but I expect it’ll be more than five dollars. I’d have to pay a fortune anywhere else.”

      “I think two hundred a month should do it.”

      Meara gaped. “Two hundred. No. You mean four hundred.”

      “Cat’s whiskers,” Otis said with a grin. “Two hundred is about right.”

      “Oh, I feel—”

      “You feel like you’ll say, ‘It’s a deal,’” he said.

      She nodded and smiled. “Mac, you think we should move in here?”

      Mac giggled. “Cat’s whiskers,” he said.

      Otis stepped back. “Oops! There I go again.”

      “Otis Manning,” Nettie said, shaking her finger at him. “I’d better wash both your mouths out with soap.”

      Bubbling with giggles, Mac hurried to Otis’s side and wrapped his arm around him. “Both get our mouths washed out, don’t we?”

      “Looks like it, son,” Otis said, rumpling Mac’s hair.

      With her spirits lifted, Meara drove down the lane to their cabin. Soon they’d be in a more comfortable setting, but first she had work to do and so much to buy. Supplies and linens, dishes and pans, and beds. The Mannings had taken her list and had said they would gather up what they had, and Nettie had said the church was having a rummage sale the next day. She could pick up a few things there, perhaps.

      She parked, and Mac flung open the door, anxious to get outside. He’d been in the shop and apartment much of the afternoon, and his energy was straining for release.

      As she unlocked the cabin, a new thought struck like a hammer. She would be five miles away from Jordan. From what she could tell, he went into town for groceries and supplies, but little else. And she had no reason to come here anymore.

      Her thoughts clogged like a bad drain. Why did she care about Jordan? He’d been kind to Mac…and to her. Picturing herself sprawled on the sand by Dooley’s exuberance, she smiled. Life in the cabin had offered her fresh air. Sunshine. A new beginning. Forget Jordan. She and Mac would create a new life in town.

      Meara tossed her purse on the sofa, locked the door and dropped the keys into her pocket. She would thank Jordan for the apartment. This time she had a reason to speak with him. She and Mac followed the pine-shaded path to the sunny beach. The glimmering lake rolled in like blue corrugated paper sprinkled with gold dust.

      She drew in a deep, refreshing breath. Her life was about to begin, a new adventure. Her life before…She stopped herself. Memories rushed in like a river, washing away the joy that she had gathered on the banks. She did not need self-pity. Her new adventure had opened doors she’d never known before. Hope and happiness flooded her.

      Mac toddled along beside her while she reviewed her plans for the coming days. Tomorrow morning she would go to the church, and then she could shop for the other things she needed. Perhaps she’d go into Cheboygan. The town was larger and had well-stocked shops. But thinking of Mac, her spirits were dampened. She’d kept him bound up in the apartment all morning, and tomorrow would be the same.

      As they rounded the tree-lined curve in the shore, a long, disjointed kite drifted in the sky above the water ahead of them, its sections undulating on the lake breeze. Her pulse skipped. Mac saw it, too, and let out a joyful cry. They hurried ahead, and the distant figure of Jordan grew nearer until they were at his side.

      “What is that?” Meara asked, gasping for breath.

      Mac’s face skewed, and a giggle rose. “A kite, Mama!”

      She dropped her hand on his shoulder. “Yes, a kite, Mac, but what kind?” She pointed at the sections rising and falling with the air current. “See how it moves on the wind.” She looked to Jordan for the answer.

      “It’s centipede style,” he responded. “It’s created in sections.” He aimed Mac toward the front of the kite and pointed. “See the head, Mac? It’s a dragon. When the Chinese fly this kite for their New Year’s celebration, they’re asking the gods for good luck.”

      “God?” Mac said. “Ask Jesus for good luck.”

      Jordan raised an eyebrow. “No, they…well, something like that.” His shoulders tensed, and he tightened his rein on the thick string as the kite looped on the billowing wind.

      Mac clapped his hands. “Me. Me.”

      “This one is hard to manage, Mac. I’ll let you try a smaller kite another time. Okay?”

      Disappointment registered on Mac’s face, but he nodded, his focus still glued to the mesmerizing kite.

      Jordan tightened his grip and wound the thick string, bringing the lovely creation back to earth. The kite soared and plummeted as he manipulated the cord. Finally, he took backward steps to avoid the water, and Meara shot forward to grasp the kite as it dipped toward the damp, shell-speckled sand.

      “A save,” she called, smiling over her shoulder at Jordan, then returning her gaze to the amazing centipede. Its body was sectioned, and the colorful green-and-red cloth was connected with some kind of plastic tubing. The dragon’s head appeared painted, rather than dyed, in blues and greens with blazing red eyes.

      “It’s wonderful,” Meara said, lugging the cumbersome kite toward him. “It must have taken you forever to make this.”

      In awe, Mac clung to the centipede’s red-rimmed tail. “I helped,” he said, settling his section of the kite in Jordan’s outstretched hand.

      “You’re a big help, Mac. Thank you.”

      The fluttering wind tugged at the taut fabric, and Meara struggled to keep it close to her side until she could place the burden in Jordan’s arms. He gathered the cloth-covered frame and headed toward the house.

      Mac followed but Meara remained behind until Jordan’s voice reached her ears. “Come up to the house, Mac, and I’ll show you what I’m working on now.”

      The child glanced over his shoulder, beckoning her to follow. Wisdom told her to hightail it back to the safety of the cabin. In Jordan’s company, life brightened as brilliantly as his kites. But she saw no future in it, only a deeper loneliness for having known him. Yet Mac’s eager face loomed before her, and she pushed back her fears and hurried up the path.

      With Mac manning the door, Jordan wrestled the large, jointed kite onto the porch. Managing his heart was as difficult. Each time he saw the boy he ached and yearned to be the father he could never be. And when he gazed at the delicate, fiery-haired woman, he felt a longing he couldn’t explain. If he had a brain, he would discourage their entrance into his house and into his life.

      Hearing the ruckus, Dooley bounded to the porch from inside the house. In a flash of fear, Mac stepped backward as Meara drifted through the doorway. In a heartbeat, Mac’s chin jutted forward, and with renewed courage, he stood his ground while Dooley’s wet tongue drenched his cheek.

      “More kisses,” Mac said, his voice a mixture of fear and laughter.

      “Dooley, down,” Jordan commanded. “Let the boy be.” He grasped the dog’s collar and pulled him away as the setter strained to give Mac one final slurp.

      Jordan gave a decisive tug on his collar, and Dooley obeyed, coiling himself on the porch rug and panting as his eyes focused on Mac.

      The boy kept himself aimed at the dog. “Good dog,” Mac said with a noticeable lack of confidence.