Christmas Kisses

Chapter 19: Bless the Bird

Sean got that shit-eating grin that was appearing more and more and Mac sloshed hot coffee over the edge of his cup. "Damn!"

Sean's grin widened. He said, "After dinner, Harris and I are going to the movies. There's a new Transformer flick out. We've been waiting ages to see it."

Mac said, "Are you telling me or asking?"

His son frowned. "What do you want me to do?"

Mac rubbed his eyebrow. "Have fun."

Sean glanced from his father to Cecelia. "How much longer until we eat? I've been working on a new beverage for the shop and I just need to check a few things on the internet."

Cecelia stopped her motion of tossing the salad. "That's fabulous. I can't wait to hear about it. Oh, dinner will be ready in an hour."

An hour later, the three of them sat at the small dining table that looked like it had been decorated by Martha Stewart. Mac had already berated himself for his touchy attitude and kept the conversation light. Somehow the current topic turned to hobbies and Cecelia admitted how much she loved to cook and decorate. When Sean questioned her further, Mac was mesmerized by the joy on her face as she described the perfect home. She blushed and said, "Sorry about being such a motor mouth. What about you, Sean. What's your hobby?" She paused and then asked, "Do you paint or sketch?" Mac shot her a warning glance.

Sean said, "The only thing I can draw are stick figures. And my best paintings are done with finger paints."

Cecelia laughed. "Okay. I'm the same. But I do appreciate beautiful artwork." She glanced at Mac when Sean wasn't looking. He sent her another warning look.

Sean laid the turkey leg he's just demolished back in his plate. "I do love music and play the guitar and piano."

Mac inhaled sharply. Rose had been a gifted musician and Mac had encouraged her to pursue her gift. She'd laughed and told him she would when Sean was older. The turkey dressing in Mac's mouth suddenly tasted like sawdust.

Softly, Cecelia said, "Maybe someday you'll play for us."

Sean glanced at his father. "Sure."

Their conversation ceased and the congenial atmosphere vanished. Mac glanced at his watch. "What time does your movie start?"

"In an hour."

Cecelia said with what sounded like forced cheerfulness, "Then you have time for pie."

Sean picked up his plate and stood. "Would you mind if I saved it until after the movie? I'm walking to the theater to meet Harris and there might be a lineup. I want to get there early."

"Of course you can wait until you get home. And just leave your plate. I don't mind cleaning up."

Pointedly looking at Mac, Sean replied, "My mom and dad always make me take my plate to the sink." He quickly turned and left the room.

Mac sat silent, still lost in memories of Rose playing beautiful melodies on the piano. Neither he nor Cecelia said anything. A few minutes later they heard the front door close.

Cecelia started to scoot her chair back but stopped when Mac said, "Why did you ask Sean if he's artistic?"

In a soft and compassionate voice, she replied, "You know why. If he is, then it's something the two of you can bond over."

Mac could hear the torment in his own voice when he responded, "I don't want to bond with the boy and I'd appreciate it if you'd stop meddling where you're not wanted."

"You're a liar, Mac. Are you telling me you don't want to hear him play the guitar or piano?"

Mac slapped his left hand on the table. "Dammit, you don't understand! His mother was a gifted musician. Listening to him play would only open wounds that need to stay closed. The boy belongs back with his family in San Diego. His coming here has been a travesty."

His words catapulted Cecelia from her chair. With her hands gesturing wildly, she said, "You selfish bastard." Mac marveled at the fire in her eyes. "Do you really think the world revolves only around you? My God, you have a son who is crying out for his father's attention and you can't even acknowledge his revelation that he plays music. That boy wants your love more than anything. Don't tell me you know nothing about child psychology. Sean acts like a brat to gain your attention. But you're so wrapped up in your own woes you haven't time for the precious gift of your own child. Yes, you lost your wife. Yes, you lost some physical abilities. But–" She leaned across the table, "You didn't lose your SON!" she shouted.

Mac couldn't move. He couldn't breathe.

She gulped a breath and continued with the same anger. "I would give anything, anything, to have a child. When I was thirty-eight, I was reckless and had a brief affair with a man I met through a business associate. I was lonely. He was lonely. But we never had a spiritual connection. We parted ways with no regrets. Later, when I found out I was pregnant, I was so happy. Selfishly, I kept putting off the day I would have to tell the father about his child...and then I didn't need to." Her lips trembled when she continued, "For a short time, I had basked in knowing I would have a child to love. But just as importantly–" Her voice broke on a sob, "I would have someone to love me!"

Mac felt paralyzed by her admission.

Cecelia sobbed, staring past him. "But the pregnancy was ectopic and I lost not only the baby, but any chance of having children." Another heartfelt sob broke Mac's heart. Tears streamed down her face as she whispered, "And you're blind to anything but yourself. I hate you."

Mac watched her rush from the room, but as fast as he could with the aid of his cane, he followed. She had entered her bedroom and shut the door, but he opened it anyway.

"I want you to leave!" she shouted.

Ignoring her protest, he advanced and she stepped backward until her legs bumped a chair. Her eyes widened when he tossed his cane away and reached for her.

"No. Please don't," she cried.

He ignored her and pulled her into his arms. He half expected her to fight him, but when she said, "Oh, God," and planted her lips on his, he returned her passionate kiss. She kept repeating, "I don't hate you...I don't hate you," while fervently kissing him.

His restraint crumbled in the wake of this sweet woman's passion. He needed her passion as much as he needed air. Cupping the back of her head he filled her mouth with searing kisses. Her hands roamed his body and when she fumbled trying to unbutton his shirt, he reached and pulled it apart, popping the buttons. Her hands molded to his chest and then moved down to his abs. She groped his waist and pulled him so close they were one skin.

He rasped in her ear. "God, how I want you." As he backed her toward the bed, he reached to unfasten her skirt. She lifted her mouth from his only long enough to pull her blouse over her head. Her skirt dropped to the ground, as did his shirt and her blouse. Now bare-chested, he pulled her forward until her breasts, clad in a lacy bra, flattened against him. Cupping her bottom, he pulled her center upward toward his own and bent his knees. She felt so good he groaned when dormant sensations reawakened his body and made him forget the ache caused by bending.