03_The Unexpected Gift (5 page)

“Well, be careful in the meantime. Falling on ice can have nasty, long-term results. I have a bad knee to prove it.”

Once in her car, Morgan took her time maneuvering out of Aunt Jo’s driveway and then turned onto the main road, keeping Grant’s truck in sight. He headed back toward Seaside and into the town, turning down a side street not too far from the church she’d attended that morning. When he pulled into the drive of a small, colonial-style house with dark green shutters, she eased in behind him. Even before she’d set her brake and gathered up her purse, he was opening her door.

“Looks like Bill cleared off the walk pretty well, but take my arm just in case there are any hidden patches of ice,” Grant said as Morgan stepped out.

She did as he asked, and as they made their way toward the front door she turned to him. “Did you say there would be eight people here today?”

“That’s right. Kit, her husband, Bill, and their twin daughters, Nancy and Nicki, who are fifteen. My dad and uncle will be here, too, and us. So it’s a small group.”

“Is that the whole family?”

A shaft of pain darted across his eyes, so fleeting that Morgan wondered if she might have imagined it. “Pretty much,” he replied.

So he had no family of his own, Morgan concluded. She hadn’t noticed a wedding band on his hand, but that didn’t always mean anything. Not all men wore rings. And it didn’t matter, anyway. She had no interest in him in that way. It was clear they led very different lives and had very different philosophies. But many women would find an attractive, eligible man like Grant appealing. So why was he single?

Morgan’s musings were cut short when Grant pressed the bell at the front door and it was opened seconds later by a man with dark hair touched with silver at the temples. It was the same man who had conducted the services that morning at church, she realized in surprise. From the pulpit, he’d struck her as a kind person. Up close, her impression was verified. The fine lines on his face spoke of compassion and caring, and his hazel eyes radiated warmth and welcome.

“Hi, Bill,” Grant greeted him. “This is Morgan Williams. Morgan, my brother-in-law, Bill Adams.”

The man held out his hand. “Welcome, Morgan.”

She returned his handshake. “Thank you. I enjoyed your sermon this morning, Reverend.”

“Just make it Bill. We don’t stand on formalities around here. But I appreciate the kind words. Come in, both of you, before you freeze out there.”

Grant ushered Morgan inside, and a petite, raven-haired woman with lively brown eyes and a warm smile hurried down the hall from the back of the house. “You must be Morgan,” she said, holding out both hands. “I’m Kit. Welcome. I’m glad we persuaded you to join us today. Serenity Point is wonderful, but holidays are meant to be spent with other people.”

Two older gentlemen joined them from the adjacent living room. They both shared Grant’s vivid blue eyes, but there the resemblance faded. One of the men was tall and spare, though not quite as tall as Grant. He had thinning gray hair and a work-worn face with kind eyes. The other man was a couple of inches shorter and a bit heavier, with a thick head of silver hair and ruddy cheeks.

Grant drew Morgan toward them, a hand in the small of her back. “Morgan, this is my father, Andrew, and my uncle, Pete.”

They reached for her hand in turn.

“Welcome,” Grant’s father said.

“Thank you, Mr. Kincaid.”

“Just make it Andrew and Pete,” he told her. “Otherwise, this place will be drowning in Mr. Kincaids. And I’d like to offer my condolences on the loss of your aunt. Jo was a fine lady. We were all real sorry to hear of her passing.”

“Thank you.”

“Where are the twins?” Grant asked.

“Upstairs, trying on their new clothes. Speaking of clothes, let us take your coats.”

Bill reached for Morgan’s coat as she slipped it off her shoulders, while Grant shrugged out of his and handed it to Kit. She reached up to give him a hug, and Morgan couldn’t help overhearing their brief, muted conversation.

“Did you stop in to see Christine?” Kit asked.

“Yes.”

“Did you give her our love?”

“Of course.”

Morgan glanced toward them just in time to see Kit lay her hand on Grant’s shoulder while the brother and sister exchanged a look that Morgan couldn’t even begin to fathom. All she knew was that she felt as if she’d witnessed some very personal exchange. Feeling like an eavesdropper, she turned away and made an innocuous comment to Andrew about the weather.

When they moved into the living room, Grant excused himself so he could change into more casual clothing. And as Morgan’s gaze followed his retreating form, lingering on his broad shoulders, she couldn’t help wondering: who was Christine?

“Okay, Bill, I think we’re ready.”

As Kit reached for her husband’s hand, the other seven people around the table followed her example. Morgan found her hand taken on one side by Andrew, whose fingers were lean and sinewy, and on the other side by Grant, whose grip was firm, yet gentle—a combination she found very appealing.

Bill bowed his head. “Lord, we thank You for the gifts of family, friendship and food we enjoy this Christmas Day. We appreciate the many blessings You give us today, and every day. As we reflect on Your humble birth and Your great example of selfless love, let us come to know and live Your message every day of our lives so that others may see, and believe. We ask You to bless all those who are alone and lonely on this day, and to let them feel Your presence in a special way. And finally, we ask You to bless those who can’t be with us today in body, but who are always in our hearts. Amen.”

Grant released her hand, and Morgan found herself missing the comfort of his warm clasp. Which was odd, considering she’d just met the man. But she didn’t have time to dwell on her disconcerting reaction, because the conversation was boisterous and non-stop throughout the meal, filled with laughter and good-natured teasing. The bubbly twins, who had inherited their mother’s raven hair and bright, animated eyes, added to the liveliness, and Morgan found herself relaxing. She even forgot about work—until her pager began to vibrate.

She reached for it and gave the message a discreet look, noting that it was from Clark. One of her clients had come up with some brilliant idea for a new ad campaign, which in his opinion couldn’t wait until tomorrow. He expected Morgan to return his call today.

Placing her napkin on the table, she rose. “I’m sorry, will you excuse me for a moment? I need to return a page.”

The table fell silent, and Kit looked at her in alarm. “Is there an emergency?”

“Only in the eyes of my client.”

“You mean someone wants you to return a business call
today?
” Kit asked in shock.

Morgan glanced around the table. Everyone looked dumbfounded—except Grant, who didn’t appear at all surprised, just disapproving. Morgan felt a flush creep across her cheeks. These sorts of interruptions, day or night, holiday or weekend, were so much a part of her life that she took them for granted. But it was clear that this family considered it appalling that anyone would bother her on Christmas Day.

“Yes,” she replied to Kit. “It’s pretty much expected in the ad business that you’ll be available twenty-four-seven. I’m sorry to disrupt the meal. Please go ahead. I’ll be right back.”

In fact, by the time Morgan dealt with her demanding client and returned to the table, almost everyone had finished eating. As she slid into her place, Kit rose.

“I put your plate in the oven, Morgan. Let me get it for you,” she said.

Cold food was another thing Morgan had gotten used to over the years. Her meals were always being interrupted. “You didn’t have to do that,” she apologized. “And I don’t want to hold things up. It looks like you’re about ready for dessert.”

As Kit disappeared through the door into the kitchen, Bill spoke. “It’s Christmas. We have no other plans for the day, so you’re not keeping us from anything. And we need to let our food settle a bit, anyway.”

Although Morgan was touched by the graciousness of her hosts, she made short work of her remaining food when Kit placed the plate in front of her. Then they moved on to the cheesecake, which was every bit as good as Grant has promised. After the last bite, Morgan leaned back, her face content as she sipped her coffee.

“Wasn’t this better than tuna and cold soup?”

At Grant’s quiet question, Morgan turned to find him watching her, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. Her own lips curved up in response. “Eminently.”

“How about some music?” Kit said from across the table.

“Will you play, Uncle Grant?” Nancy asked.

“I’m a bit out of practice.”

“You always say that,” Nicki scoffed. “Besides, it won’t feel like Christmas unless you play.”

“In that case, how can I refuse?”

They all moved into the living room, and Morgan watched, intrigued, as Grant slid onto the bench of an upright piano and ran his fingers over the keys. For some reasons, she wouldn’t have expected him to be musical. But as the family gathered around and he began to play the familiar holiday carols, she discovered that he was, in fact, quite talented. Morgan hung back, feeling a bit like an intruder in this family scene, but Kit drew her forward.

“We may not be the Metropolitan Opera chorus, but what we lack in ability we make up for in enthusiasm,” she said with a laugh.

As Grant played one carol after another, Morgan found herself staring at his hands. His fingers were strong and capable, lean and long, as they moved with confidence over the ivory keys. He had wonderful hands, she realized. And all at once she found herself wondering what it would be like to be touched by them.

Trying to force her mind in a more appropriate direction, Morgan turned away from Grant and looked over the family gathered at the piano—only to be transported back to another time, another piano, another family raising sometimes off-key voices in song. Her throat constricted with emotion, and her voice faltered on the words of a familiar carol as her eyes grew misty. When Grant sent her a questioning look, her cheeks warmed and she pointed to her pager, then quickly slipped away on the pretense of returning another call.

Once in the hall, she drew a few long, deep breaths. For some reason, this day had been an emotional roller coaster, from her conversation with her sisters this morning, to her unexpected tears in church, to her wandering thoughts when she’d tried to work earlier at the cottage. The memories had been relentlessly lapping at her consciousness, much as the surf lapped against the shore at Aunt Jo’s cottage. Happy memories, for the most part, but memories of days long past. Most of the time she kept them deep in her heart. But today, they had risen to the surface, throwing her off balance.

By the time Morgan returned to the living room, she had her emotions back under control. Most of the group seemed to accept her excuse for stepping away, but something in Grant’s expression told her that she hadn’t fooled him. His eyes were probing, questioning, curious, as if he was trying to reconcile her emotional reaction just now with the image she presented to the world of a savvy, businesslike, sophisticated career woman.

Morgan looked away before his searching gaze went too deep, before he delved right to her soul and found out things about her that even she didn’t know. Things she didn’t
want
to know. And suddenly she felt an overpowering need to escape. There was something about Grant Kincaid that threatened her peace of mind. As soon as she could, she thanked her hosts and said her goodbyes, explaining that after her long drive yesterday, she was ready to call it a night.

Grant insisted on walking her to her car, and short of being rude, she couldn’t refuse. He took her arm as they stepped into the frigid air, and their breath formed frosty clouds in the clear, dark sky as they made their way in silence down the driveway. She fitted her key in the car lock, then turned to him, grateful for the dim light that made it hard to read expressions. “Thank you again, Grant. I had a wonderful time.”

“It was our pleasure. Are we still on for Monday?”

“Yes. How about eight?”

“That’s fine. I’ll see you then. Drive safe.”

After she slipped into her car, he shut the door behind her, watching as she backed out of the driveway. When she reached the corner, she glanced in her rearview mirror and was surprised to find Grant still standing there, his hands in the pockets of his overcoat, staring after her.

As Morgan retraced the route to the cottage, she found herself reliving her unexpected holiday dinner and thinking about Grant. She pictured his strong, competent fingers on the piano keys. Recalled the feeling of security that had swept over her when he’d taken her hand in his for the blessing. Remembered the way his smile had warmed his eyes and lit up his face.

And wondered yet again: who was Christine?

“A
nybody home?” Grant called as he opened the door of the house he’d grown up in, the house his father and uncle now shared.

“We’re in the kitchen, son,” his father responded, his voice muffled.

Grant made his way down the hall and found his father and uncle wolfing down what looked like remnants from yesterday’s Christmas dinner.

“Pull up a chair,” Uncle Pete invited. “There’s plenty. Kit made us take all this home. Said she had way too much left over. We didn’t argue a whole lot.”

After draping his sheepskin-lined jacket over the back of a chair and retrieving a plate from the cabinet, Grant joined the older men at the sturdy oak table.

“On your way to see Christine?” his father asked.

“Mm-hmm.”

“I admire your commitment, son. But I worry about you,” he said, his face troubled. “It’s been two-and-a-half years, and you almost never miss a day. You’re going to wear yourself out.”

“I have to go, Dad. She’d do the same for me.”

“I’m not saying you shouldn’t go. Maybe just not every day.”

Because it doesn’t seem to make any difference.

The words were unspoken, but they hung in the air. His family had long ago accepted that Christine would probably never recover from the head injury that had sent her into a deep coma. Yet according to the doctors, there was brain activity. So she was still there, trapped in a broken body. Grant couldn’t abandon her, even though only a tiny glimmer of hope remained in his own heart. But even if that last glimmer was finally extinguished, he still had an obligation to her. And he would see it through…for as long as she needed him.

Grant reached for a slice of prime rib and answered the way he always did. “I’ll see, Dad. For now, this is what I need to do.”

Pete looked at Andrew, then changed the subject. “That was one fine meal yesterday. And the leftovers aren’t bad, either.”

“I’m glad you convinced Jo’s niece to join us, Grant.” Andrew picked up Pete’s cue. “Didn’t sound like she had much of a meal planned. And nobody should be alone on Christmas.”

“To be honest, she turned me down at first. So I called Kit, and her powers of persuasion did the trick.”

Pete chuckled. “Your sister could charm a moose out of his antlers.”

Grant grinned. “I agree.”

“I hope Morgan had a good time,” Andrew said. “Seems like that job of hers doesn’t give her a minute of peace.”

“I expect it’s the kind of life she wants,” Grant said with a shrug.

“Can’t imagine why. Seems like too much stress to me. She is one high-strung young woman.”

“She’s a looker, though,” Uncle Pete added.

“She is that,” Andrew agreed. “But I feel sorry for her, living on the edge like that. Can’t even enjoy a holiday without interruption.”

“Don’t waste your sympathy, Dad. She chose that life, so it must suit her. Just like it did Mom. In fact, she reminds me a lot of Mom.”

Andrew tilted his head, his expression quizzical. “Is that right? She seems real different to me.”

“How do you figure that?” Grant helped himself to some potatoes. “She’s ambitious, driven, puts her career first…it’s Mom all over again.”

“I don’t think so. There’s more to Morgan Williams than that. I picked up a sort of…restlessness…like she’s still searching for her path. Your mother was single-minded once she made up her mind to go for the gold. I don’t get the same vibes from Morgan.”

“Then you must be on the wrong wavelength,” Grant said, giving him a wry look. “What do you think, Uncle Pete?”

“Like I said, she’s a looker.”

“You have a one-track mind, you know that?” Grant told him with a grin.

“Well, it’s true.”

“I didn’t say it wasn’t. But we weren’t discussing her appearance.”

“You can discuss anything you like. But when the good Lord sends a pretty woman my way, I intend to enjoy it instead of trying to psychoanalyze her.”

“How did you stay a bachelor all these years?” Grant asked, shaking his head.

“I like my independence. But I don’t mind lookin’.”

“You’re incorrigible.”

“That’s a fact,” Pete agreed good-naturedly.

As his father and uncle began debating the merits of cherry versus maple for an upcoming project, Grant finished his lunch. Then he rose and snagged his coat off the back of his chair. “I’ve got to run. See you both tomorrow.”

“Take care, son.”

The two older men watched Grant leave, then turned their attention to the leftover cheesecake. As Andrew cut them each a generous wedge, Uncle Pete spoke.

“I worry about that boy.”

“So do I.”

“Livin’ the way he does isn’t healthy. He spends all his time at the shop or running back and forth to Brunswick to see Christine. He’s got to be lonely.”

“He has us. And Kit’s family.”

Uncle Pete brushed that aside. “You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I know,” Andrew said with a sigh. “But he loved Christine, Pete. He still does. And he won’t go on with his life as long as he feels she needs him.”

“Sometimes it sure is hard to figure why the good Lord gave him such a cross to bear,” Uncle Pete declared, shaking his head.

“I don’t expect we’ll ever find the answer to that one.”

“No, I don’t suppose we will. But it sure does seem a waste. He’s a fine man with a fine heart. He should be going home to a wife and a family every day, not spending time in that depressing extended-care facility.”

“I agree,” Andrew said. “We just have to pray and trust that the Lord will resolve this situation in His own way and in His own time.”

“You’re right,” Uncle Pete conceded. “But sometimes I wish He’d just get on with it.”

The jarring jangle of the phone woke Grant instantly, and he fumbled for it in the dark as he peered at the face of the digital clock beside his bed. Two-thirty in the morning. He squinted at the caller ID, and a surge of adrenaline shot through him at the familiar number. It was the extended-care facility in Brunswick.

“Hello?”

“Mr. Kincaid?”

“Yes. I have caller ID. What’s the problem?” he said tersely.

“This is Walter Jackson. I’m the physician on call this evening. I’m sorry to tell you that your wife appears to have suffered a stroke. We did an initial evaluation here, but we’re having her airlifted to Portland for more extensive testing.”

Grant felt as if someone had kicked him in the gut, and for a moment he couldn’t breathe. Christine’s condition had been the same as always when he’d visited the previous afternoon after eating lunch with his dad and Uncle Pete. There’d been no indication of any problem. His grip on the phone tightened, turning his knuckles white. When he spoke, his voice was taut with tension. “How bad is it?”

“Her vitals are still relatively stable, but there has been a significant change in brain activity. Until more testing is done, I’m afraid that’s all the information we have.”

The man was dancing around the real issue, so Grant voiced the blunt, unspoken question that hung between them, steeling himself for the response. “Doctor, is this a life-threatening situation?”

There was a telling pause before the man responded. “It could be.”

Closing his eyes, Grant sucked in a deep breath. “Okay. I’m on my way.”

As he pulled on his jeans and threw on a shirt, Grant placed a quick call to his father, as well as to Christine’s parents, who lived in Portland. In ten minutes flat, he was in his truck and heading south at a speed far faster than was prudent on the icy roads.

Grant had made the drive to Portland countless times, especially right after the accident. But when it became apparent that Christine’s coma might be of longer duration than indicated by the initial prognosis, Grant had moved her to a medical facility in Brunswick, which was much closer to home. Still, the route to the medical center in Portland was etched on his mind, and he made the drive on autopilot, all the while struggling to rein in his panic.

Please be with me, Lord,
he prayed.
And with Christine. Please don’t let her suffer anymore. And please give me strength to deal with whatever waits for me in Portland. I’ve lived in dread of this day for two-and-a-half years. Help me to cope with this situation and guide me in whatever decisions I have to make.

Christine’s parents were at the hospital when Grant arrived, and the looks on their faces as he strode into the waiting room made his stomach lurch. Stella’s eyes were red-rimmed, and Marshall’s skin was ashen. Grant came to an abrupt halt, and the color drained from his own face. His voice was halting when he spoke. “Is she…”

“She’s still with us, son,” Marshall said.

Grant closed his eyes and wiped a hand down his face. Stella came over to him, and they exchanged a long, comforting hug. They’d all been here before. And it was a place none of them had ever wanted to visit again.

“Oh, Grant, it’s such a nightmare.” Her voice broke on the last word.

He couldn’t agree more. He drew in a deep, steadying breath, then glanced over her head toward Marshall. “What have you heard?”

“Not much. They’re still doing tests. They think a clot may have caused a stroke. But now they suspect bleeding in the brain, as well. And they…they had to put her on a respirator. She was having trouble breathing on her own.”

Grant stared at the older man, his eyes bleak. Like Grant, Christine’s parents had never given up hope that someday their daughter would return. But for the first time, her father looked defeated. Grant felt the sting of tears, and he struggled to keep them in check.
Lord, You’ve been with me through all the trauma over these difficult years. Please don’t desert me now, when I need Your strength more than ever,
he prayed.

He guided Stella to one of the chairs that lined the wall, and the three of them sat in silence. Christine’s parents clung to each other, and now and then Stella reached for Grant’s hand and gave it a squeeze. Minutes passed, then an hour. And the little group keeping vigil grew. Andrew came next, with Pete, followed soon after by Kit and Bill. No one said much. No one needed to. All that had to be communicated was transmitted by look and by touch. Occasionally a nurse would stop by to let them know that Christine was still undergoing tests and that the doctor would speak with them as soon as the results were available, but other than that no one disturbed them.

As dawn spilled in through the windows, a white-coated figure at last appeared. Grant vaulted to his feet and strode toward the man.

“Mr. Kincaid?”

“Yes.”

The physician, who looked to be in his midforties, held out his hand. “I’m Mark Baxter. We’ve done an extensive evaluation on your wife and I have all the results.” He surveyed the group assembled behind Grant. “We can review them in my office, if you’d like.”

Grant turned to look at the people who had stood behind him and supported him day after day, month after month, since the accident, and shook his head. “This is my family, doctor. We’d all like to hear what you have to say.”

The man nodded and pulled up a chair while Grant took his seat. Although Grant didn’t grasp all of the medical terms or technical explanations for what had happened to Christine, he understood the most important thing. Even though her vital signs were stable, there was no brain activity and she was no longer breathing on her own.

While the doctor explained the situation, he’d made it a point to make eye contact with everyone in the group. But now, as he finished, he focused on Grant, softening his voice. “Mr. Kincaid, we can keep your wife physically alive for an indefinite period. But she isn’t going to come back. So it doesn’t make a lot of sense to maintain life support. However, the decision is yours.”

Grant stared at him, his face a mask of shock, and for a brief instant the doctor’s composure cracked. He reached out and placed a hand on Grant’s shoulder, his eyes compassionate. “I’m sorry to give you this news. Your wife is a beautiful young woman. I know how hard this must be for you. I’ll be here for the next couple of hours if you want to talk with me again. Just let the nurse know and she’ll page me.”

A jerky nod was the only response Grant could manage.

As the doctor exited, leaving silence in his wake, Grant turned to look at the people he loved. Kit was clinging to Bill’s hand as she struggled to contain the tears brimming in her eyes. Bill’s demeanor was concerned and caring. Andrew’s face was a mask of sorrow and shock. Pete had grown pale as raw wood.

And everyone’s eyes reflected one emotion that Grant didn’t yet want to deal with.

Resignation.

He turned to Stella and Marshall. Stella had begun to cry, and as he watched, Christine’s parents exchanged the kind of look that long-married couples use to communicate without words. Then, Marshall directed his attention to his son-in-law. “We’re with you, whatever you decide,” he said, his eyes steady even though his voice wasn’t.

Grant scanned the other faces again. He could sense their support. But it was also clear that the decision was his alone. And he wasn’t sure he was up to the task.

Anguish contorted his features, and he reached up to rake his fingers through his uncombed hair. “I need to find the chapel,” he choked out.

Bill rose. “I’ll ask the nurse where it is.”

He returned a few minutes later and gave Grant the directions. “Would you like some company?” he murmured.

After a brief hesitation, Grant spoke. “Yes, but give me a little time alone first.”

When Grant entered the small chapel a few minutes later, he was grateful to find it empty. He sank into a pew near the front and dropped his head into his hands, desperate for solace and guidance. How could he make the decision to remove Christine’s life support? How could he end the life of the woman he’d loved with such passion and absolute devotion? The woman he’d remained faithful to through the endless months and years since the accident? Yet how could he tie her to a useless body when her spirit was clearly ready to move on?

As Grant prayed, he heard someone enter the chapel and knew that Bill had joined him. Though his brother-in-law remained in the back, leaving him undisturbed, Grant found comfort in his presence, knowing that Bill—as well as the rest of his family—would stand by him no matter what decision he made. And as a minister, Bill brought an added benefit. So many times in the past few years, Grant had turned to him for spiritual guidance when the darkness had closed in around him. And Bill had always come through for him. Perhaps he would do the same today.