Bright Lights, Big Christmas(68)

“Wow.” Patrick gestured at the art-filled walls surrounding them. “There’s probably a small fortune just hanging in this living room, huh?”

“Not so small a fortune,” Kerry corrected him.

“Hey.” Patrick put his hand over hers. “Kerry, did you mean what you told Heinz? That you’d stay here until he’s better?”

She nodded. “Unless he calls the cops and has me evicted.”

“Will Murphy be able to make it home for Christmas?”

“Doubtful,” Kerry said. “He’s been watching the weather apps, and the interstate is still like an ice rink. He’ll stay at Claudia’s place until the roads are in better shape. In fact, he’s supposed to bring me my clothes as soon as he finishes breaking down the tree stand.”

“Won’t your mom be disappointed about both of you missing Christmas?”

“We talked. Murphy had already called to tell her and Dad about Spammy. And about Heinz. She understands. Like she said, we can have Christmas anytime.”

“Your mom sounds like a good sport,” Patrick said.

Kerry leaned her head back against the sofa cushions. “I feel bad now, because I basically accused her of being a doormat for taking care of my dad after his heart attack.”

“She has a good heart. Like her daughter.”

“It was Austin who wouldn’t let us rest until we found Heinz,” she reminded him. “So give yourself some credit here too, pal, for raising a child with such a strong sense of compassion.”

“My little weirdo,” Patrick said, shaking his head. “He does have friends his own age, but ever since he could talk, Austin’s just seemed to relate more to adults. I know he’s a great judge of character, because he fell in love with you at first sight. And so did his old man.”

Kerry sank back into the sofa cushions and studied his face. “Don’t do this,” she pleaded.

His smile came easily, spreading across his lips like warm honey. “Too late. You can’t run away like you did last night. No place left to hide.”

“What you’re asking me to do—move up here, with no job, no place to live, no prospects, is just plain crazy. Even if I wanted to…”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Do you? Do you want to be with me? That’s what it comes down to, Kerry. Everything else, we can figure out. Together. If that’s what you want.”

“I’m scared.” The words were rushed and squeaky, as though an anvil rested on her chest.

“Scared of what?” He picked up her hand, kissed the back of it, turned it over and kissed the palm.

“I don’t know. Of doing the wrong thing. Of trying and failing. I got fired from my last job, you know. Rationally, I know it wasn’t my fault. But emotionally? It makes you doubt yourself. Your work. Your worth.”

“That’s ridiculous. I’ve seen your drawings. Those dog portraits? The illustrations for Austin’s story? You’re a natural talent.”

Kerry shook her head. “Thanks, but you don’t know what the art world is like. It’s totally subjective, and there are a million people out there trying to do what I dream of doing. People with more talent, more smarts, more connections.”

She looked away, but then when she turned back to him, her eyes glittered with unshed tears. “But mostly, I’m afraid of failing you, and Austin. I know what it’s like to have your family fall apart. I don’t want that to happen to him, again.”

Patrick guffawed. “You couldn’t fail us, even if you tried. I don’t know what went on in your parents’ marriage, but I do know that we are different. Look. I’m not perfect, but I’d never walk away from you. Even when it was obvious that Gretchen wanted out of our marriage, I tried to make it work. For Austin. We did couples counseling, I went to therapy solo … finally, one night, when I was putting him to bed, he looked up at me and sighed and said, ‘Daddy, I don’t think you and Mommy should be married anymore.’ Talk about ripping your heart out.”

“Oh God,” Kerry whispered.

“Turns out, even a five-year-old could see what I couldn’t,” Patrick said with a shrug.





chapter 49





After she’d sent Patrick away without the answer he wanted but she couldn’t give, Kerry felt at loose ends. She leafed idly through some thirty-year-old magazines, thought about reading one of the dense-looking novels on Heinz’s bookshelves, and finally went to the kitchen and fixed herself a cup of tea from the small stash of groceries Patrick had brought.

She was startled by the doorbell ringing. When she opened it, her brother was standing in the hallway.

He thrust a large white paper sack into her hands. “From Mrs. Lee, at the Red Dragon. Somehow, everybody in the neighborhood heard Heinz is sick, and they’re all worried about the old dude. According to the granddaughter, Mrs. Lee says her soup is Chinese penicillin, and you should make sure he drinks every drop. She put some dumplings and potstickers in there for you, too.”

“Thanks,” Kerry said, holding the door open wider. “Wanna come in? Heinz is sleeping.”

Murphy stuck his head inside the door. “Wow. Cool place. Lotta art, huh?”

“Most of it was done by Heinz,” Kerry told him. “Come on in. He won’t care.”