Chapter 17
seventeen
Despite the fact that Malcolm was sleeping in their guest room, Olivia had barely seen him.
Oh, she knew he’d been busy helping his dad and then working at the clinic.
But she also knew that couldn’t take all of his time.
She tried not to resent how quickly he’d swooped into the house the last couple days.
After returning from the clinic, he’d go upstairs and shower, then gather Sadie up and disappear.
She knew he was at his parents’ home, probably enjoying good food and happy company, but she still wondered if there was more going on.
Was this a hint that having a relationship with her was pointless?
He was polite enough. And he really seemed to appreciate the time she was spending with Sadie.
In fact, she had fallen in love with Sadie and secretly wished she could keep the little dog.
So when he informed her that his mother had offered to take over puppy-sitting—just two days before Christmas—she felt slighted and hurt.
Oh, sure, it was childish. Sadie wasn’t hers.
And obviously, Malcolm wasn’t either. But the thought of losing him—if she’d ever had him—hurt more than she cared to admit.
But consequently, she wasn’t in what anyone would describe as a cheery state of mind as she cleaned the kitchen and loaded the dishwasher that evening.
“Are you slamming things around in here for a reason?” Lulu asked from behind her.
“Sorry, was I too noisy?” Olivia rinsed her hands, wiping them on a Santa towel.
“Your mother asked me to check. And she wants tea.” Lulu filled the kettle.
“Is she in any better spirits?” Olivia wasn’t sure she really cared but wanted to sound like a good daughter.
“She’s been very quiet all afternoon and evening.”
“But she came out of her room?”
“Yes. She refuses to use her walker.” Lulu frowned. “That worries me a little. Rob said she’s supposed to move about some to help the hip heal.”
Olivia shrugged. “Well, we can’t really force her.”
“True enough.” Lulu peered closely at Olivia. “Are you okay? You don’t look well to me. I can make you an herbal tea that might perk you up.”
“No, thanks.” Olivia felt herself cracking at this tiny show of pity. “I guess I’m just sad.”
“About Malcolm?”
“About everything. I mean, Mom is a real piece of work, and . . .”
“But this isn’t really about your mother, is it?”
Olivia shrugged. “Well, partly.” She bit her lip.
“You think your mother has scared off Malcolm.”
Olivia grimaced. Was she that obvious?
“And it’s a legitimate worry.”
“Yeah, I know. But there’s not much I can do about it. I mean, I thought maybe our intervention would help, but she seems more stuck than ever. Oh, she’s quieter, but she’s just so stubborn.”
“Might take time.” Lulu measured out loose tea leaves, then put them in the pot. “Old age has taught me to be patient.”
“Something to look forward to . . . when I’m an old spinster lady with a lot of cats to keep me company, since I’m pretty sure Mom will scare off any guy who’s not an uptight perfectionist like her, and thanks, but no thanks.”
Lulu laughed as the teakettle whistled. “Do you want to hear what I think?”
“Of course.” Olivia watched as her grandmother poured steaming water into the teapot.
“I think that Malcolm still likes you—a lot more than you realize.” She set the kettle back on the stove and turned to face Olivia. “I’ve watched him looking at you, Livvie, when you’re not paying attention. I’ve seen the look in his eyes.”
“Seriously?” Olivia felt hopeful for a couple seconds, then let out a defeated sigh.
“You’re probably imagining things, but even if you’re right, it doesn’t matter.
Malcolm knows how much Mom detests his family.
He can see we are not a match made in heaven.
” She attempted a sardonic laugh, but it sounded more like a hiccup.
“And after my mother ruins his family’s Christmas, which is sure to happen when they come here to celebrate .
. . well, that should put a permanent kibosh on the whole thing. ”
“Your mother has threatened to stay in her room the whole time Malcolm’s family is here, so maybe it won’t matter.”
“And it won’t seem weird, not to mention inhospitable, for her to hide out?”
“Oh, I don’t know. We can always blame her isolation on her injury, say she’s in too much pain to make an appearance.” Lulu set a strainer on one of Mom’s favorite teacups, slowly filling it. “It’s okay to let some things go.”
“I am letting some things go,” Olivia pointed out. “Mainly any hopes of having a lasting relationship with Malcolm. Grandma, I know he’s avoiding me. And I don’t blame him a bit. I think it’s time for me to move on.”
“Time will tell.” Lulu nodded with a sage expression. “And now I need to take your mother her tea.” She winked. “I was tempted to doctor it up with something to make her relax more, but I don’t want to cause a reaction with her pain meds.” She chuckled as she left the kitchen.
Olivia stood in front of the kitchen window, gazing out with longing toward the McEntires’ house, where their windows seemed to glow with a cheerful golden light and she could imagine music and laughter.
She remembered spending time there as a child, wishing she was part of their relaxed, boisterous, fun-loving family rather than her own family.
But right now, she felt separated from them, like that pathetic proverbial kid with her nose pressed to the toy store window, wishing.
But she knew that even if Malcolm truly loved her—like she feared she loved him—it would be too challenging.
Really, they were not so different from the Montagues and Capulets .
. . just an aged-up version of Romeo and Juliet.
But taking poison felt just a bit too extreme, even for a broken—or breaking—heart.
She closed the window blinds and turned away.
***
As he sanded the primitive-looking carved statuette of Joseph, a wave of sadness washed over Malcolm. “Wow . . .” He sighed, set down the carving, and turned to his dad, who’d been helping him on this little project. “I don’t know . . .”
“Don’t know what?” Erik looked confused. “Don’t get discouraged. We’re almost done. Those pieces are almost ready to be sealed, and I gotta say, they’re really good, son. I didn’t know you had a hidden artistic side.”
Malcolm picked up the Joseph figurine and held it in front of his dad. “I was just thinking about the real Joseph. You know, Jesus’s stepfather.”
“Uh-huh?” Erik poured more oil onto the cloth he was using to seal the other pieces of the nativity set that Malcolm had been working on for the past several days.
The idea had come after Olivia had told him about the childhood set her mother had gotten rid of.
He’d hoped to surprise her for Christmas, but work in the city and here at home had waylaid him a little.
Fortunately, his dad, a good woodworker, was helping now.
“So, tell me, son, what is it you were thinking about Joseph?”
“Well, I know it must’ve been hard for him.” Malcolm studied the figure that he’d carved, more symbolic than realistic, although it was attractive in a rustic sort of way. And when all the pieces were put together, it wouldn’t take a genius to figure out what they represented.
“Right,” Erik agreed. “To become a father to the Son of God . . . those are pretty big sandals to fill.”
Malcolm smiled. “For sure, but that’s not exactly what I was thinking. I was thinking about him seeing all the obstacles he had to face if he married Mary. I mean, think about it, it must’ve been overwhelming. Don’t you think?”
“So, bringing this home, Malcolm, are you thinking of the obstacles with Olivia’s family? Mainly her mother?”
Malcolm nodded solemnly. “I realize it’s nothing like what Joseph faced, but at least God gave him a dream to confirm it was the right thing to do.”
“Ya think God’ll give you a dream?” Erik had a slight teasing edge to his voice.
“But I don’t mean to make light of this.
I realize that Jane Bradshaw is a lot to deal with.
Believe me, I know. But I also know that Rob is a good man.
And Olivia is a great gal. I mean, we’ve known her forever, and I still remember her coming over here, playing with you kids like she was part of the family.
And I know for a fact she loves her parents, but there were times she wanted to be part of this family. ”
Malcolm considered this. He’d been enough older than Olivia not to have noticed these things. Mostly she’d just been the neighbor kid who liked to hang with his younger sisters. Nice enough, but nothing to get his attention . . . until they’d met again as adults.
“And I really think that under Jane’s veneer of perfection, which by the way seems a little crackled and peeling of late, kinda like that cabinet I just refinished for your mom . . . anyway, there’s a good woman who doesn’t want to be like that underneath.”
Malcolm had heard about the so-called intervention from his mother. Of course, she’d given it a positive spin, but he was not convinced.
“But, Dad,” he said, “Mrs. Bradshaw hates our family. How could I possibly make a serious go of it with her daughter?”
“Hate is a strong word.” Erik picked up a wise man figure and rubbed oil into it.
“I think she just doesn’t understand us.
Something shifted in her somewhere . . .
maybe we’ll never fully understand it . .
. but I believe that God made her, just as surely as you made these statues, and God has a plan for her.
And for all we know, you—and our family—could be a part of that.
And I’ll tell you something else, I feel that Rob is one of my best friends, and I’m pretty sure he feels the same—even if he hides it from Jane.
So I am personally not willing to give up on them.
Any of them.” He picked up the Mary figure now, gazing at her.
“And one more thing, I would be proud to call Olivia a daughter, and I know she would fit into our family perfectly.”
Malcolm felt slightly choked up at this unexpected speech. Dad wasn’t usually a real verbal sort of guy, and what he’d just said was both amazing and affirming. With the Joseph figure still in his hand, he hugged him.
“Thanks, Dad, I needed that.”
“Me too,” Erik said. “I wanted to say something but didn’t really know how.” He slapped Malcolm on the back. “For what it’s worth, you have my blessing.”
Malcolm thanked him again, then continued sanding a rough edge off the Joseph figure.
He knew these pieces were pretty rustic but thought to himself that maybe that was fitting.
Wasn’t it pretty rustic at that first Christmas?
Hopefully Olivia would appreciate that, because he knew for a fact her mother wouldn’t.