Read The Mariner's Gift Online
Authors: Kaylie Newell
The Mariner's Gift (7 page)
She knew what this meant for Oliver and Lauren. It was a significant step, and she didn’t want to screw it up by wearing the wrong thing. Which, she knew logically was ridiculous, but she was nervous. And when she was nervous, she obsessed over the critical differences between cotton blends and polyester. She really needed a life.
In her hands, she held a basket of warm cinnamon rolls that smelled like Christmas morning itself. A good offering, she thought. All kids liked cinnamon rolls, didn’t they? She rubbed a nervous hand down her pant leg before ringing the doorbell.
A pair of purposeful sounding heels clicked on the other side of the door before it opened wide. “Zola! It’s so good to see you, sweetheart!”
Zola grinned at Oliver’s mother, who looked so much like him, it was scary. Zola hadn’t seen Anya Tworek in twenty years, but the woman had obviously passed the gift of magnetism and warmth on to her son. She couldn’t have looked happier to see Zola if she’d tried. In fact, it briefly crossed Zola’s mind that maybe she didn’t remember her at all, but then she decided not to care. It felt too good to be greeted like this to snivel over details.
“It’s good to see you too, Mrs. Tworek. I hope you like cinnamon rolls?”
“Pfft. Anya, please,” she said in her heavy Polish accent. She took the rolls and sniffed them happily. “Come in, come in.”
Zola stepped into the entryway of the small, 1920’s style bungalow and looked around. She loved it immediately. The scent of Christmas tree and baking bread hung thick in the air. The walls were a soft beige and there were books
everywhere
. They were stacked in shelves, sitting on end tables, gracing the sofa and loveseat. Oliver had always been proud of his parents’ love of literature. It had been one of the first things he’d shared with Zola as a teenager, claiming that his father could quote Emerson faster than a cowboy could draw a gun. It was this love of the written word that had helped their son learn the English language so fast and so well. And what he hadn’t picked up right away…well, Zola had been happy to help with that.
She shrugged off her jacket and Anya took it, fussing over Zola’s hair the entire time.
“So precious. And so different from those braids! You look like an angel.”
Zola grinned. So she did remember.
Heavy footsteps thumped through the kitchen and Zola looked up to see Oliver approaching. She had to force herself not to stare. A man should not be allowed to look that good. It wasn’t fair to all the other men on the planet. He wore a forest green sweater with a striped, collared shirt underneath. It was open just enough at the throat to spark a vivid memory of kissing its hollow the night before. Zola’s cheeks warmed as her eyes dropped to his faded blue jeans where a brown leather belt hugged his lean waist.
Is it weird to be jealous of a belt?
He smiled and held his arms wide. “You made it.”
She stepped into the hug, breathing in his scent. “Well, my parents are slow gift openers. I had to rush my dad along a little. He doesn’t like to tear the wrapping paper. He likes to
slice
it with his pocket knife. I think it’s the only time he gets to use it all year long.” She chuckled. “They said to tell you hello and merry Christmas.”
“Same to them.”
Before letting her go, he kissed her temple lightly. She didn’t know if Anya noticed, but it was enough to make Zola’s blood rush a little faster through her veins. Was Oliver going to be her boyfriend? Was that where this was going? Because she could sure get used to this. All of it.
Oliver’s father came in holding a wad of wrapping paper in one hand and a coffee in the other. He greeted her much the way Anya did, friendly and welcoming, and with a bear hug so strong it nearly took her breath away.
When Zola had recovered enough, she looked around eagerly. “Where’s Lauren?”
Oliver and his mother exchanged a quick look. “She’s in the living room,” he said. “She’s looking forward to meeting you.”
“I can’t wait to meet her, Oliver. I really can’t.”
“Good.” Oliver took her hand and led her through the kitchen and into the living room, where Christmas music played from a stereo in the corner. A fat tree laced with popcorn strings stood next to the couch. At its foot, a little girl sat with her back turned, playing with a brand new American Girl doll just out of the box. Her shining blonde hair came just to her shoulders and was tucked behind both ears.
“Lauren, baby,” Oliver said. “I’d like you to meet Zola, the friend I told you about.”
The little girl turned, clutching the doll to her chest. It wasn’t her outfit, an adorable red dress with stars on the lapel, which Zola noticed first. It wasn’t her smile, or the gap between her two front teeth, or the expression of joy that graced her round face either. It was the shape of her eyes. They took Zola in from behind a pair of pink framed glasses. Like her father’s, Lauren’s eyes were gray. But they were also different—almond shaped and slanting distinctively behind the thick lenses. Lauren had Down Syndrome.
Zola glanced at Oliver who was looking back steadily.
“Zola, this is my daughter, Lauren,” he said.
Zola’s heart skipped a beat inside her chest.
Why hadn’t he said anything?
She turned back to the little girl sitting cross-legged on the floor, a small hand extended in greeting. Without hesitation, Zola bent to one knee and took it in hers. “Lauren, I’m so happy to meet you.”
Lauren’s smile widened, making her beautiful eyes almost disappear. “This is Becky.”
Zola took the doll’s hand and shook it formally. “Becky, charmed. Are you both having a nice Christmas?”
“We are!
Babunia
is making macaroni and cheese for lunch. Will you stay?”
Zola looked over at Anya who was bustling about in the kitchen, then at Oliver who was still watching her closely.
“Will you, Zo?” he asked.
There was more meaning in those three words than just macaroni and cheese, she knew. Zola looked up at him, her heart seeming to have grown a size in the last five minutes.
“I’d love to,” she said.
Chapter 8
The fire at their backs crackled and popped, warming Zola through. But Oliver, who was sitting close, warmed her more. They sat on the edge of the brick hearth, watching Lauren play with Becky. The little girl’s brow furrowed in concentration while her fingers negotiated a button on the doll’s jacket. Oliver’s parents had made themselves scarce. They’d gone for a walk, claiming they wanted to burn off lunch, but Zola knew better.
She sat there with Oliver now, a question on her lips.
“I know what you’re going to say,” Oliver whispered, never taking his eyes off Lauren.
Zola remained quiet, waiting for him to go on. After a minute, he turned to her.
“It’s not something you want to tell somebody in a text message.”
Zola nodded, somber.
“You have to understand, I’m very protective,” he continued. “Jill left a few years ago. She could never accept Lauren as she is. But emotionally, she’d checked out a long time before that. The fact that my daughter’s own mother walked out on her is something I’ll struggle with for the rest of my life. It’s something Lauren’s going to have to come to terms with eventually. And who knows, maybe she never will.”
Zola put a hand on Oliver’s arm, wishing she could take some of his pain away. Lauren’s too. And also wishing she could pop Jill Tworek a good one right in the kisser.
“I guess wanting to protect her is one of the reasons I didn’t tell you right away. People always get this look, like they feel sorry for you. For her. And just look at her.” He nodded toward his daughter who was now talking in soft, gentle tones to her doll. “You were right last night when you said she was a gift. She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I can’t stand the thought of anyone thinking otherwise.”
“Oliver, I’d never—”
He turned to her again. “I knew you very well once, and I think you’re an amazing woman, Zola. But I had to be sure. I wanted to see your reaction myself. In person. I felt like that was the only way to tell if you’d be able to handle it. Or
want
to handle it even. I’m sorry if that was selfish.”
She put a finger to his lips. “Don’t you dare be sorry. You’re trusting me with getting to know the most important person in your life. That means more than I could ever say.”
He nodded solemnly, searching her face for a few long seconds. “We’re a package deal, Zo. I know it’s early, but if it’s something you think you’re going to have a hard time with, I should know now. Not later.”
A guarded expression had crept over his face, something she could only guess would take some time and trust to ease. The crinkles at the corners of his eyes reminded her of tributaries threading away from a river. They were deep and emotion filled, coming from years of being on the water and under the sun. How handsome he was. How beautiful, inside and out.
She took his hand and nodded. So many things were running through her mind, so many replies to that hesitant, painful statement. She wanted to wrap her arms around his neck and kiss him over and over. But most of all, she wanted him to know how she felt.
Really
felt. Looking up, she saw that his mouth had relaxed just a little. Maybe, deep down, he already knew.
“I’ll tell you one thing,” she said, her voice hitching in her throat. “A package deal is something I could get used to.”
About Kaylie Newell
Kaylie Newell lives at the base of the mountains in Southern Oregon with her husband, two little girls, two cats, and a mutt named Pedro who goes everywhere with her. When she isn’t writing, she’s usually watching a Channing Tatum movie or eating frozen waffles, or both.
Kaylie’s Website:
www.kaylienewell.com
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