Christmas Kisses

Chapter 13: Cell Phone Surprise

Cecelia watched Mac's brow crease when he glanced at his cell phone. She could tell he'd had a rough day and she wished there was more she could do to help him. Dr. Hillsborough had said the first month would be rough, and so far the two weeks since Mac's return had proven the doc's words accurate.

Mac answered his phone and his scowl turned to surprise and then back to a scowl as he shouted, "What!"

Cecelia decided to leave the room. Obviously, this was a private conversation. He didn't appear to even notice when she lifted her tray and returned to the kitchen. Sitting at the table, she could still hear snatches of his conversation when his voice rose in volume. "He can't come here! — What do you mean he's going to run away? — Let me think about it!"

When there was silence for several minutes, she stepped back into the living room. Mac had his good hand pressed to his forehead. When he glanced up, she saw a tortured expression that ripped her heart to shreds. Rushing forward, she knelt beside his chair. "Mac, what's wrong? Is there anything I can do to help?"

He blinked and stared at her for a long moment. Then he said, "I have a fifteen year old son that I haven't seen since he was a baby. He was adopted by a wonderful family and they've never kept the fact of his adoption from him. But they have kept my identity a secret, even leading him to believe I'm dead because that was something I required for the adoption to take place." He reached his good hand and rubbed the shoulder of the arm that had been operated on. Cecelia lifted her hand and said, "Let me do that." She gently massaged the tense muscles.

Mac closed his eyes and continued speaking. "I receive yearly updates and pictures of my child from his adoptive parents and always respond with a polite thank you. Nothing more." He blew a breath. "It seems the boy pried open the lock of a desk drawer holding copies of all the letters sent to me over the years and my responses." He opened his eyes. "He's furious that I've never contacted him and wants to know why he was told I died in a car accident. Ruth, that's his adoptive mother, said he still doesn't know my identity and is demanding to know. All my mail is addressed to a trust and I sign my name only as Mac on my letters."

Cecelia moved her massaging hand slowly down to Mac's elbow. When he didn't wince, she gently rubbed that area.

He continued, "The boy has threatened to run away if I don't see him."

Softly, Cecelia asked, "Do you want to see him?"

Mac's tortured eyes captured and held hers. "Honestly, my answer would be yes and no."

Cecelia replied, "You may not believe this, but I understand what you're saying. Although the circumstance was different, after my brother was laid him up in a hospital paralyzed, I wanted to see him, but at the same time, I didn't." Cecelia moved her hand to Mac's wrist and stroked it.

He took a deep breath. "That feels good." After a minute he said, "I guess I'll have to see the boy."

Cecelia asked, "What's his name?"

A pained expression crossed his features. "I suppose it doesn't speak well of me to refer to my own son as 'the boy'."

Cecelia responded, "You're too hard on yourself."

"His name is Sean."

She entwined her fingers with Mac's and held his hand.

He said, "Ruth and James want to send him here for two weeks. Things could get hairy. Would you please not leave?"

Increasing the pressure of her hand only slightly so Mac would realize she was in this with him, she said, "You can count on me for whatever you need."

* * *

A week later Cecelia paced inside the Cortez Airport. Nervousness had her twisting the fabric of her skirt. How can a short commuter flight from Denver be late? They do this every day.

She paused at a window in the lobby and watched a new plane come into view. Within minutes it was taxiing to the unloading area. A crackling voice came over the loudspeaker announcing the flight.

That's him! Cecelia was amazed at her reaction. You'd think he was my child. She waited near the door for disembarking passengers and held up the paper she'd scrawled the name "Sean" on.

There were only a handful of commuters and soon a teenage boy entered. Cecelia sucked a breath. The boy was the image of his father—tall, dark, and handsome. She almost smiled at the descriptive words used by women throughout the ages.

The only negatives were his scowl and swagger. He hoisted his backpack higher and then saw her. His scowl turned into a frown. He approached and she tentatively said, "You must be Sean."

The boy glanced past her and snapped, "The old man couldn't be bothered to pick me up in person?"

Cecelia was taken aback by his attitude, but reminded herself that he'd just discovered he had a living birthfather and was hurting because he'd never been contacted. She smiled brightly, "It's so good to meet you, Sean. Your father asked me to pick you up because he's recovering from surgery."

Cecelia was rewarded when the young man looked surprised, but then his expression soon settled back into a scowl.

"The car isn't far away. Do you have luggage to be collected."

"No."

"Okay. Follow me and I'll get you home." Cecelia wished she could take her words back when Sean sent her a snarky look. She sighed as they headed out of the airport.