A Gift For Santa. Beth Carpenter
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took his hand. “How many do you want?”
“How many what?” Chris seemed genuinely confused.
“Children. How many kids do you think we should have?”
The look of horror on his face said it all. “Kids? Oh, no. I’m not cut out to have kids.”
Marissa tried to smooth over his blunt reply. “It wouldn’t be for a few years. The plan is to get my career established first, and have the kids between thirty and thirty-five.”
“No. Not now, not in a few years.”
“But—”
“No. I know what it’s like to have a bad father. I wouldn’t do that to an innocent child.”
“Oh, come on, you’d be a great dad. Just think—”
He stopped in his tracks. “No, I wouldn’t. I won’t.”
Marissa crossed her arms across her chest. “What are you saying? You’ve just made that decision for both of us? What I want doesn’t matter?”
He blew out a breath. “It’s always about what you want. I’ve agreed to all your wedding plans. I’ve agreed to leave my job behind if you decide you want to move away from Alaska once you graduate. But not this.”
“So, you’re not even willing to compromise?”
“Compromise how? Half a kid? Children can’t be a compromise. If both parents aren’t fully committed, they shouldn’t have children. Period.” He turned away and strode toward the hotel.
She ran to catch up and grabbed his arm to stop him, to force him to look at her. “I’ve always wanted children. What if this is nonnegotiable for me?”
Chris shrugged. “Then I suppose you’ll have to make up your mind which is more important, marrying me or finding someone who wants kids. It’s your decision.”
And in the end, she made it. She couldn’t marry someone so deeply selfish he wasn’t even willing to discuss the possibility of children, knowing how important they were to her. Pretty ironic as it turned out, but the point stood. She’d believed Chris was the one. She was wrong.
And she’d been wrong again. Wrong when she’d thought Robert would make the perfect husband and father, and so very wrong when she’d believed Jason was someone she could trust. Wrong, wrong, wrong.
So many bad choices, but she was finally taking the lessons to heart. She had poor judgment when it came to men. Much better to focus on the aspects of her life she did well, like her career and her family. Not that she’d done so well with family in the past few years, but now she would, because the scare with Oliver made her realize he and Becky meant more to her than anything else in the world.
She went back to work, taking care of the rabbits and feeding the goats and Willa, the potbellied pig. Once she’d checked that the chickens were all right, she unloaded the party gear from the truck. The mail still lay on the front seat where she’d left it.
She put the truck away and carried the letters to the house, sorting through them to see if anything had been forwarded to her. A large “second notice” stamp on one of Oliver’s envelopes caught her eye. Uh-oh.
Oliver had always handled the bills. Maybe with his illness, he’d fallen behind. Marissa decided that after dinner she would volunteer to help out. The scent of sage and onions greeted her when she opened the back door. Becky was stirring the chicken soup she’d started in the slow cooker that morning. Marissa closed her eyes and inhaled. “Mmm. I’m starved.”
“Then it’s a good thing we’re ready to eat.” Becky dished up bowls of soup filled with big chunks of chicken, vegetables and barley. Oliver sat at the kitchen table, slicing bread. Marissa hurried to wash up.
After dinner, she washed the dishes and Becky dried. While her aunt was still wiping down the countertops, Marissa slipped into the living room to talk with her uncle. “I brought in the mail today and left it on your desk.”
“Okay, thanks.” Oliver reached for the remote control.
“I, um, couldn’t help but notice that one of the envelopes said second notice.”
Oliver didn’t look at her. “Humph. Must be some computer error or something.”
“Do you want me to check? I’m good with paperwork, if you need me to balance your accounts or anything.”
“No, no. I can handle it.” He was answering too quickly.
She studied his face, at least what she could see of it, since he still hadn’t looked her way. “I know you can, but as long as I’m here, why don’t you go ahead and write the check so I can put it in the mail tomorrow?”
He snapped the television on to some reality show that she knew he had zero interest in. “Not necessary.”
“Aren’t you curious as to which bill is late?”
He shook his head and pretended to watch the show. He knew. It wasn’t some computer error. Oliver knew exactly which bill was late and why. What was going on with their finances?
“Uncle Oliver, tell me the truth. What’s wrong?”
For a moment, he ignored her. Finally, he clicked the TV off, but continued to stare at the screen. “We’re having a little cash flow problem.”
“Why?”
“I made a bad investment.”
A sense of foreboding formed an icicle in her stomach. “What kind of investment?”
He shrugged.
And she knew. “You invested with Jason, didn’t you?”
Jason had gone out of his way to welcome them when they’d visited in February. He’d asked all sorts of questions about the farm and life in Alaska. He’d seemed fascinated with Oliver’s stories of the reindeer farm and how isolated they were with their closest neighbors a mile away, a couple who used the house only in the summer. And of course, Oliver ate it up.
Jason had never mentioned money or investing while Marissa was around. He’d obviously waited until he had Oliver alone. Of course, even if Marissa had realized he was soliciting investments from Oliver, she wouldn’t have objected. After all, she’d entrusted her own modest savings with him. And now Oliver and Becky were facing old age and illness without any financial cushion, while Jason lived it up with their money on a tropical island somewhere. Damn him.
Oliver eyed her with concern. “Honey, it’s not your fault. You didn’t know.”
“I should have known. The whole setup was wrong. It was too good to be true. He was too good to be true.”
Her uncle reached for her hand. “Don’t beat yourself up. Most people are basically good. So, you and I let a slick huckster take our money. Next time we’ll know to ask more questions. But what would be the real tragedy is if we let him destroy our faith in people, don’t you think?”
How did he do it? Here he was, sick, unable to pay his bills and yet he was comforting her. Her heart swelled with pride to be related to such a man. She hugged him. “I think you’re the world’s best uncle.”
He chuckled. “I believe I have a mug that says so. Don’t you worry about that bill. Once Becky takes today’s check to the bank, we can pay it and the feed store. And the good news is we have several more parties scheduled between now and Christmas. We’ll be fine.”
But what about after Christmas? There was a huge gap between Christmas parties and the summer tourist season. They were going to require a regular income above their modest retirement checks just to get by, and the transplant wouldn’t be cheap. As soon as she could make it happen, Marissa needed to find a job.