Christmas at Timberwoods - Fern Michaels [96]
“I’m Maria Andretti. Mommy helped.” She grinned with pride anyway.
“I’m Carol.” She smiled at the girl, grateful for her impromptu kindness toward her daughter.
The girl smiled back. “Thank you. I love the ones that the kids make.” She gestured to the largest of the silver angels, capturing Maria’s attention again. “I designed all those big ones. And people here helped me make them.”
“You did?” Maria asked with amazement.
Angela nodded. “Uh-huh.”
The delighted little girl pondered that for a moment and tugged on her mother’s hand. “Those are her angels, Mommy.”
“Whatever you say, honey.” Carol didn’t see the Santa or her husband, Joe, returning. The young woman seemed to sense her worry and rose to her feet.
“You’re very talented,” Carol said to Angela. “I think those angels are Maria’s favorite thing in the mall.” She looked down at her daughter, who seemed restless. “What do you say, honey? Should we go find Daddy?”
Maria objected, but weakly.
“You can come back another day—” Angela began, then stopped. Her eyes widened and Carol turned to see what she was looking at. The Santa again. Just as sullen as before.
“Oh, that Santa,” Carol said in a low voice. “Do you know anything about him—”
The girl’s face had changed. She had a stricken look, as if she was seeing things. If she did know the guy, it wasn’t a happy friendship.
Upset and disappointed, Carol took the handles of the wheelchair. “Never mind. I don’t know why you should know. I thought he was going to chat with my daughter. That’s why I asked.”
Angela thought fast. “Maybe I could arrange a chat with someone else. Mrs. Andretti, could you wait over here?”
“Please, Mommy, I don’t mind waiting,” Maria piped up. Her shining eyes sparkled with anticipation that just about broke Angela’s heart. She was going to make Maria’s wish come true—and get them all out in the next second.
Carol sighed. “All right,” she said reluctantly. “I wish your father would come back, though.” With a resigned shrug, Carol moved the wheelchair out of the main flow of mall shoppers.
“He will,” Maria reassured her mother, who was looking over the heads of the crowds for him. The little girl was studying the angels again and watching other children add their wishes to the greenery.
“You know, it could be that our Santas got their wires crossed,” Angela said quietly so that Maria wouldn’t hear. “You know how it is around the holidays. We must have a dozen of them walking around.”
“Isn’t that kind of confusing for the kids?” Carol asked in a low voice.
“Maybe so. But one’s never enough.”
“Look, all we need is one. My little girl is very sick—I’m sure you figured that out. Her doctor didn’t even want her to come here.”
“I understand. Just give me a minute. If you could back up the chair and come over here—”
Maria’s rapt gaze stayed on the holiday scene as her mother pulled the wheelchair back several yards, still within sight of the enchanting display.
Angela was stalling. The second she’d seen the little girl, she’d recognized her from the previous vision. Tiny. Fragile. Dark hair and delicate earrings.
She didn’t want Maria to chat with Charlie, no matter what. Angela knew that Charlie wouldn’t try to talk to anyone on his own—the distant look on his hard face told her that he had withdrawn from the world around him, into that strange, sullen resentment she’d noticed when she’d first encountered him.
Back then she hadn’t faulted him for it. She’d been in the same place, emotionally speaking, at the time.
Now—she’d snapped out of it.
Angela kept Charlie in sight. He seemed to be lost in his own thoughts, swaying a little. Was he muttering to himself? She couldn’t really hear. He seemed to be gauging the random flow of people, as if looking for a way to walk out where he wouldn’t be jostled.
The trumpeting angels made a good barrier. To get out from where he was, he would have to shove through the standing statues. They were close together and most likely several angels would topple if he did. Her intuition told her that he wouldn’t go that way.
Then