One Imperfect Christmas by Myra Johnson

to him?
     
    The flowers could mean anything, or nothing at all. After all, it was only a friendly “Thinking of you,” not, “Darling, I love you and forgive you and want you back with all my heart.” Besides, the left-hander's backward slant and the tiny hearts dotting the i 's clearly suggested the card had been signed by a lovesick teenage floral assistant, not Daniel himself. Which meant he'd phoned in the order, probably as an afterthought once he'd declined Dad's invitation to dinner. Obviously, her husband didn't even care enough to go by the shop and sign his own name. Then why send flowers at all? Sympathy, maybe? More likely an apology for not bringing Lissa to the birthday dinner.
     
    Ashamed of her thoughts, she cut him some slack and reminded herself he always phoned in his order. He never had time to swing by a flower shop himself.
     
    “Get a grip, Natalie.” How she hated the stomach-churning, roller-coaster ride of emotions.
     
    Still … it would only be polite to call and thank him. She lifted the phone and pressed the speed-dial code for his cell phone before she could change her mind. It rang three times before he answered.
     
    “Daniel Pearce.”
     
    “Hi, it's me.” Shy vulnerability crept into her voice.
     
    “Natalie, hang on a sec. I'm in traffic.” A pause, then a muffled, “Liss, turn down the radio, okay?”
     
    “Is that Mom?” She heard Lissa's voice, high and expectant.
     
    “Yeah, talk to her until we get into the parking lot.”
     
    She listened to more rasping sounds before Lissa came on the line. “Hey, Mom! How was your birthday?”
     
    “Nice.” She closed her eyes, pressed two fingers to her temple. “It was very nice.”
     
    “You decorated the tree?”
     
    “Of course.”
     
    “I wanted to be there, but Dad grounded me.”
     
    Natalie's eyes flew open. Her brows shot together so tightly, it made last night's lump on her forehead throb all over again. “He what? ”
     
    “Yep, he grounded me because I got mad at him for saying he wouldn't go too.”
     
    So the flowers were an apology. The warm, fuzzy feeling in Natalie's chest turned to hot anger. How heartless could one man be, refusing to let a child attend her own mother's birthday celebration?
     
    She heard the honk of a car horn, followed by more static, and then Daniel's gruff voice. “Give me that phone.”
     
    Natalie was more than ready to give him a piece of her mind. She could feel the adrenaline pumping through her system like steam through a boiler.
     
    “Hey, Natalie.”
     
    “Daniel Pearce, how dare—”
     
    “That's not exactly the way it happened. I would gladly have brought Lissa out to your dad's, but when I told her I didn't think I should go along, she threw a tantrum and said she wouldn't go without me.”
     
    Threw a tantrum, huh? Daniel always was one to exaggerate. “So, you just decided to ruin my birthday and both of you stay away? Well, thanks a lot.”
     
    “No, Nat … hang on, let me get this car parked before I have a wreck.”
     
    Seconds ticked by as Natalie tried to decipher the various rumbles, crackles, and whines coming over the phone line. She used the moment to rein in her anger and sort out her thoughts before she resumed this little discussion with her husband on the finer points of parenting.
     
    Like she was any expert. Shaking off the accusing thought, she focused on the bouquet of roses, still beautiful and fragrant despite the frost-burnt petals. The image stirred something deep inside her—the hope that something beautiful still remained amid the ruins of her marriage. If she looked past the damage, would she find anything worth saving? Would Daniel? Did he want to?
     
    “Okay, I'm here.” Huffing breaths punctuated Daniel's words. “About last night. Things went a little crazy. I lost my temper; Lissa lost hers. I'm sorry.”
     
    Tearing her gaze away from the bouquet, Natalie drew the familiar cloak of indifference around her.