The Christmas Kite by Gail Gaymer Martin Page A

Blair have to arrive out of his past and challenge his choice? “I like it, Blair. I like quiet.”
    “And lonely?”
    “No, I have Dooley.” Jordan glanced out to where the setter lay coiled on the beach, his eyes directed toward the lake.
    “Who’s Dooley?”
    “An Irish setter who’s lying in wait down by the lake. Probably longing to chase some unsuspecting ducks.”
    Blair followed his gaze and peered out the screen. “I see him.” He walked to the chair beside the end table and took a swig from the bottle. “So, Dooley keeps you company.”
    “In part.” Jordan shifted, covering a ragged sigh that stole from his throat. “I’m okay.”
    Blair sank into the chair. “I stopped at the kite shop in town. I knew building those things was your hobby, but I never thought you’d make a living that way.”
    Jordan studied his drink and chuckled. “Well, that and a good investment portfolio.”
    Blair stared at the bottle, running his finger around the rim. “Ah, I see.”
    “So, what did you think of the kites?”
    “Wonderful. Unique. I have one in the car. Thought it’d brighten my office. Something needs to brighten the place. Certainly not those dull student conferences.”
    “Still complaining about those, huh?” Jordan relaxed against the seat cushion, eyeing his ex-colleague. “What really brings you here, Blair? I know you didn’t come to Mackinaw to buy a kite.”
    Blair cocked his head with a chuckle. “Never could hide anything from you, could I.”
    “Not really. I remember when you did some double-dealing and finagled away my favorite lit class. I’m surprised I forgave you for that.”
    Blair nodded and gave a wry grin. “I was a rat. But I did that before we became friends.”
    “In a pig’s eye!”
    Blair let out a boisterous laugh. “Take you out of the classroom and you turn into a farmer.”
    “I could have done worse.”
    A heavy silence fell like a bag of dried bones. Blair inched his gaze to Jordan’s. “You could have. And I’m glad you didn’t.”
    Jordan closed his eyes for a moment, thinking of options he’d considered. Thinking of where he’d been and where he was now. Life. Death. He looked directly into Blair’s concerned eyes.
    “So?”
    “So.” He released a lengthy breath. “I’m doing the old man a favor. Brighton asked me to talk to you. The doc wants you back. He sent me to convince you.”
    “I see. And why?”
    “Well, you’re one of the best professors the college had. Besides, Gillenfelt is retiring next year, and Brighton’s looking for a top-notch replacement to pick up the load.” He squirmed against the chair back. “Besides, we all miss you.”
    Jordan didn’t speak. His life three years earlier flashed through his head: classes; conferences; correcting dull, tedious essays; reading an occasional brilliant one; and always, at the end of the day, rushing home to Lila’s arms and Robbie’s eager face. Yes, he missed it, too. Terribly.
    “But it will never be the same. I’m a different man than I was three years ago.”
    “Different, maybe, but you’ll always be a great teacher. The students idolized you.”
    Yes, they had, he supposed, but that hadn’t made life worth living. His family had. A smiling eight-year-old flashed through his mind. Gooseflesh wavered up his arm. Unlike Robbie, this boy wore thick glasses and had a shock of red hair. Jordan clutched the tumbler in his hand to hide the tremors. Was Robbie’s face fading from his memory?
    “Something wrong?” Blair asked, leaning forward with a disconcerted stare.
    Jordan pressed his tense spine against the seat cushion. “No, I’m okay. Just a flashback, I guess.”
    “Listen, man, I didn’t come here to stir up memories. Brighton wanted you to know there’ll be an opening, and I volunteered to drive up. I’d like you to think about it.”
    “Sure,” he said, “I’ll think about it.” At times, he thought about nothing else…until lately. Mac distracted