12 Christmas Romances To Melt Your Heart (34 page)

T
his book is
a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Copyright 2015 Christine Baena

Cover Design: Rogenna Brewer

Editor: Megan McKeever

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, redistributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, print, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission of Author.

M
ore than anything
I've written, this story was very important to me. In order to do justice to my characters and all children diagnosed with some form of Autism Spectrum Disorder, I had to seek out help.

A
testimony
to friendships surviving time and distance, I must thank Mary Summons for the brainstorming, Diane Borgia for having the same job as my hero, and Celeste Boglioli for stepping forward and putting me in contact with the perfect go-to person for this story—Nancy Green. I could not have asked for a better source of information. Constantly peppered with question upon question, Nancy never delayed in responding to my inquiries, and freely volunteered a wealth of data and details. This story truly could not have been written without her generous assistance.

I
would also like
to point out that local unified basketball team programs do exist and are highly successful. I would be remiss if I did not thank Brian McNeill, a young man who is a real world Adam. We need more patient and caring people like him in our lives. Best of all, it is here that I give my kudos to Kevin Green and his teammates for bringing home the Gold Medal in Unified Sports Experience Basketball from the 2015 Los Angeles Special Olympics World Games—Hooyah!

"
T
om
, you would have loved living in this house." Seated at the café table nestled in the corner of her living room, Annette Deluca held the silver frame encasing her family's photo. She remembered the day in 3-D Technicolor. Adam's fifth birthday. Corralling her offspring for a photograph had taken more effort than organizing the entire party at the popular children's venue. What the picture didn't reveal was the near headlock it had taken for her to pin down their son for two minutes nor the gentle pressure with which her husband, Tom's, hands held their daughter in place. Yet somehow Tom's assistant had managed to coax a smile out of the two siblings, creating the perfect family picture. Damn how Annette missed that.

With the windows wide open, the wind carried the sound of the distant waves crashing ashore and dropped them beside her, opening another floodgate of memories. Summers by the beach. Winters diving in Hawaii or the Barrier Reef. Christmas in the mountains. They'd done it all before the children were born and then done it again as a family. "Do you have any idea how much I miss you?" she asked the man in the photo.

A gull swooping past the window caught her attention. Focusing on the broad wingspan as the bird glided away from the house and out to sea, she gave herself a mental shake. The last thing her late husband would want her to do is spend her days living in the past. "Time to get back to ringing in the season." This year she thought she'd follow the lead of advertisers on television and get the house all cheery with Christmas spirit now, instead of waiting for after Thanksgiving. Over the weekend, she and the kids would bring out the tree and spend some family time hanging the ornaments and tinsel, and maybe even stringing some popcorn—the way they did when Adam and Bethany were really young. Pushing herself upright, Annette set the frame on the shelf where it belonged. Surrounded by the wealth of family photos that helped keep the memories strong, she shoved aside the melancholy and opened another box of holiday decorations.

The first Christmas without Tom had been difficult. Thank heaven for Maggie. Annette’s household manager had become indispensable. Caring for the children day and night, taking on the role of mother, while Annette pushed her way through physical therapy and recovery. It was so hard to believe she'd survived that horrible crash. But she had with Maggie's help. And then there was the entire Everrett clan. All of them, and what seemed like half the navy's Special Forces, looked out for her and her children in those dark days after the plane crash that took Tom's life and left her fighting for hers.

And Lord bless Maile Everrett. Opening her home for the holidays had made the void caused by Tom's absence a little easier to bear. Annette and her kids had still felt the hurt, but most of their smiles had been genuine, and that was due to the warmhearted matriarch. And, of course, the Everrett family's ever-faithful German shepherd, Gunny, who had done as much for bringing back the spark to her son's life as Maile's grown son had.

"Wow, the water is perfect today." Maggie wrapped a beach towel around her, tucking in the corner as she crossed the threshold.

"This is Hawaii." Annette laughed. "The water is perfect every day."

"I know. But, after so many years living in L.A., I keep expecting the ocean to feel like an ice pond in Antarctica."

"Not going to happen." Prominently placing the antique Santa's sleigh and reindeer she'd retrieved from the box on the minimalist mantel, Annette shook her head at her friend.

The familiar sound of her cell carrier's ring tone played. She really needed to pick a better tune. Her phone always sounded like a television commercial for her provider. Glancing quickly at the screen, her heart gave a small stutter as the name of her son's school popped up. "Hello?"

"Mrs. Deluca, this is Harriett from the principal's office."

Her mind ran full speed ahead. All the horrible possibilities for a phone call from school tripped and shoved their way over the benign and more likely reasons. "Yes?"

"We've had a little … incident."

Okay.
Incident
is way better than
accident
, and Harriett's tone, while stern with a hint of frustration, gave no indication that Annette needed to be racing to the emergency room. "How little?"

"Adam has been in a fight."

"A what?" Her son didn't fight. The kid was a card-carrying member of Future Pacifists of America. Hug the trees and save the whales too. "Are you sure?"

"Excuse me?"

"Never mind. What happened?"

"I think we should discuss this in person."

"Very well. I'll be there in a few minutes."

"Mrs. Deluca?"

"Yes?"

"Bring a clean shirt."

Clean shirt?

"And pants. Your son's have seen better days."

A
nother number changed
on the digital clock. Brian would be home in a few minutes. Sometimes Michael Becker wondered who attending a new school was more stressful on, him or his son. So far it was a toss-up. He'd hoped mainstreaming middle school in Hawaii would be easier on Brian than in the large Dade County public school system. All his son wanted was to be like other kids his age. To go to a regular school, have friends, be invited to parties. There was even talk of a girlfriend.

Mike scrubbed his hand down his face. Hawaii might be Paradise, but he wasn't holding out for miracles. Or maybe he was. Normal people didn't turn their entire world upside down if they weren't hoping for something.

Awake since four o'clock this morning for a conference call with L.A., Mike seriously doubted the wisdom of his choice to live in the Hawaii-Aleutian time zone. Working for a Fortune 500 company on a global IT project had its perks and problems. He could telecommute from the house and be home for Brian. On the downside Mike could be attached to his computer at all hours of the day and night seven days a week. Or the blasted phone. And if Singapore didn't have the numbers run for him in the next minute, they would just damn well have to wait for him to do his part. No way could he ignore Brian's arrival after school. For the last twelve years, routine had been critical in every aspect of his life. Even as a baby Brian didn't adapt to variations in the daily schedule. Karen had made it all look so easy. From sunrise to bedtime, everything ran like clockwork.

Now, as soon as Brian walked through the door, the well-planned and practiced system kicked into gear. To the minute. No room for the slightest deviation. Snack. Homework. TV.
Homework
. Mike pinched the bridge of his nose.

The last digit flipped on the clock as Mike and Brian's neighbor pulled in the driveway. "Bless her."

Not many people understood Brian's need for order and routine and schedules. Heaven forbid his ride home from school decided to stop at the grocery store for a gallon of milk or try a shortcut to save time. The slightest detour always spelled disaster. But his neighbor Liz got it. She picked up Brian at the exact same spot at the exact same time and drove home the exact same route, and, so far, Liz was the only thing about the new school and the new routine that was going well.

His work cell resting on the desk buzzed. Glancing down, Mike saw the long string of numbers—Singapore.
Not good.
Preferring to use chat or email, it wasn't normal for the offshore team to call. This could only mean trouble. Reluctantly he grabbed the phone. “Becker.”

“Good afternoon, Mike,” the caller began. Always frustrated by the formality of the greeting and the acknowledgment of the time difference, he replied with the standard, “And good morning to you.” After all, Singapore was eighteen hours ahead—already the next day. What he really wanted though was to hurry up this conversation—get to the point. The last thing he needed was a lengthy conversation with Brian about to walk in the door.

The sound of a car door slamming broke into his thoughts, followed by another, and Mike's head snapped up. Liz normally watched Brian walk to the door and waited for Mike to wave back. The routine didn't call for her to get out of the car and walk with Brian.
Shit
. With a quick “I need to go. Send me an email,” he cut short the call and dropped the phone.

Tempted to hurry outside to find out what happened, instead Mike bit his cheeks and waited for Brian to open the door as usual. The second Brian appeared in the doorway, Mike knew the slight change had been enough to throw his son off his game. Brian’s gaze remained on the floor, watching his feet as he moved farther into the house.

"Time for your snack. Would you like ice cream, an apple, or chips?" Mike hoped falling into the familiar repartee would be enough to get his son back on track.

Quietly Brian continued to the kitchen, his gaze still cast downward.

Before continuing with the cycle of asking three times, Mike leaned toward Liz and whispered, "Wait for me in the living room."

Liz nodded and, passing behind him, made her way to the other room. Much to Mike's relief, the remainder of the snack-time routine fell into place. Once he'd placed the apple slices on the table, Brian seemed to have recovered from the small shift.

Wiping his hands down the side of his slacks, Mike took a seat in the living room, drew in a fortifying breath, and hoped whatever Liz had to say wasn't going to turn their world upside down again. "What happened?"

"There was a fight at school."

"Fight?" Mike sprang to his feet. "Oh, my God."

He turned to bolt back into the kitchen, not sure how he could have missed signs of a physical encounter, but Liz grabbed his wrist. "Not Brian."

What did she mean? What was the point of disrupting everything to tell him someone else had a fight at school? "I don't understand."

"It looks like your son has a new champion."

T
he sky
-blue halls of the Kona Middle School normally gave Annette a sense of calm, but this afternoon they did little to ease the anxiety building with every step. Just the other day she'd read an article on delayed delinquent behavior in young teens after the death of a parent. Was this about that?

The short walk to the principal's office seemed interminable. The moment Annette turned the corner, her eyes fell on her son. Slumped in the last of a line of chairs along the office wall, Adam sat with his head tilted back, holding an ice pack to his face. The collar on his polo shirt hung awkwardly, and she could see dark smudges all over him from across the room. Not until she was directly in front of her son did she see the torn pants and the equally disheveled boy on the other side of him. "What happened?"

"It was his fault." Adam pointed a thumb at the other kid.

"Was not," an angry voice mumbled through a split lip.

As much as she hated to admit relief, Annette was fairly confident the dark smudges on her son's shirt could be attributed to the other kid's bloody lip. "I didn't ask whose fault it was. What happened?"

"Oh, good, you're here." Harriett came out from behind the front counter. "The principal is in his office. Do you want to take a minute for Adam to change his clothes?"

Annette had brought a shirt and pants, as requested, but she much preferred finding out what had happened than she was concerned about Adam's appearance. "No, let's face the music."

Harriett stepped to one side and waved Annette and Adam across the bullpen of office desks to the closed door of childhood dread. "Go right in. He's expecting you."

Annette rapped lightly on the door and then turned the knob.

"Come in." Ted Sparks was a jovial man with an easygoing grin. But not today. "Please take a seat."

Nerves still on edge, Annette eased into one of the chairs in front of the massive oak desk. Adam slumped into the seat beside her.

"We don't tolerate fighting." Fingers steepled in front of him, the principal shifted his gaze from Adam to her. "Normally turning to fisticuffs is an automatic suspension."

"Normally?" she asked cautiously.

"First offense is up to the principal's discretion." The man eyed Adam. "Do you have something to say in your defense?"

"No, sir."

"I see here"—the principal held up a single piece of paper—"that you're not in any classes with Eddie."

Eddie
. Annette quickly ran through overheard conversations but didn't recognize the name.

"No, sir."

The stern-looking man glanced at Annette over the sheet of paper in his hand before turning back to Adam. "Does this have anything to do with Brian Becker?"

Adam's eyes widened just long enough for both Annette and the principal to realize he'd hit the nail on the head. But who was Brian Becker?

Adam straightened in his seat. "Brian wasn't part of the fight."

"I see." The usually cordial twinkle in Principal Ted's eyes gleamed once again, as he leaned back in his chair. "I think we can let this go with a warning. And perhaps an essay on problem resolution without the use of violence."

Adam's mouth drew into a thin line, but he nodded anyhow. "Thank you, sir."

On the way outside, Annette noticed the other boy, Eddie, had company. A big guy in jeans, a sweat-soaked work shirt, and what looked to be steel-tipped shoes sat scowling beside the kid. She had to wonder who would dole out the harsher punishment, the good-natured principal or the father who looked to be royally ticked off at missing work. She almost felt sorry for the kid.

Seat belt snapped, turning out of the parking lot, Annette uttered the first words spoken since leaving the principal's office. "Why did you give Eddie a split lip?"

Adam's mouth curled in a triumphant smile. "I did, didn't I?"

Men.
"Answer the question."

Adam shifted in his seat, ran his hand along his jaw, and looked to the roof of the car as though expecting the answer to appear etched on the ceiling.

"Does it hurt?" She would put more ice on his chin once they got home.

"Nah." He dropped his hand to his side. "Eddie hits like a girl."

A startled chuckle erupted, and Annette didn't even try to hold it back. For a second she thought she could hear her husband laughing beside her. "Spill. What happened?"

"We've got a new kid in school."

She nodded, waiting for more.

"His name is Brian. He's smart in a weird sort of way."

"Weird?"

"Yeah. He remembers everything. I mean
everything
. In history class the teacher read a passage from one of the pages, then asked a question. Before anyone could raise their hand, Brian answered."

"Just called out the answer?"

Adam shook his head. "Mom, he recited back the entire page. It's almost scary. I don't have math with him, but I heard, when the class has to do calculations, he does them in his head. Fast. Really fast."

A myriad of possibilities played in her thoughts. The old cliché, a fine line between genius and insanity. Though her maternal gut told her this was more complicated than a weird smart kid. "So why did you have a fight with this Eddie character?"

"He's an obnoxious ass—"

"Adam."

"Well, he is. He thinks his shit doesn't stink."

The desire to get to the bottom of the situation won out over the urge to reprove her son's colorful vocabulary. She bit her tongue and waited.

"Him and all his friends are always picking on kids. They rule the lunchroom. The minute one of the volunteers isn't looking, Eddie's knocking over someone's tray or tripping a kid walking by."

"Picks on those he's intimidated by."

"No." Adam shook his head vehemently. "He picks mostly on the geeks."

"The
smart
geeks. I'm guessing he's not the best student."

Adam shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe. But he and his friends keep taunting this kid."

"How?"

"Stupid stuff. Someone said the other day how Eddie told Brian to go kiss the elevator. And he did. And that he seemed happy, like he thought it would make him Eddie's friend."

"You didn't see this?"

Brian shook his head. "And yesterday it was cleaning spit, but today I was in the hall, when I heard Eddie and his friends tell Brian to kiss Katie Russo."

Uh-oh
. "Did he?"

Adam nodded. "They told him that she really liked him. Wanted to be his girlfriend. She was nearby, and Eddie called her over. Everyone was hurrying to get to class before the bell rang, and I couldn't get across the hall fast enough to stop him."

The way her son glanced up at her, anger slipping behind raw pain, it took all her restraint not to pull him into a hug and tell him … what?
Try not to let the assholes of the world get to you
.

"Brian kissed her. Hard. Almost knocked her into the locker. She smacked him across the face and stormed off. The guys just stood there laughing. By the time I got close, Brian had his hands on his ears and was staring at his shoes." He turned fully to face his mother. "I couldn't believe they'd do that to someone who obviously couldn't defend himself, so I told Eddie to keep his stupid jokes to himself."

Annette could see the entire scene drawing out now. The same ageless scenario happened in schools everywhere since the dawn of time. "Who's going to make him?"

Adam nodded. "I got in his face and said I would."

"And he what? Shoved you? Hit you?"

"Something like that." Adam leaned back in his seat, facing forward. "I had to do it, Mom. I had to."

How could she tell her son that violence wasn't the answer when everything in her wanted to drive to this Eddie's house and knock some sense into his parents for raising a bully? "Your principal is right. Violence is never an answer." But neither was sitting back and doing nothing.

R
ight now Annette
would give anything for the days when all it took to make her kids stop hurting was to kiss the boo-boo. Unsure of where to start, she picked up the phone and called the one person most likely to have the answers.

A teacher at the local high school, Emily was another member of the Everrett clan. People Annette had come to count on since moving to Kona. "Hello?"

"Hey, Em. It's Annette Deluca."

"Gee, this is a nice surprise. What's up?"

"Honestly I'm looking for some answers."

"If I've got 'em, I'm willing to share."

Annette could hear Emily's smile through the phone. "Adam ran into a little trouble at school today."

"What kind of trouble?" A sharp edge instantly replaced her earlier easy tone.

"He got into a fight with a school bully."

"There is a lot of enlightenment on school bullying. I can recommend several sites for you to go to, if Adam is a target. They're—"

"No. He's not the target."

Emily didn't respond.

"He was defending another kid."

"Okay. That's a new excuse for fighting."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"I don't mean to make it sound like there are never any children who stand up for the bullied. I just don't hear about it very often."

"Probably like the news. We hardly ever hear about the good deeds, but we hear all about the bad ones."

"I suppose. What do you need from me?"

"I want to help, but I don't know how. Adam says the boy is 'weird smart.'" Annette ran through the list of traits Adam had given her.

"I'm not an expert on this, but my first thought is the kid's on the autism spectrum. Most likely high functioning or he wouldn't be mainstreamed. And obviously very smart academically, but I'm guessing he doesn't really know what to do with that page of information he recited."

"I don't know."

"Any chance you can talk to the parents? Find out more about what's going on?"

"I thought about that, but I wanted to get some firsthand info."

"All I know is structure is crucial for these kids. They are each so different. It's not a disease, like diabetes, with a list of specific symptoms. There are red flags, but nothing is set in stone. If you've met one autistic child, you've met one autistic child. Think of it as meeting a five-foot-tall brown-haired boy with brown eyes and an IQ of 160. Nothing else about him will be the same as the next five-foot-tall brown-haired boy with brown eyes and a 160 IQ. Nor the next. That's part of what makes this such a challenging disorder. There are no rules. No standards. No two children will ever be exactly alike. It's a spectrum. A scale. The variations are limitless."

"What is the school doing for these kids?"

"Again, every child is different. Some more sensitive than others. Literally. Depending on the situation a teacher or fellow student can be assigned to shadow the child. Follow them from a distance, make sure he doesn't get himself into difficulties he's incapable of escaping."

"Like a bully."

"Like a bully. Though you may want to thank your lucky stars if this boy is not on social media. Nowadays that's the larger threat. The name-calling and singling out of children in school carries over into social media at home. The victim has no escape. No safe haven. Parents don't often realize what is going on. Everyone grew up with expressions like 'sticks and stones may break my bones, but names will never hurt me.' But they do. And it's become even more vicious in recent years."

"So what do I do?"

"First you need to let the school know exactly what's been going on. Teachers can't help if they don't see the poor behavior and if the kids don't tell them. Then you should probably talk to the young boy's family. Find out if he is, indeed, autistic or if there's some other issue involved. After that, enlightening the parents of the bully would be a good idea. Sometimes these kids take after their parents. They're bullied or insecure at home. I hate to keep spitting clichés at you, but children learn what they see. On the other hand, I've known some of the nicest parents who did everything right and were completely aghast at what their son or daughter did to other children at school. Talking to the bullied boy's parents is the best way to move forward. At least then Adam and the school will know what they're up against." Emily paused. "And, off the record, Adam did good. I'm proud of him for standing up for what's right."

"I am too." Annette wished Tom could be here to see his son, already behaving like a man. After a few polite words about the weather and the upcoming winter break and its holiday dinners at Emily's mom's, Annette hung up with a new mission. Find and speak to Brian's parents.