A Carol Christmas (26 page)

She came back down the hall, looking perplexed. “It’s not there.”

“What do you mean it’s not there?” Gram’s sweet little old lady smile was beginning to dissolve into something not so sweet.

“Where could it have gone?” Mom wondered. “It was right in that room and . . .” She looked at Aunt Chloe. “Wait a minute. Did you?”

Aunt Chloe was already looking defensive. “What?”

“You took that quilt to the emergency room.”

Gram looked ready to send Aunt Chloe away without any dinner. “Why were you taking my quilt to the hospital?”

Aunt Chloe looked like Eve with a mouthful of apple. “It was when Ben hurt his foot,” she explained. “He was in shock.”

“Well, where is it now?” Gram demanded.

Mom frowned. “I think we left it there.”

“You left the quilt that took me six months to make at the hospital?” Gram looked like she was going to have to go to the hospital herself. Did she take high blood pressure medicine? I wondered. If so, she needed some now.

“I’m sure it’s still there somewhere,” I said, hoping to avert World War Three. “Maybe in the lost and found.”

“A handmade quilt? I doubt it,” Gram said scornfully. “Really, Chloe,” she snapped. “How could you?”

“It’s not like I did it on purpose, Mom,” said Aunt Chloe. She suddenly sounded twelve years old.

“Hey, Gram, it’s okay,” put in Ben. “It’ll probably turn up.”

Gram looked like she could hurl lightning bolts from her fingertips now. “It’ll turn up all right. On some homeless person.”

“We don’t have any homeless people in Carol,” Keira said. Gram talked right over her. “You might as well take the shams to the hospital too. Then whoever stole the quilt can have a matching set.”

“I’m sorry,” Aunt Chloe wailed, and began to cry.

“Honestly, Chloe,” Gram said in disgust. “Why don’t you think before you act? I can never reproduce that quilt.”

A new song was playing on the radio, a choir singing how there’s no place like home for the holidays. Boy, that was an understatement.

“Hey, who’d like some eggnog?” offered Ben.

Gram looked at him in disgust. “Eggnog! At a time like this?”

And then the doorbell rang. I hoped it wasn’t Dad coming early. This would not be the best time for him to arrive on the doorstep.

Mom opened the door and there stood Mr. Winkler, decked out in slacks and a green plaid shirt, holding a gift platter of dried fruit. “Merry Christmas,” he said, handing it to Mom. “Hope I’m not too early.”

Only about two hours, I thought. Was this man an android? Didn’t he have any family, any other living human being who would like to see him and his dried fruit?

“Not at all. Come on in,” said Mom.

“What’s he doing here already?” Keira whispered to me.

“Peace negotiations,” I whispered back.

It was no exaggeration. Having a stranger in our midst forced us to close ranks. Aunt Chloe sniffed up her tears and, although she was still glowering like the Grinch, Gram at least shut up.

“Mom, you remember our neighbor, Bill Winkler,” Mom said to Gram.

“How do you do, Bill,” Gram said and gave him a regal nod.

“Nice to meet you,” he said, giving her a friendly head bob in return. No need for him to say how he did. He was doing fine. He had a place to camp all day and a free meal. If you asked me, we were more than paying for that window he mended. Of course, no one asked me.

“Hey, Mr. Winkler, how’s it goin’?” Ben greeted him.

“Not bad,” said Mr. Winkler as they shook hands. Sparkling conversationalist, our Mr. Winkler.

“Would you like some eggnog?” Mom offered.

“If it’s not too much trouble,” he said politely. “Say, I’m not interrupting you folks’ present opening, am I?”

“No, we’re pretty much done,” Mom assured him.

A few presents still lingered under the tree, but nobody contradicted her. Maybe that was because we all needed a break from the stress of gift giving.

Mr. Winkler made himself at home in Dad’s easy chair, and he and Ben started talking football. It was an unsettling sight seeing another man sitting in my father’s chair. I turned away and set to work cleaning up the wrapping paper mess. As I worked, I got to wondering why Dad didn’t get to take his chair when he left.

Spencer arrived, wearing perfectly creased, gray wool slacks and a new red sweater. He looked like a freshly minted model looking for a place to pose.

Good looking, well off, generous—the guy was a prize. You’d think Keira would have showed a little more enthusiasm over him. Instead she gave him a ho-hum greeting as he came through the door. As for the way she kissed
him, I’ve seen women kiss their brothers with more enthusiasm. May as well make a R.I.P. tombstone for this relationship. It was doomed.

“I’m getting some coffee,” she told him. “Want some?” She turned and started for the kitchen without waiting for an answer.

“Sure,” he said to her back.

“Hi, Spencer,” I said, trying to put enough warmth into my voice to compensate for Keira’s lack of it.

He gave me a grateful smile and joined me at the wrapping paper bag. “So, have you been enjoying your visit home?”

Actually, I had enjoyed much of it—something I had not expected when Mom first issued her invitation. “Yes, I have. I’m glad I came back.” Amazing, to hear myself say those words.

He nodded, then picked up a piece of paper and stuffed it in my bag.

“That’s some present you gave my sister,” I said.

He shrugged. “I thought she’d like it.”

“She does,” I assured him.

“Well, it’s not a house.”

“You’ll get your house.”

“Yeah, but I won’t get hers, and that’s a problem.” He suddenly looked sad.

“I’m sure you guys will be able to work things out,” I told him. False assurance. Shame on me.

“Are you?”

“Actually, I’m just trying to be nice and make you feel better,” I admitted.

“You don’t seem to have to try too hard. You’ve got that ‘being nice’ thing down pretty good.” He looked at me gratefully.

His gratitude made me nervous. Grateful looks and kind words could be easily misinterpreted.

I was suddenly aware of Keira standing behind us and felt a guilty burn on my face.

“Here’s your coffee,” she said to Spencer. She sounded like a prison warden.
Here’s your last meal. Scum
.

She glared at me like Spencer’s behavior was my fault, then took his arm and pulled, a subtle hint that he was now to get up and get away from me. He rose like a puppet who had just had his strings jerked, took his mug of coffee, and followed her to the couch, seating himself on the end next to where Mr. Winkler sat in Dad’s chair.

“How’s it going?” Mr. Winkler greeted him.

Not so good, I thought. Oh, boy. The Hartwell living room was turning into an emotional mine field, and Dad hadn’t even gotten here yet.

I gathered up the wrapping paper mess and took it to the kitchen to feed the garbage. (We didn’t burn wrapping paper in the fireplace anymore.)

Keira followed me. I felt like a little kid who was about to get a spanking.

Sure enough. “What was that about out there?” she growled as she filled her own mug.

How unfair. How grossly unfair! “What? You mean me trying to encourage your fiance´ not to run screaming into the night?”

“Maybe you’re trying to encourage him to run screaming to you,” she hissed.

“Oh, please.” Had my sister always been insane, or was this an adult onset thing? Adult? Who was I kidding! Keira was the world’s oldest thirteen-year-old.

She put her hands on her hips. “That’s it, isn’t it? You’re trying to steal him. You’re out for petty revenge. It isn’t enough that I told you Gabe didn’t really want me. You have to ruin my life. Out of spite!”

I threw up my hands. “You’re right. I came home to ruin your life.”

She saw no humor in my remark. Instead, she crossed her arms over her chest and scowled at me.

“Listen to you. How paranoid do you sound?”

She suddenly got busy with picking a crumb off the counter. “Okay, maybe I am being a little paranoid. Things have been kind of strained between Spencer and me lately.”

And whose fault was that? I decided this was the perfect moment for some sisterly advice. “You’d better quit being so self-centered or you’re going to lose this guy.”

The sisterly advice thing was a bad idea. “Where do you get off?” Keira snapped. “Who asked you to come home and tell us all our faults?”

Her words stung. “You did.” Wait a minute. That didn’t sound quite right. “I didn’t come home to do that,” I corrected myself. “I’m just trying to help you.”

“Well, stop it. Okay?”

I took a step back and held up my hands. If I’d had a crucifix I’d have used it. “Okay.”

That cooled her down a little. “I don’t need your help,” she added.

“All right.”
You're on your own. Feel free to mess up your life as much as you want
.

My backing off did the trick. Hurricane Keira downgraded herself to a tropical storm and blew back out to the living room.

As she exited Mom came in to check on the turkey. “Well,” she said as she shut it back in the oven, “I think our bird is going to be done earlier than I thought. We should be able to eat at one thirty.”

One thirty. That was half an hour earlier than I’d told Dad. “Let’s wait till two,” I said.

“Why would we want to do that?”

“Tradition. We always eat Christmas dinner at two.”

Mom cocked a suspicious eyebrow.

I opened my eyes wide, trying to appear intensely innocent. She pointed her turkey baster at me. “That look. I know that look.”

“What look?” I forced my eyes wider.

She wagged the baster. “The one you’re wearing now. Andrea Rose Hartwell, you’re up to something.” Her eyes narrowed. “Andie, you didn’t…”

I didn’t let her finish. “Whatever bad thing you’re thinking I did, I didn’t do it,” I said evasively. Then I escaped from the kitchen before she could question me further. I hadn’t lied. Inviting Dad over for dinner was not a bad thing, at least not in my estimation.

The doorbell heralded new company. It was still too early for Dad. So that left only one other person.

“I’ll get it,” I called and hurried for the door.

Sure enough, there stood Gabe in jeans and that suede jacket, open to reveal a Christmas-red sweater.

He smiled at me. The man could do toothpaste ads. “Merry Christmas, Andie.”

My heart went into an overdrive version of the dance of the sugar plum fairy as I stepped back to let him in.

“Hope you don’t mind my stopping by.”

“Boring at your house, huh?”

“You’re not there.” Gabe Knightly had always been quick with a smart answer.

Even as various members of my family called out their greetings, part of me screamed, “Get him out of here, Andie. Why are you doing this to yourself, anyway?”

I answered myself.
Because we ’re both older, wiser. We ’re grownups now
.

Which meant maybe we could start over. Maybe I’d been wrong to stall Gabe at eighteen in my mind, never giving him a chance to show me he’d changed. I thought of the angel sealed in my snow globe. That was Gabe.

Although he’d been no angel, I reminded myself.

He wasn’t now either. He was a man, and a good one at that.

“Let me take your coat,” I offered.

“Take my heart too,” he urged softly, making my cheeks sizzle. “It’s already yours, anyway.”

“Don’t push,” I cautioned. I didn’t care what Gabe or the crazy part of my brain said. A woman doesn’t kick over past neuroses in a few days any more than she falls back in love with a guy. Well, at least this woman didn’t.

He smiled like a man who knew he’d won anyway and could afford to be generous. I hung up his coat, and he sauntered into the living room to join the gang.

While the turkey sent out tantalizing smells from the kitchen, we all sat around and visited. The presence of outsiders kept the female Hartwells on a verbal leash, but every once in a while someone would look at someone else like they wished they had a gun handy. Then the grandfather clock bonged half past one.

“I think our turkey’s done,” Mom announced.

“Great. I’m starving,” said Aunt Chloe.

“Gosh, I’m still so full from Gram’s cinnamon rolls and all that eggnog,” I lied.

“I could go for some turkey,” said Mr. Winkler. Who asked him, anyway?

“Gabe, you’re staying. Right?” Mom asked.

“Sure,” he said.

“Keira, set another place for Gabe,” Mom said. She went to the kitchen, and Keira followed to help her.

Oh, boy. The train had left the track. There was no way I could stop it. Dinner was going to get set out on the table right now unless I said something. Then Dad would arrive too late. He’d feel awkward and leave, and I’d have wound up making his Christmas even worse than if I’d left him alone with only Elvis for company.

I steeled myself to make my confession. No, that was the wrong terminology.
To spring my surprise
.

I hurried after them to the kitchen. “Mom, can’t we wait a little longer?”

“Everything’s ready, dear,” Mom said. The turkey was now on the stovetop, and she was digging stuffing out of it.

“If we could just wait another half-hour.”

She looked at me expectantly. “Why?”

“I have a surprise coming.”

“I love surprises!” gushed Keira. “One of those singing telegrams?”

“Not exactly.”

Mom’s eyes narrowed. “What, exactly? Does it have something to do with that look we were talking about a minute ago?”

I bit my lip.

“Andrea Rose Hartwell, what have you done?” Mom demanded.

The doorbell rang again.

“I….” Oh, dear. How to explain this so Mom would see it as a good thing?

“I’ll get it,” called Aunt Chloe.

Mom was looking at me with dawning horror. “Oh, Andie, tell me you didn’t.”

“Michael?” Aunt Chloe’s surprised voice drifted out to us from the living room.

Chapter Nineteen

“Daddy!” Keira cried and flew out of the kitchen, leaving me alone and unprotected with Mom.

I felt suddenly thankful my mother had a spoon in her hand and not a knife.