A Merry Little Christmas (8 page)

She had just taken a bite of Ethiopian injera, a spongy, sour flatbread used as a kind of edible tablecloth to soak stew juices and scoop up meat, when she saw Jeremiah’s mother settle into a chair across the table. The woman’s bright blue eyes matched her son’s, but her face held none of his reserve as she pulled her napkin into her lap and looked around the table.

“I’m June Maddox,” she said. “From Bolivar. That’s about thirty minutes north of Springfield. My son is Jeremiah, over there with his Kenyan family. Are you young ladies from Kenya, too?”

“We are from Ivory Coast, Ghana and Cameroon,” one of them responded in a low voice. “Our countries are in West Africa. Very far away from Kenya.”

“My grandsons told me I’d learn a lot if I came to dinner here. To tell you the truth, I resisted the idea at first. We’ve always had Thanksgiving at home with Jeremiah and the boys. We have a daughter, too, but Jenny lives in California, and we don’t see her very often. Oh, I’m telling you, we miss that girl! But she’s like her big brother—busy, busy, busy. If Daniel hadn’t met Peter and invited him to live in the guest cottage, I don’t suppose Jeremiah would have ever slowed down. But he’s a different boy since his African friends moved in. We haven’t been introduced, but I believe you’re Dr. Crane, aren’t you?”

Lara swallowed a too-large mouthful of hot curry. “Uh, yes.” She coughed and took a swig of water. “Your son has been very kind, Mrs. Maddox. Your grandsons…great kids.”

“They all think so much of you. Especially Jeremiah. I don’t believe he stopped talking about you during the whole drive down here from Bolivar. He says you run quite a program for these students. And you volunteer to refurbish old houses on the weekends.”

“I enjoy my work.”

“I can see why! This is just a delightful gathering. Wonderful.” White hair freshly set and glowing with hair spray, she took a bite of turkey and chewed for a moment before speaking again. “I thought I’d start with a plate of my traditional cooking, you know. Then I believe I’ll give some of the other dishes a try.”

“I hope you will, Mrs. Maddox. The students have prepared the best their homelands have to offer.”

“Jeremiah tells me his friends roasted a goat in his backyard. Actually, I’m not even sure that’s legal.”

“It’s delicious, though,” Lara said. Hoping to turn the conversation away from Jeremiah, she spoke to Dahlia, the young woman who had not heard from her family in several weeks. “Do you roast goats in an underground pit in Ivory Coast, Dahlia? I can’t remember.”

“Sometimes,” the girl mumbled.

“I don’t understand how it could cook very well,” Mrs. Maddox spoke up. “Being buried like that. I thought fire needed oxygen to burn. Well, the main thing is that you have just won my son’s heart, Dr. Crane. Or may I call you Lara?”

She wanted to shrink into her chair. “Lara, of course.”

“Daniel and Benjamin were the first to tell us about you, and then Jeremiah started in. We had to hear all about moving the mattresses and the puppy and the painting project. You know, Jeremiah rarely mentions anyone except his business colleagues. But he has just talked himself half to death about you. Of course, I asked a lot of questions. The grandkids say I’m a busybody, but that’s really not true. In fact, Jeremiah told me you like to ask questions, too, Lara. I think that’s how to show you really care about someone.”

“Yes, I believe it is.” Lara searched frantically for anything to stem the tide of Mrs. Maddox’s eager conversation. She focused on the students. “Perhaps some of you would like to share Christmas customs from your homelands. I’m sure our guest would enjoy that.”

No sooner had Lara mentioned the coming holiday than Dahlia’s face crumpled. The young woman was excusing herself from the table, tears streaming, when Mrs. Maddox caught her hand.

“My goodness, sweetheart, whatever is the matter?” Mrs. Maddox dug a tissue out of her purse. “Are you homesick? I bet all of you are! I hadn’t thought about that, but you are a long way from your families, aren’t you?”

“Dahlia cannot reach her parents by telephone or e-mail,” one of the young women told Mrs. Maddox. “She is quite worried.”

“Can’t reach them?” The woman’s blue eyes softened as she slipped her arm around the student. “Well, I’m sure they’re all right. Africa is such a long way from here, and you know how telephone cables break, and satellites go astray and things like that. I don’t think you need to worry, honey. Here, take another tissue.”

Lara watched as Mrs. Maddox slipped effortlessly into “mother” mode and took over the table exactly the way her son had taken over the Miss Ethel project. Within moments, the young African women were telling stories of their families at Christmastime, talking about boyfriends they had left behind, explaining political troubles and generally baring their hearts to the white-haired guest. Jeremiah’s mother listened with great interest, her face registering shock or sadness or joy as each student spoke. With Mrs. Maddox’s arm firmly around her shoulders, Dahlia stopped crying and even managed to eat a few bites from her plate. As conversation flowed, Lara took advantage of the opportunity to step away from the table.

Wandering from group to group around the room, she paused to thank people for bringing such wonderful food and for taking time to join their fellow students at the I-House. She glanced at the Murayas’ table and noted that everyone was observing Tobias’s first taste of applesauce.

This was working out exactly as it should, Lara realized. Never mind what Mrs. Maddox had said about her having won Jeremiah’s heart. That was simply a figure of speech from a doting mother. Clearly the man was ignoring Lara, but she felt grateful that her words of rejection had not turned him away from the Muraya family or the tradition of the international Thanksgiving feast.

She took a clean plate and made her way to the dessert table, where confections of every kind were vanishing fast. Missing the traditions of her own parents who had retired in Arizona, Lara lifted a slice of Mrs. Maddox’s pecan pie from its pan.

“Homemade crust,” Jeremiah said, his chest brushing against the back of her shoulder and his breath warming her ear. “My grandma taught me how to roll it so thin you can almost see through it.”

Her hand tightened on the plate. “
You
made the pie? That’s a surprise.”

“Didn’t think I could cook?”

“Didn’t think you had the time.” She forced a polite smile on her face and took a sideways step along the table’s edge.

He matched her, his long arm reaching toward a bowl of fresh fruit salad just as she touched the spoon. His hand closed over hers. “Pineapple this time of year?” he asked. “Wow. And what’s that orange stuff?”

“Mango.” She had no choice but to allow him to ladle some of the fruit salad onto her plate. “I think I can manage the spoon, Jeremiah. I’ve been feeding myself for years.”

“Just thought I’d be of assistance. You’re trembling so much you might spill something.”

“If you weren’t standing behind me…”

“If I weren’t standing here, I wouldn’t get to smell that perfume I noticed the other night and can’t get out of my head. I told you I wanted to see you again, and here we are.”

“You’re with the Murayas, and I’m with the students. As it should be. Your mother is sweet.”

“So is my dad. The boys are enjoying the work on Miss Ethel’s house. Benjamin is crocheting a scarf for her.”

“No way!”

He grinned. “It’s your fault. Somehow you found a chink in my armor, and before I knew it my sons were crocheting, a dog was uprooting my two hundred tulip bulbs and a dead goat was roasting in my backyard. You, Lara Crane, are my undoing. And I’m planning to be yours.”

“Good luck.” She couldn’t help but laugh at the images his words had evoked. “I don’t have any chinks in my armor.”

“Wanna bet?”

“Sure.” Despite the knot in her stomach, she lifted her chin and cruised past him to refill her glass of punch. He followed and somehow reached the bowl ahead of her.

“How about dinner?” he asked. “Next Friday.”

She tried to hold her glass steady as he filled it. “Busy,” she said. “Busy, busy, busy. That’s me.”

“Saturday then. After we’re done at Miss Ethel’s, I’ll pick you up for burgers and a milk shake.”

“I’m busy from now until I turn ninety-nine. You can take me out on my ninety-ninth birthday. How’s that?”

She glanced across the room to see people beginning to rise and clear the tables. Daniel was holding Tobias. Benjamin had crossed the room to introduce his grandfather to the students sitting with his grandmother. Dahlia was smiling.

“I can’t wait until you’re ninety-nine, and I won’t.” Jeremiah caught her arm as she tried to evade him. “I know the chink in your armor. You told me the last time we were together, Lara. You’re lonely.”

“I never said that.”

“I heard it, though. Let’s go out to dinner again and see what happens.”

She faced him. “Jeremiah, I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Who’s Melissa?”

His expression sobered. “Melissa. How did you know about her?”

“Your cell phone. She called you. You said her name. Listen, I’m not some naive girl. I’ve been through all of this, and I won’t do it again. Not the game. Not the flirting and playing around and seeing what happens. You won’t have me on one evening and Melissa on the next. You won’t have me at all, because I’m not available and neither are you.”

“I ended my relationship with Melissa,” he said. “That night when you heard us talking. I was supposed to spend Saturday with her, but I canceled so I could go paint Miss Ethel’s baseboards. And see you. Best decision I ever made.”

Lara stared down at her plate of pecan pie and fruit salad. Her glass of punch. Her plain shoes and black slacks and discount-store belt. This was not supposed to happen. She had worked too hard to make herself invisible, hiding behind her self-made curtain and performing wondrous deeds like the Wizard of Oz himself. How had this man found her? And what was she going to do about it?

“Yo, Dad.” Daniel breezed up, Tobias in the crook of his arm. “Take the Tobester for me. Grandpa needs my help loading the car, and Tabitha is chasing down Wisdom and Justice.”

He pushed the baby into his father’s arms and dashed off. Tobias looked up at Jeremiah. Then he studied Lara for a moment. She wanted to sing with joy. Bending over, she kissed his fat little cheek.

“Bless you, Tobias,” she said. “Keep Mr. Maddox busy, will you? He’s way too nosy.”

As if on cue, Tobias burped up a mouthful of applesauce. It spilled over Jeremiah’s sleeve and onto the leg of his jeans. With an exclamation of dismay, he turned to look for a napkin. Lara whirled away with her dessert plate and found a cluster of tall Nigerians in which to hide.

Perhaps she did have a chink in her armor. Maybe she was a little lonely. Or a lot. But that one small opening didn’t give Jeremiah Maddox license to come barging into her life. Certainly not.

J
eremiah got the message. That didn’t stop him from thinking about her day and night. He found Lara Crane’s photo on the Reynolds University Web site. Beautiful. He programmed her number into his cell phone. At least fifteen times a day, he toyed with the idea of calling her. He tried to recall the smell of her perfume and the exact color of her eyes. Most of all, he pondered what it could be about himself that turned her away.

Since his divorce, Jeremiah had done his best to become a better man. But somehow he wasn’t good enough for Lara. Was it the fact that he’d been married before? Was it his sons—both still living at home? Had she read those old newspaper articles that vilified his company, even though he was only the architect on the project and not the developer? Maybe she disliked his big house. Or his BMW.

As he drove to Miss Ethel’s run-down home each afternoon at the end of a long day’s work, he wondered if he was somehow physically unappealing to Lara. Too old? He checked his face in the rearview mirror for wrinkles. True, a few lines fanned out from his eyes. And he had noticed some silver hair filtering into the dark hair at his temples. Was that it?

Maybe it wasn’t him at all. Maybe it was Lara. She said she’d been engaged to the wrong man for many years. Had made a mistake, chosen poorly. But so had Jeremiah. He had
married
his mistake. Committed himself to her before God. Had children with her. That was in the past, Jeremiah told himself. Why couldn’t Lara let go of her own history? Sin and error didn’t have to sit on a person’s shoulders like those massive backpacks his sons toted to school and home again every day. Jeremiah had asked forgiveness of God, had been granted it, had moved forward.

Lara had told him to
get over it.
But had she worked her way out of her own guilt? To Jeremiah, she came across as a much better Christian than he. She had traveled further along in her faith and had learned to put her beliefs into action. Why couldn’t she see that God could blot out her past and give her something—
someone
—new and better?

In a perpetual state of frustration, Jeremiah spent the weeks before Christmas driving from his home to his office to Miss Ethel’s house and back home again. He missed Lara twice when she checked in on the Murayas, then left him curt little notes about how well the family was doing. She never mentioned her conversations with Jeremiah or indicated any personal interest in him whatsoever.

The woman was driving him crazy.

Snow fell, temperatures dropped and the boys brought the old Christmas decorations out of the storage shed. Benjamin was allergic to evergreen trees, so—as they did each year—the three men sorted artificial branches by their color-coded tags, inserted them into a green pole and gradually raised an approximation of a real tree from floor to ceiling. Jeremiah missed the fragrances of pine, fir and cedar that whispered “Christmas” to him from his childhood years, so he bought a couple of perfumed candles and lit them. It wasn’t the same. In fact, nothing was the same as it had been.

These days more girls were hanging around the house along with the usual gang of guys. Jeremiah gave up trying to learn their names and sort them out. One evening all the young people gathered around the tree and hung balls, lights and silver swags while carols played on the stereo. The Muraya boys showed up to help decorate. Those two were always underfoot in his house, Jeremiah had noted—forever scampering here and there, giggling, running around with their socks hanging half off their little brown feet. Even the puppy began to call the Maddox home his own—sniffing boots by the door, nibbling popcorn and pizza crusts in the basement, chewing up one boot from a worn pair Jeremiah used for yard work.

A walk through the front door of his house no longer promised Jeremiah the serenity of stirring a pot of homemade chili in the kitchen, propping his feet by the fire and reading the newspaper while keeping an eye on the TV. Now he was met with balls of yarn, half-made scarves and crochet hooks scattered on every chair in the family room. Newspapers and magazines were dotted with muddy paw prints and marked with tiny holes from sharp puppy teeth. Small children chased each other back and forth in front of the television. The pizza delivery man stopped by two or three times a night, and Jeremiah wondered when he had lost complete control of his existence.

“Dad, hey.” The younger of his two sons trotted up the basement steps as Jeremiah shut the front door behind him after work one evening in late December. Benjamin had his arm slung around the shoulders of a girl with long brown hair and big green eyes. She was too thin, Jeremiah thought, and she needed to hike those jeans a little higher around the waist. Who was this waiflike creature, and what had she been doing in the basement with his son?

“The Murayas are leaving for Texas tomorrow,” Benjamin said, “and I was wondering if it would be okay to let them borrow one of our cars. Theirs is totally smashed in at the front, and it’s always breaking down. What do you think? Maybe the BMW?”

“My car?” He gaped at the man-child staring him eye-to-eye. “That’s the vehicle I drive to work. I’m not sending it off to Texas with five people and a dog.”

“Yeah, but it’s got four-wheel drive. You could use my car till they get back.”

“Yours is filled with junk, and I have no idea when you last ran it through a car wash. No, Benjamin, forget it. We gave the Murayas a house. They can use their own car to get to Texas.”

“But, Dad!” Benjamin followed his father toward the kitchen. “I’m willing to ride to school with Rachel these last couple of days. She says she’d be happy to take me.”

Jeremiah paused and eyed the skinny girl. “You’re Rachel?”

“Yes, sir.” She looked scared. “I can drive Ben wherever.”

“That’s nice, but no one is giving up their vehicle. You have too many things going on before and after school, Benjamin, and so does Daniel. You can’t expect Rachel to take you everywhere during the Christmas break. I need my car, too. Besides, I don’t know if our insurance would even cover something like that.”

“Dad, if I’m willing to let you use my car, then you should let the Murayas use yours.”

“
Your
car?” Jeremiah raked his fingers through his hair. “Who owns your car, Ben?”

“Uh…you do.”

“And who pays your insurance?”

“You. But, Dad—”

“No more!” Jeremiah exploded. “I’ve done enough for that woman! My house has turned into a three-ring circus, and I can’t even find the hot chocolate these days. Nothing’s where it’s supposed to be—the whole place is a wreck. She asked me to help, and I did, and that’s it. She’s gotten all of me that she’s getting. Ever!”

He turned and strode into the kitchen in search of something to eat.
Great.
The sink was full of dirty glasses and plates. A forgotten saucepan of soup had simmered on the stove until it was a gooey mass of noodles and burned vegetables. A ball of tangled red yarn lay in a heap near the pantry.

“Which woman?” Benjamin edged into the room, Rachel now behind him peering over his shoulder. “Are you talking about Dr. Crane?”

“No! Yes!” Jeremiah yanked on the dishwasher door and let it fall open, bouncing silverware in the plastic container. “When was the last time anyone ran this? Look at that sink! I had life running smoothly around here, and now look at what’s happened.”

“Dad, everyone knows you’re just mad because you have a thing for Dr. Crane, so you should stop trying to blame her and just face reality.”

“A
thing
for her?”

“You like her. You’re nuts about her, and she won’t give you the time of day, and you can’t take it. And that’s not anybody’s fault but yours. You’re all about being successful and getting what you want, but Dr. Crane isn’t interested, because those things aren’t important to her. She sees right through you. She knows you have to have your BMW and your fancy restaurants and your wool suits and silk ties. You’re trying to show the world what a great person you are even though Mom left you. But nobody’s interested in that anymore, Dad. Dr. Crane doesn’t care, and neither do me and Daniel. We know we can’t change what happened, so we’re looking ahead to stuff we
can
do. Like helping the Murayas and Miss Ethel.”

“What you
can
do is get your brother in here to clean this kitchen with you,” Jeremiah growled. “And what you’d
better
do is stop judging how I choose to live my life and where I place my priorities. I’m helping the Murayas and Miss Ethel, too. I’m doing more than that, more than you or Lara Crane will ever know about. But that is
my
BMW out there in the garage, and I am not letting anyone take it to Texas or anywhere else. Is that clear?”

Benjamin glanced over his shoulder at Rachel, who shrank even farther behind him. “Yeah, it’s clear, Dad,” he said sullenly. Turning on his heel, he grabbed Rachel’s hand and stalked toward the door. “Dan!” he yelled toward the basement door. “Get everyone up here! We’ve got to clean the kitchen for Scrooge!”

Jeremiah set his hands on his hips for a moment, surveyed the mess one last time and then headed for the back staircase to his bedroom. He could hear the pounding of feet racing up from the basement.

He paused for a moment before shouting, “And somebody better find my hot chocolate mix. Or else!”

Lara leaned her elbows on her desk and rubbed her temples. Thank goodness another semester was over. All her students had managed to pass their classes. All had found someplace warm and dry to spend the holidays. And surely
all
had visited her office at least once today to bid farewell. The place had been nuts.

She couldn’t wait to get back to her house, run a tub full of hot water and sink down into a cushion of bubbles. Afterward, she would put on some Christmas music and phone her parents. Then she might order some Chinese food to be delivered while she decorated the plump little fir tree in the bay window of her living room.

As much as she enjoyed running the international program at Reynolds, Lara couldn’t deny that it wore her out. If it wasn’t a school-related problem, it was always
something.
For the umpteenth time that day, she lifted up a prayer of thanks that Dahlia’s family had been found. Their situation in Ivory Coast was precarious at best, and they had gone into hiding—but at least they had reestablished contact with their daughter. Never had Lara seen anyone’s face so filled with joy as Dahlia’s when she burst into the office to announce that she had spoken with her mother.

Lara lifted her head and was reaching for her purse when once again the door swung wide and hit the back wall with a bang. Not again. This time it was Daniel Maddox. Breathing hard, he placed his palms flat on her desk, leaned over and announced, “Dr. Crane, we’ve got a problem. A big problem.”

She forced down the surge of emotion that swelled inside her as she looked into blue eyes so much like his father’s. “I checked on the Murayas two days ago,” she told Daniel in a controlled voice. “They were expecting to leave for Texas this morning. Has something happened to their plans?”

“Yeah. You could say that. They left Tabitha and Tobias behind.”

“What? That’s impossible. Peter would never forget his wife and baby.”

“He left her on purpose. Tabitha was feeling a little sick, so they decided Peter and the two boys would go to Texas without her and Tobias. But now she’s getting
really
sick, and we haven’t told Dad. We know we should, but he’s been in a bad mood ever since Thanksgiving when you ignored him again. He’s blaming you and us for everything, and he’s had to drive up to St. Louis twice to check on his shoe factory condo project, which makes him that much more intense. The bottom line is that he’s back home again, but me and Benjamin don’t feel that great about telling him Tabitha and Tobias are still at the cottage and she’s sick. So will you do it?”

Lara stood slowly. “I didn’t ignore your father at Thanksgiving.”

“Well, you’re making him nuts, but that’s not the point. Tabitha’s running a fever. She called the house and talked to Ben about it. He asked me what we should do, and I decided to come see you, because Peter’s your student.”

“A fever?” Lara walked around the desk. “How high is it?”

“It was 102 this morning. Tabitha told Ben she was sweating a lot but she was shivering, too.”

“Chills,” Lara said, instantly concerned. “It could be the flu. A strain of it has been going around campus lately. Several of my students have had it. Has Tabitha phoned Peter to let him know she took a turn for the worse?”

“The Murayas don’t have a cell phone. She can’t talk to Peter until he gets all the way to his brother’s house in Dallas. That won’t be until tonight. Then he’ll have to turn around and drive all the way back. Ben and me…we think you should come over and check on her.”

“Has she taken any medication—like acetaminophen or ibuprofen—to try to bring the fever down?”

“I think she took something, but I’m not sure what it was. Dr. Crane, what about Tobias?”

At the thought of the brown-eyed baby, a pang of dread shot through Lara’s chest. “Is he sick, too?”

“No, but Ben said that when Tabitha called, he could hear Tobias crying in the background. That’s when I came to get you, and Ben headed over to the cottage to check on them.”