Christmas Letters (3 page)

He checked his watch as if to say he really didn’t have time to spare.

“I understand
The Free Child
has hit every bestseller list in the country.” Flattery just might work.

Wynn hesitated. “Yes, I’ve been most fortunate.”

True, but the parents and children of America had been most
un
fortunate in her view. She wasn’t going to mention that, though. At least not yet. She pulled out her chair on the assumption that he wouldn’t refuse her.

He joined her, with obvious reluctance. “I think I’ve seen you around,” he said, and sipped his latte.

It astonished her that he knew who she was, while she’d been oblivious to his presence. “My sister is a very big fan of yours. She was thrilled when she heard I might be able to get your autograph.”

“She’s very kind.”

“Her life has certainly changed since she read your book,” K.O. commented, reaching for her mocha.

He shrugged with an air of modesty. “I’ve heard that quite a few times.”

“Changed for the
worse,
” K.O. muttered.

He blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

She couldn’t contain herself any longer. “You want to take Santa away from my nieces!
Santa Claus.
Where’s your heart? Do you know there are children all over America being deprived of Christmas because of
you?
” Her voice grew loud with the strength of her convictions.

Wynn glanced nervously about the room.

K.O. hadn’t realized how animated she’d become until she noticed that everyone in the entire café had stopped talking and was staring in their direction.

Wynn hurriedly stood and turned toward the door, probably attempting to flee before she could embarrass him further.

“You’re no better than…than Jim Carrey,” K.O. wailed. She meant to say the Grinch who stole Christmas but it was the actor’s name that popped out. He’d played the character in a movie a few years ago.

“Jim Carrey?” He turned back to face her.

“Worse. You’re a…a regular Charles Dickens.” She meant Scrooge, darn it. But it didn’t matter if, in the heat of her anger, she couldn’t remember the names. She just wanted to embarrass him. “That man,” she said, stabbing an accusatory finger at Wynn, “wants to bury Santa Claus under the sleigh.”

Not bothering to look back, Wynn tore open the café door and rushed into the street. “Good riddance!” K.O. cried and sank down at the table, only to discover that everyone in the room was staring at her.

“He doesn’t believe in Christmas,” she explained and then calmly returned to the Mulcahys’ letter.

T
he confrontation with Wynn Jeffries didn’t go well, K.O. admitted as she changed out of her jeans and sweater later that same afternoon. When LaVonne invited her over for appetizers and drinks, K.O. hadn’t asked if this was a formal party or if it would be just the two of them. Unwilling to show up in casual attire if her neighbor intended a more formal event, K.O. chose tailored black slacks, a white silk blouse and a red velvet blazer with a Christmas tree pin she’d inherited from her grandmother. The blouse was her very best. Generally she wore her hair tied back, but this evening she kept it down, loosely sweeping up one side and securing it with a rhinestone barrette. A little lip gloss and mascara, and she was ready to go.

A few minutes after six, she crossed the hall and rang LaVonne’s doorbell. As if she’d been standing there waiting, LaVonne opened her door instantly.

K.O. was relieved she’d taken the time to change. Her neighbor looked lovely in a long skirt and black jacket with any number of gold chains dangling around her neck and at least a dozen gold bangles on her wrists.

“Katherine!” she cried, sounding as though it’d been weeks since they’d last spoken. “Do come in and meet Dr. Wynn Jeffries.” She stepped back and held open the door and, with a flourish, gestured her inside.

Wynn Jeffries stood in the center of the room. He held a cracker raised halfway to his mouth, his eyes darting to and fro. He seemed to be gauging how fast he could make his exit.

Oh, dear. K.O. felt guilty about the scene she’d caused that morning.

“I believe we’ve met,” Wynn said stiffly. He set the cracker down on his napkin and eyed the door.

Darn the man. He looked positively gorgeous, just the way he did on the book’s dust jacket. This was exceedingly unfair. She didn’t
want
to like him and she certainly didn’t want to be attracted to him, which, unfortunately she was. Not that it mattered. She wasn’t interested and after their confrontation that morning, he wouldn’t be, either.

“Dr. Jeffries,” K.O. murmured uneasily as she walked into the room, hands clasped together.

He nodded in her direction, then slowly inched closer to the door.

Apparently oblivious to the tension between them, LaVonne glided to the sideboard, where she had wine and liquor bottles set on a silver platter. Sparkling wineglasses and crystal goblets awaited their decision. “What can I pour for you?” she asked.

“I wouldn’t mind a glass of merlot, if you have it,” K.O. said, all the while wondering how best to handle this awkward situation.

“I do.” LaVonne turned to Wynn. “And you, Dr. Jeffries?”

He looked away from K.O. and moved to stand behind the sofa. “Whiskey on the rocks.”

“Coming right up.”

“Can I help?” K.O. asked, welcoming any distraction.

“No, no, you two are my guests.” And then as if to clear up any misconception, she added, “My
only
guests.”

“Oh,” K.O. whispered. A sick feeling attacked the pit of her stomach. She didn’t glance at Wynn but suspected he was no more pleased at the prospect than she was.

A moment later, LaVonne brought their drinks and indicated that they should both sit down.

K.O. accepted the wine and Wynn took his drink.

With her own goblet in hand, LaVonne claimed the overstuffed chair, which left the sofa vacant. Evidently Dr. Jeffries was not eager to sit; neither was K.O. Finally she chose one end of the davenport and Wynn sat as far from her as humanly possible. Each faced away from the other.

“Wynn, I see you tried the crab dip,” LaVonne commented, referring to the appetizers on the coffee table in front of them.

“It’s the best I’ve ever tasted,” he said, reaching for another cracker.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it. The recipe came from Katherine.”

He set the cracker down and brushed the crumbs from his fingers, apparently afraid he was about to be poisoned.

K.O. sipped her wine in an effort to relax. She had a feeling that even if she downed the entire bottle, it wasn’t going to help.

“I imagine you’re wondering why I invited you here this evening,” LaVonne said. Phillip, her white Persian, strolled regally into the room, his tail raised, and with one powerful thrust of his hind legs, leaped into her lap. LaVonne ran her hand down the length of his body, stroking his long, white fur. “It happened again,” she announced, slowly enunciating the words.

“What happened?” Wynnasked, then gulped his drink.

Dramatically, LaVonne closed her eyes. “The sight.”

Obviously not understanding, Wynn glanced at K.O., his forehead wrinkled.

“LaVonne took a class this week on unleashing your psychic abilities,” K.O. explained under her breath.

Wynn thanked her for the explanation with aweak smile.

LaVonne’s shoulders rose. “I have been gifted with the sight,” she said in hushed tones.

“Congratulations,” Wynn offered tentatively.

“She can read cat litter,” K.O. told him.

“That’s not all,” LaVonne said, raising one hand. “As I said, it happened again. This morning.”

“Not with the litter box?” K.O. asked.

“No.” A distant look came over LaVonne as she fixed her gaze on some point across the room.

Peering over her shoulder, K.O. tried to figure out what her neighbor was staring at. She couldn’t tell—unless it was the small decorated Christmas tree.

“I was eating my Raisin Bran and then, all of a sudden, I knew.” She turned slightly to meet K.O.’s eyes. “The bran flakes separated, and that was when two raisins bobbed to the surface.”

“You saw…the future?” K.O. asked.

“What she saw,” Wynn muttered, “was two raisins in the milk.”

LaVonne raised her hand once more, silencing them. “I saw the
future.
It was written in the Raisin Bran even more clearly than it’d been in the cat litter.” She pointed a finger at K.O. “Katherine, it involved
you.
”

“Me.” She swallowed, not sure whether to laugh or simply shake her head.

“And you.” LaVonne’s finger swerved toward Wynn. Her voice was low and intent.

“Did it tell you Katherine would do her utmost to make a fool of me at the French Café?” Wynn asked. He scooped up a handful of mixed nuts.

As far as K.O. was concerned,
nuts
was an appropriate response to her neighbor’s fortune-telling.

LaVonne dropped her hand. “No.” She turned to K.O. with a reproachful frown. “Katherine, what did you do?”

“I…” Flustered she looked away. “Did…did you know Dr. Jeffries doesn’t believe in Santa Claus?” There, it was in the open now.

“My dear girl,” LaVonne said with a light laugh. “I hate to be the one to disillusion you, but there actually
isn’t
a Santa.”

“There is if you’re five years old,” she countered, glaring at the man on the other end of the sofa. “Dr. Jeffries is ruining Christmas for children everywhere.” The man deserved to be publicly ridiculed. Reconsidering, she revised the thought. “He should be censured by his peers for even
suggesting
that Santa be buried under the sleigh.”

“It appears you two have a minor difference of opinion,” LaVonne said, understating the obvious.

“I sincerely doubt Katherine has read my entire book.”

“I don’t need to,” she said. “My sister quotes you chapter and verse in nearly every conversation we have.”

“This is the sister who asked for my autograph?”

“Yes,” K.O. admitted. Like most men, she concluded, Dr. Jeffries wasn’t immune to flattery.

“She’s the one with the children?”

K.O. nodded.

“Do you have children?”

LaVonne answered for her. “Katherine is single, the same as you, Wynn.”

“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” he returned.

K.O. thought she might have detected a smirk in his reply. “It doesn’t surprise me that you’re single, either,” she said, elevating her chin. “No woman in her right mind—”

“My dears,” LaVonne murmured. “You’re being silly.”

K.O. didn’t respond, and neither did Wynn. “Don’t you want to hear what I saw in my cereal?”

Phillip purred contentedly as LaVonne continued to stroke his fluffy white fur.

“The future came to me and I saw—” she paused for effect “—I saw the two of you. Together.”

“Arguing?” Wynn asked.

“No, no, you were in love. Deeply, deeply in love.”

K.O. placed her hand over her heart and gasped, and then almost immediately that remark struck her as the most comical thing she’d ever heard. The fact that LaVonne was reading her future, first in cat litter and now Raisin Bran, was ridiculous enough, but to match K.O. up with Wynn—It was too much. She broke into peals of laughter. Pressing her hand over her mouth, she made an effort to restrain her giggles.

Wynn looked at her curiously.

LaVonne frowned. “I’m serious, Katherine.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be rude. LaVonne, you’re my friend and my neighbor, but I’m sorry, it’ll never happen. Never in a million years.”

Wynn straightened. “While Katherine and I clearly don’t see eye to eye on any number of issues, I tend to agree with her on this.”

LaVonne sighed expressively. “Our instructor, Madam Ozma, warned us this would happen,” she said with an air of sadness. “Unbelievers.”

“It isn’t that I don’t believe you,” K.O. rushed to add. She didn’t want to offend LaVonne, whose friendship she treasured, but at the same time she found it difficult to play along with this latest idea of hers. Still, the possibility of a romance with just about anyone else would have suited her nicely.

“Wynn?” LaVonne said. “May I ask how you feel about Katherine?”

“Well, I didn’t officially meet her until this morning.”

“I might’ve given him the wrong impression,” K.O. began. “But—”

“No,” he said swiftly. “I think I got the right impression. You don’t agree with me and I had the feeling that for some reason you don’t like me.”

“True…well, not exactly. I don’t know you well enough to like
or
dislike you.”

LaVonne clapped her hands. “Perfect! This is just perfect.”

Both K.O. and Wynn turned to her. “You don’t really know each other, isn’t that correct?” she asked.

“Correct,” Wynn replied. “I’ve seen Katherine around the building and on Blossom Street occasionally, but we’ve never spoken—until the unfortunate incident this morning.”

K.O. felt a little flustered. “We didn’t start off on the right foot.” Then she said in a conciliatory voice, “I’m generally not as confrontational as I was earlier today. I might’ve gotten a bit…carried away. I apologize.” She did feel guilty for having embarrassed him and, in the process, herself.

Wynn’s dark eyebrows arched, as if to say he was pleasantly surprised by her admission of fault.

“We all, at one time or another, say things we later regret,” LaVonne said, smiling down on Phillip. She raised her eyes to K.O. “Isn’t that right, Katherine?”

“Yes, I suppose so.”

“And some of us,” she went on, looking at Wynn, “make hasty judgments.”

He hesitated. “Yes. However in this case—”

“That’s why,” LaVonne said, interrupting him, “I took the liberty of making a dinner reservation for the two of you. Tonight—at seven-thirty. An hour from now.”

“A dinner reservation,” K.O. repeated. Much as she liked and respected her neighbor, there was a limit to what she was willing to do.

“It’s out of the question,” Wynn insisted.

“I appreciate what you’re doing, but…” K.O. turned to Wynn for assistance.

“I do, as well,” he chimed in. “It’s a lovely gesture on your part. Unfortunately, I have other plans for this evening.”

“So do I.” All right, K.O.’s plans included eating in front of the television and watching
Jeopardy,
and while those activities might not be anything out of the ordinary, they did happen to be her plans.

“Oh, dear.” LaVonne exhaled loudly. “Chef Jerome Ray will be so disappointed not to meet my friends.”

If Wynn didn’t recognize the name, K.O. certainly did. “You know Chef Jerome Ray?”

“Of Chez Jerome?” Wynn inserted.

“Oh, yes. I did his taxes for years and years. What most people don’t realize is that Jerome is no flash in the pan, if you’ll excuse the pun. In fact, it took him twenty years to become an overnight success.”

The Seattle chef had his own cooking show on the Food Network, which had become an immediate hit. His techniques with fresh seafood had taken the country by storm. The last K.O. had heard, it took months to get a reservation at Chez Jerome.

“I talked to Jerome this afternoon and he said that as a personal favor to me, he would personally see to your dinner.”

“Ah…” K.O. looked at Wynn and weighed her options.

“Dinner’s already paid for,” LaVonne said in an encouraging voice, “and it would be a shame to let it go to waste.”

A nuked frozen entrée and
Jeopardy,
versus one dinner with a slightly contentious man in a restaurant that would make her the envy of her friends. “I might be able to rearrange my plans,” K.O. said after clearing her throat. Normally she was a woman of conviction. But in these circumstances, for a fabulous free dinner, she was willing to compromise.

“I think I can do the same,” Wynn muttered.

LaVonne smiled brightly and clapped her hands. “Excellent. I was hoping you’d say that.”

“With certain stipulations,” Wynn added.

“Yes,” K.O. said. “There would need to be stipulations.”

Wynn scowled at her. “We will
not
discuss my book or my child-rearing philosophies.”

“All right,” she agreed. That sounded fair. “And we’ll…we’ll—” She couldn’t think of any restriction of her own, so she said, “We refuse to overeat.” At Wynn’s frown, she explained, “I’m sort of watching my weight.”

He nodded as though he understood, which she was sure he didn’t. What man really did?

“All I care about is that the two of you have a marvelous dinner, but I know you will.” LaVonne smiled at them both. “The raisins have already assured me of that.” She studied her watch, gently dislodged Phillip and stood. “You’ll need to leave right away. The reservation’s under my name,” she said and ushered them out the door.