How Nick and Holly Wrecked...Saved Christmas (7 page)

Other than the part about the cat freezing and starving, I’m finding it impossible to not laugh while doing this.

“That is Nick running toward the porch. And... That is Nick hopping on one leg because I think he stepped in a hole. That is Nick limping. OK... I seem to have lost Nick in the dark. Wait, that’s him. I think. Or it’s a mountain lion that’s come off the ridge to look for food. In that case, Nick needs to hurry.”

I pause for dramatic effect.

“There’s Nick on the porch,” I continue. “He has the box, and he’s on his way back. No alarms have gone off except for the cacophony—that’s my S.A.T. word of the day—except for the cacophony of homeless dogs that are now awake and suspect an intruder.”

The last scene on my camera before I push ‘stop’ is of Nick holding a box in front of the truck, bathed in brightness from the truck’s headlights, and squinting because he can’t see a thing. He is adorable.

He opens the door and shoves the cardboard box toward me. “Here is your cat,” he says and hops in. “Don’t open it yet. Let’s get out of here and go somewhere else to check it out.”

I set it on my lap. The top is flapped closed. It wiggles and jerks and there is scratching and meowing as whatever’s inside fights to get out. There’s an occasional mysterious ping mixed in with the crying. It doesn’t smell too great either.

“Don’t open that thing yet,” Nick warns again. “If it comes out swinging I want to be stopped so we can get out fast.”

“It’s heavier than I thought,” I say.

“And noisier. There may be more than one animal in there.”

“I didn’t think of that. The box looked smaller from across the field. Whatever’s in here, I don’t think it has food and water because the box isn’t leaking.”

“I wouldn’t feel around too much on the bottom of that thing. It could start leaking cat pee any minute.”

Nick pulls into an empty strip center parking lot and stops under the lit-up sign. “Let’s take a look. And seriously, unlock your door in case it’s a small angry bobcat or something.”

I push the box between us on the seat. Together we slowly unflap it. Nick shines the light inside.

Four eyes, filled with terror, stare up at us. They scratch and claw at the box and try to climb out.

“Thank God they’re plain old cats,” I say.

“And there’s only two of them and not a whole litter.”

I cautiously stick one hand in. “They’re not kittens, but they’re not full grown cats, either. They’re like teenage cats. It’s pretty gross in this box. You have napkins in here?”

“Yeah, in the glove box. I stash all the extras from the chicken wing drive-thru.”

“C’mon, kitty,” I say and reach for one. I give it a pat-down and hold it out for Nick. “Here. Take this one while I get the other one.”

He turns the light on it. “What am I supposed to do with it?”

“It’s a cat. Hold it. It’s scared.”

“
I’m
scared,” he says and laughs. “I don’t know where this thing’s been.”

“Aww... Look how cute it is. It’s completely white. And this one... is completely black. This is weird,” I say and cuddle with cat number two. “They’re wearing flea collars and regular collars. Christmas collars with bells. That’s the extra sound I heard in the box.”

Nick fumbles with cat number one. “There’s no ID tag. And this one smells like poo.”

Poo.
Nick Zernigan said poo and I don’t know why that’s so funny. We both laugh and try to corral feisty kitten-cats without getting scratched.

“I don’t get it,” I say. “They’re scared, but they’re not hissing or acting crazy and trying to scratch our eyes out. They’ve been handled. These are pets, Nick. Who dumps their own pets and doesn’t look back?”

Nick cradles white cat in his arms and scratches the top of its head. “I don’t know anything about cats, Holly, but I do know... Never mind. Do you think Collette will like them?”

“She’ll love them. What were you going to say?”

“Nothing.”

“No, tell me, Nick, I want to know.”

“When I was fourteen I went to live in California with my mom after the divorce. It was before they had another big fight and I came back here to live.”

“How long were you gone?”

“All freshman year. I came back home to my dad for Christmas. He gave me my first real rifle. A 270 for deer hunting. I’d taken hunter education and gun safety classes, and I target practiced with my grandfather. Then Christmas was over and I went back to California. My dad shipped it to me, and my mom had a fit and took it away from me. Never saw it again. I think she sold it back to a gun shop. I should have left it here, but I wanted it with me.”

“That’s so mean. I’m sorry.”

Nick’s cat is licking his finger as he tries to scratch under its chin. “That’s divorce. And that’s what happened to these cats.”

“You think these are broken home cats?”

“My guess is one parent got these cats and dressed ’em up for Christmas and gave them a home with their kids. And I bet everyone was happy until the other parent didn’t want them at their house. And I think that parent dumped them back at the pound.”

“That’s horrible. What if the kids are young and don’t understand?”

“Some divorced people are selfish people. My mom sold that gun because she was mad at my dad. Not because she had some problem with guns or because she worried about me having it. She wanted to stick it to him.”

Black cat’s heart pounds fast and hard under my fingers. I hold him close and he purrs against my chest. “Sometimes I think I’m lucky I don’t have those kinds of issues. I guess an absent parent is better than a mean and selfish one.”

“Who knows? It depends on the parent.”

“All I know is men don’t stick around long in my family. My grandfather left and my father left. Whatever we’re doing chases them away.”

Nick’s faces changes for three seconds before he looks at me with such intensity I almost turn away.

“Don’t worry, Holly. All men don’t leave.”

His words land soft and warm in the bitter cold of our too-real and too-raw conversation.

I touch his hand. “They’re like us, Nick.”

“Who?”

“Black cat and white cat. Dumped on someone else’s doorstep for Christmas. We’re all the same.”

Nick nods to the cat curled in a ball and dozing inside his coat. “I don’t think this one’s feeling the harsh pain of abandonment right now,” he says and smiles.

“Thanks for helping me rescue them.”

“Any time.”

“And now,” I say and grab the box. “I do happen to know about cats and I know these two need food and water. So back in the box, and on to Granny’s.”

The cats are screaming again, but Nick is staring at me as push back my seat and slide the messy box onto the floor. “Sorry, cats, I’ll get you out of there soon.” I glance at Nick. “What?”

“Nothing,” he says, his eyes glittering. “Nothing.”

But it isn’t nothing. He leans in and touches my face and I stop breathing as his lips catch mine in a warm and urgent, but surprisingly easy, kiss.

“Is this OK?” he asks, breathless and close against my mouth.

“A little late to ask,” I say and kiss him back.

I lean into his embrace and know with certainly this is the best Christmas ever.

Nick Zernigan is kissing me and I am kissing him.

If not for the wailing cats, I would be happy to do this all night.

Day Five—Hillbilly Cops Are Afraid of Old Ladies.

I shake the bag of cat treats and dive under the covers on Granny’s bed. She dangles the feather cat teaser off the side and then joins me under the quilt. We are breathless with anticipation and try not to make a sound as we wait.

Within seconds, there are two thumps on top of us as the cats pounce. We laugh hysterically, reward the cats with a treat, and do it again.

We’ve been playing like this for two hours.

Granny’s sigh is long and happy as she fluffs a pillow behind her head. “Oh, I need a rest.”

I settle in beside her. “Have you decided what to name them?”

“Well, we’re dealing with a boy and a girl, but I don’t know. We could be obvious and call them Onyx and Diamond. Or Black Diamond and Pearl.”

“Or Cappuccino and Latte, or Espresso and Sugar, or Mocha and Whipped Cream,” I offer. “Or any combination of the above.”

Granny looks at me with concern. “You are obsessed with coffee, aren’t you? Do you need to see someone?”

“What about you and all the gemstone references?”

“I can’t help it. I love being a gemologist. Diamonds are a girl’s best friend. But so are rubies, emeralds, and sapphires. I like my friends.”

“Anyway,” I say and take a sip of water from my bottle on the nightstand. “I like Jingle and Bell. It’s catchy.”

White cat makes a circle then plops near us to take a nap. Granny scratches its head. “Do you know anything about them?”

“No. There wasn’t much information available. I’m not even sure how old they are.”

“Did you find them at the shelter?”

Ummmm...

“Yes.”

“I need to run them by my vet,” Granny says.

“Yeah. I was thinking I’d see if I could take mom to work one day next week and borrow her car. We can do that and get whatever else you need. Definitely some scratching posts.”

“
Oui
. I didn’t keep those. Pierre destroyed them. And I need to get the cats on the list for the spay and neuter clinic, too.”

I nod as the kitchen timer goes off.

“That’s our Christmas Eve brunch,” Granny says.

“I’ll help you.” I whip my messy hair into a ponytail with the band I’ve been wearing on my wrist and then wash my hands. “What time is the Christmas Eve candlelight service?”

“It’s early. I think around six and it won’t last long.” Granny sets plates on the table and hands me two champagne glasses filled with orange juice.

“Fancy,” I say because I don’t recall ever drinking orange or any other kind of juice from a champagne... “What are these things called again?”

“The champagne flutes?”

“Yes. Flutes. Weird.”

“A couple of people are coming up afterward. Perhaps Ivy and Nick will come for coffee and
bûche de Noël.
”

“No! Don’t let all your friends eat the cake, Granny. What about tomorrow?”

“Don’t worry. Two cakes.”

With that crisis averted, my mind drifts to where my real focus has been all morning: Nick Zernigan and the marathon kissing session. More please!

I smile to myself and tap out another text to Amanda in answer to her millionth question about last night’s events. We’ve been having this same conversation since 3:00 A.M and I’ve told her the truth. It’s been pure magic—but it’s a Christmas vacation fling and will likely be over when the first bell rings back at school.

“Cheers,
cheri
.”

“Huh?”

My granny is trying to toast champagne flutes with me, and all I can think about is Nick’s soft lips.

“
Joyeux Noël
,” I say and touch my glass to hers.

“
Joyeux Noël, mon amour
.”

****

Nick is waiting on one side of the door while Tanya stands at the other with a box of white candles dressed in cardboard circles.

“C’mon,” Nick says and grabs a handful for us. “Aunt Ivy is saving us a seat. Merry Christmas, Collette.”

“Merry Christmas, Nick. You and Ivy need to join us after service and have something to eat.”

“Sure. Thanks.”

The room is dim except for the small stage where two people with acoustic guitars sing
What Child Is This?
in perfect sweet harmony. Two trees, leftover from the dance, stand at either end and create a warm sparkling glow.

“It looks nice in here,” I tell Nick as we reach our seats. “I tried to get away to come help, but Granny had me arranging cheese and pastries for her little
soirée
tonight.”

“It didn’t take me and Tanya long. We made a spot over there for Father Jonathan to do what he needs to do for his people, then the other guy is over there for his people. It’s like a religious fair or something. Step up to the table, get a free pencil and a rubber bracelet and take communion.”

I laugh and almost snort. “Stop,” I whisper. “It’s good they come for the people who can’t get out. It’s Christmas. This is important and they still have to get back to their churches for midnight services.”

“I know, Holly, I’m only kidding.”

I stretch to look out the large glass doors at the end of the rec room. “Did you see it’s snowing?”

“Yes, and I was wondering—”

“Let’s stand and open with a word of prayer,” Father Jonathan says.

Nick doesn’t say another word and my knees are about to abandon me.
What are you wondering, Nick?
WHAT ARE YOU WONDERING?

We sit again and each man speaks about Christmas. I’ve heard this a thousand times, but Nick seems riveted as Father Jonathan talks about Christmas being a year-round miracle and how it’s our duty to serve God and one another as Christ intended us to. Not only at Christmastime, but every day.

Pastor Allen adds his message and reflects on God’s great love for us to have sent His Son into the world to teach us by example—and then face the cross to die for our sins as the ultimate sacrifice and lesson in forgiveness.

Nick bows his head as they pray and I see by his serious expression he is, as my granny would say, takin’ care of some business.

He glances my way. The sincerity in his eyes tells me something has changed. I am totally stoked if Nick has decided to re-dedicate his life to Christ because of what he’s heard at this Christmas Eve candlelight service. But with peace comes certainty and with certainty comes peace. And Nick looks like one peaceful, certain—and determined—guy.

And I’m afraid he’s determined to join the Army.

My hands shake as we stand and listen to the familiar Christmas story from Luke. The guitars play Silent Night and Nick steadies my hand to pass the candle flame to me. I smile and pass it to Granny.

Nick takes my hand and laces my fingers with his.