I'll Be Home for Christmas (3 page)

How quiet and empty his house was. Cold and dark. He hated coming home to a dark house. He'd thought about getting an animal, but it wouldn't have been fair to the animal since he was hardly ever home. He slammed his briefcase down on the kitchen counter. Damn, he'd forgotten the report on Andrea Evans. Oh, well, it wasn't going anywhere. Tomorrow would be soon enough to retrieve it.

Peter walked around his house, turning on lights as he went from room to room. It didn't look anything like the house he'd grown up in. He leaned against the banister, closing his eyes as he did so. He'd lived in a big, old house full of nooks and crannies in Sleepy Hollow. The rug at the foot of the steps was old, thread-bare, and Bessie, their old cocker spaniel had chewed all four corners. She lay on the rug almost all her life to wait for them to come home, pooping on it from time to time as she got older. When she died, his parents had buried her in the backyard under the apple tree. Jesus, he didn't think there was that much grief in the world as that day. He thought about the old hat rack with the boot box underneath where he stored his boots, gloves and other treasures. The hat rack and boot box were somewhere in the attic along with Bessie's toys and dog bones. He wondered if they were still intact.

Peter rubbed at his eyes. He'd loved that house with the worn, comfortable furniture, the green plants his mother raised, and the warm, fragrant kitchen with its bright colors. Something was always cooking or baking, and there were always good things to eat for his friends and himself after school. The thing he remembered the most, though, was his mother's smile when he walked in the door. She'd always say, “Hi, Pete, how's it going?” And he'd say, “Pretty good, Mom.” They always ate in the kitchen. Dinner hour was long, boisterous and memorable. Even when they had meat loaf. He tried not to think about his younger brother and sister. He had to stop torturing himself like this. He banged one fist on the banister as he wiped at his eyes with the other. He looked around. Everything was beautiful, decorated by a professional whose name he didn't know. Once a week a florist delivered fresh flowers. The only time the house came alive was during his annual Christmas party or his Fourth of July barbecue. The rest of the time it was just a house. The word nurture came to mind. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to imagine what this perfectly decorated house would be like with a wife, kids and a dog. Maybe two dogs and two cats.

“Five thousand goddamn fucking square feet of
nothing.”
He ripped at his tie and jacket, tossing them on the back of a chair. He kicked his loafers across the room. In a pique of something he couldn't define, he brushed at a pile of magazines and watched them sail in different directions. Shit! The room still didn't look lived in. Hell, he didn't even know his neighbors. He might as well live in a damn hotel.

On his way back to the kitchen he picked up the portable phone, asking for information. He punched out the numbers for the Evans Kennel as his free hand twisted the cap off a bottle of Budweiser. He wondered if her voice would be sleepy sounding or hard and cold. He wasn't prepared for what he did hear when he announced himself.

“I don't have time for chitchat, Mr. King. I have an emergency on my hands here and you're taking up my time. Call me on Monday or don't call me on Monday.” Peter stared at the pinging phone in his hand.

Chitchat.
Call or don't call.
Emergency.
Sadie's dire warnings rang in his ears.

Peter raced up the steps. So there was a sucker born every minute. Sadie would approve. He stripped down, throwing his clothes any which way as he searched for thermal sweats, thick socks and Alpine boots. His shearling jacket, cap and gloves were downstairs in the hall closet.

Emergency could mean anything. She was handling it. Oh, yeah, like women could really handle an emergency. Maybe his mother could handle one, or Sadie, but not that hundred pound prairie flower. He raced to the garage where all his old camping gear was stored. Blankets and towels went into the back of his Range Rover. He threw in two shovels, his camp stove, lanterns, flashlights. The last things to go in were Sterno lamps and artificial fire logs. What the hell, an emergency was an emergency.

It wasn't until he backed the 4 by 4 out of the garage that he questioned himself. Why was he doing this? Because…because…he'd heard the same fearful tone in Dr. Evans's voice that he'd heard in his mother's voice the day Bessie couldn't get up on her legs anymore.

Driving every back street and alley, over people's lawns, Peter arrived at the Evans Kennel in over an hour. Every light appeared to be on in the house and the kennel. There were no footprints in the snow, so that had to mean the emergency was inside the house. Even from this distance he could hear the shrill barking and high-pitched whine of the animals that seemed to be saying, intruder, intruder.

Peter walked around to the door he'd been ushered out of just hours ago. His eyebrows shot up to his hairline when he found it unlocked. He felt silly as hell when he bellowed above the sound of the dogs, “I'm here and coming through!”

In the whole of his life he'd never seen so many teeth in one place—all canine. “You need to lock your goddamn doors is what you need to do, Dr. Evans!” he shouted.

“You!” She made it sound like he was the devil from hell making a grand entrance.

“Who'd you expect, Sylvester Stallone? You said it was an emergency. I react to emergencies. My mother trained me that way. I brought everything. What's wrong?”

Andi, hands on hips, stared at the man standing in front of her, the dogs circling his feet. She clapped her hands once, and they all lay down, their eyes on the giant towering over them.

“I had to do a caesarean section on Rosie. Her pups were coming out breach. Come here. Mother and puppies are doing just fine, all eight of them. God, eight more mouths to feed.” Andi's shoulders slumped as she fought off her tears.

“I'll take two. Three. I love dogs. It won't be so hard. I'm going to meet your price. Three million plus, whatever the plus turns out to be. It's fair. You'll be able to do a lot if you invest wisely. I can recommend a pretty good tax man if you're interested. You might even want to give some thought to taking payments instead of one lump sum. You need to talk to someone. Am I getting girls or boys? Make that four. I'll give one to my grandmother. That's another thing, her cat Hannah is sick. I was going to call you in the morning to ask if you'd look at her. Their regular vet is away on a winter vacation.”

“Oh, my. Listen, about this afternoon…”

“You don't have to apologize,” Peter said.

Andi smiled. “I wasn't going to apologize. I was going to try and explain my circumstances to you. I appreciate you coming back here. It's the thought that counts. Are you serious about the pups?”

Was he? “Hell yes. Told you, I love dogs. Isn't it kind of cold out here for the new mother and my pups?”

“No. Actually, dogs much prefer it to be cooler. I was going to take Rosie into the kitchen, though. I leave the door open, and if the others want to come in, they do. At some point during the night, when I'm sleeping, three or four of them will come in and sleep outside my door. There's usually one outside the bathroom when I shower, too. They're very protective; they know when you're bathing and sleeping you're vulnerable. It's really amazing.”

“Bessie was like that. Do you want me to carry the box?”

“Sure. Can I make you some coffee? I was going to have a grilled cheese sandwich. Would you like one or did you have your dinner?”

Peter thought about how he'd pigged out on his grandmother's pot roast. “I'm starved. Coffee sounds good, too. I brought a lot of blankets and towels with me. I thought maybe your heat went out.”

“I could really use them. My washer goes all day long, and like everything else in this house, it's getting ready to break down. My furnace is the next thing to go.”

Peter's face turned ashen. “Your furnace? Don't you check it? You need to call PSE&G to come and look at it. My parents…and my brother and sister died from carbon monoxide poisoning. Turn it off if it's giving you trouble. Use your fireplace. I can bring you electric heaters. Is the fireplace any good?”

Andi stared at the man sitting at her table, a helpless look on her face. “I…I'm sorry. I don't know the first thing about the furnace except that it's very old. The fireplace is in good condition; I had it cleaned in September. I'd probably be more at risk using electric heaters; the wiring and the plumbing are…old. I guess I just have to take my chances. It's only another two weeks. You said you wanted to…start…whatever it is you're going to do right after the first of the year.”

“Tomorrow when I bring Hannah I'll bring you some of those detectors. I have one in every room in my house. I was away at school when it happened. All you do is plug them in.”

“I appreciate that. I won't charge you for Hannah, then.”

“Okay, that's fair.” He wasn't about to tell her each detector cost eighty-nine dollars. She would need at least four of them for the sprawling house and kennel.

“Want some bacon on your sandwich? Ketchup?”

“Sure.”

“I made a pie today. Want a piece?”

Peter nodded. “Your house smells like the house I grew up in. It always smelled like apples and cinnamon. At Christmastime you could get drunk on the smell. Speaking of Christmas, I give a party once a year, would you like to come? I think you'll like my grandmother. It's next Thursday.”

“I don't know…I hate to leave the animals. I haven't been to a party in so long, I don't think I'll remember how to act. Thank you for asking, though.”

“Don't you have a pair of pearls?” he asked, a stupid look on his face.

“What do pearls have to do with it?”

“Your mother's pearls.” Jesus, he must have missed something when Sadie was explaining party attire. She was staring at him so intently he felt compelled to explain. “You know, pearls to go with the dress. Your mother's pearls. If you have that, you don't have to worry about anything else. Right? Can I use your bathroom?”

“Upstairs, third door on the right. Don't step on the carpet at the bottom of the steps. Annabelle lies there all the time. She pees on it and I didn't have time to wash it. She chewed all the fringe off the corners. She's getting old, so I can't scold her too much.”

Peter bolted from the room. Andi stared after him with puzzled eyes. She scurried into the pantry area where a mirror hung on the back of the door. She winced at her appearance. She didn't look one damn bit better than she had looked earlier. “What you see is what you get,” she muttered.

Andi was sliding the sandwiches onto plates when Peter entered the room. “This must have been a nice house at one time.”

Andi nodded. “It was a comfortable old house. It fit us. My mother never worried too much about new furniture or keeping up with the neighbors. It was clean and comfortable. Homey. Some houses are just houses. People make homes. Did you know that?”

“Believe it or not, I just realized that same fact today. Every so often I trip down memory lane.”

“I don't do that anymore. It's too sad. I don't know how I'm going to walk away from this place. My mother always said home was where your stuff was. Part of me believes it. What's your opinion? By the way, where do you live?”

“In Clark. It's a new, modern house. Decorated by a professional. Color-coordinated, all that stuff. I don't think you'd like it. My grandmother hates it. I don't even like it myself. I try throwing things around, but it still looks the same.”

“Maybe some green plants. Green plants perk up a room. You probably need some junk. Junk helps. I'll be throwing a lot away, so you can help yourself.”

“Yeah? What kind of junk? My plants die.”

“You need to water plants. Get silk ones. All you have to do is go over them with a blow dryer every so often. Junk is junk. Everybody has junk. You pick it up here and there, at a flea market or wherever. When you get tired of it you throw it away and buy new junk.”

Peter threw his head back and laughed until his eyes watered. “That's something my grandmother would say. Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I'm sorry. You should laugh more often. You take yourself pretty seriously, don't you?”

“For the most part, I guess I do. What about you?” He leaned across the table as though her answer was the most important thing in the world. She had beautiful eyes with thick lashes. And they were her own, unlike Helen's.

“I've been so busy scrambling to make a go of it, I haven't had the time to dwell on anything. I guess I'm sort of an optimist, but then I'm a pessimist, too, at times. What will be will be. How about some pie? I can warm it up. More coffee?”

“Sure to everything. This is nice. I haven't sat in a kitchen…since…I left home. We always ate in the kitchen growing up.”

“So did we. Are you married?”

“No. Why do you ask? Do you have designs on me?”

“No. I just want to make sure Rosie's pups get a good home. Who's going to take care of them when you work?”

“I already figured that out. I'm going to hire a sitter. I'll have her cook chicken gizzards and livers for them. My mother used to cook for Bessie. She loved it. You're very pretty, Dr. Evans. Why aren't you married?”

“Do you think that's any of your business, Mr. King?”

“As the owner of those dogs, of which I'm taking four, I should know what kind of person you are, marital status included. Well?”

“I was engaged, not that it's any of your business. I wanted to come back here; he didn't. He wanted to work in a ritzy area; I didn't. He was in it for the money. I wasn't. I don't know, maybe he was the smart one.”