I'll Be Home for Christmas (5 page)

“Of course I did, Sadie. I'm going to bring them by tomorrow. Do you want—”

“Do not touch anything, Peter. I want all her things left just the way they were. I wish I'd spent more time with her, cuddled her more. Sometimes she didn't want that; she wanted to be alone. She was so damn independent. Oh, God, what am I going to do without Hannah? She kept me going.”

“It can't be any worse than when Bessie died. I still think about that,” Peter said past the lump in his throat.

“She just died in her sleep and I was sleeping so soundly last night. What if she needed me and I didn't hear her?”

“Shhhh, she just closed her eyes and drifted off. That's how you have to think of it.”

“Don't even think about getting me another cat. I won't have it, Peter. Are you listening to me?”

“I always listen to you, Sadie.”

“Did you call Dr. Evans?”

“No. She'll understand. She loves animals. She's nice, Sadie. I really liked her. She forced a sandwich on me and I ate it to be polite. I shoveled her parking lot and pushed her in the snow.” At Sadie's blank stare, his voice grew desperate. “I kissed her, Sadie, and she said it was a sweet kiss. Sweet! It's too soon to tell, but I think she might be
the one.
Did you hear me, Sadie?”

“I'm not deaf.”

“I invited her to the party, but she doesn't want to come. I screwed up the pearl thing. She thought I was nuts.” Sadie's eyes rolled back in her head. “Okay,” Peter roared, “that's enough, Sadie, pets die every day of the week. People and children grieve, but they don't go over the edge. You're teetering and I won't have it.”

Sadie blinked. “Oh, stuff it, Peter. This is me you're talking to. I need to do this for one day, for God's sake. Tomorrow I'll be fine. Why can't I cry, moan and wail? Give me one damn good reason why I can't. I just want to sit here and snivel. You need to make amends to that young veterinarian, and don't go blaming me. I didn't ask you to stay here with me. You didn't even like Hannah and she hated you. Hannah hated all men. I never did figure that out. Go home, Peter. I'm fine, and I do appreciate you coming here and staying with me. It might be wise to send the young lady an invitation. I'd FedEx it if I were you.”

“Do you want me to call that guy Donald you're always talking about?”

“Of course not. He's…out and about…and very hard to reach.”

“Why don't you get him a beeper for Christmas.”

“Go!”

“I'm gone.”

Peter had every intention of going home, but his car seemed to have a mind of its own. Before he knew it he was on the road leading into the driveway of Andi's clinic. What the hell time was it anyway? Ten minutes past ten. It was so quiet and dark he felt uneasy. Only a dim light inside the clinic could be seen from the road. The rest of the house was in total darkness. If he got out to leave a note, the animals would start to bark and Andi would wake up. Did he want that? Of course not, his mother had raised him to be a gentleman. He felt an emptiness in the pit of his stomach as he drove away. He couldn't ever remember being this lonely in his entire life. Tomorrow was another day. He'd call her as soon as the sun came up, and maybe they could go sleigh riding in Roosevelt Park. Maybe it was time to act like kids again. Kids who fell in love when they were done doing all those wonderful kid things. One day out of their lives, and it was a Sunday. Just one day of no responsibilities. He crossed his fingers that it would work out the way he wanted.



Andi rolled over, opening one eye to look at the clock on her nightstand. Six o'clock. How still and quiet it was. Did she dare stay in bed? Absolutely not. She walked over to the window and raised the shade. It was snowing. Damn, her back was still sore. Maybe she could call one of the companies that plowed out small businesses.

She was brushing her teeth when the phone rang. Around the bubbles and foam in her mouth, she managed to say, “Dr. Evans.”

“This is Peter King. I'm calling to apologize and to invite you to go sleigh riding. Hannah died in her sleep. I spent the day with my grandmother. I'm really sorry. Are you there?”

“Wait.” Andi rushed into the bathroom to rinse her mouth. She sprinted back to the phone. “I was brushing my teeth.”

“Oh.”

“You should have called me. It only takes a minute to make a phone call.” Hot damn, he had a reason. Maybe…

“I came by last night around ten, but everything was dark, and I didn't want to stir up the animals so I went home.”

He came by. That was good. He said he was sorry. He was considerate. “I went to bed early. It's snowing.”

“I know. Let's go sledding in Roosevelt Park. My parents used to take me there when I was a kid. I have a Flexible Flyer.” He made it sound like he had the Holy Grail.

“No kidding. I have one, too. Somewhere. Probably up on the rafters in the garage.”

“Does that mean you'll go? We could go to the Pancake House on Parsonage Road for breakfast.”

“Will you pull me up the hill?”

“Nope.”

“I hate climbing the hill. Going down is so quick. Okay, I'll go, but I have things to do first. How about eleven o'clock?”

“That's good. What do you have to do? Do you need help?”

This was looking better and better. “Well, I have to clean the dog runs and change the litter boxes. I was going to go through the things in the attic. You could see if you can locate someone to plow my parking lot and driveway. Don't even think about offering. I know your back is as sore as mine, and my legs are going to be stiff if we climb that hill more than once. It's going to take me at least two hours to find my rubber boots. Is your grandmother all right? I have some kittens if you're interested.”

“It was a real bad day. She doesn't want another cat. Hannah is being cremated so she'll have the ashes. She'll be okay today. Sadie is real gutsy. I know she'll love it when I give her one of Rosie's pups. She'll accept the dog but not a cat. I understand that.”

“Yes, so do I.”

“What did you have for supper last night? I'm sorry about standing you up. I mean that.”

“Tomato soup, a TV dinner and a stale donut. If you do it again, it's all over.” She was flirting. God.

She was flirting with him. Peter felt his chest puff out. “Bundle up.”

“Okay. See you later.”

“You bet. Don't get your sled down; I'll do that.”

“Okay.” A gentleman. Hmmnn.



Peter kicked the tire of his Range Rover, every curse known to man spitting through his lips. How could a $50,000 year-old truck have a dead battery? He looked at his watch and then at the elegant Mercedes Benz sitting next to it. The perfect vehicle to go sledding. “Damn it to hell!” he muttered.

He was stomping through the house looking for his keys when the doorbell rang. Expecting to see the paperboy, he opened the door, his hand in his pants pocket looking for money. “Helen!”

“Peter! I brought breakfast,” she said, dangling a Dunkin' Donuts bag under his nose, “and the
New York Times.
I thought we could curl up in front of a fire and spend a lazy day. Together.”

He wanted to push her through the door, to slap the donut bag out of her hand and scatter the paper all over the lawn. What did he ever see in this heavily made up woman whose eyelashes were so long they couldn't be real. “I think one of your eyelashes is coming off. Sorry, Helen, I have other plans. I'm going sledding.”

“Sledding! At your age!” She made it sound like he was going to hell on a sled.

“Yeah,” he drawled. “Your other eyelash is…loose. Well, see you around.”

“Peterrrrr,” she cried as he closed the door.

He was grinning from ear to ear as he searched the living room, dining room and foyer for his keys. He finally found them on the kitchen counter right where he'd left them last night. She really did wear false eyelashes like Sadie said. He laughed aloud when he remembered the open-toed shoes she had on. “My crazy days,” he muttered as he closed the kitchen door behind him.

In the car, backing out of the driveway, he realized his heart was pounding. Certainly not because of Helen. He was going to spend the whole day with Andrea Evans doing kid things. He was so excited he pressed the power button on his car phone and then the number one, which was Sadie's number. When he heard her voice he said, “Want to go sled riding? I'll pull you up the hill. I'm taking Dr. Evans. You won't believe this, but she has a Flexible Flyer, too. So, do you want to come?”

“I think I'll pass and watch a football game. Don't forget to bring Hannah's ashes. I don't want to spend another night without her. I don't care, Peter, if you think I'm crazy. Be sure you don't break your neck. Are you aware that it's snowing outside? I thought people went sled riding when it
stopped
snowing.”

“I don't think you're crazy at all. I know it's snowing. I think there's at least three inches of fresh snow. You know how you love a white Christmas. I'll be sure not to break my neck, and I think you can go sledding whenever you want. Mr. Mortimer said I could pick up the ashes after five this afternoon. I'll see you sometime this evening.”

“Peter, does this mean you're…interested in Dr. Evans?”

“She's a real person, Sadie. Helen stopped by as I was leaving—I'm talking to you on the car phone—and she had open-toed shoes on, and both her eyelashes were loose at the ends. How could I not have seen those things, Sadie?”

“Because you weren't looking, Peter. Do you think Dr. Evans is interested in you?”

“She agreed to go sledding. She wasn't even mad about yesterday. I like her, Sadie. A lot.”

“I love June weddings. Six months, Peter. You have to commit by six months or cut her loose. Women her age don't need some jerk taking up their time if you aren't serious.”

“How do you know her age?”

“Well…I don't, but you said she put herself through vet school and the whole education process took ten years. That should put her around thirty or so.”

“I don't remember telling you that.”

“That's because you were rattled over Helen. It's all right, Peter, I get forgetful, too, sometimes. Now, go and have a wonderful time.”

Peter pressed the end and power buttons. He decided his grandmother was defensive sounding because of Hannah. He wished the next eight weeks were over so he could present her with one of Rosie's pups.

Peter was so deep in thought he almost missed the turnoff to the Evans Kennel. He jammed on his brakes, the back end of his car fishtailing across the road. He took a deep breath, cursing the fancy car again. Shaken, he crawled into the parking lot and parked the car. He wondered again if the Chevy pickup actually worked.

“I saw that,” Andi trilled. “It's a good thing there was no one behind you. Where's your truck?”

“Dead battery.”

“We can take my truck. It's in tip-top shape. Turns over every time. No matter what the weather is. It was my dad's prized possession. The heater works fine and we can put our sleds in the back.” Andi dangled a set of car keys in front of him. She was laughing at him, and he didn't mind one damn bit. “Those boots have to go. When was the last time you went sled riding?”

“Light-years ago. These boots are guaranteed to last a lifetime.”

“Perhaps they will. The question is, will they keep your feet dry? The answer is no. I can loan you my father's Wellingtons. Will you be embarrassed to wear yellow boots?”

“Never!” Peter said dramatically. “Does the rest of me meet with your approval?”

Andi tilted her head to the side. “Ski cap, muffler, gloves…Well, those gloves aren't going to do anything for your hands. Don't you have ski gloves?”

“I did, but I couldn't find them. Do you have extras?”

“Right inside the yellow boots. I figured you for a leather man. I'm a mitten girl. I still have the mittens my mother knitted for me when I was a kid. They still fit, too. When you go sled riding you need a pair and a spare. I bet you didn't wax the runners on your sled either.”

“I did so!”

“Prove it.” Andi grinned.

“All right, I didn't. It was all I could do to get the cobwebs off.”

“Come on,” Andi said, dragging him by the arm into the garage. Neither noticed a sleek, amber-colored Mercury Sable crawl by, the driver craning her neck for a better look into the parking lot.

“Here's the boots. They should fit. I'm bringing extra thermal socks for both of us, extra gloves and mittens. There's nothing worse than cold hands and feet. I lived for one whole winter in Minnesota without central heat. All I had was a wood-burning fireplace.”

“Why?”

“It was all I could afford. I survived. Do they fit?”

“Perfectly. You should be very proud of yourself, Andi.”

“I am. My parents weren't rich like yours. Dad wasn't a businessman. There's so much money on the books that was never paid. He never sent out bills or notices. I'm kind of like him, I guess.”

“My parents weren't rich. My grandmother is the one with the money. My dad was a draftsman; my mother was a nurse. You're right, though; I never had to struggle. Did it make you a better person?”

“I like to think so. When you're cold and hungry, character doesn't seem important. You are what you are. Hard times just bring out the best and worst in a person. Okay, your runners are ready for a test run.”

“Do you ski?”

“Ha! That's a rich person's sport. No. I'm ready.”

“Me, too,” Peter said, clomping along behind her.

“You look good in yellow,” Andi giggled.

“My favorite color,” Peter quipped.

“That's what my mother said when she presented my father with those boots. The second thing she said was they'll never wear out. My dad wore them proudly. How's your grandmother today?”