Keepsake (14 page)
"Glo-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh
-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-
ria, in excelsis Deo
..."
And he found himself ascending the steps of St. Swithin's and quietly opening the heavy church door, because inside was where he was sure he'd find his father.
"Son, what does that mean, anyway—
'in excelsis Deo'
?"
his father had once asked.
Quinn had answered, "It means 'in exultation of God,' Dad," and had turned the page of his novel, secretly annoyed that his father liked to sing along with his Christmas cassettes. What if someone were passing by the gardener's cottage and happened to hear him?
Quinn paused at the back of the crowded church and then slipped into the last pew. Except for his father's funeral, it was the first time he'd been in a church since he ran from Keepsake. His father used to mourn Quinn's obstinate refusal to go, but what could the man do about it? By then Quinn was eighteen—old enough to drink, vote, and be bitter.
Quinn sighed heavily. He wouldn't stay. What was the point, really? He didn't believe. He would just finish out the one carol
...
.
At the main altar, Father Tom looked somehow too big, too real, too ordinary to be conducting
Mass.
A linebacker, yes. But a priest? Quinn smiled. Father Tom was an excellent priest, but he would've made a damn go
od father, too. Which, come to
think of it, he was. And Quinn's father—
Francis Leary
— had been a wonderful father. And Quinn, who was so much less worthy than either of the men, was not a father in any sense of the word.
He felt a lump rise and catch in his throat. His thoughts
became blurred in a glaze of tears as he realized somewhere deep in his soul that Francis Leary—the only father he would ever have—was dead and gone forever.
And he was innocent of the crime. He wasn't a taker of lives, but a saver of them. And somehow Quinn had to let everyone know, and then he himself would no longer be an outcast. He felt his spirit aching to join those of the congregation's, and in the middle of that longing, he felt his soul reach just a little bit higher, a little bit closer to his dad.
It was an amazing moment of transcendence for him, and as the carol ended, followed almost at once by another, more poignant one—"O Little Town of Bethlehem"—he was even more amazed to find his thoughts drifting serenely from his father to Olivia Bennett.
Liv! The brainy kid who'd aced him on a math final in their junior year at Keepsake High, the witch who'd once tricked him into confessing that he didn't have a clue what the capital of Montana was—
she
was there, not in person maybe, because the Bennetts were Episcopalian, but
... there, nonetheless. Her smile, her dark eyes
... oh, her voice, he could listen to that voice argue with him all day long and not get tired of it. She was warm and kindhearted and she smelled like an angel and no one looked more beautiful in lavender blue. It scared him,
h
ow much Olivia was there
... and it made him feel profoundly awed.
Because somehow, in that church, in that community, he was able to leave all his bitt
erness and resentment and self-
righteousness at the door and join everyone else, if only briefly, in simple praise of the season.
And for that, he was glad.
Technically speaking, Olivia didn't belong in her brother's living room. And yet on Christmas morning there she was, dressed in pajamas like everyone else and plopped on the floor near
Rand
and Eileen's tree, helping their kids read the to-and-from tags on the mountains of gifts stacked under it.
Olivia had been coming over on Christmas Eve and staying the night since Zack was
two
—ever since she'd seen the
home movie
of him making a dash for the presents and tripping onto the pile, sending the presents into the tree and the tree into the fireplace, which luckily was still unlit.
"Oh, what I wouldn't give to have been there!" she'd said through tears of laughter as they watched the tape later that day.
"Come over Christmas Eve next time, and stay oversight," Eileen had suggested on the spot.
"You wouldn't mind?"
"Not a bit."
It was a tremendous intrusion. Olivia knew it, and every year on December 24 she'd call her sister-in-law and best friend and say, "Eileen, are you
sure
?"
And Eileen would say, "Yes, I'm sure." There might have been a year or two when Eileen wasn't quite as sure as she sounded, but by now it was a tradition. Olivia looked forward to all of it, from the Christmas Eve service at
St. Paul
's to the waffles her brother made for them on Christmas morning.
This year, shopping for Kristin's gift had been a challenge. The child was at prime doll-bearing age, which should have made it easy—and yet her position on dolls was depressingly clear. Eileen decided to ignore it, choosing instead to blow away her daughter's resistance with a holiday Barbie and a glittering wardrobe to go with it.
Poor Barbie never made it out of the box.
Olivia, taking seriously her niece's remark about wanting to be a doctor (although obviously not a pediatrician), bought her a precision microscope. Kristin was impressed—for five minutes. How long could you stay worked up about a strand of hair magnified two hundred times?
Kristin was much more enthusiastic about the charming Christmas stocking that
her brother
had purchased from Olivia's shop for her. That was some c
onsolation. But the biggest hit was a box of old
Beanie Babies
that Olivia had brought over on Christmas Eve and
around which Kristin and Zack
were
designing elaborate skits.
"Oh, well. At least they're using their imagination."
"And the toys aren't violent."
"Or sexist."
"So we should be really glad."
But they weren't. Eileen wanted her daughter to fall in love with holiday Barbie, and Olivia wanted to trump Eileen with the student microscope.
As for
Rand
, he had his own elaborately worked out theory: "Women don't know what the hell they want."
In short, it was a charming, typical Christmas morning. Olivia had all of the pleasure of seeing the holiday through children's eyes and none of the stress of making dinner for her parents later in the day. She had offered, as she did every year, to help in the kitchen, but her sister-in-law was determined, as she was every year, to stage the event herself.
"Damn it, I want
all
the credit," she told Olivia. "This is serious. This involves in-laws."
So while poor Eileen was fretting about turning out an oyster stuffing that was properly moist and getting all those tiny pearl onions cooked and creamed just so, Olivia was back in her townhouse with her shoes kicked off and a cup of tea on her lap, gathering strength for the second phase of Christmas Day.
The odd thing was, she didn't feel drained in the least by the nonstop morning. Just the opposite, in fact: She was feeling restless and almost unbearably edgy. Her cup of Earl Grey tea and plate of Eileen's Christmas cookies simply weren't going to cut it this year. Olivia wanted something else, something more, something new.
She wanted Quinn.
She told herself that she was being perverse. That Quinn came with too much emotional baggage. That he was arrogant, overly principled, and insensitive. That he might even b
e cruel—how else to explain his
willingness to put her family through such agony over Alison?
And yet part of her, the part that mattered, knew that Quinn Leary had more character, more integrity, and a stronger sense of honor than any man she'd ever met. Did honor even matter any more? She didn't know. All she knew was that it was Christmas and she wanted to be with Quinn, if only to see him smile and hear his voice again.
Abandoning her tea and cookies, Olivia changed from her red corduroy jumper into dinner clothes—a winter white sweater and a black skirt that fell softly to mid-calf—and pinned a whimsical cloisonne-and-rhinestone rocking horse pin to the sweater for a touch of color and sparkle. She kept her makeup to a minimum and ran her fingers through the curls of her hair to tame the bounciest ones, then surveyed herself in the full-length mirror that stood in the corner of her cheerful yellow bedroom.
Is this okay for a soup kitchen?
No. She frowned at herself for being frivolous, then took off the pin and slipped it in the pocket of her skirt.
Olivia arrived at St. Swithin's just as the crowd was beginning to show up in force. She was expecting to see a basic turkey dinner being dished out cafeteria-style, but the scene before her was a real community affair, warm and friendly
and relaxed. All manner of people were helping themselves to the buffet—from college kids in jeans and sweats to elderly couples in their churchgoing best. Single mothers were there with their freshly scrubbed children, and unattached men who looked, it was true, both jobless and homeless.
But no Quinn. Olivia expected him to be there and was keenly disappointed that he wasn't. Undaunted, she approached the man who was obviously in charge of the event.
"Father Tom? Hi. I don't know if you remember me—"
The priest started when he saw her. "Of course I do. Olivia Bennett, isn't it?" He stuck out his hand and said, "Merry Christmas," though he clearly wondered what she was doing there.
"I was looking for Quinn."
"Dear God, what now?"
"Well, I—excuse me?"
In a low murmur, the priest urged her to give him a moment of her time. They stepped out into the hall, and in a few frightening sentences, he brought Olivia up-to-date on the most recent of the unnerving pranks that were being inflicted on Keepsake.
"Quinn stayed here all night, bless the man's heart," explained Father Tom. "He's gone home to shower, but he should be back anytime. Please," he added, "don't mention the prank to anyone besides your family."
He glanced around him and dropped his voice even lower. "I'm only confiding this bone business to you because you're so directly involved. Quinn told me about his—ill-advised, if you ask me—attempt to have your cousin exhumed for DNA testing."
Olivia could see that the idea was deeply troublesome to the priest, which wasn't surprising. But she could not see the point of keeping anything secret. "It's better that it all gets out, Father, don't you think? That way everyone can be on guard for whoever it is who's doing these horrible things."
"In theory, maybe," Father Tom said wryly, "but do you think that Mr. and Mrs. Snyder in there would go anywhere near the buffet if they knew it had a dog's bones on it a few hours ago? Never mind that we scrubbed everything down with bleach."
"No, really, Father," said Olivia, digging in her heels, "I think honesty is always the best policy."
"Ordinarily, yes, but surely this is an exception—"
Catching himself, the priest shook his head and said, "Will you listen to me? You're right, of course. Tell the truth, Olivia, and let the chips fall where they may."
He began to walk away, then turned around and added with a poignant look, "But don't tell the truth until everyone's had pie, okay?"
Smiling, Olivia nodded her assent and gave him a cheery little wave good-bye.
Now what? She couldn't very well go in there and take food out of somebody's mouth. But she couldn't stand in the hall waiting around for Quinn like some groupie, either. She simply could not stay.
But she sure didn't want to go.
What kind of Christmas was this?
She ducked into the ladies' bathroom where she spent some time talking to a tube of lipstick, then came out and scanned the diners one last time. Nope. Still not there. Dismayed by how unhappy it made her feel, she turned abruptly to leave.
And ran smack into Quinn, whacking his chest with her shoulder hard enough to send them both off balance.
"Heyyy," he said with a grin as he caught her in his arms, instantly turning her knees to pudding. "I can't believe Bronsky didn't recruit you for the team back when. He missed a bet there."
"Oh, you
are
here!" she said breathlessly. Newly showered, his ponytail still damp, the scent of aftershave still fresh on his high-boned cheeks—oh, yes, he was very much there.
"Were you looking for me?'' he asked her with a hopeful, loopy smile.
Olivia didn't disappoint him. "As a matter of fact, I was.
I wanted—" What
did
she want? "To ask you over to Christmas dinner with my family!" she blurted out.
God in heaven! Where did
that
come from?
A veil drifted down between them. "Uhhh, gee
... it's really nice of you to think of me," he said. "But I'm afraid I'll have to pass."