The Christmas Wish (2 page)

It was in the basement of an older couple’s house. When he disclosed his past to them, they’d shared with Lucas that they’d lost a son to drugs; he’d done a little time inside, like Lucas. Mrs. Anderson said Lucas had an honest face, and as long as he got his rent in on time they were happy to give him a chance. He was grateful to them for their kindness, and for the cookies he’d occasionally find on his doorstep, or the invitation to join them at the autumn church social. He raked the leaves off their lawn without being asked and shoveled their walkway after every snowfall. He couldn’t bear to see their 80-year-old bodies doing the work that one 30-year-old man could handle twice as fast.

He unlocked the outside door to his basement room, wondering what the heck had gotten into him tonight, spitting on those burgers, chasing after Tess, asking her out on a date. He’d done such a good job keeping his distance from her these past three months. All that careful work gone in the space of one night.

On his first day at the Blue Moon she’d looked him up and down and grinned, but he’d been careful to break eye contact immediately. He’d read the interest in her glance, and as much as he wanted to explore he knew it wasn’t a good idea. So, he’d kept his distance, never looking for her, never making eye contact, never being available. He needed to concentrate on holding down the job and exhibiting good sense in the workplace. Couldn’t risk his re-entry by messing around with a pretty waitress.

He took a cold beer out of his mini-fridge and threw the bottle cap in the little garbage can under the sink, took a long gulp, remembering the conversation with her on the loading dock. He hadn’t meant to tell her about his sister Joey and her abusive ex-boyfriend Roy, recipient of said cracked skull. He’d just wanted Tess to know that he didn’t like bullies. Lucas didn’t like thinking about Joey, especially what had happened to her while he was inside. Chances were, he wouldn’t have been able to help her even if he’d been around. Still, it ate at him. Some days it made him almost crazy. It made him want to save someone, anyone, to make up for letting down his sister.

He took another a long swig of beer then ran his hands through his hair, glancing around the dingy room. The whole place was mismatched and shabby, but it was his. And after three years sharing a very small cell with various roommates ranging from difficult to downright dangerous, Lucas felt grateful.

The room had come furnished with a throw rug, coffee table from the 1970s and a copper-colored sofa that had seen better days. The bathroom had a small but clean shower stall and an aqua porcelain pedestal sink. A yellow checked curtain spanned the length of the room on a long horizontal pole, cutting it in half. Behind it was Lucas’s twin bed, a nightstand and a lamp. Actually, he’d set the lamp on the floor to make room for the miniature Christmas tree he’d found on sale at the local pharmacy a few days ago. Lately he’d been going to sleep staring at the soft multicolored lights, longing for the old-fashioned kind of Christmas they showed in the movies. The kind Lucas remembered from his very early childhood, the soft sepia memories of when life was safe and good, right before his father died, when his mother still baked Christmas cookies and told bedtime stories that ended in giggles and hugs. The kind Lucas, with his broken nose and ex-con record, knew were probably not on his horizon anytime soon or ever again.

He sat down on the sofa, flicking the radio on beside him, then kicked off his shoes and sat back.

“I’m dreaming of a White Christmas, just like the ones I used to know….”
Bing Crosby’s voice filled the dumpy room as Lucas stared at the amber glass of the beer bottle, thinking about Tess, because thinking about Tess pretty much was his favorite thing to do. Physically she was exactly his type: round where a woman should be round, soft and curvy with bright eyes and full lips. He liked that she wasn’t too skinny; a man wanted someone he could hold on to. Her blond curls were angelic around her pretty face, and her blue eyes were wary but amazingly not hard, like she’d been kicked around but still had some hope in her heart. Which, he thought, must make her life just about unbearable.

He’d paid special if quiet attention to her from his very first day, drawn to her in some visceral, unexplainable way deeper than his body’s response to her. He watched her secretly, careful not to draw attention to himself. He took the garbage out when she was on the loading dock for her break, looked through the order-up window whenever her orders were up. He stayed in the shadows but always made sure she got into her car safely at the end of her shift.

She fed a mangy old dog that came around a couple times a week, cooing to it in sweet tones on the loading dock when she thought no one was listening. She packaged up extra food without being asked, and he’d watched several times as she threw in a few extra fries for an older couple or someone down on their luck passing through. When children came in, her pretty face would light up and she’d fish out crayons she kept under the counter, squatting down beside them to exclaim over their finished pictures while their parents looked uncomfortable.

Mostly she ignored the meanness. It was heaped on her every other day. Women gave her cold looks while their men ogled her chest, “accidentally” bumping into her on the way to the men’s room. Her breasts and ass were probably touched more regularly than the front doorknob that let people into the joint.

Why people felt like they could treat her like that, Lucas didn’t know. But he knew this: He’d treat her with care and respect. Because Tess Branson wasn’t garbage. She was special. More than special. In fact, in Lucas Flynn’s tired eyes, she was rare and precious for one simple reason: Her goodness was worth a hell of a lot more to him than her virtue. And Tess Branson was full of goodness.

***

A date.

A date out to dinner. Tess couldn’t actually remember a man ever asking her out on a
proper
date, and she couldn’t squelch her excitement.

The next day, Saturday, she found herself daydreaming, smiling at nothing, thinking about going out to dinner with a man who’d asked nicely, who might even treat her like a nice girl. Even if he never asked her out again, she’d have that memory. She’d know—for once—what it felt like to be treated nice.

There were a few times that boys or men had asked her out on a date, but they’d asked her with a suggestive smirk so she’d known exactly what to expect, an impatient dinner promptly followed by eager hands on her body eventually pushing her panties down. They’d thrust into her and she’d let them, all the while trying to look into their eyes as they tried to avoid looking into hers; in a car or truck bed, sometimes on a blanket at the park or up against the back of a building in the dark. Rarely at her apartment. Never at theirs.

But Lucas Flynn had looked her in the eyes and asked her to have dinner with him like she was more than a cheap fling. He said he wanted to get to know her. He’d kissed her hand and told her to wish on a star, like there was a snowball’s chance in hell her wish might come true. Like a girl with the nickname Fast Tessie even deserved to have a wish on a star come true.

Her hopes about Lucas started to dip, though, by Sunday. She’d tried to catch his eye all weekend during their busy lunch-to-dinner shifts, but he barely looked up at her and she started to wonder if he regretted his request. She wouldn’t have blamed him. She was Tess Branson, after all. Things generally didn’t work out for girls like Tess, no matter how much she wanted them to. She was so braced for disappointment by Sunday night that it surprised her to find him at her side as she left the café at closing.

“Can I walk you to your car?” he asked.

“I walked to work tonight,” she answered as he fell into step beside her.

“Can I walk you home, then?”

Oh.
Oh, no.
There was only one reason men ever offered to walk Tess home, and her heart fell. All of those stupid hopeful feelings. All of that excitement. For nothing.

“I’m, um, a little tired tonight. I’m not really up for—”

“Stop a second,” he said softly, taking her gloved hand in his and forcing her to stop walking. She looked up at him beside her, willing the tears away. Tears, like wishes, were worthless.

Here it comes. He’s going to cancel on tomorrow night because I’ve told him I’m too tired to put out.

He smiled at her, brown eyes deep and warm, cheeks pink from the cold. Then he looked into her eyes and his face changed. His brows furrowed and he looked confused, worried.

“Is everything okay?”

“I…I’m just not up for
company
tonight…s-so I know you probably want to call off the date.”

“I don’t want to call off anything.”

“But I’m not going to sleep with you tonight.”

His eyes widened. “I never asked you to.”

“And you barely looked at me for two days. You didn’t—”

He pulled her a little closer. “Tess, if I’d looked at you I wouldn’t have gotten any work done. I didn’t mean to send the wrong message.”

Tess didn’t know if she should believe him or not. Nobody ever said things like this to her unless they were actively trying to get in her pants. Even then, their voices didn’t ring with the truth that Lucas’s did. She searched his eyes, trying to figure him out.

His face brightened with a gentle, understanding smile and he let go of her hand. “You know what? Let me be really clear so we’re on the same page. All I want to do is walk you home. If it’s okay with you, I’d like to hold your hand, too. When we get to your house, I’m going to kiss your hand and say goodnight. Tomorrow at seven, I’ll pick you up for our date. That’s all.”

“That’s all? You don’t want…” She bit her bottom lip, in disbelief or relief, and felt a tear slip out of her eye to roll slowly down her cheek.

He swiped it away with a gloved finger, his expression full of tenderness. He whispered, “That’s all.”

“Why are you so good to me?”

“You deserve someone to be good to you.”

Then he put out his hand, and she took it.

He kept his word. He walked her to her door, making polite conversation about the upcoming holidays until they arrived at her house. There he glanced in the front picture window of the small, simple, two-bedroom cottage she shared with her mother.

“No Christmas tree? Huh. I tell you, Christmas was one of the things I missed the most while I was inside. I really missed it.”

Tess shrugged, not wanting to let go of his hand, not wanting to say goodnight yet, wishing she didn’t have to disappoint him with her answer. “We don’t really do Christmas.”

“You don’t
do
it? You don’t like Christmas?”

She loved Christmas, but after Stepfather Three decreed no more Christmas six years ago, that had been that. He’d gotten rid of the decorations and acted like December 25th was just another wintry day. Even when he finally left two years ago, Tess and her mother hadn’t really reinstated any celebration aside from attending Christmas Eve church services and exchanging a modest gift each. It was as though the joy had been taken out of the holiday and they didn’t have the will or spirit to get it back.

She swallowed uncomfortably, hating the lump in her throat, looking down so he wouldn’t see the longing in her eyes. Thankfully, he didn’t press her for an answer. He squeezed her hand, gently flipping it over so the underside of her wrist was facing up. He rolled down her glove until the blue veins were visible, stark against her white skin, the pulse beat blinking like a beacon. Lowering his head, he kissed her raging pulse before rolling the glove back up and gently releasing her hand to her side. Then he smiled at her, winked, and walked away.

The memory lasted. Tess sighed at its sweetness the next night, turning to look at herself in the mirror, humming a Christmas carol softly, feeling excited.
He’ll be here to pick me up in ten minutes.

Tess generally dressed provocatively for dates. Grateful to be asked at all, she was anxious to show her companion that she was up for a “good time.” But, not tonight. Tonight was going to be different. Lucas treated her like a nice girl, and while she couldn’t change her history, the least she could do was dress how what he wanted. What she wished to be.

Week before last, at the Christmas Stroll, Tess had caught sight of a girl from high school whom she’d always admired, Jenny Lindstrom, with that handsome visitor who’d been in town for a couple of days. Jenny was all dressed up in black velvet pants, a cream blouse and a soft-looking cream sweater. The way the guy stared at Jenny, Tess understood she didn’t need a low-cut dress or tight jeans that showed every curve. Jenny looked beautiful—classy, like the lady she was—and he treated her special, Tess could tell. Thinking of Jenny had given Tess the idea to drive up to the Target in Bozeman where she could put together an outfit a little bit like that for her date with Lucas. Nothing too short or too clingy. Something ladylike. Something classy.

Tess looked in the mirror now, smoothing her hands over her cream, silk-like pants that hung loosely over her filled-out, size twelve figure. On top she wore a new silky black blouse that wasn’t cut too low, and over that a black cardigan sweater with tiny cream-colored dots and little pearl buttons. She’d splurged on black kitten heels, and on her way to the checkout she scooped up a string of pearls with matching pearl studs she’d found on a rack near the registers.

She didn’t put mousse or gel in her hair to make it bigger or more styled. She brushed it back from her face and put it in a simple ponytail on the nape of her neck that curled into a sweet ball, and she tied it with a simple black ribbon. Instead of her usual heavy makeup with bright red lipstick, she asked herself how Jenny would do hers, opting for some black mascara, subtle grey eyeliner and lip gloss.

Every moment as she got ready she thought about Lucas Flynn: He had to know she had a bad reputation for sleeping around. And yet, he’d treated her with respect, like he wanted to get to know her despite the way she’d lived her life so far. The way he looked at her made Tess wonder about second chances, about changing her ways, about finding someone who might like her for more than her body, who might even—