The Giving Season (6 page)

“I’m building one for Libby,” Michael said with another smile. “She’s nuts for miniatures and dolls and all that stuff.”

It wasn’t until that moment that Jessy realized that she knew almost nothing about Michael’s kids. She knew that his twins, Ben and Marie, were six and that Ben loved dinosaurs and Marie wanted to be a ballerina princess. And she knew that his oldest daughter, Libby, was a very mature ten and that she was allergic to shellfish and oranges and wanted to be a veterinarian when she grew up. But that was all she knew. She’d grown so comfortable with Michael that she’d completely forgotten that he was almost a complete stranger.

“I don’t know if this is going to work,” she said quietly, suddenly self-conscious. She looked down at her baggy jeans and oversized sweater and felt her cheeks burn crimson. What on Earth would his mother think of her?

And that led to another thought—

“Michael—did you happen to tell anyone you were bringing me home?”

“Ah—well—” Michael cleared his throat and shrugged. “Um— not really.”

Jessy buried her face in her hands. “Oh, God—”

“Now just calm down—no need to panic—”

“I thought you were going to call home first.”

“I
was
—” He smiled weakly. “I just kinda forgot.”

But now it was too late. The front door opened just as a little boy’s delighted shout split the silence. “Daddy’s home!”

“Might as well come meet the family,” Michael said, quickly scooting out of the car. Jessy glared after him for a moment, then took a deep breath and followed his lead. She could almost smell the impending doom in the air.

“Daddy!” Ben leapt off the top step and scrambled down the snowy walkway, followed closely by Marie, who wore a pink tulle tutu over her jeans. Laughing, Michael met them halfway, swooping both of them into his arms and kissing their cheeks with great, sloppy smacks, sending Marie and Ben into gales of giggles. Jessy hung back, sticking close to the car as the front door opened again and Michael’s mother and a tall, muscular man stepped onto the front porch. As Jessy had expected, their welcoming smiles turned slightly puzzled when they saw her with Michael.

God help me, she thought and plastered her friendliest smile on her face. All of a sudden she wanted to do nothing but burrow into the nearest snowdrift and tunnel out of there Bugs Bunny-style.

Blissfully oblivious to his family’s confusion, Michael turned to Jessy as he hefted Ben onto his shoulders. “Jessy, these rugrats are my twins, Ben and Marie. Guys, this is my friend, Miss Jessy Monroe.”

“H’lo,” Jessy said and raised her hand in a feeble wave, feeling her cheeks blaze as she nodded her greetings to the kids. She knew Michael was watching her with that familiar teasing smile on his lips—which did absolutely nothing to help her relax.

“And I’m the
big
rugrat’s mother,” Michael’s mother said, smiling as she stepped off the porch. Jessy felt almost immediately at ease, seeing nothing but friendly curiosity in the woman’s eyes as she extended her hand. “Lyssa Forrester. Nice to meet you.”

Jessy felt awkward and huge as she shook Lyssa’s hand. Michael’s mother was petite and birdlike, with the same twinkling eyes as her son and a headful of curly silver hair that she pulled back with a girlish headband. She possessed an aura of warmth that enveloped Jessy and eased away her nervousness. Jessy liked her instantly.

“Jessy Monroe,” Jessy said softly, forcing her smile to relax from what felt like a death’s head grin. “Hello.”

“Hiya, Mom.” As Michael grinned and kissed his mother’s cheek, Jessy caught the questioning look in Lyssa’s eyes and felt the urge to explain everything to her right then and there. Oh, but this was awful. This was worse than awful.

Jessy looked up to the porch and caught the other man’s eye. At first glance, he seemed to be a glowering, imposing giant of a man. Then he smiled, and Jessy recognized the same mischievous glint she’d seen in Michael and Lyssa’s eyes.

“For Pete’s sake, what are we doing standing out here in the snow?” Lyssa laughed and took Jessy’s arm, shepherding her towards the porch. “I hope you two are hungry—I’ve got a twenty-five pound turkey in there with our name on it.”

What’d you do?” Michael asked her, flicking a quick smile to Jessy as he put down Ben and Marie and straightened up again. “Postpone Thanksgiving for us?”

“Well—
technically
we postponed it.” Lyssa looked at Jessy and winked. “We haven’t started in on the leftovers yet.”

Jessy couldn’t help but smile, reminded of her own mother by Lyssa’s teasing manner and warm eyes. As Lyssa hurried up the steps and disappeared into the house, Jessy felt a twinge of envy for Michael. He still had his mother. He had a whole family.

“And of course you skip out on the year
you
have dishwashing duty,” the other man said, the gruffness in his voice contradicted by his smile.

“Jessy, this is my older brother, Frank.” Michael smiled as he guided Jessy up the slippery porch steps. “Frank, this is Jessy Monroe. We met on the bus on my way up from Illinois.”

“Poor thing. How’d you stand to be cooped up with him so long?” Frank smiled and playfully jabbed an elbow into Michael’s side. Somehow he managed to look menacing even when he smiled, with his shaved bald head and dark, deep set eyes. He was just a few inches taller than Michael, but his huge shoulders and long legs made him seem gigantic. Jessy had to tilt her head back to smile at him as he shook her hand.

“Nice to meet you,” Jessy said and smiled.

“Ditto.” Frank glanced at Michael again, keeping a straight face even though his eyes gave him away. “So do you want me to run a background check when I get home?”

“Frank’s a sheriff,” Michael said dryly as Frank laughed and Jessy shakily smiled. “But he’s more Barney Fife than Matt Dillon.”

“Keep it up and you might hurt my feelings,” Frank said and grinned. “Listen, I gotta go. I just got a call about some post-Thanksgiving domestic disturbances that I have to break up.”

“Coming back for Christmas?”

“Hell, yes. Mom’ll skin me alive if I don’t.” Frank looked over to Jessy, still smiling. “You’ll still be here by then, I hope?”

Jessy nodded. “Unless they kick me out.”

Frank glanced over to Michael again. “I think I like her.”

Michael grinned and slung his arm around Jessy’s shoulders, completely surprising her by the gesture. “Yeah, me too.”

“Well, gotta go knock some heads together.” Frank grinned as he shrugged into his jacket and jogged down the porch steps. “Take care, Mikey. See you at Christmas, Jessy.”

They waved goodbye and waited until Frank’s taillights were out of sight before Michael led her into the house. Her attention was immediately captured by the mouth-watering scents of roasted turkey and homemade bread. She was almost embarrassed to realize that she was starving.

They entered the foyer without speaking. Jessy took the opportunity to look around, unabashedly staring as she slipped out of her coat and followed Michael into the house. There was no television in the living room. Instead, an overstuffed couch and a set of leather wingback chairs surrounded the room’s main attraction, a huge stone fireplace. Hand-crocheted afghans were artfully draped over the backs of the couch and chairs. Bookshelves lined the walls, and on the mantletop were dozens of framed photographs of Michael’s family, frozen moments captured in color and black and white.

For a moment Jessy felt as if she had just stepped into one of her favorite childhood dreams, a home filled with warmth and love and happiness.

Michael knelt down in front of Ben and Marie gave them both quick kisses. “Where’s your sister?”

“She’s upstairs crying.” Ben turned to Jessy and flashed her a gap-toothed grin. “Wanna come up and see my hamster? Miss Purty’s real friendly.”

“No, she isn’t,” Marie said and grimaced. “She poops on me when I try to hold her.”

“Wait a second, guys,” Michael said. “Why is Libby crying? What happened?”

Lyssa entered the living room, wiping her hands on a dishtowel as she read the sudden worry on Michael’s face. “Don’t worry, honey—Libby’s fine. It’s just that darn Christmas dance at the school.”

“Oh, no.” Michael managed a weak grimace. “This is something about a boy, isn’t it?”

“Apparently Tommy Anderson is going to the dance with that stuck up little Kathleen McClure.” Lyssa
tsked
and shook her head. “Boys that age are so silly. Can’t see a diamond in a pile of coal.”

“When did she get old enough to worry about boys?” Michael took a deep breath and sighed, smiling again to Jessy. “Would you like to meet my daughter?”

“Maybe I should wait until after you talk to her.”

“To tell you the truth, I can use all the help I can get.” Michael’s smile slanted sadly. “Falling off her bike or fixing her dollhouse I can handle. This new stuff with boys and dating and clothes—” His voice trailed away as she shrugged. “Libby’s ten going on forty. Sometimes I think she’s more mature than I am.”

“Not that
that’s
such a great challenge,” Lyssa said and smiled, winking at Jessy before bending at the waist to be eye-level with Ben and Marie. “How about some help making the tea? You can introduce Miss Purty to Jessy after dinner.”

The twins grinned and ran full speed towards Lyssa, streaking past her as they disappeared into the kitchen. Lyssa managed to flash Michael and Jessy a quick smile before she hurried to chase after them. Alone with Michael in the living room, Jessy suddenly felt awkward again.

“Maybe you should go in to talk to Libby first,” she said quietly.

“Trust me, I
need
you to be my back-up on this.” Michael grinned as he led Jessy to the staircase, his hand lightly flattened against the small of her back. His touch made her feel uncomfortable, all too aware of her size. It was silly, really—obviously all he had to do was look at her and know how overweight she was—but for him to actually
feel
it—

She managed to glance up to him, surprised when she saw he was still smiling at her. Jessy only wished she knew how to interpret that smile. Was he laughing at her? Mocking her? She didn’t think he was the kind of man who would do such a thing, but after so many years of dodging insults and ignoring vicious criticism, she was afraid to trust her instincts.

“Wait a second,” Michael said as he stopped on the staircase, a few steps below Jessy. She turned to face him and was struck anew by the quiet warmth in his eyes. God, how she wanted to believe it was sincere. She wanted so badly to believe that he was a nice guy.

“What’s wrong?” she asked quietly.

His smile held a moment as he shook his head slightly. “I just—I know all this is really weird for you, walking into the middle of my life like this, but—” His voice trailed away as he reached out and took her hand, holding it so carefully that Jessy felt as if she’d suddenly turned into spun sugar. “I’m glad you’re here. I really am.”

For a moment Jessy didn’t know what to say or do. To her mortification tears suddenly burned her eyes. Hiding it with a smile, Jessy sniffed and swiped at her cheeks with the back of her hand. Michael wasn’t fooled, but he had the good grace not to draw attention to her emotional slip.

“I know,” he said softly, his voice as gentle as his gaze. He gave her hand a faint squeeze as he continued up the stairs, Jessy at his side.

Comfortably silent, they continued to Libby’s room, hands still lightly entwined. For Jessy, the mere act of holding Michael’s hand felt at once unnatural and wonderful. She knew that most women would take such a thing for granted, but she couldn’t—and she didn’t think she ever would. Human contact was unfamiliar and strange, but now she found that she craved it.

And now that she realized what she had been missing, it would make it that much harder to eventually leave.

They stopped in front of Libby’s door and Michael knocked lightly. Jessy subtly slid her hand out of his; she knew that if she were Libby, the last thing she’d want to see was her father with another woman and get the wrong idea. She knew from her students that kids usually hoped that their divorced parents might get back together. And who knows, maybe Michael and his ex-wife
could
reconcile. His ex would have to be a complete idiot not to realize what she was giving up.

“Libs? Can I come in?” Michael knocked again when there was no reply. “Libby, honey—”

“The door’s open.” Libby’s voice sounded thick with tears, and as Michael opened the door Jessy instantly understood the true cause of Libby’s pain.

Libby Forrester was ten years old and extremely pretty, with long dark hair and her father’s chocolate-brown eyes—and she was at least fifty pounds overweight. Jessy looked at Libby and saw herself at that age: unhappy and lonely and frustrated. Her heart went out to the girl.

“What’s wrong, sweetie?” Michael asked as he sat beside Libby and held his arms out to her. Libby fell into them gratefully, her sobs renewed as she buried her face against his chest. Michael looked up to Jessy and she could see his own pain; whatever had hurt Libby was hurting Michael twice as much.

“He—he said I was too fat—” Libby moaned, her breath catching miserably as she looked up to Michael again. Jessy remained in the doorway, still unnoticed by Libby. She had to fight the urge to go to the girl and put her arms around her.

“Who did?” Michael asked, the slightest edge of protective anger creeping into his even tone. He gently wiped the tears from Libby’s cheeks.
“Who,
Libs?”

“Tommy Anderson,” she said quietly, looking down at her lap. Her father’s presence seemed to calm her greatly. “Somebody told him I liked him, and he told a bunch of people that I was too fat to take to the dance. So he asked Kat McClure instead.” Libby raised her gaze to her father’s, and Jessy could see a maturity in her eyes that far exceeded an average ten year old’s. “He’s right, isn’t he? Boys don’t like me because I’m too fat.”

“Oh, Libby,” Michael kissed her forehead, pulling her close to him. “It’s not like that at all.”

“Then why—?” Libby’s voice trailed away as she finally noticed Jessy in the hallway. Her expression immediately tightened, and Jessy suddenly wished she’d stayed downstairs and allowed Michael this time alone with his daughter. “Who’s
that?”