The Holiday Bride (9 page)

He eyed her suspiciously. “Well, if you’re not forcing me,
just what are you doing?”

“Asking you.” She raised her brow. “Pretty please? Your
choice.”

Just then, William came inside carrying a stack of mail. He
looked from Lucy to his son, and then back again. “Is something going on in
here?”

Lucy stared at him innocently. “Nothing at all.”

William turned toward his son. “Justin?”

“Nothing, Dad. It’s nothing, okay?” He turned and ducked
into the kitchen, as something in William’s stack of mail caught Lucy’s eye.

There was a picture of some guy on the back of a real estate
brochure.
 
A face with short dark
hair and big black eyes floated over a fairy-tale scene, a castle with hot pink
turrets. What was it about the banner fluttering from one of the turrets—
Let Magic Maker Mitch Find the Castle of
Your Dreams—
that called her up short?

William’s voice hummed from far away as her whole world went
woozy.

“Bridget? Are you all right?”

She felt a sharp stab of pain above her left temple. “Oh!
Oh, my head.” Lucy blinked hard, stumbling toward him.

William caught her in his strong arms and shored her up
against him. “Bridget? What’s wrong?”

Bridget?
Why was
he calling her that? Lucy felt herself spiraling into a dark tunnel, visions
swirling around her: Gus serving up pancakes... Mitch handing her packages...
Waking up on the sofa here... And, huh? Her parents dancing to Billie
Holiday...?

“I’m... not really me,” she breathed as William embraced
her.

Sleigh bells sounded as her world went black and something
strong lifted her up and carried her away.

William addressed Dr. Mass, his voice tinged with concern.
“She’s going to be all right, isn’t she, Doc?” Beside them, Bridget was
stretched out on the sofa, covered by a throw blanket.

“Oh yes, fine,” Dr. Mass said. “It’s not as bad as it looks.
She’s just getting over the shock.”

“You mean, about who she really is?”

“Could very well be.”

“But why would that make her faint?”

Dr. Mass stroked his snowy beard. “At times, these amnesia
cases involve some sort of internal conflict. When the memories start to
resurface, they’re not always a welcome relief.”

“You’re saying she’s scared to face the truth about who she
really is?”

“That all depends on what she has to gain—and
lose—by becoming herself again.”

William cast his gaze on Bridget, slumbering like a
beautiful princess. Perhaps he’d been reading too many fairy tales to Carmella,
but he couldn’t help but think she looked like she’d stepped right out of one
of those storybooks’ pages. But in the tales he’d read his little girl, it was
always a handsome prince that came along. Not some wayward banker with a
middle-class mortgage and a couple of kids.

“Dr. Mass,” he said, meeting the older man’s eyes. “Can I
ask you something?”

“Go right ahead.”

“Well, I know this sounds crazy. Loony, for sure. Asking you
of all people... But something has happened in this house, something that
defies all... What I mean to say is—” He drew a breath. “Do you believe
in Santa Claus?”

“Believe in Santa Claus? Who me?” Dr. Mass chuckled and
thumbed his chest. “Why, of course I do!”

“You what?” William sputtered.

“William, my boy,” Dr. Mass said, packing his medical bag,
“I’ve known you your whole life. I’ve seen you grow from diapers until now, and
you’ve become a very fine man indeed. But somewhere along the line, you
changed. I’m not sure when. Maybe it was when you lost Karen. You seemed to
lose your faith.”

“But, Santa! I’m talking the guy in the red suit!”

“Yes, yes. The one who comes on Christmas Eve. Is that the
one you mean?” He snapped his bag shut and looked up. “But see, that’s where
you’ve gotten things mixed up.”

“Mixed up how?” William asked, perplexed.

“I don’t know who on earth started that myth, because that’s
what it is, a flat-out untruth.”

“Aha! So there
is no
Santa.
”

Dr. Mass, who’d started toward the door, stopped walking.
“There is a Santa Claus, indeed,” he said, meeting William’s gaze. “But can’t
you see? He doesn’t just exist on Christmas Eve. He’s here the whole year
through!

“June, September, yes, even in January. It’s not so much
about the man in the red suit as it is about what’s in your heart. All you have
to do is open yourself up to the magic and believe.”

Emma entered the living room to find William sitting in a
wing chair by the sofa.

“Is the doctor gone?”

“Yes.”

She quietly shut the kitchen door behind her. “You’re really
worried about this girl, aren’t you, son?”

“I’m worried about her and Carmella, too. About what the
truth is going to do to all of us.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have lied to Carmella.”

“Mother! I never lied!”

“You evaded the truth.”

“No, I didn’t know it,” he said firmly. “In fact, I’m still
not sure I do.”

She sat in the chair opposite his and spoke with a kind
smile.

“Come now, William. You’re a little old to believe in
Santa.”

He longingly studied Bridget, sleeping on the sofa, then met
his mother’s eyes.

“Am I?”

“What are you saying? That you’ve fallen in love with a
total stranger?”

“I never said that, precisely. Only...”

“What?”

“You know how it’s been since Karen died.

Emma studied her son. “Lonely.”

“Yes.”

“But surely you can’t believe—?”

“In miracles, Mother? Why not?”

Just then, Carmella entered and rushed to Bridget’s side.
“Is she going to be okay, Daddy? Please tell me that she is.”

“Yes, sweetie,” he assured her, “she’s going to be just
fine.”

The child’s face brightened as she turned toward her Grammy.
“Did you know she sings really pretty? She sang to me, and it was just like
Mommy.”

A tear glistened in Emma’s eye as she looked from Carmella
to her son. “Why not, indeed,” she said softly.

****

Chapter Eight

Mitch hustled toward his desk, where an assistant sat goggling
at his computer.

“If you don’t mind?” he said, shooing the underling away.

The girl stood and scurried off, casting him an odd look.

Good help really was hard to find. Probably shopping on
Q-Bay.

Mitch dropped into his chair with a sigh. Seconds later, his
gaze locked on the computer screen. “Sweet Merry Christmas!” he cried aloud.
“That’s my Luce!” And it was, too, only more bodacious. He’d never known Lucy
to go for getups like that. Hey, wait a minute. What did it say? She weren’t no
mom, for God’s sakes. And how could she think her name was Bridget? Was it
possible she didn’t really know?

Mitch panicked briefly, wondering if this was some sort of
trick she was playing. Maybe an attempt to make him reconsider the whole kid
thing. Or maybe, just maybe, she was getting back at him. Yeah. That could be
it. They were supposed to be together for the holidays, and Mitch suddenly
realized he hadn’t seen her for five days!
Nope
,
he thought shaking his head.
Doesn’t seem like my Luce. She don’t play no
mean tricks. She’s a good girl. Really simple.

He ogled the jingle bell tassels, eyes popping. And now her
simples
was protruding out all over the
place. Jesus. Was this any sort of way to behave at the holidays? Mitch quickly
crossed himself, hoping his parents hadn’t seen. Then he gave the office a
slow, studied perusal. Other agents sat at their desks, smirking at their
computer screens. They couldn’t all be tuned in to this?

“Hey, Magic Maker Mitch!” Amanda called from the front. He’d
never liked Amanda. She was always into everybody’s business. “You going to go
over there?”

Mitch stared at the copy under Lucy’s picture seeing
  
an address
was listed. Then, ignoring Amanda and the other gawkers, he grabbed his coat
and headed for the door.

Grant, Emma, and the kids stood in the foyer, wearing their
coats.

“Mom, Dad,” William said. “Thanks so much. It’s really nice
of you to do this.”

“Bosh!” Emma said. “The kids love ice-skating. Besides, they
need a break from the madness.”

“We all do!” Grant proclaimed.

“I don’t see why I have to go, too,” Justin said with a
scowl. “The fuzz brain’s the one who likes to skate, not me.”

“Just cooperate, Justin,” his dad said. “The fresh air will
do you good.”

“I already got some fresh air.”

“You probably shouldn’t remind him,” Grant whispered gruffly
in Justin’s ear.

William saw them off from the porch, grateful that the snow
had stopped and his lawn had cleared. Even the television trucks had moved on.
Thank God. What a circus!

He came back in the house and was surprised to see Bridget
sitting unsteadily on the sofa.

“You’re up.”

She rubbed her eyes and glanced around the room. “Oh, yes. I
know this place.”

He strode over and sat beside her, gently taking her hand.
“Sure, we’re in the living room.”

“Our living room?” she asked, squinting her eyes.

“No, I’m afraid it’s mine.”

“No, it’s not,” She squeezed his hand firmly and met his
eyes. “William, it’s mine.”

He kindly patted the back of her hand with his free one.
“I’m afraid you’ve gotten things confused.”

She pulled free of his grip and studied the decor. “Of
course, the wallpaper is different.”

William ran a hand through his hair. Dr. Mass had been wrong
about Bridget. She wasn’t getting better. In fact, she seemed even worse!
“Bridget, listen to me—”

Blue eyes flashed as she centered her gaze on his. “Why are
you calling me Bridget?”

“That’s your name, isn’t it?”

“No, I don’t think so. I mean, it’s familiar.”

“Do you remember how you got here?”

She gripped the arm of the sofa and stood, staring around
her. “That much is a blur. But this place, yes. I remember it. Recall it quite
well.” Her eyes traveled to the mantel brimming with Christmas decorations,
then settled on a spot to the right of the hearth. “Especially the hidden
passageway behind the bookcase.”

William felt his anxiety spike. She wasn’t just confused;
now she was growing delusional. “Wait right there. Don’t move for a second,” he
said, snatching his cell off the coffee table. “I think I’d better call Dr.
Mass.”

“But Chris Mass has already come and gone!”

“You remember that?”

“I thought I heard talking.”

William felt himself flush, wondering how much of the
conversations she’d overheard. First the one with Dr. Mass and then the one
with his mother. “We thought you were sleeping.”

She lightly shook her head. “Maybe it was a dream I had.
Some talk about Santa Claus?”

William’s neck flashed hot. “This will just take a sec,” he
said, starting to dial. “Why don’t you sit until I get back? Just to be sure?”

Lucy took a seat in a wing chair as William slipped from the
room. He was trying to whisper, but his voice rose in apparent panic.
 
“What do you mean you can’t come? I just
told you she’s acting delusional! A baby? Well, tell the woman to wait! I don’t
know. Cross her legs!”

Lucy didn’t know much about what was happening, but she
didn’t believe herself to be delusional. The truth was, everything was getting
clearer. So clear, in fact, that now she was certain she’d been right about the
bookcase. She stood with determination and steadied herself. While the wood at
the back of the built-in shelf had been painted white, she was betting she
could still find that loose panel. Lucy carefully moved a few books out of the
way, setting them on a lower shelf.
Tap-tap,
tap-tap... It was right around... here...
She laid a fingernail under the
edge of the panel and tugged lightly. To her amazement, it moved. Gingerly, she
slid it sideways. A small dark hollow gaped open. Inside it sat a single
switch. She lifted it and loud humming noise sounded. Slowly the bookcase
before her began to move.

Lucy stepped back with delight.
I knew it. I just knew it!
Suddenly, everything came back in a
flash, as blinding and bright as the whitest snow blizzard. This
was
her house. She had lived here!

William appeared beside her, slack-jawed. “You weren’t
kidding about that passageway,” he said, staring ahead into the cavernous
space.

She turned toward him, cheeks aglow. “William,” she said. “I
know how I got in your house.”

He looked at her in disbelief. “Don’t tell me you came from
in there?”

“I used to play in there all of the time. Just like Nancy
Drew.”

“Wait a minute. What are you saying? That you used to live
in this house?”

“When I was just a kid.”

He stared back into the deep, dark tunnel. “Where does this
go?”

“Come on,” she said, “I’ll show you.”

She stepped forward and he laid a hand on her shoulder.
“Maybe I should go first.”

“All right,” she said, smiling. Of course this was her
house! Something about the shock of hitting her head, and not knowing who she
was, must have sent her back to it. Back to the one safe haven she remembered,
even if she couldn’t recall anything else.

William attempted to scoot past her in the narrow space,
bringing them almost chest-to-chest. He paused, looking down into her eyes.
“Who designed this place?”

“Someone who used to work for the government. Paranoid
schizophrenic, some say.”

“Nice.”

They were so close, nearly touching, that for a second Lucy
couldn’t breathe. He was the best-looking man ever, in many respects way more
attractive than Mitch. He had all of the qualities Lucy wanted, everything
she’d hoped for in a man. She’d convinced herself he didn’t exist. But he did,
and here he stood, in the flesh. Funny thing was, they’d never been properly
introduced.