All They Want for Christmas

by M. K. Stelmack

  Bridget’s face twisted into deep sympathy and shock. The way she was prepared to take care of Spirit Lake’s needy, she would naturally feel for him.

  “But my story has a happy ending. While I was at the orphanage, I got to know two little girls.”

  “Sofia and Isabella,” Bridget said softly.

  “Yeah.” He still remembered the first time he’d met them. They’d been found on the streets, starving and in rags. Isabella refused to let Sofia out of her sight, and Sofia screamed if they tried to separate them even a little ways.

  “I wasn’t at the orphanage a whole lot. Just to use the computer. I came in one day, opened a drawer and there was a bunch of food. Beans, dried noodles, a packet of peanut butter. I looked up and there they were. All eyes and silent, like scared animals, arms wrapped around each other. Isabella had crackers in her hand.”

  Bridget smiled. “Ah, Isabella. Clever of her to hide it in your desk, where no one goes.”

  “She probably knew I had no idea what to do with dried beans.”

  Bridget laughed. Yes. Just for a bit he’d made her happy. “I told Isabella to come and add to her stash. But she just stayed there. I pushed away on my chair and asked her again. She and Sofia crept over. She dropped it into the drawer, closed it up and left. Not a single word. My work with the bogus charity brought me into the orphanage more often, so I was there when Isabella and Sofia would come in.

  “Over time, I could sit at my desk, and Isabella would drop in the food. I found crayons and paper for them, and they’d sit and talk with me. Well, mostly Sofia. I started to look forward to their visits. I’d drop a chocolate bar into their stash now and then.

  “When things went south, I told them I had to leave. Sofia broke into tears and begged me to take them. Isabella, she asked if I could leave them a chocolate bar. That’s when I decided to bring them with me.”

  “And that’s when Auntie Penny drained the Christmas Crates fund to help you.”

  “Yep.”

  Bridget pushed off the stool. “That’s a great story, Jack. It proves that you always do the right thing.”

  Her airiness made Jack feel a flicker of unease. “Oh?”

  “Yes. Since you borrowed the money from the fund, it’s only right you pay it back.”

  “But I can’t—”

  “And since you can’t, isn’t it fair that you earn it back through honest labor?”

  “I would, but the girls and this restaurant are taking up all my focus. I barely have time to sleep. You barely have time.”

  She yawned. “Sleep is for Boxing Day. So you in?”

  Another opportunity to partner up with her. Guess he would cave to emotional blackmail.

  “I’m in.”

  * * *

  “THIRTY-NINE, FORTY, FORTY-ONE—” Bridget stacked each counted crate against a garage wall, an upright square pattern emerging from the heap of crates on the cement floor. She should’ve been out here a month ago to sort through the mess but...well, a whole lot of life had happened.

  She needed a minimum of fifty-two based on the names in the crate, but experience had taught her to add another two. Make it an even fifty-five. She’d have to repair a few, and get replacements. That was nothing new; every year some weren’t returned. Maybe she’d send Jack out after they’d finished putting the girls to bed. Sofia had talked her into telling stories, inspired by her singing of “All I Want for Christmas Is My Two Front Teeth.” She made up stories and Jack translated.

  But for now, where was the hammer—

  The garage side door opened to Deidre, wearing the red plaid couch throw over her light Arizona clothing. “There you are!”

  Bridget could’ve said the same. In the short two weeks since arriving, Deidre wandered in and out of the house at all hours, only appearing regularly for supper. She was as nomadic as when Bridget and her sisters had been kids. Bridget fully expected to come home to find Deidre had gone back to Arizona, and was a little surprised that it hadn’t happened already.

  Deidre tightened the throw around her shoulders. A jacket would have been far more suitable, but that was Deidre all over. She toed a broken crate. “What’s all this, then?”

  “Christmas Crates. Auntie Penny and I did it every year for the past decade. We package crates for the families who are struggling.”

  “Oh, right. Penny talked about that when she—When she visited.”

  An awkward silence fell between them. “She was in charge of repairing the crates,” Bridget said quickly. “Looks as if I’ll be handling it this year. Unless Jack steps up.”

  “He’s helping you?”

  “I guilt-tripped him into it. As payback for Auntie Penny giving him the Christmas Crates money.”

  “Oh, I don’t know.” Deidre picked up a hammer on the bench. There it was! “Jack doesn’t strike me as one to feel guilty about much.”

  Bridget picked up a crate with only one missing slat. Another was less a crate than a few slats hanging together. She could cannibalize it to fix the first. She held out her hand for the hammer. “I’ll take that.”

  Deidre handed it over. “I don’t know how much he’ll help between the restaurant and the girls. You don’t have much more time. You hardly have time to visit with your sisters, much less me.”

  Bridget yanked a nail loose. “You’re hardly one to lecture me about being a good family member.”

  Deidre’s eyes widened. They were the same blue as Jack’s. “Mistakes,” she said softly, “make phenomenal teachers.”

  This was new. “You admit you made them.”

  “Of course, I made mistakes. I should’ve—I should’ve asked you to call me ‘Mom’ instead of Deidre when we took you in. Or given you the choice.” Deidre flapped the corners of the plaid throw like a giant, agitated bird.

  “Just to set the record straight, I would never have called you ‘Mom.’ I already called one woman that. I wouldn’t ever disrespect you by calling you by her name.” She didn’t need to say anything more. Deidre would have read the background file at the time of adoption.

  “Thank you for saying that. I’ve always...wondered.” She gave herself a shake. “Still. I should’ve been here more. I just...didn’t see the point. Penny was always a better mother than I was. And you preferred her, anyway.”

  “I preferred her because I could count on her being around.” Bridget pried out another nail. This would take her all night at this rate. Frustrated, she tossed down the hammer. “Why did you even adopt me if you didn’t want me around?”

  Deidre gave Bridget a long look. “Truth?”

  Bridget bit down on her cheek. “Truth.”

  “Your father and I became foster parents when Krista and Mara were young. And you were our first. You instantly loved Krista and Mara, and they loved you. When you three were together, I couldn’t break into your tight circle. And that was when you were just tiny kids. You didn’t seem to even want my love. From what you’ve just said, I expect you didn’t trust mothers.”

  Bridget picked up a nail, rolled it between her fingers. “I think... I think you’re right.”

  “Isabella with those big eyes and quiet walk reminds me of you, back then,” Deidre said. “At any rate, Tom more or less told me to deal with it, because long after we were dead and gone, you three would still have each other.” Deidre flapped her throw again. “And he was right. Just because I couldn’t connect with you didn’t mean you didn’t deserve a place in the Montgomery family.”

  Oh. “And here I always felt like the odd one out,” Bridget said softly.

  Deidre pulled the plaid tight around her shoulders. “You were in one respect. You were the only one who didn’t like traveling. Happy-go-lucky until the wheels started turning.”

  There was that. Bridget had dreaded vacations when Tom and Deidre would haul their kids off somewhere. In the
end, it was easier on everybody if she stayed with Auntie Penny. “I just—couldn’t.”

  “And you still can’t,” Deidre said softly.

  She was right, but what did it matter? Up to her eyeballs in debt, and no place to go. Bridget got busy with the hammer again. “Move, you flipping nail!”

  Deidre held out her hand. “Here. Let me have a go at it.”

  It was on the tip of Bridget’s tongue to refuse, but hey, there were plenty more crates to fix. Throw slouched over her arms, Deidre grabbed a screwdriver and applied it to the crate. “So what’s between you and Jack? I know you dated in high school, but you two together sucks the air from the room.”

  “Suck the air...? Hardly.” Bridget shook a crate free from the jumble on the garage floor. If her mother could confess a painful truth, then so could she. “We were engaged.”

  Deidre stared. “You never told me. Nobody told me.”

  She looked so stricken Bridget quickly added, “No one knew except Auntie Penny. She was the first we told and she persuaded Jack and me to keep it absolutely secret until he returned from his overseas mission. He didn’t, and that was that. Auntie Penny was right about keeping it quiet. Saved me a lot of embarrassment.”

  “Let me get this straight. Jack broke it off with you?”

  “Yes. He called me from Nigeria.”

  “He broke up with you on the phone?”

  “Yes. I mean, how else was he to do it?”

  Deidre hissed through her teeth. “Not even Krista and Mara knew?”

  “No. They were still in high school. What could they have done?”

  “You never told them later?”

  “No. What was the point?”

  “The point? So they could ream him out for having made the biggest mistake of his life.” She slammed down the screwdriver. “Maybe he needs to hear it from his aunt.” She snapped the throw into place and made to exit stage left.

  “No!” Bridget wedged herself and the crate in her hands between Deidre and the door. “Think of the girls. They don’t need to get even an inkling of how the man they depend on left someone. They wouldn’t understand the difference, and shouldn’t have to be scared that he’d desert them. Because he won’t. Ever.”

  Deidre slowly dropped her avenging-angel pose. “Only for the sake of the girls. But I will not promise what I’ll do if I ever catch him alone.”

  “Fair enough.” She should warn Jack that Deidre knew of their old engagement. Then again, it felt unbelievably good to have someone in her corner. “Thanks, Deidre. There’s—there’s a chance I might miss you when you leave.”

  Deidre crossed her arms, the red plaid drawing tight around her thin shoulders. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that. You and Jack, I guess.” She lowered her eyes, the fire in them gone. “The thing is, I was wondering if I could stay on after Christmas. I’d like to move here. To a different place, of course. But if I could stay on until I sort things out, I’d really...appreciate that.” She raised her eyes to meet Bridget’s. “Please.”

  Well, weren’t they both just one exploding secret after another? “Why? You and Dad loved Arizona.”

  “We did. But he’s been gone for seven years now, and there’s nothing left for me there. I want my family. My daughters, my nephew, you. And those girls, if they’ll have me. And if the truth be told, my dollars will go further here than in the States.”

  How could she refuse Deidre? To refuse her was to refuse Krista and Mara their mother and Jack his aunt. “My house is your house. And Jack’s.”

  “Thank you,” Deidre said, and they stood awkwardly together. Their unusually honest conversation had left Bridget, and probably Deidre, a little unnerved,

  Her phone pinged. Girls want you.

  Yes. “Story time,” Bridget said. “Coming?”

  Deidre hefted up the hammer. “You go be with those gorgeous girls. I’m in the mood to rip and bang.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  BRIDGET ENTERED Auntie Penny’s bedroom to the scent of vanilla and strawberries.

  “Auntie Krista gave me bath bubblies,” Sofia said from the bed. Krista and Mara and Deidre were all aunties. Jack and Bridget were called by their names only. Bridget wondered at that, but hadn’t gotten around to discussing it with Jack. He glanced up from where he sat on his cot and then dropped his focus back to his phone.

  Bridget flopped down on the bed, tossing aside a penguin stuffie and a Spanish-English picture dictionary to do so. Not two weeks in and they’d already laid claim to the bed with books, hair scrunchies, stuffies, paper, markers and puzzle pieces. Bridget tugged one of Sofia’s wet braids. “Did Krista braid your hair, too?”

  “Yes, but Isabella said, ‘No.’”

  Isabella scowled at Sofia. Her dark hair spread like a shawl over her back in a damp mass and had likely soaked through her pajama top. “I detest braids.”

  Sofia snuggled against Bridget. “Tell us a snow story.”

  “I’d love to once Isabella lets me braid her hair and she puts on a dry jammie top.” She mimed the actions well enough for Isabella to understand.

  She turned her scowl on Bridget. “No.”

  “Is-a-bel-la,” Jack said, looking up. “Either you do as you’re told or Sofia misses out on her story.”

  Sofia instantly played her part with a lip tremble.

  “Okay, okay. One braid.”

  “One braid,” Bridget agreed. “And one dry jammie top.”

  “I only have one.”

  Jack dug out one of his T-shirts from a dresser drawer and tossed it to Isabella. All of Auntie Penny’s clothes had disappeared somewhere. She ought to thank Deidre for taking care of it; she would’ve cried buckets before the first drawer was emptied.

  Bridget helped Isabella keep her end of the bargain, making a mental note that sometime soon she must undertake her traditional Christmas trip to Cozy Comforts, a boutique that specialized in Christmas pajamas for the whole family. She should go while selection was good, if she could find two hours together.

  Bridget latched her arm around Sofia and started in. “Once upon a time there was a princess who decided to find her sister.”

  “You’re not telling her the Frozen story, are you?” Jack said.

  “Sofia loves Frozen, and it’s her turn.”

  “My head will explode if I have to retell that story. It’s bad enough I actually know the lyrics to the songs in English and Spanish.”

  “You tell a story, then.”

  “Sofia wants you, not me.”

  “I can’t think of one.”

  A sly smile spread across his face. “Tell her,” Jack said and set his phone facedown, “about the time you and I skated across the lake. When we were in high school.”

  No. Not that one. “I don’t remember that.”

  “Sure you do, Bridge. It was about this time thirteen years ago.”

  “Sofia wants a snow story. There was no snow.”

  “But that was the miracle of it all. There was no snow when there should’ve been.” He spoke softly to the girls in Spanish. Bridget picked out her name and the word lago. Lake. He was laying out the story.

  Sofia sucked in her breath as if she’d seen a pretty picture, and twisted to look up at Bridget. “Tell me, tell me.”

  Bridget shot daggers—no, icicles—at Jack. “Or I could tell it,” he said.

  And what parts would he tell? “I will tell it, if you promise to translate it word for word.”

  His sly smile widened. “I promise.”

  As if she had a choice. She threw him a final icicle. “One afternoon, Jack and I went skating on the lake.”

  “The one with a Christmas tree?”

  Sofia and Isabella—when she let herself—were in excited knots to see the official lighting of the traditional Christmas tree erected in the mi
ddle of the family skating area next Saturday. Deidre had promised to take them down while Bridget and Jack served steak dinners to the lakeside crowd.

  “Same lake but the tree wasn’t up yet. The lake was frozen as deep as you are tall, yet it hadn’t snowed. The lake was like glass. A huge sheet of clear whitish blue.” She paused for Jack to translate.

  “He and I decided to start skating across the lake.”

  Sofia listened to Jack, then asked Bridget, “Just you two?”

  “Yes.”

  Just the two of them, hands joined, the scrape of blades in unison, the sway of their bodies side by side. “You could see straight down into the ice. There were all these incredible patterns and sometimes you could pick out a fish moving beneath.” Heads touching, cheeks grazing, breaths held at the sight of a fish, gazes linked in shared excitement. Jack’s Spanish trailed off and he looked across the girls at her. The sly smile had given way to a soft, remembering one.

  Sofia jiggled under Bridget’s arm. “Then what happened?”

  The rest was not a children’s bedtime story. “Then it got dark and we skated back.”

  Jack made a grumbling noise. “Tell them about the moon.”

  “There was a moon that night.”

  “A big, bright, white moon.” Jack said the simple description in English.

  “It meant we could see where we were going.”

  “We could see each other.”

  “Of course, we could.” Why was he bringing up all this old, painful history in front of his kids? Turning this excruciating, embarrassing episode in her life into a bedtime story?

  Jack crossed from the cot to the bed and sat on Sofia’s side. His hand almost touched Bridget’s, and she straightened. “Bridget was wearing a pink toque and pink mitts, soft and fuzzy, and the moonlight lit them up. And when she smiled...”

  “You see her teeth!” Sofia peeled back her upper lip to display her missing ones.

  “You could see a lot of her teeth, because she was smiling so big. And...she spun in circles on her skates.”