“Well, I’ve had enough. It stops here. Run away if you want to, but I’m staying. I’ll face whatever comes my way, and then I’m going straight. I just hope you can run faster than the sheriff. Because if you touch one more cent of the money in that account, then I’m doing everything I can to help him find you,” I said.
I didn’t see his backhand coming until I was lying on the floor.
“You’re as ungrateful as your mother was. Good luck on your own,” he said venomously, and grabbing his bag, he stormed out, slamming the door behind him.
I didn’t allow myself to cry. I mourned the loss of Jensen in my life, but Dad’s leaving felt like something that should be celebrated. Well, maybe after the swelling had gone down and I’d been arrested for a crime I hadn’t committed. So, all in all, it hadn’t been my best day. But despite feeling like my heart had been ripped out with Jensen gone, I knew I would never want to take back a second of the time we’d spent together. Whether he knew it or not, meeting him had changed me. He looked at the parts of me that no one else had taken the trouble to see, and he made me feel like I was worth something. He liked the person I was, and more importantly, he made me like that person too. I wasn’t my father’s daughter. I was me. And I was getting my butt off the floor and taking life by the balls for a change instead of running from it.
After packing up my stuff, I straightened out the room as best I could and checked out of the motel. Unsurprisingly, Dad hadn’t paid the bill, so I kissed the last of my wages good-bye and handed the money over to the manager. After that, I headed to the bus station. If I was going to jail, and in all likelihood I was, I needed some place secure to store what little stuff I had. The bus station had luggage lockers, so I figured I’d stick my bag in one of those, stop off at the coffee shop to explain to Jill what was happening, and then head over to the station to turn myself in before they came looking for me. Of course, that’s not what the sheriff saw when he caught me at the entrance to the bus station with a packed bag.
“This isn’t what it looks like,” I protested.
“Of course it’s not,” he replied.
Chapter Eighteen
Jensen
“I need to see Lauren Matthews,” I said.
“Sir, who are you and what makes you think you can walk into my station and demand to see anybody?” the desk clerk said in a tone so bored and condescending that I had to take a deep, long breath before replying to avoid snapping back.
“My name is Jensen Caldwell. I’m a friend of Lauren’s, and I heard that she’d been arrested. Whatever she’s accused of, she didn’t do it. I’ll bet money that her father is behind this, and I need to see that she’s okay,” I explained.
“Well, that’s very sweet, sir, and while I’m sure that a note from her boyfriend protesting her innocence would be sufficient evidence to release a suspect in England, I’m afraid we work a little different here,” she retorted sarcastically.
“Wow. I see you’re full of Christmas spirit today. So how about this? Either you let me see Miss Matthews now or I will have a team of the best lawyers money can buy here within the hour. The sole purpose of which will be to make your day as crappy as possible. So what’s it going to be?” Was I aware that I sounded like a complete arsehole? Yes. But rationality went out the window the minute I knew Lauren was in trouble.
“Jensen?” I jerked around at the sound of Lauren’s voice. The look of shock on her face matched my own. “What are you doing here?” she asked.
“I’ve come to save you,” I replied stupidly.
“I’m fine. The sheriff asked me to come in to make a statement, but they had a case put together before they even found me. They know it was all Dad. He conned a lot of people out of their savings, but they caught him at the bank trying to withdraw the money. He’s in custody now, and I’m free to go,” she explained.
“Oh. That’s great news. I thought … I thought you might need me,” I said, feeling like an idiot.
“How did you even know I was in trouble?” she asked.
“Gabriel told me,” I explained. She looked at me and smiled. A sad, nervous smile as though she was waiting for me to turn around and leave again.
“I love you,” I blurted out in the least romantic way possible. “I love you, and I realized somewhere along the highway that it doesn’t matter where we found each other and how far apart we are. When you find something as precious as we have, you don’t just throw it away on the possibility that things might get a bit hard down the road. I don’t care how many miles I need to travel to be with you or how much work it takes for us to be together. I’m all in, and if we have even a chance at having what Ronnie and Nancy had, I’m taking it.”
Every moment that she didn’t reply felt like a lifetime. I’d give the world to keep her, but it didn’t matter if the world wasn’t enough.
“You’re crazy, you know that, right?” she asked. “You and I make absolutely no sense together. But so help me, you are my fairy tale, Jensen Caldwell. I don’t care where you live, and I don’t care what you do for a living. As long as we’re together, we’ll figure everything out. I love you, and I choose us too.”
I didn’t give her a chance to say anything else. Instead, I closed the distance between us, lifted her up so that she wrapped her legs around my waist, and kissed her until we were both breathless. My joy was indescribable.
“Do you mind? Some of us have work to do,” said the still bored-sounding desk clerk.
Resting my forehead against Lauren’s, I reluctantly let her down, and with a satisfied, happy grin I didn’t try to hide, I threaded my fingers through hers and pulled her toward the door.
“Merry Christmas,” I said cheerfully as we passed the desk clerk.
“Bah humbug,” she shouted at my back. Lauren giggled happily, and I let go of her hand to wrap my arm around her shoulder, tucking her into my side.
“Where are we?” Lauren asked, her face a picture of wonder as she stared up at the house.
“We’re home,” I replied. “That is, if you like it,” I replied, nervous about her reaction now that we were here.
“What do you mean?” she asked, stepping out of the truck to take a closer look.
“I realized, when you were describing your dream home, that it sounded just like Nancy and Ronnie’s place. It’s a great place to raise a family, and it’s been filled with love and laughter for a lot of years, and I figured we could use a little of that. Nancy offered it to us for Christmas, and if we like it here, she’ll let us buy her out so that she can live with her daughter permanently,” I explained.
Lauren didn’t say a word as she stared up at the house.
“What do you think? Do you like it?” I asked finally.
“Oh, Jensen, it’s unbelievable. I never dreamed of anything that was anywhere near this beautiful. But it’s so far away from where you need to be,” she replied.
“I can live anywhere in the world. If Ronnie and Nancy could make this work, so can we. Now, do you want to see inside?” I asked.
Her happy smile as she grabbed my hand was all the answer I needed. I slipped my fingers between hers, knowing, as I walked toward my future, that somewhere, somehow, Ronnie Adler was smiling down on me.
It’s a Wonderful Holiday
HEIDI MCLAUGHLIN
For Kassidy,
You’re the bravest girl I know.
Here’s a little Christmas
magic for you.
Chapter One
Rory
The mid-afternoon holiday shoppers walk by the large picture window of my office. Some turn and look at the window display my coworkers put up, while others huddle into their thick winter coats to ward off the random gusts of wind. The blowing snow, which piles up on the window ledge like a quintessential painting from Norman Rockwell, gives the town of Friendship a classic New England feel.
Like most storefronts in town, the Bank & Trust building has large picture windows that look out onto the town
square. Too often these days, I find myself spending time staring out, watching the world go by while I sit behind this desk not concentrating on my job.
My mind is on my family or lack thereof. My wife wants a divorce. She wants to end our marriage. Dissolve our partnership. Make us single parents to our daughter, Ruby. It doesn’t matter how many ways I say it, each one hurts worse than the previous one. I’m at fault. However, accepting responsibility doesn’t negate the fact that I’ve missed one too many dinners and important school events, forgetting to pick up Ruby when Gwen couldn’t, which as a parent, is the worst feeling ever. Each time I had the same excuse—work.
I should’ve known something was amiss, but stress has a funny way of masking what’s right in front of you. The cold shoulder, the clipped responses, the plans that didn’t include me, the nights where my wife didn’t wait up—were all signs I should’ve seen. Our quiet conversations turned into arguing, which resulted in each of us saying things we never meant to say. I told her maybe she could get a job and stop volunteering at school all the time; if she helped out I wouldn’t have to cover the shopping trips to Boston or every after-school activity under the sun. I asked her what she wanted me to do, how she wanted me to fix the situation—us, our family. I demanded she tell me what to do.
She did.
It’s been two months since she asked me to sleep on the couch and subsequently leave home. This was to be our forever home, the one where I poured my blood, sweat, and a few tears into remodeling it to her perfection, where we’d raise a handful of children and welcome our grandchildren as they chased each other on our wraparound porch. After my promotion at the bank, I hired contractors to finish the jobs I started. Doing so made sense. It meant I’d have more time with Gwen and Ruby on the weekends, except work consumed those days, too, and I let it.
A family needs to come first. To me, I thought that meant I work harder, longer hours to provide for my family. Sure, I would miss meeting Ruby’s parent-teacher meeting or being a part of the school’s yearly carnival, the book fair, and the end-of-year celebration, but the two most important women in my life would have the best of everything. I was wrong.
My phone rings, pulling me away from my thoughts. I glance quickly at the caller identification and groan. “Rory Sutton,” I say into the receiver while keeping my eyes focused on the world outside.
“How’s my investment?” My insides go cold as the rough voice of Jerry Gence barks into my ear, leaving me no choice but to return to work. Quickly, I tap a few keys on my keyboard to bring up his account. Jerry’s my number one client, my meal ticket so to speak, and probably the catalyst for my divorce.
“Smooth sailing, Jerry.” He calls every day with the same question and, more often than not, gets the same answer.
“Where’s my money?”
“The Alibaba Group. It’s the Asian version of Amazon. Their stock is doing very well, and I’m confident your portfolio will increase in no time. Of course, you’re still widely invested in other stocks, bonds, and annuities.” Same conversation we had yesterday and the day before, and likely the same one we’ll have on Monday.
“Perfect.” In my head, I imagine him sitting in a wing-backed red leather chair with a black silk robe on, rubbing his hands together as if he’s the mastermind behind some elaborate plot to take over the world.
“The misses wants to know if we’ll be seeing you and your wife for our annual Christmas party?”
Sighing, I turn to stare out the window, each time hoping to catch a glimpse of Gwen coming out of a store, parking her car, or even walking down the street. I haven’t seen her since I moved out. This isn’t my doing or anything I agree with, but Gwen thought it would be best that we use my mother as a go-between for Ruby. I hate it. I tried to fight it, but seeing Gwen cry isn’t something that sits well with me so I agreed.
“Of course.” This little white lie isn’t going to hurt Jerry in the long run. I doubt very much that Gwen will attend with me. However, I plan to ask her. Setting myself up for rejection isn’t high on my list, but neither is showing up alone. The less Jerry knows about my life, the better off I am.
Jerry prattles on about other stocks I should look at, but I’m focused on the world outside. A homeless man struggles to get across the street, tourists not paying attention to our strict town law where pedestrians have the right away. The elderly man stumbles, barely catching himself on one of the parked cars along the curb.
“I’ll call you back, Jerry.” I don’t even bother to hang up the phone before I rush outside without my winter jacket or galoshes. The combination of slush mixed with salt lands on my pants and shoes as I hurry toward the street. “Here, let me help you.” Without hesitation, my hands are on the man’s forearms as I help him stand.
“My bag,” he mumbles, pointing down to the ground.
“I got it,” I tell him, leaving one hand on his arm while I bend to retrieve his belongings. It takes everything in my power not to gag at the stench surrounding him or comment on how lightweight his bag is. I’m wondering when was the last time he showered or when he was able to wash his clothes. Everything about him is dirty … from his threadbare garments, to his face, to the black stocking cap he wears over his dark hair.
I do my best to guide him to the park bench not far from my office. When we get there, I brush it off before he sits down with a heavy sigh. There’s sadness in his eyes but a smile on his face.
“You gonna be okay?”
“Yes, yes. I’ll be fine. These old legs don’t move as fast as they used to,” he tells me.
“Well, even the young ones go slow sometimes.”
He smiles but quickly cuts eye contact. I don’t know if I should walk him down to the police station or let him be. Is he hungry? Is he broke? Of course, he’s likely both, but he’s not asking me for anything. In fact, he looks content sitting here on the bench. I suppose, being on the street and homeless he knows how to survive.
A gust of wind blows through us, causing me to shiver. I reach for my wallet but realize quickly it’s not in my pocket.
“You’ll catch your death,” he says as he pulls his coat tightly around him. The fact that he cares about me and not himself gives me pause. I nod and tell him I’ll be right back before returning to the warmth of my office.
By the time I get back to my desk and my hand grabs the handle of the drawer to reach my wallet, the old man is gone. I look out the window, pressing so close that I leave oily marks from my hands and forehead, but I can’t see where he went. It’s almost as if he’s disappeared into thin air.
The harsh tone of the disconnect signal pulls me away from the window. I pick up the phone, only to rear back from the noise and set the handle back on its cradle, shaking my head after realizing I never put the receiver back after my call with Jerry. The blotter on my desk, with its sporadic notes and dates, piques my attention. Leaning forward, I push a small pile of papers out of the way so I can read what today says. Meet divorce lawyer.
Instant melancholy sets in as I frown at the calendar and what my life has become. A divorce is the last thing I want, but I haven’t done a very good job of showing Gwen that she and Ruby were important. Are important. Looking down at my watch, I have ten minutes to get across town, which in reality is only a few blocks from my office, so I can sit in an uncomfortable wooden chair while my lawyer goes over Gwen’s proposal. The day the process server came into my office was worse than Gwen telling me she wanted me to move out. In the back of my mind, I figured we’d both come to our senses and figure this thing out. I was wrong and was left no choice but to hire a lawyer.
My sports coat hangs on the back of my chair. I grab it, slip my arms into it, and take my long wool winter coat off the rack. My galoshes sit on the floor mat, but one look at my shoes and I realize my shoes are already a lost cause. I search my pockets and my desk, wondering where I hid my gloves. A quick glance at the clock shows me I’m about out of time and need to leave now if I’m going
to make my appointment.
It seems colder than when I was outside earlier, and I find myself pulling my coat closer and pushing my hands deep into its pockets. Despite the coat’s thickness, it does nothing to take the bite out of the air or keep the wind from stinging my cheeks.
As I walk toward my lawyer’s office, I’m looking down side streets and in doorways for the man I helped earlier. I don’t know why, but something’s pulling at me to find him, to see if he’s okay. Consciously, I feel like he is, but I have a nagging desire to see him again for the reassurance.
I cross the street and head up the granite stairs leading to my attorney’s office. The heat inside the building is stifling, and my frozen fingers work to undo my coat. Taking the staircase two steps at a time, the old wood creaks under my weight. The glass-paned door with its rickety handle reads Law Office, straight and to the point of the services. My office should read: Investment Banker, but we’re owned by a firm out of New York City, whose name is proudly displayed on our door.
The law office is small but has an odd homey feel. I guess if you’re here, you want to be comfortable. I’m not, nor do I pretend to be. I hang my wool coat and give a slight nod to the receptionist. She smiles, sort of. It’s more like a half smile-half grimace. Living in a small town, everyone knows your business. When Gwen asked me to move out, I thought we’d be able to keep our issues to ourselves, maybe sort them out before drastic measures had to be taken. However, word spread like wildfire, and the gossip mill started spinning its wheel saying things like I cheated and I asked for this. It doesn’t matter how many times I try to defend myself, the only people who listen are my guy friends, but even those are starting to drift away. Couples pick sides. I knew it was bound to happen.
“Mr. Sutton, please come in.”
Terence Sims has been an attorney longer than I’ve been alive. My parents used him for a few legal transactions, and it only made sense I seek out his help as well. He sits behind his ancient oak desk in a small chair that doesn’t belong with such a grand piece of furniture. “Have you given much thought to how you want to respond to Gwen’s proposal?” he asks. He swivels in his chair to look at me over the rim of his glasses.
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