One Bright Christmas

by Katherine Spencer

  Ezra stared at her in shock, his mouth agape, and she felt a spark of triumph in her bold move. He knew her so well, she hardly ever caught him unawares.

  “Does the idea appeal? I’m not made of stone. I can see that this situation has torn you in two.”

  “Bully for you, Lily. If you can see that much, I’m surprised you don’t see that I only want my dog. Teddy. Not some yippy little bit of fluff with a bow in its fur. Can we have Teddy if I can find him? That’s the question.”

  She sighed and closed her eyes, struggling to hold on to her last shred of patience. That was the question, indeed. Couldn’t he see that Teddy was gone? Disappeared? Vanished? Finito? The question of Teddy was actually irrelevant. But she could hardly deal him those harsh truths right now.

  “I’m trying to compromise, Ezra. What more can you ask?”

  Ezra pressed the button on the automatic chair, the sound of the motor nearly drowning out her words.

  “I’ll be straight home after the service,” she shouted over the noise. “I’d better find you here nursing that cold, not traipsing around in the woods somewhere.”

  The chair had reached the landing and the noise stopped. Lillian heard him blow his nose in answer.

  * * *

  * * *

  Sunday’s frenzy at the diner more than made up for Saturday’s lull. Lucy had planned to pull off her apron at a quarter to nine and dash up to church, but she was unable to swim against the tide of the breakfast rush. After a while, she gave up.

  They were serving not only many in the crew but everyone who had heard the movie people were eating at the Clam Box now. It was absolute mayhem for a while. Charlie had also sent a breakfast buffet to the set, which would be followed by lunch. He had miscalculated their inventory, and a lot of items on the menu were eighty-sixed, which Lucy thought was embarrassing.

  The nonstop race from the dining room to the kitchen and back again distracted her a bit from watching the door. She dreaded the sight of Craig entering and strained to hear a word or two of his whereabouts. She assumed he was on the set. With any luck, the director would keep him so busy, making up for the time he’d been in the hospital, that he wouldn’t make it to the diner until tonight—if at all.

  Even the slim possibility of having to face him again had her nerves in a knot. When Charlie came up behind her at the ice machine, she nearly jumped out of her skin.

  Caught up by some new affront, he didn’t even notice. “Lucy, get this. Of all the luck, I just heard the big names—like Hamilton and his costars, and the director, too—are bunked at the Angel Island Inn now and are taking meals there. We’re just getting the worker bees.”

  Lucy could have dropped to her knees with relief. “Really? Who told you that?”

  “One of the sound engineers. It will be harder to get those T-shirts and aprons autographed. Maybe I should deliver the breakfast and lunch buffets to the set this week and track down the big names. I just heard they’re not leaving until Wednesday.”

  Would Charlie really do that? Craig would certainly know the shameless autograph hunter was her husband. She cringed with embarrassment at the possibility.

  “I don’t know if that will work, Charlie. You should see the security Hamilton had at the hospital. I doubt you’d get within twenty feet of him.”

  He rubbed his chin, considering her warning. “I didn’t think of that. Maybe you’re right. I suppose he could still come in here. He might get tired of the food at the inn.”

  Claire North, the inn’s head cook, was one of the best in all of New England. She had been profiled in all sorts of travel magazines. Claire was mostly retired now, but Lucy had heard that the new cook, Kerry Redmond, was in the same league. If Craig got tired of their food that quickly, he ought to go back to the hospital for tests.

  She glanced at Charlie, scooped ice into a row of pitchers, and carried them away.

  So Craig wouldn’t come to the diner after all. She felt almost dizzy with relief as the message sank in. But she was disappointed, too. And it was hard to admit that, even to herself. But it was final now. Craig would leave town in a few days, and she would not see him again. She would miss the once-in-a-lifetime chance that had been dropped in her lap, as Fran would say, like a gift she refused to open.

  That’s what would happen now. It felt . . . anticlimactic. But this was what she wanted, Lucy reminded herself. Wasn’t it?

  * * *

  * * *

  Lillian was perfectly able to get into her house on her own, but Emily insisted on helping. She did need someone to carry the packages while she concentrated on maneuvering the cane. If she didn’t focus, it sometimes got away from her, especially outdoors when the ground was icy.

  She stepped inside and called out before she’d even taken off her coat, “Ezra? I’m back. Are you upstairs sleeping? We brought soup. And some of those French rolls you like, from the bakery. And a chocolate cupcake,” she added.

  The sweet was Emily’s idea. Ezra did love cupcakes, and it would cheer him up.

  The house was silent. “He’s not answering,” she said to Emily.

  “Maybe he’s asleep, Mother. That’s the best thing for a bad cold.”

  “I suppose. Why don’t you run up and check on him? I’ll take the soup into the kitchen and warm it up.”

  Emily headed for the staircase. Better to send a neutral emissary, Lillian thought. Ezra was so cross with her. If she’d gone up to coax him down, he might just roll over out of spite.

  She made her way into the kitchen and set the bakery bag on the counter. She rarely used the stove these days. They even had an electric thing to heat water for tea. It went off automatically, so one couldn’t burn the house down or die in one’s bed from a leaky gas burner.

  She searched around a cupboard and found a small pot that would do. Then she pulled open a drawer for the big cooking spoon. And there it was, in plain view. Right next to her days-of-the-week a.m.-and-p.m. pill container was a note from Ezra, written in big letters on a sheet from a yellow legal pad.

  Had a call about Teddy. Too promising to miss. I have gone to investigate. I have my cell phone and will be home shortly. Please don’t worry about me.

  —Ezra

  Lillian felt her heart skip a beat and her blood rush to her head. She pressed her hand to her chest and gripped the counter for support.

  Emily found her that way as she walked into the kitchen. “Mother, what is it? You’re pale as a sheet. Sit down, please.”

  “It’s Ezra. He’s lost his mind,” she managed as Emily helped her to a chair. “He’s going to die of pneumonia, and I’ll have a stroke. All because of a mangy little dog.”

  She handed Emily the note. “He’s gone out again, with a fever. And who knows what else is wrong with him. When I specifically told him to stay put. This behavior beggars belief.”

  “He cares so much, he’s not thinking about himself,” Emily said.

  “He’ll put himself in the hospital and they’ll have to strap him to the bed like a mental patient.”

  “I hope not.” Emily sounded worried. “I’ll go out and look for him. Where do you suppose he’s headed?”

  Lillian threw up her hands. “I haven’t the foggiest. If I knew, I’d go myself and drag him back by the scruff of his neck.”

  “Let me make a call or two. Maybe one of the officers out on patrol has seen him.” Emily pulled out her phone and stepped into the dining room. She had been long gone from the village hall, but she still had connections. She’d been respected and even beloved as mayor. Lillian had been so proud. She never could understand why her daughter had stepped down. That lowdown diner owner Bates finally beat her in an election, after years of trying, but only by a handful of votes.

  Lillian had always thought Emily could bounce back and win again by a landslide once the town had a taste of Charlie B
ates as mayor. But the thrill was gone for Emily. She had moved on to other things. She did seem happier out of office. Certainly more relaxed and patient, at any rate.

  “If you do see him, Tucker,” Lillian heard her saying, “please tell him that my mother is worried and encourage him to come home. He has a bad cold and he shouldn’t really be out.”

  She returned to the kitchen. “The police are going to look for him. They’ll spot him soon, I’m sure.”

  Lillian sighed. “I hope it’s soon enough.”

  Before she could say more, she heard someone at the side door, using a key. The door opened, and there was Ezra, muffled to within an inch of his life. All she could see of his face were his blue eyes behind his glasses. But that was enough. They looked bright with fever.

  He glanced at her. “You found my note?”

  “I did,” she said simply. “Come in, come in. You must be chilled to the bone. We have your soup. Emily will heat it.”

  “How do you feel, Ezra?” Emily asked. “You don’t look well.”

  “About the same as this morning, I suppose.” It took a while for Ezra to remove his layers of warm clothing. Then he walked with weary steps into the kitchen, hardly able to lift his feet.

  “You look worse to me. Much worse.” When Lillian pressed her hand to his forehead, he didn’t bat an eye or raise his usual objections.

  “Good gravy! You’re burning up. Straight to bed. Emily, please get him upstairs and put a cool compress on his head. I’ll bring some water and aspirin. And hot tea.”

  Ezra submitted to their care without a word. That worried Lillian even more, enough to drive all thought of scolding him for this outrageous behavior clear out of her head.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  The door to Joe’s office was partly open, but Lauren knocked anyway. It was after six on Tuesday night, and the rest of the staff had gone home. Lauren would have gone straight home herself after a nerve-racking rush-hour drive back from Boston but had driven past the office and seen Joe’s car parked in front. She wanted to deliver her news face-to-face.

  He looked up, surprised to see her. Then he stood up from his chair, his eyes questioning. “How did it go? Why didn’t you call? I was waiting.”

  She could see he was braced for bad news. Why else would she have delayed reporting in? Lauren tried to keep a straight face as she delivered a summary of her meeting with the attorneys who represented Dendur Software.

  “They want to settle out of court. They tried to lowball us with six figures, but I got them up to seven, eventually. There are still a few details to iron out, but they’ll confirm the important points of the offer in writing promptly. The email might already be in my inbox.”

  Joe pressed his hands to his desk for support. “You’re joking. Right?”

  She shook her head, her smile so wide it hurt. “I was surprised, too. To put it mildly. Especially after their hard-nosed attitude over the phone.” Just setting up a meeting with the law firm that represented Dendur had taken major negotiating skills. “Are you sorry now that you didn’t come? I never meant to cut you out.”

  “I know. I do regret that I missed it,” he admitted. “But it was the first meeting. It’s a sizing-up-the-competition thing. Usually.”

  They had discussed going together but had decided Lauren would fly solo for this first meeting, which they had both predicted would be preliminary and nonproductive. They had expected that the opposition would simply gauge how seriously Dendur should take the claim—which was no longer just Maddie’s claim, but that of three other former female employees.

  “I never expected a deal to be struck this fast, believe me,” Lauren said honestly.

  “And they never expected to face such a tough negotiator, I’d bet.” His praise made her feel good. “The affidavits of the other women obviously pushed them to get out in front on this.”

  “Seems so.” She flopped into a chair, feeling weary but victorious. “They were looking down the barrel of a class action suit and didn’t like the view. All the same, they did move quickly. But once a bombshell like this hits, some companies want to clean it up quickly, before the New Year.”

  “Whatever the reason, you did well today, Lauren. It’s an awesome victory for Maddie and the rest of our clients. For all the women in their profession, too.”

  Lauren did feel that way. She’d used her superpowers for good, as Cole would say.

  She reached into her briefcase and handed Joe her notes. “When it was over, I thought I should have pressed for more. But I did my best.”

  Joe glanced down at her hastily scribbled pages, the major points of the offer circled and underlined, including the settlement figure.

  His eyes went wide again. “Whoa . . . I’d say you did great. I doubt I could have squeezed out that number.” He looked up at her. “We should call Maddie. And the other clients. We should celebrate.”

  Lauren nodded and smiled. “Absolutely. But maybe not tonight? I mean, not for me.” She felt as if she’d gone eleven rounds in the heavyweight ring. “Why don’t you tell Maddie the good news, and I’ll call her tomorrow?”

  Lauren was Maddie’s attorney, but Joe was the head of the firm. All things considered, it seemed right that he should tell her about their victory. When Lauren saw his pleased expression, she added, “Maybe you and Maddie should go out tonight to celebrate? You can go over the settlement with her.”

  They still needed Maddie and the other clients to approve the deal Lauren had negotiated, and the sooner the better.

  “You really don’t mind?” Joe said.

  “Not at all. If it weren’t for Maddie, this injustice would never have been brought to light. I think she deserves some special acknowledgment.”

  “I think so, too,” he agreed.

  Lauren left his office with the distinct feeling that Joe meant more than what he’d said. She hoped so. And she hoped his evening with Maddie was the start of something more than their attorney-client relationship.

  That would feel like a victory as well—but one she would celebrate privately.

  * * *

  * * *

  Lucy had been called in for a shift at the hospital on Tuesday morning, and she clocked out at five. With the rush-hour traffic, she didn’t reach the highway exit for the village until well after seven. Not that getting home late tonight mattered much. Charlie was still at the dinner. The boys and Zoey wouldn’t be home until Christmas Eve on Thursday. Of course, she still had plenty on her to-do list before their visit—cleaning the house, shopping, and cooking, not to mention baking the Christmas cookies they loved . . . and expected to find piles of. It never really seemed like work, though, because she loved having them at home so much.

  There was one task on the list unconnected to her family, or even to Christmas. “A secret mission,” she called it privately. After refusing to see or talk to Craig Hamilton, she had surprised herself one sleepless night and decided to write him a letter, so she could put all her feelings and recollections—and conclusions—on paper. The same kind of letter he’d told her he’d wanted to write but never had.

  She had not intended to give it to him. She just thought the exercise would be a good way to exorcise the troubling feelings and memories that filled her head. But once she sat down and set pen to paper, Why not share it with him? she asked herself. He’d told her that he wanted to know her side of things. It was certainly easier to be honest—totally honest—when she wasn’t facing him.

  In the middle of the night, she sat and set it all down, a pot of tea at hand. Charlie was upstairs, deeply asleep, without the slightest idea of what she was going through as she relived the headiest, most emotional days of her life. Among the most, she qualified. Certainly among the most painful.

  When she was finally done, with the pages folded and slipped into a clean, white envelope, Lucy had felt immeasurably
better, as if a weight had lifted off her shoulders—and her heart. She decided there and then that she wouldn’t tuck the letter into the back of a drawer or toss it in the trash. She would make sure Craig received it before he left, which she guessed would be Wednesday, or even Thursday, Christmas Eve.

  She had heard the cast and crew were at a wrap dinner at the Spoon Harbor Inn tonight. She could leave the letter at the Inn on Angel Island, where he was staying, without risk of running into him. If she ran into Claire North, or Liza Merritt, who owned the inn, she would just say the actor had left something at the diner. That was a plausible excuse.

  She turned off the highway and headed for the island. The detour wouldn’t take long, but the adventure was nerve-racking. It would be worth it, she decided as she drove across the narrow land bridge and the island loomed large in her view. Lucy congratulated herself for devising this solution and for finding the courage to carry it out. It was the right thing to do.

  The beautiful inn shone like a guiding star in the dark, clear night. All the windows on the lower floor were filled with warm, yellow light, and small white candles glowed in the windows above. Swoops of pine garlands and big wreaths decorated the wide porch. She had forgotten how lovely the inn looked during the holidays. At least Craig had landed in a comfortable and even elegant place after his hospital stay.

  She had considered leaving the letter in the mailbox on the side of the road, then worried that it might not be given to him before he left. She parked her car in the curving drive and climbed up the steps to the front door. Should she knock and leave it with Claire or Nolan? Or step inside for a moment and drop it on a hall table?

  While Lucy stood silently debating, the sound of heavy footsteps coming up the porch steps made her turn. She nearly gasped out loud when she recognized Craig.

  “Hello, Lucy.” He tilted his head to the side, obviously surprised to see her.