Christmas on the Coast

by Lee Tobin McClain

  Amber felt an absurd sense of pride that he liked her baking. What was wrong with her? Everyone liked brownies.

  He went back into the kitchen and poured a small glass of milk, then held up the carton. “Want some?” When she shook her head, he carried the cup to Davey. “Drink up, buddy, and then you can finish this movie before bedtime.”

  “’Kay.” Davey obediently gulped the milk and then handed the empty cup to Paul.

  “He’s fading,” he said in a quiet voice as he carried the glass and napkins back to the kitchen.

  She followed. “Big day for him.”

  Paul nodded. “The other thing I have to apologize for is my in-laws. Former in-laws. Wendy’s parents.” He sighed, leaning back against the counter. “I’m sorry they’ve been so rude to you.”

  “Yeah, what’s that all about?” she asked as she sat down at the table, propping her feet up on a chair. “Usually, it takes at least a couple of encounters before people take a dislike to me. Your in-laws don’t even know me.”

  He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Yeah, I wondered that, too, but after talking to Georgiana, I think I know the problem.” He looked to the side.

  “What is it?”

  “They’re afraid I’ll replace Wendy and they’ll lose Davey.”

  She tilted her head to one side and looked at him while she processed that. “They’re afraid you’ll replace Wendy with me?” Thinking about that made Amber uncomfortably aware of the secret she was keeping from Paul.

  “I know. It’s ridiculous.”

  His words were like a bucket of cold water poured over her. Why was it so ridiculous? Was it entirely out of the question that he’d be attracted to someone like her?

  He was still looking off to the side as if he were uncomfortable. It gave her the chance to study him, to notice his one-day growth of beard that had made him look a bit disreputable at the school today, the careless cowlick in his hair, the way his shoulders stretched his polo shirt.

  Oh, those shoulders. She had a thing for shoulders, and Paul’s were spectacular. “Why is it ridiculous, the idea that you’d date again?” she asked, deliberately depersonalizing it because she did have an ego and it could be crushed. “Are you some kind of a monk?”

  He looked at her then, really looked at her, and the intensity of his gaze made her next quip die on her lips. There was a lot going on under the surface with this man.

  “I’m far from a monk, Amber,” he said softly, his gaze never leaving hers.

  She suddenly realized he knew his way around women. “So,” she said, blowing out a breath and casting about for a way to change the subject. “What was going on today, over at the school?”

  He blinked, and his face went back to its usual tense lines, and she almost regretted not following up on the meaning that had been in his eyes. Almost wanted to be the person who helped Paul lighten up and smile. And maybe more.

  “I don’t know how much they told you about me, why I came into the Healing Heroes program,” he said.

  She lifted her hands. “Nothing. I’m just, like, the manager of the cottage itself. It’s Earl who sets up the volunteer work, and Mary reads the applications.”

  He nodded. “I’m sorry I brought you into all of my problems, then.” He drew in a breath, then let it out in a sigh. “It’s the PTSD thing.”

  “What’s it from?” She really wanted to know, even though it was probably a rude question.

  He glanced toward the living room, then stood, walked over and looked in. Had she offended him that badly, that he was going to just leave the room?

  But no, he was just checking on Davey. “He’s asleep,” he said as he came back into the kitchen. He leaned against the counter. “I try not to talk about it in front of him.”

  “Look, if you don’t want to discuss it, it’s fine. I shouldn’t have asked.”

  He waved a hand. “No, the counselors say it’s good for me to talk about what happened. And I owe you, after you bailed me out today.”

  “You don’t—”

  “I was involved in an...an incident.” He cleared his throat. “At a school.” He paused, then spoke again. “It was a shooting.”

  She gasped, her heart and stomach twisting. “Oh, no.” The reasons for his issues were suddenly crystal clear.

  “I was supposed to protect everyone. I...couldn’t.” He paced over to the window and looked out into the darkness. “I don’t want to go into the details. I tried to go back to work again after my required leave, but...” He shook his head. “I was a danger. Too jumpy. Couldn’t even talk to the kids. I tried to give my resignation, and instead, they sent me here.”

  She wanted to stand up and hug him, but she just didn’t know him that well. “I’m sorry. That sounds absolutely horrible.”

  He looked back at her, then away. “I could have handled everything better.”

  She wasn’t going to argue with that, even though she figured he was probably beating himself up without cause. The level of support he needed was beyond her pay grade. “Did you get counseling?”

  He nodded. “Yeah. They mandate five sessions, and I did them.”

  “Do you think you might need more?” She spoke hesitantly, not wanting to insult him.

  To her surprise, he smiled. “Yeah. After the way I reacted at your place, and then today, I’d have to be stupid to think I could fix this just by gutting it out.”

  “Counseling can be a godsend,” she said.

  “You sound familiar with it.” He pulled out a chair, spun it around and straddled it, crossing his forearms over the chairback.

  “I’ve had my share.” She wasn’t going to talk to him about it, though. She was going to enjoy looking at those muscular arms.

  The dishwasher hummed, and from the living room, Davey’s movie was barely audible. Paul took another brownie and then shoved the plate toward her. “Take these away from me or I’ll eat the whole plate.”

  Amber smiled and pulled the plate closer. She selected a small brownie and took a bite, and rich, dark chocolate practically exploded in her mouth. Heaven.

  But Paul didn’t let her off the hook. “Was your counseling because of the cancer?”

  “Yeah.” She noticed a couple of crumbs on the table and wiped them away with her napkin.

  He tilted his head to one side. “Come on. I told you my story.”

  Good point. “It’s been tough at times, worrying about whether I was going to make it, and how having a sick mom was affecting my daughter, Hannah.”

  “You have a daughter?”

  She nodded. “She’s in her first semester of college.”

  “Wow. You must’ve had her young.” Then he waved a hand. “Sorry if that’s too personal of a comment. Not my business.”

  “Hey,” she said, “as long as it means I still look young, I’ll take it as a compliment. Anyway, I had trouble coping with all of it by myself so I got some help. It’s not a shameful thing to do.”

  “Is your cancer in remission?”

  “We think it still is,” she said. “But they’re, quote, keeping an eye on some abnormal cells. Which feels scary, as I’m sure you recall.”

  “Yeah.” His face went bleak, as bleak as she felt when she thought about the possibility of getting sick again. Of treatments and tests and doctor’s visits consuming all of her time. Of the major pain and minor discomforts of surgery. And most of all, the fear that she wouldn’t make it, that she wouldn’t get to do all the things she wanted to do, that she’d leave her daughter to grow the rest of the way up alone.

  Their eyes met, and it was like Amber could see the sadness in his soul, a sadness that echoed her own. It wasn’t often she felt understood, but she did now, in this moment.

  It felt a little too intense. “So,” she said, wanting to distract both of them, “I’ve decided I need to li
ve it up while I can.”

  “With your travels?”

  “No.” Her stomach twisted. “My doctors don’t think I should go. So I’m gonna have to live it up here,” she said. “I had cut back on the partying, but now that I have an empty nest and I’m tied to the area...”

  His face got stern and his eyes narrowed. “Don’t do something you’ll regret.”

  “Okay, Dad,” she said.

  “I mean it. You have so much to live for.”

  “So much living to do, too.” She met his intense gaze, and suddenly she wasn’t sure exactly what they were talking about.

  The moment lasted longer than it should have, but she couldn’t look away.

  His gaze flickered down to her lips, and then he sat up straighter and rubbed his hands together. “Well. We should talk about the program Mary was proposing. Are you on board for it?”

  “I told her I’d do it.”

  “Then we should figure out first steps.” His voice sounded tight, and when he got up and grabbed a pad and pencil, he dropped it twice. “So. Look for properties?”

  So. Calm, collected Paul Thompson wasn’t always in perfect control of himself. She liked that. And she couldn’t resist teasing him. “I’d love to go house hunting with you.”

  He glared at her. “Why do I have the feeling you’re playing with me?”

  “Would that be so terrible?” Her breathing hitched a little, but that was fine with her. Much more fun than thinking about the hard stuff.

  He frowned, but he also moved closer. “Stop it.” His eyes crinkled at the corners, which only emphasized their stormy expression.

  Her heart rate accelerated. “Stop what?”

  “Stop flirting. Or I’ll...”

  “You’ll what?” She raised an eyebrow.

  He leaned on the table in front of her, and suddenly their faces were just inches apart. “You know exactly what I’ll do,” he said.

  She sucked in a breath, staring at him.

  “But it wouldn’t be wise, and you know that, too.”

  “Right.” She scooted her chair back a little then, flustered.

  “Daddy, what are you doing?” came a small, sleepy voice.

  Amber didn’t know how to feel about Davey’s untimely appearance, but she should be grateful. The secrets she was carrying nixed the chance of any relationship between her and his way-too-appealing father.

  * * *

  AS MARY APPROACHED the first potential site for the new program she wanted to fund, her steps slowed. Would this be the right spot for victims of violent crime to heal?

  Three doors down from the Healing Heroes cottage, this place was a little bigger and had neighbors on each side. That was good. People who were still suffering fear wouldn’t want to be off on a lonely spit of land somewhere.

  Importantly, it was pretty and appealing. Even someone in the depths of despair couldn’t help but be charmed by the yellow Cape Cod–style home with a picket fence surrounding the yard and a front porch that would encourage residents to sit outside and meet people, become part of the neighborhood.

  Looking around the side of the cottage, she could see that a decent-sized yard led down to the bay, and that was good, too. Who could look out at the deep blue water, painted with whitecaps on this breezy, blue-sky day, and not get at least a little bit of healing?

  Gulls flew overhead, along with a V of geese. The birds honked and cried, and some neighborhood kids shouted and ran in the backyard next door, their moms chatting on the back step. The occasional car drove by. It was a quiet place, away from the noise and hectic sounds of the city. Again, that was healing. Victims needed to be able to hear their own thoughts if they were to find a way forward.

  So maybe this would be the place. She hoped so. She had to get this project off the ground before Imogene decided to come back and make demands.

  Amber and Paul appeared from behind the cottage. They walked oddly far apart. Mary knew what that meant, and it made her smile. Paradoxically, they were far apart because they were drawn to each other. She’d experienced the same a few times. What was it with the human resistance to connection?

  They saw her and waved, and she walked up the little flagstone path to meet them. They exchanged greetings and then started immediately to discuss the property.

  “It’s pretty secure, or it can be made so,” Paul said. “That is going to be the biggest priority.”

  Mary glanced at Amber, who was frowning a little. “The biggest priority is healing, I would think,” Amber said.

  “Which involves safety and security first,” Paul said firmly. They glared at each other, and then simultaneously looked away. Interesting.

  As they walked inside, Mary observed the outdated wallpaper, the stained carpets, the windows that rattled in the breeze. But they were big windows looking out on the bay, and that was important. They could easily be restored to look more modern and hold out the weather. The decor could be refreshed, too. Mary would enjoy doing that. She got a little burst of excitement at the thought.

  Paul moved ahead and started examining the window casings while Amber and Mary strolled through the old-fashioned kitchen. It was small, but a window over the sink looked out onto the backyard and the bay. There was a tiny table and an overhead fan. “It’ll need some updating,” Mary said as she studied the old gas stove.

  “Right, but you don’t want to lose the charm.” Amber leaned back against the counter. “What’s your interest in helping crime victims, anyway?”

  That was exactly what Mary didn’t want to discuss. There was no need to dig up all that old stuff—the real pain, but also the ugly, hurtful rumors and accusations. “It’s a cause I’ve always believed in,” she said, waving her hand. “It’s time to do something about it. Now or never.”

  “Uh-huh.” Amber raised an eyebrow but didn’t question her further.

  “Let’s look upstairs,” Mary said, and Amber led the way. There were three bedrooms, definitely in need of some decorating help, but structurally sound. Space for a family or visiting friends, which was nice. Being around others was key to mental health.

  They met back downstairs and stood on the porch discussing the place. “It’s nice,” Amber said. “Cute and cozy.”

  “Can be made secure,” Paul added, scanning the street in his cop-like way. “Could even be expanded later, if you wanted to.”

  “I like that idea.” Mary looked at the surrounding cottages. The one on their right belonged to the family who’d been outside earlier, but the tiny, royal blue one on the left she wasn’t sure about. She turned to Amber, who was looking in the same direction. “Know anything about that place?”

  “The blue house? It’s a rental, I know that,” Amber said. “Want me to look into it? See who’s renting it and whether it’s long-term or short-term?”

  “Perfect.” Mary loved having Amber in charge of this program. She was so competent. Made everything look easy.

  “I like the area,” Paul said. “Safe, and I think it would be important to have any place we choose be fairly close to downtown. That’s been a lot of fun for me and Davey, being able to walk a few blocks to get dinner or ice cream.”

  “One of Goody’s milkshakes could heal a lot of problems,” Mary agreed.

  Amber did a silly little dance. “We may have a winner! I’ll get on the research this afternoon.”

  Paul smiled, obviously enjoying Amber’s enthusiasm, and then looked past her down the street. His eyes narrowed. “Don’t look now,” he said quietly, “but there’s a woman who’s been lurking around. I think she’s coming this way.”

  Mary’s heart did a great thump, and she felt her shoulders tighten. “What does she look like?”

  “Dyed black hair, medium build, wearing jeans and a T-shirt. About fifty-five years old, and height of maybe five-six.”

  Mar
y’s head started to swim as Paul described Imogene. Just thinking of her stepdaughter catapulted Mary back into the most awful time of her past. A time she didn’t want to think about, losses she tried to push out of her mind, but Imogene wasn’t going to give her any choice.

  The fact that Mary couldn’t stand being around Imogene just made her feel more guilty. Imogene had lost so much through no fault of her own. It had all been Mary’s fault.

  And it was Mary’s problem to deal with. “I’m pretty sure I know who that is. I need to talk to her. Can you two take it from here? And write up a little report on what you find out?”

  “Of course.” Amber was studying her. “Are you okay? Do you want us to stay with you while you talk to her?”

  “No!” Mary responded too rapidly, making them both stare. “I need to speak with her alone. But I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.”

  Amber put an arm around her. “I am worried. And I’m going to call you later, whether you want me to or not.”

  “Fine, fine,” Mary said as she extricated herself from Amber’s half embrace. If Imogene saw Mary happy and close with someone else, it would just make her angry.

  She sucked in a deep breath, turned and there was Imogene standing on the sidewalk behind them, closer than Mary had expected although not close enough to hear what they’d been saying. “Hello, dear,” she said, and walked toward her stepdaughter, determined to take the high road. “I wasn’t sure if I’d see you again.”

  “You were hoping not, right?” Imogene said, her face—a face that had once been so pretty—twisting into a sneer.

  Mary sighed. “Let’s go down to Beach Street and walk along the bay. We can talk there.” And hopefully, the serene water and fresh breeze would give them both a little more insight and compassion.

  As they walked toward the bay, Imogene started talking and didn’t stop. “I’ve got to get some relief here,” she said. “I’ve been going under and it’s gotten really bad. I have a lot of bills due and I can’t pay them. I need your help.”

  “Of course, dear, I can help,” Mary said, even as she wondered what she was getting herself into. If she helped out with a little now, would Imogene continue coming to her every time she had a need? “Just show me your bills and we’ll take care of the most urgent ones. And then I can help you figure out a payment plan for the rest.”