Home for the Holidays

by Debbie Macomber

  Faith replaced the telephone receiver, and a happy feeling spread through her. What had felt like a disaster a few days earlier now seemed to be working wonderfully well—for her and her dearest friend.

  As if her thoughts had awakened him, Charles opened the door to the den and stepped out, still yawning.

  “Just as I suspected,” Faith teased. “You were napping.”

  “I intended to revise the first chapter,” he muttered, rubbing his eyes, “but the minute I sat down in that warm, quiet room, I was lost. Thank goodness there’s a comfortable sofa in there or I would’ve fallen asleep with my head on the keyboard.”

  Faith had taken more than one nap in Emily’s comfortable den, perhaps her favorite room in the house. In the early years, it had been Heather’s bedroom, but as she grew up, Heather had wanted more privacy and claimed the room at the top of the stairs. Emily had transformed her daughter’s former bedroom into a library, with books in every conceivable place. A desk and computer took up one wall, and the worn leather couch another. A hand-knit afghan was draped over its back for those times when reading led to napping…. She’d spent many a lazy winter afternoon on that couch, Faith recalled.

  “What have you been up to?” Charles asked.

  “I called Emily in Boston to see how she’s doing,” she told him.

  Charles poured a mug of coffee. “Is she having any problems?”

  “No. In fact, it seems your brother’s decided to stay on.”

  “Stay on what?”

  “In Boston with Emily.”

  Charles’s eyes widened as he stared at her. “Let me see if I’m hearing you right. My brother didn’t return to New York?”

  “Nope.” Faith loved the look of absolute shock. She wondered if Ray had shown the same degree of astonishment when he learned how well his brother had adjusted to Leavenworth and being with her.

  “Has something happened in New York that I don’t know about?” Charles asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Has the city been snowed in or has there been a train strike? That sort of thing?”

  “Not that I’ve heard. I had the radio on earlier and they didn’t mention anything. Why?”

  “Why? Because my brother is a dyed-in-the-wool workaholic. Nothing keeps him away from his desk.”

  “Well, he’s taking a few days off to spend with Emily.”

  Charles took a sip of coffee, as though he needed time to mull over what she’d told him. “Your friend must be one hell of a woman.”

  “She is.” That was the simple truth.

  Still distracted, Charles pulled out a kitchen chair and sat down. He glanced around and seemed to notice for the first time that she’d been busy. “You put up those decorations?”

  “I didn’t think you’d mind.” She felt a bit uneasy about that now. Emily had a number of Christmas things she hadn’t bothered to display this year; she’d obviously taken the rest of them to Boston. Faith had brought a few of her own decorations, as well. While everything was quiet, she’d unpacked the special ones and displayed them throughout the house. The tiny Christmas tree with red velvet bows stood on the mantel, and so did a small manger scene that Heather had loved since childhood. Emily’s Christmas teapot, white china with holly decorations, now held pride of place on the kitchen counter.

  Charles wandered into the dining room, Faith on his heels. “What’s this?” he asked, motioning toward the centerpiece on the dining-room table.

  “A cottonball snowman. Heather made it for Emily when she was eight. She was so proud of it, which is why Emily’s kept it all these years.”

  Charles seemed puzzled, as if he couldn’t quite grasp the beauty of the piece. Bells chimed softly from outside and Faith looked out the large picture window to see the horse-drawn sleigh gliding past.

  “Charles, let’s go for a sleigh ride,” she said impulsively. For Faith, it was a highlight of the first and only Christmas she’d spent in Leavenworth—until now. It was the Christmas following her divorce. The sleigh ride, which she’d taken alone, had comforted her. That, and Emily’s friendship, had made a painful Christmas tolerable, even pleasant. Her sleigh ride had shown her that being alone could bring its own contentment, its own pleasures. And spending Christmas Day with Emily and Heather had taught her that friendship could lend value to life.

  Charles seemed startled by her invitation, then shook his head. “No, thanks.”

  “It’s even more fun than sledding,” she coaxed.

  Still he declined.

  “Well, come and stand in line with me while I wait my turn.”

  For a moment she thought he’d refuse, but then he nodded. “As long as the line isn’t too long.”

  “Okay.”

  Dressed in their coats, boots, scarves and gloves, they strolled downtown, walking arm in arm. Night had settled over the small town, and festive activities abounded. The carolers in period costumes were out, standing on street corners singing. The Salvation Army band played Christmas music in the park, as ice skaters circled the frozen pond. Glittering multicolored lights brightened the streets and the town was bustling with shoppers.

  Fortunately, the line for the sleigh ride wasn’t too long and while she waited, Charles bought them cups of creamy hot chocolate. “I’m so glad I remembered the sleigh ride,” she said, holding her hot chocolate with gloved hands.

  “Why’s that?” Charles asked.

  She shrugged, sipping at her chocolate. “I think I mentioned that I did my student teaching in Leavenworth—that’s when I met Emily. Those months were hard on me emotionally. I’d only recently been divorced and I was feeling pretty bad. Before me, no one in my family had ever gotten a divorce.”

  “No one?”

  “Not in my immediate family. My parents, grandparents and sister were all happily married, and it really hurt my pride to admit that I’d made a mistake. I blamed myself because I hadn’t listened when my parents warned me about Douglas.”

  “What happened?”

  “My husband had a problem—he needed the approval and love of other women. Even now, I believe he loved me to the best of his ability, but Douglas could never be tied to a single woman.”

  “I see.”

  “I forgave him the first time he was unfaithful, although it nearly killed me, but the second time I knew this would always be a pattern with him. I thought—I hoped that if I got out of the marriage early enough, I’d be all right, but…I wasn’t. I’m not.”

  Charles moved closer to her, and Faith looked down, tears blurring her eyes. She blinked them away and tried to compose herself, sipping the hot cocoa.

  “Why aren’t you all right? What do you mean?” he asked.

  “I can’t trust men anymore. I’m afraid of relationships. Look at me,” she whispered. “Five years later, and I rarely date. All my dreams of marriage and family are gone and—” Resolutely she closed her mouth. What had possessed her to tell him this? “Listen,” she told him, forcing a cheerful note into her voice, “forget I said anything.”

  Charles didn’t answer right away. “I don’t know if I can.”

  “Then pretend you have. Otherwise I’m going to feel embarrassed.”

  “Why should you?”

  She shook her head. She hardly ever mentioned her divorce, not to anyone. Yet here she was, standing in the middle of this vibrant town in the most joyous season of the year, fighting back tears—spilling her heart to a man she hardly knew.

  The sleigh glided up to the stop and the bells chimed as the chestnut mare bowed her head. The driver climbed down from his perch and offered Faith his hand. “Just one ticket,” she said, about to give him the money.

  “Make that two,” Charles said, paying the driver. Without explaining why he’d changed his mind, he stepped up into the sleigh and settled on the narrow bench next to Faith.

  The driver leaped back into the seat and took the reins.

  Faith spread the woolen blanket over their laps. “What
made you decide to come?” she asked.

  He stared at her for a long moment. “I don’t know…I just didn’t want to leave you.” He slid his arm around her shoulders and held her close. Warmth seeped into her blood. She hadn’t realized how cold she was, but now Charles Brewster sat beside her in a one-horse open sleigh, two days before Christmas, and she felt warm, happy…and complete.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Emily woke the morning of Christmas Eve and stared up at the bedroom ceiling, musing that this was by far the most unusual Christmas of her life.

  Not since the first Christmas following Peter’s death had she dealt with such complex emotions during the holidays. For one thing, she’d been forced to acknowledge that Heather was an adult now, making her own decisions without the counsel of her mother.

  As if that wasn’t strange enough, Emily was in emotionally unfamiliar territory, living with a man she’d only known a few days. She sat up in bed and reviewed their time together. Ray was a hotshot New York publisher badly in need of a vacation, a career bachelor by all accounts. She was a widow and a small-town kindergarten teacher. Their meeting was accidental, as amusing as it was unexpected. They got along well, laughed together, and enjoyed each other’s company. Much as she wanted to continue the relationship, Emily was realistic enough to accept that in a few days they’d both go back to their individual lives, three thousand miles apart. She decided then and there to make the most of their remaining time together.

  After a quick shower, she dressed and emerged from the bedroom to discover that Ray was already up and reading the morning paper. The coffee was made. When she entered the kitchen, he lowered the newspaper and smiled.

  “What’s on the agenda for today?” he asked.

  Emily wasn’t sure. Back in Leavenworth, she’d be delivering charity baskets in the afternoon. Then, after a dinner of homemade clam chowder with Heather, followed by hot apple cider, she’d get ready for the Christmas Eve service at church. Home again, they’d go to bed, looking forward to a lazy Christmas morning, when they’d open their gifts and enjoy a late breakfast.

  “I don’t know what to do today,” she said, feeling at a loss. “This year is completely unlike any I’ve ever experienced.”

  “What would you like to do?”

  They’d spent their days sightseeing, and while Emily had thoroughly enjoyed this tour of American history, she wanted to concentrate on the season now.

  “I’d like to bake cinnamon rolls,” she said, coming to the decision quickly. “I do every year, specially for breakfast on Christmas morning. I think that would put me in the holiday spirit more than anything.”

  “Sounds fantastic. While you’re doing that, I’ll shop for our Christmas dinner. What shall we have?”

  Emily shrugged. “A turkey might be a bit much for just the two of us.”

  “Didn’t you say something about lobster earlier?” Ray asked.

  She nodded, smiling. “Lobster would be perfect.”

  Emily must’ve realized she’d want to bake bread, because she’d tossed in a packet of yeast when she’d bought the supplies for her cookie-baking venture. She began to systematically search the kitchen cupboards for bowls and pans.

  When Ray finished reading the paper, he put on his overcoat. On his way out the door, he came into the kitchen, where Emily was busy assembling ingredients. The recipe was a longtime family favorite, one she knew by heart. Ray took her by the shoulders and turned her so she couldn’t avoid looking at him.

  “I know this Christmas isn’t anything like you anticipated, and I’m sorry about that. But it’s the best Christmas I’ve had since I was a kid—the year my dad got me the red racing bike I so desperately wanted.”

  “Oh, Ray,” she whispered, “that’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me in a long, long time.” Unable to resist, she slipped her arms around his waist and hugged him. She hadn’t been this intimate with a man in years, nor had she felt such longing. He didn’t kiss her and, although she was disappointed, she applauded his restraint. There’d be time later to enjoy the sweetness of each other’s company.

  Whistling, Ray left the condo, and as soon as she’d mixed the dough, Emily set it in a slightly warmed oven to rise. Pulling on her coat, gloves and scarf, she hurried out the door. She wanted to buy Ray a Christmas gift and while she was at it, she needed to stop at the grocery store.

  The weather was exactly as it should be: cold and clear, with snow falling lightly. Everyone seemed to be bustling about, intent on last-minute Christmas shopping. There was an infectious spirit of joy and goodwill wherever she went.

  Ninety minutes later, when Emily returned to the condo, her arms were laden with packages and groceries. She hummed a Christmas carol as she waited for the elevator. She hoped Ray had returned, too, but when she walked inside, the condo was silent and empty.

  As quickly as she could, she unloaded her packages, hung up her coat and hid Ray’s present in the bedroom to be wrapped that afternoon. She turned on the gas fireplace, and gentle flames flickered over the artificial log. She went to the radio next, and an instant later, the condo was filled with the glorious sounds of holiday music.

  Ray didn’t come back for another hour; among his purchases was a couple of deli sandwiches. Emily had been so busy, she’d forgotten to eat breakfast and it was now well past lunchtime.

  “I think I should probably put these lobsters in water,” he said, setting a large box on the counter. He filled the sink. “Should I add salt?”

  “Salt?”

  “They live in salt water. They might need it.”

  “I don’t think so.” Emily was preoccupied with unwrapping the sandwiches. Not until she turned around did she notice two huge lobsters looking directly at her. “They’re alive!” She felt sorry for them and while Ray carried their sandwiches to the table, she released the rubber bands holding their claws together. Poor things, it seemed a shame to keep them prisoner.

  Ray got two cold sodas from the refrigerator. “I wasn’t sure about getting live lobsters, but I figured I could always exchange them if you’d rather.”

  “Ah…” Emily was afraid to admit she’d never cooked a live lobster in her life. Nor had she ever eaten anything more than a lobster tail. “This should be…well, a challenge.”

  “We’ll figure it out,” Ray said.

  Emily agreed. They were both hungry and didn’t attempt conversation until they’d finished lunch. To all outward appearances, they were like a long-married couple anticipating each other’s needs. Ray handed her a napkin, she gave him the pepper mill, all without exchanging a word.

  “Since neither of us knows that much about cooking lobsters, perhaps I should exchange these for cooked ones,” Ray suggested once they’d eaten.

  “That might be best.” She took their empty plates into the kitchen and let out a small cry.

  “What?” Ray demanded.

  “One of the lobsters is missing.”

  “What do you mean, missing?”

  “There’s only one in the sink.”

  “That’s impossible.”

  “I’m telling you there’s only one lobster in the sink.”

  Ray entered the kitchen and stared into the sink. “One of the lobsters is missing.”

  Emily placed her hand on her hip. “The editor’s eye misses nothing,” she teased.

  “Where could it have gone?”

  “That’s for you to find out. I’ve got dough to knead.” She moved to the oven and was about to remove the bowl when she felt something attach itself to her pant leg. Glancing down she saw the lobster.

  “Ah…Ray.” She held out her leg. “I found the lobster.”

  “I can see that.” He squatted down and petted the creature’s head as if it were his favorite pet.

  “You might want to detach him from my pant leg.”

  Ray frowned. “How did the rubber band get off his claws?”

  “Er…I took them off. It seemed cruel.”


  “I see.”

  “Ray, this is all very interesting, but I’d prefer not to be worrying about this lobster crawling up my leg.” She was trying hard not to giggle.

  “If you have any ideas on how to remove him, let me know.”

  Emily tried to shake her leg, but the lobster was firmly affixed. Ray started to laugh then, and she found it impossible not to join him.

  “What are we going to do?” she asked between giggles.

  “I don’t know.” Ray bent down and tugged at her jeans, but the lobster wasn’t letting go. “Maybe you should take off your pants.”

  “Oh, sure.”

  “I’m not kidding.”

  By then, they were nearly hysterical with laughter. Emily leaned against the kitchen counter, her hand over her mouth, tears running down her cheeks. Ray sat on the floor.

  “You’ve got yourself quite a mess here.”

  “Just return me with the lobster.” Emily could picture it now: Ray walking into the fish market, with her slung over his shoulder, the lobster dangling from her pant leg.

  They burst into laughter again.

  There was a knock at the door, and Ray, still laughing, left the room. It must be one of the neighbors, Emily supposed, someone else who lived on this floor. She went with Ray, not about to let him escape without helping her first. They had their arms around each other and were nearly doubled over with laughter when he opened the door.

  An older woman stood on the other side, wearing a fur coat and an elaborate hat with a protruding feather. Cradled in the folds of her fur was a white Pomeranian. The dog took one look at Emily and growled.

  “Ray!”

  “Mother!”

  After a few seconds’ silence, he asked, “How did you get in?”

  “Some nice young man opened the door for me.” She glared at Emily. “And who’s this?” Bernice Brewster demanded.

  Ray looked at Emily and started laughing all over again. “Do you mean Emily or were you referring to the lobster?”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Faith hoped it would snow on Christmas Eve; to her disappointment the day was cold and bright, but there was no sign of snow. Charles had gone out on some errand, and she’d stayed home, her favorite Christmas CD playing as she flipped through Emily’s cookbooks, looking for Christmas dinner ideas. Really, she should’ve thought about this earlier. Charles had suggested a roast, and she was beginning to think that was a good plan. Since she’d never made a turkey, she was a little intimidated by the prospect.