The Giving Heart

by Toni Blake

  Another hour later, he’d wrapped the strings of lights around the many stakes he’d managed to pound into the cold, hard ground. And he was feeling pretty good about how it was coming together—until...damn, turned out he was short on lights, after all. He hadn’t quite made it around the E in Cade when he ran out. Shit.

  He weighed options. He could just quit. Would Cade ever really know the E was incomplete? But somehow, after all this work, leaving it that way felt wrong. Which meant unwrapping a bunch of the lights and reconfiguring the stakes. Which would suck big-time. He blew out a tired sigh, disgusted by the prospect.

  “You really are a good man, Indiana Jones.”

  He looked up, nearly snow-blind now, but not so much that he didn’t see the lovely figure of Lila Sloan coming toward him in a parka and boots, toting large shopping bags in each hand.

  Simply the sight of her—her tousled hair, her pretty smile—warmed him up inside right when he’d gone completely cold to the bone. It was easy to smile back. “Just trying to make the little guy’s Christmas good despite being stuck here,” he told her.

  She scanned the yard, taking in the conglomeration of lights strung in lines and curves just above the snow. “I’m not sure what I’m seeing here,” she said, “but it’s phenomenal.” Then she motioned to the bags she carried. “Though maybe I’m too late with the lights.”

  “No!” he said, letting his eyes widen. “Oh my God—you have no idea how happy I am to hear there are lights in those bags. You’re a lifesaver. I just ran out. Only need a few more, but wasn’t sure where I was gonna get them. So this is great.”

  She graced him with another lovely smile. “Good, I’m glad.” Then she jiggled one of the bags and said, “Only lights in this one, though. I brought a couple of games, too. They’re wrapped, but KerPlunk and Candy Land are from me, and played with joy at the inn as a child, so they come with happy memories.”

  “Thank you, honey,” he said warmly, fighting the inherent desire to lean over and kiss her forehead. That was his natural urge with her now—to kiss her, touch her, get closer to her. Instead he had to settle for adding, “It was sweet of you to walk them all the way up here.”

  She shrugged, still smiling softly. “I missed the sleigh departure at the market. Late elf.”

  It made him laugh. Made him want to say Cute elf—but he held back. Flirtation seemed obsolete at this point, like it was too trivial for their circumstances. “Sweet of you to find something for him, too.”

  Another pleasant shrug from her. “It’s bad enough being stranded here for the holiday as an adult—it would be much worse if I worried Santa couldn’t find me.”

  He grinned. “Exactly. I figure we don’t all have to suffer.”

  When something in her eyes changed then, he realized she’d heard his words in a way that went beyond being island-bound for Christmas. She was suffering, too, same as him. And he hated it. For both of them.

  “All right if I leave these here?” she asked, setting her bags down next to some of his tools.

  “Of course—sure.”

  She lowered them to the snow, then pointed over her shoulder. “Well, I should go.”

  He nodded acceptingly, wishing he could fix things, not leave them broken, the way his father had. But he didn’t know how. Maybe his dad hadn’t known how, either.

  “Merry Christmas, Lila,” he said.

  “Merry Christmas, Beck.”

  * * *

  “DON’T SUPPOSE THERE’S any change in the ferry situation?” Meg asked Lila on the phone.

  Lila lounged in the big easy chair in the nook, stroking Miss Kitty, feeling wistful. “No. And I heard some people looked into the idea of flying out, but the weather has prevented that, too—something about the ceiling being too low, whatever that means.”

  “Maybe when we hang up,” Meg said, “I’ll call the ferry runners. I’ve known them forever—maybe they can give me some insider information.”

  “That’s a nice idea, but I can’t imagine you’re suddenly going to get the ferry moving.” Although it touched her to know Meg felt as disappointed about this as she did.

  “You’re right,” Meg said evenly, sullenly. “Guess I’m just grasping at straws, trying to fix something that can’t be fixed.”

  Tell me about it. Things that couldn’t be fixed were the bane of Lila’s existence lately. But... “I guess I just have to look on the bright side here.”

  “Which is?” Meg inquired.

  Damn good question. Lila thought about it for a minute and finally said, “Well, I have a warm house to sleep in, a lovely Christmas tree to look at, a cat to pet, and people to eat dinner with tomorrow—even if I expect Zack to make it awkward.”

  “You put up a tree?” Meg asked, clearly surprised.

  Oh. Lila had momentarily forgotten she hadn’t mentioned that. But it had, of course, been for an obvious reason. “Um...yes.”

  “And...why do you suddenly sound very cryptic about it?”

  Lila sighed. “Let’s just say I have a lot to tell you when the ice melts.” And...maybe by then there would be even more to tell.

  It was a big maybe.

  But she kept thinking about not only forgiving but...forgetting. And stubbornness. And not letting past events determine her future. She still wasn’t sure of much, but she was sure Beck was the man she wanted. If only she could figure out how to make it okay to love him.

  * * *

  ON CHRISTMAS EVE, the sun came out for the first time Beck could remember in a while, and the thermostat beside his back door pushed upward of forty degrees.

  It was even warm enough out that he and Cade built a new snowman—though this one they constructed in Beck’s yard so as not to disturb the complex network of light cords criss-crossing the snow-covered lawn at the Waltons’.

  After that came an afternoon spent working jigsaw puzzles with Cade and George—George’s idea and George’s puzzles, so Beck still didn’t know if kids were actually into puzzles these days. Marie made them all sandwiches, telling Beck, “We’re eating light today to get ready for tomorrow.” After the meal, George opened his laptop and pulled up the website that tracked Santa’s movements on Christmas Eve—and they determined that Cade would have to go to bed early and be sure to stay there so Santa could come.

  When darkness fell, Beck instructed the three Waltons to head upstairs and look out a second floor window. After which he tossed on his coat, went outside, flipped a switch, and lit up West Bluff Drive with a light display that rivaled the best of them.

  It had taken several thousand lights, but an enormous illuminated arrow pointed toward the house, along with more lights spelling out the words: SANTA, STOP HERE FOR CADE.

  Beck hadn’t actually seen it himself yet—he hadn’t had the convenience of a test run. But he hoped it looked as good as he intended and assured Cade that Santa wouldn’t miss him.

  A moment later, the front door burst open and his little friend came running out. “Becker, Becker! Oh my gosh! Santa can find me now! Santa can really find me! You’re the best! I love you!” And with that, the little boy threw his arms around Beck’s hips and squeezed tight—and Beck bent to hug him back.

  Without warning, he suddenly understood what his dad had felt from giving, from helping someone. And he couldn’t deny it was pretty awesome.

  * * *

  IT WAS JUST past nine when Beck received a text from George letting him know Cade was fast asleep and it was safe to start bringing over the presents from Santa. It took a lot of trips, but Beck didn’t mind. George offered to help, but given the snow and the darkness that had dropped temps a little, he refused to let him, seeing no reason to put the elderly man at risk of slipping and falling when he was able-bodied enough to do it all himself.

  George held the door open each time he arrived with a new armload of the gifts the islanders
had donated on short notice. The bike, all the wrapped games and toys, the stuffed dog. Turned out there was also a kid’s hockey set and a brand new sled—the old-fashioned kind Beck had used as a boy—that he hadn’t even seen when he and Anson had been unloading the big sleigh yesterday.

  Even though he figured little kids slept pretty soundly, he tried to stay quiet as he came and went. By the time he brought the last few packages over, Marie had arranged all the gifts beneath their Christmas tree in a way that left no doubt Santa Claus had indeed come down the Walton chimney. “This looks great, Marie,” he said quietly.

  The older lady beamed. “I can’t imagine the look on Cade’s face tomorrow morning. He was practically bouncing off the walls all evening after seeing the lights outside—just so excited about Santa being on his way.”

  Beck hadn’t wrapped the stuffed dog from Mrs. Hobbs, and now, though it looked cute enough sitting atop a large wrapped box, Beck couldn’t help thinking it needed a little something to jazz it up. Since it wasn’t a real puppy, he wanted to make the fake one as good as possible. “Marie, do you have any red ribbon?”

  “Does she?” George chimed in. “Woman hoards ribbon like a mouse hoards cheese.”

  Beck chuckled. “Just thinking maybe that dog could use a bow around his neck.”

  Marie stood back and eyed the stuffed animal. “You’re right, Beck. Let’s go find just the right one.”

  Beck wasn’t sure it needed to be “just the right one,” but was happy enough to indulge Marie in the whim as she led him down the hall and into a craft room, one side of it indeed overflowing with ribbon, thick and thin, fancy and simple, in just about every color, on a large ceiling-to-floor rack against one wall. George hadn’t been kidding.

  Together, Beck and Marie cut a strip of velvety red ribbon, then returned to the living room where she tied it in a tiny bow around the dog’s neck. “What do you think?” she asked after putting the stuffed dog back in place.

  “Perfect,” Beck told her, grateful to have been able to pull this together for his special little friend. He wouldn’t be here to see Cade open it all in the morning, but that was okay—he’d catch up with him afterward.

  “Then our work is done,” George said, “and we can enjoy the reward. Have a seat and dig in.” He pointed to the plate of cookies Cade had dutifully set out for Santa on the coffee table, a glass of milk beside it.

  It surprised Beck to realize he would have enjoyed sitting and talking with his neighbors all night. He wasn’t normally that gregarious, but the fact that it was Christmas, and a much different, quieter one than he’d expected, left a nagging sort of wistfulness in his belly. He supposed it was just nice to be with other people this time of year.

  But it was nearly eleven and he didn’t want to overstay his welcome, so after two cookies, he pushed to his feet and announced that he’d better head home. As if he was needed there. As if someone was waiting for him. It was the first time since his divorce that he wished it were true. And maybe it was only because of spending Christmas without his loved ones. Or maybe it was an ache that went deeper.

  George walked him to the door—and then surprised Beck by giving him a heartfelt hug. “Thank you for making a little boy’s Christmas special. You’re a fine man, Beck Grainger.”

  “And I’m sure Cade will be running over to your house at some point tomorrow morning,” Marie told him, “but George and I will expect you for Christmas lunch promptly at one.”

  The invitation warmed Beck’s heart. “That sounds nice,” he said with a smile. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

  As he stepped back out into the brisk air, he looked up and realized that, just as with the sun this morning, it was the first night in a week that he’d been able to see any stars. Even with the temporary light pollution he’d added to the area, a million twinkling stars lit the darkness, the universe adding its own Christmas lights up in the sky.

  Making his way through the snow down past the stakes and lights, George’s words echoed in his ears. People kept telling him what a fine man he was. And he’d always aspired to be a good enough person—but did he feel like that, like a fine man?

  Maybe his doubt was unfounded—maybe it was like Lila beating herself up over things she’d never done wrong. Maybe years of criticism from his father had bored its way into Beck’s psyche.

  And maybe he thought a fine man had to have done more to earn the title: Abraham Lincoln was a fine man. Martin Luther King Jr. was a fine man.

  Or maybe it was simpler. And perhaps his doubt came from someplace closer to home.

  Maybe he’d never feel like a fine man until he truly forgave his father, completely, for the rifts between them, and forgave himself for his part in it, too.

  Maybe he’d never feel like a fine man until he found a way to make it up to his mother and sister for having been largely absent from their lives for so long.

  Maybe he’d never be a fine man until he managed to make the woman he loved happy.

  And maybe it was high time he start figuring out how.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  BECAUSE DAHLIA LIVED on the far side of Lakeview Park, and the rest of her Christmas dinner guests did not, she’d decided to prepare the meal and celebrate the day at the café. Which Suzanne thought just as warm and inviting as anyplace, so it was with a happy heart that she made the short walk there early on Christmas Day to help her friend prepare the feast. Well, as happy as it could be under various circumstances.

  Yes, a few days ago she’d hoped that Beck might be part of her holiday, that she might now be in the throes of a fresh, new, exhilarating romance. Yes, her heart ached in a deflating new way for the loss of even the possibility. Sometimes even mere possibility was the spark that ignited a flame in the soul and lifted you up to move forward—and she’d lost that. And she truly didn’t relish spending the dinner with the curmudgeonly Zack. She’d always thought him generally selfish and inconsiderate, but losing Meg had pushed him into the curmudgeonly zone. As if the loss wasn’t completely his own fault.

  But she tried to look on the bright side. The sun was shining again, making the day both merry and bright. With just a few words, she’d made amends with Lila—and despite wishing she’d taken the step herself to mend fences with Meg’s sister, she was simply relieved that bit of unease would be lifted from the day. She had people to spend the holiday with—and perhaps the combination of Dahlia, Lila, and the debonair Mr. Desjardins would be enough to keep Zack amiable. She had a warm home, and a business she loved, and soon she’d have Meg back, too. And one night soon, after Meg got home and settled, Suzanne intended to steal her away from Seth so they could eat ice cream and watch chick flicks and she could tell Meg everything that had happened—and hadn’t happened—with Beck. And Meg, being Meg, would somehow help her be content again.

  It was just as she reached the packed snow covering the walkway to the café that she heard a cheerful toot toot and looked up to see a ferry boat chugging its way past the South Point Lighthouse toward St. Simon. She blinked to make sure she wasn’t imagining it. Nope, still there.

  A moment later, she stepped into the café to find Dahlia setting a table near the fireplace, already popping and cracking with a cozy flame. “Merry Christmas,” Suzanne said.

  Dahlia looked up with a smile, a plate painted with red-nosed reindeers around the rim in her hand. “And the same to you,” she replied.

  As Suzanne began unwrapping her winter wear by the door, she said, “Did you know the ferry is running?”

  Dahlia nodded calmly, lowering the last plate onto the table, centering it just so on a sparkly green placemat. “The ice cleared.” Then she lifted her gaze back to Suzanne, her eyes filled with unmistakable sorrow. “Mr. Desjardins left on the ferry just a few minutes ago.”

  Oh God. Mr. Desjardins had left? Just like that? With no warning? Dropping the tails of her scarf, ab
andoning the unwrapping altogether, Suzanne stepped closer to her friend. “I’m so sorry to hear that. He...didn’t want to stay?”

  “Actually,” Dahlia told her softly, brow knit, “he did. But I told him he should go. That he should be with his daughter on Christmas. And that all good things must end.”

  Suzanne let out a sigh, feeling far less cheerful now, and despite herself, almost angry at Dahlia for pushing away the affections of a worthy man. “Why? Why did you send him away? And on Christmas Day, no less.”

  Dahlia offered up a tired sort of shrug. “I’m better off on my own, that’s all.”

  Suzanne blinked, chest tight, still frustrated. “Then why do you look so sad?”

  “I’m not,” Dahlia insisted.

  “Are you sure?”

  “No,” she confessed simply. Then put on a smile that appeared stiff and forced as she came close enough to lock her arm through Suzanne’s. “But it’s Christmas—I’ll deal with everything else another day. Let us make merry, my girl.”

  * * *

  BECK AWOKE FEELING more energetic than he had in days—hell, maybe weeks. It was the kind of energy that came from inside—a little nervous, a little excited. He laughed, realizing it wasn’t unlike what a kid feels on Christmas morning. He cautiously hoped his Christmas might turn out better than he’d thought it could a mere twelve hours ago when he’d left the Walton house.

  He’d wished for quite a few holiday miracles in the last few weeks, and none of them had panned out—so maybe he shouldn’t be optimistic. But he was anyway. And even if his plans for the day didn’t turn out the way he hoped...well, regardless, he knew his father would be proud of the decision he’d made.

  He pushed up from the bed, wondering if Cade had found his presents under the tree yet. And when his phone buzzed the arrival of a text as he made his way down the hall, he wasn’t surprised to glance down and see it had come from George. What did surprise him was the message itself: Don’t know if you’ve heard, but the ferries are running. We’ve decided to keep our plans for the day, but pack up this evening and leave tomorrow morning. So Christmas lunch is still on, but we won’t hold you to it if you decide to head south.