A Bravo for Christmas

by Christine Rimmer

  So Darius ordered pizza. While they waited for the delivery guy from Romano’s, Sylvie called her grandparents to say she was going to be okay now, but she’d had an accident and there were stitches and it really, really hurt. Then Annabelle called to see how Sylvie was doing, and Sylvie told her friend everything that had happened after Dare put her in his crew cab and headed for Justice Creek General. Sylvie sat at the kitchen table for the calls, and Dare and Ava sat with her. It was kind of an all-about-Sylvie evening, which was just fine with Dare.

  After dinner, they played a board game. By the end of the game, Sylvie complained that her chin had started hurting again. And she kept yawning. All the excitement had worn her out. Ava gave her a mild painkiller.

  A few minutes later, Sylvie dropped off to sleep on the couch. Ava carried her upstairs to put her to bed.

  Dare sat in the chair by the Christmas tree and waited for her to come back down. He felt good—full of hope again. He’d been there when Sylvie needed him; he’d taken good care of her. And the way Ava had looked at him in the emergency room... Gratefully, yeah, but more than that, with acceptance, it seemed to him. With something damn close to love.

  They were going to work through whatever was bothering her, work through it and come out strong, together.

  He heard the whisper of her stocking feet coming toward him from the stairs and glanced toward the sound.

  And what he saw when he met her eyes made the new hope inside him shrivel up and crumble to dust.

  * * *

  She led him to the bedroom and shut and locked the door.

  Because they needed privacy. And he knew from the set of her shoulders and the bleak purpose in her eyes that it wasn’t lovemaking they needed it for.

  She sat on the bed. He considered sitting next to her. But he didn’t feel welcome there, somehow. So he took the chair across the rug from her.

  She gazed at him so somberly, her soft mouth drawn down. His gut twisted, the crappy certainty increasing that this would not be good. “You were wonderful today, with Sylvie. Thank you.”

  “You thanked me already, at the hospital. Once was more than enough.”

  “I just want you to know how much I appreciate—”

  “Ava. What are you doing? What’s going on?” It came out gruff, with a side of angry. Not the way to go here. This situation called for patience on his part. He knew that.

  But he was kind of running low on the whole patience thing. He was getting really tired of trying to be understanding when she only pushed him away and refused to tell him what held her back from opening up to him.

  Opening up. He’d actually believed he could open her up. He’d been patting himself on the back for finally stepping up as a man, for loving her and owning that love, for wanting only to give her the time and space to love him back.

  He’d been so sure at the hospital that they were on the right track now, been certain that she loved him, too. He’d actually imagined for a little while there that she’d finally realized he only wanted to take care of her and her daughter, that she knew he loved her and she was ready to accept his love.

  But he’d been wrong. Again.

  And he was tired of getting nowhere with her. Right now, all his touchy-feely hopes of getting closer to her just embarrassed him. They made him feel like a fool, like a piss-poor excuse for a man. A man shouldn’t be after a woman to open up to him. A man should have sense enough to let a woman run the emotional side of things. Women were so much better at all that.

  Most women, anyway.

  “Sylvie loves you,” she said. “She’s getting way too attached to you.”

  “I love her, too. I feel attached to her, too. And I fail to see why there’s anything wrong with that.”

  “It’s not what we agreed on.”

  “Agreed on when?”

  “At first.”

  “So that’s it, then? We’re going backward now? You want me to keep my distance from Sylvie now, is that what you’re saying?”

  “I think it would be for the best.”

  The best? “You are so far past wrong I don’t even know what to say to you.”

  “You’re angry.”

  “You bet I am. And you’re scared. Of you and me. Of what we could have together. Of letting me be there for Sylvie. You’re scared, and instead of trying to figure out why and deal with it, you’re shutting me down—the same as you did when you were fifteen years old. So that means you are right about one thing, Ava—right about what you said the other night. You’re wrecking this. Wrecking us.”

  “You just don’t see...”

  He leaned toward her, braced his elbows on his spread knees and folded his hands between them. “So make me see. Explain it to me.”

  “I...I don’t know if I can.”

  “Try.”

  She glanced away, toward the door. He kept his gaze squarely on her until she faced him again. “Fine.” Her eyes had a spark in them now—a furious light. “When I lost Craig, I promised myself that I would never have to hurt that much again. People think love is so wonderful, love is the answer, love makes life worthwhile. But love—the kind between a man and a woman, I mean—well, it hasn’t worked out all that great for me. My dad loved my mom so much that when she got sick, he couldn’t even function. He was out of work for years, hovering over my mom, holding her hand, waiting for her to get better while we lost our house and my brothers and I ended up in foster care—where I met Trevor. Yet another example of love gone crazy bad. After Trevor, I promised myself never again.”

  “Ava, you were, what? Twelve?”

  “Eleven,” she corrected tightly.

  “You can’t make a call like that when you’re eleven.”

  “So you say, because, yeah, your family had issues, I know, but you always felt safe, didn’t you? You didn’t get thrown out of the home you loved. You didn’t end up becoming some psycho’s preteen girlfriend in foster care.”

  “Come on, Ava. You did try again, with your husband. And everyone, including you, says that Craig Malloy was a stand-up guy, that he loved you and you loved him.”

  “Yes. That’s true. Craig was a really good guy. And he loved me, and I couldn’t help myself, I fell in love with him, too. Except he was in the service and his work was dangerous. I told him straight out I wanted security—financially as well as just generally in life. I said I couldn’t marry a soldier, that I couldn’t stand to spend my days wondering if he was okay and if he would ever come home. He said he would resign from the Marine Corps. So I married him. And somehow, it was always one more deployment and his guys needed him and why couldn’t I understand? So I told myself to get over it, that he bled green and what he did mattered. It mattered. And then he died. Died for what he believed in. Died when his little girl was just one year old. I guess I could kind of say he died for love, now, couldn’t I? He died and left me to carry on alone. Well, okay. I’m alone. And I’m used to being alone. I take care of myself and my daughter. And I do a damn fine job of it, too.”

  “Yeah. Yeah, you do. But that’s no reason not to want more.”

  “You don’t get it. You refuse to get it. The reason is that it hurts, Dare. It hurts so bad, when everything goes wrong.” She wasn’t budging. Not an inch.

  He should shut the hell up and leave. But somehow, he couldn’t stop himself. He just had to keep groping for the words that would finally get through to her. “Look. It’s a crap deal that your husband made you a promise he didn’t keep. But he loved you and you loved him and...you know, that’s all we get. A chance at love and happiness, and we need to grab it and hold it for as long as we can. Because no one can promise to live forever, Ava. No one can promise you will always be safe.”

  “I know that. I do. I just... I can’t go there again. All the chance-taking is just wrung clean out
of me. Something always goes wrong, there’s always some catch I don’t see until it’s too late.”

  “That’s just...”

  “What? You tell me, Dare. You explain it to me. Getting your heart ripped out is just what?”

  “Ava, it’s life. Sometimes it all goes wrong. But that doesn’t mean you just stop trying.”

  “It’s different for you. You’ve never been married. You don’t have any kids.”

  Was that a low blow? It sure felt like it to him. “Got me. On both counts. I suppose next you’ll be playing the womanizer card.”

  “I’m sorry.” Her voice had gone small and so very lost. “Really sorry.” She wouldn’t even look at him now. “But I can’t. Uh-uh. I mean it. I just can’t...”

  “Damn it, Ava.” He didn’t know what else to do, so he went to her and pulled her up into his arms.

  For a moment, she melted into him. It was right, exactly right, the same as it was every time he held her in his arms. He knew she felt it, too.

  But then she braced her hands on his chest and pushed him away. He let go. They stood facing each other, not touching. His arms had never felt so empty.

  She shut her eyes, pressed her fingers over them and let out a long, weary sigh. “I just want to make a decent life and raise my daughter. I can’t...take any more big chances, in love, in relationships. I’m no good at all that, and I accept that I’m not. That’s why this, with us, was just supposed to be a fl—”

  He stopped her with a raised hand. “Don’t say that word. I don’t want to hear that word ever again.”

  “Whether I say it or not, you know what I mean.”

  He did know. She was doing it, wrecking it, just as she’d said she would.

  Still, he waited like some lovesick, brain-dead fool, giving her one more chance to change her mind.

  But she only stared at him, chin high, eyes full of shadows and bleak certainty. He heard her silent message: We are done.

  Something shifted within him. He gave up. He was done, too. “I’ll let myself out.”

  And that was it. He turned and left her there.

  She didn’t follow. And she never said another word.

  In the front hall, he put on his boots, shrugged into his coat and went out alone into the freezing December night.

  Chapter Twelve

  “I need to call Darius.” Sylvie crammed a giant forkful of scrambled eggs into her mouth.

  Ava reminded herself that she’d done the right thing the night before, even if she felt flayed raw inside this morning, like she’d scooped her own heart out with a jagged spoon, leaving nothing but a gaping wound inside her chest.

  But she would get over it. And better to end it now before she loved him so much she couldn’t imagine her life without him—well, okay. She was already having a little trouble imagining her life without him.

  But not to worry. She didn’t have to imagine it. Because now she would be living it.

  And she fervently hoped that by the time Sylvie chewed and swallowed her enormous wad of egg, calling Darius would no longer be on her mind.

  No such luck. “So, Mommy. I need you to give me his phone number.”

  Ava knocked back another gulp of coffee and set down her mug. “What do you need to talk to Darius about?”

  “Oh, lots of things. But mainly, I need to know what he wants for Christmas.”

  “Honey, I thought you were giving him that special bejeweled ornament at his thank-you party yesterday.”

  “And I did and he loved it, but I want to get him something else, not just an ornament. Something special to let him know that I’m so glad he’s my friend—and that’s another thing I need to do. He put me in his truck and drove me to the hospital, and he didn’t have time to take his presents with him. I need to remind him that he has to go and get them.”

  “I’m sure he’ll remember all on his own and that he’ll call Janice and arrange to pick them up. Please don’t worry.”

  Ava touched the bandage on her chin. “It doesn’t hurt as bad this morning.”

  “I’m so glad.”

  “Kinda stings, though.”

  “Don’t touch it. Finish your food.” Were they done with the subject of Darius? Ava sent a selfish prayer to heaven that they were.

  But no. “So just put his number in my phone, ’kay, so I can call him?”

  Ava made a last stab at deflecting the question. “Come on. Eat.”

  Sylvie stuck out her bandaged chin. “You keep not answering me.”

  So much for avoidance. “Sylvie, Darius cares for you.”

  “I know that.” Her voice was sharp with impatience.

  “Honey...” There was just no good way to say it. “Darius and I had a long talk last night. You see, I think he was spending too much time here.”

  “No, he wasn’t.” Her little mouth was pinched up tight.

  “Well, that is your opinion.”

  “And my ’pinion is right.”

  “I don’t agree.”

  Sylvie set down her fork. “Humph.”

  Ava forged on. “What you need to know is that he won’t be coming around to our house anymore. And I’m sorry, but I’m not going to give you his phone number.”

  “Did he do something wrong?”

  “Honey, of course not.”

  “Then why did you send him away? Darius likes it here. He likes you. And he likes me, too.”

  “Oh, sweetheart. Of course he does.”

  “And maybe you don’t want to see him so much, but I still do.”

  But I do want to see him. I want to grab him and hold on and tell him I had it all wrong. I do want to try again.

  Except, wait. No. She didn’t.

  She couldn’t. Never again.

  Ava searched her brain for the right words and came up empty. “It’s not the end of the world, Sylvie.” Though it did kind of feel that way, everything gray and hopeless—and with that hole in her chest where her heart used to be.

  Sylvie huffed in outrage. “It is bad, Mom. It’s very bad. He is my friend, and now I can never see him again.”

  “I didn’t say never. You will still see him.”

  “When?”

  “Well, now and then, whenever he works with the Blueberries. And occasionally, if you’re at Annabelle’s and he happens to be there, too.”

  “Please, Mommy.” Sylvie flat out pleaded. “Can I just get him a nice present?” A hot flush stained her cheeks, and tears flooded her eyes.

  Ava hesitated. Would letting Sylvie get him another present really hurt? Was she making it worse by not giving in a little? What was God thinking when he invented parenthood, and why was she so bad at it? “I’m sorry, honey. No.”

  Sylvie plunked her napkin on the table, hard. “That’s not fair.” A sharp sob escaped her. She sniffed, and the tears overflowed. They rolled down her flushed cheeks, and the white bandage absorbed them. “You make me want to say something really, really bad to you, Mom.”

  Ava felt the treacherous moisture fogging up her own eyes. Her kid was amazing. And dear God, she hated herself right now. “The decision is made. I’m sorry, but that’s how it is.”

  Sylvie threw back her head and brayed her fury at the ceiling. “Aughgg! I am so mad at you, Mom!”

  Ava gulped. “I can see that. I...” She had nothing at that point, just that giant heartless hole in her chest—a hole that was now filled with guilt as she stared at her unhappy child. “You will still see him, just not for a while.”

  “That’s not
fair!”

  “You already said that.”

  “Why won’t you listen to me?”

  “I am listening, Sylvie. But you’re not listening to me.”

  Sylvie let out a wordless little cry. And then she burst from her chair like a small, brown-haired rocket and bolted, disappearing into the dining room, headed for the living room. Ava let her go. She even bit her tongue to keep from calling out, No running in the house.

  Ava heard her in the front hall. Little feet hit the stairs and pounded up them. Ava winced as a door slammed overhead.

  And then she pushed her half-eaten breakfast to the center of the table and buried her face in her hands.

  So much for breaking it off with Dare before anyone got hurt.

  * * *

  A half an hour later, Ava knocked on Sylvie’s door. No answer. “Sylvie. Please open the door.”

  Again, there was nothing. Ava was about to call out that she was coming in anyway, when the door swung wide and her puffy-eyed daughter glared up at her.

  “May I come in?”

  Sylvie took a very long time to think that one over. Finally, she flounced to the bed and plunked down on the edge of it. “Yeah.” Ava went and sat beside her and started to ease an arm around her. “Don’t try to hug me, Mom.”

  Ava pulled her arm back. “Fair enough.” She’d planned to go into the office today. But no. She worked for herself, after all. And buyers and sellers were busy with holiday plans anyway. Nothing was happening she couldn’t work around—especially considering that her daughter was miserable. And with eight stitches in her chin, too. “I’m keeping you home today.”

  As a rule, Sylvie loved staying home from day care, which she considered kid stuff now that she’d reached the advanced age of seven. But not today, apparently. She slanted Ava a sharp glance. “I have stuff to do there and I don’t want to stay home.”

  “We’ll find something fun to do here.”

  “I don’t really feel like doing things with you today, Mom.”