One Night at Christmas

by Tressie Lockwood

“No.”

  “Who?”

  “Somebody.” Naomi dropped the DVD on the carpet, jumped to her feet, and ran out of the room. The water in the bathroom came on.

  Charon returned the DVD to its case and followed her daughter. She didn’t need to ask who Morris said he hated. She could guess, and it pissed her off that Morris didn’t bother to curb what he said in front of their little girl.

  From day one, Morris kept accusing her of loving Bryson. When he wasn’t accusing her, he demanded to know if she loved him. She had to go out of her way to show him affection. It wasn’t a big deal in the beginning because he was mostly kind and a good provider. Over time his attitude grew worse. She had to tell him where she was at all times and never come home later than she said she would be home.

  Dealing with jealousy wasn’t something she couldn’t handle—until he lost his job. For the last couple of months, Morris had been unemployed. She began to think he avoided finding a new job so he could keep closer tabs on her. Then she would feel guilty thinking that way. Surely, Morris wouldn’t risk them getting behind in their bills just to be sure she wasn’t seeing someone else.

  Silence at the dinner table grated on Charon’s nerves. She kept her head down, concentrating on her food. Every so often, she forced a smile and encouraged Naomi to eat everything so she could have dessert.

  “Uh-oh, you’re losing your cheese. Let me help you, baby.” Charon reassembled the taco and held it up to Naomi’s mouth, who turned her head in disgust.

  “I can do it myself, Mommy.”

  “Oh, well excuse me.” Charon chuckled. “You’re getting to be a big girl, huh?”

  “I’m almost grown up.”

  “Almost? Wow.”

  Her daughter glared at her. “You’re teasing me, Mommy, aren’t you?”

  “Who me? Never.”

  A smack of Morris’s hand on the table made both Charon and Naomi jump. “Did you forget what we were talking about, Charon?”

  Her appetite evaporated, and she set her fork down. “I didn’t forget anything. As far as I’m concerned the conversation is over. And I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t throw a temper tantrum at the table.”

  “A temper tantrum?” He slammed his hand down again, and Naomi burst out crying.

  “See what you did?” She shoved her chair back and walked around the table to get her daughter down from the booster seat. Dinnertime was obviously over. “You couldn’t have just waited until she was done, Morris? You have to have all of my attention at all times? I’m so over it. I’m done. Do you hear me? Done.”

  “Where do you think you’re going?” He grabbed for her arm as she walked their daughter past him. She jerked out of reach and snarled at him.

  “If you put your hands on me, I’m calling the police.”

  He gasped. “I’ve never hit you!”

  “Oh, I know, but you were going to try to stop me, and that’s a mistake. I can’t even express how pissed I am right now, so back off.”

  “Don’t be dramatic.” He uttered a shaky laugh and shoveled a forkful of salad into his mouth. The idiot chewed it like they didn’t have a care in the world or that Naomi wasn’t screaming and acting out. Pain shot through Charon’s skull.

  “I’m leaving.”

  His eyes bugged. He stumbled over his words. She couldn’t make sense of what he said, so she cut him off.

  “This is your house, and it’s in your name, so I’m leaving. Before you ask, I don’t know where we’re going. Maybe we’ll go to my cousin’s. I know one thing—I’m not going to be walking on eggshells with you ever again.”

  He jumped to his feet and knocked the chair over. The explosion of sound silenced Naomi for a minute. She stared at her daddy while clinging to Charon’s hand. Charon guessed her daughter didn’t know what to make of Morris’s attitude. Whenever Morris grew angry, Naomi usually ran to him to try to coax him into a better mood. Tonight, she stayed close to Charon.

  “You’re not taking my daughter anywhere,” he shouted.

  “Try me.”

  His jaw tightened. “Who’s going to watch her when you go to work? Did you forget that I’ve been babysitting the last two months?”

  “Did you forget how to take care of yourself and pay your own bills?” she sniped back.

  “I can’t believe you would be so cold, Charon. After—”

  “After what? After all you’ve done for me? Made me miserable? Punished me? After that, you mean? I’m out.”

  “He’s picking you up?”

  She left the kitchen with Naomi in tow. Butterflies stirred in her belly that he would head her off and use his greater strength to keep her from leaving with Naomi. He did nothing but stand around, watching her pack a bag with her things and their daughter’s. He didn’t say a word as she loaded up her car with whatever she didn’t care to part with and pulled out of the drive.

  She tried for four years, and now it was over. Her mind stirred with confusion and fear. She had a job but not much in the way of finances to support them. Every dime had gone to the bills without help. Now, they were homeless and broke—and Christmas was just days away.

  Chapter Nine

  Bryson set his pen down and rubbed his eyes. He reached for the bottle at his elbow and then stopped. Had he already taken the pain meds? If he did, they sure didn’t help. The ache in his skull seemed to have spread down his neck and into his shoulders. Stress, he thought. He needed a vacation, but he hadn’t taken off for the last four years. Not even for his honeymoon.

  The thought of a honeymoon was absurd. He and Gretchen visited a justice of the peace and tied the knot. Their witnesses were their lawyers. How pathetic was that, he wondered. No friends, no family. Oh he had family. His parents lived in Florida, but he encouraged them not to come. His dad agreed with his decision because he was sort of cut from the same cloth. His mom dreamed of grandchildren, and a marriage by contract didn’t seem to call for them.

  Bryson considered the terms of the contract. Kids weren’t included. As he and his wife discussed their future, neither had considered kids to be on the priority list. Neither cared if they ever had them. Of course producing a child crossed his mind that night he slept with Charon, but it was just a way to hold onto her, to prevent her from cutting him out of her life. It was a passing whimsy.

  “Damn it,” he grumbled under his breath and moved to the window. His office on the thirty-eighth floor overlooked the busy street below. The people down there scurried about in a hurry. He had a good view between a few shorter buildings, but the scenery didn’t distract him from visualizing Charon. He recalled her as she was four years ago—beautiful, sexy, everything he could dream of in a woman and nothing like his wife.

  He winced, recalling Gretchen. Some might consider her to be attractive. She turned him off in every way. After their attempt to consummate the marriage, they hadn’t been intimate. She’d cowered at his size and refused to even try, said he was unnatural and if she’d known…well, he could guess.

  The phone behind him rang, and he considered ignoring it. His habit was to face a problem head on, so he picked it up. That didn’t stop the bark of annoyance when he connected. “Scott.”

  “Mr. Scott.”

  Bryson pulled the phone back to check the ID. His world stilled. He pressed the phone to his ear. “Yeah?”

  “This is Darrin Underwood.”

  “I dissolved our agreement four years ago after you assured me Charon is fine and that she did indeed marry. Wait, she’s still fine, isn’t she? I guess you wouldn’t know.” He chided himself for bumbling over his words like a boy. “Why are you calling, Underwood?”

  “Sir, you seemed to care a great deal about the young lady you had me look into.”

  Bryson sank into his chair. When his fingers cramped, he realized he held the phone too hard. If he wasn’t careful, he might crush it. He willed himself to relax a little. “And?”

  “It’s just luck, mind you, but I happened to look in on th
e young lady.”

  Bryson ground his teeth. While he had hired a private investigator that came highly recommended from a friend, he got the sense that the man was money-hungry. His exorbitant fee was highway robbery. Bryson learned from him that Charon was safe and taken care of. He let that be enough. The investigator tried to push to keep himself on the payroll. Bryson didn’t go for it, and he hadn’t heard from the man until today.

  “I told you, I’m not interested,” Bryson snapped. “It was enough for me that he accepted her and she him. What did you do, go back through your old cases, trying to stir up new business?”

  “W-what? No, of course not.” Underwood gave a nervous chuckle. “I had a client who lived near where she used to live and uh… Like I said, it was luck.”

  Bryson picked up on the words, just as Underwood probably hoped he would. “Used to live? Did she move—no, never mind. It’s not my business... I thought he bought her the house she dreamed of, the one in the country…” He trailed off, speaking more to himself than to Underwood.

  “Well, sir, that’s the interesting thing.”

  A dramatic silence. Bryson swore.

  “How much is the information going to cost me?” Guilt stirred in Bryson. He didn’t want to make a habit of checking on Charon. His only desire was for her to be happy, but he wished that happiness included him and him alone. The thought of her being with that bastard ate him up. Over the last few years, he mastered those feelings and buried them. She made her choice, and so did he.

  The investigator chortled with glee. Bryson could almost see the dollar signs in his eyes.

  “Just my usual rate.” He named the figure.

  “That’s higher than the last time.”

  “Inflation, sir. It’s been four years. I understand if you’re not interested or you can’t cover it. Times are tough and with the holiday coming up, things are worse. Just the other day, I told my wife—”

  “Enough.” Bryson pinched the bridge of his nose. He was becoming a bore with all the anger. It didn’t suit him. He liked to be happy and laughing. He’d been that way when he had her. “Tell me.”

  “I know your word is as good as your bond, sir. Okay, according to what I could find out, she no longer lives in that little cottage, and neither does her daughter.”

  Bryson gasped. “Daughter? She has a child?”

  “Yes, a three-year-old.”

  Bryson imagined the little girl looking just like her mom. Something shifted inside him. The little girl could have been theirs, but fate didn’t allow it. Instead, he would have a connection to her for the rest of her life. Well, they were married. He should feel happy for her and nothing else.

  “What do you mean she doesn’t live there? Does he?”

  “Yes.”

  The meaning of the words came through loud and clear. For whatever reason, Charon left her husband. Or he threw her out. No, he wouldn’t be such a fool to let her go. For a few silent moments, Bryson wrestled with asking for more information. He resisted because his own situation hadn’t changed. He was married even if it was a sham of a union. None of it had worked out on a personal level, which was why he had buried himself in work. Lately, even work couldn’t satisfy him.

  None of his challenges had anything to do with Charon. For all he knew, she might have left her husband because she fell for another man. She might have a new lover. He let that thought rip his guts apart. Four years, and he still loved her, but it wasn’t like there were chances to erase her memory.

  He should forget about Charon and let her move on to whatever drove her to leave.

  “If you want to know more, sir, I have more information.”

  “Drop it. Let her be.” He disconnected the call and focused on the pages in front of him. At least he attempted to concentrate. Tormenting questions floated through his head. Was she happy now that she left her husband? Did she think of him as he thought of her? Did she have regrets?

  The phone rang again, and he snatched it from the desk to stab the connect button.

  “I told you—”

  “Sir, she’s homeless.”

  Bryson’s mouth went dry. “What did you say?”

  “Even a guy like me, who’s in this game for my own reasons, has a conscience this time of year. This tidbit is free. She’s homeless, and a woman like her shouldn’t be staying in a seedy motel like the one where I found her. Not with a child.”

  Bryson pushed the papers away and tugged his briefcase toward him to pack up for the day. “Give me the address.”

  Chapter Ten

  “No, baby, put your slippers back on,” Charon told her daughter. “I don’t trust the look of this carpet. It’s sketchy.”

  Naomi glanced down at the carpet. “Somebody drew on it? I didn’t.”

  Charon laughed. “No, it wasn’t sketched. Sketchy. Never mind. It’s paper thin, and who knows what people have been doing in here. If you want to take your slippers off, you have to stay on the bed, okay? And when you get off, put them right back on.”

  “Okay.” Naomi stuffed her feet in the cheap elf slippers Charon had just bought her when they drove down to the Wal-Mart to buy groceries.

  Charon had purchased a container of cooked hot chicken as a luxury item just for that night. They had been eating what they could pop in the microwave for the last few days, and she hated feeding her daughter that crappy processed food all the time. With a few precious dollars, they were having baked chicken, macaroni and cheese, and broccoli. Not that the meal was much healthier, but it felt better because it wasn’t microwaved.

  After she prepared a plate for each of them, she poured Naomi a glass of juice and herself a glass of water. “Baby, go wash your hands so you can eat.”

  “Okay,” she sing-songed.

  Charon kept an ear alert to the sounds her daughter made in the bathroom to be sure she wasn’t doing more than she was supposed to. She scanned the small motel room and sighed. This was their temporary home, and she was starting to feel closed in. She and Naomi walked around the complex for exercise and so Naomi could play but not too much. There were some characters staying at the motel who she wanted nothing to do with.

  Her cell phone buzzed, and she checked it. A spark of hope rose inside that Morris had somehow come into some money and was offering it to her. Or at the least she wished he would say take the house and he would find somewhere else to stay. Unfortunately, even if he did, she wouldn’t have been able to afford it.

  Morris’ text offered nothing useful. “Are you ready to stop being stupid and come home?”

  She blinked at the screen. He couldn’t be serious. That was his way of wooing her back? Not that it was going to happen. When she said she was done, it had come after months of her feelings for him dying out. She had nothing left to give him.

  Rather than answer, she deleted the text and tossed her phone in her bag. Naomi came out of the bathroom, and they sat down to eat. Charon took her baby’s hand, and they bowed their heads, eyes closed.

  “You want to say the prayer, Naomi?”

  “Okay.” With self-importance, Naomi knelt in her chair. “God, thank you for the food…and for a house…and for more food…and for Daddy…and for—”

  “That’s enough. Thanks, sweetie.”

  “…and for a puppy…amen.”

  Charon smirked. She tucked into the mac and cheese when a knock sounded on the door.

  “I’ll get it,” Naomi offered.

  Charon pointed at her. “Don’t you move.”

  Charon inched toward the door. It couldn’t be Morris. Surely, he didn’t come to the motel when she wouldn’t answer his text. Then again, he didn’t know where she was. They hadn’t spoken since she walked out of the house.

  She twitched the curtain aside and peered through a tiny gap. Her breath left her chest in a whoosh. The white man standing at the door might have his back to her, but she could pick him out anytime or anywhere, no matter how much time passed—Bryson.

  She open
ed the door but didn’t step away from it to let him in. All she could do was stare. God, he looked good. Still sexy, muscular, and over the last four years he hadn’t aged a bit. Meanwhile she had bags under her eyes from not sleeping well most nights. The only positive she could say about herself was the few pounds she must have lost over the last few days from trying to conserve money on food.

  “Bryson, what are you doing here? How did you find me? What are you doing in my state? Wait, you didn’t move out of New York, did you?” She looked past him to what was obviously a rental. “Where’s your wife?”

  He smiled, and her heart skipped a beat. “Hey, mind if I come in out of the cold?”

  She hesitated and checked on Naomi. Her daughter was busy stuffing macaroni into her mouth by hand rather than using her fork. What was Charon nervous about? She was pretty sure Bryson hadn’t shown up for sex, and he surely wouldn’t be caught dead staying at that motel.

  “Um, of course.” She backed up. “Come in.”

  He stepped inside, and the tiny room shrank even more. His sharp blue gaze settled on Naomi, and he seemed mesmerized. Naomi looked up, and her little mouth formed a small o. “Wow, you’re a giant.”

  Leave it to Naomi not to be intimidated by his height and build. Neither did she bite her tongue when it came to saying whatever popped into her little head.

  Bryson grinned and stooped beside her chair. He offered his hand. “Hi, I’m Bryson. What’s your name?”

  Naomi planted a tiny hand in his, and he engulfed it in his palm.

  “Naomi Cooper.”

  He chuckled. “Good job. Can you read too?”

  She bobbed her head in the affirmative. Charon laughed. “No, she can’t. Not just yet. We worked on spelling her first name, but she doesn’t know her letters yet.”

  “Still, I’m impressed,” Bryson told Naomi. He winked, and Naomi blushed happily. She offered him a macaroni noodle with messy fingers, and he reached out to accept the offering. Charon tried to intercept. All she could think about was Naomi messing up Bryson’s expensive clothes and not being able to pay the cleaning bill.