His Christmas Miracle

by Dani Collins

  Joan took the other end of the blanket, and they smoothed it flat on the floor. They had already moved the coffee table back, but kept it within reach. That was where most of the food would sit.

  She and Atlas had arranged some presents under the tree—the ones she had wrapped from Maury to Quincy and vice-versa. Gloria preferred cloth bags, always saying wrapping paper was a waste. Nicki couldn’t argue with that, but where was the fun in untying a drawstring and pulling out a present? Atlas had painted up sheets and sheets of newspaper, creating a myriad of patterns over the newsprint that would give the proper tearing sound come Christmas morning. It would make the requisite mess.

  She caught back a wistful sigh, aware she wouldn’t be here to listen and watch. She wouldn’t see his surprise. She would be quietly pulling at a satin ribbon woven through lace, thanking Gloria for some cosmetics or a book-club title.

  She would be wondering, though, if Maury liked the photo she’d snapped of Quincy with Atlas on his shoulders at the tree farm. She had found a frame at the dollar store that said, “My boys”. Atlas had wrapped it himself, rolling it about a million times to use up a full sheet of newspaper.

  For Quincy, she had found a kit for a coffee mug. Atlas had colored it with special crayons to reveal the message, I Heart My Dad. It was a teeny bit cheesy and generic, but Nicki had prepared something else for Quincy.

  When the parcel from Atlas’s grandparents had arrived, they had included a few keepsakes, including Atlas’s baby book. She had scanned some photos of the boy, then took a couple of shots of him in the new house. She also scanned a few photos of Quincy and his parents that she came across during the unpacking. It hadn’t taken much time or money to send away a file for printing into a short album. It had arrived on Friday, and she had already wrapped it and tagged it for Quincy from Santa. She left it with the presents in the closet that he would put under the tree Christmas Eve.

  “You’ve gone to a lot of trouble,” Joan said as she helped Nicki bring the food into the living room.

  “Oh, not really. Atlas and I were having fun making all the food, weren’t we?” They had rolled green spinach wraps and red, sun-dried tomato ones around a cream-cheese filling mixed with colored peppers. Once they were sliced into pinwheels and sprinkled with parsley, they were very festive and fancy looking, but not hard at all. Same went for the skewers of cherry tomatoes, squares of cheese, basil leaves, and stuffed olives.

  “This is a cute idea,” Joan said of the tree-shaped pita wedges smeared with guacamole. Atlas had taken great care to set the pretzels as stems after Nicki had garlanded them with thin juliennes of sweet red pepper.

  “All of this was super easy. These?” She took the flatbreads out of the oven. “Takes longer to cook than it does to throw together. Although, I wasn’t thinking of Maury when I sprinkled on the pineapple. He shouldn’t have too much of it.” The aroma of the fruit mingled with the ham, basil, and parmesan, making her mouth water. “Same goes with this cranberry-and-orange juice. I’m cutting it with soda water, but he can only have a few sips.”

  Joan had brought a poinsettia, which she added to the coffee table as they set out the last of the food. Dessert was a fresh batch of shortbread cookies topped with a dollop of whipped cream, then an upside down strawberry. A final dot of whipped cream on the peak made it look like a Santa hat.

  “Best part of this picnic? No ants,” Maury said as he tuned the television to a fire in a hearth with instrumental carols playing over the crackle and snap of the flames.

  Between calls, Quincy had showered and put on clean jeans and a dark blue button shirt.

  “I think I’ve talked them out of ruining Christmas,” he said, hitching his hands on his hips to take in the scene of dark green blanket and colored lights sparkling on the tree from between store-bought, elegant ornaments and child-made craft ones. “This looks very nice, Nicki. Thank you.”

  He sounded warm and sincere. His sharp gaze met hers, and here was the moment she’d been both dreading and anticipating. We kissed last night. Remember?

  She started to blush and quickly looked away, urging Atlas to sit with her on the blanket, handing him an empty plate. She was such a coward.

  But what if Quincy saw how affected she was? What if he didn’t care?

  Too many years of rejection had made her thin-skinned. It made her try really, really hard not to want anything, to keep her expectations very low, so she wouldn’t be disappointed.

  Swallowing past the tightness in her throat, she asked Atlas if he wanted to fill his own plate or if she should do it.

  “I’m afraid my old bones won’t take the floor,” Maury said, inviting Joan to join him on the sofa. “Why don’t we sit here?”

  She did, but Quincy gamely lowered himself to the blanket across from Nicki, Atlas between them.

  It suddenly felt like a very small blanket.

  “Where’s Pup-pup?” Quincy asked Atlas, glancing for the stuffed dog.

  “Oh! I foh-gots him.” Atlas took off to fetch his stuffy.

  “That’s the second time he’s left him in his room,” Quincy remarked to his father. The men lifted their brows, weighing the significance.

  Atlas’s absence left nothing between her and Quincy except sexual awareness. This is how close we would be sitting if this were a bed, she found herself thinking.

  Fortunately, Joan was curious about Quincy’s job. From there, they covered all sorts of topics from local politics to comparing Christmas traditions to Nicki’s handful of commercial appearances.

  “My biggest one was a laundry soap ad. You might have seen it. I fall on my face in the mud.”

  “I’m sure I’ve seen it,” Quincy said. “That’s really you?” He started to reach for his tablet, but she caught his arm.

  “No screen time! We’re on a picnic. Out of range.”

  He chuckled. “You’re just saying that so I won’t look it up.”

  “Of course I am. I look ridiculous!”

  “We’ll look it up later,” he said to Atlas with a conspiratorial wink. “But that’s a pretty good gig, isn’t it?”

  “It paid the bills for a while,” she agreed. “I thought… Well, it doesn’t matter. I don’t really…” Want to talk about it.

  Quincy seemed to pick up on that and gave Atlas a light nudge on the side of his knee. “What’s next on the Advent calendar? I told my work I’m busy with my son all week. I hope I was telling the truth.”

  Atlas set aside his emptied plate and went to the calendar, gathering up the handful of ornament-shaped activities that weren’t attached to the tree yet. He handed them to Quincy. Then he plopped himself into his lap.

  Quincy glanced down at the top of his son’s head. “I guess I’ll read these to you, then, and we’ll both know.”

  Nicki exchanged a look with Maury, both of them biting back smiles.

  “Let’s see, ‘Make Reindeer Food’.” He sent an inquiring look toward Nicki.

  “Oatmeal and cake sprinkles. Some people use glitter, but I’m trying to be ecological.”

  “Nice. ‘Make Snack Mix’?”

  “You know, that stuff with cereal, popcorn, pretzels, and crackers… Snack mix. I just thought of it the other day or we would have made it sooner.”

  “Oh, yeah, I like that stuff. Definitely make it earlier next year.” He set aside that one, not seeming to hear the hidden meaning in his remark. Did he expect her to be here next year? Was he already planning to carry on her Advent tree as a tradition? “Take pet food to the animal shelter?”

  “That’s something Gloria does.” She shrugged, sheepish because she had told him how resentful she’d always been toward her stepmother, yet she copied that woman’s kindness. “I seem to have adopted that tradition because I can’t think of a year when I haven’t taken at least a few cans to the nearest shelter. Whatever I can afford. And I thought it might be fun for Atlas to see the cats and dogs.”

  “Sounds like a recipe for an addition to the fam
ily, but okay.” Quincy looked at the next one. “Watch a Christmas movie and eat popcorn. Maybe we could change that to snack mix,” he suggested. “Mom used to make one with nuts. Do you have any idea where her recipe might be, Pops?”

  “I’ll look through the books in the kitchen,” Nicki promised, liking the idea of resurrecting his mother’s recipe. She hugged her knees, wary as she waited for him to read the last one.

  “And…” His expression sobered.

  “I wasn’t sure,” she began. “It’s something I do on Christmas Eve, but…”

  “Yeah, of course. Pops and I always visited Mom’s grave on Mother’s Day and her birthday, but yeah. This is a good idea for all of us.”

  Atlas was looking up at him, waiting to find out what it was.

  Quincy’s brows pulled together in a small wince. He cleared his throat to read, “Light a candle and say a prayer for all the moms in heaven.”

  “An excellent thought, Nicki. An extra special remembrance now I’m back in my parents’ home,” Maury said, sounding touched. “Thank you for thinking of it.”

  “I usually float a tea light in a globe of water. Then I don’t have to blow it out.” She liked to let that happen naturally.

  Quincy nodded. “I’ll run into town tomorrow, see what I can find. Thank you, Nicki. For all of this.” He gathered the little pieces of paper and gave them to Atlas. “Really. You’ve—” His expression spasmed again as he looked down at his son, the boy’s hair a shade lighter than his. The little boy’s expression was so innocent and intent as he clumsily sorted through the papers, unaware of how he was changing the man who held him.

  “Is diss da one foh Wudoff?” Atlas asked, tilting a look up to his father.

  Quincy cleared his throat again. “The reindeer food? This one.” He pulled it from the mix.

  “Can we do it now?” Atlas asked Nicki.

  “Tomorrow,” she promised. “Today we’re having a picnic. After we finish eating, we’ll clear the table and play a game. But you can put that one on the calendar if you like. I’ll show you where it goes.”

  They went over to the cardboard tree. He slid the edge of the paper under the paperclip for the nineteenth.

  “It’s ahmost fuw!”

  “It is almost full.” She helped him count out the empty days. “Then it will be Christmas, and you can open all the presents.”

  Atlas grinned and hooked his arm around her neck. “Kwissmas!”

  “Yes. Christmas.” She hugged him back, heart rending as she realized he didn’t know she would be gone by then.

  December 20th

  Quincy hadn’t had a moment alone with Nicki since their date. Joan had stayed all evening on Sunday until he’d driven her home. Atlas was ready for stories when he returned, and Nicki left while he was reading.

  Yesterday, Quincy ran errands, one of them to pick up a sack of dog food, so they could visit the animal shelter today. He had also spent a lot of time on the phone, working out the Pittsburg issue from afar.

  “I told them it’s completely unreasonable to ask me to drop everything and go. Aside from the fact the airports will be a nightmare, I have a son.”

  “How did they like hearing that?” Nicki asked, something in her tone making him cautious.

  “I don’t particularly care. Why?”

  “I don’t know. I think a woman would be fired, or at least would worry she would be, if she put her child before her job. It would be seen as a weakness. A distraction.”

  Quincy looked at his son across the kitchen table, sitting in the booster seat Nicki had suggested they buy, eating his tuna sandwich.

  The boy wasn’t a weakness. He was a source of strength, motivating Quincy to dig in his heels when he might have gone along in the past, simply because he couldn’t be bothered going against the grain. He wasn’t a pushover, but he had valued his job and always made it a priority.

  Now he kept thinking he could find work in other places if they weren’t happy with his new priorities. Atlas wasn’t a distraction. He was Quincy’s focus. He was what mattered more than anything.

  “Thinking my career is more important than my son would be a weakness,” he muttered.

  “Good attitude,” Pops said, rising and patting Quincy on the shoulder as he moved to fetch the saltshaker.

  “Really?” Nicki said, following to take the shaker and carry it back to the shelf above the stove before Pops got to the table. “I leave it over here because you shake first, before you even taste. Blood pressure. Remember?”

  “Bah,” Pops said in a playful grunt. “How many more days of your bossing do I have to put up with?”

  “I’m going to hide it before I leave. What do you think of that?” she teased as she came back to the table.

  Quincy grimaced at his sandwich, wishing he had figured out what to do about Nicki.

  “What’s dat music?” Atlas asked.

  “Hmm?” Nicki started to sit, then said, “Oh, I think that’s my phone.” She went across to the counter and glanced at it. “It’s my agent.” She frowned. “Former agent. Wishing me a Merry Christmas?” she guessed as she swiped. “Probably pocket dialing—Hi, Glenda. Did you mean to call me? It’s Nicki Darren.”

  The woman on the other end had a loud, throaty, chain-smoker tone as she barked, “Yes, I’m calling you. With a Christmas miracle. I just got a call from the casting agent for Stapleton Stables.”

  Nicki frowned, saying, “What kind of call?” as she left the kitchen into the dining room.

  Quincy looked at his father.

  Pops gave him a told-you-so look.

  “What?” He was supposed to have pinned her down since two days ago? How?

  Seconds later, Nicki walked back into the kitchen, looking shell-shocked. Her hand trembled as she set her phone on the counter and announced, “I just got cast for a serial drama on a ranch. In Texas.”

  Pops sent Quincy another hard look, but Quincy turned away from it, looking at Nicki. “How? Did you send a tape? I thought your agent let you go?”

  “She did, but one of the last auditions she sent me on was for this thing. It was a year ago. They’ve been in pre-production for months. It’s an original series for a streaming service, but the actor they cast backed out. Since I was their second choice, they’re asking for me. It’s a good part. Steady work for a year. Longer if the series is picked up for more seasons.”

  “That’s good, isn’t it?” Why wasn’t she jumping up and down, crying or laughing or both? He certainly felt like crying.

  “I don’t know if I should believe it.” She pinched her arm. “I don’t even know how—They’re on hiatus for Christmas, but I’m supposed to start first thing in the new year. I don’t have a place to live…”

  “Come sit,” Pops said, nodding at her chair. “Let it sink in.”

  She sat as if she were on autopilot and nodded dumbly. “All I can think is that I haven’t acted in a year. Maybe I’ll be awful. Maybe…”

  “Don’t borrow trouble,” Pops urged. “This is what you’ve always wanted, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah.” Her voice was paper thin. She lifted her gaze and looked right at Quincy.

  Don’t go. He couldn’t say it. It was what she had always wanted.

  Her mouth tightened as though she was trying to still a tremble in her lips. She ducked her head, picked up her sandwich, but only looked at it, didn’t eat.

  December 24th

  Nicki was still sleepwalking by Christmas Eve. Every spare minute she had, she was making calls to reconfigure her life again, this time in Texas.

  She would have her own apartment, finally. One that she could afford to live in by herself. Being self-sustaining and not sharing a bathroom were two goals she had had for so long, she’d forgotten they were on her list.

  When she really thought about it, though, she realized she had that with the Tierneys. As it turned out, living alone was kind of lonely. She wound up spending all her time at Quincy’s, preferring the homey
activity of looking after the Ryan men.

  Tonight, she would drive to Glacier Creek to spend Christmas with her dad and Gloria. They were both so happy for her. She had given them the news over the tablet. Her dad had teared up while Gloria said, “I knew you would make it. You’ve always been so determined.”

  Nicki had bit her lip against contradicting her. What was wrong with her that she kept denigrating herself, thinking, But I’m their second choice. Other people were happy for her. Why couldn’t she be happy for herself? Instead, she just felt…flat.

  Actually, as she drove to Quincy’s that morning, she felt worse than flat. She was flat-out depressed. All she could think about was the number of times she had embraced this day as a child. It was the most exciting day of the year, in her opinion. Better than Christmas Day, even. Christmas Eve was when the anticipation of magic was at its peak. It was imbued with infinite possibility. Wasn’t she on the verge of achieving her lifelong dream? Her heart’s desire?

  This was what she had wished for at Miracle Lake. Here it was, coming true.

  Why wasn’t she happy?

  This year, Christmas Eve was the saddest one she’d ever experienced. She dreaded saying goodbye to Atlas, Maury, and Quincy. Her heart was buckling in on itself with the sense of approaching doom as she pulled into their driveway. Her throat felt overly dry. Hot and achy.

  All week, Quincy had been acting like their date and their kiss had never happened, which was probably for the best, but it gutted her. Maybe she’d only been here a few weeks, but she’d thought they were friends. Closer than friends. She wished he would act like he was sorry she was going, even if this was the way they’d arranged it from the beginning.

  She was his employee, she forced herself to remember. This was a job. Nothing more.

  Taking a deep breath to gather her courage, she knocked and stepped into the kitchen.