The Forever Christmas Tree

by Sandra Hill

  Laura understood Wendy’s silent question. “We’re on a committee of the town council, going to try to persuade the owner of the bell factory to keep it going. And, before you get any ideas, Tony is just a friend.”

  “Uh-huh,” Wendy said, unconvinced, at least from Tony’s end. The waitress brought their drinks and arranged some silverware before Wendy continued, “Anyone else special?”

  “No one since I broke my engagement to Dane.”

  Wendy arched her brows again.

  “Turned out Dane was a dog. A horndog.”

  “Enough said!”

  “How about you?”

  “No one special for me, either. A few possibilities over the years, but nothing lasting more than a few months. To tell the truth, I’ve been too busy for commitments of any kind.”

  “Yeah. Me, too.”

  She and Laura looked at each other and burst out laughing. The too-busy-for-love excuse was bachelor girl bullshit, and they both knew it.

  “Maybe we’re destined to be spinster ladies, as Aunt Mildred calls modern females who choose not to marry.”

  “Yuck!” Laura said. “So, what’s going on out at Chez Geriatrics? Oh, that was mean!”

  “Yes, it was,” Wendy said, biting her lip to keep from laughing.

  “How is your aunt, anyway?”

  “She’s fine, as far as I can tell, but you were right to warn me. I appreciate that.”

  “So, dish,” Laura encouraged.

  “She’s been lonely, and sensing other lonely folks of a certain age around her, she’s invited them, or they invited themselves, to live with her, temporarily. I don’t have all the details yet, but it seems tame enough.”

  “Even the shady dance club with the Julio Iglesias lookalike?”

  Wendy smiled at that description, but had to admit that Raul did look a bit like the Latin music artist, albeit with white hair. “I haven’t seen much of the dancing yet.”

  Laura leaned across the table and half whispered, “Do he and Aunt Mil sleep together?”

  Wendy leaned forward a bit, too, and whispered back, “Yes.”

  “Hard to picture two old people doing the dirty, huh?”

  “That reeks of ageism,” Wendy said with mock primness.

  “Don’t tell me you didn’t think the same thing.”

  “I did feel a bit uncomfortable last night when she and Raul went off to bed together. In fact—and if you ever repeat this, I swear I will hunt you down and hurt you, and believe me, we WEALS have secret torture methods—I saw him pat her ass when they were walking down the hall.” It reminded her a little of the time she’d seen Eliza Rutledge pinch her husband’s butt all those years ago.

  “That’s kind of cute, actually.” Their orders arrived, and they ate silently for a few moments, relishing the delicious food, before Laura asked, “So, are you going to let me interview you for a feature story?”

  “No.”

  “Please. Pretty please. I want to get a face-to-face color story on what it’s like for a hometown girl to go off and be a female warrior against terrorism.”

  “It’s been done before, honey.”

  “Not about you, and not in my paper.”

  “I can’t, Laura. That’s all I need is for some terrorist getting my name and address and coming after me.”

  “Then, how about those SEALs you’re bringing here as houseguests? It could be anonymous. I wouldn’t have to use names or pictures, or maybe shadowy images. Any hunks in the bunch?”

  She had to think for a moment. She’d become so used to her SEAL buddies, on missions and on the base, knowing way too much about them, some of which was not so attractive (like belching on command, or body odor after a day in the field, or watching them hit on women, or worse yet, cheat on women) that she didn’t see them the way other people did. “I suppose they are good looking. JAM—Jacob Alvarez Mendozo—used to be a priest, or in a seminary at one time. Merrill ‘Geek’ Good is a genius, graduated from college when he was sixteen or near to. Aside from being a world-class battle strategist, he’s also an inventor. Made millions, they claim, from something called a penile glove. Don’t ask. And K-4, that’s Kevin Fortunato, joined the SEALs when his wife died of cancer.”

  “Holy moley, girl! A priest, a sexy tycoon, and a grieving soldier widower! You’ve given me fodder for a year of stories.”

  Wendy just smiled, not about to prick Laura’s balloon by informing her that SEALs, especially active ones, did not speak about their work or their lives, especially to a newspaper reporter. Public exposure was taboo, as she’d already mentioned to Laura in terms of terrorists. But besides that, seasoned soldiers did not like to talk about their work.

  “Why didn’t they travel here with you?”

  “They decided to go to New Jersey first. There’s some kind of treasure-hunting company that’s for sale, and they’re thinking about buying it, I guess. Or exploring some possibilities for the future when they eventually retire. Special forces men, and women, burn out after a while, as you can imagine.”

  “Good grief! Another story angle. Hunky treasure-hunting SEALs!”

  Wendy reached across the table and squeezed her friend’s hand. “It is so good to see you.”

  “Likewise,” Laura said, squeezing back. “Does that include you? Are you ready to give up the webfoot warrioress life?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe.” She told Laura then about the recent death of their teammate and how it was affecting them all. “Maybe we just need a little R & R to re-energize.”

  “That’s what we do best here on the Outer Banks, rest and relaxation,” Laura said. “Can I ask you one thing?”

  Uh-oh! Wendy sensed by the way Laura bit her bottom lip with nervousness that she was not going to like this question.

  “Do you still love him?”

  Wendy flinched, as if she’d been sucker punched, which she had been a few times during Hell Week, before she’d learned to duck and cover, or to give back as good as she got. She couldn’t be mad at Laura for her blunt question, though. That’s what friends did. Shared their innermost thoughts. And she sure as hell didn’t need to ask who Laura meant. Ethan, obviously.

  “How could I? It’s been twelve years. He betrayed me in the worst way a man can to the woman he presumably loves.”

  “He was a boy, and you were a girl,” Laura pointed out.

  “A moot point. Ethan slept with another girl, got her pregnant when we were supposed to share some corny forever kind of love.” Despite herself, Wendy felt tears well in her eyes. That’s what being home, being here in Bell Cove did. That’s why she’d avoided it for twelve years.

  “Yeah, he did, and he paid for it. He never loved Beth Anne. You know that. Eighteen-year-old boy, mad at his girlfriend for making other plans for the weekend, goes to a party, drinks a little beer, and succumbs to the temptation of a willing partner. It happened only once.” Laura held up a hand to halt the protest Wendy was about to make. “I’m not saying he wasn’t wrong. He screwed up. Big-time. But, Wendy, your breakup was a kick in the guts to not just the two of you, but the whole town. If you two, who practically glowed when you were around each other, couldn’t make it, then maybe there was no such thing as real love. Your refusal to come back here . . . it was like you broke up with the whole town, not just Ethan.”

  “That’s a whole lot of guilt to lay on me. I was young, starry-eyed in love, and I was crushed.”

  “I know, I know. And believe me, I’m not defending Ethan. The jerk! I’ve let him know what I think of him from the get-go. And, no, I’m not saying that you should have hung around and worked things out, like some folks said.”

  “People said that?”

  “Yeah, but don’t be too hard on them. I know it’s a town full of busybodies, but that’s what small towns are like. For good and bad. Good, because people really do care, and bad, because some are just plain snoopy. I’m of the first persuasion, and I’m just saying . . . is it really over?”

&
nbsp; “Dead and buried,” Wendy said without hesitation.

  “Well, speaking of the corpse . . .” Laura said.

  Wendy turned to see Ethan walk into the restaurant. He hadn’t yet spotted her and Laura at the far end of the dining area but was headed toward Tony, who was speaking to some customers at a nearby table. A light blue dress shirt and tie were visible under his open, black cashmere overcoat, the blue of the shirt making the color of his eyes stand out even more against the framework of dark lashes. If he’d looked hot in a work jacket and jeans yesterday on the ferry, he looked hotter than hell in professional attire. And Wendy wasn’t the only woman in the room who noticed his sexy good looks.

  “Hey, buddy, I just dropped Cassie off at a friend’s house for the afternoon,” she heard him say to Tony. “Want a lift to the forge for the meeting?”

  Wendy arched a brow at Laura. “You didn’t mention that Ethan would be going to your meeting, too.”

  “Oops.”

  “Sure,” Tony said to Ethan. “Maybe Laura will want to ride with us.” He made a motion with his head toward their table.

  Just then, Ethan noticed her, and before he could catch himself, he recoiled.

  He recoiled!

  But then, his lips parted, and his eyes—those beautiful summer-sky eyes—held hers for a long moment. And, for just that blip of a second, they were teenagers so much in love that it hurt.

  Wendy might have made a low moan, out loud, or maybe it was a silent moan. She was too stunned to be sure.

  Laura said, “I hate to tell you, Wendy, dear, but you are glowing.”

  “That’s just blood rushing to my head.”

  “Uh-huh.” Then, in a low voice, Laura began to sing the lyrics to that old Whitney Houston song, “I will always loooooove you . . .” It had been their song. It had been playing on his car radio the night that they first made love. It had been the kind of song that, no matter where they were, or how public the setting, when it came on, they stopped and looked at each other.

  Wendy hated that song.

  Laura had a really good voice, but at the moment Wendy could barely hear her for the loud pounding of her traitorous heart. Apparently, her feelings for Ethan weren’t as dead and buried as she’d thought they were.

  Chapter 7

  I’m sorry, so sorry . . . oh, hell, Brenda Lee said it much better than he ever could . . .

  “Damn!” Ethan muttered. “Damn, damn, friggin’ damn!”

  He had known that he would run into Wendy while she was in town, but still he was unprepared for the assault on his senses when he saw her in the Cracked Crab. Blindsided without armor.

  “What? What’s up?” Tony asked, not understanding. He was fairly new to Bell Cove, or at least he hadn’t been around back when . . .

  “Nothing,” Ethan snapped, so abruptly that Tony raised his brows.

  Instead of making a teasing remark, as he usually did, this time about him turning into the grinch, Tony just gave him a questioning stare. When Ethan didn’t respond, Tony shrugged. “I’ll go get my coat from the office and we’ll head out. Could you ask Laura if she wants to come with us? If I ask, she’ll probably say no, just because she thinks I’m hitting on her.”

  Which he usually was. Tony had been batting zero in his attempts to date Laura, and, ordinarily, Ethan wouldn’t mind doing him this favor. But now? With Wendy there? Oh, man! He turned to tell Tony that he would wait in the car out front, but Tony was already gone.

  With a deep inhale and exhale of surrender, he stepped forward and spoke to Laura, who was putting on her coat. “Hey, Laura. I was in town dropping Cassie off at the Hendersons’ and thought I’d stop to see if Tony wants to ride with me to the meeting. You want to come with us?”

  “Okay. Wait a sec while I go to the ladies’ room. Gotta refresh my makeup to impress Mis-tah I-hold-the-future-of-this-hick-town-in-my-hands Conti.”

  He laughed and said, “Sure,” but what he thought was, Oh, shit! Laura’s got her attitude on.

  “Good seeing you, Wendy,” Laura called back to her old friend. “Remember, The Bell party on Friday night.” Laura waved and left.

  Leaving Ethan alone with Wendy. Well, alone in the middle of a restaurant, but with them, that had never mattered.

  That was then, and this is now, he reminded himself.

  Yeah, right.

  Ethan smiled then when he noticed the red coat she was wearing. “Still channeling Little Red Riding Hood?” He remembered how she cherished that old coat of her mother’s after she died. He remembered how pretty she’d looked in it. Still did.

  Now that he’d gotten over the shock of her short hair, he liked it. The way it cupped her head with reddish-brown curls acted as a frame for her face’s smooth skin and perfectly formed features. Except . . . wait . . . was that a thin scar that ran from beneath her left ear, under her chin, and towards her windpipe? She hadn’t had that or any other scars when he’d known her and every part of her young body. Holy crap! Had someone tried to slash her throat?

  But then, he had to remind himself that this was only one of the many things that would be different about her now. After all, she was a trained female Navy SEAL now. She’d always been physically fit, an Olympic-level swimmer and diver, and she had taken some karate self-defense classes, but she had a different kind of physique now, and she carried herself differently. Harder. More sharply honed. Hell, she probably killed people. Bad people. The Wendy he’d known wouldn’t kill a mouse. She hadn’t owned a weapon or had the skill to use one, not even a can of frickin’ Mace.

  All these changes! Because of me? Or maybe this is the real Wendy I never knew.

  “Yeah. Old habits and all that,” Wendy said, knocking him out of his trance.

  For a moment he didn’t understand what she meant, but then he realized that she was reacting to his Red Riding Hood remark. Had she taken it as a criticism? He hadn’t meant it that way.

  Damn! I’m like a teenager tripping over my own tongue.

  She was gathering her purse, taking out a bill to leave on the table for a tip. Obviously, she was in a hurry to leave. With her face flushed to match her coat, she looked as panicked as he felt, or maybe it was just anger, old and new.

  He should say something to cool the air. “So, how’s it feel to be back home?” Could I sound any more lame?

  “Good and bad.” At least she’d paused in her leave-taking and was looking at him. Closely.

  He waited for her to elaborate. Come on, Tony, how long does it take to grab a coat? “Oh?” Another lame remark!

  “The good? I love the Outer Banks, you know that.”

  So, why have you stayed away? was his unspoken question. “You used to,” he conceded.

  She didn’t respond to that jibe, except for a lifting of her chin which further exposed the scar, but went on. “The bad is that it’s not the same here without my dad. Plus, it’s been an adjustment with all those people in the house. You’ve probably heard the rumors about Aunt Mil.”

  “I don’t pay much attention to gossip. My grandmother was over there last week, the first time she and your aunt have spoken in twelve years. Said that the people she met seemed nice.”

  “What? Twelve years? Are you kidding? They were best friends.”

  He shrugged.

  “How is your grandmother?”

  “Nana is as crotchety and as interfering as ever.”

  She laughed, although he could tell that her mind was still snagged back there on a twelve-year spat between the old ladies. “Crotchety equals grinchy in my book. Surely she’s not on that list of nominees.”

  “She actually is. One vote from a difficult customer. But mostly, she’s just grumpy with me.”

  They exchanged a smile, and it was nice. Friendly. But then, he recalled his daughter’s words of that morning, a Wendy kind of love, and knew that he and Wendy would never be friends.

  “You’re frowning,” she pointed out. “Something I said?”

  “Nah. J
ust a lot on my mind.” Where the hell was Tony? Now, Laura, he knew, was probably pulling a deliberate ploy to make him squirm. She’d had it in for him ever since . . . well, for a long time.

  “Is it your daughter? Aunt Mil told me that she has some physical problems, and I noticed the wheelchair yesterday.”

  He stiffened. No way was he going to discuss Cassie with this woman who probably thought he’d been carrying a torch for her all these years, that he regretted everything that had happened with Beth Anne. How could he, when that one-night stand had resulted in his precious little girl? “Cassie is fine. It’s just a busy time of the year for me, with the tree farm, and then this business with the bell factory.” He shrugged.

  She didn’t look convinced.

  “Look, Wendy, this is really awkward, and it shouldn’t be. We have a history. Big deal! I don’t love you anymore, in case you’re thinking that I’ve been pining away over you, and—”

  “Pining?” she sputtered with a laugh. “What kind of word is pining?”

  It was the kind of word his grandmother would use. He should have laughed, too. Instead, for some reason, her laughter ignited a spark of bitterness that he must have been harboring all these years because he added, “—and you sure as hell never loved me.”

  He immediately regretted his words when he saw the hurt in her eyes, those beautiful brown eyes flecked with gold that were glistening now with tears . . . tears he’d caused.

  “Don’t . . . you . . . dare . . . say . . . that!” she half whispered.

  “Ah, Wendy,” he said, and pulled her into his arms, right there in the middle of the Cracked Crab restaurant. She fit just right, like always, with her face tucked against his neck, smelling of lilies of the valley, or some summery flower. Then, when she lifted her face to say something, he almost kissed her. It was a reflex, something he’d done so often over so many years.

  But not lately.

  Not for twelve years.

  Have I lost my mind?

  He jerked back, dropping his arms, and murmured, “Sorry,” before turning, about to walk away.