The Forever Christmas Tree

by Sandra Hill

  When he slid his hands inside the back of both her pants and panties, cupping her buttocks, she raised herself up so that he could shove the fabrics down to her knees. At the same time, she was undoing the tie on his sweats, shoving his boxers down to his knees, and taking him in her hand, then guiding him into her where he was welcomed with convulsing muscles.

  She’s climaxing? Already? Oh, man! Oh, shit! Not yet. Wait a minute. No! Yes!

  With his hands on her hips, he held her in place, in to the hilt, until her spasms slowed down, coming to a stop. Only then did he guide her in the rhythm he wanted. Long strokes, drawn out, not short and hard thrusts like she seemed to want.

  The whole time they were still kissing, or he might have told her to slow down. Or maybe not.

  It was a combat of wills as she tried to ride him in a frenzy of bucking, while he held firm, putting on the brakes. As long as he could. When he finally surrendered . . . What else could he do? . . . she was making those little squeaking sounds he remembered as she climbed to a second orgasm, and he was arching his neck and letting loose with a guttural roar of torturous pleasure.

  For a long moment, she sat on his lap, with his no longer rigid cock still inside her. Her head was sagging against his shoulder, and she seemed to be shaking. Was she crying?

  Had he taken advantage of her? No, he was pretty sure that she was the one who initiated the sex. But maybe he should have been the sensible one knowing she would have regrets. Oh, God! Don’t let her be regretting already.

  “Wendy?” he said, raising her face in his cupped hands so he could look at her.

  She wasn’t crying. She was laughing.

  “I told you I was hungry,” she said.

  He laughed then, too.

  Like sand through the hourglass, their time together was sifting away . . .

  Wendy was looking forward to her time at the pool. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d swum and dived, just for pleasure. Added to the fun was Cassie’s excitement over something that had meant so much to Wendy.

  From the time they’d picked Cassie up at her friend’s house, the girl didn’t stop talking. Which, in a way, was a good thing because it kept Wendy from thinking about last night and this morning and her outrageous, out-of-character, mind-blowing (and other kinds of blowing, forgive my crudity) sexual romp. That’s how she had to refer to it in her mind . . . a romp, insinuating a casual encounter, nothing permanent or even long-term. The idea of “love-making” was more than she could handle at this point.

  So, she leaned back in the comfortable leather of the Lexus passenger seat and listened with amusement to Ethan’s daughter.

  “Miss Wendy . . . I mean, Wen-dy!” she squealed. “What are you doing here? The pool? Today? Oh, Dad, that is the best Christmas surprise. You don’t even have to buy me a Christmas present now. Except for an iPad Mini, hair chalk, a bracelet bead kit, a mermaid blanket, a cat purse, cupcake-scented bath bombs, a karaoke machine, and a ukulele, but Santa can bring those.” She batted her eyelashes at her father.

  Ethan just rolled his eyes at Wendy, while Cassie buckled herself into the backseat of the sedan, and said, “That’s the first I’ve heard of a ukulele.”

  “I just added it to my list. Maggie Olson brought one to the sleepover last night, and it was so cool!”

  Ethan explained to Wendy, “Her Christmas list changes by the day—by the hour, even.”

  But Cassie was already off on other tangents.

  “Did you get my choir gown from the dry cleaners? I have dress rehearsal for the children’s bell choir tomorrow morning.”

  “How long till we get to the pool?”

  “Did you bring my pink sparkly bathing suit, or the pink unicorn one? Oh, good! Maybe I’ll buy a blue one next time. Blue to match my eyes.” Wendy turned and smiled at her for that latter remark.

  “Nana said I could stay up as long as I want on Christmas Eve. Well, maybe she didn’t say that exactly, but I bet she would let me wait up till I hear Santa’s sleigh bells.” She gave a mischievous grin to show she probably didn’t believe in Santa anymore.

  That was proved when she added with an almost-adult cynicism, “Do you think Santa gets his sleigh bells from Bell Forge?”

  “Why is your mouth all kinda red, Dad? Do you have chapped lips? You can use my Chapstick if you want.”

  Definitely an almost-adult cynicism.

  “Your lips are chapped, too, Wendy. Were you out in the wind? My lips get chapped in the summer when I’m on the beach too long.”

  “You’re pushing it, kiddo,” Ethan said.

  “Guess what, Dad? Melanie’s mother said you’re a hottie. She was talking to Maggie’s mom in the kitchen.”

  “I’m hungry.”

  “My sweater itches.”

  “Is Mrs. Santa Claus the mommy to all those elves?” she inquired, back on the Santa joking issue.

  “Will it snow for Christmas? I wish it would. Nana says snow for Christmas is good luck.”

  By the time they got to the Sunset Dunes Health Club, Wendy’s head was beginning to ache, but she had to admire Ethan’s patience with his daughter. Even as he rolled his eyes, or arched his brows, or laughed out loud at the absurdity of some things Cassie said, he still took the time to respond. Not always in the affirmative, but in such an understanding way that she realized, not only had the boy Ethan grown into a successful businessman but he was also a really good father.

  Oh, and, by the way, a super lover, too.

  Even though it was a Saturday, there wasn’t a big crowd at the club due to the holiday weekend. About a dozen men and women worked out in the weight and apparatus areas, and another half dozen were in the pool.

  Wendy went into the ladies’ locker room with Cassie who donned a pretty pink sparkly two-piece, and Wendy put on her old high school, faded black tank suit. Cassie seemed self-conscious about the scars on her upper leg leading to her hip until Wendy pointed out that she had scars, too.

  Cassie’s eyes went wide with wonder and she reached over to trace the line on her neck when Wendy bent down to give her a better view.

  “If anyone ever makes fun of your scar, you just tell them that it’s a sign of valor. That means bravery. You and I know what it’s like to have pain for a little while, and then God gives us these scars like a badge of honor.”

  “Really?” Cassie beamed and ran out to give her father the news.

  “Slow down, honey,” Wendy called after her. “You don’t want to slip and fall.”

  They met Ethan poolside, where the air was warm with humidity and the pungent scent of chlorine, and he was testing the water with a big toe. He wore a pair of navy trunks that hung low on his hips. He arched his brows at Cassie’s chatter about scars and badges and bravery, then mouthed “Thank you!” to Wendy.

  Wendy decided to loosen up first with a few laps. Diving off the side, she swam a number of different styles, nothing strenuous. A front crawl for one lap, followed by the backstroke, then breaststroke, a butterfly, then another front crawl. Swimming over to where Ethan was in the water with Cassie at the lower end, she finger-combed the wet hair off her face and smiled at the little girl who was floating on her back, with her father’s help.

  “Take a few laps while I check out your daughter’s swimming skills,” she advised Ethan.

  He hesitated, and Wendy knew he was worried that she would have Cassie do something that might harm her hip.

  “I’ll be careful,” she promised.

  He did a shallow dive from a standing position and swam the length of the pool, underwater, before coming up with a dolphin splash, then twisting into a slow crawl.

  “Can you swim at all, Cassie?” she asked.

  “Sure!”

  For the next fifteen minutes, Cassie demonstrated her rudimentary skills, and Wendy showed her how to improve her breathing underwater and perfect her speed by tucking in her legs and using her overhead strokes in a straight path. The little girl was a fast learner. Wit
hin a half hour, by the time her father returned to them and made them both yelp when he shook his hair at them like a shaggy dog, Cassie was able to demonstrate improvement. Wendy was pleased to see the surprise on Ethan’s face that she’d accomplished so much in such a short time.

  “Can you dive at all, Cassie?” Wendy asked.

  The girl shook her head, sadly.

  “Um, I don’t think . . .” Ethan started to say.

  “Trust me, Ethan. I won’t let her get hurt.”

  He nodded.

  Then she suggested to Cassie, “How about we try just a few low dives off the side of the pool, first from a sitting position, then kneeling, then standing on the edge.” To Ethan, she added, “You could stay in the water to spot Cassie, if need be, but I don’t think it’ll be necessary. Are you game, Cass?”

  The little girl nodded.

  Somehow, all the lessons that Wendy had been given over the years came back to her:

  “Remember, always keep your arms straight overhead, with your elbows touching your ears. That’s right. Just like that.”

  “Enter the water fingers first and make sure you bend to avoid a belly flopper.”

  “Toes curled over the edge!”

  “Relax. Loosey-goosey saves the day.”

  “No, I don’t think you’re ready for a running dive yet, honey.”

  A short time later, with Wendy guiding her slim body into the various positions, Cassie was giggling with delight. “I can do it, Dad. I can do it!” And she did, many times.

  Finally, Ethan got out of the pool and held out a towel for Cassie. “Time to take a break, princess. Your body is starting to protest.”

  Wendy could see that the girl was overdoing it, the exhaustion showing in her heavy breathing and the trembling of her muscles, not to mention her bluish lips. She hadn’t noticed until Ethan had called it to her attention. She supposed it was the kind of thing a parent would notice, but not an outsider. Which she was, she had to remind herself.

  Ethan sat down on a bench and pulled Cassie down beside him. “Maybe Wendy can give us a demonstration of how the big girls dive.”

  “Oooh, yes! A swan dive!”

  “Okay. I’m a bit rusty; so, don’t expect too much.”

  She climbed to the high dive and prepared herself mentally with a few deep breaths, reminding herself of all the aspects of the dive, just as she had in her old competition days. Starting stance. The approach, using no more than three steps . . . the clank, clank, clank of the springboard like music to a diver’s ears. The forward hurdle from the last step. The take-off, making sure to be a safe distance from the board. The flight—the best part, in her opinion—which should be smooth and graceful with arms outspread, easing into one of the four positions: tuck, pike, straight, free. Then, arms overhead, and a clean entry into the water, as close to vertical as possible.

  When she came up to the surface, she heard applause. Not just from Ethan who was whistling and clapping at the same time, but from Cassie, and all the others in the pool at that time.

  It hadn’t been a perfect dive, but not bad after all this time. She did six more, one after the other, enjoying herself immensely. When she came out of the water for the last time, a guy wearing a shirt with a Sunset Dunes Health Club logo came up to her and introduced himself as Mike Sullivan, the manager. “I saw you teaching that little girl to swim and dive earlier. Any chance you’d be interested in giving lessons?”

  She laughed and informed him that she was only visiting the island.

  They chatted a bit about the club and about her history of competitive swimming on the island. He asked her to give him a call if she ever changed her mind.

  When she got back to Ethan—Cassie was in the water again, dog paddling around with another little girl she’d become friendly with—he said, “What was that all about?” He motioned toward Mike who was talking to an elderly woman who was about to enter the pool.

  “Job offer. Swimming instructor.”

  “Really?”

  “What? You thought he was hitting on me?”

  “Why not? I’d like to.”

  “Don’t you think you’ve done enough hitting on me already?” she teased, casting him a flirtatious sideways glance as she towel-dried her hair.

  “Not nearly enough,” he whispered, leaning forward to nip at her ear.

  They left soon after that, Ethan saying that Cassie had had enough exercise for one day. In fact, after a quick late lunch—at McDonald’s, at Cassie’s urging—the little girl fell into an exhausted sleep in the backseat, her head nestled on a small pillow and burrowed under a fleece blanket, both of which Ethan carried in his trunk for just that purpose.

  “She’ll probably have to use her crutches this evening and maybe tomorrow at her bell choir practice,” Ethan said. “Rehab and too much exercise has that effect on her.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make her overdo.”

  “It’s not your fault. She loved it.” He reached across the seat and took her hand in his, squeezing. “Thank you for taking your time with her.”

  “It was my pleasure.”

  “I only wish . . .” He stopped himself from saying more.

  But she knew what he’d been about to say. He wished she would be around to help her more. “I’ve told my aunt that I’ll come back more often. If . . . when I do . . . I’m willing to work with her again.”

  He nodded, but she could tell that wasn’t enough, both for his daughter and for him.

  “I know you want to spend some time with your aunt and your friends from California, but would you go to the dance they’re holding at Gabe’s house with me tomorrow night?”

  “You mean, like a date?” She turned in her seat to look at him directly.

  “Don’t look so worried.” He chucked her under the chin, playfully. “We probably won’t have another chance to be together, like we were last night. But I’d like to spend some time with you before you go back to California.”

  That sounded harmless enough.

  She should have known better.

  Chapter 17

  Christmas magic or Christmas madness? . . .

  It was a hectic Sunday for Ethan and his family, from the moment they woke up, starting with Harvey having chewed up his reindeer headgear and barfing all over the kitchen floor. Yes, Ethan had agreed to let the dog be part of the festivities and would no doubt regret it. He already did. He made a quick run to the general store for Gorilla Glue to repair the damage.

  A rushed breakfast followed, in which Nana did nothing but complain. Foremost was: “Two days before Christmas! It’s practically a sacrilege that a Christmas tree farmer has no tree up yet in his own home. Deck the halls with boughs of . . . nothing.”

  “I’ll bring one home today.”

  “And we can decorate it tonight?” Cassie said, hopping excitedly in her chair. The girl was all hyped up, from sugar in the massive amount of syrup on her waffle, or the season itself, or a combination of both. She’d be dead on her feet by noon, or limping like crazy.

  “I’m going to a dance tonight. We’ll do the tree later this afternoon,” he promised.

  “What dance? The annual Bell Ball? Who are you going with?” his grandmother wanted to know.

  He declined to answer, which was an answer in itself.

  His grandmother didn’t even bother to hide her smirk.

  After that, it was a full dress rehearsal for Cassie in the children’s bell choir at nine (which involved full-out panic when her black patent leather shoes couldn’t be found), opening the Christmas shop and tree lot for the day (many people didn’t buy their trees until the last minute, himself included, mea culpa), preparations for the first annual Christmas Grinchy Parade (Don’t ask!), making sure they had enough employees on hand while he, Nana, and Cassie attended eleven o’clock Sunday church services at St. Andrew’s (looking for Wendy in the congregation, even though he knew she’d be over at Our Lady by the Sea, if she attended at all), t
hen lunch at the Cracked Crab (where the special of the day was Crab Who-Hash, which was amazingly delicious. Cassie had the Cindy Lou bread pudding. More sugar!).

  Cassie wasn’t the only one amped up on holiday madness. Excitement was in the air in all of Bell Cove, more than usual, and the bells seemed to be ringing almost incessantly. Everywhere he looked there was something related to grinches, either the book or its characters or the contest. A sign in The Book Den window announced that How the Grinch Stole Christmas was sold out until January 12th. He noticed at least a half-dozen men in grinch costumes, including Baxter who’d also managed to dye his skin green, thanks to Francine, no doubt, and a lot of Cindy Lous and other Whoville kids. A perfectly shaped Douglas fir tree from his lot had been placed in the middle of the town square gazebo, right next to the newly installed Nativity scene.

  News media vans were double parked all over the place, giving Bill Henderson a fit as he wrote out one ticket after another, which prompted a ton of grinch votes for him. From now until tonight when the grinch would be crowned at the dance, the final tabulations were being kept under wraps. The lucky so-and-so would be totally surprised.

  It better not be me!

  Meanwhile, all the town people were being sickeningly sweet in an obvious attempt to avoid grinch votes. Or, in their defense (but not much), maybe they were just happy to have this influx of business. A holiday cash bonanza!

  Ethan fielded five cell phone calls from the mayor, three from Laura, and two from Gabe. Everyone was anxious over last-minute details related to the parade, the dance, the contest, tomorrow evening’s traditional bell walk, etc., etc., etc.

  At least all this frenzy was keeping him from obsessing over Wendy too much, and how her time in Bell Cove was winding down. Soon she would be gone. Again.

  He couldn’t think about that now.

  Hometown hokey . . .

  Wendy spent Saturday evening with her aunt Mildred and all the guests at the Patterson house. That didn’t mean that her thoughts weren’t with and about Ethan after last night at his house, then today with him and Cassie at the pool. Oh, no! It was like she had an Ethan chip embedded in her brain now, and it went off regularly, like the bells of Bell Cove.