by Susan Wiggs
He squinted into the distance. “The train’s coming.”
“It probably won’t even wake him up. Noise doesn’t seem to bother him,” she said. Her mobile phone emitted a beep, signaling a text message. Glancing at the screen, she saw that it was from Julian. Her heart stumbled in her chest, and she quickly put the phone away.
“Everything okay?” asked Logan.
“Fine.” She figured she’d read it and respond to Julian later when she had a moment to herself.
Logan bent and tucked a blanket more snugly around Charlie, who was completely zoned out by now. In the distance, the train slowed and then stopped. “Switching tracks, it looks like,” Logan said. “The northbound train’s just arriving, too.”
“Is all your shopping done?” she asked Logan, talking to fill the silence rather than out of any true curiosity.
To her surprise, he slipped his arm around her waist. “Yeah,” he said. “I got everything I need.”
He said something else, but it was drowned out by the gnashing of brakes from the train arriving on the opposite track.
“That’s good,” she said, somewhat bemused by his arm around her. Ever since he’d kissed her that one time, she kept catching herself wondering, playing a slightly different version of What if…? As in, What if Logan and I…?
Unperturbed by the noise in the station, Charlie slept on.
Across the way, the train from the city closed its doors and pulled away. At the same time, the southbound train rode a surge of steam into the station. One going, one coming, Charlie drowsing in his stroller.
At that moment, the departing train and blowing steam left her a clear view of the just-arrived passengers on the opposite track, twelve feet across the way. She saw people carrying luggage and shopping bags stuffed with brightly-wrapped packages, filled with surprises.
Then her gaze was caught by a tall young man standing alone on the platform, an olive-drab duffel bag at his feet and a glossy blue shopping bag in hand. Broad shoulders and a proud bearing. A service cap barely covering impossibly short hair. His beautiful mahogany-colored face matching the one she dreamed about far too frequently.
She didn’t—couldn’t—speak. Surprise took her voice away. Her lips formed his name:
Julian.
It was impossible, but there he was, a look of puzzlement, then confusion, on his face. Suddenly Logan’s arm around Daisy felt like a dead weight. And then, just as quickly, Julian was gone, obliterated by the arriving southbound train.
“Here we go,” Logan said cheerfully, having completely missed the unexpected arrival. He took his arm from around her. “All aboard. Can you give me a hand here?”
Daisy’s limbs felt sluggish, her mind on fire. There was a line at the nearest train car, so they had to wait. She kept craning her neck, wondering if she was seeing things. No way. That was Julian. What was he doing here after he’d sworn he wasn’t coming, apologizing all over the place? And more, what was he thinking?
She stood next to Logan on the platform, waiting their turn to board the train with their overnight bags and Charlie and the stroller. When a delay was announced over the PA system, Daisy stepped to the area between cars and looked across at the now empty platform. Where had he gone?
Grabbing the mobile phone from her pocket, she opened it to read his message—Surprise, coming for Xmas after all. Noon train. See you soon. Love, J.
She sent a wild look at the clock. Oh, no. Oh, God. Oh, no.
Then, as though conjured up by her yearning and confusion, Julian emerged onto the platform, his cap gone, his chest heaving with exertion. “Daisy,” he said.
“I thought you weren’t coming for Christmas.”
“I’m using up every minute of a forty-eight-hour leave,” he said. “But…where are you going?”
“None of your business,” Logan snapped, striding across the platform. “Later, pal. She’s with me.”
“Hey,” Daisy said sharply. “You can’t just leave Charlie parked in the stroller like that!” Exasperated with both of them, she hurried over and grabbed the stroller, maneuvering it around. She returned in time to see them facing off, drawing the curiosity of onlookers. Great, she thought. Just great. They each looked menacing in their own way, Julian in his ROTC uniform, handsome as a recruiting poster, and Logan assuming a protective stance, the weak afternoon light glinting off his fiery red hair. They seemed oblivious to everything around them, even Daisy.
“…had a problem with you since day one,” Julian was saying.
“You think I care about that?” Logan demanded.
It was hard to tell who pushed first. They clashed like a pair of freight trains, the steam of the engine swirling around them, a small crowd gathering. Daisy shoved herself directly between them, narrowly missing a flying punch. “Cut it out,” she yelled. “Quit acting like a pair of jerks.”
“’Top it!” yelled Charlie, now awake in his stroller.
Logan barely slowed down as he neatly went around Daisy, intent on another attack. Julian stepped aside at the last possible second, causing Logan to lurch to the edge of the platform. He teetered there, arms windmilling at empty air. Daisy screamed, flashing on an image of Logan dying under the train’s wheels. Just as quickly, Julian grabbed a fistful of Logan’s jacket and hauled him back. Momentum from the quick save propelled them backward, and they fell in a heap. The fight didn’t end, though. Logan muscled his way out of Julian’s grasp and turned toward him, fists flying. Clothing ripped and things erupted from their pockets—coins, keys, a pocket knife, a subway token, a single leather glove.
“That’s it,” Daisy said, bodily inserting herself between them again, so pumped with adrenaline that she was able to stop a flailing fist. Both guys stepped back, breathing hard, sweating despite the cold.
At some point during the shoving match, a small velvet box had hit the platform and popped open. The glare from a fluorescent overhead light struck the contents—a diamond solitaire, winking at her.
“Oh,” Daisy said, looking from one guy to the other, her head abuzz with confusion. “Oh,” she said again. “You dropped something.”
Twenty-One
There was something almost ritualistic in the way a champagne bottle was opened—the quick peel of the metallic foil, the unwinding of the wire basket and the slow, inevitable twisting of the cork. You never quite knew when the cork was going to blow, but the wise drinker took care to keep the neck of the bottle angled away from his face. The entire ritual lasted about twenty-three seconds, Eddie reckoned, because for some reason he didn’t understand, he was counting the twists of the cork. Twenty-three seconds to wash away years of hard-won sobriety.
The cork blew with a satisfying thwok, and thumped against the ceiling of the kitchen. He didn’t have a champagne flute, so he poured the dancing liquid into a juice glass from the cabinet over the sink. He watched the tiny bubbles surge upward in the glass, each one a celestial bead of promise.
At times like this, he was supposed to call Terry Davis, the guy who was his sponsor here in Avalon. But the holidays were here and Eddie didn’t want to be a pest. This year in particular, Terry was preoccupied, with his first grandchild on the way; his son Connor and daughter-in-law Olivia were expecting. Eddie knew damned well that wasn’t how the program worked. When you were about to take a drink, you called your sponsor, end of story. Do not pass go, do not pick up that cold, delicious glass of oblivion and carry it to your lips, do not—
A sharp knock at the door broke into the moment. Eddie set down the glass and went to answer it, glancing at the clock as he crossed the room. Still hours to go before it was time for the pageant.
“Hey, Mr. Haven,” said Omar Veltry, pushing inside without waiting to be invited. “Check this out. We got something to show you.” He was followed inside by his two brothers, then Jabez and Cecil.
“Check what out?” Eddie said.
“You online over here?” Randy demanded, barging toward Eddie’s laptop, whic
h was set up at the dining room table.
Eddie’s laptop was a musician/composer’s dream, tricked out with all the bells and whistles needed for music production. He planted himself protectively in front of it. “Whoa, slow down. What do you want with my laptop?”
“You gotta hear this,” said Moby. “Cecil made it from our session with you the other day.”
“Cecil, man, you’re a freakin’ genius, that’s what you are,” Omar said, typing in an address.
“Hey,” Eddie started to object.
“Just listen,” Jabez said.
A moment later, his original song came through the speakers, the one he’d written for Maureen. No, for the program, he corrected himself. A video appeared, showing a montage of shots from the PBS filming—the crew had been covering rehearsals all week. The images were interspersed with still-life winter scenes by Daisy Bellamy. There were live-action studio shots of Eddie himself, recording the song. It was a surprisingly professional production, mixed in a way that was curiously mesmerizing.
“You did this?” he asked Cecil.
“Yep,” he said with a shy grin.
“He’s a mad geek,” Omar added. “A genius.”
“Look at the stats,” Randy said. “Look at all those hits. It went viral, man.”
“You’re gonna be famous all over again,” Omar added.
Eddie felt queasy. He didn’t want to be famous. “Take it down,” he said to Cecil. “Seriously—”
“Wait, check this out,” Moby said. “He set it up to enable downloads.”
“For the library,” Cecil interjected. “Every download sends a donation to the library.”
“No way,” Eddie said. “That’s insane.”
“That’s the Internet, man,” Omar said.
Eddie stepped back, incredulous. “You’re sure that’s how it works?”
“That’s exactly how it works,” said Jabez.
“Wait till Miss Davenport sees this,” Randy said. “She’s going to love you for it, man.”
“Doubtful,” said Eddie.
“They’re fighting,” said Omar.
“How do you know we’re fighting?” Eddie demanded.
“That’s what Jabez said.”
“And how do you know?” Eddie asked the boy.
He shrugged. “Lucky guess?”
Eddie furrowed his fingers through his hair. “I screwed up,” he admitted.
“You did,” the brothers agreed.
“I’ve got a lot of work to do.”
They nodded in unison. “What are you going to do about it?” asked Randy.
“Me?” Eddie asked. “Nothing I can do.”
Jabez chuckled. “Right. We have to go get ready for tonight. See you later, Eddie.”
They left in a jostling whirlwind. Eddie stood listening to the music on the computer. Those kids were amazing, producing this practically out of nothing. A totally unlikely friendship had sprung up between the ultracool Veltry brothers, Jabez and geeky Cecil Byrne. Without the pageant, they never would have become friends. Thrown together, they’d made this…this thing people all over the world were downloading at a furious rate.
Eddie dared to scroll down to read some of the comments, which already numbered in the thousands. Damn. He was famous all over again. Not exactly what he wanted, but if the boys were right, this might be exactly what the library needed. Holy crap, thought Eddie. It was his own personal Christmas miracle.
He went back into the kitchen. There was no hesitation. He took the champagne bottle in one hand and the glass in the other, clinking them together in a toast. “Cheers,” he said, and poured everything down the drain.
Twenty-Two
Maureen was proud of herself for not falling apart over Eddie Haven. She’d known from the start that he was a mistake, but she’d been swept away. She’d allowed herself to forget the pain and shame and risk that came from handing her heart over to another person. Ignoring the lessons of the past, she had dared to dream of a future. Where had that foolishness come from? She should have known better. Eddie had blinded her. He was like that, as dazzling as the sun.
Her doorbell rang, causing her heart to leap, proving that even though she’d resigned herself to the end of her and Eddie, some foolish part of her still dared to hope. She fixed her hair and straightened her sweater, then opened the door.
“Oh,” she said. “Mr. Shannon.” One look at his face, and she knew something was wrong.
“I wanted to tell you in person.” The president of the library board took off his knitted cap. “It’s about the library fund.”
Her spirits sank. “We didn’t make our goal,” she said.
He nodded, his face bleak. “I’m sorry to tell you this on Christmas Eve. I’m going on vacation tomorrow night and won’t be seeing you until…until the closure is done, and I wanted to tell you in person.”
“So what you’re saying is, the library will be closed for good.”
“Maureen, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what else to say.”
There was nothing left to say. She simply nodded her head, accepting the inevitable. The emotional one-two punch of Eddie, followed by the library failure, left her reeling. Somehow, she managed to keep a brave face as she insisted on making up a plate of cookies for him, then bade him a merry Christmas.
Just get through tonight’s performance, she told herself. After that, she’d throw herself into finding a new job. And she’d never have to deal with Eddie Haven again. For the time being, the best therapy was to stay busy. For pity’s sake, stay busy.
It was easy enough to do. She still had a few last-minute gifts to put together. She took special care with her mail carrier’s annual assortment of Christmas cookies. Maureen’s street was at the end of Carolyn’s route. On Christmas Eve, it would be one of the final deliveries before the holiday kicked into high gear. A sweet treat at the end of the day would be just right for Carolyn. Maureen chose a selection of iced lemon bars, chocolate mint gems, soft molasses cookies and gingerbread men.
She nestled each morsel in wax paper in a pretty basket and found a CD with her favorite Christmas songs to tuck in, as well. The cats deemed her tears boring and padded away to nap by the radiator. Tears? Good heavens, she was working with tears pouring down her face; she was falling apart at the seams. Pull it together, she admonished herself. She turned on the TV for company while she worked.
When she heard the familiar opening strains of The Christmas Caper, she hurried to change the channel…and then stopped herself. Just because she and Eddie were over didn’t mean she had to go cold turkey. She still had to live in a world where this movie played, where his photo ran in the occasional magazine and his voice came over the radio. There was no point in hiding.
She had to prove she could survive the hurt. This meant letting herself feel the pain, acknowledge the terrible lash across her heart and carry on in spite of it.
Almost defiantly, she turned up the volume just in time to hear little Jimmy Kringle deliver a line: “I’m not giving up hope, I swear I’m not.”
“You go right on hoping, little fella. See where it gets you,” said the cynical Beasley, who played the head of the orphanage.
There was no reason a cringe-inducing line like that should work, yet in the context of the heart-touching movie, it did. For a moment, Maureen just stared at the boy’s face on the screen. He was every child who had ever been scared and lonely. That was his magic. The naked yearning in his enormous eyes was palpable. He showed the kind of vulnerability most people kept inside, buried beneath layers of protective armor. Eddie left it all out there, as a small child and all his life. Even in this performance, he was emotionally fearless. She knew now that this talent had led him to highs and lows, to falling in love repeatedly, to feeling pain so deeply he tried to numb it by drinking, and finally to have the courage to change.
He claimed she never truly took a leap of faith, that she was always hedging her bets. Was she? Perhaps so, but flinging hers
elf into things—into passion, music, love—was just not her way of conducting herself. She couldn’t turn into someone else. She did believe there was a way to live her life without fear, to bring meaning into every moment. It was up to her to find optimism and faith, even in the midst of heartbreak. That would be her project, then, she thought, her way of getting over him.
He’d grown into a remarkable man, she thought, but she was not so starry-eyed about him that she considered him perfect. He was flawed and human. His issues with his parents ran deep. She should know better than to fall for a guy who didn’t want to be around his own parents. A guy like that couldn’t be right for her. Could he?
She put the finishing touches on the mail carrier’s gift, dangling the last of the curly ribbon to Franklin and Eloise to play with. The cats leaped upon it as though it was the treasure of Sierra Madre. She stared at the face filling the screen now. No wonder she’d fallen in love with Eddie. She thought about the pain he was actually feeling at that age and the unhappy times he’d had with his family at Christmas. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t realize how much it would hurt you. I didn’t know it would ruin us.”
These were things she needed to say to the real Eddie. And she would. Maybe. Just not…not now. He made her care too much, feel too much. Maybe that had been what had driven her to contact his parents. Perhaps she’d felt a secret need to throw an obstacle in the way and she’d found the perfect thing—his parents. Meddling where she had no business—what better way to sabotage their relationship? No. That wasn’t her motivation and she knew it. The reason she’d contacted his parents, the reason she wanted him to reconnect, was that she loved him. Against all good sense, she loved him and wanted him to be happy.
Her immediate concern was to put on a Christmas pageant that would not be a complete disaster. That, and get her emotional body armor back in place, praying the hairline cracks would not become a gaping wound.
In the falling twilight, the streetlights diffused by snow flurries, she saw the mail carrier approaching and hurried down with her basket of homemade cookies. Despite the snow, Carolyn had a spring in her step, probably because the workday was nearly over.