No Christmas Like the Present

by Sierra Donovan

  “A few times, when I’ve had my parents down. I always need help with the gravy, though.” She stirred the light brown, slightly thin mixture poured into the hollow on top of her potatoes. “This is fine. But it can’t touch my mother’s gravy.”

  His eyes were thoughtful. “I’ll bet she’s a lot like you.”

  “I guess so.” Lindsay grinned. “She says it took her ten years to get the recipe right.”

  “That definitely sounds like you.”

  “You could find out.” Lindsay raised a forkful of non-homemade mashed potatoes and tried to sound casual. “I’d love it if you’d come with me to my parents’ house tomorrow.”

  Fred looked touched, and something else. He avoided her eyes—something Lindsay had come to recognize as a bad sign—and toyed with his glass of sparkling cider. “That’s very nice of you. But how on earth would you explain me to your parents?”

  “The same way I did at work, I guess. You’re visiting from out of the country. . . .”

  His eyes met hers again, his gaze so direct it was almost like a stab. “My love, I won’t be here tomorrow.”

  Lindsay’s fork froze on its way to her mouth. “What?”

  “Come Christmas Day, you’re on your own. It’s time for you to start applying what you’ve learned. That’s the way it works.”

  Her appetite vanished. By now, she wouldn’t have thought it was possible to feel betrayed by Fred, but she did. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”

  “I didn’t want you thinking about it.” Fred took her hand, lightly tracing her knuckle. “We have until midnight tonight.”

  “That means we’ve only got—”

  Lindsay looked down at her wrist, but not before Fred laid his hand over her watch, then neatly slipped it off in one smooth motion. He put it in his pocket. “Forgive me. But this is what I wanted to avoid. If you have it on, you’ll keep looking at it.”

  “There’s that candlelight service at eleven—”

  “I’ll make sure we don’t miss it. For the rest of the night, when it comes to time, you’re on a need-to-know basis.”

  She would have thought Fred wouldn’t want to go anywhere near the lake, so soon after having been under it. But when she told him that was the neighborhood with the best Christmas lights, he was the one who suggested making the short trip up the mountain.

  After surveying several streets from the car, Lindsay parked near the pier on the south side, where the lake was ringed by two-story homes with colorful lights that cast blurred reflections on the frozen water. Lindsay felt her eyes pulled toward the north end of the lake, where Fred had taken his spill, but it was too far away to see.

  They got out of her car and walked alongside the lake, where flat boards over the edge of the water replaced ordinary sidewalks. If she’d been with anyone else, Lindsay would have been freezing. But with Fred beside her, she’d long since discovered, she was never cold.

  They stopped and rested their arms on the rough wooden railing that bordered the walkway. Lindsay’s eyes skimmed over the houses, especially the ones with lighted Christmas trees downstairs and darkened windows upstairs, where the children’s bedrooms would be. She could feel the descending quiet, the growing anticipation. And tried to fight her own increasing dread. They had so little time left. She shivered despite the fact that she wasn’t cold.

  Fred put his arm around her. “So, what do you think is happening in these houses tonight?”

  “The children are nestled all snug in their beds?”

  “Of course. But what’s going on in, say, that house?” He pointed to a home where every tree and bush was wrapped or covered in red and green lights. “I say Mom and Dad have put the children to bed. She’s wrapping the last of the presents, and he’s trying to assemble a tricycle.”

  Just when she thought she’d gotten used to Fred . . . Lindsay turned with a frown. “How do you know that?”

  He chuckled. “I don’t. It’s just a game. You can do it too. How about—say, that house?”

  He pointed to one trimmed in white icicle lights. Through a downstairs window, Lindsay glimpsed the flickering blue eye of a television screen. “They’re watching It’s a Wonderful Life.”

  “Quite possible. But you can do better. Try again. Use what you don’t see.”

  Lindsay contemplated a solemn, blue-lit nativity scene in front of another house. An older couple, probably, she decided, and tried to picture the scenario inside. “They’re roasting a turkey in the oven overnight,” she said. “The house is going to smell incredible in the morning.”

  “You see? Very good.”

  Lindsay spotted a yard full of Charlie Brown figures painted on plywood. Definitely kids in that house. Her eyes lingered on Snoopy. “They’re getting a puppy.”

  “Perfect.” His arm tightened around her. “That’s something else I don’t know about you. Did you ever get a puppy for Christmas?”

  “Not for Christmas. We always had pets, though.”

  “Was there ever anything special you wanted for Christmas, but you never got?”

  She couldn’t help it. She turned to Fred again and stared at him for several long, slow beats. No serious talk, she reminded herself. So she didn’t say it.

  Lindsay searched her memory for something else. “Ballet slippers.”

  “Oh?”

  Lindsay shrugged. “It was kind of silly. I never even asked my parents for lessons, let alone the shoes. I was never too athletic.”

  “Is that the point? You know, there are very few accomplished ballerinas. But I’m sure for every one of them, there must be thousands of others who love to dance.”

  He was reading too much into this. “It’s not some big unresolved thing,” she protested. “It was just a whim. I wouldn’t have been any good at it.”

  “Whims are fine. I just don’t like the idea of your believing you wouldn’t be ‘good enough’ at anything.” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “You don’t have to do everything right, Lindsay.”

  Fred studied her thoughtfully, and she squirmed.

  “That’s what you’ve been doing all along, isn’t it? This is the time of year when you made your worst mistake. And you’ve been trying to make up for it ever since. That’s why you’re always trying so hard to get Christmas right. And that’s why you miss out.”

  So Fred, the amateur psychologist, had finally hit the nail on the head. Or at least, he’d come close.

  Lindsay attempted a casual tone. “Pretty obvious, isn’t it?”

  “Was it obvious to you?”

  “No,” she admitted. But an unwelcome thought snaked in under her skin. Last night and several times today, she’d entertained a wish that was every bit as unlikely as her becoming a prima ballerina. The idea that some divine agency would ever let her keep someone like Fred. She didn’t deserve Fred, any more than she ever would have been able to dance in those shoes.

  Useless, self-pitying thoughts. She wouldn’t let them ruin her last night with Fred; not just for herself, but for him. “Okay. You win. You get your degree in amateur psychology.” She smiled up at him. “But it sounds an awful lot like serious talk to me.”

  “You’re right. I should be flogged.” He took her hand and started toward the car. “Now, we’d better start back down the hill for that church service.”

  Fred slipped his fingers through Lindsay’s, marveling again at what a natural fit it seemed to make. He started to put their hands into his pocket, then reached into the wide, deep pocket of Lindsay’s red coat instead. Something scratched at the bottom of the pocket, and he smiled at the memory. “Chestnut shells.”

  Her fingers squeezed between his. “I guess it’s the first time I’ve worn this coat since that night.”

  Somehow, in less than a week and a half, they’d developed a history. At least, it seemed that way to him. Maybe he was just breaking his own rule against being serious, giving everything a heightened meaning tonight. Like the way it had become second nature t
o match his pace to hers as they walked, slowing his longer strides when he felt Lindsay begin to quicken her steps to keep up.

  Time might be limited, but nothing should feel rushed.

  At the car, he opened her door and kissed her cheek as she got inside. He used the brief trip around to his own door to draw some vigor from the cold air around him, and the strength to keep the mood light. At first, he’d tried to pull back tonight, not to touch her too much, thinking it might make matters easier to get back on a more casual footing before he left. He wouldn’t be seeing her again, and he might as well get used to it.

  But he’d have far too much time to get used to it. Where he went from here, and how long his kind lived, he didn’t know. But without Lindsay, it would seem a very long time indeed.

  Did other people form deep attachments this quickly? Or was everything compressed for him because his time with her was so short? For Lindsay, this period would probably soon seem like a brief anomaly, a small pocket of time separate from her real, day-to-day life. If she remembered it at all.

  He thought of his promise, and resolved with all his might to make sure it came true.

  A heavy sigh from Lindsay mirrored his thoughts. He had to be careful. Moods were contagious, and he was a carrier now. Another sign, he supposed, that he’d been here as long as he ought to be.

  Time for a diversion.

  He pulled up straighter in his seat as the church came into view. “We’re early,” he said. “Park around the corner.”

  “Why?” Lindsay glanced toward the little digital clock on the lower half of the dashboard, but he kept his knee steadfastly in front of it, the way he had all evening. His legs didn’t fit in many other places in this car, as it was.

  “Trust me. I’m in charge, remember?”

  A little suspicion glinted in her smile, and she parked the car near an evergreen tree alongside the road, where the tree cast a slightly darker shadow.

  Fred unfastened her safety belt and reached across her waist. “How does your seat adjust?”

  “What?” He’d already found the lever, and the seat fell ungracefully backward, taking Lindsay with it. But grace wasn’t the object here. The less serious, the better. Fred leaned awkwardly over her, fumbling for a position, tangling his hands through her hair, breathing lightly across her ear.

  Her giggle was music to his ears. “Fred, we can’t—”

  “Don’t worry. Even I can’t get us into much trouble in five minutes.”

  He moved his lips downward, gently nudging aside the neck of her sweater to nuzzle the soft skin at the side of her throat, until the giggling quieted. Then he kissed her, long and full.

  Slowly. He refused to hurry anything tonight. Her arms came up around him as she responded, drawing him deeper into that incredible sensation of warmth, of being connected.

  When words failed, there was this. Even with so little time left, her kiss took him to a place where he couldn’t even think anymore. Nothing but the two of them, joined together in a moment so perfect everything else ceased to exist.

  In Lindsay’s arms, five minutes was a very short time indeed. Just enough to lose himself completely, only to have to drag himself back again.

  He propped himself up precariously on the corner of Lindsay’s headrest, pulling away just far enough to look down into her eyes, nearly lost in the shadows. “We should be going inside now,” he said unnecessarily.

  Lindsay nodded, fingering his chin, which he knew was as smooth as it had been this morning. He couldn’t read her thoughts and he shouldn’t want to. But he could guess. He would have liked to have those bristles back too, if it meant he could stay with her.

  The church clock began to strike eleven. Only one hour left.

  “Now look what you’ve done. Made us late.” Fred smiled down at her with a lightness he didn’t feel, and got out to open the door for her.

  The church Lindsay had chosen was small and placid, and Fred felt something settle inside him as soon as he entered. It was the right place for him to be now, to remember that there were things much larger than his own problems. The age-old holiday had existed long before him, and would continue to do so long after these small, earthly issues were forgotten.

  Still. He was, for the moment, flesh and blood, and he would accept that for the gift it was. These final moments shouldn’t be wasted.

  So, with his arm around Lindsay, he sang along with the old traditional songs, songs he knew without ever having learned them. When he touched his candle to hers, he prayed he was passing something more on to her than just a flame. And he walked outside with her, their candles still lit, keeping firmly focused on the fast-waning present.

  The candlelight service was short, and Lindsay’s apartment was just a few minutes away. In spite of that, it was all she could do to keep from speeding on the way home. Fred rested a hand on her leg. “It’s all right. We still have fifteen minutes.”

  Fifteen minutes? How could he be so calm? His knee still blocked her view of the clock on the dashboard. But at least his touch reassured her that he was still there. That made it a little easier to keep her eyes on the road.

  When they reached her front porch, Lindsay started to open the door, but Fred rested a hand on hers. “This is where I leave you.”

  Lindsay swallowed hard and turned around to face him. Not much point wasting time trying to talk him into coming inside for a cup of coffee. She fixed her gaze on him, trying to take in every detail of his features. Fred seemed to be doing the same thing. No man on earth, she was sure, could ever match the way his dark eyes looked at her.

  Don’t let me forget, she thought.

  Fred stepped close and rested a hand on her cheek. His eyes left hers briefly to glance around the porch area, illuminated by its lone, diamond-shaped lamp. “You’ll hang some lights outside next year, won’t you? Wherever you are?”

  It sounded a little too much like a last request. Lindsay nodded, not trusting her voice.

  “I don’t know what to say.” Fred’s voice brushed against her ears, always a wonderful sound, perhaps a bit huskier than usual. “So maybe I’ll just give you your Christmas present.”

  From the pocket of his overcoat, he slid out a long, narrow box, neatly packaged in gift wrap Lindsay recognized from the supply in her closet.

  “Fred, you didn’t have to.”

  “I wanted to.”

  She gave up arguing. They didn’t have time for that. Lindsay tore away the paper and beheld a jewelry store box, warped and discolored with signs of water damage. Her breath drew in sharply.

  “Sorry,” Fred said. “It went in the lake with me. But the contents held up surprisingly well.”

  She remembered the way Fred had asked about his coat the next morning. It had seemed like such an odd non sequitur at the time. Now, with trembling hands, she opened the water-stained cardboard box. Inside was a second, hard-shelled box. And inside that box, a delicate gold wristwatch, the crystal over its face showing the faintest remainder of mist.

  “It’s still running,” he said.

  Lindsay could see that. The tiny gold second hand traveled around a slender, oval face. It read five minutes to twelve.

  Fred turned the watch over on its velvet bed. At first she thought he was trying to hide the time from her, but then she saw the inscription on the back. Lindsay angled it under the porch light and read, “No Time Like The Present.”

  “Did I do all right?” Fred sounded concerned.

  You can do this. Don’t cry in front of him. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

  He held her, and she clung, hard, to the back of his neck. She didn’t want to let go, and she didn’t want him to see the tears starting to leak from the corners of her eyes.

  “Shh.” He didn’t seem to realize he held her waist as tightly as she was holding on to him. “It’s all for a reason, my love.”

  He pulled her back to look at her. The outside of his fingertips touched her face. “Lindsay, I—” He broke o
ff. “You’re lovely. Did you know that?”

  She shook her head mutely, the ache in her throat too huge for her to talk around it.

  “Never forget it. The man who gets you is a lucky man indeed.” His voice dropped. “There’s one more thing for you in the bottom of the box.”

  Lindsay lifted away the velvet backing with care. At the bottom of the box, she saw something small and white. A slip of paper. Written on it, in neat script, was Steven’s name, with an address below it.

  Her stomach muscles tightened. “How did you get this?”

  “Headquarters. Although I suspect you could have gotten the same information from a telephone directory.”

  The address was in Durango, about half an hour from her parents’ house. Lindsay stared at the handwriting on the slip, presumably Fred’s. She’d never seen his writing before.

  “He’d better deserve you,” Fred said suddenly, his voice returning to nearly its normal tone. “Or I’m coming back next year. As a vengeful spirit. Yowling, clanking chains, the whole bit.”

  She hugged him again, with all her strength. Something somewhere between a laugh and a sob caught in her throat. Fred seemed to have that effect on her.

  “It doesn’t make any sense,” she said.

  “It’s what’s best for you.” His words were buried in her hair. “They’re never wrong.”

  “They are this time,” she whispered fiercely.

  He kissed her, and she knew this one had to be the last. Lindsay held on tight, not wanting it to end. She felt a world of longing behind it; any of Fred’s pretense of not being serious was gone. He raised his lips from hers slowly, not letting go of her, his eyes heavy on hers.

  She had to say it. Why hadn’t she said it before? “Fred, I—”

  He released her and stepped back, outside the dim ring of her porch light. And for the first time tonight, Lindsay felt the bitter bite of the winter air around her.

  “You don’t need to say it.” His voice sounded strained, and somehow fainter.

  Tears blurred her vision. She sensed, rather than saw, Fred take one more step back.