No Christmas Like the Present

by Sierra Donovan

  His words seemed to come from far away: “I love you, too.”

  Lindsay blinked her eyes hard to clear them, and when she opened them, she was standing alone on the porch.

  Where Fred had stood, and out in the night beyond, a fine, white snow began to fall.

  Chapter 14

  On Christmas morning, Lindsay woke up with a broken heart.

  She couldn’t look at a single thing in her apartment that didn’t remind her of Fred. The Christmas decorations. The toaster. The couch where he’d so often draped his overcoat. And if she closed her eyes, she smelled the pine fragrance of the tree he’d brought her. It looked and smelled as fresh now as it had the day they put it up.

  Even last night’s light dusting of snow—enough to decorate lawns, bushes and trees, but not enough to stick to the pavement—bore testimony to Fred’s promise of a white Christmas.

  Everything made her think of Fred. But that was better than forgetting.

  So she wore the watch, packed a bag, and drove the nearly empty highway to her parents’ house, with presents in the trunk and Steven’s address, like a lump of burning coal, in her pocket.

  Her mother loved the glass deer from the street fair. And if she noticed anything amiss in her daughter’s behavior, she was tactful enough not to mention it. When Lindsay was with her mother and father, when she was busy, sometimes she felt almost normal. Almost. When she was alone, and had time to think, the hurt seemed to be there waiting for her, like prickles of barbed wire.

  The Saturday after Christmas, Lindsay made the drive to Durango, and Steven. It still didn’t feel right. But Fred had asked her to. And, though he hadn’t seemed concerned about it, she wasn’t sure what might happen to him if she didn’t.

  The directions she’d gotten online brought her to a pretty little gray house on a quiet suburban street. The bare branches of a willow tree formed a huge, bony umbrella over most of the front yard. In the summer, the shade must be lovely. The place seemed warm and homey enough, not unlike the neighborhood where they’d grown up.

  A dark blue sedan sat in the driveway, so Lindsay parked at the curb. It would be just her luck to scrape her ex-boyfriend’s fender before he ever laid eyes on her again.

  Ex-boyfriend. And once, for a few days, he’d been her fiancé.

  Lindsay pried her hands from their tenacious grip on the steering wheel, got out of the car, and walked up to the doorstep. It looked as if they hadn’t had snow here in the past week. She knew her parents hadn’t. Everything just looked brown and wet, except for the sky, heavy with gray clouds. She’d chosen a gloomy day to do this, but she figured Saturday was the most likely day to catch him at home.

  She stood, hand poised over the doorbell, wondering why she hadn’t called first.

  Because Fred’s slip of paper had included an address, but not a telephone number. On the phone, it would be easy for Steven to tell her not to come, and give her a coward’s way out. Again. It was much harder to turn someone away when they were already standing on your front porch.

  Lindsay stopped trying to gather her courage. She’d never be ready enough. She rang the bell, remembering the first time she’d sold Girl Scout cookies as a child. Back then, she’d ring the doorbell and wait nervously for a few seconds. Not home? Oh, too bad. She’d turn to leave, and then the door would open.

  Today she held her ground, though retreat still sounded tremendously tempting. The door opened.

  A very recognizable Steven stood framed in the doorway, wearing jeans and a red sweater. His face had lost that adolescent leanness, taking on a more adult look, but he wore the last ten years well. She would have recognized him anywhere.

  Familiar blue eyes stared at her as if an ostrich had appeared on his porch. “Lindsay?”

  She’d thought of about eighty things to say on the drive up, and none of them were any good. “Hi,” she began.

  A little girl, about four years old, appeared beside him. Standing close to Steven’s leg, she peered at Lindsay curiously. “Who is it, Daddy?”

  Lindsay’s mind raced as she looked down into the brown eyes of the little girl. Maybe this was beginning to make sense. If this little girl needed a mother—

  “Sweetie, come back and finish your lunch.” A pretty blond woman joined the little girl beside Steven, and looked questioningly at Lindsay with the same brown eyes as the child. “Hi.” She scooped the girl up.

  This didn’t add up. Lindsay knew she was far from perfect, but a home wrecker she wasn’t. And surely Headquarters didn’t intend that, either. So why had they sent her here?

  Steven still stared at her. She wasn’t sure if he’d blinked yet. “Honey, this is Lindsay.”

  “Oh.” Clearly, the woman had heard of her. Lindsay prayed for a crack in the pavement to slither into.

  “Lindsay, this is my wife, Karen, and our daughter, Hannah.”

  A world of questions lay behind those introductions. Lindsay said inanely, “Nice to meet you.”

  Karen said, “Let her in, sweetie. It must be freezing out there.”

  Oh, great. The gray, overcast day only made her look piteous.

  “Sure. Sorry.” Steven stepped aside, and Lindsay walked in, wondering why she was here and not the moon.

  Karen hitched Hannah up on her hip. She was the kind of woman who could take five seconds to twist her hair up loosely into a clip, the way it was now, and look fabulous. “Can I get you anything? Some coffee?”

  Oh. No. Weird. Way too weird. “No, thanks. I just dropped by for a minute.” To humiliate myself.

  “Oh.” A perfect blond strand fell loosely over Karen’s eyebrow, and she tilted her head to move it aside. “Well, I was just trying to get Hannah to finish her lunch, so . . .”

  Karen nodded with a vague smile and headed off through a doorway to the left, with Hannah peering back over her shoulder at Lindsay. Obviously a secure woman. But then, what could Lindsay possibly do? Run off with her husband?

  Steven motioned her in the opposite direction, toward the living room. Lindsay took a seat on the couch, while he sat in an armchair facing her. The look of bewilderment had never left his face. “Excuse the mess.”

  The Christmas tree stood framed in the window, the carpet around it littered with Barbies, stuffed animals, and some new-looking furry pink slippers. It looked just the way a little girl’s living room should look three days after Christmas. “No, it’s fine.”

  Lindsay searched for some proof that she was still able to put together a coherent sentence. She closed her eyes and tried to equate this baffled stranger with the person she’d known so well, so many years ago. “Steven, this is really dumb. I’m not even sure why I’m here.”

  Fred’s words echoed in her memory: Make it right.

  “I guess it’s to apologize. And maybe explain.”

  “You don’t have to do that.” His blue eyes made a perfect mirror—cool, opaque, and much harder to read than Fred’s. “It was a long time ago.”

  “I know.” Lindsay searched her mind, trying to come up with some sort of explanation that didn’t involve angels or Headquarters or getting herself carted away on that overdue trip to Bellevue. She didn’t want to seem any more crazy or pitiful than she already did.

  All she could come up with was the truth. “If there’s anything I’ve ever done that I wish I’d done differently—that’s it. And I’m sorry. For the way I handled it, I mean. I just wasn’t ready, and I didn’t have the guts to tell you. I don’t think I knew what I wanted.”

  Steven leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, a posture that reminded her more of the person she used to know. “To tell you the truth, I kind of wondered if I was supposed to go after you. Like it was some kind of test. I thought maybe that was what you wanted, but . . .”

  Fred would have come after me. As if it made any difference. “But you didn’t.”

  “No. I can’t remember now if I was more hurt or more ticked off.” He gave her a curious half-smile. “This is
n’t some kind of twelve-step thing, is it? Like Alcoholics Anonymous, where you go back to people you—”

  “No.” Lindsay’s face scorched. But she’d come this far and endured this much. This was one thing she was going to do right. She eyed the tree. “I didn’t ruin Christmas for you, did I?”

  He chuckled. “Well, the first year afterward was nothing to write home about. But no.” He nodded toward the indistinct sound of voices from the other side of the house. “Things turned out fine. In fact—”

  He leaned forward and reached down to pull up a branch near the bottom of the tree, to display an ornament Lindsay had almost forgotten. A ridiculous purple cow. She’d given it to him, probably their junior year, as a joke. It was even more hideous than she remembered.

  She remembered Fred’s words: Some of the best Christmas decorations are hideous.

  “You still have that thing? You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “Hannah loves it. She has to be the one to hang it, every year.”

  Lindsay listened to a rhythmic clatter, somewhere behind her, of silverware banging out an improvised pattern against a plate. “You just have the one?”

  “So far.”

  “She’s beautiful,” Lindsay said. “They both are.”

  She prodded herself for any sign of jealousy, but couldn’t find any, unless it was in the notion that the little girl might have been hers.

  “I’m happy for you,” she said. “I really am.” And found she meant it.

  Steven sat back a little, his face relaxing into a more natural smile. “That’s really all you came for?”

  She shrugged. “That’s it.”

  “Well, you didn’t have to. But it was nice of you.”

  Lindsay couldn’t think of anything else to say, but something in her lightened. She felt a sense of completeness.

  Reconciled. Belatedly, comprehension of the word hit her. Fred hadn’t been sent to reunite her with Steven permanently; just to resolve her unfinished business.

  Headquarters could have saved them both a lot of pain if they’d just said that.

  “What about you?” Steven was saying. “Are you married?”

  “No. Not yet,” she bluffed.

  She wondered now if it would ever happen for her. It had never been an everyday preoccupation for her, but now . . .

  Lindsay pulled herself to her feet. “I’d better be going.”

  A chapter of her life had been put to rest. But the rest lay before her, an unfinished book.

  “You must be having one lousy vacation,” Jeanne said. “If I was off work, I wouldn’t come within ten miles of here.”

  They sat in the Thai restaurant across the street from the office, two days after Lindsay’s visit to Steven. “It’s been a strange Christmas,” she admitted.

  These days, Lindsay knew Jeanne better than Steven, but she still couldn’t think where to start. But if Jeanne could learn anything from her mistake, it would be worth it. She waited until their coconut soup arrived before she started beating around the bush in earnest.

  “Jeanne—” Lindsay poked a mushroom down into her soup. “This is none of my business, but I wanted to talk to you. About Brad. I could be totally wrong, and you can tell me to—”

  “Brad?” Jeanne snorted and jabbed two skinny red straws into her Thai iced tea. “Don’t even mention the name.”

  Lindsay raised her head. “Cubic zirconia?” she said before she thought.

  “It might as well have been. The day after Christmas, he started making noise about how short he was on cash. And he never took his eyes off my finger.”

  “So what did you do?”

  Jeanne held her bare left hand over the table with a dismissive flicking motion. “Told him to take a walk.”

  “Oh.” If Lindsay had been less distracted, she would have noticed the ring was gone.

  “Why? What were you going to say?”

  “It doesn’t matter. I just—” There was no need to go on. Jeanne’s problem had already been solved, and she seemed to be holding up surprisingly well.

  “No, really. Did you know something I didn’t?”

  Lindsay combed her fingers through her hair. “Like I said, it was none of my business. But I was worried about you. When you showed me the ring, you just looked a little—”

  “Green around the gills?”

  Lindsay nodded.

  “You know who really looked green? Brad, when he was trying to worm out. I guess I was kind of relieved.” Jeanne set down her spoon, and Lindsay realized the other woman hadn’t started on her soup. “I never should have said yes in the first place. I shouldn’t be that anxious to get married. But when someone asks—I don’t know, I guess I felt like it might be my only chance.”

  “I felt that way, too.”

  Jeanne’s head lifted.

  “I was engaged once. Back in college. Not for very long. But that’s what I wanted to tell you. After I said yes, I had this feeling in my stomach—”

  “Like you swallowed something and it was sitting there like a rock?”

  “That’s it. And I thought maybe you felt the same way. I didn’t want to butt in if it was what you really wanted, but I felt bad not saying anything.” Lindsay stopped. She was babbling again. She seemed to be doing a lot of babbling these days.

  “You’re a good friend, Lindsay.” Jeanne stirred her iced tea. “And here I didn’t even know you’d ever been engaged. How come we never do anything away from the office?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Come to my New Year’s party tomorrow night. You always say you’ll try, but you never make it.”

  “You’re still having it?”

  “Sure.” Jeanne finally took a spoonful of her soup. “I’m not in mourning. I just feel kind of stupid.” She smiled. “If you really want to cheer me up, bring a batch of that fudge. The almond kind. It was awesome last time.”

  Lindsay’s eyes stung unexpectedly. She leaned over her soup, and felt Jeanne’s suddenly watchful eyes.

  “Hey. How about you? Whatever happened with the merry Englishman?”

  Lindsay studied floating bits of parsley. “He’s gone.”

  “The rat.”

  “No, it’s not like that. He didn’t have a choice. He—”

  He disappeared off my doorstep.

  The reality, or the unreality, of it hit her again full force. Lindsay set down her spoon and closed her eyes tight for a moment, then looked at Jeanne desperately. At least Jeanne remembered him too.

  “You saw him, didn’t you?” Lindsay asked, just to be sure. “You thought he was—”

  “Six feet of gorgeous. And nuts about you.”

  “Thanks.” Lindsay dabbed at her eyes with a wry smile. “I’m not sure if that helps or not.”

  “I’m sorry,” Jeanne said. “I shouldn’t have called him a rat. I didn’t mean it. Sometimes it’s easier to get mad than—”

  “I know.” If Fred had done anything wrong, maybe that would help. Instead, she clung to a perfect image of the way he’d looked at her, those last few minutes at her front door.

  Lindsay took a deep swig of her tea. When she set her glass down, Jeanne was studying her intently.

  “Oh, honey. You’re worse off than I am. I didn’t know.” Lindsay’s eyes blurred. “You feel like this, and you come down and take me to lunch because you’re worried about me getting hurt? We shouldn’t be having lunch. We should be out knocking back mai tais, or one of those dumb little drinks with umbrellas.”

  Lindsay sputtered out a laugh. “And singing karaoke.”

  “Say you’ll come tomorrow night. You need it.”

  Lindsay nodded. “Okay. I’ll tr—”

  Jeanne raised an eyebrow in warning.

  “I’ll be there,” Lindsay amended.

  Chapter 15

  Lindsay stood near the big plate of cheese and crackers on Jeanne’s dining room table, sipping tentatively from her plastic stemware glass. Jeanne took great pride in the fact
that she had successfully duplicated Phil and Helen’s pineapple punch, and Lindsay didn’t want another sugar-induced headache. The volume in the tiny apartment threatened to do that anyway. Lots of voices, competing with the background music, a CD shuffle of Christmas songs having their last hurrah for the year.

  Whatever Jeanne’s troubles with men, there were certainly enough of them at her party, and they had a definite tendency to swarm around their hostess. Lindsay smiled as she saw Matt try to get a word in edgewise as Jeanne chatted with someone tall, blond and handsome.

  I was right, she thought. I’ve got to tell Fred.

  And winced inside. She wondered when thoughts like that would stop coming so often.

  She’d ventured out tonight, she supposed, mostly for him. It would be tempting, and easy, to curl up into a ball and stay home. But she knew Fred wouldn’t have wanted that. He’d talked so often about wanting to leave her with something positive. So she’d worn her red sweater, trying to look festive for one last holiday fling, and she’d come.

  At least she could make it better than that other New Year’s Eve ten years ago.

  She looked for someone to talk to. Some of the people, she knew from the office; most, she didn’t. Lindsay smiled vacantly and moved back toward the living room, determined not to stay anchored in one spot all night. Maybe she could keep Matt company for a little while, or find someone who wanted to talk about the hors d’oeuvres.

  And then she saw him.

  Someone else must have let him in, because Jeanne was still surrounded by her clutch of men. Lindsay blinked hard, in case her eyes were playing a trick on her. She bit her tongue hard, in case she was dreaming. Because there, fifteen feet across the room, was Fred Holliday.

  And yet it wasn’t. No overcoat, no top hat, not even an undersize sweatshirt, just black slacks and a dark green sweater she’d never seen before, the kind you’d see at any present-day department store. He looked ever so slightly out of place, as though he were searching for someone.

  He glanced in her direction, and her heart seemed to stop.