Yuletide Hearts

by Ruth Logan Herne

  Because you’re living a lie.

  Seeing Jake’s grin and Callie’s smile, he wouldn’t think about that. Hank clapped him on the back as Jake flipped the switch, the colorful roofline lights adding nighttime wonder to the simply shadowed nativity scene below.

  Matt’s heart clenched, the reality of Bethlehem rubbing raw. They’d hobbled into town to find no room. No shelter, other than a cavelike barn. And a manger lined with coarse straw on a cold, winter’s night. Little Jesus had been born there, in crude, meager conditions. Truly a child of the poor.

  Like him.

  “Hey.” Callie moved alongside him, looking up as if he were the most wonderful thing in the world, all because he’d taken time to set up Jake’s favorite Christmas decoration. “It’s perfect.”

  “Centered properly?”

  She laughed and hugged his arm. “Yes. Jake ratted me out, huh?”

  “Nothing wrong with wanting things done correctly,” Matt supposed. “And it saves a lot of work to do it right the first time.”

  Gazing forward, Hank’s easy tone pondered Matt’s pragmatic words. “But if we do mess up, God usually gives us chances to make amends. Embrace new ways.”

  His words targeted Matt. They both knew it. Matt breathed deep and shrugged, the thought of a baby born in less-than-perfect circumstances hitting home. One big difference pierced his heart like a three-penny nail. Christ lived his life sacrificially; Matt had messed up repeatedly. “Not everything’s fixable, Hank.”

  “True enough,” Hank replied. “But I try to never second guess God’s vantage point. Ours is limited. Omniscience gives God the advantage to see all. Heal all.”

  How Matt wished that were true. But he’d seen the horror on Katie’s face, the shock, the realization that she was damaged beyond repair. A look he put there through careless, callous misdeeds.

  “Thanks, Matt!” Jake launched himself at Matt, hugging him, his excitement over the decorations innocent and contagious. Matt could do nothing less than haul the boy into his arms, wondering again what kind of moron ignored a great kid like Jake.

  “You’re welcome, bud. Hey, it’s getting cold out here. Shall we head inside? Start those sweet potatoes?”

  “Got ’em done while you boys were doing this,” Hank announced as they moved toward the steps. “The cookin’ part anyway. I’ll do the glaze in the morning, then all we have to do is heat ’em up to go with the turkey.”

  “And I cut up all the bread for the stuffing,” Jake added as they pegged their jackets inside the door. “While Mom did the onions and celery.”

  “Teamwork.” The idea of a family working together to produce a holiday meal was both alien and fun. Mostly fun. “Do I smell…?” Matt followed his nose toward the kitchen, then turned to see Callie watching him, waiting for his reaction. “You made pies?”

  “I did. Not because I had to, mind you.” She sent him a warning look and wagged her finger like The General wagged his ears. “Because I wanted to after you looked like a lost little boy when I said we’d buy them.”

  He pretended to scowl. “You weren’t supposed to see that.”

  “Army training. And great peripheral vision. Anyway, what do you think?”

  At that moment he thought she was the most remarkable, wonderful creature on Earth, but he couldn’t say that out loud for a host of reasons. He cleared his throat and grabbed a fork from the table. “There’s only one way to know for sure.”

  “Which will wait until tomorrow,” she scolded, grabbing the fork. “But they smell great.”

  “Perfect.”

  She turned and met his smile, but the look on her face said she realized he was talking about more than the pies.

  “Thanks, Callie.”

  “Well, you gave me plenty of time between the nativity scene and your book work.”

  “I hate keeping books,” he admitted as he tugged off his shoes and set them by the fire. “And it’s not even hard math, it’s just tedious.”

  “Callie kept my books for me.” Hank brought a plate of ham-melt sandwiches to the table, the quick supper a salute to Thursday’s feast prep time. “And I can’t say she didn’t warn me we were skating thin ice a number of times.”

  “Everybody takes chances, Hank.” Matt met his gaze candidly. “There are no givens. If you’d gotten this done before the housing bubble burst, you’d have been called a hero. But getting sick on top of rough financial circumstances.” Matt shook his head. “Tough all around.” He sat next to Jake, his attention on Callie. “But I’d be glad to pay you to take over my bookkeeping. Not much, of course,” he added with a grin. “Are you familiar with QuickBooks?”

  “I used it for Dad’s records.” She brought the coffee pot to the table and filled Hank’s cup and his before topping off her own. “Which meant the bank could see there was no wrong-doing when things went bad. Just horrible timing.”

  “And overextending.” Hank grimaced, then sighed. “But I’ve got to say, Matt, that having you here, working with you, seeing those houses take shape at last.” Hank nodded his relief. “My dream is coming true, thanks to you.”

  “Thanks to us,” Matt corrected smoothly. “And I’ve never worked with a better crew, including you, bud.” He chucked Jake in the upper arm, making the boy grin. “So things worked out all around.”

  “And tomorrow…” Jake waved toward the front window, his mouth full, not waiting to swallow before reminding Matt of his promise.

  Matt angled him a patient look. “Let’s say grace. And yes, I remember. We’re putting the kitchen in the model tomorrow and you’re helping.”

  “Me, too,” piped in Callie.

  “Count me in,” added Hank.

  Matt waited as they joined hands, then lobbed a look around the table. “The whole family’s rushing to get this kitchen done and the C of O signed?” He winked toward Jake. “Must be wearing out my welcome around here.”

  Callie squeezed his hand, her touch inciting sparks against his skin. “Oh, you’re not so hard to take, marine. Kind of nice, actually. And you’ll only be across the street. Easy visiting.”

  “Until the model sells,” he added.

  Her face shadowed.

  Hank did his customary quick grace, and Callie let go of Matt’s hand once done, but he had pretty good peripheral vision, too.

  Was that a glimpse of misgiving because she’d put her heart and soul into that model?

  Or because he’d move to town once the model sold?

  But like it or not, he needed to get a couple of these houses contracted. And holiday time was the worst for selling homes. Most people avoided the time-consuming task of directing a building project until after New Year’s. Which meant if the model caught someone’s eye, he’d have to sell it and finish another home to occupy until spring.

  “Wait on the Lord. Be of good courage and he shall strengthen thine heart. Wait, I say, on the Lord.” The Psalm’s sage advice had been his mainstay for a long time.

  Patience. Perseverance. Persistence. Matt embraced these qualities as a marine, then again as a contractor, but with Cobbled Creek, a part of him longed to fast forward toward completion and the reason for that unusual impatience sat four short feet away, explaining why she’d chosen Golden Wheat stained maple for the Cape Cod’s kitchen.

  They’d passed the initial inspection today. Within a week or two the model should be deemed ready for occupancy. He’d listed the homes with local Realtor Mary Kay Hammond, but they both knew the score. December was a dead month in real estate sales.

  And he should be fine financially as long as they contracted two of the houses before spring, then doubled that by summer.

  “I’ll have the turkey ready to go in at ten.” Callie looked up from the list she was making. “So if we eat at four or so, that works out well, right?”

  Matt propped his elbows on the table and leaned forward. “We could always take the day off like normal people do.”

  Three sets of eyes rounded on
him like he’d sprouted an extra head.

  “Why would we do that?” Callie asked.

  “Yeah, why?” Jake echoed.

  “I can’t think of a thing to be more thankful for than seeing those houses cared for,” added Hank. “If you’re worried we’d rather have a day off, then you’re sitting at the wrong table, son.”

  Their earnest desire eased Matt’s conscience. “I can’t imagine sitting at a finer table, sir.”

  Hank grinned. “Well, I do make a mean ham melt.”

  “And the coffee couldn’t be better.” Matt raised his cup toward Callie.

  She ignored his grin and went back to her list. “Turkey at ten, potatoes and sweet potato casserole at three, rolls go in once the gravy’s started.”

  “That way we catch the late game on TV,” Jake added.

  “With pie.”

  “And the day just keeps getting better and better.” Matt hoisted his mug in salute. “To teamwork. And a beautiful Thanksgiving.”

  The house phone rang, interrupting the toast. Hank stood, picked it up, sent a quick glance Matt’s way, then headed toward the back of the kitchen, his voice low.

  “Who was that, Grandpa?” Jake asked when Hank returned to the table.

  “Don.”

  “Is he coming tomorrow?”

  The boy’s innocent words caused a momentary discomfort. “Not this year.”

  “But—”

  “He’s busy, Jake.”

  “He’s going somewhere else for supper?”

  Hank was obviously no good at lying. “Well…”

  “Jake, he’s—”

  Sensing the truth, Matt cleared his throat. “Hey, guys, it’s fine if he comes. You know that, don’t you?”

  Hank exchanged a quiet look with Callie. “We’ll leave things the way they are for now, I think.”

  “No, really, I…”

  Callie shook her head and sent a swift cautionary look toward Jake. “Don’s got plans already and it’s not like we’re going to be sitting around all afternoon chitchatting, right?”

  That made sense to Jake, but Matt felt like a first-class heel. “Listen, if…”

  Hank interrupted him, obviously not wanting to say too much with little ears around. “Plenty of time for Don to stop by over the winter. He’s staying in town this year, so it’s not like it usually is, Jake.”

  “Oh.” Jake nodded as if they were finally making sense. He turned Matt’s way. “Don always has Thanksgiving dinner with us before he goes to Florida. He’s known Grandpa a long time.”

  “He’s staying here this year?” Matt directed the question to Hank, but Callie answered.

  “Yes. He figured it was best all around. Going to Florida isn’t cheap and there’s no guarantee of work once you get there.”

  Did Matt sense a hint of something else in her words? He thought so, and the quiet look she exchanged with her father confirmed his gut instinct. And Don needed work. He’d mentioned that.

  But Matt had plenty of help right now. More than enough. He pushed his chair back and stood, the perfect holiday now shaded with guilt.

  His father needed help. Except he wasn’t really his father. And he’d abandoned him long ago. And he had a drinking problem.

  Matt didn’t do drinking problems. He didn’t do family. He didn’t embrace the American dream that had emotionally thrashed him as a kid. Thinking of Don brought up thoughts of Neal Brennan and his mother’s duplicity, the lies, the scandal, the family breakdown that left him pretty much on his own from age eight.

  “When my father and mother forsake me, then the Lord shall take me up.”

  God had done that in the form of Grandpa Gus, but not before Matt realized that bad apples produce like fruit and the idea of love, marriage and sweet, dimpled babies should be someone else’s dream.

  His dream?

  To love God, love his work and build beautiful, affordable homes that withstood the test of time.

  And that’s it? Home to an empty apartment every night? A cold stove?

  Yes. Less risk for everyone.

  Matt met Hank’s troubled gaze. “I’m going to turn in early. Get a jump on tomorrow. If you hear me head over before dawn, don’t feel like you have to rush. We’ve got all day.”

  “Sure, Matt!”

  Jake’s grin showed oblivion to the rising concern surrounding the table, and just as well. Little boys didn’t need to be surrounded by old drama.

  Whereas big boys didn’t have much of a choice.

  “Hey, bud, good job.”

  Callie and Hank exchanged a smile as Matt advised Jake the next afternoon, the boy’s rapt attention the best kind of hero worship.

  “Like this, Matt?”

  “Exactly like that.”

  Matt let him read the level and Callie couldn’t miss the delight in the boy’s eye as he bent slightly. “Perfect.”

  “I couldn’t have done better,” Matt assured him. “And I’m real particular about installing cabinets. Finishing kitchens.”

  “Why?”

  Callie suspected he slid a look her way, but pretended oblivion. “Kitchens make women happy. They like their kitchens just so, no matter how much they cook. Or don’t cook, as the case may be.”

  Yup. Definitely targeting her. Such a guy thing to do. Teasing by innuendo. Kind of enchanting, actually.

  “And a kitchen’s called the heart of the home,” Matt went on, abutting the next cabinet group to the first set they’d installed. “People are drawn to the kitchen. It brings back memories for lots of folks.” Matt snapped his tape shut, and waved a hand around. “Your mom did a great job planning this one.”

  “She did.” Hank agreed as he and Callie finished the lower bank of cabinets on the inside wall. “Pantry space, work space, and she picked out appliances that weren’t top end but would last.”

  “Top end being ridiculously expensive,” Callie added. “Unless you’re a Food Network chef or planning a humongous family, a nice four-burner stove with a convection oven does everything I need it to do.”

  “Because you don’t live to cook,” Matt teased from across the room.

  “You’re a quick study, marine.” She slanted him a look of approval as she and Hank marked space for the upper cabinets. “Eating is essential. Cooking isn’t. Hence the impressive frozen food sections in today’s grocery stores. And a fresh apple.” She held up her half-eaten one as an example and grinned. “Lunch on the run.”

  “Because I’ve found myself inundated with crew members who tend to elongate their lunch hours rather than shorten them, let me just say I appreciate the difference more than most. The Marek family is amazing.”

  “Can’t disagree.” Hank stood, checked his watch and headed for the door. “I’m going across the street to check on the turkey and start the other stuff. No, General, you stay here.” He waved the dog back into the front room. “I’ll get the potatoes peeled and the table set. Then you guys come on over in an hour or so.”

  Another hour gave them time to finish those upper cabinets while Jake applied rustic-styled hardware to the lower ones. Callie nodded, balancing with one foot on the ladder, the other on the untopped cabinet unit below to get the best angle for drilling. “Sounds like a plan. Thanks, Dad.”

  Hank sent her a fond grin. “You’re welcome.”

  “Like this, Matt?” Jake held out a burnished handle and lined it up with the holes Matt had drilled in the honey-toned maple doors.

  “Yes.” Matt crouched alongside the boy, looking like a proud father. Strong. Determined. Gentle. Stoic. “Now start the first screw just enough to hold things in place, then do the same with the second…” Matt paused while Jake followed instructions, his face a study in concentration while Matt looked on, smiling.

  “You’ve got it.”

  “I did.” Jake sent a grin Matt’s way and high-fived him. “You can help Mom now. I’ve got this.”

  Callie bit back a laugh.

  Matt straightened, patted Jake’
s shoulder and turned her way, his quiet look saying what they didn’t dare say out loud.

  The kid was outrageously cute, but at eight years old the last thing a sturdy boy like Jake wanted to hear was “cute.”

  Strong, yes. Tough? Most assuredly.

  But cute?

  Not so much.

  Matt adjusted the cabinet jack below the first upper cabinet while Callie read the level. “We’re good.”

  He handed her the drill and she did her best to ignore his proximity as she installed the holding screws, but that worked for all of two seconds.

  Oops. Serious trouble. When all else fails adopt a code of silence or go to inane conversation.

  Option two. It was a holiday. Silence seemed rude.

  “You like this color for the cabinetry?”

  Matt swept the kitchen a quick look. “It’s great.”

  “I kept it light because even with south-facing windows, winter nights are long.”

  Matt nodded, agreeable. Maybe too agreeable. Which meant she might not want to talk about long winter nights. Cozy fires. Deer browsing for food beneath snow-swept hillsides.

  “And I did the wall board in here myself,” she continued as she settled the last screw into place on cabinet one.

  “Lovely,” he replied, but it only took one look to see the grin that said he wasn’t just thinking about plaster board. Maybe silence was a better choice.

  “I like that you allowed space for built-in wall shelves flanking the fireplace in the living room,” he told her.

  “Dad’s idea.” Callie angled the drill until she felt the screw bite into the stud. “He said Mom begged for more storage space. Cupboards. Closets. Shelves. And of course, like the shoemaker’s wife goes barefoot, she was still waiting for those extra cupboards when she died.”

  “Sorry.” He sent her a look of sympathy that made her feel like what she said mattered. “When did she pass away?”

  “I was ten.” She made a face as she sidestepped to the next cabinet. “It was rough, but she was a great woman. And Dad loved her so much, the kind of love everyone wants to find, you know?”

  “Reason enough to write fiction, I guess.”

  “Ooh. Cynical.” She sent him an over-the-shoulder frown. “Nothing wrong with happily ever afters, is there?”