Trading Christmas

by Debbie Macomber

  “Good morning,” she greeted him cheerfully.

  Ray muttered something indistinguishable and stumbled over to the coffeepot. He poured himself a mug. “Are you always this happy in the morning?” he asked, after his first restorative sip.

  “Always,” Emily said, just as cheerfully as before.

  Ray stared at her. “I’ve heard there are two kinds of people in the world. Those who wake up and say ‘Good Morning, God’ and those who say ‘Good God, Morning.’”

  Emily laughed. “You don’t need to tell me which one you are.”

  “Or you.” He settled on the stool by the counter, propped up his elbows and slowly sipped his coffee. When he’d finished his first cup, he was smiling again and eager for breakfast.

  Emily set their plates on the counter and joined him, bringing the coffeepot for refills.

  “Are you still interested in getting a Christmas tree?” she asked, as Ray dug into his bacon and eggs.

  “Definitely, but first I think I’d better call my mother.”

  They’d listened to the messages the night before. Bernice Brewster made it sound imperative that she speak to her oldest son immediately.

  After breakfast, Ray went to retrieve the portable phone.

  “It’s barely six in Arizona,” she warned.

  “Mom’s an early riser and trust me—she’s waiting with bated breath to hear from me.”

  He knew his mother well, because almost as soon as he’d dialed, Bernice was on the line. While they exchanged greetings, Emily scraped off the plates and set them in the dishwasher. She could only hear one end of the conversation, but Ray seemed to have trouble getting a word in edgewise. After a while, he placed the receiver carefully on the counter and walked away. He leaned against one of the stools, arms crossed, and waited patiently for his mother to finish her tirade. Even from the other side of the kitchen, Emily could hear the woman ranting.

  “Ray,” she whispered, half amused and half shocked at what he’d done.

  He poured himself a third mug of coffee and shrugged elaborately.

  After a few minutes, he lifted the receiver and pretended to be outraged. “Yes, Mother. Yes, of course, it’s dreadful.” He rolled his eyes. “What do I plan to do about it? Frankly, nothing. Charles is over twenty-one and for that matter, so am I. Have a wonderful Christmas—your gift should arrive by the 24th. I’ll be in touch. Bye now.” He listened a few seconds more and then turned off the phone.

  “Did you, uh, reassure your mother?” Emily asked.

  “I doubt it.” Ray chuckled. “She wanted to know what’s going on with Charles. I didn’t tell her, because basically I don’t know. Besides, hard though it is for my mother to grasp, it’s none of her business who Charles is with.”

  Still, Emily understood the other woman’s concerns. “She’s worried that both her sons are with strange women.” She gave a short laugh. “Not strange, but strangers.”

  He smiled, too. “You know, frankly I think she’d be overjoyed if she met you. You’re exactly the kind of woman she’s wanted to introduce me to all these years.”

  Emily wasn’t sure what to make of his comment. “Is that good or bad?”

  “Good,” he assured her and briefly touched her cheek. “Very good.”

  As soon as they’d cleaned up the kitchen, they put on their winter coats and ventured outside. The sky was dull gray, threatening snow. Arms linked, they walked several blocks until they found a Christmas-tree lot.

  “Merry Christmas.” The lot attendant, a college student from the look of him, wandered over when they entered. He didn’t seem especially busy, Emily noticed, but with only three days until Christmas most people had their trees up and decorated.

  “Hello,” Emily said, distracted by Ray who was straightening a scraggly fir that leaned against the makeshift wire fence. She shook her head at the pathetic little tree with its broken limbs and one bald side.

  “Do you want your tree tall or small?” the young man asked. His breath made foggy wisps in the air.

  “Medium-sized,” Emily said.

  He stared at her with narrowed eyes. “Would you mind telling me where you got that scarf?”

  Emily turned away from the Christmas trees to look at the young man. “I knit it. Why?”

  He shrugged. “I had a friend who had a similar one. That’s all.”

  A chill raced down Emily’s spine. “Your friend wouldn’t happen to be Heather Springer, would she?”

  “Yeah,” he said excitedly. “How’d you know?”

  “She’s my daughter.”

  “You’re Heather’s mother?” He whipped off his glove and thrust out his hand. “I’m Ben Miller,” he told her. “Heather and I were in art history together.”

  Ben Miller…Ben Miller… She had it! “Didn’t you and Heather date for a while?”

  “Yeah.” He replaced his glove and rubbed his hands together. “I apparently wasn’t…dangerous enough for her.”

  “Dangerous?”

  “Never mind,” Ben shook his head. “She’s seeing Elijah now. Elijah with no last name.” He spit out the words. “From what I hear, she’s headed down to Florida with him and a bunch of his no-account friends.”

  The urge to defend Heather rose quickly, but died within the space of a single heartbeat. Emily could tell that he’d been hurt by Heather’s actions—just as she herself had been. “Heather’ll be back soon, I’m sure,” she murmured. It was the best she could do.

  “You came out to spend Christmas with her and she left anyway?” Ben sounded thoroughly disgusted. “Yes…”

  “You know, when Heather told me her plans for Christmas, I assumed it wouldn’t take her long to see that she’s making a mistake.”

  Emily’d hoped so, too.

  “But if she could turn her back on her own mother at Christmas, then she isn’t the person I thought she was.” Ben’s eyes hardened. “To tell you the truth, I don’t care if I ever see her again.” He walked over to another section of the lot. “There are a couple of nice trees over here,” he said, all business now.

  Emily and Ray followed him.

  “Give her time,” Emily said, squeezing his forearm with one mittened hand.

  Ben glanced at her. “She isn’t interested in me anymore.”

  Emily hung her head, fearing her daughter hadn’t given her a single thought, either.

  Sensing her mood, Ray placed his hand on Emily’s shoulder. “You okay?” he asked.

  She nodded. Nothing she said or did now would make a difference to what Heather had done or how Emily felt about it. But Ben seemed like a decent, hardworking young man and she felt bad that her daughter had so obviously hurt him.

  “With Christmas this close, we don’t have much to choose from,” Ben apologized. He picked through several trees, then chose a tall, full one. “This is probably a little bigger than you wanted, but it’s the best I’ve got.”

  Ray looked skeptical and circled the tree. “What do you think?” he asked Emily.

  “It’s perfect.” She winked at Ben.

  “We’ll take it,” Ray said and reached for his wallet.

  Without a car they were forced to carry the tree back to the condominium. They walked in single file, Ray holding the trunk in one hand and a stand in the other, and Emily behind him, supporting the treetop. They must’ve been something of a spectacle, because they got lots of stares along the way.

  Once inside the condo, they saw the message light blinking again. Ray checked the caller ID and groaned. “It’s my mother. Again.”

  “Are you going to call her back?”

  “Of course, but not anytime soon.”

  Emily smiled. While Ray fit the tree in the stand, she took out the decorations she’d brought from Seattle.

  “You got all that in a single suitcase?” Ray marveled when she spread everything out.

  “Two very large suitcases if you must know. Don’t forget the stuff already on the mantel.”

  He
shook his head, but Emily could tell he was enjoying this.

  The living room was compact, and after a long debate, they decided the best place for the tree was by the window, although that entailed moving the furniture around.

  “It’s beautiful,” Emily told him. She handed him the first decoration—a felt snowman complete with knitted scarf. “I made that for Heather the year she was in kindergarten,” Emily explained.

  Ray placed it on a tree limb and picked up a second ornament. “Does every one of these have some significance?”

  Emily nodded. “Each and every one.”

  “That’s wonderful.”

  She was surprised he’d appreciate her sentimentality. “You don’t think I’m silly to treasure these ornaments?”

  “Not at all. You’ve given your daughter a lovely tradition.”

  At the mention of Heather, Emily bit her lip, overwhelmed by sadness.

  Ray wrapped his arms around her. “My guess is she’s got just enough freedom to be miserable,” he said softly.

  Emily doubted it, but she was grateful for his encouragement.

  “Everything’s going to work out for the best,” he assured her. “Just wait and see.”

  Emily hoped he was right.

  NINETEEN

  Faith woke up to the sound of Charles rummaging around in the kitchen. Grabbing her housecoat, she hurried down the stairs.

  “Morning,” he said, grinning sheepishly. “I hope I didn’t wake you.”

  Faith rubbed the sleep from her eyes. He had to be joking. But then she glanced at the kitchen clock and couldn’t believe she’d slept this late. It was the deepest, most relaxed sleep she’d had in months. She hadn’t realized how tired she’d been.

  “Coffee?” Charles lifted the glass pot.

  “Please.” She tightened the belt of her velour robe and sat down at the table, shaking the hair away from her face. Charles brought her a mug, which he’d filled with coffee. She added cream and held it in both hands, basking in the warmth that spread through her palms. They’d spent the most enjoyable evening talking and drinking wine and…

  “What are your plans for today?” he asked.

  Faith hadn’t given it much consideration. “Maybe I’ll walk into town a bit later.”

  Charles mulled that over. “Would you object to company?”

  “You?” she gasped.

  He shrugged in a self-conscious manner. “Unless you’d rather I didn’t come with you.”

  “But I—what about your work?” Naturally she’d enjoy his company but Charles had insisted he was in Leavenworth to work and didn’t want to be distracted from his purpose.

  “I was up early this morning and got quite a bit done.”

  “Oh.”

  “I felt I should leave the project for a while, now that the rough draft is done. I’d like to give my mind a rest.”

  “Oh.” All at once Faith seemed incapable of words consisting of more than one syllable.

  “So—it seems I have the luxury of some free time.”

  “Oh.” She sipped her coffee. “But I thought you hated Christmas?”

  “I do. For…various reasons. It’s far too commercial. The true meaning’s been lost in all the frenzy of the season.”

  “Christmas is what each one of us makes it,” Faith felt obliged to tell him. “Exactly.”

  Faith swallowed. “I was going into town to do some shopping. Uh, Christmas shopping,” she added. She met his eyes as she looked for some indication that he’d be interested in accompanying her. Men were notoriously impatient when it came to browsing through stores. And an avowed Christmas-hater…

  He didn’t say anything for a moment, then set his mug aside. “I see. Well, in that case, I’ve got other projects I can work on.”

  “Oh.” She couldn’t disguise her disappointment.

  Charles frowned. “Would you like my company?”

  “Very much,” she said quickly.

  “Then I read you wrong.”

  “I’m just afraid it wouldn’t interest you,” she explained.

  “I’d enjoy being out in the fresh air. I’ll get my coat.” He was like a kid eager to start a promised adventure.

  “Whoa.” Faith raised one hand. “Give me time. I’ve got to shower and dress, and I wouldn’t mind a little something to eat first.”

  “Okay.” He seemed amenable enough to that.

  Faith wasn’t quite sure what had prompted the change in him, but she wasn’t complaining. She poured cereal and milk into a bowl, and ate every bite. Drinking the last of her coffee, she hurried back up the stairs and grabbed her jeans, a sweater and fresh underwear. She showered, dressed and dried her hair. When she came out of the bathroom, she found her boots, put them on and laced them up.

  “Charles?” He didn’t seem to be anywhere around. “Charles,” she called, more loudly this time.

  By chance she happened to glance out the window—to discover him surrounded by half a dozen neighborhood boys and Sarah. The children were apparently trying to talk him into something, but Charles clearly wasn’t interested. Several times he shook his head and gestured dismissively with his gloved hands.

  Faith threw on her coat and dashed out of the house, fastening her buttons as she went. She could see that Charles had begun to sweep the snow off the porch steps and had apparently been interrupted in his task by the children.

  “Hi, Faith,” Thomas called out. “You want to go sledding with us?”

  “Ah…” She looked to Charles for some indication of his feelings. “What about you?”

  Charles shook his head. “The last time I was on a sled, I was thirteen years old and too young to know better.”

  “It’s fun,” Thomas Kennedy promised.

  “Go down the hill just once and you’ll see what we mean.” Mark’s young voice was filled with excitement.

  “You just gotta,” Sarah insisted, tugging at Charles’s hand.

  Several of the older kids had lost interest in persuading Charles; they were already across the street, pulling their sleds.

  “Come on,” Faith said. “You need to do this or you’ll lose face with the kids.”

  “Faith, I’m not sure it’s a good idea.”

  “It’ll be fun. You’ll see.”

  “Faith, listen, I’m not entirely comfortable with this.”

  “They’ll pester you until you give in, you realize?”

  Charles seemed to need more convincing. “I’ll go first,” she told him. “Just do what I do, and you won’t have a problem.”

  “People can get killed sledding,” he mumbled to no one in particular.

  She looked both ways before crossing the street. “People get killed on their way to work, too.”

  “This isn’t encouraging.”

  “I’ll go first,” she said again.

  “No,” he countered as they trudged up the hill. “If this has to be done, I’ll do it.”

  Thomas proudly showed Charles how to lie flat on the sled and how to steer with his arms. Charles still seemed unsure, but he was enough of a sport to lie prone, his feet hanging over the sled. He looked up at Faith with an expression that said if he died, it would be her fault.

  “Are your life insurance premiums paid up?” she teased.

  “Very funny,” he grumbled.

  Faith laughed, but her amusement soon turned to squeals of concern as the sled started down the snowy hill. Because of his weight, Charles flew downward at breakneck speed. His momentum carried him much farther than the children and straight toward the playground equipment.

  “Turn!” she screamed. “Charles, turn the sled!” He couldn’t hear her, so she did the only thing she could—and that was run after him. She stumbled and fell any number of times as she vaulted down the hill. Before long, she was on her backside, sliding down the snow and slush with only the thin protection of her jeans. The icy cold seeped through her clothes, but she didn’t care. If anything happened to him, she’d never forgive her
self.

  Charles disappeared under the swing set and continued on for several feet before coming to a stop just short of the frozen pond.

  “Charles, Charles!” Faith raced after him, oblivious now to her wet bottom and the melting snow running down her calves.

  Charles leaped off the sled. His smile stretched from ear to ear as he turned toward her. “That was incredible!”

  “You were supposed to stop,” she cried, furious with him and not afraid to let him know it.

  “Then you should have said so.” He was by far the calmer one.

  “You could’ve been hurt!”

  “Yes, I know, but weren’t you the one who said I could just as easily die on my way to work?”

  “You’re an idiot!” She hurled herself into his arms, nearly choking him. She felt like bursting into tears of relief that he was safe and unhurt.

  Charles clasped her around the waist and lifted her off the ground. “Hey, hey, I’m fine.”

  “I know…I know—but I expected you to stop where the kids do.”

  “I will next time.”

  “Next time?”

  “Come on,” he said, and set her down. “It’s your turn.”

  “No, thanks.” Faith raised both her hands and took a step backward. “I already had a turn. I went down the hill on my butt, chasing after you.”

  He laughed, and the sound was pure magic. He kissed her cold face. “Go change clothes. As soon as you’re ready we’ll go into town.”

  “Are you staying in the park?”

  Charles nodded. “Of course. A man’s got to do what a man’s got to do.”

  Shaking her head, she sighed. What on earth had she created here? One ride down the hill, and Charles Brewster was a thirteen-year-old boy all over again.

  TWENTY

  Heather could hardly hear a thing over all the noise in the Hog’s Breath Tavern in Key West, Florida. Peaches was eyeing Elijah with the voluptuous look of a woman on the prowl. Heather gazed across the room rather than allow herself to be subjected to such blatant attempts to lure Elijah away.