Trading Christmas

by Debbie Macomber

  Slipping off the bar stool, she squeezed past crowded tables in a search for the ladies’ room. This entire vacation wasn’t anything like she’d imagined. She’d pictured sitting with Elijah on a balmy beach, singing Christmas carols and holding each other close. His idea of fun was riding twelve hours a day on his Harley with infrequent breaks, grabbing stale sandwiches in a mini-mart, and drinking beer with people who disliked and distrusted her.

  Inside the restroom, Heather waited in line for a stall. Once she was hidden by the privacy of the cubicle, she buried her face in her hands. It was time to admit she’d made a mistake—hard as that was on her pride—but she’d had about as much as she could take of Elijah and his so-called friends.

  When she left the ladies’ room, Elijah was back at the bar with a fresh beer, which he raised high in the air when he saw her, evidently to tell her where he was. As if she hadn’t figured it out by now. If Elijah didn’t have a beer in his hand, then he was generally with a woman and most of the time it wasn’t her.

  “Babe,” he said, draping his arm around her neck. “Where’d you go?”

  “To the powder room.”

  He slobbered a kiss on the corner of her mouth. “Want another beer?”

  “No, thanks.”

  “Hey, this is a party.”

  Maybe—but she wasn’t having any fun. “So it seems.”

  His smile died and a flash of anger showed in his eyes. “What’s your problem?”

  Frankly, at this point there were too many to list. “Can we talk?” she asked.

  “Now?” He glanced irritably around.

  “Please.”

  “Sure, whatever.” Frowning, he slid off the stool. With his arm still around her neck, he led the way outside. “You don’t like Key West?” he asked as soon as they were outside. His tone suggested that anyone who couldn’t have a good time in this town was in sad shape.

  “What’s not to like?” This had become her standard response. And she did like Key West. But the things she wanted to do—take history walks, visit Hemingway House, check out bookstores—were of no interest to the others.

  “Well, then?” Elijah took another swallow of beer and pitched the bottle into a nearby trash can. “You’ve been in a sour mood ever since we got here.”

  “Maybe I don’t like you clinging to Peaches.”

  His laugh was short and abrupt. “You’re jealous. Damn, I should’ve figured as much.”

  “Not really.” She hadn’t fully analyzed her feelings. The only emotion she’d experienced watching the two of them had been disgust. That, and sadness at her own misguided choices.

  “So what’s the big deal?” he demanded.

  “There isn’t one.”

  They stopped walking and faced each other. Elijah crossed his arms, leaning against his motorcycle as the din of raised voices and loud music spilled out from the Hog’s Breath. Elijah looked longingly over his shoulder, as if he resented being dragged away from all the fun. The partyers continued their revelry, apparently not missing either of them.

  “Dammit, tell me what you want.”

  His impatience rang in her ears. “What are your—our plans for Christmas Day?”

  “Christmas Day?” Elijah said. He seemed confused by the question. “What do you mean?”

  “You know, December twenty-fifth? Two days from now? What are we going to do to celebrate Christmas?”

  He looked at her, his eyes blank. “I haven’t thought that far ahead. Why?”

  “Why?” she repeated. “Because it’s important to me.”

  He considered this. “What would you like to do?”

  Her throat clogged with emotion as she remembered the way she’d celebrated Christmas with her mother, all the special traditions that had marked her childhood. She hadn’t realized how much she’d miss those or how empty the holidays would feel without her family.

  “I was hoping,” Heather said, being as forthright and honest as she could, “that we’d find a small palm tree on the beach and decorate it like a real Christmas tree.”

  This seemed to utterly baffle Elijah. “Decorate it with what? Toilet paper?”

  “I…don’t know. Something. Maybe we could find sea shells and string those and cut out paper stars.”

  Elijah shrugged. “Would that make you happy?”

  “I…I don’t know. I dreamed of sitting in the sand with you and looking up at the night sky, singing Christmas carols.”

  Elijah rubbed his hand over his face. “I don’t sing, and even if I did, I don’t know the words to any of those carols. Well, maybe the one about the snowman. What the hell was his name again? Frisky?”

  “Frosty.”

  “Yeah, Frosty.”

  “But you can hum, can’t you?” Heather had a fairly decent voice. It didn’t matter if he sang or not; all that mattered was being together and in love and sharing something important. Maybe creating a new tradition of their own…

  “Heather, listen,” Elijah said as he unfolded his arms and slowly straightened. “I’m not the kind of guy who decorates palm trees with paper stars or sings about melting snowmen.”

  “But I thought—”

  “What?” He slapped his hand against the side of his head in frustration. “What were you thinking?”

  “I like to party, too, but a steady diet of it grows old after a while.”

  “Says who?”

  “Me,” she cried. She’d never asked Elijah where he got his money, but she was beginning to think she should. “You didn’t even consult me about having all these other people along.”

  “Hey,” Elijah snapped, thrusting up both palms in a gesture of surrender. “You didn’t consult me about all this Christmas junk you’re so keen on, either.”

  He was right, but his sarcasm didn’t make her feel any better. “I thought it would be just the two of us.”

  “Well, it isn’t. I’ve got friends, and I’m not letting any woman get between me and my people.”

  “Your…people?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  Unfortunately, Heather was beginning to understand all too well.

  “Peaches warned me about college girls,” he muttered.

  “Ben warned me about you,” she returned.

  “Who the hell is Ben?”

  “A friend.” Heather wanted to kick herself for not listening, but it was too late for that.

  “College girls are nothing but trouble.”

  “You didn’t used to think that,” Heather reminded him. “Not about me.” From the moment they met, he’d said he didn’t want to get involved with a college girl, and she’d taken that as a challenge to change his mind. She’d wanted to prove…what? She didn’t know. Possibly how incredibly foolish she could be.

  “I didn’t used to think about a lot of things,” Elijah said emphatically. “I’ve got a weakness for good girls, but the first thing they want to do is change me. Thing is, I’m content just the way I am. I’m not ever going to sit under any Christmas tree and sing silly songs. The sooner you accept that, the better.”

  Heather looked down the road and nodded. “I’m never going to be happy living like this.” Her wide gesture took in the bar, the motorcycles, a group of hysterically laughing people clambering out of a cab. “Like what?”

  “Like this,” she said. “Life is more than one big party, you know?”

  “No, I don’t,” he countered.

  “Fine.” It wouldn’t do any good to argue. “I’m leaving.”

  “You won’t get any argument from me, but I’m not taking you to Boston, if that’s what you want.”

  “No.” She’d never ask that of him. “I’ll catch a bus to Miami in the morning and fly back.”

  “What about money?” he asked, and the way he said it made it clear she was on her own.

  “I’ll be fine.”

  Elijah snorted. “Mommy’s credit card to the rescue, right?”

  Heather did have an emergency credit card
her mother had given her, and she’d be forced to use it. In three years, she’d never had reason to do so, but she did now. Still, she was determined to pay back every last penny.

  “Yes, Mommy’s credit card. I’m fortunate to have a mother.”

  Elijah considered that for a moment, then nodded in agreement. “That’s probably the reason you’re in college. You had parents who gave a damn about you.”

  “I’m sorry it didn’t work out for us,” she told Elijah, sad now.

  He shrugged casually. “Don’t worry about it. We had a few good times.”

  “No hard feelings?”

  Elijah shook his head. “You’ll be all right, and so will I.”

  Heather knew that what he said was true. She should also have known, when she left Boston, that this arrangement would never work. Now she had two days to get back there and find her mother. Her poor, desperate mother in a strange town, without any friends…

  TWENTY-ONE

  The phone rang as Ray and Emily sat by the Christmas tree, both cross-legged, sipping wine and listening to a Christmas concert on the radio.

  “Don’t answer that,” he warned. “It might be my mother.”

  Emily smiled and hopped up to check caller ID. “It’s my phone number back in Washington,” she said, picking up the receiver. “Hello?”

  “Emily? It’s Faith.”

  “Oh, Faith,” Emily said, instantly cheered. “It’s so good to hear from you.”

  “Is everything all right?” her friend asked.

  “Everything is positively wonderful.” Emily looked over to where Ray sat with his wineglass.

  “It is here, too,” Faith confessed.

  “What about Charles?” Emily was sure she hadn’t heard her friend correctly. Faith actually sounded happy, but that couldn’t be possible, since she was stuck with a Christmas-hating curmudgeon.

  “Oh, Emily, Charles has been just great. He wasn’t in the beginning, but then I realized he’s just like everyone else, only a little more intense.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. In fact, this morning he went sledding with the Kennedy kids. Thomas talked him into it. He was reluctant at first, but once he got started there was no stopping him.”

  “Charles?” Although they’d never met, Emily had heard enough about Ray’s brother to find this bit of news truly astonishing.

  “Then Charles and I walked downtown and browsed the stores and he bought the cutest little birdhouse for your yard. It’s got a snowy roof and a bright-red cardinal on top.”

  “Charles did that?”

  “Yes, and then we had a fabulous lunch. He’s working now, or at least that’s what he said he was doing, but I think he’s taking a nap.”

  Emily smiled. This definitely wasn’t the man Ray had described. From everything he’d told her, Charles was the classic absentminded professor, as stuffy and staid as they come. And he hated Christmas. Something—or someone—had turned his world upside down, and Emily had a very good idea who that might be.

  “Faith,” Emily murmured, “are you interested in Charles? As a man?”

  Her friend didn’t answer right away. “Define interested.”

  “Romantically inclined.”

  That caught Ray’s notice; he stood and walked over to the phone, sitting down on a nearby stool.

  “I don’t know.” Faith’s answer revealed her indecision. “Well, maybe.” She sounded uncertain, as if she was surprised by her feelings and a little troubled. This relationship must be developing very quickly; Emily could identify with that.

  “I think it’s wonderful that the two of you are getting along so well.”

  “He’s not at all the way he first seemed,” Faith told her. “First impressions can be deceptive, don’t you think?”

  “Of course.”

  “But I didn’t phone to talk about myself.” Faith seemed even more flustered now. “I just wanted to see how you’re doing.”

  Emily’s gaze drifted to Ray. “Like I said, this is turning out to be a wonderful Christmas.”

  Her announcement was followed by a short pause. “Charles’s brother is still there?”

  “Yes.” Emily didn’t elaborate.

  “So the two of you are hitting it off?”

  “We are. We’re getting along really well.”

  As if to prove how well, Ray came to stand behind Emily. He slipped his arms around her waist and kissed the back of her neck. Tiny shivers of delight danced down her spine and she closed her eyes, savoring his warmth and attention.

  “Have you heard from Heather?” Faith asked.

  Emily’s eyes flew open. “Not a peep, but I don’t expect to since she doesn’t have this phone number.”

  “I guess she’ll call after Christmas,” Faith said.

  Emily managed a few words of assent, then changed the subject. “It was so sweet of you to come to Leavenworth for Christmas. I just wish you’d let me know.”

  “And ruin the surprise?” Faith teased.

  “Just like I surprised Heather.”

  Faith laughed softly. “I’ll check in with you later. Bye for now.”

  “Okay. Talk to you soon.” Emily hung up the phone and sighed as she turned to Ray to explain the call. “As you could tell, that was Faith.”

  “What’s all this about my brother?”

  He released her and Emily leaned against the kitchen counter. “Charles apparently spent the morning sledding with the neighborhood kids.”

  Ray shook his head, frowning. “That’s impossible. Not Charles. He’d never knowingly choose to be around kids.”

  “That’s not all. After sledding, the two of them went Christmas shopping—and he bought me a gift. A birdhouse.”

  Ray’s frown grew puzzled. “This is a joke, right?”

  “Not according to Faith.”

  “Charles? My brother, Charles?”

  “The very same. Apparently she tired him out, because he’s napping.”

  “I’ve got to meet this friend of yours. She must be a miracle worker.” He paused. “You’re sure about all this?”

  “That’s what Faith told me, and I’ve never known her to exaggerate.”

  “Something must’ve happened to my brother. Maybe I should call him myself.”

  “Don’t you think this is a good thing?” Emily asked. “Judging by everything you’ve said, your brother seems to have a single focus. His work. He wanted to escape Christmas and finish his book.”

  Ray nodded, but his expression had started to relax. “It’s interesting when you put it that way,” he said thoughtfully.

  “How so?”

  “It sounds as if you’re describing me.”

  This surprised Emily. From the beginning, she’d viewed Charles as an introvert, in contrast to Ray, who was personable and outgoing.

  “For years now, Christmas has meant nothing but a few extra days off. Every year, I send the obligatory gift to my mother—usually the latest big mystery and maybe a new coffee-table book with lots of scenic pictures. I attend a few parties, have my assistant mail out greeting cards, make a restaurant reservation for the twenty-fifth. But I haven’t felt any real spirit until today. With you.”

  Emily’s heart warmed at his words.

  “I never go for even an hour without thinking about work or publishing. We’ve spent the entire day together, and I haven’t once missed hearing my cell ring.”

  Emily had no idea their Christmas-tree adventure had meant so much to him. He’d seemed eager to hear about her homemade decorations and the traditions she had with her daughter. Later she’d felt a bit silly to be talking so much and certain she’d bored him with her endless stories. She was glad she hadn’t.

  Ray looked away as if he’d said more than he intended. “Are you ready for dinner? What about that Mexican place we passed?”

  “I’m starving.” Mexican food sounded divine and the perfect ending to a perfect day.

  “Me, too. That’s what you get for walking
my feet off this afternoon,” he said. “Now you have to feed me.”

  After they’d finished putting the final touches on the tree, they’d gone out for a light lunch of pizza and salad, then walked and walked. They’d had no real destination, but enjoyed being out of doors. They’d talked incessantly and Emily was surprised they had so much to discuss. She was a voracious reader and Ray questioned her about her favorite books and authors. Emily had questions of her own about the publishing industry, which fascinated her. She noticed, though, that neither of them talked much about their private lives. Their conversations skirted around their thoughts and feelings, but the more time they spent together, the more they revealed.

  TWENTY-TWO

  Faith replaced the telephone receiver, and a happy feeling spread through her. What had felt like a disaster a few days earlier now seemed to be working wonderfully well—for her and her dearest friend.

  As if her thoughts had awakened him, Charles opened the door to the den and stepped out, still yawning.

  “Just as I suspected,” Faith teased. “You were napping.”

  “I intended to revise the first chapter,” he muttered, rubbing his eyes, “but the minute I sat down in that warm, quiet room, I was lost. Thank goodness there’s a comfortable sofa in there or I would’ve fallen asleep with my head on the keyboard.”

  Faith had taken more than one nap in Emily’s comfortable den, perhaps her favorite room in the house. In the early years, it had been Heather’s bedroom, but as she grew up, Heather had wanted more privacy and claimed the room at the top of the stairs. Emily had transformed her daughter’s former bed room into a library, with books in every conceivable place. A desk and computer took up one wall, and the worn leather couch another. A hand-knit afghan was draped over its back for those times when reading led to napping…. She’d spent many a lazy winter afternoon on that couch, Faith recalled.

  “What have you been up to?” Charles asked.

  “I called Emily in Boston to see how she’s doing,” she told him.

  Charles poured a mug of coffee. “Is she having any problems?”

  “No. In fact, it seems your brother’s decided to stay on.”