He smiled at the thought. If only the situation could be reversed, he’d jump at the chance.
Then, from somewhere in the apartment, he heard music. The stereo was playing Bing Crosby.
Happy holiday,
Happy holiday,
While the merry bells keep ringing
May your every wish come true.
Andrew stood up and slowly moved toward the sound. How could there be music? Beth must have set the alarm timer on the CD player.
As he stepped into the living room, he heard the pop and crackle of burning timber. There was a fire in the fireplace, a couple of extra logs in the firewood holder. Andrew thought for a moment, tried to retrace his steps from the night before. Could he have lit a fire and not remembered doing it? He knew he hadn’t; he wouldn’t have.
It made no sense. Maybe there were still embers from the previous evening—maybe they’d somehow reignited. If that was the case, why did the firewood look fresh? Nothing about the morning made sense. His heart quickened as he looked at the window. Something was missing.
The corner where Beth had set up that pitiful little Christmas tree—empty. No lights and bulbs, no popcorn strands or falling needles. No Charlie Brown tree.
But how could that be? He specifically remembered leaning down and unplugging the lights just before he’d staggered off to bed. The tree had been there. He had placed it there himself on Friday evening. Beth had stood in that corner and quietly decorated as he hurriedly packed for Chicago. She had been standing by its glowing branches in the window as he climbed into the cab.
But now it was gone. Maybe someone was playing a cruel trick on him. Or, even more disturbing, maybe his mind was slipping. Could this be some kind of post-traumatic stress brought on by Beth’s death?
Andrew walked over to the CD player and switched it off as a familiar scent hit him. Perfume. Beth’s perfume. Then he heard footfalls on the stairs, steps heading down the hall toward the apartment.
Someone is coming.
A moment later, the clatter of keys and the sound of one slipping into the lock. Andrew stared stupidly at the door as the bolt turned, the door pushed open, and Beth stepped through.
She was dressed in her woolen winter coat, ski hat, and gloves; her cheeks were kissed rosy by the cold. She looked wonderful. Andrew gaped at her as she removed the keys from the door, closed it behind her. In her arms she carried a brown bag from the bagel shop on the corner. Under her arm she gripped a copy of the New York Times. “Hey!” she said. “You’re up.”
She set the bag and newspaper on the kitchen counter, stepped over to him, and turned the backs of her cold hands against his cheeks. “Feel.”
Andrew stared at her smiling face and struggled to get control of himself. He watched in silence as she peeled off her wrappings and hung them by the door.
“Where were you?”
“I went for bagels,” Beth said. “It’s so beautiful out. Not a cloud in the sky.”
As Beth moved into the kitchen to start breakfast, Andrew went to the kitchen counter and unfolded the morning paper. Friday, December 22.
Andrew breathed a sigh of deep relief as the obvious truth sank in. It had been a dream. An incredibly vivid and realistic dream, but a dream nevertheless.
He smiled, tossed the paper back on the counter, and wrapped his arms around Beth from behind. “Good morning, beautiful.”
Beth turned to him. “Whoa,” she said. “Where did that come from?”
“I don’t know.” Andrew shrugged. “Can’t a guy call his wife beautiful once in a while?”
Beth shot him a quizzical look. “Sure. Anytime.”
“I had the funkiest dream last night,” Andrew said. “Seemed so real.”
Beth went back to her breakfast prep. “Speaking of funky, look what I found in the key tray this morning.” She held up the ornate key that Lionel had given Andrew. “Is this yours?”
Andrew stared at the key in her hand, his momentary relief sucked right out of him. He finally managed a nod.
“Where did you get it?”
Andrew felt his stomach clench. “I, um, found it on the street.”
“Well, it certainly is unusual,” Beth said. She placed the key on the counter and turned back to breakfast.
Andrew swallowed hard, his guts churning. It wasn’t a dream after all. And if it wasn’t a dream, that meant the clock was ticking.
“Three days,” he said.
CHAPTER TEN
We have to get our tree,” Beth said. “I was thinking you could meet me after work today.”
Andrew’s body was sitting across from Beth at the breakfast table, but his mind was miles away, running on adrenaline. He simply couldn’t focus. There was too much to process, too much to try to figure out.
He’d only managed one tiny bite of bagel, and Beth had been forced to intervene to stop him from pouring orange juice on his cereal. Food was the last thing on his mind at the moment, and getting a Christmas tree ranked only a half notch above.
“Earth to Andrew,” Beth said.
Andrew looked at her as if suddenly realizing she was there. “Yeah, sure,” he said.
Beth smiled. “What did I say?”
“We need to get a tree.”
“So? Can you meet me after work?”
Andrew noticed a dabble of cream cheese on her upper lip and suddenly wanted to kiss it away. “No,” he said.
Beth winced. He hadn’t meant to bark it out like that. “I mean, I have a better idea. A much better idea.”
“Oh?” Beth said. “This I have to hear.”
Andrew took her hands. “How about if I don’t go to work at all?”
“Who are you?” Beth said. “And what have you done with my real husband?”
“I’m serious,” Andrew said. “I want this to be the greatest Christmas weekend of your life, the most amazing three days of our marriage.”
Beth gave him a dubious look, and he pressed on. “Really, Beth. This weekend is all about you. Whatever you want, whatever you need, I will do everything in my power to provide it.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“I mean it. I want you to think very, very hard. Where would you like to go this weekend? And think big. We can go anywhere in the world. Paris. Tahiti. Name it, and I’ll book it.”
“What about your work?”
“Forget about my work. I’ve got vacation days stacked up since 2010.”
“There’s a reason for that, honey,” Beth said. “Work is the most important thing in the world to you.”
“You’re the most important thing in the world to me,” Andrew said. “Maybe I haven’t always acted that way, but I’m trying to change. Won’t you help me?”
Andrew’s iPhone vibrated on the table. Beth picked it up, saw who was calling.
“Your office,” she said. “Knew this was too good to be true.”
Andrew took the phone from her and switched it off. Beth gave an exaggerated gasp. “Honey, did you hit your head or something? Or—I know—you were visited by the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come!”
Andrew smiled. “Kind of. The point is, it’s Christmas, and I’m spending the weekend with my wife. So, have you decided where you want to go?”
“Let me be sure I have this straight,” Beth said. “You’ll take me anywhere in the world I want to go? My choice?”
“Anywhere,” Andrew said.
Penn Station was teeming with holiday travelers. Andrew and Beth worked their way through a bustling terminal decked out with a twenty-foot Christmas tree, poinsettias, and giant plastic candy canes.
Beth tugged Andrew over to the big black departure board near the top of the escalators. He watched his wife scan the dozens of destinations. She seemed positively giddy.
“I don’t think we can get to Paris from here,” Andrew said.
“Good,” Beth said. “Because I don’t want to go to Paris.” She pointed up to the board. “There it is! My dream destination.” A
ndrew followed her finger and spotted two familiar words.
“River Falls?” he said. “Seriously, Beth?”
Beth smiled at him and took his hand. “Seriously. You said my choice, and that’s where I want to go.”
Andrew smiled. “I said think big. A trip to the library’s bigger than this.”
“You made the rules, buddy.”
“Yes, I did.”
“Okay, then. Stop your grousing and let’s go!” Andrew shook his head and stepped up to the ticket booth. “Two tickets to River Falls, please.”
A light snow was falling on River Falls, Pennsylvania, when the three o’clock train from New York City pulled into the station. Beth was the first one on the platform when the doors opened, leaving Andrew to grab the luggage.
“Andrew, hurry!”
A moment later Andrew lumbered out, toting the bags. He watched as Beth performed a joyful pirouette on the snow-dusted platform, Alice arriving in Wonderland. “I can’t believe we’re here!” she said. “Home. The sweetest spot on earth!”
Andrew forced a smile. River Falls was not such a sweet spot for him. When they moved to Manhattan, he shook the dust of this one-horse town off his feet and never looked back.
But Beth, who had never gotten over her homesickness, jumped at the chance to come home for Christmas. Suddenly Andrew felt guilty for not bringing her back before now.
Beth threw her arms around him. “Thank you for this!”
“You’re welcome,” Andrew said.
Lionel had told him that he couldn’t change his wife’s fate. But what if she could change it? What if Beth refused to go back to New York? What if she was nowhere near that street at 11:58 on Christmas Eve?
An ember of hope flickered into flame. Maybe there was a chance.
Beth let go of him and danced away. “C’mon, let’s get checked in so we can go exploring!”
Ten minutes later the only taxi in town rolled up outside the River Falls Inn, a charming old three-story house that was converted to a bed-and-breakfast some fifty years back. The lethargic cabdriver hoisted his bulky frame out of the driver’s seat with such effort it seemed as if he hadn’t stood up in weeks. He shuffled slowly back to the trunk, being overly cautious of the ice patches. He groaned as he lifted out the luggage. Beth snatched the fare from Andrew and slipped it into the driver’s hand, tacking on a ten spot for good measure.
“Here you go,” she said. “Keep the change.” The driver stared at the extra cash and then turned to stare at her.
“I know you,” he said. “You’re Beth McCarthy.”
Beth beamed. “I am,” she said. “What’s your name?”
“Larry. Larry Miller.”
“Larry! Of course! I didn’t recognize you!” She gave him a hug. “Andrew, remember Larry? He was a freshman when we were seniors.”
The truth was, Andrew didn’t even come close to remembering him. But he stuck out his hand. “Hey there, Larry.”
Larry nodded to Andrew and shook his hand, but his eyes stayed focused on Beth. “Beth, do you remember my fifteenth birthday?” the cabbie said. His eyes lit up, and a boyish grin spread across his homely face.
Beth thought for a moment. “Yes, I do. It was at your house. Your mom made spaghetti.”
Larry’s grin widened. “I invited pretty much everybody at school. You were the only one to show up.”
“Really, Larry?” Beth said. “I don’t remember that.”
“It’s true,” the cabbie said. “My mother talked about you until the day she died. She said you were the kind of girl any guy would be lucky to marry. She said you had class.”
Larry turned his gaze on Andrew. “I wasn’t exactly Mr. Popularity in high school,” he said. “But your wife here didn’t care. She treated me like I was somebody.” Larry handed the fare and tip back to Andrew. “This one’s on me. You folks enjoy your stay, now. And if you need any more rides, you just call ole Larry.”
“Thanks,” Andrew said. He grabbed the bags as Larry tipped his hat to Beth.
“Good to see you again.”
Beth smiled. “You too, Larry.” Then Larry climbed back in his taxi and drove back toward the train station.
“That was sweet,” Beth said.
“Yeah,” Andrew said.
Beth snatched her suitcase from him. “Well, come on! Time’s a wastin’.”
Andrew forced a smile. “That it is,” he said. “That it is.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Beth McCarthy! The girl with the million-dollar smile.” The inn’s owner, Mr. Gibbons, beamed at Beth from behind the check-in counter.
“You’re so sweet, Mr. Gibbons,” Beth said. She nodded toward Andrew. “And it’s Beth Farmer now.”
“Oh, that’s right,” Gibbons said. “You married Emma and Henry Farmer’s boy. You kids were two peas in a pod, if I remember.”
Andrew glanced at his Rolex. “Yep,” he said. “So, any vacancies?”
“Well, let’s see . . .” The old innkeeper glanced back at the key rack on the wall. No plastic card keys for the River Falls Inn; it was strictly old-school brass dangling from the hooks. And there were plenty of them. Not exactly a holiday rush on rooms. “Appears to be wide open. What are you looking for?”
“The best room you have,” Andrew said. “Preferably a suite. Presidential, if you have one. If not, anything with a sitting room. And we’d like the top floor.”
Beth shot Andrew a look as Mr. Gibbons mulled it over. “Hmm, let’s see . . .” The old man’s face lit up. “How about room number three? The De Niro Suite.”
“Robert De Niro stayed here?” Beth said.
Mr. Gibbons chuckled as if she’d just gotten off a good one. “Oh no. But a man who looked a good deal like him did once. All the ladies in town thought it really was De Niro and camped out on the front lawn. It was quite the to-do. The poor fella had to come out and show his driver’s license to convince them otherwise.”
Beth smiled and glanced at Andrew. “That’s a great story.”
Andrew didn’t think so. He nervously tapped the counter. “We’ll take it.”
“Wow, great room!” Andrew said as he lugged the suitcases through the door of room number three. In reality, the room was no great shakes. Certainly no suite. He did a quick butt bounce off the bed. “Springy mattress. Just the way you like it.”
“What is with you?” Beth said. “You’re acting very strange.”
“Strange?” Andrew said. “I’m not acting anything.”
“Uh, yes, you are. ‘Give us your best room. Top floor. Do you have a presidential suite?’ ”
“Beth, I just want you to be happy.”
“Oh? Or is it more about Andrew Farmer the conquering hero returns home?”
“Beth, I don’t know what—”
“Andrew, you left town, you’ve done well. Everybody knows it. You don’t have to show off.”
“I’m not showing off. I just want this to be the perfect weekend. That’s all.”
Beth gave him a dubious look. Andrew knew it was best to shift topics as quickly as possible. “Okay,” he said. “What do you want to do? On the ride in I noticed they were setting up for some shindig in Town Square. You love that stuff.”
“Andrew, it’s not ‘some shindig.’ It’s Candlelight Christmas. Don’t you remember? We used to go together every year.”
“Yeah, of course I remember,” he said. “Didn’t we have our first kiss there?”
Beth smiled and shook her head. “You really are a guy, aren’t you? Our first kiss was at Susie Thompson’s sweet sixteenth.”
“Right. Now I remember. We were playing some game.”
Beth started to unpack. “Truth or Dare,” she said. “Bobby Mulligan dared you to kiss me.”
Andrew began unloading his own bag. “I have a confession to make,” he said. “I paid Mully off.” Beth gave him a look, then grinned. It seemed Andrew had finally said the right thing. She went over and gave him a peck on the cheek.
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“That one’s for free.”
Andrew rubbed his hands together. “So, what do you say we get out of here? Stretch our legs.”
“Okay. Just give me a second to freshen up.”
The moment Beth stepped into the bathroom and closed the door, Andrew collapsed onto the edge of the bed. He felt as if he’d just run a marathon. His heart was racing; he was sweating. The pretending-everything’s-normal game was exhausting.
“Having fun yet?”
Andrew sprang up and whipped around to discover Lionel lounging on the bed, feet up, arms behind his head, a relaxed smile on his face. “You! You scared the—! What are you doing here?” Andrew said.
Lionel yawned. “Just checking in on you. You really need to chill out, my friend. All this stress is going to give you an ulcer.”
“Stress? Stress? Yeah, I’ve got some stress. Who wouldn’t, under these circumstances?”
Lionel chuckled. “I suppose you’re right. So, have you figured out what to give her yet?”
“Give her? What are you talking about?”
“Beth’s last Christmas present.”
Andrew’s agitation ramped up another notch. “Christmas present? How am I supposed to think about a Christmas present, knowing what I know? Knowing what’s going to happen Sunday night at 11:58? Sorry if I don’t have time to focus on shopping!”
“Well, I’d think—knowing what you know—you’d want to get her something nice, something special. Unlike the apron you got her last year. After all, it’s your last shot.”
Andrew pointed an angry finger at Lionel and whispered, “What? What is it I’m supposed to get her? Enough with the riddles. Just tell me!”
“Can’t do that,” Lionel said.
“Why not?”
“It’s not for me to say.”
Andrew started pacing the room. “Oh, right. Of course not! What is your function, anyway? Just for the record. I thought you angel-types were supposed to help us mere mortals. Isn’t that your job?”
Lionel chuckled. “Never said I was an angel.”
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