A Christmas Message

by Debbie Macomber

  Not wanting to give Max an excuse to continue the conversation, K.O. threw him a vague smile.

  “Have you ever seen so much blood in your life?” he said with remarkable enthusiasm.

  “Uh, no,” she murmured. Since it was her towels that had cleaned it up, she had to confess there’d been lots.

  “My son seems to be quite taken with you,” Max said next.

  As badly as she wanted to urge Max to go about his business, K.O. couldn’t ignore that particular comment. Not when Max dropped this little morsel at her feet—much as Martin had presented her with the catnip mouse. “He does? Really?”

  Max nodded.

  “He talks about me?”

  “Hmm. It’s more a question of what he doesn’t say than what he does. He was always an intense child. As a youngster... Well, I’m sure you don’t have time to go into that right now.”

  K.O. thought she could see Wynn’s car. “I don’t... I’m sorry.”

  “Take my word for it, Wynn’s interested in you.”

  K.O. felt like dancing in the street. “I’m interested in him, too,” she admitted.

  “Good, good,” Max said expansively. “Well, I’d better get back inside. Have a nice weekend.”

  “I will. Thank you.” It did look like Wynn’s car. His timing was perfect—or almost. She hoped that when he reached the curb, his father would be inside the building.

  Just then the front doors opened and out stepped LaVonne. She froze in midstep when she saw Wynn’s father. He froze, too.

  K.O. watched as LaVonne’s eyes narrowed. She couldn’t see Max’s face, but from LaVonne’s reaction, she assumed he shared her resentment. They seemed unwilling to walk past each other, and both stood there, looking wildly in all directions except ahead. If it hadn’t been so sad, it would’ve been laughable.

  K.O. could see that it was definitely Wynn’s car. He smiled when he saw her and started to ease toward the curb. At the same moment, he noticed his father and LaVonne and instantly pulled back, merging into traffic again. He drove straight past K.O.

  Now LaVonne and Max were staring at each other. They still hadn’t moved, and people had to walk around them as they stood in the middle of the sidewalk.

  K.O. had to find a way to escape without being detected. As best as she could figure, Wynn had to drive around the block. With one-way streets and heavy traffic, it might take him ten minutes to get back to Blossom. If she hurried, she might catch him on Port Avenue or another side street and avoid letting Max see them together.

  “I think my ride’s here,” she said, backing away and dragging her suitcase with her.

  They ignored her.

  “Bye,” she said, waving her hand.

  This, too, went without comment. “I’ll see you both later,” she said, rushing past them and down the sidewalk.

  Again there was no response.

  K.O. didn’t dare look back. Blossom Street had never seemed so long. She rounded the corner and walked some distance down Port, waiting until she saw Wynn’s car again. Raising her arm as if hailing a taxi, she managed to catch his attention.

  Wynn pulled up to the curb, reached over and opened the passenger door. “That was a close call,” he murmured as she climbed inside.

  “You have no idea,” she said, shaking her head.

  “Is everything all right?” he asked.

  “I don’t know and, frankly, I don’t want to stick around and find out.”

  Wynn chuckled. “I don’t, either,” he said, rejoining the stream of traffic.

  They were off on what she hoped would be a grand adventure in the land of Z.

  Chapter Fifteen

  This is Zoe,” K.O. said as her niece wrapped one arm around her leg. After a half-hour of instructions, Zelda was finally out the door, on her way to meet Zach at the hotel. The twins stood like miniature statues, dressed in jean coveralls and red polka-dot shirts, with their hair in pigtails. They each stared up at Wynn.

  “No, I’m Zara.”

  K.O. narrowed her eyes, unsure whether to believe the child. The twins were identical and seemed to derive great satisfaction from fooling people, especially their parents.

  “Zoe,” K.O. challenged. “Tell the truth.”

  “I’m hungry.”

  “It’ll be dinnertime soon,” K.O. promised.

  Zoe—and she felt sure it was Zoe—glared up at her. “I’m hungry now. I want to eat now.” She punctuated her demand by stamping her foot. Her twin joined in, shouting that she, too, was hungry.

  “I want dinner now,” Zara insisted.

  Wynn smiled knowingly. “Children shouldn’t be forced to eat on a schedule. If they’re hungry, we should feed them no matter what the clock says.”

  Until then, the girls had barely acknowledged Wynn. All of a sudden, he was their best friend. Both beamed brilliant smiles in his direction, then marched over and stood next to him, as though aligning themselves with his theories.

  “What would you like for dinner?” he asked, squatting down so he was at eye level with them.

  “Hot dogs,” Zoe said, and Zara agreed. The two Yorkies, Zero and Zorro, seemed to approve, because they barked loudly and then scampered into the kitchen.

  “I’ll check the refrigerator,” K.O. told him. Not long ago, Zelda hadn’t allowed her daughters anywhere near hot dogs. She considered them unhealthy, low-quality fare that was full of nitrates and other preservatives. But nothing was off limits since Zelda had read The Free Child and become a convert.

  “I’ll help you look,” Zara volunteered and tearing into the kitchen, threw open the refrigerator door and peered inside.

  Not wanting to be left out, Zoe dragged over a kitchen chair and climbed on top. She yanked open the freezer and started tossing frozen food onto the floor. Zero and Zorro scrambled to get out of the way of flying frozen peas and fish.

  “There aren’t any hot dogs,” K.O. said after a few minutes. “Let’s choose something else.” After all, it was only four o’clock and she was afraid that if the girls ate too early, they’d be hungry again later in the evening.

  “I want a hot dog,” Zara shouted.

  “Me, too,” Zoe chimed in, as though eating wieners was a matter of eternal significance.

  Wynn stood in the kitchen doorway. “I can run to the store.”

  K.O. couldn’t believe her ears. She hated to see him cater to the whims of Zoe and Zara, but far be it from her to object. If he was willing to go to those lengths to get the twins the meal they wanted, she’d let him do it.

  “Isn’t that nice of Dr. Jeffries?” K.O. asked her nieces.

  Both girls ignored her and Wynn.

  K.O. followed him into the other room, where Wynn retrieved his jacket from the hall closet. “I’ll be back soon,” he said.

  “I’ll put together a salad and—”

  “Let the girls decide if they want a salad,” Wynn interrupted. “Given the option, children will choose a well-balanced diet on their own. We as adults shouldn’t be making these decisions for them.”

  K.O. had broken down and bought a copy of The Free Child at a small bookstore that had recently opened on Blossom Street. She’d skimmed it last night, so she knew this advice was in the book, stated in exactly those words. She might not approve, but for tonight she was determined to follow his lead. So she kept her mouth shut. Not that it was easy.

  While the girls were occupied, he planted a gentle kiss on her lips, smiled and then was out the door.

  It was now three days since they’d been able to spend time together. With that one short kiss, a lovely warmth spread through her. She closed the door after him and was leaning against it when she noticed that the twins had turned to stare at her. “While we’re waiting for Wynn to get back, would you like me to read you a story?” she asked. The salad discussion could wai
t.

  The girls readily agreed, and the three of them settled on the sofa. She was only a few pages into the book when both Zoe and Zara slumped over, asleep. Before Zelda left, she’d said the twins had been awake since five that morning, excited about Katherine’s visit. Apparently they no longer took naps. This was something else Wynn had advised. Children would sleep when they needed to, according to him. Regimented naptimes stifled children’s ability to understand their internal clocks. Well, Zoe’s and Zara’s clocks had obviously wound down—and K.O. was grateful.

  The quiet was so blissful that she leaned her head back and rested her own eyes. The tranquility didn’t last long, however. In less than fifteen minutes, Wynn was back from the store, carrying a plastic bag with wieners and fresh buns. The dogs barked frantically as he entered the house, waking both children.

  “Here they are,” he announced as if he brandished an Olympic gold medal.

  Zara yawned. “I’m not hungry anymore.”

  “Me, neither,” Zoe added.

  It probably wasn’t the most tactful thing to do, but K.O. smiled triumphantly.

  “That’s okay. We can wait until later,” Wynn said, completely unfazed.

  He really was good with the girls and seemed to enjoy spending time with them. While K.O. set the kitchen table and cleared away the clutter that had accumulated everywhere, Wynn sat down and talked to the twins. The girls showed him the Christmas tree and the stockings that hung over the fireplace and the nativity scene set up on the formal dining room table.

  K.O. heard Zoe mention her imaginary horse named Blackie. Not to be outdone, Zara declared that her imaginary horse was named Brownie. Wynn listened to them seriously and even scooted over to make room for the horses on the sofa. K.O. was grateful that Wynn was sharing responsibility for the girls, whose constant demands quickly drained her.

  “I’m hungry now,” Zoe informed them half an hour later.

  “I’ll start the hot dogs,” K.O. said, ready for dinner herself.

  “I want pancakes.”

  “With syrup,” Zara said. Zoe nodded.

  K.O. looked at Wynn, who shrugged as if it was no big deal.

  “Then pancakes it is,” K.O. agreed. She’d let him cope with the sugar high. For the next ten minutes she was busy mixing batter and frying the pancakes. The twins wanted chocolate syrup and strawberry jam on top, with bananas and granola. Actually, it didn’t taste nearly as bad as K.O. had feared.

  According to her sister’s instructions, the girls were to be given their medication with meals. After dinner, Zoe and Zara climbed down from their chairs. When K.O. asked them to take their plates to the sink, they complied without an argument or even a complaint.

  “Time for your medicine,” K.O. told them next. She removed two small bottles filled with pink antibiotic from the refrigerator.

  The two girls raced about the kitchen, shrieking, with the dogs yapping at their heels. They seemed incapable of standing still.

  “Girls,” K.O. ordered sternly. “Take your medicine and then you can run around.” The way they were dashing back and forth, it was difficult to see who was who.

  Zara skidded to a stop and dutifully opened her mouth. Carefully measuring out the liquid, K.O. filled the spoon and popped it into the child’s mouth. Immediately afterward, the twins took off in a frenzied race around the kitchen table.

  “Zoe,” K.O. said, holding the second bottle and a clean spoon and waiting for the mayhem to die down so she could dispense the correct dose to her other niece. “Your turn.”

  The twin appeared in front of her, mouth open. K.O. poured medicine onto the spoon. About to give it to Zoe, she hesitated. “You’re not Zoe. You’re Zara.”

  “I’m Zoe,” she insisted. Although the girls were identical, K.O. could usually tell one from the other, partly by their personalities. Zara had the stronger, more dominant nature. “Are you sure?” she asked.

  The little girl nodded vigorously. Uncertain, K.O. reluctantly gave her the medication. The twins continued to chase each other about the kitchen, weaving their way around and between Wynn and K.O. The dogs dashed after them, yapping madly.

  Wynn asked, “Is everything all right?”

  K.O. still held the empty spoon. “I have a horrible feeling I just gave two doses to the same girl.”

  “You can trust the twins to tell you the truth,” Wynn pronounced. “Children instinctively know when it’s important to tell the truth.”

  “Really?” K.O. couldn’t help worrying.

  “Of course. It’s in the book,” Wynn said as if quoting Scripture.

  “You didn’t feed Blackie and Brownie,” Zara cried when K.O. tossed the leftover pancakes in the garbage.

  “Then we must.” Wynn proceeded to remove the cold pancakes and tear them into small pieces. Zero and Zorro leaped off the ground in an effort to snatch up the leftovers. Zoe and Zara sat on the floor and fed the dogs and supposedly their imaginary pets, as well.

  The yapping dogs were giving K.O. a headache. “How about if I turn on the television,” she suggested, shouting to be heard above the racket made by the girls and the dogs.

  The twins hollered their approval, but the show that flashed onto the screen was a Christmas cartoon featuring none other than Santa himself. Jolly old soul that he was, Santa laughed and loaded his sleigh while the girls watched with rapt attention. Knowing how her sister felt, K.O. figured this was probably the first time they’d seen Santa all season. K.O. glanced at Wynn, who was frowning back.

  “Let’s see what else is on,” K.O. said quickly.

  “I want to watch Santa,” Zoe shouted.

  “Me, too,” Zara muttered.

  Wynn sat on the sofa between them and wrapped his arms around their small shoulders. “This show is about a character called Santa Claus,” he said in a solicitous voice.

  Both girls were far too involved in the program to be easily distracted by adult conversation.

  “Sometimes mommies and daddies like to make believe, and while they don’t mean to lie, they can mislead their children,” he went on.

  Zoe briefly tore her gaze away from the television screen. “Like Santa, you mean?”

  Wynn smiled. “Like Santa,” he agreed.

  “We know he’s not real,” Zoe informed them with all the wisdom of a five-year-old.

  “Santa is really Mommy and Daddy,” Zara explained. “Everyone knows that.”

  “They do?”

  Both girls nodded.

  Zoe’s eyes turned serious. “We heard Mommy and Daddy fighting about Santa and we almost told them it doesn’t matter ’cause we already know.”

  “We like getting gifts from him, though,” Zara told them.

  “Yeah, I like Santa,” Zoe added.

  “But he’s not real,” Wynn said, sounding perfectly logical.

  “Mommy’s real,” Zara argued. “And Daddy, too.”

  “Yes, but...” Wynn seemed determined to argue further, but stopped when he happened to glance at K.O. He held her gaze a moment before looking away.

  K.O. did her best to keep quiet, but apparently Wynn realized how difficult that was, because he clammed up fast enough.

  The next time she looked at the twins, Zara had slumped over to one side, eyes drooping. K.O. gently shook the little girl’s shoulders but Zara didn’t respond. Still fearing she might have given one twin a double dose of the antibiotic, she knelt down in front of the other child.

  “Zoe,” she asked, struggling to keep the panic out of her voice. “Did you get your medicine or did Zara swallow both doses?”

  Zoe grinned and pantomimed zipping her mouth closed.

  “Zoe,” K.O. said again. “This is important. We can’t play games when medicine is involved.” So much for Wynn’s theory that children instinctively knew when it was necessary to tell the truth.


  “Zara likes the taste better’n me.”

  “Did you take your medicine or did Zara take it for you?” Wynn asked.

  Zoe smiled and shook her head, indicating that she wasn’t telling.

  Zara snored, punctuating the conversation.

  “Did you or did you not take your medicine?” Wynn demanded, nearly yelling.

  Tears welled in Zoe’s eyes. She buried her face in K.O.’s lap and refused to answer Wynn.

  “This isn’t a joke,” he muttered, clearly losing his patience with the twins.

  “Zoe,” K.O. cautioned. “You heard Dr. Jeffries. It’s important for us to know if you took your medication.”

  The little girl raised her head, then slowly nodded. “It tastes bad, but I swallowed it all down.”

  “Good.” Relief flooded K.O. “Thank you for telling the truth.”

  “I don’t like your friend,” she said, sticking her tongue out at Wynn. “He yells.”

  “I only yelled because...you made me,” Wynn countered. He marched to the far side of the room, and K.O. reflected that he didn’t sound so calm and reasonable anymore.

  “Why don’t we all play a game?” she suggested.

  Zara raised her head sleepily from the sofa edge. “Can we play Old Maid?” she asked, yawning.

  “I want to play Candyland,” Zoe mumbled.

  “Why don’t we play both?” K.O. said, and they did. In fact, they played for two hours straight, watched television and then drank hot chocolate.

  “Shall we take a bath now?” K.O. asked, hoping that would tire the girls out enough to want to go to bed. She didn’t know where they got their stamina, but her own was fading rapidly.

  The twins were eager to do something altogether different and instantly raced out of the room.

  Wynn looked like he could use a break—and he hadn’t even seen them at their most challenging. All in all, the girls were exhibiting good behavior, or what passed for good in the regime of the Free Child.

  “I’ll run the bath water,” K.O. told Wynn as he gathered up the cards and game pieces. Had she been on her own, K.O. would have insisted the twins pick up after themselves.