All Hearts Come Home for Christmas

by Annalisa Russo

  When she and Cleo entered, Jillian stopped to address Nola, the owner. Nola’s two children were fifth graders at Sheridan. “Hi, Mrs. Laverly,” Jillian said, blowing on her icy fingers. “It’s a little chilly out there.”

  Being a woman of few words, Nola grunted her thoughts on the weather. Today, Nola wore her usual white uniform covered up with an apron and sporting a splotch of what looked like tomato soup, the soup-of-the-day per the white board list at the front door.

  “How are my two girls doin’? We practiced flash cards last night until darn close to bedtime.”

  Emma and Ella were fraternal twins who could give the Brown boys a run for their money in both energy and intelligence. And these were only two of the four sets of twins on her roster this year. Nola’s girls were two of her favorite students. “Impressive. We had a Frankie Test on the sevens today. I glanced over their test scores, and they both passed with flying colors.”

  Nola handed Jillian two menus and skirted around her to pour coffee into cups at the counter with expert precision. “Dunno why they call the program Frankie’s.”

  “Beats me, Mrs. Laverly, but they work. By the end of the year, with Frankie practice, I’ve found all my students can pass the flash card test in five minutes with ninety percent accuracy.”

  Nola harrumphed. “They’d better pass. And ninety percent ain’t good enough for me.”

  Jillian laughed. “You don’t have anything to worry about with your girls. They’re great kids.” Melissa flagged her down and pointed to a red vinyl corner booth where Cleo had seated herself. “See you at conferences after the holiday, Mrs. Laverly.”

  Nola waved her on with the coffeepot. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

  Luckily, Mondays were always slow; even so, Melissa barely had time to take their order and less, as she put it, to chit chat. The woman was a no-nonsense type of girl and pretty, to boot. She finger-dressed her short, choppy blonde hair in a casual style which flattered clear blue eyes topped with slashes of pronounced brows. Today, tiny snowmen dangled from her earlobes. She shoved a yellow number-two pencil through her hair to rest over her ear and proceeded to the kitchen with their order.

  Since Jillian and Cleo had pulled the dreaded late lunch period this year, by the time Melissa served their Sante Fe burgers, the crowd had dwindled down to four couples at tables and two men at the snack bar. And by this time, they barely had fifteen minutes to gulp down their burgers before they needed to return to school.

  “I haven’t had time to take a breath since I walked in the door.” Melissa set a bottle of ketchup next to Cleo, who smothered her fries in the sweet red stuff. “What did you want to talk to me about? No, wait—it’s about caroling next week, isn’t it?” She absently wiped down the tabletop next to where the girls sat.

  “Yep, I can count you in, right? Wendy is welcome to join us, so you won’t need a sitter. Remember when we went to the mall last week, how she was belting out carols in the back seat?” Melissa’s daughter attended Bethel Baptist Day Care, and the children in her preschool had been practicing all week for their Christmas program. Wendy knew all the words to the religious carols and most of the other Christmas melodies. Her favorite seemed to be a toss-up between “Silent Night” and “Frosty the Snowman.”

  “I’ll be there, and I’ll bring Wendy.” Melissa tucked the cloth she was using through the apron strings wrapped double around her waist. “Where and when?”

  “Next Wednesday, my house at six.” Jillian took a sip of her sweet tea. “Oh, and practice will be at Margie Thorsen’s house on the Tuesday before, just for an hour. If you can’t make it, that’s okay. You have a better voice than most of us. Do you have anyone special you’d like to put on the list? We have about ten houses lined up right now. Our last stop before Mrs. Daily’s will be Our Lady of Angels Retirement Home. Hot beverages and food at my place afterwards.”

  “I remember your mulled wine, so I’m in, and add my neighbor, Mr. Jameson, to your list. Just had open-heart surgery and lives alone. Hey, did you see the newest edition of Tweek?” Melissa grabbed the latest issue of the popular magazine off the lunch counter. Cleo choked on her burger and made frantic, slash-across-the-throat gestures.

  Jillian pounded Cleo on the back until she stopped coughing and took a giant gulp of her over-sweetened coffee. “Are you okay? Something go down the wrong pipe?”

  Melissa whipped the magazine behind her back, and her huge blue eyes grew round. “Sorry. Forget I said anything.” She grimaced at Cleo who had returned to her burger with a vengeance.

  “Okay. What’s up with you two? What are you hiding?” When Jillian tried to grab the magazine, Melissa scooted out of range. “Don’t make me come over there, Mel. What’s so special about Tweek this month? You know, I probably have my own copy in the mailbox at home.”

  Cleo leaned back in her seat and set her half-eaten burger on the plate. “Now, don’t kill the messenger, Jillie. Mel and I read that Trystan Sol left Last Bluff. There’s a story about the band’s breakup in this month’s Tweek. The article said he left for personal reasons.”

  Jillian felt her heart turn over in her chest. Trystan Sol—Tristán Solano—her childhood friend, the great love of her life, and lead keyboardist for the popular band Last Bluff. But why would he leave the band? Last Bluff had been the fulfillment of his lifelong dream. She refused to believe the reason was drugs. Tristán’s older brother had died of an overdose, and the tragedy broke up the family. He would never do drugs of any kind. But the music industry had its share of tragic stories. Was this a ploy by his promoters to get him into rehab?

  Jillian’s mouth dried up. If Tris retired from the music business, would he return to Green Earth? As far as she knew, he hadn’t married. The tabloids would have jumped all over that story. The man was a flipping teenage heart throb. “I can handle a story about a former—I repeat, former—childhood friend, even if he shows up here.” Since her friends would pick up on a fib in a heartbeat, she’d made a conscious effort to keep her voice even.

  “We understand, but you went to prom with him,” Melissa said, shooting Cleo a desperate glance. “I thought you two were pretty tight. I thought you’d be happy he left the group.”

  “Tris is an extremely talented musician, and I wish him the best of everything, but I sincerely doubt he’ll head back to Green Earth, Minnesota after the big time. Heck, the man is a multimillionaire. He’s given concerts in countries all over the world, even one for the Queen of England. He isn’t coming back here. Would you?”

  “Yeah, I would,” Cleo muttered. She popped the last bite of burger into her mouth and chewed. “Been there, done that.”

  “I love Green Earth, too, but unless you count a field trip to Chicago for a weekend of museums with the fifth grade, I haven’t seen much of the world…yet.” And since her appetite had faded to a slightly sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, Jillian’s half-eaten burger would remain on her plate.

  “Sweetie, I came back to Green Earth from Chicago via New York, and trust me, it ain’t no love fest out there. Let’s just say,” Cleo said, glancing sideways at Melissa, “if something else shows up in the news about Tristán, we’re here for you.”

  Jillian swallowed the lump in her throat and pushed her plate aside. “Of course you are.” She spread out her arms. “C’mon, group hug.”

  ****

  Trystan Sol hedged around the burly guards at New York’s La Guardia airport to escape a massive crowd of screaming females and ran across the tarmac. “Did you get Sadie on the plane?” he asked his agent and best friend, raising his voice over the milieu. He handed his flight bag to one of the attendants and started up the steps to the private jet.

  “Everything is under control,” Ross Hollister replied, following behind him. “We’re on schedule. I have a nondescript rental car in Chicago inside my grandfather’s garage. We’ll have your Benz shipped to Minnesota, though I can’t fathom why. What’s the attraction of a small town like Green Earth?�
�

  Trystan stopped and turned mid-climb. He set a hand on his friend’s shoulder and grinned. “You’re a die-hard New Yorker, so it’s nothing you’d understand. Make some time to visit soon and see for yourself. And thanks for everything, Ross. I couldn’t have pulled this off without you.” He gave his friend the one-armed man hug with bittersweet feelings. While he wouldn’t miss the exhausting grind of the music game, he’d miss Ross. In the music industry, you never knew who you could count on or trust, but he’d been damn lucky when he managed to snag Ross as his agent.

  “You still have time to change your mind, man. I’m not done working out the details. I still have time to talk you off the ledge. Call me if you need anything.”

  Trystan felt his chest expand with a sudden lightness. He glanced at the pretty female waiting at the top of the stairs, her long dark hair lifting in the bitter wind. “I’ve got everything I need right here, Ross.” And with those words, he took the remaining steps two at a time, eager to begin the rest of his life.

  Chapter Three

  “Hello, Jillian,” Mrs. Daily called from her front sidewalk. She waved the mittened hand that held her mail and juggled a bag of groceries in the other. “How’s Mr. McGillicutty doing, dear?”

  Jillian slammed the door of her old Jetta, grabbed her canvas bag filled to the top with uncorrected math homework, and went to chat over the fence with her neighbor. The woman’s gray curls peeked out from the brim of her hand-knitted cap, her usual sunny smile on her face. “As feisty as ever, Mrs. D. Practically knocked over my Christmas tree last night.”

  “Oh, dear. Well, you know the old saying…no good deed goes unpunished. But he’s probably missing Agnes. How long has it been now?” she asked. The woman’s penciled-on eyebrows furrowed in a straight line over her eyes.

  “About four months, the week after I started school in August. Hard to believe, isn’t it? One day she was fine, and then the next…”

  Jillian’s voice trailed off. Mrs. Daily’s heavy sigh revealed how much she missed her old kindergarten friend. The two women had grown up together, married two men who were best friends, and settled next to each other on Jasper Street. Now Mrs. Daily was the only one left of the foursome, the only one left behind, a difficult fact of life.

  “I’m sure Agnes is looking down from heaven pleased you are taking care of her beloved Mr. McGillicutty. When George died, he was a godsend for her.”

  Jillian couldn’t imagine Buster being a godsend for anyone. If Buster had been human, he’d come home from work every day, crack a six-pack, sit in his recliner, and watch WWE all night. The cat never purred. Ever. What kind of cat doesn’t purr?

  “I’m glad I could help, Mrs. Daily.”

  The old woman gestured with her mail toward the house across the street. “I noticed some activity at the Solano house earlier. A realtor, I guess. Maybe they’re finally putting the house on the market.” She glanced up and down the street. “The old neighborhood is changing. Old people are dying off, and the children don’t want the houses, too much upkeep, so they sell. Sadie Solano has been gone a long time now.” Mrs. Daily cocked her head to one side. “If I remember correctly, you and Sadie’s little grandson were buddies.”

  Jillian answered with a smile. The Solano house had been like a second home to her. Tristán’s abuelita and her nonna had lived across the street from each other for over forty years. She didn’t really know who owned the house since Sadie Solano died, but anyone who bought the old place would have to put plenty of money into a remodel and repair to get the property up to code.

  “Would you like to come in for a cup of tea, dear, and lemon biscotti? Your grandmother’s recipe, baked fresh this morning.”

  Jillian hated to decline Mrs. Daily’s offer, but she had papers to correct which would take her a good part of the night. As a retired science teacher, Mrs. Daily would understand. “Sorry.” She lifted her full school bag. “I’m behind in my grading, and report cards are due right after Christmas vacation. I’m playing catch-up, but I’ll take a rain check, okay?”

  “Of course, sweetheart, but you work too hard. Life goes by fast. When you’re on my side of eighty, things look a little different.” Mrs. Daily lowered her eyes. “Oh, by the way, Jillian, are you free for dinner on Saturday? My daughter and her family are coming over. We’d love for you to join us.”

  “C’mon, Mrs. Daily…’fess up. Do you have another grandson you want me to meet?” The woman had a huge family, with countless nephews and grandsons. Too many to count. Just when Jillian figured she’d met most of them, Mrs. Daily would come up with another dating prospect. They were all perfectly nice men, but she wasn’t interested.

  “Of course not. You have a gentleman friend now. I wouldn’t try to steal you away from Brian with a wonderful, extremely handsome grandson who has a degree from MIT and was just made partner in Anderson and Anderson Financial.”

  Jillian laughed. “Mrs. Daily, you’re incorrigible. Thanks, but no thanks. And for your information, my wonderful boyfriend is in St. Croix on vacation. Alone…I think.”

  “Over Christmas?”

  “Yes, and as of yesterday, he’s no longer my boyfriend.”

  “Well, of course he’s not. Imagine that. Shame on him. You hold out for the perfect man, dear. He’ll come along just when you’re not looking.” Mrs. Daily blew a kiss over the fence and waved goodbye with her mail.

  Jillian hoisted her heavy carryall over her shoulder, headed to her back door, and wondered where she could find one of those perfect men.

  ****

  Cleaning her living room from the Buster fiasco took two hours, and while she seldom cussed, she let out a couple of whoppers as she worked through the clutter. With over a hundred homework pages staring at her from a pile on the dining room table, she knew if she didn’t hit the mess first, she wouldn’t get back to it. So…mess first, she had decided, and now a bite to eat, and then the dreaded papers.

  Her plan was interrupted by her cell phone. According to caller ID, the person on the other end was her mother. “Hi, Mom. Where are you?”

  “At La Guardia, sweetie. I wanted to give you a quick call. Your father and I are almost ready to depart for Rome.”

  “I didn’t think the cruise started in Rome.”

  “No, it doesn’t. First, we tour the west edge of Italy, taking in Rome, Sorrento, and Capri, and then we board the ship for the Mediterranean cruise. But I couldn’t get on the plane without calling you. I’m so sorry you’ll be on your own for Christmas this year, sweetheart.”

  “Don’t give it another thought, Mom. Just have fun. You and Dad deserve this trip. What a great way to kick off your retirement.”

  Both Jillian’s mother and father were physicians—her mother was a pediatrician and her father a heart specialist. Jillian and her brother, Josh, had encouraged them to take the cruise as a retirement celebration, and had chipped in what they could for it as a combined Christmas, birthday, and Mother’s and Father’s Day present as well.

  “I feel terrible Josh and Karen won’t be able to leave Boston to join you for the holiday either.”

  “A new baby is a pretty good excuse, Mom. No traveling for a while. I get it. Now, don’t worry about me. Heck, I have plenty of plans for Christmas, totally busy right up to the big day. Have fun and take a gazillion pictures so I can live vicariously, okay?”

  “Will do. I love you, honey. Now here’s your father.”

  “Hi, Dad. How’s it going?”

  “Great. You know I’d rather be touring Ireland, but Italy will do for a start. Your mother is so excited she can barely sit still. Thanks again for the cruise package. They say all you do is eat and lie around being waited on. Right up my alley.”

  Jillian laughed. “Sounds good to me, and you both deserve it. You’ve had full, busy careers, and now you can relax and get reacquainted. Ha, ha.”

  “Very funny, but true. I’m sorry about Christmas, Jillie, but you’ll be in our thoughts. When we get b
ack, we’ll make it up to you.”

  “Not necessary. Like I told Mom, I have plenty of Christmas stuff planned. Have a wonderful trip, and call if you need anything.” She savored the lift she heard in her father’s voice.

  “Will do. Whoops, they’re boarding now. Gotta go. Love you, baby. See you when we get back.”

  “Love you, too. Kiss Mom for me, and have a great time.” Jillian felt a lump form in her throat after she heard the click on the line. Her parents would be halfway across the globe, when yesterday they’d been just down the street. Christmas wouldn’t be the same without them.

  ****

  Any other cat would meow and rub up against your leg when they wanted something, Jillian thought. But noooo, not Buster. He repeatedly bumped his head on her leg and then bit her if she didn’t respond quickly enough.

  She glanced at the feline who sat on his haunches with what could only be called a nasty grin on his furry face. When Melissa and Wendy joined her for dinner last week, her friend had tried to weigh Buster on Jillian’s scale. The process wasn’t very accurate, but they figured Buster weighed in at about thirty-two pounds. Crimininny! Small dogs weighed less. Agnes must have fed him five times a day. She considered putting him on a diet, but she didn’t want to die a slow, painful, death-by-cat.

  “Okay, okay.” She rose from the chair to stretch her arms over her head and bent to touch her toes a couple of times. She’d been correcting papers at the dining room table for over two hours and still had another hour to go. Maybe she’d put off the last two sets of papers until tomorrow. But since math teachers were instructed by admin to give homework every night, she’d just be more behind by tomorrow night. Against the rules, she seldom gave homework on Fridays. Her students were only ten years old, for Pete’s sake. They needed time to play.