“Good to see you, too, Father.” When she stepped into the foyer, she noticed few holiday decorations in the Spartan residence, but a wonderful antique nativity scene spread out on a circular foyer table. Someone had taken good care of the old papier mâché figures and wooden crèche. The home was modestly decorated for Christmas, at least compared to hers. But then again, whose wasn’t?
“Do you have time for a cup of coffee?”
“Make it tea instead, and I’m in. I’d like to hear about your choice for this year’s Christmas Jar.” Jillian removed her coat, and Father Stevens hung it on a peg near the door. He ushered her into a cozy parlor, where a fire had burned down to embers in the grate.
The priest was of average height, with light brown hair clipped short. He didn’t look like the type of guy to play in a band, but Jillian knew his hobby—just for fun—was playing the saxophone in a small jazz ensemble with a few other priests. The man spoke several languages, including Swahili thanks to his two years as a missionary in Kenya. There was a sense of stoic calm and levelheadedness about the man. Maybe it came with the territory. If she was ever in trouble, she’d head straight for Father Stevens.
After the tea was served, the priest sat across from her on the sofa and offered sugar and cream.
“No, thanks, I drink it unsweetened and black.”
“Lemon? I think I might have one.”
“No, but thanks.” She took a sip from the steaming brew. “Wow. This is good. What’s the blend?”
“Actually, my own. I call it Christmas Tea.” He laughed. “Not very original. My mother was a tea drinker, and I took up the habit. Blending teas is a hobby, of sorts.” He also took a sip, then set his cup aside.
“This year I think the Christmas Jar should go to Henry Williams. He moved in across the street a month ago. A nice man, but he lost his job last July and hasn’t found another, not easy when you’re sixty-two. He had an accident—a fall, which left him with a lengthy recovery and a permanent limp. The company he worked for couldn’t hold his job any longer. He’s fallen on hard times and could use new clothes for job interviews. What do you think?”
“Sounds like he could use the money. You know I trust your judgment, Father. Does he live alone?”
“Lost his wife of thirty years around the same time he lost his job. No children.”
Jillian tsked. “Aw…not good. Mr. Williams sounds like the perfect choice. I think you picked the right man. I can always trust you to see the Christmas Jars go to a good cause.”
“It’s my pleasure, Jillian. I’ll make sure he gets the Jar—anonymously, of course, just like the others. Before he goes outside to check his mailbox early in the morning, I’ll put the Jar on his porch step so he can’t miss it. I know his schedule. He always retrieves his mail right around nine o’clock.”
“Good. I don’t want any thanks, and this way, he doesn’t have to feel awkward about accepting the money.”
After she finished her tea, Jillian stood to leave and held out her hand. One errand accomplished and one to go.
****
She’d put off the phone call long enough. Noah, her kid brother, had married a wonderful woman and moved to Boston last year. Not that she’d ever forgive him for leaving her behind, but the least she could do was wish him a merry Christmas. She wasn’t angry, she just missed him terribly. When Noah was born, Jillian had been three and promptly decided he was her baby, not just her little brother, and then she proceeded to hover over him like a mother hen.
The Boston move had been a great opportunity. Noah had followed in the footsteps of her parents—medicine. He was a renowned brain surgeon—brilliant and successful, despite his age. He’d been in gifted programs all through school, graduating from high school at the age of twelve and college at sixteen, a regular Doctor Doogie Howser. Handsome, kind, and driven, Noah had it all. And now he had a beautiful wife and a baby girl, her first niece, Althea Magee, four weeks old. Jillian wished they lived closer—her loss and Boston Medical’s gain.
“Hey, stranger,” she said into the phone. “Why are you at home on a Saturday afternoon?” Jillian sat on the sofa with her cell phone and two frozen gingerbread cookies. “Did I catch you at a bad time?”
“Jillian! Good to hear from you—darn it, hold on a minute, Jillie.”
She heard a couple of shouts for a diaper and Noah’s wife’s voice in the background. Sounded like her brother was on diaper duty while Karen was occupied.
“Sorry,” he said, coming back to the phone. His voice was slightly muffled, like he held the device against his ear with a shoulder.
“If this is a bad time, I can call back later.” Jillian smiled at the thought of her baby brother as a father.
“No, no. I’m almost done now. Allie needed her diaper changed, and Karen is pumping. It’s a bit hectic here today. Usually, I’m at work, but since we had the baby, I work longer days, so I can have Saturday and Sunday off to help Karen.”
“I bet little Althea misses her favorite aunt. Does she sleep through the night yet?” Jillian asked.
Noah snorted. “I wish. But she sleeps a solid four hours before she wakes up. And if we’re lucky, she nurses and then goes back to sleep for a few more. Before she’s up for good, I mean.”
“Sounds like fun. Ha, ha. I enjoy the pictures you post on your Facebook page. She’s got Karen’s eyes and your mouth. Both good features. Hopefully, she didn’t inherit your personality.”
“Thanks, sis. I can always count on you for support.” He hesitated for a moment. “Jillie, I’m really sorry we can’t come for Christmas. The baby is too young. Why don’t you hop on a plane and come here, since Mom and Dad are on the cruise? We’d love to have you.”
Jillian heard her sister-in-law second the idea from the other room. “Thanks for the offer, and any other time I’d accept, but I have plans for the holiday.” Jillian crossed her fingers to offset the lie. “How about during my spring break? I think it’s early this year. The baby will be a little older, and you and Karen won’t be so sleep deprived…or maybe not…” She laughed after her brother moaned.
“Okay. Sounds like a plan. Have you heard from Mom and Dad?”
“When they were about to get on the plane at La Guardia, they called from New York. Hopefully, they’ll have the time of their life.”
“I didn’t realize the demands on a family until I entered this profession. There are obvious rewards, but unless you make the effort, your family can come in second.”
“Don’t worry. They made it work, and if anyone else can make it work, it’s you and Karen.” Jillian noticed movement in the front window of the Solano house. Someone had pulled back the draperies part way. A little girl gazed out. Jillian got the impression of melancholy.
“I’ll let you go, Noah. I wanted to say Merry Christmas and pass along hugs and kisses for you guys. I love you.”
“Love you, too…oh…oh, no. She leaked all over me. Guess I need more diaper practice. How could I ace my USMLE exam and fail at diapering? Got to go, Love you, too, Jillie. And Merry Christmas.”
When she hung up, Jillian walked over to the window to observe the little girl. She appeared to be about Wendy’s height and build, but she didn’t have Wendy’s wispy blonde hair. The small child had dark hair just shy of shoulder length, with a pixie-like face. She was still dressed in her pajamas. With her unsmiling face, Jilly’s first impression appeared correct. Maybe, because of the move, the little girl had to leave friends behind. Since she had noticed only one car seat in the Mercedes, there was a good chance the girl was an only child. Jillian was glad she’d had a brother during her own growing up years. And then Tristán. She sighed heavily.
Tristán. Her best friend. Her only love.
Chapter Six
The doorbell rang on Sunday morning just after she’d returned from church and kicked off her shoes. Jillian set her coffee cup on the counter and padded in stocking feet to the front door to peek out the sidelight.
&nbs
p; “Tristán? Oh, my gosh…” She yanked the door open. The sight of Tristán Solano on her porch robbed her of breath. Her mouth opened and closed, but no words came out. She couldn’t seem to form a coherent sentence. Luckily, he spoke up and saved her from embarrassment.
“Hello, Jillie. It’s been a long time. Mind if I come in?”
And since she couldn’t find the words to answer, he circumvented her and stepped into the foyer, pulling a young girl along with him, the child she’d seen in the window yesterday. When Jillian caught her breath, she managed to spit out, “Ah…yes, of course. Please come in.”
“Look. Daddy, a pretty kitty.” The tiny child squatted, as children do, and stretched out a hand toward Buster.
Daddy. Daddy? Jillian’s mouth dried up, and then she jerked back to attention. “Oh, no, honey. Be careful. He doesn’t like to be petted.” Buster might decide to bite the tiny girl, just for the heck of it. And then, of course, to make a liar out of her, Buster continued to preen.
“Looks like he’s partial to little girls.” Tristán knelt so he was even with his daughter. He ran his hand down Buster’s fur and scratched him behind the ears. “What’s his name?”
“His name is actually Mr. McGillicutty, but I call him Buster.”
When Tristán threw back his head and laughed, Jillian had a bittersweet, déjà vu moment. His daughter struggled to repeat Buster’s real name. Then she giggled, pronounced the name silly, and continued to pet the cat as he rolled over on his back for a belly rub. Traitorous cat.
Tristán straightened up. “Sorry, I sort of busted in here unannounced. We’ve moved in across the street, in Abuelita’s old house.”
Heaven help her, he looked great. Could it be possible he was better looking now than he’d been at twenty-two? Same thick dark hair curled around his coat collar, same pretty face, now with sexy, black stubble, and the same crooked smile.
And ice-blue eyes to die for—eyes that held a modicum of wariness which hadn’t been there eight years ago. “Ah…yeah, I saw lights on. I mean, I saw a car with a car seat…I wasn’t really being nosy, but I couldn’t help but notice…” Even to her own ears, she sounded like an idiot.
“It’s all right, Jillie. I know it’s been a long time. I want to start out by telling you my father finally mentioned your grandmother died. I’m sorry I didn’t write or call, but I found out months after it happened. Not that it’s an excuse.”
“Nonna willed me the house.” Maybe she’d be okay if she limited her sentences to less than five words.
“Abuelita did the same for me.” He cast a glance at his daughter and set a hand on top of her head. “I’d like you to meet my daughter, Sadie.” The girl sized Jillian up with large round eyes so dark brown they almost appeared black. She blinked owlishly a few times and reached for her father’s hand.
“You named her after your grandmother.”
“Yes, it seemed appropriate. Say hello to Jillian Magee, Sadie. Is it still Magee? I hope I’m not intruding.”
Jillian bent to take the girl’s extended hand. “Yep, still Magee, and I’m glad to meet you, Sadie. Looks like you made a friend out of Buster.”
“My daddy said you were friends when he was a little boy.” She scanned Jillian’s face with thoroughness.
“That’s right, best friends,” she said. The child was surprisingly verbal and easy to understand. She turned back to Tristán. “Would you like to come in and take off your coats? I just brewed some coffee, and I’m sure I could find a juice box for Sadie.”
“No, but thanks. We’re on our way for groceries. Empty pantry. We’ve been eating out since we got here. I wanted to let you know we’ve moved back to Green Earth, and we’re neighbors, just like before.” His gaze skimmed over his daughter. “Do you know if anyone in the neighborhood has young children? Sadie could use a new friend.”
“Not on our street, but I know a little girl about the same age.” Jillian regarded Tristán for permission to continue. “How old are you, sweetie?”
Sadie held up fingers and ticked off three and added, “And a half.”
“Well, Sadie, I have a friend with a daughter about your age. She just turned four.”
“What’s her name?”
“Her name is Wendy.” Jillian turned back to Tristán. “Do you remember Melissa Grant from high school?”
“Tall, short blonde hair, played soccer?”
“Good memory. Wendy is her daughter.”
Sadie tugged on her father’s coat. “Her name is like the girl in the Peter Pan book.” She worried her bottom lip. “Do you think she’ll like me?”
Jillian’s heart hitched at the hesitancy in the little girl’s voice. “Of course she will, honey. I think the two of you could be great friends. I can arrange a play date, if it’s all right with your father,” she said, before noticing a wary look on his face. “Oh…sorry. I didn’t mean to overstep. Never mind. Forget I said anything.” She should have spoken to Tristán before she suggested the plan in front of his daughter.
“No…it’s fine, Jillie. Great idea, in fact. Let me know when and where, and we’ll be there.”
Jillian’s breath whooshed out. “Okay, I’ll set it up and let you know.”
“And maybe, after I settle in, we could catch up.”
“Ah…okay. It’s a date.” Jeez. Could she have picked a worse word? Date.
But Tristán smiled when he held out his hand. “I’d like that, Jillie.”
Did she imagine he held her fingers a smidge longer when they shook hands than would be polite, or was she reading something into a simple handshake? Talk about pathetic. Her heart hadn’t slowed down any, and her breathing was nowhere near normal. Tristán Solano—Trystan Sol, entertainer extraordinaire, and now her neighbor again. Christmas vacation was definitely looking better.
After lunch, Jillian curled up on the couch with a Christmas afghan and steaming hot chocolate with fat marshmallows and a peppermint stick stirrer. The fire in the grate had burned down to embers, and the scent of balsam hung in the warm air. Jillian laid her head on one of the throw pillows and drew the afghan around her shoulders.
She and Tristán had curled up together many times on this very sofa. The memories swirled in her brain—some sweet, some bittersweet—but she couldn’t deny the sight of him had prickled her skin, revved her nerves, unsettled her stomach, and churned up a connection that was still there—for her, anyway. If the man had changed over the last eight years, if the music industry had left bruises, she’d be very disappointed.
If she were truthful with herself, she’d fallen in love with Tristán at five years old, the first time she’d laid eyes on him, and she didn’t want to let go of her happily-ever-after dream. But everyone had a mother, and she wondered where Sadie’s fit into the scheme of things. She sighed and closed her eyes.
****
Jillian awoke to a loud banging on the front door. She sat up and scrubbed at her eyes. Her grandmother’s clock on the mantel was about to chime three o’clock in the afternoon. She stood up and curled her toes against the chilly wooden floor. The room temperature had dropped a few degrees after the fire burned out, so she pulled the afghan around her shoulders and plodded to the front door to peek out. Melissa hopped from foot to foot in the cold and had just raised her fist to knock again when Jillian yanked open the door.
“Brrr,” she said, upon entering, “I didn’t think it was this cold when I grabbed my coat to come over here. Sorry. Am I interrupting anything?” She glanced around the front room.
Jillian snorted. “What would you be interrupting? Brian’s in St. Croix, remember.”
“Oh, yeah, Brian the creep.” Melissa hung her jacket on the wooden coat rack. “But…Tristán Solano’s in town and living right across the street. Sorry, Cleo got word from Susie at the Seven Eleven.”
Jillian sat on the sofa to pull on her fuzzy moose slippers. “Actually, he came over a few hours ago.”
Melissa stopped in her tracks. “What!
And you didn’t call me?” She narrowed her eyes. “Did you call Cleo? Because if you called her and didn’t—”
“Slow down, take a breath. No, I didn’t call anyone. I guess I was too stunned to do much of anything. I’m still trying to make sense of it.”
“C’mon, spill your guts. What did he have to say? What did you say? Was he as gorgeous as ever? I need details, girlfriend.”
Jillian laughed and crooked a finger toward the kitchen. “Yes, he’s just as gorgeous—unfortunately. And it seems he has a daughter.”
“Get out of town. A daughter?” Melissa plopped onto a stool on the other side of the kitchen counter. “The tabloids never mentioned anything about a daughter.”
“I know. Well, she’s real, and her name is Sadie, like Tristán’s abuelita. She’s about the same age as Wendy, so I suggested they might like to get together for a play date.”
“You did what? Wendy—friends with the daughter of Trystan Sol from Last Bluff? She’s always singing or humming his songs. I can’t get my head around it. Holy cow.” Melissa said, absently picking up the cup of coffee Jillian set in front of her. “Holy mackerel,” she murmured, mixing her exclamations.
“Jeez, Mel. He’s just like one of us. I never figured you for being star-struck.”
“Well, I really didn’t know him in high school like you did. He was a couple years ahead of us, but you grew up with him. For the rest of us, he was the great-looking guy who took you to prom. And then he left and never came back. Until now.” She stirred several spoonfuls of sugar into her coffee and reached for the ceramic cow Jillian kept for cream. “So…what did he have to say?”
“Just that he was back for good and planned to live in his grandmother’s house.”
Melissa bobbled her cup of coffee. “Crimininny, Jillie. This is big news, spectacular news, and you never thought to call or text me?”
The woman had a point, Jillian thought. Why had she kept the news to herself? Was she afraid to let out her feelings only to have them crushed if he left again? Did she really want to get involved with a man who must have a wife locked up in a closet, since the tabloids never even got a whiff of a marriage or a young daughter? And besides, she had issues to deal with now, like the stalker-lady who looked like Oprah—sometimes—and who was slowly, steadily driving her insane.
All Hearts Come Home for Christmas Page 5