Waking Up For Christmas

by Jill James

  Waking Up For Christmas

  Jill James

  Other holiday stories

  The Christmas Con – a short romance

  Published by Gray Sweater Press

  Copyright © December 2016 by Jill James

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to the retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the author.

  All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author and all incidents are pure invention.

  Cover Art designed by Elaina Lee of For The Muse Design

  This book is dedicated to the ladies of Authors of Main Street.

  When I threw down the challenge they rose to the occasion with grace and style.

  Blurb:

  Chase Thanos wants one thing for Christmas…for his comatose wife to wake up and remember the life and love they have shared for twenty years. Only problem is, if she wakes up she will remember she was going to divorce Chase. Can holiday wishes come true for Chase and Darcy?

  Contents

  Title Table of Contents Chapters 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15

  Dear Reader Letter Author Links Other books by Jill James

  CHAPTER ONE

  His whole life was summed up in hands. Just ten fingers wrapped in skin and supported by bones and tendons. His and hers, fingers entwined. All the differences in their lives and marriage summed up by the hand cradled in his. Lifeless and cold, like the hand of a sleeping princess in a forest glen. Wax-figure pale from six weeks of shadows and darkness. Chase Thanos rubbed his thumb across her glistening fingernails, manicured in the midst of a coma in a hospital. He grimaced. Her mother's work to be sure.

  His wife, Darcy might never wake up, but she would look damned good doing it.

  Wetness clouded his vision. He leaned down and touched his lips to her cool hand. "I didn't mean it, honey," he whispered in a room filled with the beeps and chirps of medical equipment, none of which could answer the most important question on his mind.

  Would his soon-to-be ex-wife ever wake up?

  On his good days, he prayed to God, to the gods, to karma, to the fates. Anyone, anywhere who would bring his Darcy back to him.

  On his bad days, he prayed she stayed asleep. She couldn't divorce him while she was in a coma. On those days, he cursed himself and drank himself to sleep, waking up with remorse and a hangover, each vying for which was the biggest.

  He gazed at their hands together, marveling again at the softness of her skin against his rough, tanned flesh. His mind strung together memories of their love-making, her back arching as his rough palms swept across her lush, smooth torso, bringing cries of passion and heat to his ears. When their differences were exciting and pulse-pounding.

  Chase sighed. When had it all gone so wrong? Was it the last few years when complacency replaced racing hearts and raging hormones? Was it the early years of struggling to make ends meet and arguing over every expenditure, struggling with their meager budget? Was it the beginning when an orphan on scholarship met the girl from the heights of fortune and fame who he was never supposed to have?

  If someone had said this is where it will end would he still have gone along for the ride? He laid his forehead on their joined hands. Yes. A million times yes. In the darkness behind his closed eyelids and in the depths of his mind, he relived every moment he'd shared with Darcy Bennett Thanos and wouldn't have changed a one. Each moment led to the next. Each memory made up the fabric of their twenty years together. The bad, tattered threads of regrets and remorse were still part of who they were today.

  The gentle glide of the sliding glass door into the ICU room interrupted his thoughts like the abrupt ending of a dream.

  He didn't need to open his eyes. The heavy undertones of her perfume and the quiet, hushed tones proclaimed louder than a herald that Darcy's parents have arrived for their nightly visit. He sat up and pushed his chair back from the bed. Rising, he turned to make way for Steven and Margaret Bennett.

  "I'll be in the chapel if anything happens," he said in passing.

  "Of course, Thanos," Steven Bennett mumbled, unable to look him in the eye.

  Chase swallowed his anger and slid the door shut before heading down the hall to the chapel, his refuge from the nightly visits. More than one argument had ensued in their home from Darcy's hovering parents. As an orphan, he'd thought it was wonderful her parents called her each night to say they loved her. In the early years of their marriage he'd tolerated it, knowing he hadn't been their choice for Darcy and they worried. Once they'd been married ten years he'd tried to put his foot down. That had led to yelling, crying, and their first separation. After that, he didn't try anymore, just simmered inside until the bubbling anger gave him an ulcer. Now, they were too busy during the day, but they interrupted each evening with their visits that lasted exactly thirty minutes; no more, no less.

  The serene quiet of the small chapel calmed him as it did each night. He hadn't been a very religious man before his wife's car accident, but he'd found a peace sitting on the hard, wooden pew and gazing at the patterns of color and light from the stained-glass windows, the tones dancing across the deep-blue carpet from the flickering of the light behind the opaque surface in simulated sunshine.

  All his worries faded in the newly-acquired knowledge he was just one small piece in the puzzle of life. The arguments, the failed marriage, his business he'd worked so hard to build, all took a back seat to the idea he was where he was supposed to be right now. He’d fought it every step of the way, but the tranquility had been worth the struggle.

  His marriage vows had been words he hadn't given much thought to over the years until the accident. Until he sat in this small, calm room; night after night. Sometimes with just the company of his mind and sometimes with the company of others, searching for the answers just as he was.

  In sickness and health.

  Just words to repeat until you were forced to put up or shut up in a situation you never dreamed would happen.

  His gaze swept the snowy white cloth on the altar until he turned back in a double-take. Red poinsettias and white lilies sat in shining brass holders. Green ferns stood tall in iron stands.

  What day was it?

  His mind raced as he counted the days since he'd received the call and rushed to the hospital to find Darcy barely alive. The first day had been a nightmare of fear of her dying and arguing with her parents. His days had been taken up with fighting her parents in court for the right to be in charge of his wife's care and his nights at her side in the hospital. When Steven and Margaret had been unable to prove Darcy had wanted a divorce with any papers filed, he'd been allowed to be responsible for the medical decisions. A move guaranteed to not make them like him anymore than they ever had.

  He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and stared at the date.

  It was a week until Christmas.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Chase opened the door of the quaint Vict
orian to be greeted by a tinkling bell and a mouth-watering scent of cinnamon and spice. Coming back to Macgregor's Inn on Main Street was like coming home. Humming and singing filtered out from the kitchen in the back. He followed the sounds and scents to the doorway.

  White flour dotted her cheeks to match her snowy-white hair. He smiled when she wiped her cheeks and put more flour on them instead of getting rid of what was there. Her smile widened when she spotted him in the doorway.

  "Mr. Thanos, you are back early this morning," she said in her gentle Scottish lilt.

  "They are running some tests. I'm catching a quick shower and I'll go back."

  She shook her finger at him. "You'll do no such thing. Breakfast will be ready by the time you come back down. We don't need you in the hospital too."

  "Yes, ma'am," he intoned in a serious voice. "I'll be right down."

  "See that you are," she added in just as serious a voice but with a twinkle in her eyes. "You need a good, hot meal. Get some meat on your bones."

  She turned back to rolling out dough for a waiting apple pie as he headed upstairs to his room. He hummed along with the Christmas tune filling the Inn. His steps slowed as he reached the second floor and his room.

  He opened the door to be greeted with an impersonal guest room. It had all the touches Mrs. Macgregor had undoubtedly added to all the rooms; the handmade quilt on the bed and the watercolors on the walls. A bowl of camellia blooms sat on the dresser. All the home-like touches were there, but it wasn't his home. He'd been here for over a month and it still looked like a hotel room. He had never planned to be here for six weeks.

  Chase sighed. He shouldn't complain. Mrs. Macgregor opened her Inn to the families with ICU patients at the hospital for free. Without that perk he would have been traveling two hours one way from home to Darcy's bedside each day. Macgregor’s Inn was a blessing he’d been foolish to overlook.

  He stripped on the way to the bathroom and a shower. The hot water pounded on his back as he finally let the tears loose. His sobs racked his body. He leaned his forehead against the cold tile and pressed his hands into the wall. He stayed that way until the water turned cool and then cold.

  Stepping out of the shower, the tantalizing odor of apple pie and sausage traveled through the vents. He dressed hurriedly, running a comb through his wet hair. Time for sorrow wasn’t a luxury he could afford.

  He would have spent the past weeks eating hospital cafeteria food and fast food on the go if not for Mrs. Macgregor and her home cooking. He stepped into the empty dining room as Mrs. Macgregor's grandson Nick came out of the kitchen with platters of food.

  The young man had a permanent smile on his freckle-covered face, as if sadness was unknown for Nick Macgregor. He had the bright-red hair to go along with those freckles, as well. "Just in time, Mr. Thanos. Get it while it's hot."

  "I've told you, you can call me Chase."

  "No, sir. Nana would take me out to the woodshed," he said, his smile growing wider to let him know Nick was kidding. “If we had a woodshed.”

  Chase looked around the room. "Where is everyone?"

  Nick rubbed his chin. "Well, the Peterson's left yesterday afternoon."

  Chase sighed in relief. The Peterson twins had been running up and down the hallways and yelling at the top of their lungs the last few days. He wouldn’t miss them at all.

  "Mr. and Mrs. Johnson had to leave in the middle of the night and head home for an emergency," Nick continued. "And Mr. Olivera is packing now and leaving shortly."

  "So, that just leaves me?"

  "Yep." Nick smiled at him. "Just you through Christmas."

  Another reminder the holidays were right around the corner. The touches of red and green around the room snagged his attention. A set of lighted houses sat across the buffet behind the platters of food. The same set Darcy had collected during the years of their marriage; a new house for each Christmas they'd spent together. The same set he'd found in the trash the last Christmas they'd spent together.

  A clear spot sat in front of the bay window. Chase pointed. "For the tree?"

  Nick nodded, his thick hair sweeping across his forehead. "I'm getting it tonight. Nana makes a big production out of decorating it. Tells a story for each ornament we put on the tree."

  All he could do was nod. He didn't trust his voice not to crack with emotion. Darcy did the same thing. A story of getting an ornament. She remembered where and when they'd gotten each one. This one on a trip. This one from a relative. That one from a friend.

  He moved over to the buffet and placed a spoonful of each item on his plate. His chest ached at the thought of shoveling food into his mouth. Telling himself he had to eat to stay healthy for Darcy helped, but not enough.

  As if Nick could read his thoughts, the young man grabbed a plate, filled it, and sat down beside him. "Hope is a powerful thing."

  "What?" Chase said, his fork halfway to his mouth with scrambled eggs.

  "Hope. With hope, anything is possible. Your wife is still there. You just have to reach her and give her a reason to come back."

  "She's in a coma."

  "Doesn't mean she can't hear you." Nick said, wiping his plate clean and pushing his chair back.

  He reached over and placed a hand on Chase's shoulder and squeezed. "Tell her why she needs to come back."

  Gathering his plate, Nick walked across the room and disappeared into the kitchen. He heard mumblings as he talked to his grandmother and then the clink of dishes being washed. Chase forced himself to finish eating even though the delicious food was tasteless as he was lost in thought.

  Give her a reason to come back.

  He straightened in his seat. He could do that.

  CHAPTER THREE

  He moved his chair in closer to Darcy's bed, the squeak of the legs on linoleum loud in the silent room. The scent of strawberries wafted up from her clean hair. Her pale hands rested on the covers. Leaning over, he placed his hand on hers. His tanned skin even darker against her winter-white skin.

  "Darcy," he whispered. "Can you hear me?"

  He grimaced. This was more awkward than talking to yourself. She wasn't going to reply. His shoulders slumped. She might never reply. A pit opened in his stomach that he feared falling into.

  Nick's words came back to him. He sat up straighter. He could do this. He had to try. Even if it didn't work, he'd hate himself if he didn't at least try.

  "Darcy," he said, closing his eyes. "We've been through so much together. Don't throw away twenty years of our love. You want to divorce me? Fine. Come back and tell me to my face. Come back and argue with me. Just come back."

  She heard a voice in the dark. Who's there? Where is here? Why am I lost? She should know that voice. Why was it so familiar? Why did she think of hot kisses and warm hugs? Why did she think of anger and yelling?

  She didn't want to come back. Why was he so demanding? Why didn’t he understand? Safe was here. No decisions to make. Nothing to do.

  He jumped as her eyelashes flickered on her cheeks. His racing heartbeat slowed. He'd been excited the first time it had happened, weeks ago, until the doctor explained it was an involuntary reflex. He'd shone a light in Darcy's eyes and found nothing.

  His fingers trembled as he swept hair back from her face. Memories assaulted him like a hammer against a nail. Sunday mornings they'd lie in bed and he'd watch her sleep. Run his fingertips over her smooth cheek and along her neck. He'd reach the spot between her neck and shoulder. She'd smile in her sleep and open her beautiful brown eyes and look at him with love and passion in her gaze.

  As if no will of his own, his fingers traveled down her cheek to her neck. Her low pulse throbbed beneath his fingertips, with no rapid blips on the screen. His palm cupped her neck and his thumb slid over the ticklish spot. She didn't move. She didn't breathe faster. She didn't awake.

  "What were you expecting? A damned Christmas miracle? Are you a child, still believing in fairy tales?"

  He sighed and hung
his head low. The last time he'd touched her like that she'd slapped his hand away and turned over in bed, her back to him. At what point did the magic leave your marriage? When did all the little private rituals become meaningless and unnecessary?

  He placed her hands back together on the covers. Although it had been years, his hands folded in prayer. His thoughts were jumbled and tangled with wants and needs. What he wanted may not be possible. What Darcy may need the most may not be him.

  Nick's words over breakfast thundered into his brain. Give her something to come back for.

  Every moment for the past twenty years was wrapped up in Darcy, like a present under the tree. More good moments than bad. Some amazing moments. Tough moments they'd weathered together. But they’d always faced everything together.

  The odds of them meeting at all had been astronomical. The only thing that made it possible for him to go to the prestigious Bennett College in Central California was a last-minute, anonymous scholarship. Darcy had been set to go there from kindergarten due to the Bennett family name and that family’s trust of the college for more than a hundred years.

  The idea he could win over the golden girl with the silver spoon in her mouth was someone's twisted fairy-tale story. He laughed. She'd fallen into his lap. Literally.

  "Must be a pleasant dream," a soft voice echoed in the hospital room.

  His eyes shot open to find a male nurse at the bedside, taking Darcy's heart rate.

  "Sorry. I didn't know anyone was in here."

  "I should have let you know I was working," the man replied, putting Darcy's hand back on top of the other. "You just looked like you were having some happy thoughts."

  "I was," he mumbled.

  "You should share them with your lady there." The man wrote on a pad and put it and the pen back in his pocket. "They can hear us, you know."