Baby Christmas

by Pamela Browning

  He seemed to be poking fun at himself, and she smiled. She could imagine Joe as the patriarch of a large family, a galloping gaggle of small Marzinskis with gray eyes flashing and black hair curling and—big hands?

  One of those hands was now massaging her shoulder through the afghan. “Don’t you dream of a home and family, Rachel? You’re so good with the baby.”

  Rachel was stunned. She hadn’t expected this. She drew in her breath sharply, but even as she did, Joe tucked his free hand under her chin and tipped her face toward his. The Christmas lights across the water seemed not mere red but crimson, not only blue and green and yellow but azure and emerald and topaz. And then, as her heart started beating crazily in her chest, Joe’s face angled toward hers and his eyes started to whirl as her vision got all mixed up, and she saw the stars and moon and eternity momentarily reflected in their pinwheel depths as his lips found hers.

  She couldn’t resist. Didn’t have the strength for it, and then didn’t want to. The kiss deepened, lengthened, his lips caressing hers, her soul rising up to reacquaint her with needs long dormant. She hadn’t been kissed in so long that she had forgotten what it was like, had forgotten how it could make her lose all track of time or place or self. She had forgotten how a good kiss could touch places that she didn’t know existed and how it could make her forget things she’d rather not remember. She had forgotten.

  It was he who pulled away first, and when his face came back within her field of vision and looked like his face again, a very handsome face, all she could do was stare.

  “Ah, Rachel,” he said, sounding pleased, “wasn’t that nice?”

  “Y-yes,” she said.

  “And wouldn’t you like me to do it again?” He smiled into her eyes and slid his hands under the afghan until she felt his thumbs resting on the bare skin above her waistband, treating her to a shimmering delight of goose-flesh.

  “Yes,” she whispered, lifting her lips, and he slid her closer to him this time, wrapped her tightly in his arms and kissed her until she was dizzy and could no longer breathe. His lips tasted faintly of coffee and Mimi’s double-chocolate-chunky-everything brownies, and probably hers did, too, and she’d never been kissed in that flavor before. She’d never been kissed with such intensity, either, she thought. At least that’s what she thought when she could think.

  His hands pressed her so close that she could feel the rippling of his chest muscles through their clothing, and she felt her nipples hardening and tightening against the pressure. And as her mouth sank into his she wound her hands around his neck, tangling them in the hair at the nape and glorying in the coarseness of it and then the smoothness. She expelled a sigh from deep in her heart and felt filled with the peace and richness of the night. Joe moaned low in his throat as her hands moved around his head so that when he pulled away his face was framed between her palms. She felt the firm cartilage of his ears warm beneath her fingertips.

  “This,” he said unsteadily, “is a Christmas present.”

  Christmas.

  I Christmas, the holiday she’d never wanted to celebrate again. I Suddenly four dear faces danced before her like tree ornaments: Nick, smiling at her in that quirky fun-loving way of his; Lolly, missing her two front teeth; Melissa, her wispy hair held back by twin barrettes; Derek, flashing the dimple in his chin. All of them.

  “Joe,” Rachel said. “Joe, I can’t do this.” I He stared at her, puzzled.

  “I’m not asking—”

  She trembled so violently that he dropped his arms and took a step backward. She wrapped the afghan tightly around her.

  “I know you’re not asking,” she said, drawing herself up with what she hoped was dignity. “I think we should go inside.”

  “Rachel—”

  “Please,” she said dully, and then she whirled around and slid the door open, went through it into the living room. The bright-yellow decor hit her right between the eyes; it was exactly what she needed to bring her to her senses.

  She was bending over the baby when Joe came in and closed the door behind him. He yanked the vertical blinds closed, shutting out the view of the lights and the stars and the moon. She couldn’t look at him; she knew she’d led him on and felt guilty that she couldn’t follow through.

  “Maybe I’d better go,” Joe said with obvious reluctance. He didn’t sound angry or upset; he only sounded confused.

  She straightened, trying to think of what she could say to him that would explain without really explaining, and wondering if she was stupid to think she had to explain at all.

  And then Chrissy woke up and let out a wail, and the phone and the doorbell rang at the same time.

  Joe grabbed the phone in one swift motion as Rachel lifted the baby.

  “There, there,” Rachel soothed as Joe made a beeline for the door. Expecting the promised policeman, he flung it open without asking who was there and barked, “Hello?” into the phone.

  Rachel looked up to see a costumed Santa Claus standing in the hall.

  “Merry Christmas,” said the Santa over the din issuing from the baby.

  “Merry Christmas,” Joe said blankly. He was still holding the phone to his ear and trying to listen.

  Rachel rocked the baby. “Time for a bottle, I’d say,” she said to no one in particular.

  “It’s your grandmother,” Joe said. He waved the phone at Rachel. “Won’t you come in?” he said to the Santa.

  “Ho-ho-ho,” said Santa. “Yes, I think so.”

  Rachel took the phone. “Here,” she said to Joe, dumping the baby in his arms. “Mimi’s calling from Singapore.”

  “Is there anything around here to eat?” Santa asked with mild interest.

  “Right this way,” Joe said, raising his eyebrows. He led Santa into the kitchen. “Brownies,” he said, pointing toward the plate. He shuffled the baby over to one arm. Rachel had prepared a bottle earlier, and he took it out of the pan of warm water and tested it on his forearm.

  “Mmm, are these ever good,” Santa said with his mouth full. Joe noticed that he was taking care not to let crumbs sully his fluffy white beard. It didn’t look like one of those fake beards, either. It looked real.

  “Mimi, it’s after midnight,” Rachel was saying into the phone. “Don’t you pay attention to time zones?”

  Joe popped the nipple into Chrissy’s mouth. She sucked hungrily, greedily, keeping her eyes on his face. They were a deep blue-gray, and their unusual shape reminded him of someone. He couldn’t decide who.

  “Yes, well, I’m okay, but we’ve had an unexpected turn of events,” Rachel said into the phone.

  “You’d be surprised what some people put into their brownies,” Santa said in a conversational tone. “Last year I had a fruitcake brownie. A fruitcake brownie with candied orange peel and cherries. Can you imagine?”

  “No,” Joe said, hardly paying attention because he was more interested in what Rachel was saying.

  “The baby was just lying there in the manger,” Rachel said, “and I met this man—no, not one of the men who live at the Elysian Towers. Joe was here fixing the ceiling in the lobby.” A pause. “Water was pouring out. Of course Mrs. Rink found out about it. Is there anything Mrs. Rink doesn’t find out?” Another pause. “His name is Joe Marzinski. He knows all about babies. He’s helping-Joe removed the nipple from the baby’s mouth and flopped her over his shoulder with a practiced flip of the wrist. ‘Time to burp,” he said to Chrissy. He patted gently until she brought up a big moist bubble of air, and before she could cry, he stuck the nipple back in her mouth.

  “Looks like you really know what you’re doing,” said Santa, helping himself to another brownie.

  “Yeah, well, just call me Mr. Mom,” Joe said. For the first time he noticed that the Santa had a birthmark in the shape of a crescent moon high on his cheekbone just above his beard.

  “No, Mimi,” Rachel was saying in the living room, “he’s not trying to steal your jewelry. He’s a kind man. Right now he’s
feeding Chrissy. No, not Misty, Mimi, her name is Chrissy. Well, actually it’s Christmas Noel because we found her on Christmas Eve. It’ll do till the HSS people find her parents or place her in a foster home.”

  “Well,” said Santa. “I’d better be on my way. Just thought I’d stop by and check on things. Looks like everything is okay around here. You never know about Christmas wishes.”

  ‘Tm sure Rachel will be off the phone in a minute if you’d like to stay awhile longer,” Joe said politely.

  “I’m kind of busy tonight.” Santa dabbed at his mouth with a napkin and started toward the door. “On Dasher, on Dancer, and all that,” he said.

  Chrissy chose that moment to grunt meaningfully, and Joe thought, Oh no. By the time he looked up again, Santa had gone.

  “Okay, Mimi. Merry Christmas to you, too. I’m fine. No, I mean it. Yes, I love you too. Right. ‘Bye.”

  “I think she’s really messed up her diaper,” Joe said apologetically to Rachel as she tossed the phone onto a handy chair.

  “Give her to me,” Rachel said. She made little clucking noises, and Joe thankfully transferred Chrissy to Rachel’s arms. Rachel conveyed Chrissy to a small wheeled cart that she’d converted to a diaper-changing table and, moving with crisp efficiency, began to clean the baby.

  “Mimi says the weather in Singapore is lovely and that she’s going to a noodle show today. I wonder what’s a noodle show.”

  “I can’t imagine. Hey, who was that guy playing Santa? He said he couldn’t stay.”

  Rachel zapped the tab closed on the diaper and blinked at him. “I thought he was a friend of yours,” she said.

  “I thought he was a friend of yours.”

  “Are you sure he wasn’t one of the guys on your work crew?”

  “Believe me, they’re all home with their families by now.”

  Rachel gathered the baby into her arms and went to the couch. She sat down. She looked baffled. “Well, if you didn’t know him and I didn’t know him, who could he be?”

  “Maybe he’s one of the guys who live here, who decided to dress up in a Santa suit and go around to wish everyone a merry Christmas.”

  “I don’t think so. He didn’t resemble anyone I know.”

  “His beard was real. And he had a birthmark, a moon-shaped discoloration on his cheek.”

  Rachel sighed in exasperation. “Okay, so we have a guy with a real beard and a birthmark. There are definitely no guys with real beards like that and moon-shaped birthmarks who live at the Elysian Towers. I don’t even know anyone with a beard.” She paused as a thought occurred to her. “I’ll bet it was one of Mimi’s actor friends. She does a lot of community theater. She also knows a couple of practical jokers. Old boyfriends. I don’t recall ever meeting one with a birthmark on his face, though.”

  “He didn’t mention your grandmother,” Joe said.

  “Well, hand me the phone. I’ll call the doorman and ask if he let a Santa in.” She thought again. “No, Sherman will be off duty if it’s after midnight.”

  “Whoever he was, Santa liked the brownies.”

  “That’s no clue. Everyone likes brownies, especially Mimi’s recipe. What did you two talk about?”

  Joe had been so busy with the baby that he hadn’t paid much attention. He thought for a moment. “Santa said—he said that he’d stopped by to check on things.”

  “Check on things? Maybe he was from HSS.”

  “Rachel, if he’d been from HSS, would he have been wearing a Santa suit? On the other hand, maybe he was the policeman that the HSS was going to send over.”

  “I’m sure he would have mentioned it if he was a policeman. Anyway, the police are much too busy to go around wearing Santa suits and eating people’s brownies.”

  “Another thing he said was that you could never tell about wishes, or something like that. Christmas wishes. You could never tell about Christmas wishes.”

  “Oh,” Rachel said. She seemed taken aback, as if she were running a thought through her mind and then discarding it. She looked slightly shaken.

  “Is something wrong?”

  “At the moment I feel like you did when we were standing in the lobby with water gushing out of the ceiling. We’ve had a minor flood, somebody left a live baby in the Nativity scene, the social worker on the case has been in a car wreck and we’ve had a visit from a Santa Claus that neither of us seems to know. Wrong? There must be something wrong because nothing is going right. And where is that policeman, anyway? Am I supposed to wait up all night until he shows up? And don’t you want to go home?”

  Joe had no intention of leaving at this point. “No,” he said flatly. “And I’ll call to find out when the policeman will be here.”

  “Fine. Whatever.” Rachel went and got the one remaining brownie while he called police headquarters, silently offered him half and ate all of it when he refused. When he hung up, a faint dusting of crumbs remained on Rachel’s lower lip, and it was all he could do not to kiss them away.

  “The dispatcher who answered the phone said they’ve been trying to get a policeman over here ever since the HSS called them and that he should be here before long,” he told her.

  “Sherman is gone for the night. I’ll have to go downstairs and open the door for the policeman,” Rachel said gloomily. Her shoulders sagged, and for the first time Joe noticed that Rachel looked flat-out exhausted.

  “Tell you what, Rachel. I’ll go down and let the policeman in when he comes.”

  “That would be great,” she said. She didn’t seem overly enthusiastic.

  “Why don’t you go lie down for a while?” he said. “I’m an experienced baby-sitter.”

  “I couldn’t.”

  “You could go in the bedroom and close the door. So I’ll know you won’t take advantage of me.”

  “I’d be a fool to try it, don’t you think?”

  “Few ever have.”

  She smiled at him, and he smiled back. He touched her arm. “You don’t have to worry,” he said.

  She didn’t seem to know where to look, and when her glance fell on the baby she said, “At least one of us is getting some rest.” She avoided his eyes.

  “One out of three isn’t good enough.” He slid his hand under her arm and pulled her into a standing position. “Come on, Rachel. Nap time, even for grown-ups. You look beat.” He spoke cajolingly, as he would to one of his sisters.

  “Do I?” she said. She tried to pull her arm away, but he held fast, and then he was propelling her across the room and into the bedroom. She went willingly, stifling a yawn. He twitched the bedspread of the queen-size bed down to reveal pristine white sheets and lace-edged pillow cases.

  “Sit,” he commanded, and when she did, he bent and slid her sandals off her feet. Her feet were tanned and tiny, no more than a size five, he’d guess. She swiveled so that her legs were on the bed, and he handed her a pillow.

  “I’m only going to close my eyes for a few minutes,” she said. “When the policeman shows up, will you come and get me?”

  “Of course. He’ll want to talk to you, not me, since you found the baby.”

  Rachel yawned. “If Chrissy wakes up, come and get me. If that strange Santa comes back, come and get me. If you have to leave—”

  “If I have to leave, I’ll come and get you. But I’m not leaving, Rachel.” He stared down at her, at the way she took up less than half of the bed. Plenty of room for another person there.

  She sighed deeply, and her eyes drifted closed before her head even touched the pillow. Lying there like that with her hands folded gently across her midriff, her chest rising and falling with each breath, she was more beautiful than ever. He replayed their kisses inside his head, then rewound the scene and started it again. He’d thought she was gorgeous from the first moment he’d laid eyes on her, and he’d pegged her right away as a sensuous woman, but he hadn’t been sure until she’d responded to his kisses that she was a passionate woman. And having had a taste of it, of her, he wo
uldn’t be satisfied until he kissed her again.

  She must have sensed him standing there because her eyes flew open, startled. She pushed herself up on her elbows, and just as quickly he pressed her back into the pillows.

  “Is it—?”

  “It’s only been a few minutes. Everything’s okay. Chrissy is sleeping.”

  She lay back down again, her face gilded by the light he had left on in the closet. The golden glow, gentle as candlelight, glinted on her hair. It really was the most remarkable hair.

  “You must be tired too,” she murmured.

  “I’ve been up since five this morning.”

  She smiled faintly. “Poor you. Why don’t you sit down?”

  “No chair.” He hoped she wouldn’t suggest that he go back into the living room.

  “I meant on the bed.” She patted the place next to her, and his heart, so help him, leaped in his chest Still, he knew it wasn’t an invitation. Or at least the kind of invitation he’d like.

  He walked around the end of the bed and sat. The bed didn’t give; the mattress was covered with something. It felt like armored plate.

  “What…?” he said, mystified. Her mouth formed into an O. Perfect for kissing, he thought, but he knew better than to try it.

  “That’s Mimi’s magnetic pad. I left it on the bed under the sheet when she left because I never sleep on that side.” She drew the covers back and said, “Feel it.

  Weird, huh?”

  He felt. The pad was made of a stiff fabric. It felt as if it was filled with little wires that yielded only slightly under his weight. “What in the world is it for?”

  Rachel giggled. “Mimi has back trouble. She got the pad in Japan and is convinced that it takes away the pain. There’s some theory behind it, something about the iron magnets realigning the magnetism in the body’s cells.”

  “Poppycock. Lunacy,” Joe muttered.