by Jenny Hale
“It was busy. I’m coordinating a few new contracts, and taking on a little more business than usual, but I need to get my name out there so things can get rolling. You know, I’ve been running my own company for years on the side while working for other corporations. I’d always wanted to see if I could go off entirely on my own. It was Nina who finally got me to take the plunge.”
She smiled at that as he set a plate down in front of her and went to the other side of the table.
“We’ve both had a big day,” he said.
Leah gently took the peas off her ankle and lifted it off the chair. She twisted forward and scooted closer to the table. “This looks amazing,” she said, scraping a bite of potato casserole onto her fork. “You said you couldn’t cook.” She smiled up at him.
“Well, I have to admit, I got the recipes off the Internet.” He smiled at her in return and that warm feeling she had for him came rushing back. “And I have popcorn for the movie. I’m a pro at making that,” he said with a wink.
“Sadie and I have movie night once a week. I really enjoy it, although, I must say, I’m excited to watch something that isn’t for the seven-and-under crowd.”
David let out a little huff of laughter, his features warm and content. “Whenever you mention her, I imagine you when you were young. Does Sadie look like you?”
“A little. Her hair is blonder and not as curly. She’s more focused than I was as a kid. She worries about adult problems, she seems comfortable in a room full of women even though she’s only a child.” Leah took a bite and swallowed, thinking about Sadie and wishing her daughter could have siblings to give her more of a childhood. But she did have Jo and Ethan, and she also had her friends at school. That was the best Leah could provide, given the circumstances. “You know, Nan taught her how to quilt. Sadie spent hours with her, quietly listening and making stitches as Nan showed her, step by step. I remember watching them one day, once Sadie had gotten the hang of it, and they were both stitching, the quilt across both of their laps, their hands moving exactly the same. She was so much like Nan…”
“I’ll bet she misses her.”
“Terribly. I feel so guilty because I’d started working a lot this past year, and Sadie had asked several times to come for a visit but I just didn’t have the time. I should’ve come.”
“There was no way to know.”
“Yeah, but I should’ve come anyway.” Leah wondered why it was so easy to say things like this to him—things she’d been holding in since Nan’s passing.
* * *
“Did you know Cary Grant was supposed to play the role of George Bailey, but Jimmy Stewart got it?” she said, pulling Nan’s quilt up over them as they settled in front of the TV. David turned the channels until he’d reached the movie.
“He’d have been great, I’m sure, but I can’t imagine anyone other than Jimmy Stewart in the role.”
“I agree.” She pulled the tub of popcorn onto her lap. “Scoot in; we can share,” she said, nodding toward the popcorn.
It was dark outside and the only light in the room was coming from the fire, and the old black-and-white movie. She tried to ignore the emptiness in the corner, where a Christmas tree should be.
“This movie always makes me cry,” she warned him.
With a grin, David reached over to the end table and lifted a box of tissues into view, then set them back down.
“You’ve thought of everything,” she said.
Leah snuggled down a little and the movie got started. She’d watched it a handful of times but it never ceased to hold her attention. It was a nice break from everything. David reached into her lap and grabbed a piece of popcorn, the salty, butter scent of it lightening the mood further. She reached over to the coffee table to get her glass of wine that David had brought in with them, and settled in to watch the movie.
“The part I wait for is when the guardian angel shows up,” David said. “It’s as if I’m holding my breath just waiting for things to get better.”
“That’s the only part I remember!” she said with a laugh.
* * *
Leah didn’t remember finishing the movie. How’d she get in bed? She moved, although she was so warm and comfortable, she didn’t really want to. Then, suddenly, she was aware of an arm around her and her eyes flew open, her body completely still in response. That warm pillow wasn’t a pillow; it was David’s chest. They were still on the settee, cuddled up under the quilt, the popcorn and empty wine glasses on the coffee table, the television off, the remote on the floor next to her.
Leah noticed the way their legs were intertwined, the feel of his hand as it rested on her waist, the slow movement of his chest under her head as he slept. The air outside the quilt was icy cold, the fire having long burned out. Her nose was cold but the rest of her was completely toasty as she lay on David. There was something so perfect about the way it felt to be near him that she couldn’t think of anything else. He inhaled sharply, moving a little, his hand moving up her waist in almost a caress, and she held her breath.
“Oh!” she heard and tilted her head to find he was looking at her. He hid a smile and they untangled, but not too quickly. She wondered if he meant to stroke her side so softly as he withdrew his arm.
“Sorry I fell asleep,” she said.
“You were tired.” He pulled the quilt up around them.
This is weird and awkward and surprisingly thrilling at the same time, she thought. “I hope I didn’t snore,” she said instead, trying to break the tension she felt. It seemed like it was just her, though, because David laughed, his arms finding their way to her again.
“You were as quiet as a baby,” he said with a smile. “Are you hungry?”
“I’ll cook,” she said, wriggling out of his embrace. “You did dinner last night.”
“Why don’t we go out?” He sat up.
His suggestion took her by surprise, but the thought sounded wonderful. “We could go to that little diner on the corner of Main Street in town,” she said.
“I know it. That sounds perfect.”
“Give me twenty minutes.”
* * *
While she’d gotten ready, she’d called Sadie to check in and see how she felt about coming to the plantation today. Sadie had started to talk about the house and Leah had been able to steer the conversation elsewhere, but she couldn’t stifle the worry about telling Sadie that she was selling her half and she knew she couldn’t put her off forever. She had no idea when the right time would be because there just didn’t seem to be a right time. Since she wasn’t getting Sadie until the afternoon, Leah had suggested they take the farm truck to get breakfast. Its tires were large enough to get through the snow and ice without slipping. She opened the truck’s heavy door and got in on the driver’s side. While David had insisted on driving, she’d refused to let him, telling him it had been a long time since she’d driven it, and she enjoyed it.
She remembered Nan driving this two-toned green and cream truck, the windows down, letting in the heat of the bright summer sun, her hair twisted up into a bun with wisps escaping in the wind, her tiny body dwarfed by the large vehicle as it bumped along the dirt road. She would drive them out to the fields near the tree line where she’d planted her blueberries. Leah always ended up eating more than she collected.
David got into the truck on the other side and shut the door. The wide bench seat in the front could easily hold four adults.
Hoping the dusty upholstery didn’t soil her wool trousers, she punched the clutch with a heeled boot and cranked it into gear. The engine strained against the cold as the truck bumped along the path, now completely hidden by snow. She wouldn’t have known where to drive were it not for the line of bordering trees that led to the main road. She clicked on the wipers to clear the drizzle on the windshield.
The long country roads gave way to the narrow Main Street, which divided the town into two halves. There was only one stoplight, and until recently, it had just been a
blinking caution signal. She pulled up to the red light and hit the brake. She was so happy to have another chance to come into town. Downtown looked lovely in the winter. The streetlights all had evergreen wreaths on them, their bright red bows dusted with snow. Most of the stores had trimmed their large, rectangular shop windows with twinkle lights, some even creating window displays that had Christmas trees. A few shoppers bustled by, one woman clutching her coat together at the neck, a carrier bag from the local dress shop in the crook of her arm.
After turning down a side street that bordered the diner, she pulled the truck along the curb and turned off the engine. The old ignition key dangled from a weathered chain, the keychain ornament that had been attached long gone. She dropped the key into her handbag and opened the door, stepping carefully onto the icy curb. With a slight slide, she began to rethink the idea of the boots, worried about her ankle, but it was too late. Fashion over utility it was. That was what Roz had said when she’d bought them. Leah had wanted the flat boots, but Roz had insisted that the heels were the better choice. Today, she’d wanted to look nice.
David had gotten out and was offering to help her across the sidewalk. Even though she didn’t need any assistance, she took his hand. The masculine feel of his fingers against hers was very different than she remembered from when they were kids.
He opened the door of the diner for her and allowed her to enter. The tiny place, being one of the few open for breakfast, was buzzing with people. The sizzle of the grill and the chatter created a warm atmosphere. They hung their coats along a wall with a row of brass hooks.
David pulled out a chair for Leah at a small table decorated with a silver pot of rosemary inside a ring of miniature pinecones. He scooted it to the side next to the crystal salt and pepper shakers and took a seat across from her.
A waitress with a yellow pencil behind her ear and a smile that showed off her cheekbones materialized. “Will this be one check?” she asked.
Both David and Leah spoke at the same time. He’d suggested one check and she’d said two. David spoke again, clarifying for the waitress that it would, in fact, be one check. “And we’ll both start out with a coffee,” he said. The waitress handed them each a menu.
Leah took a moment to look around. She hadn’t been here in so long, and the place had changed since she was a girl. The door opened and two more people entered. As it shut she noticed a wreath of greenery with a sign that said Merry Christmas, y’all! The couple hung their coats on the coat rack beside hers. There was a glass case at the end of the room, near the register, that had rows of desserts—a tall coconut cake with green holly and red berries on the top; another one, white with caramel drizzle, and gingerbread cookies in the shape of snowflakes jutting out from the top. There were cranberry cakes, German chocolate cakes, pecan pies, and more varieties of Christmas cookies than she’d ever seen in one place. She made a mental note to bring Sadie here.
The waitress returned with silverware wrapped in red-and-white linen napkins, the print resembling candy canes. She set their coffees down, along with cream and sugar in porcelain containers. David told her they’d need a few minutes to decide, and Leah had to pull her eyes from the white lights and the three Christmas trees in various sizes that were filling one corner, their ornaments all color-coordinated in silver, red, and white.
“I’ve never been here at Christmas,” she said over her menu.
“I’ve never been at all. But your nan talked about it. What’s good to eat?”
“The red velvet pancakes are really good. They drizzle them with a cream cheese icing syrup. They also serve a walnut-bacon pancake that’s out of this world. But if you want a more traditional breakfast, their eggs and sausage are great. They serve them with enormous buttermilk biscuits.”
“I was hoping your suggestion would narrow the choices down…” He smiled. “The menu is overwhelming.”
“Why don’t we get a couple of dishes and share them?”
“That sounds like a great idea.”
When the waitress returned, they settled on a few pancake options and bacon and eggs with biscuits. After a refill on their coffees, Leah heard a familiar “Hello” from behind and swiveled around to find Muriel, wearing a skirt that fell mid-shin and long coat, shopping bags hanging from her arms.
“I was buying a few last minute gifts for the family,” she said, dropping them at her feet. “You remember Phillip?”
Muriel’s husband threw up a hand as he reached them after making his way through the small crowd.
“Hi, Phillip,” Leah said with a smile. She remembered everything about him—his tall frame, his balding hairline, the way his smile filled up his entire face whenever he greeted someone. When Leah was a kid, Muriel and Phillip had often come over to visit. Phillip would lift her up so high she swore she’d be able to reach the chandelier. She’d always wondered if it would hold her if he let her swing on it, but before she could try, she’d fly through the air and land back on her feet. She stood up and greeted him with a quick hug then sat back down. “It’s nice to see you.” She turned to David. “Have you met Phillip?”
David stood up for a moment and shook his hand, introducing himself.
“Look at you,” Phillip said, shaking his head at Leah. “A young lady now. It’s been too long.” While Muriel often came for visits, Phillip was a pilot and spent many weeks away. It was always a treat when he was around. He’d usually show up with something from his travels: a new candy of some sort or cans of drink from the airline. Once he’d even brought her a new baby doll from Paris. But he was so kind and fun to be around that he didn’t even have to bring anything.
“Yes, you’re right.”
“Muriel’s had me out shopping all morning,” he said, his voice teasing. “I hope we can get a table. Otherwise you might find me over your shoulder stealing bites. What did you order?”
“A little bit of everything, it seems.”
“Perfect! I’ll just pull up a chair.” He winked at her, and she laughed, so glad to have run into him. “John and Elaine might stop in. We saw them in town,” he said. “I know John was trying to get Elaine to come in but she kept shooing him away—the sugar, you know.” He threw a smile over at David as if he knew the story.
Leah smiled and turned to David. “Elaine refuses to eat sugar. She says it’s evil. However, she married John who has a sweet tooth the size of Texas. When they visit at parties, he slips over to the sweets table and sneaks bites.”
Leah and Phillip both laughed at a shared memory but Phillip was the first to tell it. “Remember how he always said he was going to spike her coffee with sugar because it would only take one taste and she’d never go back?” he said.
They both laughed. This is what Leah loved so much about living here: she seemed to find a friendly face anywhere she went.
“Well, I’ll let you all enjoy your breakfast.” He pointed toward Muriel who was waving madly from an empty table. “Looks like Muriel found us a seat. It was good to see you!”
“You too!” Leah said.
When she and David were left alone, and the waitress had stopped by with more cream, David looked at her, a smile on his face, and said, “You look very nice this morning.”
“Thank you.” Waking up with David had made her feel less like a mother and more like a woman. It had been a long time since she’d put in the extra effort. She remembered the feel of his arms around her and quickly tried to shake the thought.
“So! Are you all ready for Christmas?” Where did that come from?
He grinned at her in a way that made her wonder if he could sense her thoughts. But then he gave her a legitimate answer. “I actually have a little shopping to do. I’d like to buy my mother a Christmas present.”
The waitress returned with an armful of plates, setting down eggs and bacon, a basket of buttermilk biscuits, and more pancakes than the two of them could eat: blueberry, butter pecan, cinnamon walnut, and chocolate chip.
“Oh. W
ell, we could look for something while we’re in town,” she said after thanking the waitress.
“If you wouldn’t mind. It might be good to get a woman’s opinion.”
* * *
“What are you thinking about getting your mother?” she asked, browsing a table of specialty teapots and mugs in the housewares shop two doors down from the diner.
“I want to find something sentimental that would lift her spirits.” He looked back down at the table, pursing his lips in concentration, his expression making it clear that the teapots weren’t hitting the mark.
She didn’t want to pry, but she couldn’t help but be curious. “Lift her spirits?”
He glanced up and nodded.
“Is she sick?” Leah asked, forgetting all about the teacup that had caught her attention.
He waggled his head and his gaze went darting around the room. “In a way.” He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “She’s grieving. Her best friend died suddenly, and she’s struggling to recover.”
Leah caught her breath.
“It was a long time ago now, over a year, but she just hasn’t been able to pick herself back up again.”
“No. Of course not.” Leah could almost feel tears welling, her thoughts immediately with Roz and Louise, imagining life without one of them.
“Well, everyone else seems to think she’s just being difficult.”
Leah shook her head. “I don’t think so. That’s a big blow to someone.”
He looked her in the eye. “I agree with you. I think she needs the time and the space to heal. She needs taking care of.” He looked away again.
“I’m sorry. It must be hard, worrying about her.”
He nodded. “It’s kind of exhausting.”
Leah reached over and gripped his hand. “I’ll help you find something perfect.”
They searched around a little while, splitting up as they found various things to look at. Then, Leah noticed a perfect little box, the surface of it highly polished to a shine. She opened it and a song tinkled from a music box inside. It took a minute before she realized what it was; the gritty voice of the singer was like some sort of time machine, taking her right back to the days she’d spent with Nan when she’d been only Sadie’s age. She hurried over to David.