Coming Home for Christmas

by Fern Michaels

  “Yeah. Sure. My mind is somewhere else. I’m sorry, Mandy.”

  “I am, too,” Amy said as she headed for the door. She slammed through the door, not caring that Hank walked right into it as it was closing. She ignored his yelp of surprise and headed straight for the car. Midway to the Rover, a young woman in a Girl Scout uniform rushed up to her. “Would you care to donate to Mr. Carpenter’s funeral expenses?”

  “What did you say?”

  The young girl repeated her question.

  “I didn’t know . . . of course.” Amy emptied out her wallet.

  “How about you, sir?”

  “I didn’t bring my wallet with me. Tell me where I can drop off my contribution. I’ll do it as soon as I get home.”

  “Mrs. Masterson. She lives at 82 Cypress Street. She’s in charge of the fund-raiser.”

  “Okay, thanks.” Hank climbed into the Rover and buckled up. Amy peeled away the moment the door was closed securely. She clenched her teeth. If he thought she was going to start babbling, he needed to think again about his rude behavior. Some things were just not meant to be. So much for dreams and long-lost loves.

  “The snow is really coming down,” Hank said, in an attempt to make conversation.

  The snow wasn’t a question. So she didn’t have to respond.

  Hank eyed Amy out of the corner of his eye. He tried again. “That’s pretty sad about Albert Carpenter. I knew he didn’t have any family left, but I would have thought he had some savings, enough to bury him.”

  That wasn’t a question either. So she didn’t have to respond to it either. Instead, Amy concentrated on the falling snow and driving on the slick roads.

  The rest of the ride home was made in silence on Amy’s part. She swerved into her driveway, turned off the engine, and hopped out of the Rover. “Don’t bother yourself. I can unload the truck later. I have other things I need to do now. Do you want to take the dogs, or should I keep them?”

  Her voice was as cold as the snow falling all about him. Hank did a double take. He knew a brush-off when he got one. He’d had more than enough in his lifetime to know the signals. He took a moment to wonder if Mandy was bipolar. One minute she was on top of the world, and the next she was doom and gloom. She hadn’t said a word on the drive home. “I’ll take them,” he said curtly.

  “Fine,” Amy snapped. She opened the door, and both dogs ran to her to be petted. Hank did everything in his power to get Churchill to go with him. He finally had to give up when the big dog bared his teeth. “Guess that’s your answer, Mr. Anders.”

  Mr. Anders? “Yeah, guess so.”

  Amy moved to the door to close it. Then she added insult to injury, Hank thought, when he heard the deadbolt snick into place. He felt lower than a skunk’s belly when he hightailed it back to his brother’s house.

  What the hell is going on?

  The house was exceptionally quiet. Instead of calling out, Hank walked out to the kitchen to see Mason puttering around at the stove. “Is there any coffee, Mason? Did anyone call?”

  “I just made fresh coffee. No one called, but your e-mail is pinging again. I just put the boys down for their naps. My agency has booked me for the next six months. All you need to do is call to confirm and give them your credit card information. Is something wrong, Mr. Anders? You look . . . dejected. ”

  Was something wrong? This guy was really astute. Hank wondered what kind of confidant he would make. He poured coffee. “What are you making?”

  “Stew. I always make stew when it snows. The weatherman is predicting six inches of snow by morning. Did you go to the market, Mr. Anders? We need milk for the boys.”

  “Stew is good. I’m going to go to the market when I finish this coffee. I have to get gas, too. What I said earlier . . . you know . . . about me being in love. That wasn’t true. Well, it was at the time, but it isn’t now. I overreacted. Women are so . . . what they are is . . . hell, what are they, Mason?”

  “Complex. Fickle. Manipulative. Selfish. Mind you, I don’t know this for a fact, but I do read a lot. So, I guess what you’re saying is the lady next door spurned your advances. Would that be a correct assessment, Mr. Anders?”

  “It will do. I didn’t do a damn thing. She froze on me. She goddamn well kicked me to the curb is what she did. What do you think about that, Mason?”

  Mason opted to take the high road. “I think, sir, before I can comment, I would need to hear the young lady’s side. As you know, there are two sides to everything.”

  “There must be something wrong with me. I was left standing at the altar a while back. The twins don’t like me. The dogs don’t want to come home. I don’t get it. I’m a stand-up guy. I’m nice to old people. I’ve always liked kids. I’m generous, never ask anyone to do anything I won’t do myself. My employees gave me a plaque that said I was the best boss in the world. I don’t have dandruff. I use a top-notch deodorant. What the hell is wrong with me?”

  “I don’t think I’m qualified to comment on anything other than the boys. I think they sensed your uneasiness. In other words, you have little experience with toddlers. They sense your fear. I can’t be certain, but I imagine it’s probably the same thing with the animals.”

  “What should I do?”

  “Try to repair the damage. Relax. Flowers might be an option. You need to be comfortable with yourself. I really think you should go to the market now before the roads become hazardous, Mr. Anders. The boys drink a lot of milk.”

  Hank looked over at the computer. He had the rest of the day and evening to check e-mails. Mason was right, he needed to get to the market and gas up the SUV. “Do you know how to bake a pie, Mason?”

  “Of course. Doesn’t everyone? What kind would you like?”

  “Berry. Anything berry. I don’t know how to bake a pie. I don’t know how to cook. Period.”

  “Let me check the larder to see if the lady of the house has all the ingredients. I’ll make a list for you, Mr. Anders.”

  Antsy with his inactivity, Hank walked into the living room so he could look out the window. He gasped when he saw Mandy and the dogs on Albert Carpenter’s front porch. Mandy was stringing wire on the back of the giant wreath she’d purchased at the florist shop. Even from here he could see how huge the big red bow was. He’d wanted to hang the wreath with her. Was she making a statement of some kind?

  Hank felt guilty and knew it showed on his face when Mason came up behind him with his list. He held out Hank’s wallet. “I’m thinking you might need this.”

  “Thanks. I wasn’t spying, Mason.”

  “If you say so, Mr. Anders.”

  “All right, I’m spying.”

  Mason cleared his throat. “Have you given any thought to speaking with the young lady and telling her whatever it is that’s bothering you? It’s entirely possible that she’s reacting to something you did or said. For every action there is a reaction, Mr. Anders.”

  Hank snorted. “Try this on for size, Mason. Why would the lady in question be using a credit card, a platinum one no less, with someone else’s name on it?”

  “I’m sure there are many reasons why and how that could happen, Mr. Anders.”

  “Oh, yeah, name me one,” Hank said belligerently.

  Mason squared his shoulders. “Very well. Perhaps the card is in her maiden name. Perhaps it’s a corporate card. Perhaps the young lady uses a pseudonym. And, Mr. Anders, is it any of your business to begin with?”

  “I’m outta here,” Hank barked as he opened the door. Slipping and sliding, he made his way to the SUV and turned on the engine and the heater while he cleaned the snow off the truck. He kept looking over at the Carpenter house, hoping Mandy would acknowledge him. She didn’t. The dogs were so intent on romping in the snow, they weren’t even aware of him.

  “Screw it,” Hank muttered as he backed out of the driveway. His first stop was the Masterson house on Cypress Street.

  Ten minutes later he was ringing the doorbell. A pleasant woman o
pened the door and smiled at him. He reached for his wallet and explained that he was there to give a donation for Albert Carpenter’s funeral.

  “That’s very nice of you but some very kind, generous person is paying for the funeral. Mr. Dial just called a little while ago. This same person, who I’m told wishes to remain anonymous, also paid for the church ladies to prepare a dinner after . . . after the burial. Everything has been taken care of, but thank you for stopping by.”

  Hank nodded and shrugged as he jammed his wallet back in his pocket.

  Two hours later, Hank was back at the house, with the SUV gassed up and enough groceries to feed an army for a month.

  He looked across the yard and saw that the colored Christmas lights had been turned on. Wise move. This way Mandy wouldn’t have to get dressed and slog through the snow when it got dark out. The huge evergreen wreath on the door looked festive. He craned his neck trying to see into the cargo hold of the Range Rover to see if the contents had been removed. He couldn’t see a thing with the falling snow and the tinted windows.

  Disgusted with himself and his circumstances, Hank carried in the groceries. He smiled at the childish laughter coming from the family room.

  While Mason unpacked the groceries, Hank made a fire, then settled himself on the floor, not close to the twins but just far enough away so they wouldn’t pitch a fit. He watched them interact with each other as they played with their toys. From time to time they looked over at him to see what he was doing. He wiggled his fingers and made funny faces. Then he rolled across the floor and hid his face. It was all the boys needed. Suddenly they were all over him, yanking at his hair, sitting on his back, then rolling over themselves.

  Hank sat up. The boys looked at him as much as to say, is the fun over? “You guys look just like your daddy. He’s one lucky man. You’re pretty lucky, too, to have a dad like Ben. I’m sorry your mom isn’t here. She . . . I know she misses you, but she has some . . . issues right now. I think she’ll be home for Christmas. God, I hope she comes home for Christmas.”

  The boys trundled off when they realized the giant on the floor was done playing. Hank rolled over and stared at the fire blazing up the chimney.

  Where are you, Alice? He just knew in his gut that Alice would be able to explain Mandy’s attitude. Women knew everything about other women. He sat up and moved over to the gate to step over it. Time to check the e-mails. He sniffed; the kitchen smelled just the way a kitchen was supposed to smell, fragrant and homey. He said so. Mason beamed with pleasure at the compliment.

  Hank clicked on the e-mail and saw a note from Alice. Another list! Not a word about her return.

  • The boys get a chewable Flintstone vitamin every morning. The bottle is on the kitchen windowsill.

  • Trash pickup is tomorrow morning. Both cans are full. Separate the glass bottles from plastic. Containers in the garage. Bundle all paper products and put in separate bin. All bins are labeled in the garage.

  • Buy gas for the snowblower. Container is empty. Otherwise, shovel the driveway.

  • Wash Churchill’s pee pads in Clorox.

  • Lightbulbs on front porch are burned out. Replace them.

  And that was the end of the list. Hank printed it out.

  “I have to take the trash out, Mason. And I need to check the snowblower. I think I’ll walk to the gas station for gas. You have things under control here, right?”

  “Yes, sir, I do. The pie is coming along nicely. The stew is simmering. I’m going to do some laundry. Do whatever you have to do.”

  “The boys need their vitamins. They’re on the windowsill.”

  “I took care of that, sir.”

  “The pee pads need to be washed in Clorox.”

  “I’ve taken care of that, sir. The boys’ laundry is washing now.”

  “You’re right, Mason, you do have it under control.”

  Hank grabbed his jacket and entered the garage through the kitchen. He checked the snowblower. He had an identical one at home in New York, so he knew how to work it. Alice was right, though, it was bone dry, as was the gas container. He made fast work of bundling the paper products and separating the glass and plastic bottles. Then he dragged the heavy trash cans through the snow and out to the curb. How the hell did Alice do all this? He was huffing and puffing when he made his seventh trip down the driveway.

  Should he start to shovel the driveway, or should he slog his way to the gas station for gas? He looked around for the shovel but didn’t see one. He snorted as he grabbed the gas can and started down the driveway. He stopped in his tracks when he heard Churchill bark. He strained to see through the snow. Is that Mandy on the front porch of the Carpenter house? What the hell is she doing now?

  “Hey, what are you doing?” he yelled.

  “Decorating. Why do you care what I’m doing?” Amy shouted back.

  Hank sucked in his breath and got a mouthful of snow. He didn’t mean to say the words, they just popped out of his mouth. “Do you need any help?”

  Amy strained to see through the swirling snow. She could use some help. “Yeah,” she said before she could change her mind. Maybe she could get to the bottom of whatever it was that was bothering Hank.

  He was on the porch a minute later, the orange gas can in his hand. “I was going for gas for the snowblower. I can do your driveway if you like. What are you doing?”

  “I’m decorating Mr. Carpenter’s front porch. I found all of our old decorations in the garage. Mom bought all of these reindeer one year and the sleigh. Don’t you remember?”

  “Yeah, yeah, I do remember. Your family won the prize that year for the best-decorated house. Why aren’t you putting them up on your own front porch?”

  Good question. “I’m not sure why. I just wanted to do something for Mr. Carpenter. He was always so big on Christmas even though he and his wife never had children. Remember how he used to say because he was a teacher all us kids were his children? Maybe it’s a send-off of sorts.

  “I came back home because I was trying . . . I wanted . . . I guess I was trying to recapture that last Christmas that I never had. You can’t go home again, Hank,” she said sadly. “I wish so much that I had come back sooner. I wish I had told Mr. Carpenter how much he meant to me growing up. I wish so many things. I guess I’m trying to make up for that. Is it right? Is it wrong? I don’t know, and I don’t care. I just need to do this. For me and for Mr. Carpenter.”

  Hank stared at the young woman standing across from him, tears in her eyes. “It makes sense to me,” he said. “You’re the one who paid for the funeral, aren’t you?”

  “How did you know?”

  “I went to the Mastersons’ to leave my donation. She told me an anonymous donor called Mr. Dial and paid for it. Tell me right now, who is Amy Lee? What were you doing with someone else’s credit card? I didn’t know how to deal with it.”

  Amy slid down on her haunches, her back against the front door. “Is that what your attitude was all about? Why didn’t you just ask me?”

  “Well, I didn’t . . . All kinds of crazy thoughts were going through my mind. I was devastated when my thoughts . . . We were hitting it off so well. It was like a dream came true, then suddenly there was a glitch. I’ve been trying to deal with Alice and all that mess. So, who is Amy Lee? The name sounds familiar to me.”

  “Me. I’m Amy Lee. Flo and the studio wanted me to change my name. Flo wanted to wipe this place, my early years away. And yet she stayed in touch with the people here. She made sure the house was taken care of, cleaned and aired several times a year. It just never made any sense to me.”

  “Studio? What’s that mean?”

  “I’m a movie star. I work in Hollywood. I make pictures. Even got nominated for an Academy Award twice, but I didn’t win.”

  “You’re a movie star! Well, damn! I guess that’s why the name sounded familiar. I haven’t been to the movies in years and years. Are you good?”

  Amy laughed. “I get by. I came
back here thinking I wasn’t going to go back to Hollywood. I had thoughts of retiring after I finish out my contract. I might be able to buy it out, at least that’s what my agent said. I never understood how I could be good at something I didn’t like doing. I still don’t understand it. I’ve had enough. I’m not sure I want to stay in Apple Valley, though. I was hoping to find some answers here. I know now the answers are inside me. This place is just a memory, but I’m smart enough to know I have to lay it to rest before I can go on. My big regret is it’s taken me so long.”

  Hank inched closer to Amy. “I don’t know what to say. I feel stupid for jumping to conclusions. I’m sorry, Mandy. Or should I call you Amy?”

  “My name is Mandy. I hated it that they took away my name. First my parents, Apple Valley, then my name. I was just a kid back then, and while I tried to deal with it, I guess I didn’t do such a good job of it. What were you saying about your sister-in-law?”

  Hank explained the situation. Amy burst out laughing and couldn’t stop. “I’m on her side. Boy, did that take guts. She must really trust you, though, to leave her kids with you.”

  “Well, I didn’t do so good. Those kids hated me on sight. Churchill hated me and ran to you. I had to hire a nanny. A guy!” Hank said, his eyes almost bugging out of his head. “He had things under control in ten minutes. He cooks, does laundry. Hey, the guy is IT.” Then he told her about Ben’s e-mail. “So for my Christmas present to the family, I hired Mason for six months to help Alice. Ben will be back home by that time to pick up the slack.”

  “That’s so wonderful, Hank! When are you going to tell Alice?”

  “I can’t tell her anything because I don’t know where she is. She said she was going to a hotel to pamper herself.”

  “No, no, that’s not what she’s doing if their financial situation is so precarious. She’s probably staying with a friend and talking it all to death. She was overwhelmed, that’s the bottom line. I give her another day, and she’ll be back. She’s a mother, she won’t abandon her kids. Trust me.”