Olivia had been coming over on Christmas Eve and staying the night since Zack was two—ever since she'd seen the home movie of him making a dash for the presents and tripping onto the pile, sending the presents into the tree and the tree into the fireplace, which luckily was still unlit.
"Oh, what I wouldn't give to have been there!" she'd said through tears of laughter as they watched the tape later that day.
"Come over Christmas Eve next time, and stay oversight," Eileen had suggested on the spot.
"You wouldn't mind?"
"Not a bit."
It was a tremendous intrusion. Olivia knew it, and every year on December 24 she'd call her sister-in-law and best friend and say, "Eileen, are you sure?" And Eileen would say, "Yes, I'm sure." There might have been a year or two when Eileen wasn't quite as sure as she sounded, but by now it was a tradition. Olivia looked forward to all of it, from the Christmas Eve service at St. Paul's to the waffles her brother made for them on Christmas morning.
This year, shopping for Kristin's gift had been a challenge. The child was at prime doll-bearing age, which should have made it easy—and yet her position on dolls was depressingly clear. Eileen decided to ignore it, choosing instead to blow away her daughter's resistance with a holiday Barbie and a glittering wardrobe to go with it.
Poor Barbie never made it out of the box.
Olivia, taking seriously her niece's remark about wanting to be a doctor (although obviously not a pediatrician), bought her a precision microscope. Kristin was impressed—for five minutes. How long could you stay worked up about a strand of hair magnified two hundred times?
Kristin was much more enthusiastic about the charming Christmas stocking that her brother had purchased from Olivia's shop for her. That was some consolation. But the biggest hit was a box of old Beanie Babies that Olivia had brought over on Christmas Eve and around which Kristin and Zack were designing elaborate skits.
"Oh, well. At least they're using their imagination."
"And the toys aren't violent."
"Or sexist."
"So we should be really glad."
But they weren't. Eileen wanted her daughter to fall in love with holiday Barbie, and Olivia wanted to trump Eileen with the student microscope.
As for Rand, he had his own elaborately worked out theory: "Women don't know what the hell they want."
In short, it was a charming, typical Christmas morning. Olivia had all of the pleasure of seeing the holiday through children's eyes and none of the stress of making dinner for her parents later in the day. She had offered, as she did every year, to help in the kitchen, but her sister-in-law was determined, as she was every year, to stage the event herself.
"Damn it, I want all the credit," she told Olivia. "This is serious. This involves in-laws."
So while poor Eileen was fretting about turning out an oyster stuffing that was properly moist and getting all those tiny pearl onions cooked and creamed just so, Olivia was back in her townhouse with her shoes kicked off and a cup of tea on her lap, gathering strength for the second phase of Christmas Day.
The odd thing was, she didn't feel drained in the least by the nonstop morning. Just the opposite, in fact: She was feeling restless and almost unbearably edgy. Her cup of Earl Grey tea and plate of Eileen's Christmas cookies simply weren't going to cut it this year. Olivia wanted something else, something more, something new.
She wanted Quinn.
She told herself that she was being perverse. That Quinn came with too much emotional baggage. That he was arrogant, overly principled, and insensitive. That he might even be cruel—how else to explain his willingness to put her family through such agony over Alison?
And yet part of her, the part that mattered, knew that Quinn Leary had more character, more integrity, and a stronger sense of honor than any man she'd ever met. Did honor even matter any more? She didn't know. All she knew was that it was Christmas and she wanted to be with Quinn, if only to see him smile and hear his voice again.
Abandoning her tea and cookies, Olivia changed from her red corduroy jumper into dinner clothes—a winter white sweater and a black skirt that fell softly to mid-calf—and pinned a whimsical cloisonne-and-rhinestone rocking horse pin to the sweater for a touch of color and sparkle. She kept her makeup to a minimum and ran her fingers through the curls of her hair to tame the bounciest ones, then surveyed herself in the full-length mirror that stood in the corner of her cheerful yellow bedroom.
Is this okay for a soup kitchen?
No. She frowned at herself for being frivolous, then took off the pin and slipped it in the pocket of her skirt.
Olivia arrived at St. Swithin's just as the crowd was beginning to show up in force. She was expecting to see a basic turkey dinner being dished out cafeteria-style, but the scene before her was a real community affair, warm and friendly and relaxed. All manner of people were helping themselves to the buffet—from college kids in jeans and sweats to elderly couples in their churchgoing best. Single mothers were there with their freshly scrubbed children, and unattached men who looked, it was true, both jobless and homeless.
But no Quinn. Olivia expected him to be there and was keenly disappointed that he wasn't. Undaunted, she approached the man who was obviously in charge of the event.
"Father Tom? Hi. I don't know if you remember me—"
The priest started when he saw her. "Of course I do. Olivia Bennett, isn't it?" He stuck out his hand and said, "Merry Christmas," though he clearly wondered what she was doing there.
"I was looking for Quinn."
"Dear God, what now?"
"Well, I—excuse me?"
In a low murmur, the priest urged her to give him a moment of her time. They stepped out into the hall, and in a few frightening sentences, he brought Olivia up-to-date on the most recent of the unnerving pranks that were being inflicted on Keepsake.
"Quinn stayed here all night, bless the man's heart," explained Father Tom. "He's gone home to shower, but he should be back anytime. Please," he added, "don't mention the prank to anyone besides your family."
He glanced around him and dropped his voice even lower. "I'm only confiding this bone business to you because you're so directly involved. Quinn told me about his—ill-advised, if you ask me—attempt to have your cousin exhumed for DNA testing."
Olivia could see that the idea was deeply troublesome to the priest, which wasn't surprising. But she could not see the point of keeping anything secret. "It's better that it all gets out, Father, don't you think? That way everyone can be on guard for whoever it is who's doing these horrible things."
"In theory, maybe," Father Tom said wryly, "but do you think that Mr. and Mrs. Snyder in there would go anywhere near the buffet if they knew it had a dog's bones on it a few hours ago? Never mind that we scrubbed everything down with bleach."
"No, really, Father," said Olivia, digging in her heels, "I think honesty is always the best policy."
"Ordinarily, yes, but surely this is an exception—"
Catching himself, the priest shook his head and said, "Will you listen to me? You're right, of course. Tell the truth, Olivia, and let the chips fall where they may."
He began to walk away, then turned around and added with a poignant look, "But don't tell the truth until everyone's had pie, okay?"
Smiling, Olivia nodded her assent and gave him a cheery little wave good-bye.
Now what? She couldn't very well go in there and take food out of somebody's mouth. But she couldn't stand in the hall waiting around for Quinn like some groupie, either. She simply could not stay.
But she sure didn't want to go.
What kind of Christmas was this?
She ducked into the ladies' bathroom where she spent some time talking to a tube of lipstick, then came out and scanned the diners one last time. Nope. Still not there. Dismayed by how unhappy it made her feel, she turned abruptly to leave.
And ran smack into Quinn, whacking his chest with her shoulder hard enough to se
nd them both off balance.
"Heyyy," he said with a grin as he caught her in his arms, instantly turning her knees to pudding. "I can't believe Bronsky didn't recruit you for the team back when. He missed a bet there."
"Oh, you are here!" she said breathlessly. Newly showered, his ponytail still damp, the scent of aftershave still fresh on his high-boned cheeks—oh, yes, he was very much there.
"Were you looking for me?'' he asked her with a hopeful, loopy smile.
Olivia didn't disappoint him. "As a matter of fact, I was. I wanted—" What did she want? "To ask you over to Christmas dinner with my family!" she blurted out.
God in heaven! Where did that come from?
A veil drifted down between them. "Uhhh, gee ... it's really nice of you to think of me," he said. "But I'm afraid I'll have to pass."
Praise the Lord.
"Well—what about New Year's Eve, then?" she followed up brightly.
God in heaven! Where did that come from?
Still holding her, still puzzled, still smiling, he said, "You make it hard for a guy to say no."
"That's the idea," she whispered on a shaky outflow of breath.
"Okay, then," he said softly. "I'd like that. New Year's Eve it is."
Oh no.
"Great! It'll be fun! My parents throw a really big shindig at the house every year. Just about everyone comes!"
Please don't come. Please, please, please.
"At your parents' house? Ah! Well! Hmm. That'll be a real ... pleasure. I'm looking forward to seeing them again after all these years."
Are you serious? They hate you. They'll kill me.
She beamed at him and said, "And they'll be looking forward to seeing you, too!"
"Good! That's good."
The conversation had become so surreal that it broke down completely and sat there lost and confused, like a puppy that's wandered too far from home.
Quinn released her at last and nodded sideways toward the gathering inside the church basement. "Are you—?"
"Oh! No, no. I just came to—to invite you! That's all."
"Okay. Well, I'll call you soon."
I might be dead by then, she thought, but she returned his much-too-cheerful smile and said, "I'll be looking forward to it!"
She fled on pudding knees to her minivan, where she sat and waited for her heart's thumping to die down. Forgotten entirely was the news about the latest dreadful prank; all Olivia wanted was to make sense of her behavior in that hall. There had to be a reason why she had invited Quinn—the one man in the world who could probably make her mother cry on sight—into her parents' home for the biggest party of their social calendar. Everyone would be there: the mayor, the council, doctors, lawyers, her father's peers in the textile industry.
Is that why she did it? To force Keepsake to deal with Quinn head on, instead of whispering and muttering behind his back? Olivia wanted to think so. She wanted to believe that her reason was as simple and noble as that.
If she had any other motive for asking Quinn, it was buried too deep in her subconscious for her to figure it out just now. She put her van in gear and pulled out of the parking lot. Across town, on another planet far from this one, dinner was about to be served.
****
Her family was in a wonderful mood.
Owen Bennett had just found out from his son that the town council was willing to negotiate a tax break for the mill. Rand was so proud that he'd been up to the challenge that he walked around practically bursting through his paisley vest. Eileen was thrilled with the sapphire earrings her husband had surprised her with after Olivia left at noon. And Teresa Bennett? She was happy simply because everyone else was happy.
It got better. Olivia's father pronounced himself satisfied with the oyster stuffing, pleased with the gift Olivia had given him, a pair of custom gold cuff links in the shape of a loom, and thrilled that he'd finally—finally!—beaten his grandson at Super Mario three games running.
They sang carols together, hopelessly bungling "The Twelve Days of Christmas," and they enjoyed a fabulous whiskey torte with their decaf espresso in front of a crackling fire while a It's a Wonderful Life played softly on the large-screen TV in the corner. Everyone was feeling sentimental, Olivia's mother, most of all. All she had to do was glance at the movie, and tears flowed freely.
"It's such a magical film," she murmured, wiping her eyes. "If only people lived that way."
Olivia had been watching her mother with a mixture of affection and apprehension all evening long. She knew that her mother offered the one chance she had of sneaking Quinn under the tent on New Year's Eve. The gala was going to be a masked affair, as usual, which meant that at least half of the guests would be thoroughly disguised. That was one point in Olivia's favor. Another was that her mother had never been able to say no to her; not if Olivia was determined to get a yes out of her.
So it was that right after Clarence was awarded his wings, and Olivia's father and Rand strolled off to the study to enjoy their good news and their Macanudos, and Eileen hauled her two sleepy children and their six best Beanie Babies off to bed, Olivia made her move.
"This has been a wonderful Christmas, Mom, don't you think?" she asked, snuggling close to her mother on the sofa.
Sighing happily, Teresa Bennett said, "They all are."
"But this one was better."
"You're just saying that because your father liked your cuff links so well," her mother said, looping her arm around her daughter.
"He did, didn't he?" Olivia agreed. She laid her cheek on her mother's shoulder. "I hope he wears them on New Year's."
"I'm sure he will. He'll want to show them off."
"Mom?" Olivia murmured. "You haven't asked me who I'm bringing this year."
"I imagine it'll be Eric again," her mother said with a sigh. "He's a nice young man," she added, "but when are you going to find someone who'll be able to take you seriously, Livvy? Sometimes I despair that I'll ever see you on the arm of a ... a—"
"You'll be glad to know that there's been big progress on that front: I've found myself a heterosexual," Olivia said lightly. "He seems very interested in me and he's definitely good breeding stock—smart, strong, a great-looking guy. I'll bet that sperm banks all over the world send him fan mail."
Her mother yanked at her hair and said, "You don't have to be outrageous. Where did you meet someone like that, anyway, working the hours you do?"
"Actually, I knew him years ago," Olivia said softly. She swallowed hard and added, "Actually, so did you."
The hand that had been teasing her hair in idle affection stopped now, and her mother became very still. Olivia opened her eyes. She couldn't see her mother's face—only her neck with its lined skin, the first telltale sign of advancing age. She thought she could see the pulsing of an artery there. She was certain she could hear her mother's heart, pounding in apprehension.
Teresa Bennett sat her daughter up to face her. Her gaze, darker even than Olivia's, searched her face for some hint that she should laugh at the absurdity of the idea of Quinn Leary popping up at a family gathering.
"You can't be serious."
"Mom, I am. I want to bring him on New Year's. I've already asked him," Olivia confessed.
"Why, for God's sake?"
"I don't know, I don't know," she said in a baffled wail. "Something made me do it. I think maybe—it's like the Capra film," she said, seized by an idea.
She jumped up and began pacing in front of the fireplace on the Berber carpet. "Ten minutes ago you were wondering why people aren't like the characters in that movie anymore, and you were right: Look how Keepsake is treating Quinn. But we have a chance—"
She stopped midstride and pointed to her mother. "You have a chance—to change that."
" Me!"
"I know you've never been comfortable in your role as a woman of influence," Olivia said, dropping back down on the pillowed sofa and clutching her mother's hands in hers. "You'd rather be living in a p
icket-fenced cottage and baby-sitting your grandchildren. But like it or not, you're the wife of the richest man in town. I'm not saying you're Mrs. Astor; but I am saying that if you treat Quinn with decency, the rest of Keepsake will follow suit. Most of them, anyway."
Her mother yanked her hands free of Olivia's. "No!" she said sharply. "I can't do that. It wouldn't be right to the family. Think of your Aunt Betty! My God. How can you be so dense?"
"I'm not, I'm not. But, Mom, you know that Frank Leary didn't kill Alison. And even if he did, that's not Quinn's fault. You can't conceivably blame Quinn!"
"Why can't you leave him alone!" her mother said, scrambling to get away from Olivia's grasp. Now it was her turn to pace—less from tension, Olivia thought, than from a desire to be free of her daughter's cajoling influence.
She watched her mother, so self-effacing in quiet beige and a strand of pearls, and wondered for the thousandth time why she didn't stand up for her principles more. Her mother knew that Quinn was being treated unfairly. Why didn't she speak up for him? The emotions were there, the intensity was there, and yet ...
Olivia understood at last: Everything that Teresa Bennett did was for her family, and only her family. The family came first—her husband and her children and even poor Aunt Betty. Beyond that circle, Olivia's mother rarely ventured.
It was maddening. Teresa Bennett had a true and generous heart and could be the best ally that Quinn could possibly have—except for Olivia herself, of course.
She watched as her mother halted in front of the fire and stared into it. Something about the way she held herself told Olivia that she was beginning to consider and maybe to yield. Eventually she saw her mother's shoulders lift and fall in a silent sigh. Surrender?
Finally her mother turned to her and said in a voice of obvious mourning, "You have feelings for this man."
"No, of course I don't," Olivia said instantly, and then she remembered her own words, so recently uttered: honesty is the best policy.
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