Jingle All the Way

by Fern Michaels

  Frank made a point of looking at Addie’s back.

  “What?” she asked, fumbling to see if her label was sticking out.

  “I was looking for wings,” Frank said. “It seems some angels don’t have them.”

  Her eyes glistened, and the junior high school band struck up the first strains of “Silent Night.” “We’d better sit down,” she whispered, and they took chairs next to Mr. Renfrew and Stella.

  The lights went down, and the volume of the music went up. The stage curtains creaked and shivered apart. A small door stood on stage right, with a stable opposite. A kid in a donkey suit brayed, raising a communal chuckle from the audience.

  Mary and Joseph shuffled on stage, looking suitably weary. Joseph knocked at the door, and it nearly toppled over backward. Henry peered out of the opening, blinking behind his glasses, and started shaking his head before Joseph could ask for a room. Addie took a picture with the throwaway, and the flash almost blinded Frank.

  Henry, taking the innkeeper thing to heart, shook his head again. “No!” he shouted. “I said no!”

  “Oh, dear,” Addie whispered. “He’s ad-libbing.”

  Frank laughed, which earned him a glower from Miss Pidgett, who turned in her seat and homed in on him like a heat-seeking missile.

  “You can have the barn!” Henry went on. He was a born actor.

  Joseph and Mary drooped and consigned themselves to the stable. Henry slammed the door so hard that the whole thing teetered. Addie gripped Frank’s arm, and they both held their breathes, but the efforts of the eighth-grade shop class held.

  The donkey brayed again, but he’d already been upstaged by the innkeeper.

  Shepherds meandered onto the stage, in brown robes, each with a staff in hand. One carried a stuffed lamb under one arm. They all searched the sky, looking baffled. Henry, bringing up the rear, shoved at the middle of his glasses and wrote himself another line.

  “What are all those things in the sky? Angels?”

  The other shepherds gave him quelling looks, but Henry was undaunted.

  “It’s not every night you see a bunch of angels hanging around,” he said.

  In what he hoped was a subtle move, Frank took Addie’s hand.

  Miss Pidgett rose out of her seat, then sat down again.

  There was a cranking sound, and Lissie descended from the rigging on a rope, wings spread almost as wide as her grin. Less splendid angels inched in from either side of the stage, gazing up at her in bemusement.

  “Now there’s an angel!” Henry boomed, looking up, too.

  A ripple of laughter moved through the crowd, and Addie covered her face with her free hand, but only for a moment. She was smiling.

  Lissie shouted out her lines, and the unseen stagehands cranked her down. Somebody made a sound like a baby crying, and attention shifted to Mary and Joseph. Darned if there hadn’t been a blessed event.

  After the pageant, refreshments were served in the cafeteria, and Addie took at least twenty pictures of Henry and Lissie. Practically everybody in town, with the noticeable exception of Miss Pidgett, stopped to compliment both kids on their innovative performances.

  They glowed with pride, but the angel and the shepherd were soon yawning, like the rest of the cast.

  “I’ll take them home in the station wagon,” Addie said.

  “Meet you there in a couple of minutes,” Frank replied, feeling oddly tender. “I just want to say hello to the mayor.”

  Addie nodded, gathered up the kids and their gear, and left.

  Frank completed his social obligation and was just turning to go when there was a scuffle in a far corner of the room. Instinctively, he headed in that direction.

  Miss Almira Pidgett lay unconscious on the floor.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  It was after ten when Addie saw the lights of Frank’s squad car sweep into the driveway. Lissie was asleep on the couch, still wearing her costume and covered in a quilt, and Henry had long since fallen into bed. Neither of them had wanted to leave the twinkling Christmas tree, standing fragrant in front of the window.

  Addie pulled on her coat and went out onto the stairs. Frank had called her from the hospital earlier, where Almira Pidgett was admitted for observation, and she’d been waiting for news ever since. It had been difficult, pretending nothing was wrong while Lissie and Henry celebrated their theatrical debuts, but she hadn’t wanted to ruin their evening, so she’d kept the old woman’s illness to herself.

  Frank appeared at the bottom of the stairs, paused, rested one hand on the railing, and looked up.

  “Is she all right?” Addie asked.

  Frank’s shoulders moved in a weary sigh, but he nodded. “Looks like Miss Pidgett will be in the hospital for a few days. The doctor said it was diabetic shock. Good thing she wasn’t home alone.”

  Addie sagged with relief. She might not have been Miss Pidgett’s greatest fan, but she’d been desperately worried, just the same.

  “Come upstairs and have some coffee,” she said.

  Frank grinned, started the climb. “You looked pretty good in that green outfit tonight,” he told her.

  She’d exchanged her good suit for jeans, sneakers, and a flannel shirt. “Lissie stole the whole show,” she said with a laugh. The wind was cold, and it was snowing a little, but the closer Frank got, the warmer she felt. Go figure, she thought.

  He ushered her inside, paused to admire the Christmas tree. They’d decorated it together, and it had been a sentimental journey for Addie. She’d been surprised to realize how many memories those old ornaments stirred in her. They hadn’t been able to use the bubble lights—they were ancient, and the wires were frayed—but Frank had anted up some spares, and the whole thing looked spectacular, especially with Henry’s much-handled presents wedged underneath.

  Floyd, lying in the kitchen doorway, got up to waddle across the linoleum and greet his master. Frank closed the door, ruffled the dog’s ears, and then went to stand next to the couch, looking down at his sleeping daughter.

  “They were something, weren’t they?” he asked quietly.

  Addie smiled. “Oh, yeah,” she said. “What a pair of hams.”

  They went into the kitchen, and Addie put on the coffee. Frank sat down at the table and rubbed his face with both hands. It was a weary gesture that made Addie want to stand behind him and squeeze his shoulders, maybe even let her chin rest on top of his head for a moment or two, but she refrained.

  “The last thing I need,” Frank muttered, “is a shot of caffeine.”

  “I’ve got decaf,” Addie said.

  “Perish the thought,” Frank replied.

  She laughed. “You’re a hard man to please, Frank Raynor.” She moved toward cupboards next to the stove, meaning to get out a bag of cookies, but Frank caught her hand as she passed.

  “No, actually,” he said, “I’m not.” And he pulled her onto his lap.

  She should have resisted him, but she didn’t. Her heart shimmied up into her throat.

  For a moment, it seemed he might kiss her, but he frowned, and touched the tip of her nose instead. “How come you gave back my engagement ring, Addie Hutton?” he asked, very quietly.

  Tears burned behind her eyes. “I was young and stupid.”

  He moved his finger and planted a kiss where it had been. “Young, yes. Stupid, never. I should have waited for you, Addie. I should have known you needed an education of your own.”

  She touched his mouth very lightly. “You wouldn’t have met Maggie,” she reminded him. “And you wouldn’t have had Lissie.”

  He sighed. “You’re right,” he said. “But you wouldn’t have met Bozo the Mortgage Broker, either. And you wouldn’t have gotten into all that trouble in California.”

  She couldn’t speak.

  “What are you going to do now?” Frank asked, his arms still tight around her. “You can’t work at the Wooden Nickel for the rest of your life, selling classified ads. You’re a journalist. You’l
l go crazy.”

  “I’ve been thinking about writing a book,” Addie admitted.

  Frank’s eyes lit up. “Well, now,” he said. “Fiction or nonfiction?”

  “A romance novel,” Addie said, and blushed.

  He raised one eyebrow, still grinning. “Is that so?”

  Just then, the phone rang.

  Because it was late, which might mean the call was important, and maybe because the atmosphere was getting intense in that kitchen, Addie jumped off Frank’s lap and rushed to answer it with a breathless, “Hello?”

  “Addie,” Toby said. “I hope you weren’t in bed.”

  Addie blushed again. “No—no, I was up. Is everything okay? Where are you?”

  “Connecticut,” Toby answered. “Addie, I have news. Really big news.”

  Addie closed her eyes, tried to brace herself. He was coming to get Henry. She’d known it was going to happen. “What?” she croaked.

  “Elle and I are going to have a baby,” Toby blurted. “Isn’t that great?”

  Addie’s eyes flew open. Frank was setting the cups on the counter.

  “Great,” she said.

  “I guess you’re wondering why I’d call you to make the announcement,” Toby said, sounding more circumspect.

  Actually, she hadn’t gotten that far. She was still trying to work out what this meant to Henry, and to her. “Right,” she said.

  Frank raised his eyebrows, thrumming the fingers of one hand on the countertop while he waited for the coffee to finish brewing.

  “The pregnancy will be stressful,” Toby went on. “For Elle, I mean. That’s why I was wondering—”

  Addie held her breath.

  “That’s why we were wondering if you’d keep Henry for a while longer.”

  Addie straightened. “You’ll have to grant me temporary custody, Toby,” she said. “I won’t have you jerking Henry back and forth across the country every time it strikes your fancy.”

  “Is that what you think of me? That I’d do something like that?”

  What was the man’s home planet? “Yes,” she said. “That’s what I think.”

  Toby got defensive. “I could send Henry to stay with my dad and stepmother, you know.”

  “But you won’t,” Addie said. She’d received a check from Toby’s father in that day’s mail. It would pay some bills, and provide a Christmas for Henry, and she was very grateful. According to the enclosed note, Mr. Springer and his third trophy wife were spending what remained of the winter in Tahiti.

  “All right,” Toby admitted. “I won’t.”

  “Ground rules, Toby,” Addie said, as Frank gave her a chipper salute. “I want legal custody, signed, sealed and delivered. And you will call this child once a week, without fail.”

  “You got it,” Toby agreed with a sigh.

  “One more thing,” Addie said.

  “What?” Toby asked sheepishly.

  “Congratulations,” Addie told him.

  Frank poured the coffee, carried the cups to the table. He’d taken off his uniform jacket, hung it over the back of a chair. His shoulders strained at the fabric of his crisply pressed shirt.

  “Thanks,” Toby said, and the conversation was over.

  “I take it a celebration is in order?” Frank asked.

  Addie jumped, kicked her heels together, and punched one fist in the air.

  “Not much gets past a Sherlock Holmes like me,” Frank said.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Frank’s tree glittered, and a Christmas Eve fire flickered merrily in the hearth. Three stockings hung from the mantelpiece—Lissie’s, Henry’s, and Floyd’s. Nat King Cole crooned about merry little Christmases.

  “They’re asleep,” Frank said from the stairway. “I guess that second gig at the hospital and the nursing home did them in. Who’d have thought Almira Pidgett would turn out to be a fan of the angel-and-shepherd road show?”

  Addie smiled, cup of eggnog in hand, and turned to watch him approach. Miss Pidgett had warmed to Lissie and Henry’s impromptu performance when they shyly entered her hospital room the night after the pageant, and tonight, she’d welcomed them with a twinkly smile. “Christmas is a time for miracles,” she said.

  Frank took the cup out of her hand, set it aside, and pulled her close. “You think it’s too soon?” he asked.

  “Too soon for what?” she countered, but she knew. A smile quirked at the corner of her mouth.

  “You and me to take up where we left off, back in the day,” Frank prompted, kissing her lightly. “I love you, Addie.”

  She traced the outline of his lips. “And I love you, Frank Raynor.”

  “But you still haven’t answered my question.”

  She smiled. “I don’t think it’s too soon,” she said. “I think it’s about time.”

  “Do I get to be in your romance novel?”

  “You already are.”

  He gave a wicked chuckle. “Maybe we’d better do a little research,” he teased, and tasted her mouth again. Then, suddenly, he straightened, squinted at the Christmas tree behind her. “But wait. What’s that?”

  Addie turned to look, confused.

  Eliza’s Advent calendar was draped, garland-style, across the front of the tree.

  “Why, it’s Aunt Eliza’s Advent calendar!” Frank said, and twiddled at a nonexistent mustache.

  “You might make it in a romance novel,” Addie said, “but if you’re thinking of going into acting, don’t give up your day job.”

  “We forgot to check the twenty-fourth box,” Frank said, recovering quickly from the loss of a career behind the footlights.

  “We did not forget,” Addie said. “It was a little crèche. The kids looked this morning, before breakfast.”

  “I think we should look again,” Frank insisted. “Specifically, I think you should look again.”

  She moved slowly toward the tree, confused. They’d agreed not to give each other gifts this year, though she’d bought a present for Lissie, and he’d gotten one for Henry.

  The twenty-fourth box, unlike the other twenty-three, was closed. Addie slid it open slowly, and gasped.

  “My engagement ring,” she said. The modest diamond was wedged in between the crèche and the side of the matchbox. “You kept it?”

  Frank stood beside her, slipped an arm around her waist. “Eliza kept it,” he said. “Will you marry me, Addie?”

  She turned to look up into his eyes. “Oh, Frank.”

  “I’ll get you a better ring, if you want one.”

  She shook her head. “No,” she said. “I want this one.”

  “Then, you will? Marry me, I mean?”

  “Yes.”

  He pulled her into his arms, kissed her. “When?” he breathed when it was over.

  Addie was breathless. “Next summer?”

  “Good enough.” He laughed, then kissed her again. “In the meantime, we can work on that research.”

  A BRIGHT RED RIBBON

  Fern Michaels

  Even in her dream, Morgan Ames knew she was dreaming, knew she was going to wake with tears on her pillow and reality slapping her in the face. She cried out, the way she always did, just at the moment Keith was about to slip the ring on her finger. That’s how she knew it was a dream. She never got beyond this point. She woke now, and looked at the bedside clock; it was 4:10. She wiped at the tears on her cheeks, but this time she smiled. Today was the day. Today was Christmas Eve, the day Keith was going to slip the ring on her finger and they would finally set the wedding date. The big event, in her mind, was scheduled to take place in front of her parents’ Christmas tree. She and Keith would stand in exactly the same position they stood in two years ago today, at the very same hour. Romance was alive and well.

  She dropped her legs over the side of the bed, slid into a daffodil-colored robe that was snugly warm, and pulled on thick wool socks. She padded out to the miniature kitchen to make coffee.

  Christmas Eve. To her, Christmas Eve
was the most wonderful day of the year. Years ago, when she’d turned into a teenager, her parents had switched the big dinner and gift opening to Christmas Eve so they could sleep late on Christmas morning. The dinner was huge; friends dropped by before evening services, and then they opened their presents, sang carols, and drank spiked eggnog afterward.

  Mo knew a watched kettle never boiled so she made herself some toast while the kettle hummed on the stove. She was so excited her hands shook as she spread butter and jam on the toast. The kettle whistled. The water sputtered over the counter as she poured it into the cup with the black rum tea bag.

  In about sixteen hours, she was going to see Keith. At last. Two years ago he had led her by the hand over to the twelve-foot Christmas tree and said he wanted to talk to her about something. He’d been so nervous, but she’d been more nervous, certain the something he wanted to talk about was the engagement ring he was going to give her. She’d been expecting it, her parents had been expecting it, all her friends had been expecting it. Instead, Keith had taken both her hands in his and said, “Mo, I need to talk to you about something. I need you to understand. This is my problem. You didn’t do anything to make me . . . what I’m trying to say is, I need more time. I’m not ready to commit. I think we both need to experience a little more of life’s challenges. We both have good jobs, and I just got a promotion that will take effect the first of the year. I’ll be working in the New York office. It’s a great opportunity, but the hours are long. I’m going to get an apartment in the city. What I would like is for us to . . . to take a hiatus from each other. I think two years will be good. I’ll be thirty and you’ll be twenty-nine. We’ll be more mature, more ready for that momentous step.”

  The hot tea scalded her tongue. She yelped. She’d yelped that night, too. She’d wanted to be sophisticated, blasé, to say, okay, sure, no big deal. She hadn’t said any of those things. Instead she’d cried, hanging on to his arm, begging to know if what he was proposing meant he was going to date others. His answer had crushed her and she’d sobbed then. He’d said things like, “Ssshhh, it’s going to be all right. Two years isn’t all that long. Maybe we aren’t meant to be with each other for the rest of our lives. We’ll find out. Yes, it’s going to be hard on me, too. Look, I know this is a surprise . . . I didn’t want . . . I was going to call . . . This is what I propose. Two years from tonight, I’ll meet you right here, in front of the tree. Do we have a date, Mo?” She nodded miserably. Then he’d added, “Look, I have to leave, Mo. My boss is having a party in his townhouse in Princeton. It won’t look good if I’m late. Christmas parties are a good way to network. Here, I got you a little something for Christmas.” Before she could dry her eyes, blow her nose, or tell him she had a ton of presents for him under the tree, he was gone.