Season of Joy

by Virginia Carmichael

  Ralph held up his hands, eyes showing alarm. “Just hold on. You’ve got to look at the big picture, Grant. We can’t turn this down because it’s not the perfect location. A brand-new facility is something we’ve needed for years. That fire was long overdue, if you ask me. And I’m tired of hearing about how the mission is bad for the downtown area. This way, we’re farther away from the fancy businesses and we have a great new location. Everybody is happy.”

  “No,” Grant choked out. “Everybody is not happy. The people who need these services will suffer.”

  “We’ve got to do what’s best in the long run.” Ralph’s black eyes turned serious, and he chose his words carefully. “We would hate to lose you, Grant. But the board has made its decision. We’re accepting the donor’s land and his offer to build a new mission.”

  He shook his head, trying in vain to wrap his mind around the past few hours. “Who is this donor, anyway?”

  Ralph dropped his gaze. In the next half second of silence, Grant knew. Kurt Daniels had orchestrated another coup. He swore he would get Grant to take his money and he had succeeded. Could Calista have been in on this plan with his father, plotting and lying all along? He sat back against the edge of the desk, his hands limp at his sides.

  “He wants to remain anonymous.” Ralph had the decency to look ashamed.

  “I’m sure he does,” Grant murmured.

  “He’s not what you think, Grant. He’s changed. He really thinks this will be good for the mission, and for you.” His voice was quiet, as if he was worried Kurt Daniels would hear him. He stood up and headed for the door.

  “I don’t know what he is, honestly. But I do know that this is wrong on so many different levels.” He felt his shoulders sag. He thought he’d gotten used to lies and betrayals, been hardened to them, but he must still have a soft spot because it felt as though someone had just kicked it.

  “It’s for the best. You’ll see,” he said, and with those words Ralph walked out the door.

  The sharp trill of his office phone broke into Grant’s shock. He moved to lift the receiver, and his greeting felt sluggish and awkward.

  * * *

  She could hear by his voice that he already knew, but she asked anyway. “Grant, have you seen the offer?”

  There was a pause that was so long, she wondered if they’d been disconnected. “Yes.”

  Another beat of silence, then Calista rushed in to fill the void. “I’ve asked the board to wait a few days to make their decision, but it seems like the majority is in favor.”

  “I’m sure they are.”

  Calista chewed her lip and clutched the phone tighter. She had to make him understand. “At the Christmas party on Saturday, I think—”

  She was interrupted by a sound that could only signal shock and disgust, something sharp and guttural. Then he said, as if the words were spilling out, “I may not have made this clear, but one thing I have had my fill of is lies. I’ve had a lifetime’s worth, and I don’t need any more. I’m not going to your Christmas party, Calista, because I avoid people who can’t be honest. And don’t try to say something like ‘I didn’t lie, I just didn’t tell the whole truth’ because we both know that’s not true.”

  Calista’s jaw had dropped after his first few words and her fingers had gone numb from gripping the phone. She swallowed. “Grant, I have a lot of faults, but dishonesty is not one of them.”

  “And how do I know for sure? Should I ask my father for a character reference?”

  “Your—” Did he think she and Kurt Daniels were in league? She squeezed her eyes closed. There was no one to vouch for her; she had no advocates. “I don’t know him. I’m as surprised as you are. I heard the news yesterday evening.”

  There was no response. She thought she heard him exhale.

  “Anyway, I don’t think I’ll be up for a Christmas party this weekend. I have a lot to do.”

  Calista’s throat closed shut and she struggled to take a breath. She didn’t care about the party, the dress, the elegant evening. If she hung up now, she might never see him again. He would always think she had schemed her way into owning the mission property.

  “Grant, listen to me.” Her voice shook on the last word and she stopped to swallow again. “Whatever you believe—about me and this deal and your father—just listen.”

  Silence. But there wasn’t a click, either.

  “This party will be full of people that I invited just for you to meet. The Genesis Drinks president will be there. And Terrence Brewer, the head of Alton Banking; and Jenn Blackrite, who runs Cimulus, the software giant; and the governor, Dennis Michael.” She paused for a breath. He didn’t interrupt. So maybe he was still listening. “Whatever you think...” she could hardly speak the words “...of me, I’m asking you to come meet these people. I think this is your best chance to save the mission. Your board is accepting the offer because of the fire. I’m almost sure of it.”

  “I don’t see how it can possibly make that much difference.” His tone was flat, colorless.

  “You don’t, but I do. I’ve seen how deep these corporate pockets can be. I know the kinds of donations they give. We’re talking hundreds of thousands of dollars.”

  “Wouldn’t it be better to approach their representatives, the traditional way? Nobody wants to be bothered at a party.”

  “Trust me, Grant. Just this once.” Her heart was in her throat. “After the party, you can never speak to me again, if you want, but for the mission, I’m asking you...” She couldn’t finish. The room blurred and Calista blinked furiously.

  “Well, like you said at church, maybe I’m being too proud. I’m thinking of myself, and not the mission.” He said it lightly, but his words cut her so sharply, Calista was surprised that she wasn’t bleeding. He didn’t want to be around her, it was clear.

  “Right.” She was proud the word came out clearly, not wavering or breathless.

  “Then I’ll see you Saturday. Can we meet there?”

  He wanted to spend as little time as possible with her alone. Calista shrugged off the biting pain and agreed. As she hung up the phone, she dropped her face into her hands. Hot tears slipped between her fingers, and the grief she’d kept in check for the past several minutes spilled over her in waves. Yet again, in the end, all she had left was her job.

  Lord, take this situation and everything in it. Help me to know what to do.

  * * *

  Grant stood on the steps of the Grant-Humphreys Mansion and tried to look pleasant. His face felt frozen, unyielding, but he forced the corners of his mouth into a smile. The elite of Denver business and society streamed out of luxury vehicles and up the steps, diamonds glittering in the darkness, white tuxedo fronts glowing. Golden light shone from the long window panes and off the oversize balconies. The sound of a string quartet and holiday cheer spilled out the door and mingled with the slam of car doors. He paced a few steps, from one giant pillar to the next, then checked his watch again. She was always early. Or so she said. He wasn’t sure what to believe anymore.

  The wide expanse of the stone steps had been cleared of the snow that fell earlier in the day. Tonight there would be more. Grant had always loved the snow, but now he felt empty, cold. That was about all he could manage and he hoped it was enough. God knew what he was feeling. He couldn’t put any of the rest of it into words, anyway.

  A silver car caught his eye and he straightened his shoulders. Calista got out, handed her keys to the valet and strode toward the front steps. He had told himself to be distant but friendly, focused on business. He was here for the mission. But one glimpse of her and his heart felt as though it was being squeezed in a steel trap. One with teeth. His mind seemed to take in every detail and catalog it for the future, without his permission.

  Her eyes were darker, dramatically shadowed, and her lips were
a shade lighter than her dress, a red that was purely Christmas. No plum or burgundy or demure wine color. The color reminded him of the very best Christmas memories he had. She was halfway up the steps, still focused on the front door, holding her ankle-length dress in one hand. A matching jacket covered her shoulders and her bright blond hair was up in a soft chignon, dotted with sparkling pins. On her jacket was a snowflake brooch that caught the light and shimmered against the soft skin of her neck. When she was just feet from him, she looked up, caught his gaze and tripped.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Calista rehearsed the words in her head, willing herself to remember. She had spent hours working on the right phrases, the right tones. He couldn’t leave this party thinking she was a liar and a cheat. It felt as though her whole life depended on it.

  She handed off her keys to the valet and started up the stone steps. The mansion looked as gorgeous as always, strong and sturdy, built to show the wealth and prosperity of turn-of-the-century Denver. Every time she visited, she felt another wave of awe. It looked like the party was in full swing and people milled everywhere. She glanced up at the balconies and noted the figures huddled in groups. It was a great party if people braved the freezing temperatures for a breather in the night air.

  One hand went to her mama’s pin on her jacket. It calmed her just a bit, and she whispered a prayer. Please, Lord, be with us.

  She dodged a slow-moving couple and glanced up, one hand holding her dress so she didn’t step on the hem. And she saw him just a foot away, standing cold and aloof in the shadow of a pillar. His handsome face bore some expression she couldn’t define. His eyes were locked on hers. Tuxedos always made her feel as if the man was wearing a disguise, but he seemed achingly familiar. She dropped the fold of fabric in her hand to wave, and the next moment she was pitching forward. Strong hands gripped her elbows and he used the momentum to propel her clear of the last step. An abrupt stop, and she dragged in a breath, her heart pounding. They were only inches apart. His hands still gripping her arms, she couldn’t seem to look away, even though his eyes had a hollow look to them that made her stomach clench.

  “Well, that’s what I get for being late.” What a stupid thing to say, but for some reason it made him smile. A real smile that reached those bright blue eyes.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Of course, just not used to the long dress. And probably shouldn’t be running in heels.”

  “I think that’s a rule, isn’t it?” He took her hand and tucked it into the curve of his arm.

  “It can’t be. Women run in heels all the time in the movies. Usually when they’re dodging bombs or running from assassins.”

  He laughed a bit, a soft sound that made hope spring up in her chest. They were almost at the front door, crowds already visible inside.

  “Grant, I’m glad you came. I really think this can work.” So much for all the fancy phrases she was going to use. When she looked into his face, noted the set of his jaw and the line of his lips, she couldn’t remember a thing she’d thought to say. Oh, well, it seemed to cover it.

  His smile faded away and he nodded. “I hope you’re right. You look beautiful. In case I don’t tell you that when we get going inside.”

  Calista’s heart jumped to her throat and she felt her cheeks burn. She wanted to be beautiful for him, wanted this party to be something special. If only they could fall into some other life, or start fresh. But that wasn’t going to happen. They had people relying on them to keep the mission open. She swallowed. “Thank you. And you should wear a tux at least once a month. Just for fun.” She gave him a saucy wink that had more confidence than she felt.

  He snorted. “Don’t get any ideas.”

  * * *

  They stepped into the large ballroom and Grant could feel the gaze of every person there on him. The chatter of party guests grew quiet and eventually, it was nearly silent except for the string quartet. The marble floors and tall ceilings made the mournful tones echo. Calista glanced at him, her expression rueful. “Sorry, I tend to have that effect on parties. I suck the life right out of them.”

  He scanned the room, looking for familiar faces. Not a one. And the faces he saw didn’t look exactly thrilled to see them.

  “Come on.” Calista held her head high, walking confidently toward a lanky gentleman with fine gray hair and a weak chin. As they crossed the room, the conversation seemed to pick up again, strand by strand, until the party was back in full swing.

  “Brett, this is Grant Monohan, the director of the Downtown Denver Mission. Brett Caldwell, the head of our board of directors.”

  Grant reached out a hand, pasting a pleasant smile to his face. He could see the surprise flicker across Brett’s face and wondered if the board even knew Calista volunteered at the mission.

  “A pleasure, for sure. We’re very happy with the mission’s offer to sell. This will be a good move for all of us.” Brett’s tone was slightly condescending, as if he were thanking Grant for trading lunches.

  “We’ll see, Brett. Nothing has been decided yet.” Calista’s voice was light, but Grant felt her hand right on his arm. “Enjoy the party. We’re off to make the rounds.”

  She guided him away, leaning her head toward his shoulder. He could smell a light floral perfume and something like vanilla. “Ignore him. He knows nothing is signed yet.”

  “And he also knows I can’t force the board to do what I want.”

  She glanced up at him, her green eyes made deeper by the dramatic shadow. She reminded him of the old film stars, beautiful and elegant. He thought he would be happy to stare at her all night. Thankfully that wasn’t an option. “Your snowflake pin is pretty. It looks like an antique.”

  She put a hand to the pin, touching it lightly with her fingers. A soft smile touched her lips. “It was my mother’s. The only thing of hers that survived the fire. She loaned it to me for senior pictures...that day.”

  He turned her to face him, pausing in the middle of the crowd. “I didn’t get a chance to tell you how sorry I am about your mother. And how very brave you were during the mission fire.”

  In an instant, she wasn’t the CEO of a company that held its Christmas party in a mansion. She was a young girl, facing her fears. “I can’t imagine the mission without Marisol.”

  He nodded. He couldn’t imagine his life without Marisol. “Sometimes I think she holds the place together.”

  A woman approached them from the side, her dark hair dramatically streaked with white on one side. The gold column gown she wore showcased a lithe figure. Her eyes flitted from one to another, but her smile was bright. “Calista, dear! You’ve brought a date this year.”

  Calista introduced them, and he shook hands with Jenn Blackrite. He had always figured millionaires to be aloof, critical, like his father. But Jenn was witty and warm, asking questions about the mission and the fire.

  “They’re going to close if they can’t raise the funds to repair the kitchen.” Calista’s words caught him by surprise. It was true. Mostly.

  Jenn put a hand to her mouth, her large topaz ring winking in the light. “No! That can’t happen. There are so many people who need the mission, especially now, in the wintertime.”

  “I agree. But what can they do?”

  Jenn leaned forward, gripping Grant’s arm. “We give to Universal Charity every year. This year we can give our donation to the mission. And more. We can’t let it close.”

  Grant opened his mouth to thank her, when they were interrupted by a slim young woman. Jenn handed him her card, scribbling something on the back, with instructions to call on Monday. Then she walked away with the young woman, deep in conversation.

  “See?” The glee in Calista’s voice was infectious.

  “But does she mean it? Or is it like ‘let’s do lunch’ and then nothing ever happens?�
��

  “Jenn has a great reputation and if she says she will, she will.”

  He couldn’t help chuckling a bit. Was there hope after all?

  “And there are so many more. Oh, Grant! I know this will work!” She fairly bounced on her toes, face alight.

  “Where next? I feel like I should be using some sort of title for you, like ‘Most Magnificent One.’ You have a gift. I’m glad you use it for good and not evil.” He was teasing, the success letting his words slip away without any thought.

  Her eyes turned somber. “I haven’t always. I made money to make money, with no purpose to it.”

  There was such a sadness in her tone, it was hard for him to resist reaching out and gathering her to him. He was barely aware of the guests milling around them. Her face was tilted up to him and he could see tiny flecks of gold in her green eyes. “That was then.”

  “And this is now.” Her lips tugged up at the corners. “Let’s get cracking, Mr. Director.”

  * * *

  “I’ve got to take a break. My jaw hurts from smiling so much.” Calista rubbed her cheeks and groaned. She almost wished she could go back to the days when she popped into a party for five minutes and then left.

  “Agreed. I’m going to go over and drink the entire punch bowl.”

  Calista giggled, and then groaned again. “Please don’t make me laugh. I don’t think my face can take it.”

  “Knock, knock,” he said, then broke off as she poked him in the side.

  “Here, let’s get some spiced cider and take it out on the balcony. I need some air.”

  Grant poured her a cup of the steaming, fragrant liquid and then took one for himself. She glanced at him, wondering if he was enjoying himself at all. He was certainly not as distant as he’d been on the phone.