Mrs. Scrooge

by Barbara Bretton

  Sam zeroed in on a space near J. C. Penny's, then muttered something un-Christmas like as a woman in a blue Volkswagen zipped in ahead of her. "This is disgusting. I think the nearest empty parking spot is in Pennsylvania."

  "What do you expect, Sam? It's ten days before Christmas."

  "I usually wait until Christmas Eve then run out and do all my shopping in one fell swoop."

  "Great attitude, Scrooge."

  She screeched to a halt in front of Macy's. "Did Patty tell you about that?"

  His expression was blank. "Tell me what?"

  "Scrooge. That's my nickname."

  "You're kidding."

  She shook her head and whipped into a parking space a cool hundred feet from the door. `I'm afraid my Christmas spirit has been conspicuously absent these past few years."

  "You seem pretty spirited to me."

  She glanced at him. He wasn't laughing. "Sometimes it takes a swift kick in the seat of your pants to make you appreciate life again."

  He reached across and took her hand in his. "I know, Sam."

  How handsome he looked in the dim light of the truck. The right side of his rugged face was in shadow; the left was illuminated by the refracted glow from the streetlamp. Sharp angles and planes; hazel eyes that warmed her with a look—had there really been a time when Murphy O'Rourke had been a stranger to her life?

  Moments like these were dangerous, however. Moments like these led deeper into the darker terrain of the heart, a place where Sam had little experience.

  * * *

  SAM WAS MANY THINGS: a terrific mother, beautiful woman and budding business genius in the making, but she was one lousy shopper. It took Murphy exactly six minutes and forty-five seconds to discover just how lousy.

  "You need a plan," he said, forcing her to sit down on a bench in front of Macy's. "Give me your list."

  "Mind your own business, O'Rourke."

  "I won't have a chance if you keep us running around in circles all night. Let's attack this scientifically."

  "Spoken just like a man," she said, her dark brown eyes twinkling. "I suppose you know everything there is to know about Christmas shopping."

  "I know how to get it done with a minimum of trouble."

  "I thought trouble was half the fun of Christmastime."

  "You're baiting me, Ms. Scrooge."

  She batted her eyelashes at him. "Now whatever do you mean, Mr. O'Rourke?"

  He grabbed her list and scanned it quickly, looking for his name.

  Sam grabbed the list back. "Don't look at that!"

  "I already did. I'm not on the list."

  He must have looked embarrassingly dejected, because she laughed and kissed him, right there in the middle of Quakerbridge Mall. "I don't need a list, Murphy. I know exactly what I'm getting you for Christmas."

  He grinned. "You do?"

  "I do."

  "Will I like it?"

  She paused, obviously considering his question.

  "I'm reasonably sure you will."

  "Animal, vegetable, or mineral?"

  "Sorry, Murphy. It's a surprise."

  He leaned over and whispered something in her ear and she blushed, but looked pleased.

  "Amazing," she whispered. "How did you ever guess?"

  "Wishful thinking, Sam," he said, counting the days until Christmas. "Wishful thinking."

  * * *

  IT WAS EIGHT DAYS before Christmas. Murphy was getting ready to take Sam and Patty to the McCarter Theater to see a Princeton theater group's version of A Christmas Carol. He was feeling a little like Scrooge himself. Dan Stein had called twice, pushing Murphy to take the job on the Telegram and issuing dire warnings about some young Turk who was ready, willing and able to take Murphy's place if he didn't make up his mind and soon.

  And then there was CNN. They'd sweetened their offer again, tossing in perks that would make another man weak at the knees.

  He reached for his tie and draped it around his neck. His fingers fumbled for a second before muscle memory took over.

  Another man, however, didn't have Samantha Dean to consider. Another man didn't have a brilliant little girl with bright red hair to consider.

  He stared at his reflection in the mirror as he straightened the knot and smoothed the collar of his shirt. He remembered the exact time and place when he bought that shirt. A stormy May afternoon in Paris with a Frenchwoman with laughing eyes by his side.

  Whatever happened to her? Did she walk beside another foreign correspondent now and show him the best places to eat and the best places to drink and the best places to buy his shirts?

  He wanted that old life on the foreign beat.

  He wanted the down-and-dirty excitement of working on the Telegram in New York City.

  And, damn it to hell, he wanted the happiness he'd found right there in Rocky Hill, in Sam's arms.

  Bill's warnings came back to him now, and for the first time he understood. Could he ask Sam to give everything up—everything she'd worked so long and hard to achieve—and fly away with him? Could he ask Patty to live the life of a gypsy, moving from city to city, hotel to hotel, while he pursued his dream?

  The answer was in reach. He could smell it and taste it but he couldn't put his finger on it. Not yet. But it was there, waiting for him to figure it out, and he wasn't sure he was going to like the answer once he found it.

  * * *

  "YOU'RE QUIET TONIGHT." Murphy smoothed Sam's dark hair off her cheek and kissed the curve of her jaw. "Thinking about the Ghost of Christmas Past?"

  Sam closed her eyes for a moment. It was Christmas Yet to Come that concerned her. "The show was great, wasn't it?"

  "Patty seemed to think so."

  "My little girl would like Christmas to last all year long."

  "Sounds good to me."

  Sam looked at him, at his beautiful hazel eyes. "I never thought I'd say this, but it sounds good to me, too. In fact, I wish this Christmas season would never end."

  Please say something, Murphy, before it's too late. Tell me you love me, that you can't imagine leaving me behind while you conquer London and Paris and Rome.

  Of course Murphy said nothing like that. He couldn't, because those words weren't part of him. His heart was torn with love and fear and doubt, all the crazy, wild emotions he'd hoped he'd seen the last of. He wanted everything, Murphy did. He wanted lover and wife. He wanted home and adventure. He wanted everything, and he didn't know what he could give in return.

  And of course Sam didn't pursue the answer, because deep in her heart she didn't really want to know.

  But it was there, hovering between them like Marley's Ghost, and it wouldn't go away.

  * * *

  "BACK EARLY."

  Murphy started at the sound of his father's voice and reached for the kitchen light switch. "Why are you sitting in the dark? We're clearing enough money to pay the electric bill, Pop."

  Bill was seated at the head of the kitchen table with a cup of warm milk in front of him. "I was thinking about your mother."

  Murphy said nothing as he crossed the room toward the refrigerator. What he wanted was a Scotch, straight up. What he had was orange juice straight from the carton. He sat down next to his father and took a long gulp. "Anything in particular about my mother?"

  Bill sighed and shrugged his shoulders. "Just that I loved her, and it wasn't enough to make a difference." Murphy's mother had died in an accident before Murphy was old enough to start school.

  "You always loved her, didn't you?" Murphy asked. His questions surprised him. He usually did a 180-degree turn away from conversations like this.

  "From the first moment."

  "You gave up that job with the Navy to marry her."

  His father's eyes widened. "How'd you know that?"

  It was Murphy's turn to shrug. "I don't know. It seems as if I've always known it." He leaned toward his father. "Was it a hard decision?"

  Bill looked at him as if he were speaking in tongues. "
Hard?"

  "Yeah." Tell me, Pop, he thought. I need your help this time. "Did you ever wonder if you made the right decision?"

  "Never." Bill's eyes filled with tears. "Not even for a second."

  Murphy fell silent. It seemed as if he'd been filled with questions and doubts his entire life, always wondering if something better, something more exciting waited around the next corner. Something that would finally make his father sit up and notice him.

  "You're not for her," said Bill, breaking the heavy silence of the kitchen.

  "I think you're wrong," said Murphy. "I can make her happy. I can take her places she's never been."

  "She's not like you. She's happy making her life here."

  "She won't have financial problems anymore. The pressure will be off."

  "She's the marrying kind, Murphy. Make no mistake about that. She has a daughter and a family and a future to consider, with or without you. She got along fine without you all these years, and she'll be fine again, if you get out now."

  Murphy looked down at his hands. He wanted everything. He wanted Sam and Patty and the life he used to have. "How the hell do I decide?" he asked his father. "How do I know the right thing to do?"

  Bill O'Rourke looked at him long and hard. "Son," he said, his eyes sad and old, "if you have to ask, then you already know the answer."

  * * *

  IT WAS SIX DAYS before Christmas, and Patty was curled up in the back seat of her mom's Blazer, right next to a big beautiful fresh-cut pine tree that smelled exactly the way a Christmas tree ought to smell. Normally her mom insisted on a fake tree because it was easier and could be shoved away back in the basement with no fuss the second the holidays were over. Murphy, however, shared Patty's belief that Christmas meant tradition, and he took them to a Christmas tree farm in Hopewell where she and her mom watched while he huffed and puffed and chopped one down especially for her.

  Her mom had finally stopped being Ms. Scrooge. Murphy was a part of both of their lives. Professor Scotty had volunteered his time and expertise to teach Patty the advanced theories only Princetonians of his caliber were privy to.

  Life was about as wonderful as it was possible to be, and she had Career Day at Harborfields School to thank for it! And although Patty was too old and too smart to believe in such things, the little girl part of her heart couldn't help but pray that the wish she'd whispered in the ear of the Macy's Santa Claus would come true on Christmas morning and she would wake up to discover that Murphy O'Rourke was going to be her dad.

  * * *

  "WHERE DO YOU WANT IT?" Murphy's voice was muffled from under the boughs of the pine tree.

  "In the living room," Sam called, grabbing the bags of ornaments out of the Blazer and closing the tailgate. "Right near the picture window."

  Patty climbed out of the back, looking green around the gills.

  "Are you okay, honey?" Sam asked, feeling her forehead.

  "My stomach hurts."

  Sam chuckled. "It's no wonder after all those hot dogs you ate at the Market Fair. Let's go inside and I'll make you a cup of tea." She followed her daughter into the house.

  Patty disappeared down the hallway toward the living room. Sam put the packages on the counter top and slipped out of her coat. She'd make a nice pot of tea and toast some bread and—.

  "Sam."

  She looked up. Murphy stood in the doorway, an odd expression upon his face.

  "Is something wrong?" She stepped from around the counter. "Patty. Is she—"

  "Patty's okay. There's someone here to see you."

  A man appeared at Murphy's side. A man with bright blue eyes and deep red hair and a smile she knew as well as she knew her own.

  "Hello, Samantha."

  It was Ronald Donovan.

  The father of her child.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Patty sniffled and reached for the tissue on her night-stand. She had cried her way through one entire box and was well on her way to using up a second one since her biological father left a few hours ago.

  If she lived to be an old lady with no teeth and a hearing aid, she'd never, absolutely never forget the look on her mom's face when Captain Donovan said he wanted to take Patty away with him.

  He was a stranger! Oh, sure, she'd seen him once or twice before when she was a real little girl but those visits hadn't amounted to more than a pat on the head and a present wrapped up by some clerk in the department store at Quakerbridge Mall. "Give me something little girls like," he would have said, taking out his wallet. "You be the judge." If she closed her eyes she could still see the chubby girl cherubs and little boy angels on that "Welcome, new baby!" paper wrapped around her birthday present,

  Why didn't he just go back wherever it was he came from? Why should she be punished because he got married and had a little boy of his own and suddenly decided he wanted to be her father, too?

  She wished she didn't have his red hair and blue eyes. She wished she looked just like her mother and could pretend that Captain Donovan never existed, the same way he'd spent so many years pretending his own daughter had never existed.

  "I can give Patricia things you couldn't hope to provide, Captain Donovan had said after Murphy said good-night. The finest private schools, tutors . . . think about it, Samantha. Are you being fair to the child?"

  Patty buried her face in her arms as deep sobs wracked her body. Didn't anybody understand that she was just like other ten-year-old girls? Didn't anybody understand that being smart didn't mean she didn't want the same things all of her friends wanted?

  She didn't care about private schools and tutors and the fancy clothes and computers that Captain Donovan thought were so important for her to have. She wanted to stay right here with her mom and Murphy O'Rourke and be part of a real family.

  All of her friends had moms and dads and sisters and brothers and arguments over who got to use the bathroom next. That's what she prayed to God for each night. That's the wish she wished over her birthday candles and looked for in every fortune cookie she opened.

  It wasn't that much to ask. Why didn't her mom and Murphy O'Rourke understand that all they had to do was get married and all of her wishes would come true?

  * * *

  Murphy hated Air Force Captain Ronald J. Donovan, Jr. The moment he saw the guy standing there, tall and straight and arrogant in his dress blues, it had taken the better part of valor to keep his mouth shut

  "Who the hell does he think he is, showing up like that?" he growled, storming back and forth. "Who the hell shows up ten years later to claim his kid?"

  It's not your business, he warned himself. She's not your kid. Sam's not your wife,

  "He looks like a damn jerk," he said to Scotty without explanation. "Smug, arrogant bastard."

  Scotty opened his mouth to speak but Bill placed a hand on the man's shoulder and met his son's eyes.

  "Can you do better for her, son? What can you offer her that he can't?"

  "I don't know!" Murphy roared. "All I know is I can't stand what's going on."

  He wasn't afraid Sam would run off with her first love. Donovan was married with a kid and a career and plans for the future—a future that finally included Patty. It was something else that ate away at his gut, something darker and more frightening. The terrible thought that maybe the best thing that had ever happened to him was slipping through his hands.

  "You gotta make up your mind to get out of her life, boy. For once in your life don't do what's best for you."

  "It's not that easy," Murphy muttered, pouring himself another whiskey. Sam had done a fine job, bringing up her kid before either Murphy or Ronald Donovan showed up at her doorstep. Patty was bright and funny and endearing, and any man who became her twenty-four-hour-a-day dad would be one lucky guy. "He doesn't want Sam. He wants their kid."

  His father put an arm around Murphy for the first time in a good twenty years. "It's not your decision, son. You don't have the right to an opinion this time around."


  * * *

  SAM WAS DETERMINED that the presence of Ronald Donovan in their lives wouldn't change things, and she embraced wrapping packages and decorating the Christmas tree with almost missionary zeal. She whirled through the small house like a tornado, making certain she stayed one full step ahead of the panic that waited at the outer edges of her mind.

  "Over there!" She pointed toward a bare branch near the top of the tree. "The silver angel goes right next to the sleigh bells."

  Murphy, who had been oddly quiet that evening, looped an ornament hanger through the angel's wings and positioned it on the tree. "How's that?"

  "Terrific." Right word, Sam but where's the spirit to go with it? Things had been so wonderful these past few weeks. She wasn't going to let Ronald Donovan's belated interest in fatherhood ruin the happiness she'd found with Murphy--and she sure wasn't going to let him ruin Patty's Christmas.

  Murphy turned away from the tree, and she felt his gaze on her. "Are you okay, Sam?"

  "Wonderful!" She forced a laugh. "Back to work, O'Rourke. If we want to get this finished before Patty comes home from math class, we have our work cut out for us."

  "Let's take a break."

  She shook her head.

  "Sam." He moved closer and took her hand. "How bad is it?"

  She lowered her head so he wouldn't see the hunted expression she knew was on her face. "Awful. He wants Patty to live with him this summer."

  He was quiet for a moment. "That doesn't sound so terrible. Sure, you'll miss her but isn't this what you wanted for her?"

  "No,'" The force of her word surprised both of them. "I want a father for her, Murphy, not a caretaker. She needs love, not an unlimited expense account."

  "Then your answer should be pretty clear."' "It's not that simple." The truth was that Ronald was offering Patty more than a semester; he was offering her a world of possibilities. She blinked away tears of confusion, then looked up at Murphy. "He can give Patty everything she deserves, Murphy—tutors and computers and the best schools in the country. I can't give her anything more than Rocky Hill and an uncertain future."