10 Holiday Stories

by Dara Girard

  “You’re bleeding all over my kitchen floor and you say it’s nothing? Sit down.”

  He did so, his face burning from humiliation, but he kept his head high.

  She looked at the wound. “You’ll need stitches.”

  “I can handle it.”

  “What? You think you can stitch it up yourself with one hand?”

  “Yes.” He’d stitched up lots of wounds before, and he watched her, daring her to ask him to explain, but instead she shrugged and said, “Well, you’re not going to. Come on.”

  He returned from having his hand stitched up at a nearby medical clinic, but quickly developed a fever. By the next day he was delirious. It had gotten infected and Miranda felt awful. She didn’t know who she should call. If anything were to happen to him, it would be her fault, because of her silly lie. And in his delirium he spoke about his hates and fears and someone named Sarah. Was that someone to call? Unfortunately, he didn’t have a cell phone on him, which she found unusual for someone so young.

  Fortunately, by the third day, the fever broke, but he was still weak.

  “How long have I been like this?” Brett asked, his gaze drifting to the window where the moon shone bright outside.

  “Two days.”

  He swore, then looked at her and apologized.

  “That’s okay, I’m your aunt, remember, not your mother.”

  He slowly sat up, making sure not to put any pressure on his wounded hand. “You’re not even that.”

  “I’m just glad you’re better. This is payback for letting me use you.”

  “No, I really—”

  “That was a joke. Let’s get you something to eat.”

  Moments later, Brett sat in the kitchen wearing an expensive maroon sweater Miranda had meant to give to John, feeling full after a meal she’d prepared. He looked around the kitchen at the frosted glass fronted cabinets and tea kettle in the shape of a hen. Miranda caught his look. “That was my father’s favorite. Said it reminded him of my mother.”

  Brett wrapped his hand around the warm mug of spiced cider she’d prepared. “My mother was like this drink—soothing and sweet. You would have liked her.”

  “Wish I could have met her.”

  He took a sip of the cider then set it down. “Me too.”

  “What if…” Miranda stopped and bit her lip.

  “What if what?” he urged her.

  “It’s a crazy idea, but just think about it. What if I were to meet them? What would breakfast have been like?”

  Brett leaned back in his chair and shook his head. “It would have been crazy. Likely with my dad making obscure references about his favorite game of cricket and my mother asking me if I’ve had enough to eat while piling my plate with more food.”

  “Let me have them over for breakfast.” Miranda held up a hand before he could speak. “I know it sounds crazy, but you pretended for me. Let me pretend for you. It’s Christmas tomorrow and I’d really like to do this for you. What would you have liked to serve them?” She pulled out her cell phone to start a list.

  “Are you serious?”

  “Very. Come on. While you think of what you’d like to serve them let me go get my good dishes.” She jumped up with the energy of a little girl getting ready to set up a tea party.

  “But this is—”

  “Never mind.” She put her phone away. “I’ll decide for you.”

  7

  She’d done it again. Why couldn’t he say no to her? Brett stared at the four place settings in wonder. Miranda almost made him really believe they were expecting guests. She’d given him one of her father’s shirts and a pair of trousers to wear, but what amazed him more was that he was glad to have a reason to stay longer.

  The cool morning rays of December splashed across the white plates and over the pan-fried jack, mackerel, scrambled eggs and papaya salad. Moments later, as she introduced herself and talked to the empty chairs in such a way that made it all seem real, he could see his parents. He could see the naughty twinkle in his father’s eyes, the shy smile on his mother’s face. Soon he was talking to them too and could imagine their laughter and feel their love. And for the first time in a long while, he felt at home, safe, wanted.

  And he could imagine having a home of his own and a family. He turned towards the hallway. “Uh oh I hear the baby crying,” he said.

  Miranda’s eyes widened. “Baby?”

  The look of surprise on her face made him eager to continue the pretence. “Should I go check on her or—”

  “Oh, no,” she said, quickly catching on. “I’m sure your wife will have her quieted down soon and will join us.”

  His good humor fell. “No, I thought—”

  “What?”

  He stared at her, embarrassment seizing his heart. He thought what he shouldn’t have. For a moment he’d imagined that they were…that she was…but that was wrong. She saw him as a substitute for her nephew, nothing more. And he felt ashamed of his feelings. He had so little he had to offer her. Plus, he knew she only saw the difference in their ages.

  Miranda rested her hand on his arm and said, “I’ve been telling your parents what a good father you are.”

  He nearly lost it then. It was as if she’d uncovered a secret desire. He’d wanted to be the man his father had been to him. But not only had she said the words that hit him at his core, she’d touched him. He hadn’t been touched like this in so long, too long and it sent a course of agonizing pleasure through him.

  He didn’t want to pretend any more. He didn’t want to pretend to be her nephew, to pretend that his parents were alive, to pretend that he had a place to come home too. He had to end this.

  He pulled his arm away. “I can’t do this anymore.”

  Miranda blinked with concern. “I’m sorry I didn’t mean—”

  “It’s all right. I’m just…I should go.”

  “What’s the rush? I’d like to show you the store.”

  “No.” He gathered up a plate and went into the kitchen.

  “You’re angry with me,” she said, following him.

  He set the plate down on the counter. “I’m not angry. I just…it’s time for me to go.”

  “On Christmas Day?”

  “Yes.”

  She rested her hands on her hips, staring at him for a long moment, then shrugged. “Okay.” She left the kitchen.

  He paused. Somehow he’d expected her to argue, to fight him. Or maybe he just wanted her to so she’d give him a reason to stay. He went back into the dining room where he found her cleaning up the table. “Miranda?”

  “Yes?”

  He stood in front of her. “I’m older than I look.”

  She grinned. “No, you’re not.”

  He sighed. She was right.

  “Besides, when you’re in your twenties, it doesn’t matter if you’re twenty-four and she’s twenty-five.”

  “I’m twenty-eight.”

  “Oh.” She winked at him. “Then you are older than I thought. Anyway, there’s no trouble if—”

  “I’m not interested in Eva, I told you that before. I don’t want to pretend anymore. I want to play the uncle.”

  She stared up at him, wide eyed. “You want to play my uncle?”

  “No, that’s not what I meant. I mean, I want you to play the aunt and I play the uncle.”

  Miranda shook her head then gathered up more plates and headed for the kitchen. “Perhaps we should stop playing altogether.”

  He blocked her path. “Only if we can start being real?”

  “Real?”

  He bit his lip then took a deep breath, holding her gaze even though it scared him. “Please tell me you feel it too.”

  Miranda took a hasty step back then set the plates on the table with a clatter. “Of course I feel it,” she admitted, sounding breathless. “But it’s just the season and we’re both sad and lonely and happen to find—”

  “Love?”

  “Each other.”

&nbs
p; “Isn’t that the same thing?”

  “No.”

  With his good hand, he reached out and clasped her hand in his. “Yes, it is. We both know this feels right.”

  “Who’s Sarah?”

  He stiffened. “What?”

  “You said her name over and over again when—”

  “She’s my past. She’s…not part of my life right now. You don’t have to worry about anybody else.” Brett clasped her hand tighter, feeling her hesitation and fear. “I know it seems fast and I know it’s sudden and I don’t understand it all myself. But I do know that I want you to be a part of my life and I’ll do whatever it takes to make that happen. I don’t mind moving here and working in your store. Just until I get settled and—”

  Miranda looked down at their joined hands. “This is crazy.”

  “No crazier than hosting my dead parents for breakfast.”

  “Well, when you say it like that,” she began to say, but he stopped her words with a kiss. And soon no words were needed. When they finally drew apart, Miranda stared up at him in wonder. Was this really happening? She searched his face, seeing that the cynicism had gone from his eyes and voice, but there was still something a little sad in his expression. Something she couldn’t understand.

  “What do I have to do to get you to smile?” she asked.

  He blinked, confused. “Why do I need to smile?”

  “I don’t know. So that I can know you’re truly happy.”

  His brows shot up. “I don’t look happy?”

  “No.”

  “But I am,” he said with feeling, gathering her close. “More than I can say,” he said then kissed her again, determined to make her believe him.

  They spent Christmas Day in a hazy, all-consuming joy. They went to the movies to watch the latest action film, Brett holding Miranda’s hand every time she jumped in fright, or stroking her hair when she buried her face in his chest. Later, she showed him around the town and took him to her greatest pride—Simmonds Hardware. There, as she showed him around the building, where he saw a picture of her father as a young man, and they talked about the people they missed. The ones who never seemed far from their thoughts, but whose memory no longer caused them pain. That evening they shared their hopes and dreams for the future, falling asleep on the couch amidst the glow of fading firelight.

  Miranda woke up before Brett and snuck into the kitchen, hoping to surprise him with breakfast. She had his tray made when someone knocked on the door. She rested the tray in the foyer and answered.

  “We just got back,” Eva said. “I wanted to see if you were okay and wanted to come over for—” She paused when her gaze fell on the tray. “What is that?” She didn’t give Miranda a chance to respond. She pushed her way inside. “Is he still here? And he’s making you wait on him hand and foot?”

  “He’s not making me do anything. We—”

  Eva grabbed the tray. “He’s already making himself king of the castle.” She headed to the stairs.

  “He’s not there, he’s in the living room, but—”

  “But nothing. I might as well say ‘hi’ to him. You look as if you haven’t slept.”

  Fortunately, Brett was awake when Eva stormed into the room; he’d heard her voice and then her pounding footsteps. He silently swore. She certainly wasn’t the first face he wanted to see in the morning. He stood up and reached out to grab the tray, hoping he could balance it with one hand.

  She set the tray down. “What did you do to your hand?”

  “The moment it becomes any of your business I’ll let you know.”

  Her lip became a straight line. “Now listen here—”

  “It’s Boxing Day, but not the type that you think,” Miranda said, trying for humor. “Let’s not—”

  “I didn’t expect you to still be here,” Eva said, ignoring her. “But I’m glad you are. Because you don’t fool me.”

  Brett sat down. “Fine, but first let me tell you—”

  Eva sat cross from him, leaning forward as if she were in the middle of a tough negotiation. “I don’t care what you have to say. Find someone else to live off of. Find some poor girl with a place of her own where you can move into. You may not remember, but I won’t forget all the pain you’ve caused your aunt over the years. But if you do the right thing, I’ll salute you on the way out.”

  “Eva, that’s enough,” Miranda said. “He doesn’t deserve that.”

  “You’re just blind because he’s family.”

  “I’m not blind. I know that John is all that you’ve said. Unfortunately,” she looked at Brett and offered him a wink. “Or perhaps fortunately, he’s not him.”

  “What?”

  “He was helping me save face. His name is Brett Greenwood.”

  Eva’s eyes widened and she leaped to her feet. “What!”

  “We both know—”

  “That this is insane?” Eva finished, her voice near a shriek. “Ms. Miranda, you don’t know what you’re doing. You asked a perfect stranger into your home just so you could fool us?”

  “He’s not really a stranger. My father knew his father.”

  “So what?” Eva folded her arms and looked at Brett. “So what are your plans?”

  “We plan to build a future together,” Miranda said.

  But Eva kept her gaze on Brett as if Miranda hadn’t spoken. “Are you planning on moving into this lovely house and then working for her? That would be real cozy for you, wouldn’t it? You wouldn’t have to work hard at all.”

  “Eva, what we decide is none of your business.”

  Eva continued to keep her gaze on Brett. “I know it’s a new age, but shouldn’t a man provide something besides a dic—”

  “Eva, I won’t ask you again. He’s a guest in my home and that’s enough.”

  Eva spun towards her. “You’re selling yourself short. You let John treat you like dirt and you’ll let this man do it too. Aren’t you tired of people feeling sorry for you?”

  “Yes, but only because people feel sorry for me for the wrong reasons. They’re sorry I’m not married or don’t have kids. But I loved the life I made with my father and the adventures we had together. I don’t regret helping my sister and nephew when they needed me. And I don’t regret letting myself fall in love, even though I don’t know the future.”

  “You’re always taking care of others. When are you going to find a man who will take care of you?”

  “She’s met him,” Brett said, standing and moving to Miranda’s side. “I may not have much now, but I will.”

  “‘Will’ is a mighty long ways off from ‘now,’” Eva said with a sneer. “Men like you are all talk. I met you in school, I see you in clubs, I see you at work. Opportunists who find lonely women—”

  “Just go,” Miranda said, surprised by the ugliness in Eva’s tone. Eyes she’d once seen as so caring now frightened her, and the pity she’d feared to see had turned to disgust. “Before you say something that will end our friendship for good.”

  Eva spun around and walked away.

  8

  “We have to get rid of him,” Eva said, after she’d told her mother about her conversation with Miranda. They both sat in their living room while her mother put aside the gift items they knew they’d never use.

  “Why don’t you leave the poor woman alone?”

  “She doesn’t know what she’s doing.”

  “She’s older than you are and has managed her life just fine,” Mary said.

  “You’re the one who thought she was daft.”

  “I did, but maybe she knows something we don’t.”

  “What could that be?”

  “What love at first sight is.”

  Eva rolled her eyes. “That’s ridiculous. She’s being naïve and so are you. I know more about men my age than she does. She doesn’t know what men can be like.”

  “You sound jealous.”

  “Me?” Eva rested a hand on her chest, wounded. “Jealous of her?”
/>   “No, of him. Do you feel as if he’s taking your place?”

  “That’s outrageous. I—”

  Mary sent her daughter a level look. “Then leave her alone and stop worrying about things that have nothing to do with you.”

  “I know what men like him can be like. They see a woman with a fine house and good job and lonely bed and think they can fill it.”

  “And if she wants him to, is that your business?”

  “She deserves better.” Eva shook her head. “I can’t believe—”

  “If you’d stop talking, you’d open your eyes, pet.”

  “What?”

  “Can’t you recognize when you’re in the presence of true love?” She smiled at her daughter’s shocked expression. “I know that sounds odd coming from me, but it’s true. I knew the first moment I saw him that he wasn’t John.”

  “Yes, I felt it too because he’s a fraud.”

  “No, because I saw a young man falling in love when he didn’t expect to. Not even Miranda noticed how his gaze followed her. I’m glad they found each other.” She stood. “So you leave them be,” she said, then went upstairs.

  True love? Eva looked out the window and stared at Miranda’s house across the street, her mouth a straight line. “Sorry Mum, I can’t.”

  9

  Somehow she knew he’d disappear from her life. She’d remembered their last conversation before he’d gone to take a shower.

  “She’s right,” Brett said, taking a seat on the couch, staring at the breakfast that had gone cold. “I don’t have anything to offer you right now and—”

  Miranda sat beside him, taking his hand. “That’s okay.”

  He shook his head. “No, it’s not okay. What would your father think of a man like me? Moving in, having you pay my wages. It doesn’t look right. I should at least be making my own way.”

  “I need some help at the store and I could charge you room and board. How does that sound?”

  He sighed. “Do you mind if I take a shower?”

  “No, but a bath may be better. You don’t want to get your hand wet.”

  “I’ll wrap it tight,” he said, then disappeared upstairs. She didn’t follow him, giving him the space he needed.