“I’m holding you to that.”
After so many hours in a heated building, Chris was relieved to step outside into the cold night air. The world of electricity seemed strange after a week without. He’d lost his tolerance for asphalt parking lots under the glare of bright white lights and the intrusion of illuminated building signs. The stars didn’t shine so brightly with all this competition. He really missed the blackness of the Hawkridge nights.
Driving down Ridgeville’s Main Street, he was surprised to see all the lighted Christmas decorations—shining Santas, wreaths and bells and snowmen. A lighted Christmas tree stood in practically every window. After the girls’ Peace Day celebration, Chris had practically forgotten about Christmas.
Then, as he registered at the reception desk of the Ridgeville Inn, he realized today was Christmas Day. His weary eyes finally saw the garlands of greenery hung from the doors and windows and the staircase banister. He turned toward the elevator and, amazed, took a step backward at the sight of a huge Christmas tree decorated with gold and maroon glass balls and thousands of twinkling lights. Somewhere—the dining room, maybe—a piano played Christmas music.
He should have wished Charlie a Merry Christmas before he left the hospital; they might not share another one. Regret made Chris even wearier.
Once he got to his room, a long, hot shower revived his spirits somewhat. Shaving, he decided, could wait until tomorrow. Clean underwear, socks, sweatpants and a T-shirt definitely made the world a better place. The mirror in the bathroom showed that his bruises had turned an ugly shade of green, splotched with yellow and brown.
Those old aches and pains, he thought, were probably not as much punishment as he deserved.
Taking a candy bar and a soda from the room’s minibar, Chris sat on the bed, staring at the phone. What was Jayne doing with her Christmas night? Not celebrating, he knew. What would she say if he wished her a Merry Christmas?
Would she talk to him at all?
The phone stared back without answering. There was only one way to find out.
JAYNE’S EVENING HADN’T turned out as she’d expected.
On the drive from the school into Ridgeville, the girls had concluded that their choice for dinner would be pizza.
Sarah, riding in the front passenger seat, looked over at Jayne. “Is that okay, Ms. Thomas?”
“I think it sounds delicious. And we won’t have to dress up.” Since all Jayne really wanted to do was crawl into bed and pull the covers over her head, a slight delay for pizza didn’t matter very much.
As they reached the outskirts of town, the girls began to exclaim at the holiday decorations on houses, barns and fences. When they turned onto Main Street, the shops were closed but the windows displayed every sort of holiday scene.
Jayne glanced at the date on the dashboard clock display. “Good grief. It’s Christmas Day.”
Sarah laughed. “That’s right, it is. Merry Christmas, everybody.” A chorus of greetings responded.
“Happy Yule.”
“Mazel tov.”
“Merry Merry!”
“Here’s to world peace,” Yolanda said. And all the girls laughed.
Jayne wondered what Chris and Charlie would do for Christmas Day. Her yearning to be with them was silly, she knew. She hadn’t remembered anything about before. She didn’t like Christmas, she’d told him several times.
Still, she would have felt better not being alone.
The Ridgeville Inn very kindly gave them three rooms on the same floor—two connecting ones for the girls, and a room across the hall for Jayne. The girls all took turns flipping lights on and off, celebrating the luxury of life without flashlights. They switched on the televisions and immediately began to squabble over which program to watch. Jayne had to referee the fight over renting “in room” films, as well.
“One movie a day in one room a day,” she told them.
“But I haven’t seen any of these movies,” Taryn wailed. “Can’t we have a movie in each room? Every day?”
“No.”
“Could we have two movies a day in one room?”
“No. One movie, one room, each day. And no adult ratings. General audience movies only.”
Monique groaned. “We might as well watch cartoons.”
“Those are the rules. If I discover you’ve broken them—and I will, because I’ll have daily printouts of the room charges—there will be consequences, just as if we were still in school.”
“Can we have room service?” Beth asked. “They have chips and dips, and cheese trays and hot artichoke dip with pita toast and—”
“That’s the good news.” She smiled at them. “The pizza restaurant is closed for the holiday.” Predictable groans greeted her announcement. “Room service is our best option. So you can study the menu and decide what you’d like to eat while I take a shower.” She turned to Sarah. “Don’t let them loose.”
Sarah smiled. “We’ll be fine.”
The problem with being alone was that she had too much time to think…about Chris. She pictured him driving down the mountain, turning onto River Road and pulling to a stop at his grandfather’s house. Her mind showed her a wood cabin with a stone chimney—was that memory, or something he’d told her?
He’d mentioned the cabin in the stories, she recalled, when Juliet—she—had visited. Today, Charlie, his grandfather, would be glad to see him. Chris would get into clean clothes—his old ones had been a little rank—and the two men, old and young, would talk. Maybe Chris would tell him about finding Juliet. And losing her again.
Out of the shower, Jayne took the time to rub lotion on every inch of skin she could reach. The steamy mirror reflected a blurred image of her body—not the slim, agile form of a girl who could climb mountains and trees and do somersaults through the grass. Jayne didn’t remember ever being slender. Had Elizabeth Jayne fattened her up as a disguise, like a goose being raised to provide liver for paté?
Such treachery still stunned her. She turned the blow dryer on High, hoping to blow out or brush off the hurt. It didn’t work, of course, but clean lingerie, slacks, shirt and sweater left her feeling ready for almost anything. Even room service for eight.
She allowed the girls to order anything they wanted, which turned out better than she expected. Yes, the servers delivered seven different appetizer dishes, and five different large pizzas blanketed an entire bed. But at the end of the evening, only three boxes of leftovers remained. Jayne suspected those would be empty before long.
“No one leaves this floor until tomorrow morning,” she told them, giving her instructions for the night. “No one leaves their room after eleven, so get the drinks and candy bars you want before then. Be quiet in the hallway—other people are trying to sleep. We don’t have anywhere else to go if they kick us out. Except back to Hawkridge.”
“Oh, we wouldn’t want to go there,” Yolanda declared.
“No movies,” Haley added.
“Exactly,” Jayne said, smiling. “Do not destroy the room, the furniture or the televisions. Please avoid spilling drinks and grinding food into the carpet. Remember, one movie in one room.”
“Shoot,” Taryn muttered. “I hoped you’d forget.”
Selena looked at her with eyebrows raised. “This is Tommy you’re talking about.”
“Ahem.” Jayne cleared her throat. “I expect you to represent the school in a way that makes me proud. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to call. Just dial my room number, 593. Questions?”
The girls shook their heads.
“Then I hope you have a good night watching free TV and one movie rated for general audiences.”
“We got the message,” Beth said, holding the door for her to leave. “Good night, Ms. Thomas.”
“Good night, girls.”
Smiling, Jayne crossed the hall and let herself into her own room. She’d never gotten to know a group of students quite so well. She would miss them when school started and life returned to
normal.
Just as she pulled her pajama top over her head, the phone rang.
Maybe she wouldn’t miss them, after all. How could they possibly need her again already?
She sighed and picked up the phone. “What now?”
Chris said, “I guess you were expecting someone else?”
HE HEARD HER GASP over the phone line. “I, um, I thought the girls were calling.”
Always the girls. He supposed he’d better get used to it. “Do you need to keep the line free? I can let you go.”
“Oh, no. That’s…I mean, they can come across the hall, if it’s an emergency.”
“You have a room to yourself? That’s a restful change.” And this was a silly conversation, not at all what he wanted to say.
“I’m not sure the girls won’t jump out of their rooms like popcorn kernels escaping a hot kettle.” She gave that low chuckle he loved. “But the absence of noise is wonderful.”
“I’m glad. You deserve…well, a lot of wonderful things.” Could he sound more adolescent? “I wanted to wish you a Merry Christmas.”
“Oh.” After a pause, she said, “Merry Christmas to you, Chris.” Her voice sounded…warm. Almost happy. “Did you get to your grandfather’s house without trouble?”
“Not exactly.”
“What happened?”
“Charlie’s sick.” He described his panicked exit from the doctor’s office to the hospital.
“Oh, Chris, I’m so sorry. Will he recover?”
“This time, probably. He’s on his third round with the cancer, though, and the chemo is just to keep him as comfortable as possible.” He wiped his eyes on the sleeve of his T-shirt. “They aren’t sure how long he’ll last.”
“I know that must be hard for you. Watching someone you love fade away requires more strength than seems possible, sometimes.” Her soft tone and gentle words gave him comfort he hadn’t known he needed.
He hoped he had the strength to offer the same. “You were with your grandmother when she passed away, weren’t you?”
“Yes. Except…” The gentleness disintegrated, to be replaced with cold steel.
Chris hardened his own resolve. “She wasn’t really your grandmother, you were going to say?”
“Well, evidently she wasn’t. There’s…proof.”
“I’ve been thinking about Elizabeth Jayne.” He cleared his throat. “Although it’s easy to be angry about what she did, maybe we have to offer her some understanding.”
“I don’t see how that’s possible.”
“Suppose the family she told you about was real—she lost her grandkids plus her daughter and son-in-law in a fire. That’s a huge blow for a woman alone.”
“Yes.”
“So one night, she comes across a young girl wandering on the mountain. This girl has no ID on her and can’t say who she is or where she’s from.”
“The responsible, moral, reasonable thing to do is take the girl to a hospital and let the police find out where she belongs.”
“True. But this woman has suffered a grievous loss, and maybe she’s not quite sane.” Chris kept his voice even, despite the tension on both ends of the line. “Or maybe she never was quite sane, which is why she lived alone on a mountain. Anyway, this girl has mahogany curls, like her daughter and granddaughter had. She doesn’t remember anything about herself, and she’s terrified.
“The old woman takes to calling the girl Jayne, which was her mother’s and her daughter’s name. Soon enough the girl is Jayne to her. They have a relationship.”
“Built on lies.” Her brittle tone eased a fraction.
“Actually, I think the foundation was kindness—the old woman took care of this girl when she was hurt. Remember that Good Samaritan story I mentioned before?”
The dam broke suddenly. Jayne’s “yes” was buried in the midst of sniffs and smothered sobs.
“It was pretty easy, I imagine, to fill in the memories with her own—memories of her daughter’s childhood and what she knew of her granddaughter’s. Maybe…maybe Elizabeth Jayne rebuilt her life around the girl she found on the mountain.”
After a minute, his Jayne whispered thickly, “Hold on. I’ll be back.” In the distance, he could hear her blowing her nose, which made him smile.
Then she said, “I’m here,” into the phone. “Thank you.”
“We can probably check some of this out,” he told her. “The family, the fire…there will be records. If you want to know.”
She sighed. “Perhaps. One day.”
That seemed to be enough drama for tonight. “Charlie would like you to visit him,” Chris said then, more briskly. “If you don’t mind.”
“I’ll be glad to visit, as long as you don’t mind keeping watch over seven rambunctious girls.”
“I can do that.” They settled the details for meeting the next morning. Then they both yawned at the same time.
“Did you turn up the heat in your room?” he asked.
Jayne chuckled. “It’s set on seventy-four. Is the cabin warm?”
“I’m at the inn, too. And I’ve got the thermostat set at seventy-six.” His room was directly below hers, as a matter of fact, which was a kind of torture all by itself. He could go to her…the girls would never know. They could be alone…
Then she yawned again, hugely, audibly. And sniffed. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. You’ve had a long week. Sleep well, Ms. Thomas. I’ll see you and the girls at the hospital tomorrow morning.”
“You, too, Chris.”
He put the phone down before she did, turned off the bedside light and crawled between the sheets, which could have been burlap, for all he noticed at that point.
They knew most of the facts now, but he wasn’t sure truth had simplified the situation. If he’d met Jayne without recognizing her and they’d fallen in love in the usual way, Chris didn’t think there would be a problem.
Instead, he’d been a stupid jerk and barged into her life at exactly the wrong time, told her the sad old story in the worst possible way and demanded she remember being the girl who loved him. How could Jayne know what she felt for him now?
Worse, why should she believe him when he said he loved her? As a boy, he’d adored Juliet with all the conviction in his young heart. But did anyone love at thirty the way they loved at fifteen?
His feelings for Jayne Thomas would always be different, because he was different. He loved Jayne as a man loves his woman, with the passion and endurance of an adult, for better or worse, richer or poorer, in sickness and in health. Without the same kind of love on her side, how could they build a solid life together?
Half a loaf, they said—whoever “they” might be—was better than none.
Chris very much doubted that the same could be said of love.
THE SMALL RIDGEVILLE HOSPITAL stood only a few blocks off Main Street. After a late breakfast, Jayne prodded the girls into their jackets and started them on the short walk from the inn. The snow had largely melted off the roads and sidewalks, and the temperature had climbed into the forties.
“It feels like summertime,” Beth declared, pulling off her hat. “I’m getting hot in this coat.”
Haley squinted down the street. “The bank sign says forty-two degrees.” She had an appointment with a doctor that afternoon to have her wrist examined, but the bruising and swelling had decreased quite a bit in the last two days.
“The snowmen are melting,” Sarah pointed out as they walked past the houses on Fledgling Street. “It’s so sad.”
Jayne kept her eyes and half her attention on the girls, but looked ahead as well, wanting a glimpse of Chris as soon as possible. She’d hugged him less than twenty-four hours ago, and they’d talked within the last twelve. But she wanted to see him.
She was searching so hard, in the end she missed him entirely. Her gaze passed over the tall, lean figure in an Irish knit sweater and gray corduroy jeans as she sought a heavier figure in a worn, too-big parka and dir
ty denims.
So the girls saw him first. “Mr. Hammond!” they screamed, practically in unison, and went running down the sidewalk. Jayne, blushing and with her heart pounding, followed.
At least she arrived after the hugs had been accomplished, and didn’t have to try to endure such casual contact.
“There you are,” she said, sounding only a little breathless. She hoped.
“Good morning. Did you sleep like a rock?” He gave her his smile, and she studied his smooth face, his clean, wavy hair blowing in the slight breeze and the sharp blue brilliance of his eyes. Lord, the man was handsome.
What had he asked? “Oh…oh, yes. Definitely. Did you have enough room to stretch out?” They fell in step together as the girls explored the residual snow on the lawn of the hospital.
“I woke up lying on my back, with a hand or a foot in each corner.”
Jayne stopped in her tracks and gazed at him. “I don’t believe you.”
Chris chuckled. “Not really. But I had a good night’s rest.” They reached the entrance and stopped again. Hands in his pockets, he said, “Charlie’s in room 258. He’s excited that you’re coming.”
“I’m glad to be here,” she stated honestly.
“And don’t worry about the girls. I’ll keep them out of trouble.”
Thinking back to the week before, when she’d feared he might be an ax murderer or a pedophile, as well as her personal stalker, Jayne smiled. “I know you will. I trust you.” She walked into the hospital without a backward glance.
On the second floor, she located Charlie’s room and peeked around the door, in case he was resting.
But the man in the bed immediately held out a hand. “Come on in. Let me see you.”
Jayne crossed the room and, when he kept his hand out, felt she had no choice but to take it. “I’m Jayne Thomas, Mr. Hammond.”
“Call me Charlie. I know who you are. And who you were.” He stared at her, his brows drawn together. Despite the gray hair and the ravages of age, she could see Chris in his face.
“I can tell why he recognized you,” Charlie concluded. “You’re plumper, all grown up and filled out. But there’s something of Juliet in your eyes. And in that mouth of yours. Have a seat.”
A Holiday to Remember Page 17