When Guy had demanded to know what was so special about the loser she was leaving him for—the guy she’d been sneaking into her life—she’d pretended her choice had nothing to do with greedy, grasping finger syndrome. “He’s sweet.”
He sure wasn’t good-looking or very well liked. So, sweet? Really? Yeah, she’d been looking beneath the surface. Of his bank account.
“What? And I’m not?” Guy had demanded. He’d been sweet. Obviously, not sweet enough. Guy had only offered skiing at Vail while Mr. Sweet had offered a visit to Paris with his family.
“Come on, Jordan,” Guy had argued. “The guy’s a tool.”
“And he’s already a millionaire thanks to the app he created,” she’d shot back, showing her true colors.
“I guess you have to think about the future,” he’d said. His jaw had been clenched so tightly he’d barely been able to get the words out.
At least she’d had the grace to blush. But that was as far as her conscience was prepared to go. She left him in the coffee shop, bleeding internally.
Heart operation without anesthetic. Guy hadn’t known which was worse, the pain of rejection or the humiliation. Just when he’d thought things were getting serious between them.
He should have seen the signs—the texts that went unanswered, the canceled dates. He’d been the world’s smartest business major and the world’s dumbest boyfriend.
“Lesson learned,” his mother had said when she’d pried the whole ugly tale out of him. “There are givers in this world and there are takers. Spend enough time with someone and you’ll eventually learn which one she is.”
“I don’t know why I didn’t see it,” he’d said miserably. He should have. A third of Jordan’s sentences had seemed to start with “Buy me,” or “Let’s,” which usually also amounted to “Buy me,” only he got to be included.
“Don’t be in a hurry. Take your time,” his mom had advised. “The right woman will come along when she’s supposed to.”
Or not.
Ever since, he’d preferred to keep things light. He was in no hurry to get serious, and seeing the love mess his older brother’s life was confirmed the wisdom of that. Women dated Hightower men for one thing only: their money. It was all they really wanted. Even the so-called altruistic ones like Olivia Berg. When it came to money, in the end, nobody was altruistic.
3
Summer skipped by, bringing a parade of sunny days to Pine River, filled with picnics, coffee dates with girlfriends and hikes along the river with Morris. What it didn’t bring was very many new contributors for Christmas from the Heart.
Livi had beaten every bush and climbed every money tree she could think of, with very little success. It seemed that many smaller companies were struggling, and this far into the year, large companies had already set their budgets.
In September she hosted a Saturday afternoon tea at Tillie’s, inviting forty businesses from nearby towns and had a whopping attendance of twelve. After plying them with cookies and scones and giving a strong PowerPoint presentation, five wrote out checks for a small amount that would barely cover the cost of the tea. The others wished her well and told her to contact them next year.
She would. “If Christmas from the Heart is still around,” she’d grumbled as she and Bettina and Kate sat at a table, drowning their disappointment in tea.
“You will be,” Kate said, and helped herself to a leftover scone. There were plenty of leftovers. “You’ve just hit a bump in the road.”
It felt more like a roadblock.
But not the end of the road. Livi was not going to let that happen.
And come Thanksgiving she was determined to be grateful for the people who did support the nonprofit. They wouldn’t be able to do as much this year with a big chunk of their funding missing—there would be less food distributed and no gifts other than Christmas stockings—but they’d still do what they could.
* * *
“Thanksgiving already,” Tillie said to her and Kate as she stopped by their table to see how they were enjoying their butternut bisque.
What was not to enjoy about butternut bisque? Or anything else to be found at Tillie’s Teapot. As usual, the place was bursting with the aroma of freshly baked breads and cakes and cookies and filled with friends taking a break between shopping and errands to meet for lunch.
Tillie was a little bent over and her hands were gnarled with arthritis, but she still put on lipstick and lined her eyebrows brown every day—the deep brown an interesting contrast to her white hair—and wore dangly earrings. When the season called for it she wore festive sweaters a younger woman might have worn to an ugly sweater party. Today she was in a black one with pockets shaped like turkeys. This was paired with slacks so orange she should have been passing out sunglasses to her customers. It was a mystery to Livi how Tillie could have such a beautifully decorated tearoom and then dress so...interestingly. Maybe her daughters had taken control of decorating the place. Livi had never had the nerve to ask.
Tillie shook her head. “I don’t know where the year has gone.”
“It is going fast,” Livi agreed.
Too fast. After the weekend, things would kick into high gear at the Christmas from the Heart office, with more to do and less to do it with. At least they still had supporters like Tillie.
“I imagine you’re going to want to pick up our tea packets next week,” Tillie said to Livi. In addition to donating money every year, Tillie and her daughters put together small net bags filled with a half a dozen tea bags and a few small chocolates that could be stuffed in stockings or put into gift baskets. There would be less food to give out and no gift baskets this year thanks to he who would not be named—only stockings, and Livi was hoping they finally had enough goodies coming in to fill them at least two-thirds full. The stockings were given out, one per household, and contents varied, depending on the family. She included candy canes, of course, and always a couple of mandarin oranges, which the local grocery stores donated, along with candy, much of which she purchased in grocery and drugstores at Halloween at 50 percent off and then saved for Christmas stockings. Families with small children always got a jar of bubbles in the stocking along with other small toys. She also made sure there were stockings for widows and widowers, and people with pets.
Stuffing five hundred stockings was a big undertaking, but Livi always set up an assembly line around her conference room table, and her crew of volunteers would work, chat and eat pizza donated to them from Little Italy, the best place in town for pizza. Actually, the only place in town for pizza.
First, though, there was Thanksgiving to prepare for, and after lunch Livi went home to bake pies—pumpkin and wild huckleberry made from the berries she had stored in the freezer. She and Kate had gone on a berry-picking binge in early September and she had enough berries stored for three pies. The little buggers were a pain to pick, so pies only got made for special occasions: Dad’s birthday, the Fourth of July and Thanksgiving.
This year Livi’s brother, David, was actually coming home for Thanksgiving. It would be their first one together since their mother died. Livi supposed the fact that he had a new wife made it easier for him to return for the holiday now. Terryl had filled much of the void.
Sometimes Livi wished there was someone who could fill that void for her. But really, who could take her mother’s place? Mom had been her best friend. And her guide.
Without her mother, she often felt like she was going through life with a broken GPS, trying to take Christmas from the Heart in the right direction, trying to put her own life on track. She was almost through her thirties and she was still single, living in the same house where she grew up.
Of course, she didn’t have to be single. Morris Bentley would marry her in a heartbeat. Morris had been in love with her since middle school. They’d attended their junior prom together in high school and
had been on and off as a couple ever since. He was a sweet man, and she loved him, but she didn’t LOVE him and he deserved more than friendship.
She wanted more for herself, too, even though she wasn’t sure what more looked like. All she knew was that sometimes, in spite of her satisfying work and her good friends, her life seemed small. Like she was waiting for something big, someone big. Someone who would make her pulse race when she looked at him.
It was silly, really. “There’s nothing wrong with your life,” she scolded herself as she walked the few blocks from her office to her family home. “You have plenty to be thankful for.”
How true it was. Compared to the struggling families she helped, to the lonely single moms trying to make ends meet and still spend time with their kids, she was downright wealthy and her life was great.
She got the pies done as well as the stuffing. Early in the morning, she’d stuff the bird and stick it in the oven. Then she’d put together a broccoli casserole, peel the potatoes and set the dining room table with Mom’s Wedgwood dishes. Terryl and David would be bringing fruit salad and candied yams. The requisite sparkling cider was in the fridge, ready to be pulled out and poured into the good crystal that had been passed down from daughter to daughter for four generations. Everything would be festive.
She hoped her father would be able to drum up some small amount of enthusiasm for cutting the turkey. Ever since her mother’s death he’d greeted Thanksgiving as an unwanted guest, one you had to be polite to while counting the hours until the intruder left.
He came home and found her putting the finishing touches on the dining table centerpiece, the same paper foldout turkey Mom had used for as long as Livi could remember. “Oh yes, Thanksgiving tomorrow,” he said as if he’d forgotten all about it.
Livi was sure he was trying to. Her father had stayed in the same house where he and her mom had built a life together, but emotionally he’d been as gone as David, leaving for work at his insurance company every day and coming home every night to mindlessly eat whatever Livi fixed for him, then sit staring at the TV. Once upon a time, the whole family had sat around the table and shared their day’s adventures. The kitchen table hadn’t been used for anything but collecting junk mail since Mom died.
He nodded and managed a weak smile. “It’ll be good to see David and Terryl.”
“Leftover spaghetti for dinner,” Livi said. “I didn’t have time to make anything.” They needed to eat it up anyway and make room in the fridge for new leftovers. Heaven knew, they’d have enough turkey left over to last them for a week.
“That’s fine,” Dad said. Then he kissed her on the cheek and vanished into the living room to turn on the news. If she wanted to see any more of him, she’d have to join him there. Which she probably would do. They didn’t laugh like they used to, but it was companionable.
Later that night, when she went to bed with her laptop to stream some free episodes of House Hunters International, she reminded herself yet again that she had much for which to be thankful. And much to look forward to the next month. Christmas was her favorite holiday, and she’d fill the house with all her favorite decorations from her childhood—the well-worn, half-burned lantern-shaped candle from the fifties that had been her grandma’s, the ceramic church and the nativity set Mom had made when she went through her ceramics phase, the nutcrackers her great-grandma had brought back from her visit to Germany. She’d even hang the mistletoe. Why not? May as well think positive.
Thanksgiving Day was almost perfect. The turkey turned out well, Terryl kept everyone laughing as she told about the year before when she’d decided to host her entire family for David’s and her first Thanksgiving as husband and wife. The day’s adventures included an underdone turkey and overdone pumpkin pie, and a grease fire on the stove that set off the smoke alarm and almost gave her grandma a heart attack.
“But I did master candied yams,” she said.
“You sure did,” Livi agreed. “These are great.”
“They should be. She put a ton of Kahlua in them,” David said.
“I know the way to my man’s heart,” she joked, and he grinned.
“Food will do it,” Dad agreed, and, amazingly, he was also smiling.
And that made Livi happy. Maybe their family was finally starting to heal just a little. David certainly was. And he and Terryl were full of plans for the future. She’d just gotten a new job and they were looking at houses south of Seattle where prices were still high but not out of reach for a double-income couple.
“We’re trying to get pregnant,” Terryl confided to Livi as they put away leftovers. “It would make a great Christmas present for David.”
“It would make a great Christmas present for all of us,” Livi said. At the rate she was going maybe she’d never be a mother. At least she could enjoy being an aunt. She was suddenly aware of Terryl studying her. “What?” she said with a half smile.
“Just wondering if there’s anyone special in your life yet, Livi.”
Uh-oh. Had she sounded wistful? She shrugged. No big deal if her love life was about as exciting as a documentary on the history of mold. “Not really. I don’t have time,” she added, not wanting to sound like a love loser.
Except, in a way, she was. That was what happened when you held out for bells, whistles and fireworks. She’d felt all that for Morris when they were kids, when she thought she was into monster trucks and going to the Monroe County Fair to watch the demolition derby, but the fireworks had fizzled once she went away to college and stepped into the bigger world of learning.
Leaving home to attend the University of Washington had been her biggest adventure—lectures, classes, a huge library, the University Bookstore. All that hustle and bustle in the U District and a coffee shop on every corner. When she didn’t have her nose in a textbook, she was getting high on dancing, flirting, then falling in love with the man of her dreams. Then falling out of love when she realized she didn’t have enough in common with whoever that latest man of her dreams was. Livi wanted to do great things. It seemed like all the boys she met were just that—boys. They were cute all right, but their interests seemed limited to getting her into bed and playing video games.
She sighed. No one had really been right and in the end she’d come home alone. Maybe she was meant to be alone.
“Define special,” she hedged.
“Someone other than Morris?” guessed Terryl.
Livi cringed. Terryl made her sound like a romantic snob. There was nothing wrong with Morris. So what if he wasn’t a bookworm? That didn’t make him stupid. And so what if he didn’t want to see the world? The center of both their worlds was in Pine River.
Still. “I guess I just want more.” Okay, she was a romantic snob.
“Hold out for it, then. I know we’re all told there’s no Prince Charming out there, but I don’t buy it. I found mine.”
“My brother, who is the world’s biggest slob? Oh, you are besotted,” Livi teased.
“Love overlooks the other person’s flaws. Even though he farts in his sleep, I do love him,” Terryl joked. “He’s the best thing that ever happened to me,” she added, suddenly serious.
“He is a good man,” Livi agreed. “He worked on my first car and taught me how to change the oil, and before Morris came along, scared off every boy who came near me, even though I was two years older and could take care of myself. It made me crazy then, but looking back, I think it was sweet of him to want to protect me. And let me tell you, he succeeded. Nobody wanted to mess with the star of the Pine River wrestling team.”
“What a good brother,” cooed Terryl.
“He was.” He’d also been a good son, helping out at Christmas from the Heart right along with Livi, mowing the lawn without being asked, helping their dad clean the garage. “And he still is.”
“He’s a great husband, too,” Terryl said. “I’d
almost given up on finding anyone worth putting up with until the day he came along. There I was at Starbucks and there he was, helping some old lady mop up her spilled coffee, and I knew he was a keeper.”
It was such a sweet story. Terryl had hurried over to help, then teasingly asked if he’d stick around in case she, too, spilled her coffee. He’d stuck around and they’d been married within six months.
“Wait for your Prince Charming,” Terryl said. “He’ll show up. You’re too amazing a woman to settle for anything less.”
Amazing. Right.
* * *
Morris stopped by Friday night for leftovers and to play Pandemic, a board game that involved all the players working together to save the world from disease and death. He was a good team player, always willing to go along with whatever strategy David proposed.
“Sounds good to me,” he’d say.
Anything anyone in her family ever suggested sounded good to Morris. He’d been one of her biggest supporters when she’d had to step up and take over running Christmas from the Heart. He’d donated twice as much money to the nonprofit as a certain stingy CEO, and he probably earned only a quarter as much.
Livi should have been crazy in love with Morris. He was cute in a big, burly Teddy Bear sort of way. He certainly had a big heart. And it beat only for her.
What was her problem, anyway? Oh yeah, that wanting-more thing.
They played two games, trying to save the world and failing both times, so they gave up and watched an action-packed Tom Cruise movie.
“I love those movies,” Terryl said as the ending credits rolled. “You know, he does all his own stunts.”
“Big deal. I could do that stuff,” David joked.
“I know, right?” Terryl said, elbowing him in the ribs.
“Well, maybe some of ’em.”
“It’s okay, babe. You’re my Tom Cruise,” Terryl said, and gave him a kiss.
Christmas from the Heart Page 3