The Christmas Locket

by Barbara McMahon

  Abby would know. She was Caitlin’s best friend.

  Zach looked around the condo with impatience. It was his home, too. Just because he wasn’t often here didn’t mean he should feel like a stranger in his own home. He needed to find Caitlin's address book. Scrounging around her desk he found it and quickly dialed Abby’s number.

  “Hello?”

  “Abby?”

  “Yes?”

  “Zach Brandenburg here. Do you know where Caitlin is?”

  “Where are you?” Her voice held surprise.

  “Home.”

  “She said you weren’t coming home for the holidays.”

  “I planned to surprise her. Only she got the first surprise in,” he said.

  “What do you mean?” Abby’s voice was cautious.

  “A bunch of notes, like she was writing a speech.”

  There was silence on the other end.

  “Where is she, Abby?” he asked softly.

  “She says it’s over, Zach. She’s been agonizing over this all fall. Let her go.”

  “Like hell, I will. Where is she?” He wanted to hit something he was so frustrated.

  “If she wanted you to know, she’d have left word. I can’t help you, Zach.” She hung up.

  Zach swore and threw down the phone on the sofa in frustration.

  If she hadn't expected him home, Caitlin wouldn’t have gone to stay at Abby’s. They could drive over to each other's place in less than ten minutes.

  It meant she went somewhere else. But where?

  Aunt Sally’s house.

  Her refuge she’d once called it.

  He scooped up his duffel and headed out. A bath and sleep would have to wait. He needed to find his wife and talk her out of her plans to leave.

  Chapter Three

  Caitlin finished her makeshift meal and cleaned the kitchen counters. She still wore her jacket, the house was too cold to take it off. The old furnace had been difficult to start, but she’d finally managed. Now it was just a question of time before the coldness was dispelled. It was a large house, however, and an old furnace. It could take hours.

  She’d made up the bed in the room she’d always used. Aunt Sally’s room was larger, but Caitlin wasn’t ready to take that step yet.

  She wished her aunt had electric blankets. Something was needed to warm the bed if she wanted to sleep in it tonight. Maybe she could use the old-fashioned bed warming pan that had hung in the cellar for as long as Caitlin could remember. Her aunt told her how generations of Williamsons had used it to warm their beds before retiring. Long before central heating kept the house a comfortable temperature.

  Tonight Caitlin knew how the early settlers felt. She didn’t think she could take off her clothes to get into her nightgown without freezing.

  Yet she hesitated going down in the dark old cellar. She didn’t like going there in daylight, she really didn’t want to go now, warming pan or not. Plus, she wasn’t sure she knew how to use one

  The warm water felt good on her hands as she washed the few dishes. She’d found the pilot light had remained on for the hot water heater, so she had plenty of hot water.

  Maybe she should take a hot bath. Wasn’t there a small space heater in the bathroom? Aunt Sally hated to turn on the big furnace before it was needed, as she put it. She’d delayed the lighting of the furnace until way down in the fall, using the space heater in the bathroom, and letting the sunshine stream in through tall windows to warm the ambient temperature through the house during the day.

  Caitlin wasn’t as stouthearted. She liked comforts—at least heat and lights.

  She’d stocked up on books she wanted to read and considered heading for bed now just to get beneath the covers to read. But it was only seven-thirty—too early to go to bed.

  Caitlin had dusted and vacuumed the main rooms downstairs and cleaned the one bathroom upstairs and her bedroom since her arrival. Giving all a lick and a promise, as her aunt used to say. Too much to do in one day, but she'd made a start. She had two weeks ahead of her to get the house in good shape.

  She was tired, still cold and lonely. She wished--no, she wasn't going there. A good night’s sleep would be just the thing.

  In the morning she’d start cleaning and clearing in the back bedroom and work her way through the second story and then down to the first to clear clutter and decide what to do with Aunt Sally’s furnishings and mementos. Some she wanted, some had seen better days. The cellar would have to wait. Maybe if she kept the house, she'd go through that this summer.

  Her aunt's clothing had been donated. But there were still generations of things in the house to sort, if she included everything stored in the cellar.

  No telling what was down there. It was dark, with faint illumination, and piles of boxes, trunks and old furniture. As a child, she’d found it spooky. The door from the kitchen often slammed shut, apparently for no reason, which creeped her out.

  Aunt Sally said the cellar contained the remnants of all the families who had lived in the house. Since it was built more than two hundred years ago, that was a lot of families. Did no one throw things away?

  Caitlin asked about ghosts when she’d been little. Nothing to be afraid of, her aunt assured her, just gentle reminders of ancestors long gone.

  Caitlin was not looking forward to that clearing job. Maybe she'd see if she could get Abby to come down with her in June. It wasn't a task she wanted to face alone.

  She checked the locks on the front door before going up to her bedroom. A sweep of headlights came in through the beveled glass. She stared out at the driveway. Was someone lost and asking directions?

  Or was it a neighbor who'd seen the lights and wanted to know who was in Sally Williamson’s house?

  The beveled glass distorted the man who got out of the car. He reached in for a bag and slammed the door. She could barely make him out from the faint starlight, striding toward the house. He might not be clearly visible, but she’d recognize that stride anywhere. It was Zach.

  Her heart skipped a beat, then raced. For a split second, gladness filled her—then dismay. What was he doing here? Why hadn’t he told her he was coming home for the holidays? How had he found her?

  She stepped back from the door, to one side, out of sight, wanting to run to her bedroom and hide beneath the covers.

  Instead, like a deer caught in headlights, she watched as he approached the door. She hadn’t seen him since last August. He e-mailed as regularly as he could, complaining if she didn’t write to him often. But there wasn’t as much to share as there used to be.

  And once she began thinking about leaving, she had found it difficult to communicate as if everything was fine.

  He knocked on the door. It sounded loud in the silence of the house.

  Her heart raced, her palms grew damp.

  “Come on, Caitlin, I know you're in there. Open the door.”

  He sounded angry.

  Suddenly she wondered if he'd see the drafts of the speech she'd left behind. She would have taken care to bring the drafts with her had she known he was coming home.

  She opened the door a crack, standing slightly behind it. The cold air swept in.

  “Hi, Zach. I didn’t expect you.”

  He pushed gently and she stepped back allowing him inside. He dropped his bag and glaring at her.

  “What the hell are you doing?” he demanded. He thrust a bunched up pieces of paper at her. She took them and glanced at the top one.

  “Actually this was a draft,” she said. “I thought—you said you weren't coming home. If I had known, I'd have stayed in D.C. till you got there.”

  “To tell me in person your leaving me?”

  She didn't have anything to say to that. If he'd read the papers, he'd know that answer. Her eyes were locked on his. He looked tired, angry--and wonderful.

  “I busted my butt to get home for the holidays and you weren’t even there. Instead I read some damn-fool bunches of paper saying you’re calling
it quits.”

  “That’s right,” she said evenly. Her heart pounded. She leaned against the wall, hoping her knees wouldn't give way.

  She could do this. She had to ignore the spark of feelings that flared at the sight of him. All the pain of her decision, the regrets and might-have-beens sprung up. She pushed the thoughts away.

  He looked drawn and tired. There was a two-day’s growth of beard on his cheeks and chin, and his eyes were bloodshot and weary-looking. His clothes were rumpled. Despite it all, her heart yearned for him, unhappy with her choice.

  “I didn’t come all this way, through the worst connection of flights I think I’ve ever taken, to be dumped. I’ve come home to my wife,” Zach said, reaching out, pulling her into his arms and kissing her.

  Caitlin resisted as long as she could, but his kisses always drove her wild. Despite her best intentions, she returned the kiss, reveling in the feel of the man holding her.

  It had been too long. She missed him so much! She loved being held by him, being kissed. She felt alive, whole, complete. Why couldn’t it always be like this?

  Then reality returned. Common sense took over and slowly she pushed against his embrace. They’d always been terrific together in a physical sense. But it wasn’t enough. No longer.

  She couldn’t stay married to Zach Brandenburg. She wanted more than to be a part-time, long distance wife. She deserved more!

  She pushed harder and he released her. Breathing fast, he looked at her, his gaze intense and assessing.

  “Nice of you to stop by,” Caitlin said, opening the door. “Have a nice holiday.”

  He reached around her and slammed it shut. “I’m staying, get used to the idea.”

  “You can’t stay here. I’m leaving you.”

  “So leave.”

  “This is my house. You leave.”

  Caitlin realized they sounded like four-year-olds. She didn’t need this.

  “Not tonight. I’ve been up for more than thirty hours. I'd planned to get some sleep this afternoon, but instead had to drive down here,” he said, looking around.

  “No one invited you,” she said, glaring at him.

  “I invited myself. It’s cold in here.”

  “The heater’s on, it was freezing before. It’ll take a while to warm the entire house. You could have told me you were coming home. I asked you often enough in the past weeks.”

  “I didn’t know for sure if I could make it until the last minute and I didn’t want to get your hopes up. No worries there, I guess,” he said.

  “We could have had this discussion in Washington if I’d known you were coming. I would have delayed coming down here until after talking with you,” Caitlin said.

  She didn’t want him to stay. She was too afraid her carefully constructed rationale would crumble around him.

  But it was late and he looked exhausted. Could he find a motel room in town? Williamsburg was bursting at the seams with all the tourists who came for the holidays. Most places had been booked solid months ago.

  “We definitely need to discuss things, but not tonight. Where are we sleeping?” he asked.

  “I’m sleeping in my old room. If you insist on staying, you can have Aunt Sally’s room or the spare room. I’m not sleeping with you. You read the letter, I’m calling it quits, Zach.”

  For a moment, she hoped he’d sweep away all the points leading to her decision. Promise he'd change, promise the future would be bright with happiness.

  But he picked up his duffel and started for the stairs.

  “We’ll talk in the morning. Isn’t that what you like to do, talk things to death?” he asked

  “Not this time,” Caitlin said quietly. She had no words left. No hope.

  Zach paused at the bottom of the stairs and looked back at her. In two strides he crossed the short distance, leaning over to kiss her. She clenched her hands into tight fists, resisting with all she was worth.

  “We’re not over, Caitlin,” he said.

  She watched as he climbed the stairs, her heart pounding. The wooden floors echoed his steps. She could trace his location by the sounds. He paused at her room then moved on down the hall to the next one. A breath escaped she hadn’t known she was holding. None of the other beds were made, he’d have to fend for himself.

  Tears threatened. His being here would make everything that much harder.

  Caitlin couldn’t believe Zach had shown up out of the blue. Nothing in his recent e-mails had even hinted he was thinking of coming home. The last she’d heard, he was someplace in the Middle East.

  She hugged herself against the chill and not just the temperature in the room. She couldn’t go to bed now--her thoughts were a total mishmash, spinning and jangled.

  His kiss had been all she remembered. He always made her feel like the queen of the world with one kiss.

  But the important things—discussions of their future together, planning their family—he always sidestepped--saying they’d deal with whatever fate decreed.

  She wasn’t going to go along with that anymore. She wanted her freedom from this marriage, wanted to be able to forge new ties eventually, and even try for a baby. And she didn’t plan to wait until she was in her forties as her parents had been!

  It was late when Caitlin finally went upstairs. She paced the living room until she couldn’t stand it, exquisitely aware that Zach was asleep upstairs. She was halfway tempted to wake him up and have that discussion now. She’d taken a long, agonizing time coming to this decision. She hoped Zach accepted it with some grace.

  But she was not going to wake him up. She’d be civilized and wait until morning.

  The house had finally warmed enough she was willing to try changing into her nightgown, glad she’d brought the long flannel one with rosebuds and pink ribbons. She needed the high neck, long sleeves and long length to keep her warm. And to keep from thinking romantic thoughts about her husband.

  Sleep was the farthest thing from her mind, however, when she got into bed. All she could think about was Zach in a room down the hall.

  She hoped he wasn’t going to be difficult about this. He ought to be glad she’d started the ball rolling. He was never home. This way, he never even had to fly back to the U.S. between assignments. He could flit off to whatever late-breaking news spot drew him without any cares in the world.

  Somehow she suspected he wasn’t seeing it quite that way.

  Chapter Four

  When Caitlin awoke the next morning, she first thought was Zach's being here was a complication she didn’t need or expect. Why had he returned? He hadn’t made it home for the last four Christmases, why this one? Had her pleas in her e-mails finally made a dent? Or was he planning another brief stay like last August?

  She knew better than to get her hopes up. Six years of living on the periphery of Zach Brandenburg’s life had taught her well.

  Dressing rapidly in the large bathroom, she became convinced her aunt Sally had been of far sturdier stock than she. It was cold enough to show her breath and Caitlin didn’t like it one bit. She’d have to see about turning the thermostat higher. The small space heater wasn’t up to the task of dispelling the chill enough to suit her.

  Once dressed, she went downstairs without hearing a sound from Zach’s room. He’d looked exhausted last night. If he’d been up for more than thirty hours, then he’d probably sleep in late.

  Or at least late enough to enable her to get her ducks in a row for their discussion.

  He’d want an explanation, she’d give him one—logically and calmly. He could rant and rave all he wanted, but her mind was made up.

  She hoped she could keep from descending into a rant herself. She’d kept a lot of her disappointments and anger inside. Only lately had she allowed herself to admit to all the things wrong with their union. It wouldn’t be fair to dump them on Zach all at once. She should have told him all along how she resented the time he spent away from her. How lonely she'd been for years.

  Lo
oking into the empty refrigerator, Caitlin wondered what to do for breakfast. She’d originally planned to eat at one of the cafés in town and then go grocery shopping. Maybe she should follow through with her plan, no telling how long Zach would sleep.

  And if he did waken before she returned, it might show him she was serious about ending their marriage. In the past she would have stayed to prepare him breakfast. Today he was on his own.

  It was after eleven when Caitlin returned. The minute she opened the kitchen door, she knew Zach was up. The fragrance of fresh coffee filled the kitchen. Where had he unearthed that old percolator of her aunt’s? And the coffee to go with it? She’d made do with instant yesterday when she’d arrived.

  Caitlin placed two grocery bags on the counter and turned to get the rest.

  “I’ll help,” Zach said, coming into the kitchen from the hall.

  She shook her head. “No need, I can manage.” She wasn’t giving in an inch.

  Zach ignored her, however, and followed her to the car, reaching in the trunk to withdraw two more bags. Caitlin took the last one and closed the trunk.

  “I said I could manage,” she said, following his longer stride to the house.

  “I’m sure you can, but why not take help when it’s offered?” he asked reasonably.

  She placed her bag on the table and shrugged out of her coat. Did he realize how much she didn’t want him there? Zach had always had a stubborn streak. Now was not the time for it to take hold.

  Putting the groceries away, Caitlin geared herself up for the coming confrontation. She had to stay calm, she told herself over and over. Not let Zach rile her or make her angry or talk her out of her decision.

  She tried not to look at him, not wanting to worry that he looked gaunt and tired beyond belief.

  She’d thought everything through all fall long. She'd be rational and certain.

  She looked across the room. Zach leaned against the counter, legs crossed at the ankles, arms crossed over his chest, his gaze steady--focused on her.

  “Want to tell me what this is all about?” he asked.