The Christmas Collector

by Kristina McMorris

  “Hey, Sally. Is the history museum still trying to replace that exhibit? The one that was going to be on Jackie O.”

  “Um—yeah. Why’s that?”

  Jenna’s excitement bubbled up like champagne, a celebration in the making. She prayed Terrence hadn’t donated that shoe box.

  “Hold on,” she said, and held the phone to her chest. She called out to the clerk now emerging from storage.

  “Sir, how much would you charge for the Women’s Army Corps items?”

  “From World War Two?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Depends.” He scratched his head. “Which ones?”

  Jenna smiled. “All of them.”

  Chapter 16

  Christmas Eve had arrived, and Reece still couldn’t decide whether or not to go. In the shadows of his car, parked downtown, he remained a block away. He rolled his key over and over in his palm. According to his mom, the museum had made a point of confirming the family’s attendance. A variety of his grandma’s estate items had been added to their permanent collection. As a holiday treat, they’d all been invited to the premier showing.

  Well, not Reece necessarily. With Jenna Matthews somehow involved, he doubted the invitation was meant for him.

  Since parting ways with Tracy, he’d once gotten up the nerve to give Jenna a call. The message he’d left her, a belated thanks for her help at the hospital, felt pathetically transparent. How do you slip into a casual voice mail that you’re no longer in a relationship? Answer: you don’t.

  Not surprisingly she didn’t call back.

  What a jerk he must seem. Reece was probably a major reason she had cut ties to the estate, to prevent crossing paths. By now, she’d surely moved on to another sale and left thoughts of him behind. And yet, the possibility of seeing her again had been powerful enough to draw him here.

  Though maybe not to the front door.

  He envisioned his family just now walking in: his sister with her husband, his mother and grandma. And his dad. Since their hospital run-in, his breakup with Tracy must have provided even more ammo. The awaiting lecture was as appealing as tonight’s show—personal elements of his grandparents’ lives, laid out for gawking strangers. Despite the honor of a museum’s acquisition, a public display made him uneasy.

  Again, Reece flipped over his car key. The ignition slot like a magnet, it urged him to start the engine. He could face his dad in the morning, before the family gathered for Christmas....

  He vanquished the thought. Too often, where his dad was concerned, Reece found himself acting like a kid.

  Enough. Now more than ever, his grandma deserved the family’s support. If he’d learned nothing else—from the accident, from her secret past—it was how to put the needs of others first. Tonight was a perfect opportunity to act on that lesson.

  Reece straightened the necktie of his suit and exited the car. Within minutes, he was climbing the concrete steps toward the pillared entry.

  “Welcome,” a woman said at the door. “Your name, please?”

  “Reece Porter.”

  “Ah, yes. The rest of your party’s already checked in.” She ran a yellow highlighter through his name, listed alphabetically on the sheet. “I hope you enjoy your evening.”

  So did he.

  “Thank you.”

  Inside, behind a USO banner, three ladies in vintage uniforms stood on a low, miniature stage. They harmonized about yuletide carols being sung by a choir. Red, white, and blue bunting decorated the walls. A waiter with a tray of champagne offered Reece a glass. Microbrews were more his style.

  “No thanks,” he said, a moment before he spotted his dad alone, depositing an armful of jackets at the coat check. “On second thought.”

  The server handed over a half-filled flute that Reece finished in two gulps. Through a scattering of guests, his father glanced over. The look on his face confirmed he had plenty to say.

  Reece set aside his glass and waited, steeling himself. He suddenly wished he’d swallowed his pride and reached out before now, so their confrontation would already be done.

  “Reece,” his father greeted evenly.

  “Dad.”

  A tense beat passed, the unspoken like shards, clear and sharp.

  “So where is everybody?” Reece asked.

  “In the other room there.” His father gave a nod toward the end of the hall, where murmured discussions floated out over the tiled floor. Then he peered at Reece and spoke firmly. “But, I’d like to have a word with you first. . . .”

  Here it came.

  “It’s in regard to what you said, about me not supporting you.”

  “Dad, please. I know where this is going.” To have peace in the family, especially at Christmas, Reece was willing to apologize. Certainly there were things he, too, could have handled better.

  Yet his father charged on. “I’ve pondered it a whole lot, and the thing you need to hear is—”

  Strangers strolled past, hopefully out of earshot.

  “—I’ve been wrong.”

  Reece blinked. He reviewed the words, a shock to his senses.

  “Fact is, in my line of work, I’ve been trained to prepare for the worst. And I guess that’s made me a little . . . overprotective.”

  Baffled, Reece continued to stare.

  “I hope you can at least see why I acted like I did. After getting that call to come to the hospital . . .” His dad shook his head, trailing off. Color rose in his neck, and his eyes gained a sheen.

  No question, for both of them, his grandma’s recent collapse had ratcheted up their last confrontation.

  “It’s okay,” Reece offered, barely audible. He cleared the emotion from his throat. “I think we were both on edge, worrying about Grandma.”

  “No, Reece. I meant when I got the call for your trip to the ER.”

  The second twist again took Reece off guard.

  His dad released a breath, hands on his hips. “I know I’ve been tougher on you since then. But you have to understand, that drive to get there . . .” He finished in a near mumble. “Well, it was about the longest of my life.”

  Reece had been so terrified over Tracy’s condition, he hadn’t thought of how strongly his parents, namely his father, had been affected by the scare. How much his father must have always been unnerved by Reece’s reckless stunts, for fear of a phone call no parent wanted to receive.

  The stress of waiting for word on his grandma’s episode had given Reece a taste of that fear. He didn’t see until now how alike he and his dad were. Both had been trying so hard to control things they couldn’t.

  “For what it’s worth,” Reece admitted, “I’ve been wrong too. About a lot of things.”

  After a thoughtful pause, his father nodded. “Guess we’re not always as brilliant as we give ourselves credit for.”

  Reece’s mouth curved into a smile. He placed a hand on his dad’s shoulder. “Don’t worry,” he assured him, “I won’t tell Mom you said that.”

  They shared a laugh, slicing through the remnants of tension. Clearly, many more discussions would be needed to strengthen their relationship. But for now, Reece couldn’t think of a more promising beginning.

  Chapter 17

  Almost showtime, but still no sign of him.

  A good thing, Jenna reminded herself as she surveyed the reception hall. She needed to stay alert in case of any snags. Families of elderly guests and major donors congregated about her. The ribbon cutting would commence at any minute.

  She lifted her posture, savoring the confidence of her burgundy cocktail dress and pumps. Utmost professionalism was essential to her new boss, the director of the private museum. Jenna still couldn’t believe her good fortune. She wasn’t about to let Reece Porter indirectly ruin it. In his presence, she never failed to revert to a teenager—full of blus
hes and giggles and too easily tempted to cross the line of morality.

  “They’re such nice people,” Jenna’s mom exclaimed, returning with Doobie, whose western sports coat dressed up his jeans and boots. “That Estelle woman, she’s just so charming.”

  “She’s definitely an amazing woman,” Jenna agreed.

  “And Sandy and her daughter, Lisa? Just fabulous.”

  Jenna had no idea introducing her mom to the three Porter women would have surpassed basic, cordial greetings. Rather, it became a fifteen-minute exchange from which Jenna had to excuse herself, for fear Reece would join them when he arrived.

  Skirting the notion, she again admired her mom’s black pantsuit, as modern as her hairdo. She’d never looked lovelier, or happier. Granted, a gaudy peacock brooch glimmered from her collar, an accessory that oddly put Jenna at ease. An improved mom was great—not an altogether new one.

  “Rita, tell her the news,” Doobie encouraged, sweetly touching her chin.

  “Oh, yes! I almost forgot.” She angled toward Jenna. “Apparently”—an inserted pause to build suspense—“since Sandy’s on the auction committee for the Children’s Cancer Association, she’s going to call me next week about their gala. They’re not happy with their photographer, so she wants to talk about working together.”

  “Mom, that’s wonderful.”

  “I really have Doobie to thank for talking me up, even though he’s actually the one they should be hiring.”

  “Ah, bologna,” Doobie said. “You’re gonna do such a good job, you’ll be gettin’ calls from all over town. Won’t she, Jenna?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Doobie was right. A prestigious event like that had the potential to rapidly boost her mother’s career.

  “I say we toast to the both of you,” he declared. “How ’bout some bubbly?”

  The flutters in Jenna’s stomach wouldn’t mix well with alcohol. “Maybe later.”

  “I’ll take a glass,” her mom replied.

  “Be back in two shakes.” With a wink, Doobie disappeared into the crowd, just as a museum docent approached. She appeared on the verge of panic.

  “Jenna, have you seen the big scissors for the ribbon?”

  Pressure to impress their patrons, to smooth over the Jackie O mishap, magnified the importance of every detail.

  “Last I saw,” Jenna said, “they were at the front desk. Bottom drawer, I think.”

  “Phew. Thank you!”

  When the woman sped away, Jenna’s mom gazed around the room. She spoke in amazement. “I can’t believe you put this together so fast.”

  “Mom, I didn’t exactly do it on my own.”

  Her mother waved this off and met her eyes. “The point is, I’m very, very proud of you.”

  Jenna felt a glow from inside. She recognized it as a deep, genuine pride, not only for the person she was becoming—more of herself, if that made any sense—but for the woman standing before her.

  “Ooh, I almost forgot.” Her mom reached into her purse and retrieved a wrapped, palm-sized box. “I brought along your Christmas present.”

  Jenna hesitated, though not because of a resistance to gift giving. The buzz of the teeming space, and weaving of waiters with passed hors d’oeuvres, didn’t make the moment ideal. What’s more, she’d left her mother’s collectible creamer, wrapped with a few other goodies, back at her condo—the home she thankfully wouldn’t have to give up.

  “Wouldn’t it be better if I open this tomorrow?” Jenna suggested.

  “You could, but I thought it might bring you luck for tonight.” The sparkle in her mom’s eyes made it impossible to decline.

  Jenna removed the paper, and out of the rectangular jewelry box she pulled a beautiful silver bracelet made of Cheerio-sized links. A shiny heart, engraved with her initials, dangled from the middle: For J. M.

  She ran her finger over the letters, fully understanding what she held. A mother’s symbol of love. Many decades from now, maybe a stranger would find it in a flea market or an antique mall. And maybe, if fortunate enough, that person would sense its story.

  “Thank you,” Jenna whispered. “I love it.” Tears welling, they traded a long heartfelt hug.

  Then stepping back, her mom relieved her of the box and wrapping. “I’ll go throw these away for you.”

  Jenna nodded at the simple but meaningful offer; her mother was now taking care of others. So captivated by the change, Jenna almost forgot about her bracelet. She placed it around her wrist and secured the clasp. Luck tonight might come in handy.

  “Merry Christmas, Jenna,” said a man’s voice. She knew that smooth timbre.

  Against the weight of dread, she straightened.

  Reece Porter. A sleek, charcoal suit and black shirt accentuated the broadness of his shoulders. Splitting the width of his chest was a burgundy tie. Beside her dress of a near-identical shade, a person could mistake them for a date.

  “I didn’t think you were going to be here.” Her greeting tumbled out, sounding more of hope than observance.

  His smile tentatively lowered as he motioned behind him. “Guess I could catch a movie down the street instead.”

  “No, I didn’t mean—I meant—when I didn’t see you with your family, I thought . . .” Once again, he’d made her a flustered mess. “Do you need help finding them?”

  “Nah, I already did, thanks. Just wanted to come over and say hi.”

  “Well. Hi.” She glanced away, mentally scraping for an excuse to escape. But her mind was too busy scolding her pulse. Why did it insist on quickening at the sight of those dark brown eyes?

  “So,” he drew out. “How goes life in the estate world?”

  The question threw her off. She thought he would have heard the news from Sandy. Although why would he ask about her? He had a gorgeous, raven-haired, blue-eyed girlfriend to occupy his thoughts.

  “I’m not in the business anymore,” Jenna replied.

  “Wow. I didn’t realize.”

  She lifted a shoulder and said pointedly, “Turns out, it wasn’t a good fit.”

  “You find something better?”

  Had he missed her message? Or was he challenging her?

  “I’m working at the museum now, as an assistant with acquisitions.”

  “So life is good, then.”

  “Life is good.”

  She meant to smirk at him, but his return smile melted the smugness right out of her. And those damn eyes. Once more, they caused her cheeks to flame.

  To her relief, a question came to mind, a cool splash of water. “Will your girlfriend be joining you tonight?”

  At that, his gaze fell away. Thank God. But then he shook his head and said, “We’re not together anymore.”

  “I see.”

  Wait—what?

  “I guess you could say we weren’t a good fit. Just took us a while to see that.”

  The echoed sentiment reverberated between them. She tried to resist, but her defenses, flimsy as they were, couldn’t compete against his undeniable sincerity. “I’m sorry it didn’t work out.”

  “Actually, it did—is,” he amended. “Everything is working out. Just not the way I’d pictured, maybe.”

  Although cautious, Jenna allowed herself another look in his eyes. In them she found mutual understanding, a commonality of unexpected paths. Whose life ever turned out the way they planned?

  * * * *

  “Ladies and gentlemen, your attention, please.”

  The female voice abruptly reminded Jenna of her surroundings, the task at hand. Her boss, Deanne, appeared at the arched entrance of the main hall. A wide red ribbon, tied into a Christmas bow, created a horizontal barricade. Behind her, a closed velvety curtain blocked early peeks.

  Jenna projected a look of attentiveness.

  Deanne r
aised both arms, palms to the back in an Evita-like pose. The signal worked, and the USO singers concluded their song in a few quick bars. The room fell to a hush. It was all a tad dramatic, but so was Deanne. And Jenna liked her that way. During the past two weeks of preparations, Jenna had come to adore the woman and her boundless passion for history.

  “We are extremely pleased to have so many esteemed guests with us this evening,” Deanne resumed, inadvertently gesticulating. Not the safest of habits with the oversize scissors in her hands. “While we had originally planned to showcase the life of Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis, I firmly believe the collection we’ve prepared is equally impressive. Maybe more so, as it spotlights significant heroes in our nation’s history who all too often go unrecognized.”

  As Jenna strove to listen, she could feel Reece stealing side glances in her direction. She hoped to God the heat crawling up her neck wasn’t betraying her with a beet red hue.

  In what seemed a hundred hours later, Deanne wrapped up her speech, cut the ribbon, and on cue, two docents slid open the curtains. The crowd murmured as they traveled forward. Over the heads of the herd Jenna located her mother and Doobie. She gestured for them to go on in, that she’d catch up with them soon. Wafts of perfumes and colognes, plenty of Old Spice, mingled in the air.

  “Here they come,” Reece reported as his family drew closer.

  Estelle stood at the helm in an emerald green dress and pearls, her expression distraught. “I really don’t see how anything of mine would’ve been important enough to be here.”

  “Well,” Jenna said, “why don’t we find out?”

  Estelle eyed her at length, then yielded by shuffling into the stream of people. Jenna followed, batting away doubts that this was a mistake. She again told herself: Once Estelle viewed her achievements in a revered display, and with family at her side, she would fully embrace her due credit.

  On the right, they came across the uniform that had kicked all of this off. It now hung sleek and pressed on an elegant mannequin. Yellowed wartime letters filled the case to its side.