The Quiet Child

by Debra Salonen

  She nodded slightly, and Mark looked past her to the three round tables with the small, primary-colored chairs. Roberta and her son seemed to be conducting a silent but intense war of wills. The mother won, but not without picking up her son and depositing him in the chair.

  Mark smiled and was about to comment when Alex dashed off. A little girl, the last in line at the sink, lost her balance and tumbled to the floor. Heedless of the puddles that had accumulated around the base of the basin, Alex dropped to her bottom and pulled the crying child into her lap.

  White-blond curls melded with Alex’s shorter black ones as she commiserated with the little girl. Mark’s heart returned to a normal beat as soon as he realized there wasn’t any real injury, but a tightness in his chest remained. The feeling was one he didn’t recognize at first, then it hit him. Love. He was back in love with Alex. Correction. He was still in love with Alex.

  ALEX HAD A HEADACHE. A stress headache, she decided. She could handle music class with fourteen overly ambitious, untrained drummers. She could handle bumps and bruises and hypochondriac mothers who thought every sore limb needed an X-ray. But she couldn’t handle having Mark around full-time.

  He was too large. Too dynamic. Too charming. By nap time, Alex swore every one of her aides—even Rita, who would turn sixty-eight next month—was in love with him.

  Without noticeable effort, he’d even won over Roberta Moorehouse, despite the fact that Alex was certain Mark thought the woman was a gossipy twit.

  “Headache?” a voice asked.

  Alex, who had been staring at her computer screen trying to decide whether or not to switch to a different brand of finger paint, looked up. “Oh, hi, Mom. I thought you went home.”

  “I did, but Katherine called to ask if I’d pick up Maya after school, and I thought I’d come over early so I could meet Mark’s son. Is he here?”

  Alex’s heart jumped in panic—for a second. Then she remembered. “Mark and Maya went to meet him. They’ll be back any second.”

  The brief rush of adrenaline magnified her headache, but she did her best to pretend she was fine.

  “Alexandra, even the strongest amongst us resort to aspirin on occasion. A little painkiller won’t inhibit your ability to conceive.”

  Alex felt her mouth drop open. The worst part of being Romani was the inability to keep anything private. From anybody. “How did you—?” She closed her eyes and shook her head. Why ask?

  “Darling girl, you’re my firstborn. I knew this day was coming. With your sisters’ situations and all the talk in women’s magazines about biological clocks and whatnot, I’d expected it before now.”

  “Really? You don’t think I’m being foolish? Or selfish? Depriving a child of a two-parent family?”

  Her mother smiled indulgently. “You are the least selfish person I know. I am, of course, worried about what this will mean to your health. A headache is one thing, but I remember all too well how debilitating the pain was before your operation. And I also remember the doctors telling you there was no guarantee the growths wouldn’t come back if you stopped taking the birth-control pills.”

  “I know, Mom. But you always encouraged us to face the challenges in our lives head-on. The first time I had stage fright you told me, ‘You can either get out on that stage and dance, or you can look back someday and wish you had.’”

  Yetta bent down and put her hand over Alex’s. “Speaking of dance, Grace has invited a band to play at the charity Christmas dinner at Romantique. She wants the Sisters of the Silver Dollar to perform.”

  Alex groaned. As children, she and her sisters had danced for their father and he would toss coins at their feet.

  Big, shiny silver dollars that had been used in slot machines at that time. Eventually, the girls had developed several routines and danced at family functions. They’d kept the name: the Sisters of the Silver Dollar.

  “That’s big of her. I was planning on doing nothing for two full weeks.”

  Yetta chuckled and patted Alex’s hand. “Now, now, your sister has her own travails. She puts on a good show, but she’s very lonely. And she misses the restaurant. If it weren’t for this wedding she’s planning, I’m sure she and Nikolai would be miserable.”

  Alex nodded. “That’s true. When Grace is miserable, everybody is miserable.”

  “That’s why I’ve decided to fly to Detroit to spend a few days with her.”

  Alex pushed back from her desk in shock. “That’s sudden.”

  “Jurek called and suggested it. He claims to have frequent flier miles to use up and bought me the ticket. I think he’s lonely, too, although he won’t admit it.”

  Jurek was Yetta’s cousin several times removed. He was also Nikolai’s birth father, although the two had only recently been reunited. Yetta and Jurek had grown quite close during the Charles Harmon fiasco, with Jurek moving next door into Claude’s empty house so Yetta could help him recover his strength after some sort of surgery.

  Jurek’s quick trip to Michigan to see Nick and Grace had been extended when Nick’s adoptive parents, who had recently retired, had asked him to house-sit while they went traveling.

  “Wow. Well, that’s great. Grace will be over the moon.”

  “I know she was just here, but we never really had a chance to talk. We might even find a wedding dress. And since you have Mark here to help, you should be just fine, right?”

  Mark. The man she’d pretty well decided to ask not to come back, except to drop off and pick up his son.

  Yetta leaned closer and said in a low voice, “Alexandra, be careful not to let the past obscure your view of the present. He’s not the man he used to be, any more than you’re the same girl you were eight years ago.”

  And, as if her mother had conjured him up, Mark walked through the door, preceded by two children, who were holding hands. Alex couldn’t prevent the smile that seemed to magically ease her headache. A smile that matched the happy look on Braden’s face. A first. A joyful first.

  “Is Rob picking up Maya after work?” she asked on impulse.

  Yetta shook her head. “He’s in the Bay Area on business. Katherine will be by after the restaurant closes.”

  “Then, let’s go out for dinner. You, me, Mark and the kids. Somewhere fun.”

  Mark, who’d just returned from the coatroom, seconded her suggestion. “Good idea. Braden likes the buffet at the Palace Station.”

  “I believe I have some coupons,” Yetta said. “I’ll be right back. You two can work out the details.”

  Something about the way her mother phrased her comment made Alex think that Yetta didn’t intend to join them, but that was okay, too. Mark needed cheering up, and Alex wasn’t the kind of person who lied to herself. She enjoyed his company—even if working with him on a regular basis might mean stocking up on aspirin.

  Chapter Ten

  “Daddy Rob is a lawyer. My other daddy lives in Reno. That’s a long way from here, but we’re going to drive there after Auntie Grace’s wedding. Mommy says we can’t go before then because Grace would track her down with a knife.” She smiled. “Not really. But that’s what Mommy said.”

  Mark was mesmerized by the articulate cherub sitting across from him at the Palace Station. The dining hall was massive and you practically needed a map to find the various food selections, but feeding Braden and Maya had been easy: pizza, burgers, spaghetti and Jell-O.

  Since Yetta had bowed out at the last minute, Alex had insisted that Mark fill his own plate while she waited at the table with the kids. His choices included shrimp scampi, rare prime rib, filet mignon wrapped in bacon, garlic mashed potatoes and several types of vegetables, along with a separate plate loaded with salads. Alex had yet to return from her culinary quest.

  “I haven’t seen your mother or Grace in quite a while, but…” he said, after chewing and swallowing a bite of steak. “I can’t picture either one with a knife.”

  “How come?” Maya asked, pulling free a piece of peppero
ni, which she delicately nibbled on.

  “Because they’re not the violent type.”

  “I mean how come you haven’t seen them for a long time?”

  Oh. He looked at Braden who had his hands wrapped around a burger. “I was busy with my family and my job.”

  “Did you stop being friends with Aunt Alex?”

  “You could say that.”

  “How come?”

  Damn, this girl was going to be a reporter when she grew up. “I…think we should talk about you. What’s Santa bringing you for Christmas?”

  She abruptly dropped her chin and didn’t say anything for a full minute. When she looked up, her big brown eyes were filled with tears that looked ready to spill over the rims. Mark had no idea what he’d said to make her cry. “Maya, what’s wrong?”

  “William Moorehouse said Santa isn’t real. He said mommies and daddies put presents under the tree and say they’re from Santa, but they…they’re…” Her voice turned thin and thready. “N-not.” The last word came out with a hiccup.

  Mark looked at Braden, whose bottom lip was beginning to quiver. Alex…help.

  As if she’d heard his silent plea, Alex strolled up to their table and set down her heaping plate, but before she could sit, Maya burst into tears. Braden followed suit, less noisily, but salty drops started falling onto his pasta.

  “Maya, love, what’s wrong? Bray? Yikes. Is the food that bad?” She dashed around the table so she was situated between them and placed one arm around each child. “Kiddos, please. Tell me what’s going on?” They both collapsed against her shoulders. Only then did she look at Mark.

  He squeezed the bridge of his nose. “A certain little Scrooge at school told Maya there wasn’t a Santa Claus.”

  “Oh. Oh. I bet I know who. But that doesn’t matter. What matters is he was wrong.” Maya picked up her head. “I know there’s a Santa. I’ve met him.”

  Braden looked at Maya, his expression as skeptical as hers. Maya put their question into words. “Not the store Santa. The real Santa who lives at the North Pole.”

  Alex nodded. “Yep. That one. When I was about Braden’s age I caught him putting presents under our tree and we had a nice long talk.” She stood up quickly to avoid a server hurrying past with a pitcher of water. “I’ll tell you the story while you finish eating. Did you see the dessert bar? Ohmygosh, there’s a zillion things to try.”

  Braden picked up his fork. Maya let out a weighty sigh and did the same. Alex looked at Mark as she pulled up her chair and folded her napkin in her lap. He could see the sparkle in her eyes and wondered just how she was going to pull this potential tragedy out of the fire.

  “Do you mind if I talk and eat at the same time?” she asked, taking a bite of sushi that she’d mixed with wasabi and soy sauce. Her eyes went wide as she chewed, but after a minute she said, “Umm. Good. Okay, where was I? The night I met Santa…”

  Mark ate, but he really didn’t taste anything after that point. He was too wrapped up in her story, which he realized was a clever mix of fact and fantasy. She made it sound so real he could almost picture her sneaking up on the man in red, who had been distributing packages wrapped in the same paper her mother had used.

  “What did he say?” Maya asked.

  “He took me on his knee—just like the store Santa does, and said, ‘Alexandra—’he knew my name ‘—your parents and I work together. You write me a letter with what you want and I make sure they have the means to get things. But only we know about your secret wish.’”

  Maya and Braden both sat forward. “What was it?”

  “A pogo stick.” Blushing, she hastily looked at Mark then explained, “I wanted one so badly, but I didn’t tell anybody because was afraid I’d look funny bouncing around. I was kinda chubby back then, and I thought everybody would make fun of me.”

  Aw… Mark thought, his heart breaking on her behalf.

  Maya looked at Braden a moment then said, “Braden wants to know if he brought you one.”

  “Next time, let him ask,” Alex gently reprimanded. “But the answer is yes. The next morning after we were all done opening presents, my dad said, ‘Wait. What’s this? An unwrapped box, but there’s a name on it. To Alex, from Santa.’”

  Maya clapped. “A pogo stick. And you bounced around on it.”

  “You’re right. I did. And my cousins laughed. One of them said, ‘Ha. Ha. That’s not something you see every day—a hippo on a stick.’”

  Braden and Maya exchanged some kind of silent communication then both dug into their food. As Alex finished off the last of her Creole shrimp, she gave Mark a very self-satisfied look. He silently applauded her. She’d neatly put the question of Santa’s identity aside for another year, plus she’d given the children back a little magic of the holiday. If he hadn’t loved her before, this evening would have sealed his fate.

  Later, as they followed Braden and Maya through the dessert queue, Mark said, “Good save back there. Didn’t really happen though, right?”

  She gave him a shocked look. “Of course it did. Many, many years later, I found out that I’d accidentally bumped into Uncle Claude that night. It had been his turn to play Santa for several Rom families, and he’d been so upset by my tearful admission that he came back later with the pogo stick he’d bought for Gregor. He was afraid I’d figure out the truth if he left it wrapped in the paper my aunt was using that year, so he unwrapped it and scribbled my name on the box.”

  Mark started laughing, but quickly sobered when the children gave him a suspicious look. “Poor Greg. Did he ever find out?”

  Alex, with a twinkle in her eyes, shook her head. “Never. And don’t you tell him. He’s been through enough disappointment in his life lately.”

  Over crème brûlée, chocolate torte and apple pie, he asked her to explain her comment about her cousin. The children were standing a few feet away taking turns darting back and forth under a rope partition. Their bowls of mostly melted ice cream that had been laden with M&M’s looked like confetti soup.

  “MaryAnn, Greg’s wife, had a nervous breakdown about six months ago. She’d been depressed after her father died, and then her mother sold everything and moved to Hawaii. Not long after that, Gregor lost his job and got picked up for some stupid infraction. She was working for Charles Harmon at the time and saw a way to make some money by blackmailing him.”

  Mark had heard that part of the story from Zeke. “Not a good idea. He’s a very bad man.”

  “We all found out how bad, but poor MaryAnn was certain her family would be better off without her. She went to our houseboat to end it all, but Nick—going on a hunch Grace had—got there in time.” She sighed. “You know Grace—has to be involved in everybody’s business.” She said it in a way that told him how much she loved her sister.

  “Unfortunately, MaryAnn wound up shooting Grace—accidentally, of course. Rob, my new brother-in-law, argued in her defense and made a deal with the prosecutor, so MaryAnn got the help she needed instead of going to jail.”

  “How is she now? Not living at home, I gather.”

  “Not yet, but Gregor is hopeful she’ll be back by Christmas.”

  Tracey had admitted herself into a treatment center a few months before she’d died. Mark had hoped and prayed the treatment would get her off drugs. For a short time, he’d actually believed her when she’d said she was clean. But then he’d got the call from Tracey’s neighbor telling him Odessa had shown up claiming Tracey was dead.

  “Luca seems like a great kid. I hope things work out.”

  He spotted a waiter giving the children an unhappy look, so he wiped his lips with his napkin and said, “Should we go? The natives are getting restless.”

  Alex nodded. “Aye, Captain, juvenile meltdown quickly approaching Mach speed. We’re gonna lose ’em,” she said with a Star Trek impersonation.

  Mark just shook his head.

  As they headed to the door, the children holding hands between them, Alex said, “S
eriously, Mark, thanks for this. I’d planned to pay, you know.”

  He shook his head. “My pleasure. I mean that. Evenings tend to get bit long with a couple of bachelors hanging out.” Especially when one half of the odd couple doesn’t talk.

  She smiled as if hearing his unspoken qualifier and softly said, “He will.”

  Her conviction made him want to believe—in Braden and in Santa. He’d been several years younger than Maya when he’d learned the truth about Christmas. No matter how good you tried to be, you could never be good enough.

  Christmas and New Year’s had never been his favorite time of year. Depressing memories crowded out the few good ones he’d made with Alex. The night he and Tracey had got together was after a drinking binge of comparing worst-holiday stories. Not that that excused what he’d done, but the memory gave him one more reason to hate the holidays.

  “Good thing we brought two cars,” Alex said, drawing him back to the present. “I see two kids who are going to be asleep by the time we leave the parking lot.”

  He agreed and bent down to pick up Maya when the child stumbled and nearly fell as they approached the exit. “Are you taking her home or back to Yetta’s house?”

  “Home. She’ll sleep better in her own bed. I’ll just curl up on Kate’s couch and read until her mother gets there.”

  The night wind held a bite, and they didn’t speak again until they reached their cars. Mark had driven his sedan instead of the pickup truck. The car had been Tracey’s. Odessa still claimed she should have inherited it, but since Mark had been the one to pay for it and since his name was still on the registration, he’d kept it.

  He helped Maya into Alex’s car then made sure Braden’s seat belt was fastened. He and Alex were standing between the two cars, shivering. He wasn’t sure what to say.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

  She opened her mouth as if to say something, but apparently changed her mind and nodded. “Yeah. Tomorrow.”

  ALEX HAD BEEN RIGHT about one thing—Maya was asleep before they were a mile down the road. This meant Alex had to make the long drive to the Lakes, a high-end development northeast of Henderson, in silence. With only her thoughts to occupy her.