Celebration

by Fern Michaels

  Dressed in a bright red fleece-lined sweat suit with a large Santa on the front, Kristine picked up the phone. Her knuckles turned white as she brought the receiver to her ear. Woodie picked up on the first ring. But then she knew he’d been sitting in his easy chair, the portable phone in his lap, just waiting for her call.

  “Let me talk, Woodie. I need to say all this at one time. When I’m done you can talk. Okay?”

  The words tumbled from Kristine’s mouth in short, jittery phrases. When she finally wound down, her shoulders slumped. “I don’t see any other way, Woodie. I have to be able to live with myself. None of us likes the situation, but it’s here, and we have to handle it. When it comes right down to it, we really don’t have a choice. Now you can talk, Woodie.”

  “What do you want me to say, Kristine? I understand. I truly do. I applaud you and the kids for your generosity of spirit. Are we getting married or not?”

  There it was, the words she knew were coming. The words she didn’t want to hear because to hear them demanded she give a response. “Yes, but not now. After . . . later on. When . . . when it’s appropriate.”

  “Kristine, you are divorced. What does getting married have to do with Logan staying in the apartment over the garage? We can still get married and live at my house.”

  “Everything and nothing. I couldn’t . . . can’t . . . I need you to understand.”

  “I understand that you want me to wait around until Logan dies.”

  “No . . . yes . . . it’s not like that, Woodie. Look, I don’t like this situation any better than you or the kids do. It’s something I have to do. I can’t turn my back on someone who is dying and needs me. What kind of person would that make me? I can’t subject you to what I know I’m going to be going through. I love you too much to do that to you. This is my problem, and I’ll deal with it.”

  “Where does that leave me, Kristine? Are you going to tell him about us?”

  “At some point. I don’t know if it will be today or not. We have our hands full as you know. Today is Christmas. What time are you coming over? I thought we’d take the sleigh out at some point this afternoon.”

  “Kristine, I’m not coming over. Maybe you can handle this, but I can’t.”

  “But . . .”

  Kristine started to cry. “All we seem to do is argue and separate. It always seems to be my fault. Why is that, Woodie?”

  “I don’t know. No one likes to be second-best. I don’t, and I don’t think your ex-husband does either. I guess it just wasn’t meant to be. Merry Christmas, Kristine.”

  Kristine stared at the pinging phone in her hand. She hurled the phone across the room, watched it hit the edge of the dresser, ricochet upward to land in the fire. Her face murderous, she stomped from the room and down the steps.

  “I’d like to go to the bathroom, Kristine,” Logan said when she reached the foot of the stairs.

  “So go,” Kristine shot back. “I want to go on record right now, right this minute, as saying I hate your fucking guts, Logan Kelly.”

  “Can’t say that I blame you, old girl. Is there hot water for a shower? Do you think someone could get my bag out of the back of the truck?”

  “You brought it, you get it. I have things to do. Don’t use all the hot water, either.”

  “Why are you being so nasty? I told you I would leave. Christmas breakfast would be nice.”

  “Yes it would. Why don’t you make it for everyone. I have to shovel and take these dogs out.”

  “What would you like me to make?”

  “Whatever you can find. No one around here is fussy.”

  “Kristine, do you think, just for today, that we could pretend to be a family again? I’d like to carry some kind of memory away with me.”

  Kristine turned. The sharp retort on her lips went unuttered when she saw Logan’s eyes fill with tears. “I think we can do that, Logan. Don’t expect more.”

  “See, that’s why I love you. Your heart is big and full. Do you think anyone will mind if I wear the same clothes today?”

  “In the scheme of things, I doubt it. The bathroom is off the kitchen. There are towels in the linen closet,” Kristine said.

  Dressed in stocking cap, whose tail served as a muffler, and a heavy jacket, Kristine opened the kitchen door to a blast of frigid air. It was just getting light. Thank God the snow had stopped. She looked in disbelief at the eight-foot-high drifts leading to the barns. In the dim morning light, she searched for Logan’s truck. It was almost buried, the drifts almost to the top of the windows. She slogged her way over to the utility vehicle, doing her best to sweep at the snow with the broom in her hand. The car was new, the sticker price still on the window. Later she would ask why a dying man needed a brand-new thirty-thousand-dollar vehicle. For now, she opened the door and crawled inside to heft two duffels to the floor from the cargo area. Struggling through the snow, she carried them into the house, cursing herself every step of the way. This was something the old Kristine would do, not something the new Kristine would do.

  “Logan, your bags are in the kitchen,” Kristine shouted.

  “Thanks, hon.”

  Thanks, hon. Kristine shivered in the warm kitchen. That was how Logan had always responded to her in the old days when she did something nice for him. Just those few words would leave her smiling for hours. A plethora of emotions swept through her. Once a fool, always a fool.

  “Howzit going?” Kristine shouted to her children.

  “You can start walking the dogs,” Pete shouted. “More to the point, how’s it going with you? Did you call Woodie, Kristine?”

  The shoveling stopped at Pete’s words. All eyes focused on Kristine. “Yes, a little while ago. He won’t be coming for Christmas dinner. He said he understands completely but that doesn’t mean he has to accept the situation. I’d rather not talk about it if you don’t mind.”

  “Where’s the old man?” Mike asked.

  “Don’t refer to your father in that manner, Michael. To answer your question, he was taking a shower. I imagine he’s toasting by the fire now. He offered to make breakfast for everyone.”

  The use of his full name meant his mother was in no mood for anything other than the matter at hand. “Whatever you say, Mom.”

  It was full light when Kristine led the last dog into the house. All she had to do now was clean up the papers from the back porch, lay down clean ones, and make a final check of the living room.

  “Merry Christmas, Kristine,” she muttered.

  Logan looked down at the economy-size package of bacon sitting on the counter. He hated cooking even though he did it well. Cooking was women’s work. Kristine had always been a good cook, able to improvise at the last second and put a full-course dinner on the table when he brought home unexpected company. Same old Kristine for all her bluster. She’d brought in his bags. For all her professed independence, she was still Colonel Kelly’s wife. Divorce or not. A stupid piece of paper. That he had not expected. Still, it wasn’t an insurmountable problem. He’d always been able to wrap Kristine around his little finger. The kids had performed as expected. He discounted them from the git-go. All three of them were hotheads. He’d had all night to think on the matter. Everything was workable or as the young people said today, doable, if you worked at it.

  A strip of bacon spit at him. He turned it over just as Emily padded into the kitchen, her sister following her, trailing a tattered blanket that was dingy and gray. Cala had the same kind of blanket when she was little, he remembered. He tried to feel something for the little ones staring up at him. He’d never much liked kids, his own or anyone else’s for that matter.

  “What’s your name?” Emily asked.

  “Logan Kelly. What’s yours?”

  “Emily. This is my sister Ellie. Did Santa Claus come last night? I looked out the window, but I didn’t see any reindeer tracks?”

  Logan turned off the stove. “Come here,” he said, motioning to his lap. “Let me explain what hap
pened. Last night it snowed a lot. It was hard for Santa to see so he had to fly really high.”

  “Didn’t Rudolph light the way?”

  Who the hell is Rudolph? “Of course he did. It was still hard to see because the snow was coming down really hard. As soon as he landed on the roof the tracks filled up. I saw one by the chimney when I got up.”

  “Didja see the tracks, didja see the tracks?” Ellie squealed.

  “You shouda woke us up, Mister,” Emily said. “Did he drink the milk and eat the cookies we left him?”

  Mister? Something gouged at Logan’s gut.

  “I left Santa some reindeer treats. Did he take them?” Ellie queried around the thumb in her mouth.

  “I’m sure he did. Santa doesn’t like it when the children wake up. The reindeer get scared if they see little children.”

  “Did Mrs. Santa Claus help Santa with all the toys, Mister?”

  Mister. “No, not this year. She had to stay home to make supper for the elves.”

  “Wha’d she cook, Mister?”

  “Do you think you could call me Logan or ... Grandpa?”

  “Why?” Emily asked.

  “That’s my name. You should call people by name”

  “My grandpa’s name is Fred,” Emily said.

  “Didn’t anyone tell you that you can have two grandpas?”

  Ellie started to cry. “Don’t want two grandpas.”

  “Okay. How about if you call me Logan.”

  “I can call you Logan,” Emily said seriously. “I’m hungry.”

  “I thought I heard you girls in here. Oh, Mr. Kelly, are they bothering you?”

  “No, not at all. We were having a discussion on Santa Claus. Is this your son?”

  “Yes. He’s ten months old.”

  Logan felt like a fool when he asked, “Are you Mike’s or Tyler’s wife?”

  Carol flushed. “I’m Carol, Mike’s wife. Tyler isn’t married. Last night was . . . unexpected. Would you mind holding Dillon while I heat his bottle? I’ll make the girls breakfast as soon as I feed the baby.”

  “I started breakfast, but these little rascals wanted a discussion on reindeer tracks. By the way, did you see the two tracks on the roof before the snow covered them?”

  “Oh, my yes. Big tracks. The whole roof was full of them. Then the wind blew snow in the tracks,” Carol said, her eyes wide for the girls’ benefit.

  “Rudolph?” Logan said, his brow furrowed in frustration. Like it or not, he was holding the sweet-smelling baby. Again, something churned in his guts as one chubby fist wrapped itself around his index finger.

  “You know, ‘Rudolph with his nose so bright . . .’ ”

  It was all Greek to Logan. He nodded as though he understood perfectly. He stared at Carol as she bustled about the kitchen. She reminded him of Kristine when she was younger. He said so.

  “That’s a very nice compliment, Mr. Kelly. I like and admire Kristine. Mike is very fortunate to have a mother like her.”

  “Yes, he is. Kristine was a wonderful wife.” He wasn’t going to touch the motherhood thing. Noway, nohow.

  Carol handed Logan the bottle. “Your choice, feed him and I cook, or I feed him and you cook.”

  Logan surprised himself by agreeing to feed the baby. He watched with interest as the baby guzzled the bottle, his chubby cheeks blowing in and out. He looked just like Mike and Cala at the same age. “Does he eat food?”

  “Baby food. He only has four teeth. It’s amazing that he has a full head of hair, though. And curly, too. I think if I had a choice, I’d want more teeth and less hair. It would make feeding time a lot easier.”

  Logan threw back his head and laughed. Dillon let loose with a robust burp that sent the girls, Logan, and Carol into peals of laughter just as Kristine and the others stomped their way into the kitchen. Logan watched as her eyes narrowed to slits. “Wash up, everybody, and give me your breakfast order. I set the playpen up in the dining room. You can put him in there, Logan. He’ll play with his toys. Crank up the mobile for him, and he’ll be good for hours.”

  “When are we going to open our presents, Mommie?” Emily asked. “Do I have two grandpas?”

  “Yes, you have two grandpas.”

  Kristine felt the urge to smash something. Preferably over Logan’s head. Instead, she poured herself a cup of coffee.

  “Would you mind getting me one, hon?”

  “Not at all, Logan,” Kristine said sweetly. “I forget, how do you take it these days?”

  “Hot, black, and strong.”

  Kristine poured the coffee. This was Christmas, she reminded herself. Just as she was about to set the cup down on the table, Gracie and Slick ran between her legs to get to Emily. The rubber soles of her boots stubbed the hardwood floor and the coffee spilled into Logan’s lap. He reared up and out of his chair, muffled curses exploding from his mouth.

  Kristine clucked her tongue. “Oh, my, look what I did. Clumsy me. It’s these darn boots. Shame on you, Logan. We do not curse around the children. There’s some ointment in the medicine cabinet. The first cup is always the hottest. I’ve never been able to figure out why that is.”

  “You did that on purpose, Kristine,” Logan hissed as he passed her on his way to the bathroom.

  Kristine looked around. Suddenly everyone was looking somewhere else.

  “So, ladies, did Santa come last night?” Jack asked to cover the tricky moment.

  “Yes,” Emily said solemnly.

  “Let’s go see what he brought,” Cala said. “You’re sure you were good this year.”

  “I was very good,” Emily said.

  “Ellie?”

  “Me too, me too.”

  “Okay, then let’s go. Pete, do you have the camera? I guess Jack dressing up as Santa is not going to work this morning. Ah, well, next year, you’re doing it, Jack.”

  “All set to go.”

  “What about breakfast?” Carol asked.

  “We can eat later, Carol,” Kristine said as she poured herself another cup of coffee. “Did anyone call while I was outside?”

  “No, Kristine.”

  “Am I invited or should I stay out here like the pariah I am?” Logan asked.

  “Suit yourself. You were never interested in memories. Christmas is always a memory. I remember each and every one of ours.”

  “So do I, Kristine. Anytime you like, I will match you memory for memory.”

  “I have some real shitty memories, too, Logan.”

  “Yes, I guess you do. That was then, this is now.”

  “So it is.”

  “Truce. At least for today. When do you want me to leave?”

  “We’ll discuss it later after the kids open their presents.”

  Kristine burst out laughing as she entered the living room in time to see Emily load up her new wagon with the smallest dogs. Ellie covered them with her blanket.

  “They aren’t interested in the other things,” Cala wailed. “We spent so much time picking and choosing and wrapping everything. Who would have thought a red wagon was so important?”

  “Oh, oh, we’re switching up here,” Pete whispered. “The doll buggy is in play. How many dogs do you think Ellie can fit in there?”

  “At least three. She put the spaniel in the cradle five minutes ago. This sure is a doggone good Christmas.” Tyler hooted. “Start clicking that camera, Pete, and I want a complete set of prints. The guys at the base ain’t never gonna believe this family. That a compliment, Mom,” he added hastily.

  “I knew that,” Kristine said smartly.

  Two hours later, all the gifts were opened, and a mountain of colored paper littered the living room.

  It was time.

  “You guys go ahead. Pete, Jack, and I will clean up here,” Carol said.

  The Kelly family trooped out to the kitchen where they took their seats around the old round table. Kristine set out cups, cream, and sugar before she poured from the fresh pot of coffee. She took her seat, look
ed from her children to Logan. “It’s time for you to tell your children why you’re here. They have a voice in everything we do around here.”

  Logan looked around the table. There were no smiling faces. Kristine looked grim. He cleared his throat to go through his practiced spiel. There was no doubt in his mind that he could pull this off.

  “For starters, I want to thank all of you for giving me the chance to at least talk to you this one last time. I just want you to know, this isn’t easy for me. I’m taking my lumps, and I’m not complaining.”

  “Let’s get to it, Dad,” Tyler said not unkindly.

  “Okay.”

  19

  The headache hammering away at the base of Kristine’s skull raced upward to pound away behind her eyes. She felt nauseous as she watched Logan take the seat at the head of the table. Her eyes spewed sparks. What right did he have to sit at the head of her table? No right at all. She could rectify it in a second if she wanted to. All she had to do was tell him to move. But did it really make a difference where he sat? Yes, according to the looks on her children’s faces. Give Logan an inch and he’d steal a whole yard.

  “I think it will be better if you sit here, Logan,” Kristine said, pointing.

  “It’s all right, hon. This is comfortable for me.”

  “It’s not comfortable for me, Logan. That’s my chair you’re sitting on.”

  “Oh.” Logan shrugged but got up immediately. “This is rather like a meeting, isn’t it?” he said.

  Kristine sipped at her coffee willing him to get on with it so she could run upstairs and gulp down four aspirins.

  “It’s also a bit disconcerting,” Logan said. The faces around the table remained blank.

  “Can we get on with it, Logan?” Once she had hung on every word, every utterance that came out of her husband’s mouth. What are you doing right now, this minute, Woodie? Are you going to change your mind and come out to the house? Are you just going to let me flounder here by myself?