Christmas Magic

by Andrea Edwards

  She got to her feet and turned the light on. Dusk seemed to be arriving earlier and earlier these days. Or was it just that her heart was so heavy?

  Gus suddenly raced to the door, but Casey knew who it was. She’d gotten good at reading footsteps. She opened the door. “Hi, Dubber.”

  “Hi, Casey.” The boy remained outside, holding a large pot and a small one in his hands.

  “Would you like to come in?” She stepped aside to let him into the room, then shut the door.

  “I got some goulash for you and meat scraps for Gus.”

  “Mmm,” Casey said, lifting the cover slightly. “It smells delicious. I’ll have it for dinner tonight.”

  Dubber shifted his weight, a sign he was uncertain. “There’s a whole lot there.”

  Casey laughed. “Then I’ll probably have it tomorrow, also.”

  “Oh.” Dubber made a face before looking away. “Uh, Mike likes goulash. In fact, it’s one of his favorite things to eat.”

  “Well, if I see Mike, I’ll send Gus over with some.”

  “Gus’d eat it all up himself.”

  Dubber looked so serious that Casey had a hard time not laughing, but she remembered her brothers at that age and how desperately fragile their egos were. Still were, for that matter. She put both containers on her table.

  “Would you like a cup of chocolate?” she asked. “I think the water’s still hot.”

  “Yeah.” Dubber nodded several times. “Sure.”

  After checking to make sure that the water was indeed hot, Casey put some mix in a cup, poured in the hot water and stirred. “I’m sorry, but I don’t have any marshmallows.”

  “That’s okay.”

  They settled themselves at the table. “How are you and Tiffany getting on?” Casey asked.

  “Fine. Real fine.”

  “That’s nice.”

  After that major attempt at conversation they lapsed into silence. Casey hoped that Dubber would quickly finish his chocolate and go home.

  It wasn’t that she disliked him. And it wasn’t the boy’s fault that they weren’t chatting. She was holding up her end of any possible conversation about as well as the Christmas tree she and Mike had decorated last week. The lump that quickly came to her throat required several big swallows of chocolate to eradicate.

  “I was talking to Mike this morning.” Dubber spat out the words as if a sneeze had suddenly come on.

  “I see,” Casey replied softly. “And how is he?”

  “Good.” Dubber’s head went bob-bob-bobbing again. “Yeah. Real good.”

  “I’m glad to hear that.

  “Yeah.”

  They both ducked back into their separate silences. Casey’s cup was less than half full, but she hadn’t seen Dubber drink anything. She did like the boy, but she hoped again that he wouldn’t stay too long. It would put her way behind schedule.

  “Although he could be better.”

  “I think you could say that about most people, Dubber.”

  “You know, he’s a real good guy. Really nice and everything.”

  “Yes, Dubber. He’s a fine man.” Casey stood up. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a lot of—”

  “I bet if you two guys got together you could fix everything up between you.”

  Darn. That was the trouble with eleven-year-old boys. They didn’t have the experience or patience to beat around the bush for a couple of hours and check out if you wanted to hear what they wanted to say. Boys Dubber’s age couldn’t even imagine you not wanting to hear what they had to say.

  “You know,” he continued hurriedly. “Go to dinner. A movie. Maybe both.”

  “Dubber, I—”

  “I’ll baby-sit Gus and your cats. Free. On the house.”

  Half the town had been poking at her and Mike, and Casey was getting fed up. But the look on Dubber’s face was so full of eagerness to help that she couldn’t even begin to get angry.

  “We’re past that point,” she said softly.

  “You could go to New Buffalo or Lakeview,” he said. “There are some really nice places there.”

  “Dubber.”

  “My mom and dad went to Miller’s last month. For their wedding anniversary, you know. It’s really nice.”

  “Dubber,” Casey said again, with a little bit more force.

  “Yeah?”

  “I appreciate your suggestions, but it won’t work.”

  “Sure it will. You just have to try. Both of you. You gotta.”

  “Dubber, please.”

  “You’re great neighbors. You guys are really neat to have for friends.” Dubber shrugged. “Even as old as you are.”

  Casey wanted to laugh and cry all at the same time, but she gripped the edge of the table and kept herself from doing either.

  “It wouldn’t work,” she said. “We’re just not compatible.”

  “You don’t like each other?”

  “No. We like each other fine.” She really wanted to end this discussion. “We just don’t like the same things.”

  Dubber frowned. “Neither do my mom and dad, but they still got married.”

  The scene slowly blurred for Casey. She didn’t want to talk to Dubber anymore. She didn’t want to smile and be polite to her guest. She just wanted to put her head down and cry.

  “Some people are made for each other,” Casey said, feeling a weariness settle into her bones. “There’s a certain magic.” She shrugged. “Mike and I are just friends.”

  “Tiffany and I are friends, but we really like each other, too.”

  “Dubber, I have a lot of work to do.”

  “Okay.” He stood up and drained his cup of what was probably lukewarm chocolate, then picked up his coat. “Remember,” he said as he slipped into it. “I’m always ready to baby-sit the guys.”

  “Yes, I’ll remember,” she assured him, and shut the door.

  Casey went back to work, refusing to let herself linger over Dubber’s visit. So what if everyone in town wanted them back together? It wasn’t up for a vote.

  She pulled over a stack of printouts, copies of morerecent newspaper articles that she’d turned up in her search the other day. It was almost impossible to concentrate on anything, but she could make a pretense. The cats would be impressed, she knew.

  Then suddenly it jumped out at her: a christening announcement from the 1950s. Rosemarie Schmidt Widdington—daughter of John Widdington and Sarah Schmidt, granddaughter of Robert Schmidt and Wilma Adamson, great-grandniece of Simon Van Horne and Stella Schmidt—had been baptized.

  Casey started to laugh. It all made such sense now in some horrible, fatalistic way. She and Michael were never meant to be. They were not destined for one another. She was a descendant of Stella, of the lonely, unloved wife. Simon was longing for his lost love Priscilla, just as Mike was longing for Darcy. It made such perfect sense now.

  So why was Casey’s laughter turning to tears?

  Damn, but the wind was cold, Mike thought as he hurried up the back steps and into the kitchen. His hands were like ice. He either had to find the gloves that damn cat had stolen or buy some new ones. He gave Gus a pat on the head, then stopped short at the sight of Casey at the stove.

  “Oh,” he said, at his conversational best. Damn, but she looked beautiful. Her skin was glowing, her eyes were pink…actually. He hoped she wasn’t still crying over him. He wasn’t worth it.

  “I thought you’d be going out for dinner,” she said.

  He took a step back toward the door. “I could if you want me to.”

  “No, don’t be silly.”

  She turned back to the stove so he could admire another view of her. Soft curves, fiery hair that would feel as soft as silk in his hands…He swallowed hard.

  “Dubber brought over some goulash and I was just heating it up,” she said. “There’s plenty for us both if you’d like.”

  “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

  “No, really. I’m fine,” she said. “And a
ctually, I wanted to tell you something, anyway.”

  He wasn’t sure if that was good or bad, but he just hung his coat up and set the table while Gus curled up in the corner to sleep. It was almost like old times, but not quite. Mike wouldn’t let his heart forget that lots had happened since the last meal they’d had together here.

  Casey didn’t talk much as they ate, but when she finished, she looked up at him. Her eyes held a wealth of sadness and weariness, almost more than he could bear.

  “I was finishing up my research this afternoon and discovered something interesting,” she said. “I found out I’m related to Stella, Simon’s wife.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Nope.” Casey smiled at him. “Isn’t it a hoot? As soon as I read it, I laughed. No wonder things didn’t work out between us. You and Simon are two of a kind.”

  “I’m not sure about any of that.”

  “That I’m related to Stella?” she said. “I’m pretty sure.”

  “No, that things didn’t work because you are, or that I’m like Simon. I think we manage our own lives. What happens is because of who we are or what we’ve done, not who our ancestors were.”

  “I don’t think it’s that simple.”

  She got to her feet and began to clear her dishes. He wanted her to stay and talk some more. He couldn’t bear to have her here with him for a such a few minutes and then lose her again.

  “I’ll be going in the morning,” she said. “Have you made a decision about Gus?”

  “No. Yes. I don’t know.”

  “Promise me if you don’t keep him you’ll let me have him.”

  He nodded. “I can promise that.”

  She put her dishes in the sink and began to run water on them.

  “You cooked. I’ll do the dishes,” he offered, though he knew it meant she would leave. And it did.

  She went into the mudroom for her coat. Gus got up to watch her go, but stayed, for a change, at Mike’s side. She turned at the door and smiled at them both, but didn’t say anything. Then she closed the door behind her. Mike felt as though his life had just ended.

  Casey stood at the window by her bed and watched the old house. It was two in the morning. All the lights had been out for hours now. Hers had been out, too, and she ought to have been asleep. There was no reason for her not to be, except that she just couldn’t rest.

  Maybe because she still had something to do. Slipping into her boots and pulling her fuzzy robe on over her nightgown, she hurried down the garage stairs and out into the yard. It was an awful night. A sleety rain was failing and by morning everything should be coated with ice. A terrible day to travel, but a worse day to stay.

  She let herself in the back door and crept silently through the kitchen. At the living room door, she stopped. The smell of peppermint had never been so strong.

  “Hello, Simon,” she whispered. “I’ve come to say goodbye.”

  Emotions pulsated around her. Grief. Regret. Sorrow. Sadness. She let them engulf her as she walked over to the sofa and sat down. She would have liked to see all the lights on the Christmas tree one more time, but didn’t turn them on. She didn’t want to wake Mike. So she just gazed at the tree’s shadow in the corner.

  “I guess you understand,” she said into the darkness. “You can’t always choose who you love. And you sure can’t choose if they love you.”

  She sat in silence for a long time, but she knew Simon was still there. Maybe wishing she was a descendant of Priscilla. “Maybe Darcy was,” Casey said. “Maybe that’s why Mike still loves her.”

  It was not a particularly comforting thought, though, and Casey rose to her feet. She walked over to the tree and closed her eyes, breathing deeply of the pine scent and the memories. They weren’t just of her and Mike, though, but of Simon walking through the house, of bursting into rooms with bouquets of roses and sitting weeping before a roaring fire in the fireplace.

  There were too many images, and she opened her eyes. She was alone in the room. The scent of peppermint was gone. And it was time she was, too. She hurried back through the kitchen to the yard and to the garage apartment.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Casey carried the box out to her car. It was just past breakfast and she was all packed, ready to go. All that was left for her to do was load the car. The freezing rain of last night had turned to snow, and it was miserable outside, but that was not going to stop her. She was miserable inside, too, so what was the difference? She had to get out of here.

  She put the box down to open the car, but couldn’t get her key in the lock. She tried again, but it still didn’t work. Rats. The locks must be frozen. Now what?

  She glared at the car and at the snow, and at the houses around the neighborhood for good measure. Why did this have to happen today, of all days? Why couldn’t it have happened when she was safely at her parents’ house in Fort Wayne? Why couldn’t it happen next week, when she was back in Ann Arbor? She could live without a car there.

  Well, standing around here wasn’t going to solve anything. Maybe her hair dryer would help. She got a long extension cord from the garage, found her hair dryer and went to work blowing hot air at the lock. She knew she had company when Gus nudged her hand, but it took her a moment to find the strength to face Mike.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  He didn’t look as though he’d slept much better than she had, but she was not going to feel sorry for him. She was on her way out of his life. “Trying to get my lock to work,” she said, and went back to her task. “You know this house—every door that’s even near it has troubles.”

  “Is that going to work?”

  She shrugged, not liking to have him so close. He was making her forget how angry she was at him. “It has in the past, though it seems really frozen this time.” She tried the key again. Not a smidgen of progress.

  “Why don’t I call Charlie down at the service station?” he suggested.

  “Sure.” At least Mike would have to go inside to do that, and she could relax again.

  But he was gone for only a few minutes, then he was back, making suggestions, trying to help, and then finally advising that she come inside the house to wait for Charlie.

  “You can’t see the driveway from the garage apartment,” he explained. “You’d better watch from the living room.”

  “This is fine.” She walked a few steps down the drive to peer along the empty street.

  “It’s freezing out.”

  She glanced at him, bare hands stuck in his pockets and no hat on. “You can go inside,” she said. “I’m not cold.”

  “Neither am I.”

  “Oh, for goodness sakes,” she snapped, and started for the back porch. If she didn’t give in, he was going to freeze to death out here or at least catch another cold. “Fine. I’ll wait inside.”

  But just as she put her foot on the bottom step, a tow truck pulled into the drive. She was saved.

  Charlie, giving a wave and a hi-de-ho to Mike, ambled on over to her car. “Freezed up on you, huh?” he said, and jiggled all the handles. “Lot of that today.”

  “Can you unfreeze it?” she asked. “I need to get home for Christmas.”

  “Oh sure.” He ambled back to his truck.

  “You shouldn’t be going, anyway,” Mike said. “The roads are awful.”

  No matter how awful, the roads would be a lot safer than being here with him. Her heart couldn’t take that. “I’m a careful driver.”

  “That’s not always enough.”

  Charlie was back with a little blue can and sprayed about half a gallon of deicer into the lock. “That’ll do her,” he said. “Give her a try.”

  But the key still wouldn’t turn. Damn. Casey felt ready to cry with frustration.

  “I got some heavy-duty stuff that’s guaranteed to work.” He went back to his truck again, returning this time with a red can, and sprayed enough into the lock so that it ran back out and down the side of her car.

/>   “You’d be better off waiting for the weather to clear up,” Mike muttered.

  It didn’t work. Not after Charlie sprayed some more. Not after he heated the key. Not after he sprayed the heated key and muttered some sort of magic spell on it. He tried the other door, the back doors, even the trunk. Nothing would open, no matter how much muttering, spraying or heating he did.

  “I could tow it to the garage and let her warm up inside,” he suggested.

  “It won’t help,” Casey said. “It’s this house. It’s put a spell on it.”

  “It’s just bad weather,” Mike said. “Thanks anyway, Charlie.”

  Charlie nodded and walked back to his tow truck. Casey just watched him go, feeling as if her last chance to escape was leaving with him.

  “Want to come in and warm up?” Mike asked.

  She shook her head. “Is there a car rental in town? No, of course not. And even if there was, there’d be no cars left. It’s Christmas Eve.”

  But even as she felt unbearably weighed down, a car turned into the drive. It was a shiny new one, red and expensive looking, and the driver looked almost like…

  Casey laughed as a man climbed out of the driver’s seat. “Melvin.!” She’d never been so glad to see him. “What are you doing?”

  “I got my license,” he said.

  His voice was a trifle petulant, but she refused to let it bother her—not when he had a nice warm running car right here.

  “This is wonderful,” she cried. “My car doors are frozen shut and I need to get home for Christmas.”

  “I said you could stay here,” Mike stated, with almost the same petulance as Melvin, but definitely more volume.

  Melvin frowned at Mike. “And you are…?”

  “This is Mike Burnette, Mrs. Jamison’s nephew,” Casey said. “Mike, this is my friend Melvin.”

  “So I gathered,” Mike said, without the slightest bit of warmth in his voice. “You come all this way by yourself and in this weather? Pretty brave.”