by Leanne Banks
“Run to the corner and back. See if you can make it back before Adelaide and I arrive at the corner,” she challenged.
Sam pumped his short legs and she could almost see a hint of a smile. On his return run, a man carrying a ladder walked out of a driveway and Sara saw a potential collision. Panic rushed through her.
“Sam! Watch out!” she yelled, rushing toward him as she pushed the stroller.
“Hey, there,” the man said, dropping the ladder and catching Sam before he hit the ground.
Her heart pounding, she reached for Sam. “Are you okay?”
He allowed her to touch his shoulders and nodded.
She sighed in relief. “Thank you for catching him. We were playing a game of running. Trying to work off some energy. Maybe I’d better try a different game plan next time.”
The man nodded. “Everybody’s fine,” he said, extending his hand. “I’m Michael Trevon. I own this house, but a renter lives here, so I was taking care of some repairs. So, these two are yours?”
She nodded. “Yes,” she said. “Well, in a way,” she added and smiled. “I’m their nanny.”
“I suspect they keep you busy,” he said.
“They do indeed,” she said, finally looking at the man’s face. He had kind eyes with wrinkles at the corners, light hair covered by a cap. An American look, she thought, but she heard a wisp of a German accent.
“You look a bit familiar,” he said. “I can’t put my finger on it, but I feel like I’ve seen you before. Ever been to Berlin?”
“A couple times,” she said, wondering if he’d possibly attended one of her concerts or seen her photograph in a newspaper. “I think I just have one of those everywoman faces.”
“I wouldn’t say every woman is a beauty like you,” he said.
She blinked at the comment. “You’re too kind. Thank you again for saving Sam from a spill. We really should get back home,” she said as she turned around. “Come along, Sam.”
“I didn’t catch your name,” he said.
“Sara,” she said over her shoulder.
“Well, if you need assistance, Sara, let me know. I’m up here frequently looking after my property.”
“Thank you,” she said. “Have a good day.”
She told herself not to be spooked by the exchange, but she was. Even though Chantaine was a charming island with wonderful people, no one could escape the reality that they were living in an internationally accessible world. She’d been on enough public stages that someone she came across might recognize her, and that wouldn’t do at all.
* * *
A couple hours later, as Sara heated soup that the part-time cook had prepared, Gavin arrived from work. She heard him stop and imagined his thoughts as he looked at the tree, the train and boxes of decorations.
He walked into the kitchen. “Soup smells good,” he said.
“You hired a good cook,” she said and forced a smile.
“The decorations are interesting,” he said.
“The palace sent them,” she said, stirring the soup.
“The tree is white,” he said as if he couldn’t grasp it.
“They don’t get snow here, so it’s meant to look like snow,” she said.
“Oh,” he said. “Where’s Sam?”
“Hiding out in his bedroom. I don’t think he was happy with the decorations,” she said.
“I told you I thought we shouldn’t overdo the holidays,” he said.
“I know,” she said. “I’ll take them down tomorrow if they still bother you. I was just hoping—”
“What? That Christmas decorations would miraculously transform his mood, lift his depression and turn him into a smiling child? Didn’t anyone ever tell you that Santa Claus isn’t real? Christmas can’t fix everything, even though even I wish it could.”
“I’m not suggesting that it can, but if there’s a chance to infuse this difficult time with a little joy, I don’t see what’s wrong with it.” She paused for half a beat. “And if you’ll pardon my saying so, you sound extremely cynical.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Well, if you’ll pardon my saying so, the past few years of my family’s life hasn’t exactly been magical or a fairy tale. And my marriage—” He broke off. “Just forget I said that. Sam and I have an appointment with the therapist tonight. We need to eat as soon as possible so we can leave on time.”
Dinner was quiet and stilted, but blessedly swift. As soon as Gavin and Sam left, Sara’s fingers itched to decorate the tree, but she restrained herself. She would only be making more work for herself if the two Sinclair men decided they wanted the decorations taken down.
Instead, she entertained Adelaide and took out some of her frustration on the piano in the den. Playing the piano was one area where she felt a modicum of success. As she played, she couldn’t help thinking about the fact that she hadn’t heard anything from her brother in nearly a year. She didn’t know if he was alive or dead. Add to that the limbo that she and her sister had remained in for the past year, and Sara realized the decorations were as much for herself as they were for the Sinclairs.
She was grateful that the royal Devereaux family of Chantaine had provided asylum for her sister and herself, but she was growing impatient with the ongoing sense of being in a waiting room.
Pushing back her feelings took more effort than usual. She was beginning to understand her sister Tabitha’s unwillingness to put her entire life on hold. Sara read a book to Adelaide and put the baby down.
No sooner had she fixed herself a cup of tea than Sam and Gavin came into the house. She met Gavin’s gaze. “You’re back a bit early. No stops along the way?”
He shook his head. “Promised a video game instead,” he said.
His eyes looked dark like a storm ready to roll in. She’d already challenged him enough tonight. She wouldn’t do it again. “All right, then. If you are putting Sam to bed, then I’ll go read in my bedroom.”
“You don’t have to sequester yourself,” he said.
“It’s okay. It’s a quiet, calming time of day for me. Good night, then,” she said and got her cup of water.
“Your intentions were good,” Gavin said. “We’re just not in a good place for Christmas this year.”
“I understand. I’m sorry if I forced it on you. I’ll take it down tomorrow afternoon,” she said. Then she wandered into the living room to say good-night to Sam.
The boy was standing in front of the tree staring at it. He shook his head. “Maybe more ornaments will help it,” he said.
Surprise rushed through her and she gazed at Gavin. His lips twitched. “Looks like we’re going to have a white Christmas tree this year, after all.”
* * *
Gavin put Sam to bed and kissed his son’s forehead. He headed toward his bedroom. He and Sam had played a video game and Sam had hung ten ornaments on the crazy white Christmas tree. The plan was to do more decorating tomorrow.
Gavin felt ambivalent about the whole issue. He wasn’t sure all this decorating would turn out well. At the same time, Sam had exhibited interest, so Gavin would encourage his interest. He took a long breath and thought about going back to the den, but he wasn’t in the mood.
Returning down the hall, he heard sounds from Sara’s room. He stood outside her door. Muffled sounds of distress issued from her room.
Concerned, Gavin went into her room. She thrashed from side to side in her bed, moaning. “Alex,” she said. “I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe. Alex. Tab...”
Her distress stabbed at him. He sat on the edge of her bed and gently squeezed her shoulders. “Sara,” he said quietly.
“Alex—”
“Sara,” he said a bit louder.
She paused, shaking her head and breathing heavily. “Help,” she said.
“Sara,” he said again.
Her eyes fluttered and she looked up at him, clearly not recognizing him for several seconds. Then she took a breath and met his gaze. “Gavin,” she whispered.
He nodded, relieved that she was awake and somewhat cognizant. “I think you were having a nightmare.”
“The fire,” she said, and she reached for his hands. “The fire. It was terrible. I could barely breathe. I couldn’t find Alex or Tabitha. I was so afraid. Crawling on the floor.”
Gavin squeezed her hands. “It was just a dream,” he said.
Sara shook her head. “No. It really happened. A long time ago.” She lifted her left hand. “I burned my fingertips. No fingerprints left on this hand. I couldn’t play piano for a long time until I recovered.”
Gavin looked at her left hand and saw the absence of fingerprints. He wondered what kind of hell she had gone through. “Did you suffer any other injuries?”
“Just smoke inhalation,” she said. “Alex tried to come for me, but they wouldn’t let him. He wasn’t sure how long he could safely wait before coming back inside.”
There was a lot to this story that he wasn’t hearing right now, but Gavin knew he needed to help Sara calm down. She needed that more than questions. “You’re safe now. There’s no fire here,” he told her. “We have smoke alarms. I had them installed.”
She took several breaths, then sighed. “I’m sorry if I disturbed you,” she said. “I haven’t had nightmares in a while.”
He couldn’t help wondering how long “a while” was. Instead of asking more questions, he nodded. “Get some rest. Do you need more water?” he asked, offering her some water.
Sara propped herself up on her elbows and took several sips of water. “That was good. I just need to settle down now.”
“Is there anything I can do?” he asked.
She paused a half beat, then shook her head. “No, but thank you for waking me up before I became a screaming banshee.”
He smiled. “You were nowhere near banshee level. Trust me, I know. Adelaide is my daughter.”
Sara chuckled and seemed to relax. She took another deep breath. “I’ll be okay now.”
“Think about Santa Claus and reindeer,” he said.
“And crazy white trees?”
“You might want to skip that one,” he said.
She nodded and snuggled down into the covers. “It’s not that bad. In my world, it would have been considered ‘festive.’”
“Festive,” he repeated. “I’ll remember that. Close your eyes and imagine the ocean sound from the device we should be receiving any day. Damn international post.”
Sara closed her eyes. “Crashing waves.”
Gavin made a whooshing sound.
Sara smiled. “Nice try, but that sounds like the toilet.”
Gavin smothered a laugh. “Okay, you make the sound.”
Sara made a softer graduated whooshing sound.
“Yeah,” he said. “Yours was better.”
She made the sound again.
“Okay, stop now and go to sleep,” he said, looking down at her. It was all he could do not to kiss her. Her forehead, her cheek, her lips. Gavin gritted his teeth. There were so many ways he could make her forget about that bad dream.
“Thank you,” she whispered, her eyes still closed.
“No problem,” he said. Then he rose and went to bed. But he sure didn’t go to sleep. Who was Alex? Who was Tabitha? What was Sara’s history? She was more complicated than she pretended. He wondered what else he didn’t know about her. Plenty, he suspected. Plenty.
Gavin closed his eyes, but his mind was flying in different directions. Who was she? She seemed so sweet. Where was she from? She was tender and complicated. With her face scrubbed clean, she looked like an innocent teenager, but he knew there was far more to her and her past.
Gavin closed his eyes again, but sleep was far, far away. Giving up, he rose from his bed and turned on his laptop. He might as well get some work done.
* * *
Sara awakened to the sound of Adelaide singing. No, screaming. She raced into the nursery and cooed and comforted the baby. “Rough wake-up, sweetie pie.” She gathered the baby against her.
Adelaide immediately quieted.
“Oh, poor baby,” she murmured. “It’s hard being a baby, isn’t it?”
Adelaide gave a squeaky sound.
Sara stroked the baby’s head. “I bet a bottle will help.”
Sara walked to the kitchen and fixed a bottle for the baby. Adelaide sucked it down, then burped loudly and shot her a milky smile.
Sara blinked at the strong smell of formula and nodded. “So you feel better now?”
She placed her into her infant seat as Gavin strode into the kitchen wearing his pajamas. His hair mussed, he scrubbed his face with his hand. “I couldn’t believe it when my alarm when off. Where did the night go?” he muttered.
“Sometimes they seem to pass in seconds,” she said. After a pause, she added, “I’m sorry about my nightmare.”
“I’m sure it was worse for you than me. It looked like a rough dream to me,” he said, heading for the coffeemaker.
Sara took a deep breath. “I thought I had buried the memory.”
“I’m not sure that’s the kind of memory that can be buried. Some of those kinds of memories have to be worked out more than once. They leave scars, but they can make you stronger, too,” he said.
“Maybe,” she said.
He nodded. “Sometimes you have to think about it even if you don’t want to. So the shrink says.”
“Is that how you handle your late wife’s death?” she asked.
Gavin’s face turned to stone, and she knew she shouldn’t have mentioned his wife. It was clearly a taboo subject for him.
He shook his head. “There’s no good way to handle her death. I hate that she died. I hate it for the kids. I hate it for her. I blame myself. Our marriage wasn’t what it should have been for the last couple of years. I tried, but I couldn’t—” He broke off and shook his head. “That’s more than you wanted to know. I just wanted to tell you that you can turn that horrible experience into something good. I’ll drink some coffee and take a shower,” he said as he turned away.
Sara looked after him, wishing she could comfort him, wishing she hadn’t mentioned his late wife. Why had she?
Obviously, all had not been well between Gavin and his wife. Many people tried to pin the blame on one of the spouses, but even Sara had learned that it took two to make a relationship work and there were many things that could make it break down.
She’d glimpsed pain in Gavin’s eyes when he talked about his late wife. She wondered if he would ever be able to heal.
Chapter Six
Life in the household muddled on. Sara and Sam decorated the tree and shortly afterward, Sam became fascinated by the toy train beneath it. Mid-December brought extra rain to the island of Chantaine and Sara struggled to find ways to entertain the children during the wet times. She resorted to playing the piano on the darkest days.
Halfway through a piece by Beethoven, she heard a knock at the door and went to answer it. Mr. Trevon, the neighbor, appeared wearing a smile and holding a package.
“Hi there. The post delivered this to my door, but I believe it was intended for you. I remembered your name was Sara,” he said, holding out the package.
“Thank you very much,” she said. “I guess everyone makes mistakes.”
Mr. Trevon shrugged. “Guess so. Was that you playing the piano? If so, you are concert-worthy,” he said.
Sara demurred. “You flatter me. I’m no Mozart. But I love to play,” she said.
He narrowed his eyes. “You look like someone I’ve seen before. And I’d swear there’s some connection to music, but I just can’t put my finger on where I would have seen you. Are you sure you’re not a professional?”
Sara bit the inside of her lip. She hated to be untruthful. “You sound like a music lover yourself. I, too, love music, but professional? I aspire. There are so many others who are more talented and accomplished than I am. As a music lover, I’m sure you understand.”
Mr. Trevon
nodded, but he still looked at her curiously. “Of course, I understand.”
“Thank you again,” she said.
“Good day,” he said.
Her heart racing, Sara stared after him as he walked away. It wouldn’t do for him to figure out her real identity. It wouldn’t do at all.
She felt a tug at her pants leg and looked down at Sam.
“What’s in the package?” he asked.
“Well, let’s find out.” She went to the kitchen to get some scissors. Delving through the wrapping, she pulled out the sleep sound machine and smiled. Gavin hadn’t been joking when he’d said he’d ordered it for her. She put the enclosed batteries into it and pushed the button for the sound of ocean waves. “Does this sound familiar?” she asked.
Sam nodded, his curiosity satisfied. “Can I play a video game?”
“Thirty minutes,” she said. She listened to the waves for a moment longer, but the sound didn’t calm her like it usually did. What if the neighbor had seen her in concert or perhaps seen her photo in a newspaper? Sara’s stomach tightened. How much longer was she going to be able to hide who she truly was?
The following night, Sara dressed for dinner at the palace with Gavin. She’d actually been preparing bit by bit most of the afternoon. She told herself not to be excited, but this was the first time she’d dressed up in ages, and she could barely remember the last time she’d been out on a date. Even though this wasn’t really a date, she reminded herself for the fiftieth time.
“So, stop being excited,” she sternly instructed herself as she applied her makeup.
Although Sara traveled light these days, she always packed a little black dress. As she dressed for the event, she tamped down her feelings of excitement. Sam alternately joined her and his father in different bathrooms.
Sam stared up at her. “Dad doesn’t use a pencil on his eyes.”
“I’m sure he doesn’t, but I bet he shaves his face,” she said, applying eye shadow.
“Yeah, but he doesn’t put stuff on his eyes,” he said.
“It’s customary for women to put on makeup for an evening out,” she said.