“Shorry,” Santa shouted, or tried to. “How about shome candy canes for the kiddos?”
The pump clicked and I saw it had shut off. I opened the door to go put the nozzle up and get my receipt. Alcohol fumes hit me as I took the long way around the back of my car to the pump. I pulled the nozzle from my car. As I screwed on my gas cap, I saw the van driver grab Santa by his fuzzy red jacket fronts. I backed into the pump, gaping as he shoved him against the closed side of the rear door to the van. For the first time, I got a good view of the interior. It was filled with kids. Filled with them. Long, dark braids and a sweet face caught my attention. I stood frozen, nozzle in midair.
“Betsy?” I called out, but my words were muffled by the roar of the van driver, who I now realized was Trevon Hodges, Betsy’s foster father.
“Stay away from those kids with your drunken idolatry.”
“But shir, I din mean nothing by—”
“Sinner!” He pushed the man away.
Santa stumbled to his knees, then stood. “Sh’okay.” He held up one hand. “I may be a shinner, but Jesus died for my shins, sho I’ll be okay.” He stumbled toward the van again.
Trevon Hodges reached into the back of the van and pulled out a tire iron, and I heard screams from inside. I shoved the nozzle back in place on the pump. A voice I knew well screamed, “Mama!”
I started to run toward Betsy, but saw she was facing away from me, holding her arms out toward the front of the van. Just barely, I recognized Mary Alice Hodges, a few rows up.
Hodges pointed the tire iron at Santa. He dropped his voice so low I could barely hear him. “That won’t save you from the wrath of God, sinner. Now, go, before it catches up with you in the here and now.”
Santa turned and staggered away, mumbling. He picked up his bottle and disappeared around the corner of the gas station. I remained inert, my mouth open. Hodges tossed the tire iron back into the rear of the van and seemed to notice me for the first time. He nodded, then slammed the back door, blocking my view of Betsy. A low whimper caught in my throat. Hodges went around the side of the van. I heard the pump click and the sound of the nozzle inserted into its home station. He didn’t appear again. I heard his door slam and the engine start, then the van pulled away, dragging my heart along with it.
On wooden legs, I took the three steps back to the door of my car. Somehow, I got it open and lowered myself inside. Betsy. Betsy had called out for her mama and that scary Mary Alice Hodges was the only one there. I was still months away from being able to try to adopt her, and she needed a mama now.
Ava yanked the door open and dove inside, her teeth chattering. She slammed it and looked at me. “Damn, girl, you look like you seen a jumbie.” She used the island word for ghost or spirit, which I knew from my time there with Katie.
“Something like that,” I said. I bit my lip, holding back tears, and pointed the Mustang toward Heaven.
***
At five twenty-five, I poofed my bangs a little and shellacked them into place. If the sky was still spitting snow, my hair needed the support. Heck, I needed support as much as my hair did. I’d ended an emotional call with Nadine a few minutes before. She was understandably shaken about the death of her coworker/friend. Finding Ivanka and all that came after hadn’t been the highlight of my day, either, but it was the sight of Betsy and the sound of her voice calling out to her mama that I couldn’t shake. I had to, though. I took a deep breath. Obsessing about it wouldn’t do me a bit of good. I turned sideways in front of the bathroom mirror, checking myself from all angles. Peach flocked wallpaper provided the backdrop, and a Phelps family tree cross-stitch sampler framed my head. The lavender lingerie set was hidden, but I smoothed my hand over the waist of my black flowing skirt. No one would have ever guessed I was pregnant less than three months ago from my flat belly now.
The doorbell rang at five thirty, exactly as Jack had promised it would.
Mother’s voice chirped, “I’ll get it.”
“Thanks, Mother.”
A few taps sounded on the bathroom door.
I opened it. “All yours,” I said.
Ava stepped toward me, her hands splayed at hip level on either side of her. She smacked a kiss in the air five inches from my cheek. “I won’t be but a minute.”
I couldn’t imagine what additional primping she needed for a Christmas Eve service, although it wouldn’t hurt my feelings if she changed clothes entirely. The curve-hugging black dress with the peekaboo chest and crisscross back straps might have worked for her canceled gig, but it was bound to raise a few eyebrows at a church. Not to mention her four-inch black pumps with little bows on the heels that accented the back seams in her pantyhose.
We exchanged places in the bathroom. She leaned into the mirror, pursing her plum-colored lips and pushing her breasts farther up and out of her dress. Her perfect, café au lait skin glistened above her neckline, sparkled even, and I suspected she’d dusted her décolletage with something. A lot of something. My mouth went dry watching her, and I wasn’t even attracted to women. I cringed to think the impact she could have on Jack. Sure, I was pretty, but Ava was sex on two legs.
I heard my mother greeting him, and the rumble of his hello back to her.
I swallowed and said to Ava, “Meet us in the living room.” I turned to go, then added, “The roads are bad, so we need to get moving as quick as we can.”
She winked at me. “No problem, mon.”
I walked down the dark hallway from the bathroom to the strains of “What Child Is This” playing. My low-heeled riding boots were almost soundless against the carpet. They had seemed a smart, attractive choice half an hour ago but now hopelessly bland. I straightened my red cashmere sweater. The soft wool was luxurious to the touch, but was it too “school marm” beside Ava?
“Enough of this bull hockey,” I whispered to myself. “Woman up.”
I’d already had a more-than-full day, but this evening was important to me. I wasn’t going to let insecurity or anything else spoil it. I pasted on a smile, and walked to the door of the bright living room.
Jack and my mother stood in front of the hearth before a roaring fire. She had pressed a rosy-cheeked Santa mug in his hand, and steam rose from its mouth as the aroma of spiced tea wafted my way.
“I just can’t thank you enough, Jack. For everything.”
I stayed rooted in the doorway. What did she have to thank Jack for? Hackles rose on my arms. Surely she wasn’t talking about him giving me a job?
“Yep.” But of course the man of few words—and those usually off topic—wasn’t going to expound on her remarks. “Can I entice you to Downtown Methodist with us tonight?”
Mother beamed. “Maybe next year. I helped with the stage set for the children’s program this year at Believers, and I can’t miss the pageant.” She put her hand on his non-mug arm. “I’m thrilled Emily’s going with you.”
Since the conversation seemed poised to take an embarrassing direction without any further illumination on what my mother had to be thankful to Jack for, I broke in. “Merry Christmas Eve.”
Mother clapped her hands together. “There she is.”
Jack’s improbably topaz eyes met mine. “Merry Christmas Eve to you.” His left-sided smile warmed me inside.
I crossed the room to join them. Mother went all out for Christmas, and the living room was overflowing with jolliness. Hand-knitted Christmas stockings hung from the mantel over the fireplace. Mother had made them herself. There were three, of course: mine, hers, and my father’s, despite the fact that the last Christmas he’d spent with us was fifteen years before. Her snow globes decorated the coffee table. A nativity scene of embroidered figurines graced an end table. The tree commanded wholly a third of the room from its spot in front of the window, and wrapped gifts spilled over the dark green velvet tree skirt below it. Homemade ornaments—mostly Mother’s crafts, but some I recognized from my school days—covered the tree branches. A construction-paper chain in
faded red and green. A picture of me glued in a plastic coffee can lid. A Popsicle-stick reindeer with a cotton-ball tail and red puffy nose. I loved it all.
When I reached them, Jack put his hand under my elbow, and butterflies exploded in flight in my tummy.
Fighting to cover my nerves, I asked, “Have you heard anything from Clyde?”
“They kept the old codger overnight, but he’s home now, and driving Betty up a tree.”
“That’s great.”
“Unless you’re Betty. Are you ready?”
“Well, nearly.” The butterflies crash-landed. “I have a favor to ask.”
“What’s that?”
My mother raised her eyebrows, pulling her thin skin thinner below them.
I put my hand up toward her and shot her a warning glance. To Jack I said, “A friend of mine from the Virgin Islands needed a place to stay tonight, and she wants to join us. Is that okay?”
Jack took one sip of tea, then another. The logs crackled and popped in the fireplace. I looked at Mother and she at me. My chest grew tight and then tighter as Jack remained silent without answering my question.
And then Ava appeared in the doorway. Or shot in like a Roman candle, rather. She had thrown a red shawl over her dress, and I couldn’t help but wither as I compared my black skirt and red sweater to her black and red ensemble.
She tossed her thick mane of sun-bronzed black hair behind her shoulder and said as only she could, “Emily, introduce me to this fine boss of yours.”
If Ava had an effect on Jack, he hid it well. He raised one brow at me, though.
The frog in my throat made my voice thin. “Jack, this is my friend, Ava Butler, from St. Marcos. Ava, this is Jack Holden.”
Ava walked to him and held out one hand.
He took it and bowed his head to her. “Ms. Butler, a pleasure.”
Her accent was a musical purr. “Call me Ava. And the pleasure be all mine, meh son.” She held on to his hand a little longer than I thought was really necessary, her glistening eyes locked onto his. “Thank you for letting me crash your party with Emily. Christmas a lonely time for me this year, far from my daughter and the island I call home.”
“Okay,” I said. My voice, meant to break her spell, came out almost a shriek. But it worked. Ava dropped Jack’s hand. “I think we’re ready. Mother, please drive carefully.”
“You know I will.”
Ava hugged my mother. “Thanks for having me. I know Emily come from good people, first time I meet her.”
Mother was always a sucker for flattery. She hugged Ava back. “Of course. Stay as long as you’d like.” She turned to Jack. “Is the weather going to be good enough for you and Emily to fly out tomorrow?”
I wanted to jump up and down and wave my arms “no,” but Ava’s phone made a noise, and she pulled it from her handbag to check it.
Jack said, “We’ll have to see.”
“See what?” Ava asked.
I grabbed Ava’s arm. “You’re going to fall on your bana in those shoes. Let me help you out to Jack’s car.”
***
As the service drew to a close, the organist and choir burst into the recessional, “Hark the Herald Angels Sing.” I stood up between Jack and Ava and continued singing as the front pews filed out. We had sat near the back, so we had a long time before we would be exiting.
I flipped the program to the back cover. Jack had surprised me again. I had assumed we were going to a Catholic mass, and it turned out he was a member of Downtown Methodist, a church up the street from our offices. I kept singing as I read over it: Announcements. Singles. Ladies Bible Study. Youth Group. Choir practice. A potluck—THE CHURCH WILL HOST AN EVENING OF FINE DINING, SUPER ENTERTAINMENT, AND GRACIOUS HOSTILITY. I smiled. Another gem for my collection.
Our row emptied into the center aisle and we began a slow walk toward the sanctuary exit. Jack led and Ava and I followed, side by side. Inside the nave, the carol sounded exultant, glorious. As we neared the propped-open doors, the sound changed to a happy jangle of music mixed with chattering voices. By the time we exited, the chatter was dominant and the music the background.
Without the aid of the choir, people in the foyer sang out of rhythm and off-key all around me—except for Ava, who sang at full voice and perfectly, which drew as many eyes as did her va-va and her voom. On my left, two openly gay men held hands as they talked to a heterosexual couple with twin boys. Three blue-haired women leaned against each other for support and spoke in slow, tremulous voices to my right. Someone grabbed my arm from behind, stopping me short.
I called out, “Jack,” but my voice didn’t begin to cut through the din.
Jack kept going, Ava behind him. I turned to my accoster. Officer Samson’s towering frame loomed behind me, recognizable even when he wore a sport coat, sweater, and button down over navy pants, instead of a police officer’s uniform. He continued pulling me from the crowd, and I considered resisting, but decided that probably wasn’t something one did with cops, even when the object of one’s affection was walking off with the sexiest woman within a five-hundred-mile radius. I acquiesced, letting Samson lead me to the side of the room, out of the flow of human traffic.
He put his head close to mine without letting go of my arm and shouted, “I heard you reported a murder today.”
I scowled, processing his words. Officer Jones told me he thought it was a slip and fall. I had wanted to believe it, but I remembered the eerie feeling I’d had in her backyard, like someone was watching me. I’d shaken it off, but I’d wondered about foul play, especially since she’d been scared to leave her home.
“Murder?”
“Yes, and I’m starting to worry about you.”
My fist clenched. Was he trying to intimidate me like that jerk Burrows? “Oh really?”
He released my arm. “You keep showing up where people are dying. That’s high risk. You should take up a nonhazardous hobby and spend some time away from crime scenes.”
His voice hadn’t sounded hostile. In fact, he sounded grandfatherly, even warm. I relaxed. “I’ll think about it. What are you doing here?”
“Christmas Eve service with my family.”
“Huh.” I looked around for a wife giving him the stink eye for talking to me, but I didn’t see any likely candidates.
“Anyway, since we’re here, about the other day, and your phone.” He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry.”
His sudden change in subject stalled my brain like the swamped engine of my dad’s truck once when he drove through a high-water crossing in Palo Duro Canyon. “Huh?”
He shook his head quickly, in small motions. “There’s a lot I can’t say. I’m a member of the APD. You’ve filed a complaint. But I regret that it happened.”
I stared at him a moment then shook my head.
“What?”
“You’re absolutely sure it was murder today?”
“So they say. I haven’t seen the final report.”
People streamed past us toward the exits. Cold air blew in from the street, and the arctic gusts blew snow all the way to where we stood. I wrapped my arms around myself. Jack and Ava were probably going steady by now. I couldn’t stand here freezing my tail off letting that happen.
As I was about to make my getaway, Samson broke his silence. “How’d you know her? I don’t picture you as running in the same circles.”
I stuck with the story I’d given Officer Jones earlier. “Friend of a friend.”
“And you were there because why?”
“That’s all going to be in Officer Jones’s report, I’m sure. Listen, my friends have—”
“It said she needed a criminal attorney.”
“Yep.”
“She dated a cop, you know.”
The people around me blurred and their voices squelched like feedback. The crowd seemed to collapse in. All the warm bodies in the overheated space made it humid, close, and claustrophobic. I wanted to rip off my jacket and run but mean
while my brain slowed to the speed of a slug.
“No, I didn’t. Which one?”
Before he could answer, I heard Jack’s voice in my ear. “Emily, there you are.”
Samson released me, saluting as he disappeared with a few sidesteps into the crowd.
I whirled, catching Jack by both arms. “I was just on my way.”
He peered more closely at me, then at Samson’s retreating figure, but I ignored the question on his face. I’d tell him about Samson. About my whole day, my whole last few days.
Later.
***
Jack parked his Jeep at an angle at Mother’s house, with his headlights illuminating the icy walkway. Ava got out of the backseat on his side and lurched, nearly falling. No shocker. She’d been having trouble on the ice in her heels all night. Jack put his hand under her elbow and guided her around the front of the Jeep, where I joined them and took his other arm. I glanced at the pristine new bumper and silver bodywork—yet another shade in the rainbow of colors on the Jeep. He still refused to take my money for the repairs. Slowly, we walked toward the house on the ice-rink walkway and stepped carefully onto the slippery porch.
I said to Jack, “Would you like to come in? Maybe we could talk about whatever it is you wanted to talk about?” I hoped to give him his present tonight, too.
His eyes darted to Ava, then back to me.
Ava eyed him like a Grade A steak. “Yah, Jack, come in. It so cold out here, and there two women inside to warm you up.”
Jack’s eyes looked as terrified as a calf in the chute before a roping competition. I didn’t blame him a bit. Possibly I should have warned him about Ava. Possibly I should have warned Ava I had dibs on Jack. If I had, then maybe I wouldn’t be imagining strangling her sparkly throat right now.
He said, “Uh, well, we can talk in New Mexico.”
I was disappointed, but I smiled at him.
Ava smiled, too. “New Mexico! When? That where I gig next.”
Earth to Emily Page 19