Emilie's Christmas Love

by James Lavene

  Joda hugged her back then shooed her out of the kitchen. Amber was sitting in her highchair, watching Adam pull lettuce apart all over the table as he made salad.

  "I'll see you two tomorrow," Emilie told the children, kissing each of them quickly. "Tomorrow is Toy World!"

  "Yes!" Adam yelled, putting up his fist to salute that decision.

  Amber laughed and clapped her hands, blowing kisses at Emilie who blew them back.

  She went up the stairs angrily to change her clothes. It wasn't bad enough that she loved two children that she couldn't adopt, she fumed. No. She had learned to love their uncle as well—a man who didn't want to have a serious relationship with her.

  "You're a loser," she told herself in the mirror as she brushed her hair impatiently. "You may be rich. You may be a Ferrier. But you're a loser in the game of life, Emilie, petite."

  She made a face at herself then pulled on a warm, plum-colored sweater and skirt. She put on light make up and smiled at herself, touching scent lightly to her wrists and the shadowed cleft between her breasts.

  The skirt was straight to below her knee, but loose and soft against her skin. She pulled on her black boots and a heavy coat. On a whim, she tied a bright green and red Christmas scarf around her neck. She'd found it on her bedside table that morning.

  It had been a small present from Nick. Like Aunt Joda's apron and Santa hat. There was a note with it that she’d tucked into her purse.

  “You've made it all so easy. Thank you, Emilie. No wonder the children love you. Nick.”

  Why was it that children found her so lovable, yet real love seemed so willing and able to pass her by?

  Chapter Fourteen

  Julie was as sick as she'd told her friend. Her husband gave Emilie the course book and told her that they were hoping she would be better in time for the holiday. Their children stood at the door with their harried father, staring at Emilie with inquisitive eyes.

  Slightly beyond, Emilie could see the beginning of the house. Coats, boots, books, and toys seemed to be thrown everywhere. There was the faint scent of burned food coming from the kitchen.

  "I hope she's better soon." Emilie took the course book. For her sake as well as yours. She knew she’d hear about everything that had happened while her friend was sick when they went back from the holiday.

  One way or another, it would all be over, Emilie thought, getting quickly back into her car. Nick would either have decided to give Amber up for adoption or he would have decided to keep her. They would be back in their own house and the big Christmas tree would go through a shredder to provide cover for the flower garden next summer.

  That was about as depressing as knowing that she was in love with Nick.

  The night was clear. Stars were shining brightly from the sharp black sky. It was bitterly cold. There was no wind. She knew the faculty parking lot at the community college was a long walk from the front door of the school. She wasn’t looking forward to it.

  She would rather be at home drinking hot chocolate with Amber, Adam and Joda. And Nick. It was easy to picture them all together in the library, in front of the fire with steaming mugs. Maybe Nick would tell them a story . . .

  Nick had said that she had a soft heart. He didn’t know the half of it.

  He should have added that she had sawdust for brains. Emilie Ferrier. The only woman in the world able to consistently find men who didn't love her!

  She parked in the big parking lot at the college. Her jaundiced gaze took in the spot lights that covered the school grounds and the long, low buildings. She felt as much like teaching a last class in college prep as she felt like falling off the side of a mountain.

  A promise was a promise. She sighed, getting out of her car and locking the doors. She pulled her coat a little closer, hefted the course book and her handbag in her arms, and started walking across the campus.

  Several students were already in their seats by the time she found the classroom. She assumed they were eager for it to be over. The building was a little chilly. She was glad she'd dressed warmly. There was a basketball game going on at the far end of the building. Occasionally, she heard a whistle blow, or the crowd yelled, when a point was scored.

  Emilie said hello to the students as she took off her coat. She explained what had happened to their usual teacher. She took her seat at the small desk in front of the class and looked through the course book and the graded exams. It looked as though most of the students had passed the course and would be going on to the next level—probably a local college for the winter quarter.

  There was no bell for classes to start, but Julie's notes said that classes started at seven. When the clock on the wall said that it was seven, she stood up and started to address the class. One hour, she told herself. How bad could it be?

  The class was full. There were only two empty seats. Since she hadn't been there before, she had no way of knowing if those represented students who weren't going to make it for the last class.

  "Good evening." She started the class, picking up the exam papers. "My name is Emilie Ferrier and I'll be your instructor for tonight."

  The classroom door swung open and the two late arrivals came in with a flurry of apologies for being late. One of them was Nick Garrett.

  She used the time after their arrival to compose herself. As they were getting settled, taking off jackets and gloves and getting out books, she took a deep breath. She’d felt herself grinning like a damned cat when she first saw him. Fortunately, he hadn’t appeared to notice her, at least not yet.

  He took off his black jacket and sat down at one of the empty desks. Emilie managed to wrench her gaze from him, and nervously cleared her throat.

  "As I was saying, my name is Emilie Ferrier and I'm going to finish up this course for you tonight. Your regular instructor is out with the 'flu. I think the best way to start would be to hand out these test papers. As I call your name, if you'll come up and get them, we'll get this over with. Most of you did very well. If there are any questions, we'll discuss the exam after everyone has their papers back."

  She felt Nick’s questioning gaze on her, but didn't dare look up at him. Her face felt hot and red. Her hands were shaking as she started calling out the names on the papers and returning the tests.

  "Nick Garrett," she called, knowing she had to reach his name at some point. She looked up into his face and smiled a little more vaguely than she had at the other students, not letting her gaze meet his.

  He'd passed the exam, she noticed gratefully. At least she wouldn't have to break that bad news to him.

  There were a few questions, mostly from students who didn't do as well on the exam.

  "How are these graded?" one man, John something-she-couldn't-remember, asked belligerently. "Because I think these are biased. I think whoever graded these was prejudiced."

  Emilie smiled at the man. What a difference from teaching nine-year-old children. She proceeded to explain to the man the way she would have explained to Adam.

  "You can take this up with your teacher next quarter," she finished after explaining the grading process. "Or you can complain to the dean."

  "How could I get so many wrong?" the man continued to whine.

  It was a familiar tone and question for her. He shared both with her fourth grade students. She looked directly at him and smiled. "Next time, you'd better study harder."

  A few students laughed quietly. A few muttered under their breaths, agreeing with the man. Emilie decided to proceed with the rest of the hour that was left of the class.

  "Now, if you'll pass your course books up to the front desk at the end of each row. The school has a commendation for each of you that passed the course."

  "Miss Ferrier?" A tall man came in the door and checked a piece of paper for her name. "I'm Efird Sutherlund, the dean of students. I'll be giving out the diplomas to your graduates."

  She shook hands with the man then gave him the list of names that Julie had put together.
/>
  "This is a good record for this class," he said, smiling at her, then at the class in general. "You all did very well."

  Emilie agreed, trying not to look at Nick. She had to sneak a peek at him. He looked as surprised to see her there as she was to see him.

  "If you'll call out these names," the dean said, handing the list back to her. "I'd like to give out these certificates."

  Emilie cleared her throat and read the first name. The man came up, shook the dean's hand, and took his certificate. She read the second name. The woman came up and took her certificate, shaking the dean's hand.

  She read Nick's name. He came up to the front of the class, shook the dean's hand and took his certificate. His eyes were on her. She shivered and couldn’t look away.

  Finally, the thirty students who'd passed were all given their certificates. The dean smiled and nodded. "This is the beginning of a new life for all of you, no matter what you choose to do from now on. Good luck to you all!"

  There was a roar from the basketball game down the hall and Emilie glanced at the clock on the wall. It was seven-fifty.

  "Well, you've received your certificates. Those of you who passed, I wish you good luck. I don't see any reason for us to have to wade through basketball traffic, so I'm going to dismiss the class and say Merry Christmas to you all."

  Most of the students were smiling. They shook her hand as they filed out of the classroom. A few were disgruntled, but managed to be civil anyway. Many of them asked about Julie and wished her a speedy recovery.

  "Miss Ferrier." Nick was standing beside her chair as the classroom emptied.

  She felt as though the tingling started in her shoulder that was closest to him and continued down through the rest of her body. Thank heaven she didn’t have to try to teach anything important to the class. She would have been lost.

  "I'm not happy with any of this," John something-she-couldn't-remember told her harshly as he stalked up to the front of the room. "They haven't heard the last of me."

  Emilie felt rather than saw Nick move a step closer to her. It was probably only a reflex action, but it made her feel good.

  She stood up slowly, gathering Julie's papers and books. "You may be right," she told the man. "I've known Julie Johnson a long time. I have to believe she gave you a fair chance."

  "What do you know about it?" he angrily demanded.

  "She knows it's time to go home and forget about it for tonight, John." Nick stepped in without waiting to listen to anything else.

  "Easy for you to say, man. You passed."

  "That's true," Nick agreed. "This lady isn't the one to take it up with. Say goodnight."

  John stared at Nick and Emilie. He shrugged and walked away, muttering beneath his breath.

  "Not your average nine-year-old." She let out a long breath when they were alone.

  "What are you doing here?" Nick asked. "Did you know I was taking classes?"

  "No.” Although she understood why she couldn’t find him and why he worked so many hours. “I was filling in for Julie and you walked through the door. I had no idea."

  "It's a little convenient." There was an edge to his voice.

  Was he embarrassed? "Don't you believe in coincidence?"

  "No." His eyes followed the line of the scarf he'd given her as it wrapped around her neck.

  There was a loud cheer and the sound of running feet through the hallway outside the door.

  "It sounds like we missed our window of opportunity." She was shaken a little by his intense gaze.

  "Come on." He took the course books and papers. "I'll buy you a cup of coffee while they clear out."

  She grabbed her coat. "That sounds good."

  Emilie was thankful that he walked slowly down the long hallway, even though her pride took a battering knowing he was doing it for her. The coffee shop was almost empty that late. Nick ordered them both a cup of coffee and paid for it.

  "So, you didn't know? Your friend didn't tell you and you had to see for yourself?"

  Emilie was indignant. "I would've asked you if my friend had mentioned it. She really is sick. She called this afternoon and I agreed to come in for the last class."

  "Okay." He stirred cream into his coffee. "I suppose the secret's out anyway."

  "What secret?" She was glad he was all right with it finally and happy to be there with him.

  He shrugged. "I decided against college when I got back from Iraq. The kids needed me. I bought the business and didn’t look back. Until now."

  "I think that's great," she enthused. "This is your opportunity."

  "Yeah." He shook his head and looked down at his coffee. "This is it."

  "You don't sound very excited by the prospect.”

  "I was. I am," he corrected. "I don't know. Everything is very confusing right now."

  "Maybe things will become clearer." She thought about the manuscript she'd sent to her friend. "Maybe Christmas will bring you a big surprise."

  "It already has." He smiled slowly at her.

  "What?"

  "You." He took her hand. "I didn't believe fairy godmothers existed before I met you. That's exactly the way you are, isn't it? You make things right for kids with bad school records and then take in strangers and change their lives around."

  Emilie looked at his hand covering hers. His thumb was smoothing absently across the sensitive skin. A slight shiver went through her as she watched him trace a path slowly up her arm, his fingers sliding under the sleeve.

  "We should probably go," she said huskily, clearing her throat but not moving her arm.

  "We should," he agreed, still touching her silky skin. "It's getting late."

  He walked her out to her car, his hand on her arm. She leaned slightly towards him and he gathered her close and gently kissed her. Snow was falling like diamond spirals out of the dark sky.

  He laughed, looking down at her with the white flakes in her hair. "You're starting to look like a snowman."

  "Are you coming home?" she asked, trying not to sound too hopeful.

  "I have to take the truck back to the garage," he explained, regret in his voice. "I’ll be back right after. I shouldn't be late."

  She nodded, unlocked the car door and slid inside. "I'll see you later then."

  Nick watched her drive away. What had he done, accepting her help? His house was finished. They could move back in tomorrow, but he knew the kids would be upset about leaving Emilie's house before Christmas.

  Worse, he knew he would be upset about leaving Emilie's house before Christmas. He had a terrible feeling that he would be upset leaving Emilie's house after Christmas too. Would there ever be a good time to leave Emilie?

  Since he'd met her, it was as though his life had stopped falling apart and had begun to knit itself back together. He wasn't sure he recognized the pattern it was forming. It wasn't the same life he'd had before Emilie had stepped in and taken them all in hand. It was better. Exciting with prospects, all shining with a halo of love. Her love.

  He took the truck back to the garage, contemplating staying there or going back to his own house for the night. He didn't trust himself with Emilie. He wasn't sure that he could do whatever the right thing was anymore. Everything was shrouded in a fog of doubt. Things that had been so clear were hazy. It left a gray area that was only easy to find his way through when she was in his arms.

  He sat in his truck for what seemed like a long time, wrestling with his conscience and his heart. His conscience told him that it was wrong to take what she offered so freely. His heart whispered that he couldn't pretend not to feel anything for her. She had made him whole again. She had given him the heart that now urged him to go to her.

  Without waiting for any further doubt to assail him, he started the truck and sped through the snowy night.

  #

  Emilie slowly poured the last glass of brandy into a hand-blown glass. She'd waited patiently in the kitchen, watching for the lights from his truck for an hour.

/>   He was probably out celebrating with his friends or working, she decided, walking through the dark, sleeping house with a carefully soft step. If there were ghosts in the house, she was one of them. A sad wraith of a woman who had dared to love and found that it could never be returned.

  She sipped her brandy and walked unseeingly through the twisted corridors of the old mansion. She knew her path in the dark, or the light. She'd walked these halls a hundred times.

  She found herself in the old ballroom, looking up through the glass ceiling at the stars twinkling madly and the crescent of a new moon hanging in the sky. She drank her brandy and spun slowly. The sheet-covered chairs and the light from the moon combined to make a kaleidoscope effect in her whirling brain.

  Emilie sank down on the cold, pink marble floor when she couldn't stand up anymore. Her head was bowed. One silent tear slipped down her cheek.

  It was no use. She would always be a ghost—a crippled ghost, longing for someone who would never love her. Dreaming dreams in a dusty room about things she could never have. Things that money, or even the Ferrier name, couldn't buy her. Things she didn't even dare whisper in the secret places of her heart.

  "Emilie?"

  She looked up and saw Nick standing there before her. The moonlight grazed his face, hinting at the hollow of his cheeks, the curved line of his mouth.

  "Are you all right?"

  She nodded mutely and took the hand he offered to help her to her feet. "I thought you weren't coming back tonight."

  He looked at her, hearing the sorrow in her voice. He couldn't see her face clearly in the half-light. "Were you dancing?"

  She laughed gently and ran a hand through her hair, feeling a little lightheaded. "I don't dance."

  He saw the brandy glass in her hand and took it from her unresisting fingers. He swallowed the last of the fiery spirit before setting the glass down on a sheet-covered table.

  "Why not?" He kissed each of her hands and slid them around his neck.

  "I'm crip . . . I can't." She couldn’t say the words without crying.