Kristin Hannah's Family Matters 4-Book Bundle: Angel Falls, Between Sisters, The Things We Do for Love, Magic Hour

by Hannah, Kristin

  “No.”

  “Is it a start?”

  Before he could answer, Lauren bounded back into the room, smiling brightly, looking like a girl with her whole life in front of her. “He misses me,” she said, sliding into her seat and scooting up to the table.

  Angie and Conlan immediately went back to playing cards. For the next hour, they all talked about things that didn’t matter.

  It was the best night Angie had had in years. So much so that when midnight came and Lauren announced that she was going to bed, Angie actually tried to talk her out of it. She didn’t want this evening to end.

  “Ange,” Conlan said, “let the poor girl go to bed. It’s late. How can Santa come if she’s not asleep?”

  Lauren laughed. It was a young, girlish sound full of hope. It did Angie’s heart good to hear it. “Well, good night,” Lauren said, surging toward Angie, hugging her. “Merry Christmas,” she whispered. When she drew back she added, “This was my best Christmas Eve ever.” Then she flashed a smile at Conlan and left the room.

  Angie sat back in her chair. With Lauren gone, the room felt too quiet.

  “How are you going to make it through her pregnancy?” Conlan asked the question gently, as if the words caused him pain. “How will you handle watching her belly grow and feeling the baby kick and shopping for onesies?”

  “It will hurt.”

  “Yes.”

  Her gaze was steady, even if her voice wasn’t. “Not being there for her would hurt more.”

  “We’ve been through this before.”

  Angie thought about that, about them. They’d played cards with Sarah Dekker, too, and watched television with her and bought her new clothes. But it had always been the unborn child that connected them. “No,” she finally said. “Not this.”

  “Hope always came easily to you, Angie. It was part of what ruined us. You don’t know how to give up.”

  “Hope was all I had.”

  “No. You had me.”

  The truth of it settled heavily on her heart. “Let’s not look in the rearview mirror tonight. I love you. Can that be enough for now?”

  “For tonight, you mean?”

  She nodded. “Alcoholics take one day at a time. Maybe old lovers can do the same thing.”

  At that, he leaned toward her, put his hand around the back of her neck, and pulled her toward him. Their gazes met; hers was overbright with unshed tears, his was dark with worry.

  He kissed her. It was everything she needed, that kiss, and more than she’d imagined. The next thing she knew, he had her in his arms and was carrying her up the stairs. He started to go to Angie’s old bedroom.

  She laughed. “The big bedroom. We’re the grown-ups now.”

  He pivoted, pushed through the door, and kicked it shut behind him.

  The next morning when Angie woke up, her whole body ached. She rolled onto her side and snuggled up to Conlan, kissing his stubbled jawline. “Merry Christmas,” she murmured, moving her hand along his naked chest.

  He blinked awake. “Merry Christmas.”

  For what seemed an eternity, she gazed at him, her nipples pressed against his chest, her body ripe with a longing so sharp and sweet it hurt. She could feel their hearts beating together again. When she kissed him, it was with everything she had, all the good times and the bad and the in-between. It was a kiss that peeled back the hard layer of years and made her feel young again, carefree and hopeful.

  She touched his cheek in wonder. Perhaps this was how women felt when their men came home from war. Sad somehow, and yet more in love than they’d thought possible. “Love me,” she whispered.

  “I tried not to. It didn’t work,” he said, pulling her into his arms.

  Much later, when Angie could breathe evenly again and the trembling in her body had stilled, she rolled out of bed and went in search of her robe. “Will you come to Mama’s with us?”

  He grinned. “That would certainly start up the old rumor mill.”

  “Please?”

  “Where else would I be on Christmas morning?”

  Angie laughed out loud. That was how good she felt. “Get dressed. We’re already late.” Finding her robe, she slipped into it and went down the hall to Lauren’s room. She expected to find the girl dressed and awake, chomping at the bit to open presents, but she was sound asleep.

  Angie went to the bed and sat down. “Wake up, honey,” she said, brushing the hair from her eyes.

  Lauren blinked awake. “Morning,” she murmured.

  “Get up, sleepyhead. It’s Christmas.”

  “Oh. Yeah.” Her eyes slid shut again.

  Angie frowned. What kid didn’t jackknife out of bed on Christmas morning?

  The answer came fast on the question’s heels: a kid who wasn’t used to much of a Christmas. She couldn’t help thinking of the apartment building … of the woman—mother—who’d walked away without a word.

  She leaned down to kiss Lauren’s head. “Come on, Sleeping Beauty. We have to be at Mama’s in fifteen minutes. We open presents early in this family.”

  Lauren threw the covers back and ran for the bathroom. They both knew there would be lukewarm water for the second shower and only cold water for the poor third-place loser.

  Angie returned to her bedroom. She found Conlan dressed in her father’s old plaid bathrobe, standing by the window. He was holding a small silver-wrapped box. They’d always had their private Christmas before going to Mama’s, but she hadn’t expected him this year.

  “You got me a present? I didn’t—”

  He came toward her, gave her the box. “It’s just a little something.”

  She peeled the foil paper off and opened the white box. Inside lay a beautiful handblown Christmas ornament. A silvery angel with crystal highlights and impossibly faceted wings.

  “I found it in Russia last month, when I was interviewing Svetlaska.”

  She stared down at the beautiful angel that fit in the palm of her hand, remembering another Christmas morning, so many years ago. It’s because I’m always thinking of you, he’d said, giving her a small wooden shoe ornament he’d bought in Holland. It had been the start of a collection. A tradition. Finally, she looked up at him. “You bought this last month?”

  “I missed you,” he said quietly.

  She went to the dresser then, pulled open the top drawer, and dug through her underwear. When she turned back to Conlan, she was holding a small blue velvet box. “I have a present for you, too,” she said moving toward him.

  They both knew what it was.

  He took it from her, snapped it open.

  Her wedding ring was inside. The diamond sparkled against the dark velvet. She wondered if he, too, was remembering the day they picked it out. Two kids in love, going from store to store, holding hands, believing in forever with all their hearts.

  “You’re giving this back to me?” he said.

  She smiled. “I figure you’ll know what to do with it sooner or later.”

  It’s a wonderful life.

  Miracle on 34th Street.

  A Christmas Story.

  For most of her life, Lauren had watched those famous holiday movies, and dozens of others, and thought: Yeah, right. Perfectly shaped Christmas trees dressed in thousands of lights, wrapped in garland and covered in hand-chosen, heirloom ornaments. Evergreen boughs that draped fireplace mantels and coiled up banisters.

  It wasn’t real, she would have said. It wasn’t Christmas the way ordinary children saw it.

  Then she walked through the wreath-decorated DeSaria front door and found herself in wonderland. There were decorations everywhere, on every table and windowsill and picture frame. Tiny glass reindeer and porcelain snowmen and brass sleighs full of brightly colored balls. The tree in the corner of the room was huge and so clustered with ornaments you could barely see the green of branches. A beautiful white star glittered at the top, its tip just touching the ceiling.

  And the presents.

  Lau
ren had never seen so many gifts in one room. She turned to Conlan. “Wow” was all she could say. She couldn’t wait to call David tonight and describe it to him. She wouldn’t leave out a single detail.

  “That was my thought the first time I came for Christmas,” Conlan said, smiling. “My dad used to give my mom a toaster for Christmas and not bother to wrap it.”

  Lauren could relate to that kind of holiday.

  Angie came up beside them. “It’s grotesque, I know. Wait till you see us eat. We’re like piranha.” She looped an arm around Lauren. “Come into the kitchen. That’s where the real action is.” She grinned at Conlan. “This should be good.”

  It took them almost half an hour to move through the living room. Every person, young or old, who saw Conlan screamed, jumped up from their seat, and tackled him. It was like being with a rock star. Lauren clung to Angie’s hand and let herself be guided through the crowd. By the time she reached the kitchen, she was light-headed. At the doorway, they paused.

  Maria was at the breakfast table, cutting out cookies from a sheet of green dough. Mira was arranging olives and sliced carrots onto an ornate crystal tray. Livvy was pouring a creamy white mixture into a pie shell.

  “You’re late,” Maria said, barely looking up. “Three miles away and still you’re late.”

  Conlan stepped into the room. “It’s my fault, Maria. I kept your girl up late last night.”

  The women all shrieked at once and threw their hands into the air, running toward Conlan for hugs and kisses.

  “They all love Con,” Angie said to Lauren, stepping aside to let her sisters swarm him.

  When they were finally done kissing and hugging and interrogating Conlan and Angie, the women went back to cooking. Lauren learned to cut radishes into roses and make gravy and arrange antipasti on a tray.

  Then the kids started running into the room, pulling on Maria’s sleeve, begging to open presents.

  “All right,” Maria finally said, wiping the flour from her hands. “It is time.”

  Angie took Lauren’s arm and led her into the living room, where people were sitting on every available surface—chairs, sofa, footstools, hearth, floor.

  The kids gathered around the tree, picking through the gifts, handing them out to the people scattered throughout the room.

  Lauren excused herself and left the house, quietly closing the door behind her. She hurried out to the car and retrieved the one present she’d brought. Holding it close to her chest, she returned into the warm, cinnamonyscented house, and sat down beside Angie on the hearth.

  Little Dani came up to her, offered her a gift.

  “Oh, that’s not for me,” Lauren said. “Here, let me help you read—”

  Angie touched her thigh. “It’s for you.”

  Lauren didn’t know what to say. She mumbled, “Thank you,” and placed the gift gingerly on her lap. She couldn’t help touching it, gliding her fingers across the sleek, foiled paper.

  Then came another gift for her, and another. From Maria. From Livvy, from Mira.

  Lauren had never had so many presents. She turned to Angie, whispered, “I didn’t know. I didn’t get gifts for—”

  “It’s not a competitive sport, honey. My family remembered you when they were shopping. That’s all.”

  Conlan picked his way across the melee of children in the middle of the room and sat down on Lauren’s other side. She scooted toward Angie to make room. “Kinda overwhelming, isn’t it?” he said.

  Lauren laughed shakily. “Totally.”

  “That’s all of ’em, Nana,” one of the kids yelled, and that was all it took. Everyone started opening their gifts. The sound of ripping paper was as loud as a chainsaw. People and children squealed with delight and jumped up to kiss one another.

  Lauren bent down and picked up a present from her pile. It was from Mira, Vince, and the kids.

  She was almost afraid to open it. Then the moment would be over. She ripped the paper along the seam and carefully folded it back up for reuse. She looked up quickly to see if anyone was watching her. Thankfully, everyone was busy with their own presents. She lifted the white box top. Inside lay a beautiful hand-embroidered peasant-style blouse. It would work as maternity wear.

  The thought of it squeezed her heart. She looked up, across the room, but Mira and Vince were busy with their own gifts. Next, she opened a silver link bracelet from Livvy and her family. From Maria she received a cookbook. Her last gift was a gorgeous hand-tooled leather journal from Angie. The inscription read:

  To my dear Lauren:

  The newest member of our family.

  Welcome.

  Love,

  Angie

  She was staring at the inscription when Angie gasped beside her. “Oh, my.”

  Lauren looked to her left.

  Angie had opened the gift Lauren had brought. It was a plain oak frame, seventeen inches by twenty, with ivory matting that had cutouts of different sizes for pictures. Lauren had chosen photographs from the box for most of the openings. A few held color shots she’d taken at Thanksgiving with her disposable camera.

  Angie’s forefinger traced the glass over the picture of her and her father. In it, Angie wore flowered bell-bottoms and a tight V-neck sweater with multicolored horizontal stripes. She was sitting on her father’s lap, obviously telling him a story. The photographer had caught him laughing.

  “Where did you find these pictures?” Angie said.

  “They’re copies. The originals are still in the box.”

  The room seemed to go silent by degrees. One conversation stopped, then another and another. Lauren felt everyone looking at her.

  Maria was the first to rise and cross the room. She knelt in front of Angie, took the picture into her own lap, and stared down at it. When she looked up, there were tears in her eyes. “This is our trip to Yellowstone … and our twenty-fifth anniversary party. Where did you find these?”

  “They were in a box under my bed. At the cottage. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

  Maria pulled Lauren into a tight hug. “Thank you.” When she drew back, she was smiling brightly, even as tears streamed down her face. “This brings my Tony back to me for Christmas. It is the best gift. You will bring the photographs to me tomorrow, yes?”

  “Of course.” Lauren’s smile seemed to be taking over her face. She couldn’t rein it in. She was still grinning when Maria left and Angie squeezed her hand, saying, “This is beautiful. Thank you.”

  Christmas dinner at the DeSaria house was slightly quieter than a Mariners home game, but not much. There were three tables set up. Two in the living room with four chairs each and the one in the dining room that held sixteen people jammed together. One table was for the little kids and one was for the teenagers, whose job it was to look after the little kids. This was a job that was handled poorly most of the time. You couldn’t take more than a few bites before someone big came in tattling on someone small, or vice versa. Of course, no one paid much attention to either and by the time the third bottle of wine had been finished, the children knew it was pointless to come into the dining room. The grown-ups were simply having too much fun.

  It was not what Angie had expected for this first Christmas without Papa. All of them had expected quiet voices and sad eyes to be the order of the day.

  Lauren’s gift had changed all that. Those old photos, unseen for decades, had brought Papa back to them. Now, instead of talking around old memories, they were sharing them. Right now Mama was telling them all about the trip they’d taken to Yellowstone, and how they’d accidentally left Livvy at the diner. “Three little girls and a dog is a lot to keep track of.” She laughed.

  The only one who didn’t laugh was Livvy. In fact, she’d been quiet all day. Angie frowned, wondering if her sister’s marriage was already in trouble. She smiled across the table; Livvy looked away.

  Angie made a mental note to talk to Livvy after dinner, then she glanced to her right. Lauren was engaged in an a
nimated conversation with Mira.

  When she turned to her left, she found Conlan staring at her.

  “She’s really something,” he said.

  “She got to you, too, huh?”

  “It’s dangerous, Ange. When she leaves …”

  “I know.” She leaned toward him. “You know what, Con? My heart is big enough to lose a piece now and then.”

  Slowly, he smiled. “I’m glad to hear that.” He was about to say something else but the ping-ping-ping of a fork hitting glass stopped him.

  Angie looked up.

  Livvy and Sal stood up. Sal was tapping his fork against his wineglass. When silence fell around the table, he put an arm around Livvy. “We wanted to let you all know that there will be a new baby in the family for next Christmas.”

  No one said a word.

  Livvy’s eyes filled slowly with tears as she looked at Angie.

  She waited for the pain to hit, stiffened in preparation. Conlan squeezed her thigh. Steady now, that touch said.

  But she was steady. The realization made Angie smile. She got to her feet and came around the table, hugging her sister tightly. “I’m happy for you.”

  Livvy drew back. “You mean it? I was so scared to tell you.”

  Angie smiled. The pain was there, of course it was, lodged in her heart like a piece of glass. And the envy. But it didn’t hurt as much as before. Or maybe she’d finally learned to handle the pain. All she really knew was that she felt no urge to run to a quiet room and cry and her smile didn’t have to be forced. “I mean it.”

  At that, conversations burst to life again.

  Angie returned to her seat just as Mama began the prayer. When it was over and they’d listed and prayed for all their loved ones who’d been lost, including Papa and Sophia, Conlan leaned close to her.

  “Are you really okay?”

  “It’s a shock, isn’t it?”

  He stared at her a long time, then very softly he said, “I love you, Angela Malone.”

  “What time is it?” Lauren asked, looking up from her magazine.

  “Ten minutes later than the last time you asked,” Angie answered. “He’ll be here. Don’t worry.”