A Family Under the Christmas Tree

by Terri Reed

  “But you can’t spend your whole life traveling the world. Alone.” Grandma pushed the chair to the refrigerator. She pulled the door open slightly, but the chair prevented her from getting inside.

  Sophie hopped off the stool and went to help her. “Why not?”

  Grandma backed up the wheelchair. “Because one day you’ll wake up old and lonely.”

  Heart aching, Sophie hugged her grandma. “Oh, Grams. I’m sorry.”

  She patted Grandma’s back.

  “I miss your grandfather so much, but I have never regretted the life we shared,” Grandma said. “I just want you to have that. To know what it is to be loved by someone so completely.”

  Sophie felt a pang deep inside. She straightened. “I’ve tried. It didn’t go so well.”

  “Those were boys. You need a man.” Grandma wagged her eyebrows. “Don’t you think David is handsome?”

  Yes. But she wouldn’t admit it out loud. “Grandma, you’re impossible.”

  “Says you. I knew the minute I met David that you and he would be a good match.”

  Sophie groaned. “I knew it. You could’ve managed without me.”

  Grandma shook her head. “That’s not totally true. I can’t walk, after all. I’m stuck in this chair. How would I get ready for Christmas like this? I did want your help, and I like having you here. I couldn’t travel to visit your parents this year. I didn’t want to be alone, and I knew you might not go home for Christmas, so . . .”

  Sophie hugged her grandma tight. “I love you.”

  “And I love you.” Grandma spun and headed to the pantry. “I know I have a tub of cookie cutters in here.”

  “What did you need out of the fridge?” Sophie asked.

  “Butter and eggs.” She returned with a large, round plastic tub full of metal cookie cutters in various shapes.

  “Will you teach me to make your persimmon cookies while I’m here?” One of her favorite treats from Christmases past was the persimmon cookies Grandma would send to California. Her brothers never cared for them, much to Sophie’s delight. That meant she got to eat them all.

  “I haven’t made persimmon cookies in ages.” Grandma’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “They would make a lovely dessert for Friday night.”

  Sophie cocked her head. “Friday night?”

  “Didn’t I mention I’ve invited Simon to dinner?” Grandma smoothed a lock of silvery hair behind her ear. “He’d like to meet you.”

  Hmmm. Okay. “No, you didn’t mention it, but that would be nice. What else should we serve?”

  “Simon’s not fussy when it comes to food,” Grams assured her with a grin.

  Sophie’s eyebrows rose. “Really? So you and he have been seeing each other for a while then?”

  “What?” Grandma’s eyes grew round. “Oh, no. We’re not seeing each other. I couldn’t . . . I mean, I’m not.”

  Nearly bursting with delight at the thought of her grandma no longer “waking up old and alone,” as she put it, Sophie reached over to pat Grandma’s hand and said, “Yes, you could, Grams.”

  Grandma’s free hand went to her throat and her complexion paled. “It’s not like that. We’re only friends. We serve on the same committees at church and I only know his eating habits because we have a potluck every Sunday night. The man eats anything and everything. He says it’s because he eats frozen dinners the rest of the week.” Her face softened. “Poor man.”

  Sophie’s mouth twitched with a smile. Grandma protested just a tad too enthusiastically. And that wasn’t pity in her eyes. She cared for this man. “Does he have any family close by?”

  “No. His only son’s family lives in another state. We have that in common.” Grandma averted her gaze, but not before Sophie saw the flash of pain in her eyes.

  Sophie winced. Now that she was aware of Grandma’s loneliness, Sophie was determined to make sure her parents and siblings knew as well. She made a mental note to call home tonight before she went to sleep. “I look forward to meeting Simon,” she said. “We could make your sour cream enchiladas.”

  Her mouth watered even as she said the words. Though her mother had attempted on numerous occasions to replicate Grandma’s recipe, they never tasted the same. After a while, her mother gave up cooking altogether and left meal preparation to Mrs. Lanohan, the housekeeper.

  Sophie’s stomach grumbled. It was past time for lunch. “After we make cookies I’ll go to the grocery store. I could bring back a roasted chicken for dinner tonight.”

  She often grabbed food on the go when she was at her small studio apartment in Burbank, and roasted chicken was one of her favorites. Not that she’d been home for more than a day or two in the past few months. Her photography had finally gained some recognition, and clients had been coming out of the woodwork to hire her and her camera. Like this skiwear company. Every time she thought about it, she got excited.

  “The groceries can wait until tomorrow,” Grandma said. “Check the meat drawer. There’s steak and chicken that need to be cooked, as well as some vegetables. And there’s basmati rice in the cupboard. But first we need lunch. PB and J?”

  “Yes. I haven’t had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich since I was a kid.” After rooting around in the pantry for a jar of peanut butter and raspberry jelly, she made them each a thick sandwich on whole wheat bread. The sweet and salty flavors made her long for those childhood summer days she’d spent with her grandparents. Lazy, carefree days. Grandpa would make fresh lemonade to go with their lunch and they’d go out into the backyard to enjoy the temperate sunshine.

  Just as they were finishing up their lunch, a sharp rap at the door drew her attention. Riggs jumped up from his cushy bed beneath the front window and loped to the door.

  “You answer the door while I clear the table,” Grandma said, balancing their plates on her lap.

  “I can get them, Grams,” Sophie protested.

  Grandma waved her away.

  Riggs barked once and threw a glance over his shoulder at her.

  Really? The dog was impatient? “I’m coming.”

  Giving the pup a wry shake of her head, Sophie unlocked the bolt and opened the door to find a freshly washed Troy and David standing there.

  “Hello,” she said.

  Riggs ran toward Troy, nearly knocking the child off his feet. Troy knelt down to hug the dog. Not a speck of mud remained in the layers of Troy’s dark hair. His clothes were clean but baggy, as if the child had lost some weight.

  Empathy squeezed her insides. The child’s world had been turned inside out by his parents’ tragic deaths. No doubt he was struggling to eat and sleep, and if his actions today were any indications, he was struggling to adjust to his new life with his uncle.

  She was glad to see Troy taking comfort from Riggs. She wondered . . . when she left, maybe Troy would take Riggs?

  Her gaze bounced to David. Her stomach muscles tightened at the sight of his damp, slicked back hair, his strong jaw shadowed with just enough stubble to be fashionable but not scruffy. He was so handsome in his khakis, navy peacoat, and loafers. He just needed a red scarf wrapped around his neck and a jaunty driver hat on his head. She could see the image on the pages of a fashion catalog.

  “Reporting for cookie making.” His steel gray eyes roamed over her, from her loose hair to her sock-clad feet. The appreciation in his eyes left her feeling a bit tongue-tied.

  “Wonderful.” Self-consciously, she tugged at the hem of her lightweight wool shirt, making sure it hadn’t ridden up over the top of her jeans. Where were her manners? She stepped back. “Please come in.”

  David ushered Troy inside so Sophie could shut the door. Riggs moved into the living room and Troy followed.

  “Troy, so good to see you.” Grandma opened her arms for a quick hug. Troy went easily into her arms. “Look how handsome you are all spiffed up.”

  “How is he?” Sophie asked David in a hushed voice.

  “Calmer,” David admitted as he tracked Troy with
his gaze. “It’s been a rough six months.”

  “I can only imagine,” she whispered. “Both of your lives have been derailed.”

  He ran a hand over his jaw. “We’ve definitely been set on a different path.”

  She liked his optimistic outlook. “It can’t be easy becoming a parent in the blink of an eye.”

  “It hasn’t been,” he admitted. “Thankfully, your grandmother has been here to offer advice and support.”

  “That is a blessing,” she said. “Learning to parent on the fly has to be difficult. Most people have months to plan and prepare. I admire you for taking Troy into your home.” She ached with sympathy for all they’d endured.

  “Thank you.” He met her eyes, his gaze boring into her as if he could see all the way to the secret places she kept hidden from the world. It was a dizzying sensation.

  “I appreciated the help this morning,” he said in a quiet tone. His words rippled over her like warm honey.

  “What are neighbors for?” she quipped, hoping to lighten the tension that had suddenly sprung up between them.

  “Right.” Something in his tone made her think he was ill at ease.

  She studied him closely. “Having second thoughts about leaving him with us?”

  He cringed. “It’s just that he can be a handful.”

  She followed his gaze to where Grandma was showing Troy the baking supplies. “You don’t have to worry. Between the two of us we can handle him for a few hours.” She hoped.

  He took her hand. Warmth raced up her arm. “I do appreciate this. I’ll pay you back.”

  She squeezed his hand and tugged him to the front door. “You don’t owe us a thing. This will be fun for Grams.” She opened the door. “Now, go get some work done.”

  “Are they finished yet?” Troy hunched in front of the oven to watch the last batch of cookies turn golden on the cookie sheet.

  Sophie glanced at the timer. “Two more minutes.” She brushed her fingers through his hair, dislodging a few stray, colorful sprinkles. “We may not get to decorate these. Your uncle should be here any second.”

  She’d been saying that for the past thirty minutes. In the past two hours, they’d made four batches of sugar cookies, using every single cookie cutter in Grandma’s tub. There was frosting on the walls. A light dusting of flour coated the kitchen’s hardwood floor. But Grandma was having a blast. And so was she.

  Troy was a delight. He made the time fly by with his chatter and laughter. He had so many questions. And he was smart and imaginative, too. Not once had he thrown any sort of tantrum or quibbled when Grandma or Sophie had corrected him—not even when they’d told him not to put frosting on Riggs’s food.

  Except it was past the time for David to return. Sophie hoped nothing had happened to him. She’d found the number he left and called his cell. After three rings it went to voice mail. Hmmm. Had he fallen asleep? She’d give him another half hour, then she’d go over there.

  The timer dinged.

  “Done!” Troy hollered and danced around the kitchen, slipping slightly in the flour.

  “Careful,” Grandma warned from the dining room table. She had a dollop of frosting on her cheek and her eyes sparkled.

  “Okay, little man, stand back.” Sophie slipped on an oven mitt and opened the oven door. A wall of heat hit her in the face, making her hair curl. She blew a loose strand out of her eyes as she removed the cookie tray and set it on the stove, and then quickly used a spatula to transfer the cookies to the wire rack. “Now we have to wait for a few minutes for them to cool.”

  “I don’t like waiting,” Troy huffed. “Everything is always about waiting. Wait for school to start. Wait for Uncle David to pick me up. Wait for my favorite show. Wait for the cookies. Wait. Wait. Wait.”

  Sophie suppressed a smile and knelt down to look Troy in the eye. How could she explain the concept of patience to a child? “I know waiting can be hard sometimes. And you feel frustrated by having to wait. Is that what happened when you ran away to the park?”

  His chin dropped and he made circles in the flour with his toe. “Uncle David said we’d go to the park. He wanted to wait until after lunch. But I was tired of waiting.”

  “Maybe next time you have to wait and if you feel yourself becoming frustrated you could sing a song.” Sophie wasn’t sure where that idea came from but she went with it. “Do you have a favorite song?”

  Troy nodded. “ ‘Baby Beluga.’ ”

  “I don’t know that one. Can you sing it for me?”

  Quietly, he started to sing the song about a baby whale in the deep blue sea. At first she had to strain to hear him, but his voice got louder as he went along. Partway through, his voice faltered as he reached a verse that talked about the whale’s mommy. Tears welled in Troy’s eyes and rolled down his cheeks.

  Sophie’s heart sputtered as she pulled the child into her arms. “Oh, baby, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you sad.”

  “I miss my mommy.”

  “I know you do, honey.” She rubbed his back and felt tears prick her eyes.

  “I want Uncle David.” He tightened his hold on her. “You don’t think anything bad has happened to him, too, do you?”

  His words pierced her. “Oh, no. I’m sure he’s fine.” She glanced at the clock again, and sent up a silent prayer that what she said was true, even as a slow, burning anger simmered low in her gut. Poor Troy was terrified that something bad had happened to his uncle. David had to realize he couldn’t be so insensitive to his nephew’s fragile state of mind.

  She leaned back to look into Troy’s face. Using her thumbs, she wiped away his tears. “Why don’t you help Grandma put all the cookie cutters back in the tub while I run next door to see what’s keeping your uncle.”

  Troy sniffled and nodded. “Okay.”

  Sharing a concerned glance with Grams, Sophie lifted Troy onto the chair next to Grandma. “I’ll be right back.”

  She grabbed her coat and traded her slippers for Grandma’s tall rain boots and marched outside, ready to give David Murphy a piece of her mind.

  CHAPTER

  4

  Insistent tapping forced David to lift his hands from the keyboard and jerk his gaze away from the computer screen. He blinked as his eyes adjusted to the darkened house. He’d been so deeply lost in his work he hadn’t noticed that night had fallen.

  Disoriented, David struggled to make sense of what was happening. He’d heard a noise. But now the house was eerily quiet.

  His hands ached, his shoulder muscles throbbed.

  What time was it?

  He hit the button on his phone to check the time. His stomach dropped. Oh, man. He was more than an hour late picking up his nephew.

  And Sophie had called. Twice.

  He’d put his phone on do not disturb after having talked to everyone at work, putting out fires that needed his attention. He should have set an alarm. He knew that. But he’d been so focused on pushing through, trying to get this app done, that he’d forgotten. And Troy had paid the price.

  The sharp rap against the glass windowpane behind him drew him from his chair. He pushed aside the curtain and came face-to-face with a shadowy figure. Startled, he stumbled back, tripping over the chair and landing on the floor on all fours. Would a burglar knock?

  “David!”

  Sophie.

  Heart thumping, he jumped up and pushed the curtain aside again, but she was gone. He had to get to Louise’s. What if something had happened to Troy? He didn’t think he could handle any more tragedies. He’d had his fill, thank you very much.

  A few seconds later, knocking at the front door had him picking his way through the land mines of toys. He flipped on the porch light and opened the door. Sophie stood on the other side with her hands on her hips and her mouth pressed into a grim line.

  His heart squeezed tight and alarm sped through his veins. “Is Troy okay?”

  “Yes. He’s okay now. But he’s worried about his uncle.�
��

  Shadows played across the planes of her face, hiding her eyes, but there was no mistaking the sharp-edged tone of her voice. Uh-oh. He was in deep trouble with the lovely lady. As he should be. He’d let her down. He hated that feeling. He owed her so much and could never thank her and Louise enough for inviting Troy over to bake Christmas cookies.

  Even though he knew Sophie had agreed to allow Troy to impose for Louise’s sake, it was really nice of her to be so accommodating. She’d come to Bellevue to be with her grandmother, not to entertain a five-year-old. “I’m so sorry. I totally lost track of time. I’ll come over right now and get him.”

  “You turned your phone off.” The accusation hung in the air like wisps of smoke.

  He blew out a breath that turned white in the cold air. “I made the mistake of checking in at the office,” he said. “Then my employees kept calling me back, so I put it on do not disturb. I wasn’t thinking. Here, let me grab my jacket and we can go to your grandma’s.”

  Instead of answering, she glided past him to enter the dark house.

  “Wait!” he warned as he reached for the light switch.

  When the light came on, she stood frozen in the middle of the Thomas the Train track with her foot stuck inside the Knapford Station. Her arms were out to her sides, like she was about to take flight. The ponytail sticking out the back of her hat swished as she whipped her gaze to him. She was so cute.

  “Do you mind?” she prompted.

  Suppressing a grin, he rushed to release her foot before she crushed the plastic and wooden piece. He reattached the station to the track. “Sorry.”

  With one hand, David grabbed a robotic dinosaur with a stuffed dog in its mouth, and with his other hand he cleared a path through the pile of Lego pieces. She navigated her way through the rest of the land mines and stopped by the dining room table. She surveyed his home with just the barest hint of a raised eyebrow.

  He glanced around, seeing the place from her point of view. It was a complete mess. It looked like the toy box had barfed all over the house. Only they didn’t have a toy box. Note to self: buy a toy box.

  The train track took up the entryway and crept into the space that divided the dining and living rooms. Train pieces littered the rug. A dump truck carrying building blocks sat on the back of the couch, where Troy had been playing last night before bed. A haphazard stack of books looked like it was about to topple off the coffee table. “We’re not too tidy around here.”