Maitland Maternity Christmas

by Judy Christenberry; Muriel Jensen; TINA LEONARD

  "Looks familiar." She could hear the smile in Doug's voice. "Especially the springy, wild hair."

  "I'm sorry." Suzanne glanced at him. "You're not offended?"

  "No. I'm intrigued. My girls make me either want to reach for the aspirin bottle or a beer after I put them to bed. They tire a guy out!"

  "I thought my life was hectic. You've got your hands full, Dr. McKay."

  "It's better that way."

  For just a moment, a shadow crossed his face. Suzanne moved her hand from where she'd been protecting her new sketch. Suddenly, she didn't feel quite as exposed by revealing her inspiration. "How long has your wife been gone, Doug?''

  "Just over two years." His voice was soft. "The girls still want their mommy."

  Suzanne looked at him, her heart touched.

  "My doctor friends prescribe dating. But I always imagine that what they're doing is trying to get me back on the old horse. As if I'd lost my dog, a new puppy would replace the pain." He looked into her eyes, his emotions bare for her to see. "It just doesn't work that way."

  She shook her head slowly. "No. It doesn't."

  "There's no prescription to heal a broken heart." He sighed, long and deep. "Not that I mean to be maudlin. I'm sorry. This was a lot to dump on you in one night."

  Their gazes met, held, lingered.

  "We'd better go," Suzanne said, unsure of all the feelings beginning to seep through her.

  "Yes. I've kept you out far too late."

  "Please give my thanks to your mom."

  "She'll feel more than your appreciation when she opens your scarf and realizes you designed it. That's an amazing gift to be able to give, Suzanne." He touched the napkin she'd drawn her design on. "You have more to give me than I have to give you."

  "I - I don't know if that's true." Her hand covered his on the napkin for the slightest of seconds. "We're just at different places in our lives, I think."

  He nodded. "Maybe you're right. Let me get your coat."

  She heard him say good-night to his mother and promise to lock up. Bringing her coat with him, he helped her into it.

  "Mom said to tell you goodbye. She's curled up with all three girls in her bed, and they are already asleep. She didn't want to disturb them, and hopes you understand."

  "I do." Suzanne smiled as they walked onto the porch. "It's getting colder."

  Doug locked the door, pushing it to make certain the lock had been fully secured. "Yes. I guess that chance of snow might materialize."

  They got into the minivan, and Suzanne gathered her coat tightly around her while the engine warmed. Jazz music filled the van, full and melodious now that the girls' chatter didn't override it, as it had on the way to Francine's.

  She gave him directions to her apartment and before she knew it, they'd arrived. He pulled up in front of the covered entryway. "I'll walk you in."

  "Not necessary, but thank you. It's totally secure in my building."

  "It's necessary." Doug got out of the van and opened the door for Suzanne.

  She stared up at him. "I did have a good time."

  "Grilled cheese sandwiches, kids and all?" He smiled, uneasily. "I had a great time. You're a lovely lady."

  Without hesitation, she reached up and kissed his cheek. "Good night," she said.

  "Good night," he replied.

  He didn't reach to detain her, so Suzanne made as graceful an exit as possible. Letting herself into her apartment, she waved at Doug through the window. He waved back, got into the van and drove away.

  With a loud sigh, she collapsed into a chair by the window.

  She just couldn't fall for Doug McKay. He was a loaded package, and she wasn't the one to open it.

  Snatching up the phone, she dialed Diane. "Did you know Doug McKay has three children?"

  "Yes. Their picture is up in the hallway of his office. So?"

  "We went out tonight."

  "Oh?" Interest perked in Diane's voice. "Is he awesome?"

  "Yes, he is," Suzanne said. "He loved his wife, he loves his mom, he loves his kids, he's got a great practice. What's not awesome?''

  "The fact that he's got three kids?" Diane asked.

  "And doesn't that make me sound like the Grinch about to tear the heart out of Whoville?"

  Diane laughed. "Relax. You're entitled to being gun-shy. It's first-date syndrome."

  "It is not! I wish you'd told me about his kids."

  "Why? It didn't need to be brought up by me."

  "You had to have known I was putting my foot in my mouth at lunch when I said I didn't want kids. No wonder he got up from the table like he'd eaten something bad!"

  "Suzanne, you are you. It would be pretending not to be honest. He can't put you on a pedestal if he knows the truth. It leads to all kinds of problems when people aren't up-front."

  "I know." Suzanne's voice fell with her acceptance of that truth. "I know you've got to be at school early tomorrow to teach. I'll talk to you then."

  "Good night," Diane said cheerfully."P.S., Suzanne, kids aren't the worst thing that could happen to you."

  "I know," Suzanne said glumly. "But it's not the way I painted my future."

  "Guess you can't create your whole world sometimes. Good night," Diane repeated, hanging up with laughter in her voice.

  Suzanne switched the portable phone off, staring out the window as big fat snowflakes began to fall outside her second-story window. It was beautiful, it was romantic, and she couldn't help thinking how overjoyed Doug's little girls would be when they awakened to a glistening landscape of snow.

  Fran, Edie and Kimmie. With their flyaway hair, they embodied the word flurry. Doug McKay's little flurries.

  Reaching for her sketchpad and pencil, she drew several small flurries dancing on swirls of wind. Silver would be perfect for the swirls, and maybe the snow flurries. Almost as if her imagination drew itself, she wrote Love Is in the Air in airy scrolls under the swirls.

  "Romantic. Illusive. Flurries of love," she brainstormed out loud. It was a pretty pattern, but one she wouldn't see replicated in her own life.

  Fortunately, Doug's little flurries hadn't seemed any more inclined to drift down upon her heart than she had been to let them.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  "So, how was the date?" Glenda asked when Doug had settled himself behind his desk to look over the messages and notes she'd left him.

  "The what? Oh." He waved last night's memories away from him. "Nothing special."

  "The scarf lady didn't realize what a great guy you are?"

  He smiled absently. "The scarf lady is wrapped up in herself."

  "Oh, that's too bad."

  Glenda left the room, and Doug hesitated as he waited for the computer to turn on. That wasn't a fair assessment of Suzanne, yet he'd wanted to stem Glenda's questioning. Suzanne wasn't really wrapped up in herself; she'd just been honest.

  Which was more than he'd been, if he was to be fair. He'd sprung the girls on her, knowing how she felt. That would teach him not to be pushy.

  "You big dummy," he said to himself. "You jumped the gun, and it backfired on you."

  Suzanne had confidence enough to know what she wanted and didn't want out of life.

  "I'm not looking to fall in love, you know," he told the loading Christmas tree and Santa Claus Screensaver. "I don't want to get married again."

  Santa dumped toys from his sleigh, and Doug watched, remembering how the girls had been so fascinated by the falling gifts when he'd shown them the screen saver.

  "But I can't just date a woman without knowing if she likes my girls. Even if we didn't fall in love with each other, I'm always on call to my kids. They're bound to run into my dates."

  The gifts turned into stars, and Doug smiled. "I wish it were that easy," he murmured, "to give the stars to my daughters."

  For a moment, he blinked back wistful tears.

  "Dr. McKay, it's time to get started," Glenda said. "We've got a full house."

  He watched as San
ta reentered the screen, allowing another load of brightly wrapped presents to fall from his sleigh, exploding into beautiful stars. For some reason, it reminded him of the picture Suzanne had drawn on the napkin last night, of three dancing little girls, hair flying amidst flowers and hearts. "I'm coming, Glenda." Getting up from the desk, he followed her, pushing all thoughts of the scarf lady from his mind.

  "How was the good doctor?" Jimmy asked when Suzanne made it to the office.

  "He was fine. His kids were fine. Everything was fine," Suzanne said briskly, snatching up messages as she passed Jimmy's desk.

  "Excuse me? Hold on, did you forget to mention kids to me yesterday?"

  "Jimmy, I didn't know about them. It's no big deal. One date, a courtesy for something I'd given him. Don't make front page news out of it."

  "So, where's the red skirt and heels?" he asked mischievously. "Since when do you wear jeans to the office?''

  "Since it's snowing, and you and I may close up shop by noon. Be glad for the jeans - they signal a paid half day for you."

  "A tantalizing ruse to get me to forget about asking how dinner was last night. Sorry. It's not going to work."

  Suzanne eyed her assistant over the mail she was riffling through. "Jimmy, it was grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup."

  "Whoa. Big spender!"

  She grimaced. "Do you need a full day off, or do you have something constructive you should be doing?"

  "I can take a hint." He turned back to his desk, a grin on his face.

  Suzanne sat at her desk. There were orders she needed to put through and -

  "You didn't do anything untoward to Dr. McKay last night, did you?" Jimmy called.

  She frowned at him. "Short of smothering him with melted cheese and poisoning his tomato soup, I can't recollect anything. What kind of question is that, Jimmy?"

  "His mother's calling, line one."

  "Honestly, Jimmy! Let's skip the drama, okay?"

  "Snappy today aren't we?" He turned around.

  "It's 'I'm considering skipping the employee Christmas bonus this year' spirit if an employee I know doesn't mind his own beeswax."

  Jimmy shuffled some papers, not paying her threat any mind. Suzanne snatched up the phone and punched line one. "Hello, Francine. How are you?"

  "I'm fine, thank you, dear. I thought I'd call you before the girls got out of bed. It's my only time to chitchat."

  "I understand." Suzanne smiled.

  "I enjoyed meeting you last night. I wish you could have stayed longer, but maybe next time."

  Suzanne didn't acknowledge the well-meant comment.

  "When Doug called last night to check on the girls, he mentioned you owned Blake Accessories. That's quite a coup - and a commitment, I should think."

  Suzanne didn't have to think of a reply because Francine interrupted herself by coughing, and then sneezed. “Oh, my goodness. Pardon me, please."

  "Bless you."

  "Thank you. Now, you left a drawing over here that I found this morning, Suzanne. I didn't know if you needed it or not, and Doug's in surgery all day, so before I threw it out or lost it, I thought I'd better look up Blake Accessories and give you a call.

  “I know sometimes people leave notes on cocktail napkins and the like, and it's helpful to have their inspiration in case they forget something later."

  "You're very kind, Francine, but you can throw it away."

  There was silence for a moment, broken only by a severe cough. Then Francine said, "You're certain? I don't mind mailing it to you. It's awfully pretty."

  Suzanne heard the question in Doug's mother's voice and hated to disappoint her. What she really seemed to want to know was if there was a chance Suzanne and Doug might be seeing each other again. "I don't need it, Francine. But it's kind of you to call. You're not getting sick, are you?"

  "No, no. At least I don't think so. Well, I know you're busy so I'll let you go. You're sure you don't need this cute drawing?"

  "I'm positive. But thank you ever so much, Francine."

  "You're welcome. Goodbye, Suzanne."

  "Goodbye."

  She hung up, her emotions completely unsettled.

  "No one's mother ever called me after I went out with their daughter. And I'm sure that's a good thing," Jimmy observed.

  Suzanne ignored the comment, her mind otherwise occupied. Francine hadn't sounded as robust as she had last night, which worried Suzanne. If Francine was sick and trying to take care of the three "wildflowers" as she liked to call her granddaughters, and Doug was in surgery all day, that could make matters difficult for the kind woman.

  "I can't help butting in a little. It seems like love is in the air, and I'm just trying to make certain you breathe it in."

  "Jimmy." She gazed at him sternly. "Love is not in the air." But that made her remember the sketch of the flurries she'd drawn amidst swirls and scrolling letters that read Love Is in the Air. Was she being Suzanne the Skeptic if she didn't want to believe that love could blow into her life on a Christmas-sent breeze? She'd skipped all things sentimental for so long she was almost afraid to allow those feelings to surface.

  At noon, Suzanne glanced out the window at the falling snow. She noticed the streets were swiftly turning slushy, and that people were rushing by laden with shopping bags. "I haven't done any shopping, Jimmy." Nor any decorating, but then she never did.

  Her gaze swept her outer office. If it wasn't for Jimmy's tabletop Christmas tree, there wouldn't be a single decoration in the office.

  "I'm an excellent assistant, but I don't do personal Christmas shopping," Jimmy replied. He packed up a black leather pouch with some papers and put on his coat. “And I'm taking you up on your offer of a half day off before I get roped into your Christmas to-do list."

  "I'd better, too." Suzanne got up, slipping on a thigh-length down jacket. "I can talk to sales managers at home just as well as from here."

  They went out, locking up. Suzanne climbed into her white Explorer that had remained parked at work overnight, and waved goodbye to Jimmy. Staring at the busy streets of downtown, the matrons doing lunch and the holiday decorations on the light posts, Suzanne sat still long enough to take in the holiday scene.

  Two little girls wearing outrageously striped, long ski caps walked by with their parents. The whole family was happy, laughing as the snow misted their heads.

  She thought about Francine, who'd sounded under the weather. She thought about Fran, Edie and Kimmie. Their father was busy with work, their mother was gone, and because Francine was ill, they wouldn't get to enjoy the enchantment of the snowfall today.

  And then, slowly, she turned her car toward the other side of town.

  When Francine opened the door, Suzanne knew she was right to come and check in on her. "You are sick," she said without making an excuse as to her presence. "Do you have a fever?"

  Francine's eyes were ringed by dark shadows, her cheeks flushed more than they'd been last night. "You know, I think I may have a touch of one. Would you like to come in?"

  Fran, Edie and Kimmie stood behind their grandmother, their hair as wild as ever, and jam at the corners of their mouths. "Hello," Suzanne said to them.

  They stared up at her quietly, almost sadly.

  "Have you called Doug?" Suzanne asked.

  "I haven't. I only started feeling odd a little while ago. Now I'm feeling muscle-achy and chilled."

  It was clear she didn't feel well at all. "Why don't you go to bed? I can watch TV with the girls."

  "I can't ask you to do that."

  “What time does Doug usually get out of surgery?''

  "Unless there's a complication or an unexpected delivery, I can usually expect him here by six."

  Suzanne nodded. "Then do everyone a favor and go to bed. That's less than five and a half hours. I can handle the girls until he gets home."

  "I really can't ask you - "

  "Yes, you can. You're going to get the girls sick unless you put yourself in a separate
area. And then no one's going to get to enjoy all those presents under your tree because they'll all be too sick."

  That was the magical argument because Francine wasn't about to steal Christmas from her grandchildren, accidentally or otherwise. "You're an angel, Suzanne. I believe I will lie down for just a while."

  "I'm not an angel. But I have some experience with kids, so rest easy on that score."

  "You have children?" Francine asked, her curiosity not entirely dimmed by the flulike symptoms.

  "I have siblings I am close to. There were three of us, so I may have some insight into this little trio."

  Francine smiled wanly. "I'm sure I'll be better after a nap. Thank you, Suzanne. Doug should call as soon as he has a break in the OR, and you might just mention that I'm fine and there's no reason for him to be concerned. He'll worry when he discovers that you're here."

  "Go to sleep," Suzanne told her. "I'll tell him, and everything will be fine."

  Francine disappeared down the hall to her room. Suzanne turned to face the three pairs of eyes gazing at her. "First thing we're going to do is wash your hands and faces." If it's true, thought Suzanne, that most flus can be avoided by frequent handwashing, then I'll make sure theirs are extraclean.

  They didn't argue, simply following her into the kitchen. After washing, Suzanne looked down at her small charges. "Now, I'd like to play beauty salon. Who's got a hairbrush?"

  Edie quickly retrieved their overnight bag, pointing to a hairbrush and box of colorful clips, never opened. "Ah, the hidden treasure." Suzanne sat on the floor, looking at the girls with a smile. "Who's first?"

  To her surprise, all three wanted in her lap at the same time. "Alphabetical order," she decided, hauling Edie in her lap. "Next Fran and then Kimmie. Then for our next project, we'll reverse order, just to keep things even. After that, the middle child goes first. It's a special and unique position," she said with a smile to Fran.

  Thirty minutes later, tangles brushed out and clips set in the flyaway hair, Suzanne smiled at the threesome. "You look beautiful. So, who's hungry? I make great grilled cheese, as you know, as well as pb and j...."