Kids by Christmas

by Janice Kay Johnson

  Make sure before you commit.

  “I am committed,” she said aloud, to nobody.

  She felt unreasonably let down yet again when she went next door and found her neighbor’s house silent and dark. Tom had been home after the other visits to talk to her. Today, all she could do was leave a note on his door telling him about the two pieces of furniture at the thrift store and thanking him again for offering to pick them up. She squeezed her phone number down at the bottom, hesitated, then went home.

  It was silly to feel so deflated. She had plenty to do. Housecleaning tonight, so she’d be free to shop for mattresses tomorrow, buy paint and possibly even start on one of the rooms.

  Maybe Carrie and Mark would want to help. Mood improving, Suzanne reached for the phone.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  SUZANNE HURRIED TO THE PAINT store in the morning and returned loaded with rollers, brushes, plastic liners for the roller pan, masking tape for molding and, of course, cans of paint. She’d just hauled it all in when she heard what sounded like a pickup truck in her driveway.

  Sure enough, her doorbell rang and she found Tom on the porch, alarmingly burly in a sweatshirt with the sleeves shoved up and faded jeans. “I’ve got your furniture,” he announced. “Shall I bring it in?”

  She felt self-conscious all over again, after the other night. He knew so much about her, so much more than she’d ever realized, and she knew hardly anything about him.

  To hide her awkwardness, Suzanne hurried into speech. “Oh, how nice of you! No, let me open the garage door and we can put both pieces in there. I’m going to paint the bedrooms before I put any furniture in them. Besides, the dresser has to be refinished. And dang it,” she remembered, “I forgot to pick up the stuff to strip it.”

  She came out with him and heaved open the door while he let down the tailgate of his pickup.

  In a lithe motion that demonstrated how well-muscled he was, Tom swung himself into the bed. He lifted the desk as if it weighed nothing and moved it to the edge of the tailgate, then jumped down and picked it up before she could offer to take an end.

  “I could help….” she said, hurrying after him.

  “No need.” He set it down in an open space and turned to look at the tarp-covered pile in the middle. “What’s this?”

  Would he be peering under her sinks if she’d let him in the house? With as much dignity as possible, she said, “I’ve been meaning to have a garage sale.”

  “Mind if I take a look?” Without waiting for her assent, he lifted the tarp. “Hey, this dresser isn’t in bad shape.”

  “I thought about refinishing it, too, but the drawers stick.”

  He crouched, the denim pulling taut over powerful thighs, and moved drawers in and out. “Hm. Might be fixable. Can I work on it?”

  “If you want to have it…”

  He flashed her a surprised glance. “No, for one of the kids’ bedrooms. I just like to work with my hands. Don’t have any projects right now.” He shrugged.

  “Are you sure?” She seemed to be saying that to him a lot lately.

  He nodded toward the dresser still in his pickup. “I could strip that one, too.”

  “Really?” Suzanne couldn’t help sounding hopeful. She hated stripping old paint and varnish and trying to get it out of cracks.

  “I enjoy jobs like that. And you’ve got plenty on your plate if you’re going to paint two rooms.”

  “If you mean it…”

  “I’d be dumb to offer if I didn’t.”

  She couldn’t help laughing. “Then…thank you. Um. I suppose we should put it in your garage instead of mine, then. Unless you’d rather work on them here, since you garage your truck.”

  “My tools are over there. It’s no problem.” He experimentally hefted the dresser, then began to remove drawers. “Looks like oak under this paint.”

  “I bought it at a garage sale a long time ago. I always meant to strip it and never got around to it.” Like all too many projects she initiated in a burst of enthusiasm. “I used to store yarn in it.”

  The drawers stacked, he went to one side of the dresser and she went to the other. They lifted in concert.

  “Not too heavy for you?” he asked.

  “No, it’s fine.”

  Together they carried the dresser out of the garage and across the strip of grass to his driveway. They set it down and he went back to his pickup to use the remote control for the garage door.

  “Wow.” She gazed in awe at his garage. She’d seen the way he hung tools and the spotless concrete floor, but never so close up. Now she saw that the floor had actually been painted with something rubbery that could be easily cleaned—and, obviously, often was. Tools hung in spots sized just for them, not on any handy hook. The window that looked out on his backyard sparkled. His workbench could have modeled in a magazine for do-it-yourselfers. All in all, she was really glad she hadn’t let him in her house, as short shrift as she’d given housework last night.

  “Wow?” he asked, from right behind her.

  She blushed. “Oh. It’s just so…neat.”

  “Obsessive, you mean.” He sounded wry, surprising her.

  She turned to look at him. “I wouldn’t be that rude. I’m just jealous because I’m so messy.”

  “I think it’s my military background. They don’t tolerate anything out of place.”

  A perfect opening to ask what he actually did for a living now.

  But, no. He had already gripped the dresser and was waiting for her to take her side. They carried it to the back of his garage, by the window and the workbench, and set it down.

  “I’ll move my pickup.”

  Instead of just standing there, Suzanne fetched the drawers, two at a time. Then she helped him unload the second dresser.

  He scraped some of the chipped white paint away and said knowledgeably, “Cherry.”

  “You can tell? I just thought it would be really pretty. We talked about just painting it again, but…”

  “Painting?” He leveled her with a stare that suggested she’d just proposed holding up the Bank of America branch. “You can’t paint solid cherry.”

  “I didn’t know it was cherry. I just thought I’d wait until I’d stripped it to see how the wood looked.”

  He stroked the curved edge of the top. “This one is going to be a beauty. Look at what good shape that beveled mirror is in. You were lucky to find this.”

  Pleased, she said, “I thought so.”

  “This one’s for the girl?”

  “Sophia. Yes. Do boys bother looking into a mirror until they’re at least sixteen? It would be wasted on Jack.”

  “You sound like you know something about boys.”

  “I grew up with two cousins a little older than me.” Emboldened, she asked, “What about you? Do you have brothers or sisters?”

  “Had a sister.” He paused. “She died of leukemia when she was eight.”

  “Oh, Tom! I’m so sorry!”

  He shrugged. “It was a long time ago. I was only ten. It was hardest on my parents.”

  “They didn’t have any other children?”

  “Just me.”

  Now she knew something else about him: he’d grown up an only child after a terrible tragedy that must have left an echoing silence in his home.

  “I’ll strip these,” he said, as if they hadn’t been discussing anything but old furniture, “then we can talk about finishes.”

  “Okay. Although I suspect you know more than I do.”

  A faint smile touched his mouth. “Could be.”

  “Thank you,” she said again. “Doing this for me… It’s really amazing.”

  “They seemed like good kids.”

  As they walked out of the garage, Suzanne said, “They are so excited about having their own bedrooms. I told you about the way they’ve been living, didn’t I? In hotel rooms and homeless shelters?”

  “I imagine they’re more interested in having a mom again.”
/>   They stopped in his driveway.

  “Maybe,” she said uncertainly. “I suspect they’re a long ways from thinking of me like that, though. Maybe it’s just permanency they’re hoping for.”

  He nodded. “That counts with kids.”

  “At least I can give them that.”

  “You’re doing a good thing.”

  “Thank you. How silly of me to ever be afraid…” She stopped. Oh, when would she learn not to open her big mouth without thinking first?

  When she didn’t finish, he nudged. “Afraid?”

  “Oh, I just worried. With your yard so nice, that you wouldn’t want kids next door.”

  A couple of furrows drew his brows together. “Afraid I was the scrooge who’d throw their baseball away if it landed in my yard?”

  She tried to sound shocked. “No, of course not. I just don’t want them cutting across your lawn or damaging your perennial bed when it’s so gorgeous. Kids can be careless.”

  “Flowers grow back.” He studied her, the creases that had deepened in his face making him look troubled. “I just have too much time on my hands. Have to use it somehow.”

  “So you garden?” she asked, puzzled.

  “So I edge the lawn, or prune the hedge when it doesn’t really need it.”

  The explanation was unbelievably sad. She’d noticed he didn’t seem to have family or frequent visitors. She’d never thought of him as lonely, but he must be.

  Suddenly ashamed of herself, Suzanne realized she’d never thought about Tom Stefanec in any way that didn’t relate to her. About all she’d ever noticed about him was his intimidating tidiness. Forcing herself to be ruthlessly honest, she also admitted she’d been all too aware of how well-built he was. Only, she hadn’t liked being aware of that.

  What she hadn’t done, even once, was wonder why he didn’t have a family, whether he had friends, who he was.

  Appalled, she wondered if she was always so self-centered.

  “I’m sorry,” she said awkwardly. “I didn’t think.”

  He’d turned to regard his yard, perhaps to avoid her gaze. “I do like things neat.”

  There was an understatement. This fall, she’d speculated about whether he had vacuumed the leaves off his trees. Hers had still been hung with black, soggy, rotting leaves, while the branches of his were bare and his lawn spotless. But she had enough self-control not to ask.

  “I wish I had more time on my hands so I could be neater. You must hate having me next door.”

  He turned his head to look at her, his expression unreadable. “No. I don’t hate having you next door.”

  Her heart was suddenly doing double time for reasons she didn’t understand. “Oh,” she said softly, before recovering. “But I’ll bet you do hate my dandelions.”

  “The dandelions, I could live without.”

  “Did you use weed and feed on my lawn fall?”

  A quick grin transformed his face. “Yep.”

  “So we may be living without dandelions come spring?”

  “No, they’re persistent buggers. They’ll need to be hit more than once.”

  Feeling reckless, she said, “Well, I won’t promise, but if you’re willing to spread the stuff, I’ll buy some bags.”

  “Done.” He held out a hand.

  She let him engulf hers and they shook. Perhaps for a moment longer than they needed to. He looked a little embarrassed when he let her hand go. Suzanne knew her cheeks were pink again.

  “I’d, um, better get to painting if I’m going to get much done.” She backed away. “Thanks again, Tom.”

  He dipped his head. “You’re welcome.”

  Hurrying back to her own house, Suzanne wondered how she could ever have been so dumb as to misinterpret her neighbor so badly. And after she had, he was still willing to help her. She remembered saying snide things about him to her brother when he’d visited from Santa Fe. She’d have to make a point of telling Gary how nice Tom had been.

  And she’d have to think of some way to thank him beyond saying it over and over again. With Christmas so close, she’d buy him something.

  No. Not buy. She’d knit him something. Would she have time? If it wasn’t done for Christmas, that would be okay; she’d take him a plate of cookies or something. Not a sweater, she decided; that was a little too intimate. She’d have to study him closely to guess size, and then the whole time she was knitting she’d imagine how it would fit over his broad, powerful shoulders…. No, definitely not.

  Okay, an afghan, then. She’d be more comfortable decorating his sofa than him.

  Itching to dash down to the store to pick out yarn, she made herself go into the garage instead for a screwdriver to open the cans of paint.

  Finish one thing before you start another.

  TOM WAS SURPRISED AT HOW MUCH he enjoyed working on the two dressers. Clearly, his life hadn’t been full enough, not if he was now excited to get home and scrape layers of paint off an old piece of furniture.

  But he did like working with his hands. He was reminded how much he’d enjoyed shop in high school. Maybe, given a different background, he’d have gone into cabinetmaking or the like. But his father had been Army, and he’d never seriously considered any other path.

  He tackled the cherry dresser and mirror first. He had a feeling the girl would care more about having something beautiful than the boy would. Besides, once he started, he found enormous pleasure in exposing the beautiful wood. As he stroked on the stripping compound with a brush, he shook his head. It ought to be a crime to paint over wood like this.

  He’d started Sunday; now, on Tuesday evening, he was done but for the mirror. The old beveled mirror itself, wrapped in a blanket, now leaned against a wall. Tom was having to use some ingenuity and great care to get the last traces of old paint and varnish off the delicate, curved frame.

  About eight o’clock, he was satisfied and set down the sanding block and fine sandpaper he’d been using to make the wood silky smooth. He wiped the frame with a rag, then ran his thumb over it to feel for any rough spots.

  Was it too late to get Suzanne over to take a look? He’d gone ahead and bought a stain today, but wanted to be sure she didn’t have a different idea before he applied it.

  After hesitating, he went in the house and called her. He’d kept the note she’d left on his door that day in the drawer beneath the phone, even after adding her to his phone book.

  When she answered, he said, “Suzanne, this is Tom Stefanec. I’ve finished stripping that cherry dresser and wondered if you’d like to take a look before I stain it.”

  “Already! That’s amazing!”

  “I’ve enjoyed working on it.”

  “I’d love to see it. Shall I come over now?”

  “You bet.”

  He went out and opened the garage door, then waited for her. When he saw her, he grinned.

  She wore old jeans and a white T-shirt, both splattered with orange paint. Orange dotted her face like freckles, too, and streaked her hair where she must have pushed it back with a careless hand.

  She wrinkled her nose at him. “That bad?”

  “The color is good on you,” he told her.

  “And may be for some time.” She sighed. “I should have worn a bandanna.”

  “How’s the room look?”

  “Bright. Way brighter than I pictured.” She sounded doubtful. “But I think it’ll be okay once we get furniture in there. I’ve brought the comforter in a couple of times to make sure the effect is really as pretty as I imagined. I just hope Sophia doesn’t hate it.”

  “Her own bedroom? I doubt it.”

  She looked past him, her eyes widened. “Ooh,” she breathed. “It’s beautiful.”

  Pleased, he stepped aside so she could walk around the dresser and stroke the smooth wood.

  “It’s fantastic!”

  “Yeah, you got yourself a treasure here. You’re lucky a dealer didn’t see it before you did.”

  “Wouldn’t it
be pretty painted white?” she mused.

  He pokered up.

  Suzanne laughed, her eyes sparkling. “I just had to see your face.”

  Tom shook his head. For a minute there, he’d thought she wasn’t such a perfect woman after all.

  “I picked up a stain today, but I can exchange it if you’d like darker or lighter.” He picked up the can and the flyer that showed the different colors.

  She studied it, then said, “I think I would have picked this one, too.”

  They talked about final finishes and agreed on a semi-satin—not too shiny, but with enough sheen to make the wood glow.

  He calculated. “If I put the stain on tonight, I should have it done by this weekend. Are the kids coming over?”

  She nodded. “They’re going to spend the night Saturday. I’m hoping to have both rooms painted by then so they can get an idea. I haven’t had a chance to buy mattresses, so I’ll set up the double bed I had in one of the rooms again.”

  “Did you say Jack wets at night? You’d better get a plastic mattress cover.”

  She nodded again, worry lines creasing her forehead. “Did you know kids who wet the bed at his age?”

  He shook his head. “It’s not surprising with everything that’s happened to him, though. I wouldn’t make too much of it.”

  She gave a funny little laugh. “I worry about everything. It’s my specialty.”

  “Really?”

  “I think maybe it was my parents’ death and me knowing my aunt and uncle didn’t really want me. And losing my brother and sister, of course. I just grew up trying to avoid causing even a little bit of trouble.”

  He had to ask. “Then why didn’t you marry an easygoing man?”

  Her gaze flicked away from his, and he cursed himself for raising a sensitive subject. But after a minute, her mouth twisted into a smile.

  “Josh seemed big and strong and protective. And passionate about me. I was too naive to guess what a fine line there is between protective and jealous.”

  Tom had to concede, “Not the kind of thing you expect, I guess.”

  “No. Well, I’d better get back to my painting.”

  “And I’ll get that stain on the dresser.” Unable to resist, he reached out and touched the streak of orange in her dark hair. “You might want to coordinate your outfit for tomorrow, too.”