Between Christmas and Romance

by Shanna Hatfield

  She looked so peaceful, curled onto her side with her purple hair fanned across her cheek.

  Uncertain what to do, I went upstairs to make a real breakfast and even unearthed a frozen can of orange juice concentrate that I mixed. When the food was ready, I set the table then went to get Mia.

  She was still sleeping soundly when I returned. I hated to wake her, but I couldn’t help but think her family would wonder what happened to her. She still hadn’t told me much about what was going on at home or why she sought out the refuge of the store. In time, I was sure she’d confide in me, but I intended to get a few answers while we ate breakfast.

  “Mia,” I said softly, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Mia.” I gave her a gentle shake.

  Her eyes popped open and she lunged to her feet, looking like she’d just been caught robbing the bank.

  “It’s okay, Mia. I made breakfast. Why don’t you come upstairs and eat? Maybe you can tell me what made you decide to spend the night in my store.”

  Mutely, she nodded and followed me upstairs.

  “Cool,” she said as she walked around the end of the bookcase and saw my apartment door.

  “This is confidential. I prefer people not know how to find my apartment.”

  Another nod as we walked inside my living room. I left the door open in case Hemi wanted to return upstairs and turned to find Mia glancing around with a look of awe on her face. I had garlands and ribbons hanging all over, as well as numerous Christmas decorations. My white couch had a red and white throw tossed over one end and red pillows accenting it. The tree (which had taken Herculean effort to get up the stairs and into the apartment), decorated with ornaments I’d collected from around the world, filled the space with a wonderful fir scent while the aromas of bacon and cinnamon (from the pot of tea I made), wafted in the air.

  “It’s amazing, Miss Bennett,” Mia said, turning to me with a bright smile.

  “Thank you.” I pointed to my bathroom. “If you want to wash up, I’ve got everything ready.”

  She hurried into the bathroom and closed the door. I went into the kitchen and dished up the food, setting it on the table. Mia walked into the kitchen as I poured the steaming, fragrant tea into two teacups. The dishes had belonged to my dad’s mother and were one thing I’d taken with me when I left home. They’d stayed safely packed away in a box all the years I was modeling, but when I moved into the apartment above the bookstore, I took them out and used them whenever I had a friend visiting (which wasn’t often), or I wanted my meal to feel a little special (again, not often).

  The creamy dishes with deep red roses looked particularly festive on the forest green tablecloth I’d spread on the table.

  Wide-eyed, Mia took a seat. Her gaze flicked from the beautiful arrangement Tim had sent to the dishes, to the plates filled with food. On a good day I feel I’ve accomplished wonders if I make soup without scorching it in the pan, but I can cook bacon in the oven, and make French toast. I happened to have a bowl of fresh berries and a can of spray whipping cream along with a bottle of maple syrup to round out the simple meal.

  “This looks great, Miss Bennett. Thank you,” Mia said.

  “You’re welcome, Mia. Would you like sugar for your tea?”

  At her nod, I passed her the sugar bowl and watched as she stirred a heaping spoon into the amber liquid.

  She drained her glass of juice then ate two pieces of French toast smothered in whipping cream and berries along with four pieces of bacon while I mostly toyed with my teacup. I still had a feeling something awful was going to happen and I didn’t think it had anything to do with Mia.

  “It’s very good,” she said, taking a sip of the still steaming tea. “Yum. That tastes like Christmas.”

  “It’s a Christmas blend,” I said, smiling at her. I fought down the urge to brush a stray lock of hair behind her ear. Maternal urges I didn’t even know I possessed had burst to life recently and I had an idea no amount of coaxing or ignoring them would get them to quietly retreat to the little corner of my being where they’d been hiding all these years.

  Mia eyed the food, so I nudged the bacon and French toast toward her. “Help yourself.”

  She took two more pieces of bacon and another piece of the golden-brown bread. “Thanks for not calling the cops,” she said as she drizzled syrup over the French toast.

  “Why would I call the police?” I asked, taking a bite of my toast. It was pretty good, if I do say so myself.

  “Because I’m in your store and not supposed to be here. I didn’t steal anything though,” she said, tossing me a panicked look. “I promise.”

  “I believe you, Mia. However, it would be good to know why you spent the night here.”

  She hurriedly stuffed a big bite of toast into her mouth, effectively postponing the need to answer.

  I ate my toast and bacon while she finished her food and tea.

  “Is everything okay?” I asked, growing more concerned over the worry gnawing at my stomach like a dog chewing on a juicy bone.

  She shook her head as she wiped her mouth on a paper napkin imprinted with holly berries. Tears welled in her eyes and spilled down her cheeks.

  “Mia? What in the world is wrong?” I placed a comforting hand on her arm.

  The tears were coming so hard and fast, I knew she couldn’t speak. I helped her to her feet, led her to the couch, took a seat beside her, and wrapped my arms around her as sobs wracked through her. She seemed so young and fragile as I held her. When the storm lessoned, I grabbed a box of tissues I kept on the table at the end of the couch and handed it to her.

  She blew her nose, mopped at her wet cheeks, and released a heavy sigh. “I’m sorry, Miss Bennett.”

  “Call me Carol.”

  “I’m sorry, Carol, but I just couldn’t go home last night. I just couldn’t.”

  “Is someone at home hurting you? Abusing you?” Fearful of what she might reveal, I felt a responsibility to unearth the truth for her sake. If I could do something to help her, I would.

  “Not like that, not what you’re thinking,” she said then sighed again. “It’s my dad. He drinks. A lot.”

  Ah. Now we were getting somewhere. “Does he threaten you? Yell at you?”

  “No. Dad wouldn’t do that. He drinks to forget.”

  “Forget what?” I asked, trying to piece the puzzle together.

  “My mom. She died in a car wreck when I was two and my brother was nine. Dad couldn’t deal with a toddler, so I went to live with my grandma in Missoula. She passed away right before Halloween.” She dabbed at more tears.

  “I’m sorry, Mia. It must have been so hard to lose your grandmother.”

  She nodded and took a deep breath. “Grandma was the one who raised me, but when she died, I had to come live with Dad and Marcus. My brother is awesome, but Dad is just… sad.”

  “Oh, Mia. I know how hard it is to lose people you love.” I gave her another tight hug. “Does your dad own McBride’s garage?”

  “Yeah. Marcus has been managing it since he was sixteen. It just seems like it’s more than Dad can handle when he spends so much time drinking.” Mia grabbed more tissues and wiped her face. “Dad isn’t mean to me or anything like that, but it’s been hard moving in with him and Marcus. When I lived with Grandma, she always had a snack ready for me after school and we’d talk about my day then make dinner together. She helped me with my homework and listened, really listened, to my problems. Mostly, my dad ignores me. He comes home drunk and quiet almost every night. Marcus is the one who pays the bills, gives me lunch money, watches out for me, and buys the groceries. He’s trying to run the garage and take online classes in business management in the evenings, so he’s always busy.”

  “He sounds like a good brother,” I said, waiting for Mia to get to the reason why she spent the night in my store.

  “He’s the best. Grandma taught me how to cook a little and do laundry and stuff. I try to help around the house so Marcus doesn’t have t
o do everything.”

  “That’s good of you.”

  She started twisting the tissues in her hands into a skinny rope. “Grandma always made Christmas really special, but Marcus doesn’t have time and Dad just doesn’t care. We don’t have a tree or stockings or even a wreath. I made Dad and Marcus gifts, but I don’t think either of them will remember it’s Christmas. Yesterday was the last day of school until after New Year’s. I just couldn’t go home to our house last night. It’s so depressing.”

  This poor child was breaking my heart. Grateful no one was hurting her, at least physically, I knew being ignored was its own form of abuse. Not only that, but trying to adjust to the loss of a beloved grandmother who had, from the sounds of it, fulfilled the roles of both mother and father, then having to move to a new place where she didn’t feel loved had to be so challenging and painful. At least she had a caring brother. He was probably struggling to keep his head above water, too.

  Thoughts of all the things I could possibly do to help raced through my head. I’m sure I could enlist some of my friends to give Mia a merry Christmas.

  But first, she needed to go home. If her father wasn’t concerned about her, I’m sure her brother had to be frantic.

  “Does your brother or dad know where you are?”

  “No,” Mia said in a small voice. “I forgot my cell phone in my locker at school.”

  I handed her more tissues then stood. “Come on. Let’s get you home. Won’t your brother be worried?”

  “Probably.” She didn’t make eye contact with me as she stood.

  “Why don’t you wash your face while I set the dishes in the sink, then I’ll take you home.”

  “Okay.”

  I hurried to the kitchen and cleaned up from breakfast with record speed. I wouldn’t have bothered, but I had visions of returning to find Hemi on the table, lapping up bacon grease. That alone was enough to make me fill the sink with hot soapy water and leave the dishes to soak.

  Mia came into the kitchen and offered to help, so we washed and dried the dishes and put them away.

  I knew she was stalling and I let her. I glanced at the clock which showed it was half past six. Time for her to face the music.

  “Ready to go?” I asked, giving her shoulders a hug as we walked out of the kitchen into the living room. I kicked off my flats and jerked on a pair of snow boots, then grabbed my coat and purse.

  She picked up the backpack she’d set by the door and slung it over her shoulder then marched down the stairs with all the enthusiasm of one about to face a firing squad.

  “If you want to wait in here, I’ll go warm up my car,” I said, pulling the keys from my purse.

  “I only live a few blocks from here. I can walk,” she said, standing to the side as I unlocked the door and opened it.

  She shuffled out onto the snow-dusted sidewalk.

  “I’ll walk with you,” I said, quickly locking the door and waiting for her to lead the way. As we strolled through the early morning darkness, illuminated by Christmas lights and the street lamps, I talked about The Christmas Extravaganza planned at the community center tomorrow that I’d be singing in and invited her to come.

  We turned down a residential street and she walked to the gate of a house that at one time had probably been quite nice. The paint, or what was left of it, was peeling off the siding, and the porch steps sagged, like they needed repaired or replaced. At least the snow hid any other defects.

  All the lights were on in the house, so I didn’t question if anyone was awake.

  Resigned, Mia sighed and her shoulders drooped as she opened the gate. The rusty hinges squealed in protest, but she forged ahead with me right behind her, my hand on her shoulder for reassurance.

  We hadn’t even made it to the steps when the door flew open and a man I vaguely recognized from my childhood years as the best mechanic in town raced down the steps.

  Tears streamed down his sunken cheeks as he grabbed Mia and hugged her close to him.

  “Oh, baby girl. I’ve been worried to death. Oh, Mia.” He held her tight, as though he’d never let her go.

  A young man who bore a strong resemblance to Mr. McBride ran down the steps and wrapped his arms around both of them.

  “Mia June McBride, if you ever disappear like that again, I’ll, I’ll…” Marcus’s voice cracked with emotion and he blinked his eyes several times, clearly trying to hold back the tears. “I’m so glad you came home.”

  All three of them were crying and it seemed like such a personal, intimate family moment, but I felt compelled to stay to offer an explanation of why I was with Mia.

  Finally, the three McBrides turned to look at me.

  “You’re the bookstore lady,” Marcus said. He swiped his sleeve across his face to do away with the tears then wiped his hand on the seat of his jeans before he held it out to me.

  “You must be Marcus,” I said with a smile as I shook his hand. “I’m Carol Bennett and I own Rudolph’s Reads. I’ve gotten to know Mia a little bit recently.”

  Mia glanced at me then at her father. “I hid in the store and spent the night but Carol didn’t know I was there. She found me this morning and made breakfast for me then brought me home. I left my phone at school by accident and I’m sorry.” By the time Mia finished, she was crying again.

  “Mia is always welcome at the store and if there is anything I can do to help, I hope you’ll let me know. For now, I think you all could use some time to talk things through. Merry Christmas.” Slowly, I backed away from the group.

  I was almost to the squeaky gate when Mr. McBride hurried over and clasped my hand between both of his. He was almost as tall as me, built like a wrestler, and in surprisingly good shape, all things considered. He reeked of beer, but his bloodshot eyes appeared clear, not dazed by alcohol. I could see gratitude in his smile and regret in his eyes.

  Maybe Mia’s stunt would be the wake-up call he needed to let go of his grief and move on with life. “Thank you for bringing my little girl home. I’d die if anything happened to her.”

  Emotion was about to overtake me, so I smiled and nodded my head. “I’m glad I could help. She really is welcome at the store anytime. I enjoy having her there.”

  “If you ever need your car worked on, you bring it in, no charge. Ever.” Mr. McBride backed up a step. “I can’t repay you for seeing after Mia.”

  “I had no idea she was at the store until I turned on the lights this morning.” I lowered my voice so Mia couldn’t hear. “She’s grieving her grandmother, struggling to find her way at a new school, and just needs to know she is loved and supported at home.”

  Mr. McBride nodded, his eyes welling with tears. “Things will be better now. I promise.”

  I grinned. “I’ll hold you to that. I fully expect Mia to give me a report after the holidays.”

  The girl ran over to me and gave me a hug. “Thank you, Carol.”

  “You’re welcome, honey. Have a very Merry Christmas.” I kissed her cheek, intent on making sure Christmas arrived at the McBride home.

  I turned and walked out of the yard, but stopped to watch as Mr. McBride hugged both of his children to him.

  As I stood on that snowy sidewalk, watching them, watching the three of them find hope and love, my qualms about being with Tim suddenly melted away.

  What I felt for him wasn’t something that came along every day. It was a once-in-a-lifetime love that I’d stupidly been willing to sacrifice because of something that may or may not ever happen. The odds of the lunatic in New York ever finding me in Montana were practically non-existent. Was I really willing to spend the rest of my life alone if that’s how long it took for the police to catch him?

  I’d spent the last year alone, hiding from myself and the world. Before that, I hid behind the persona of Lyra Levy, letting very few people see the real me.

  It was time to let go of my fears, embrace who I was, and move on.

  With Tim, if he’d still have me. I took out my
phone and sent him a text.

  I’m begging for forgiveness. I’ve had all the time I need to realize what I really want and need is you. Can we talk?

  He was most likely out feeding and doing chores, so I knew it would be a while before he replied to my text.

  In the meantime, I had Christmas to deliver to one purple-haired girl.

  Chapter Twelve

  Determined to do all I could to give the McBride family a lovely Christmas, I started planning out the details in my head as I walked away from their home.

  Filled with excitement at the prospect of playing Santa to Mia, I still felt an overwhelming sense of dread. I couldn’t explain it, couldn’t define it, and worry settled over me like a wet blanket on a freezing day. I didn’t feel like the anxiety had anything to do with Tim, although I was incredibly anxious as I waited for his response to my text.

  This was something different, something so vague yet undeniably disturbing I couldn’t shake the horrible feeling.

  Rather than dwell on it, I marched into Prancer’s Pancake House where I found the owner of the tree lot and cajoled him into delivering a tree to the McBride family as soon as he finished eating breakfast.

  I saw one of Christmas Mountain’s police officers walk in and rushed over to let her know Mia was safe at home in case they’d been looking for her. Apparently, they’d been searching for her since Marcus called them when Mia never came home for dinner.

  Everyone who could hear the conversation seemed relieved, so I decided to be bold as I moved to a spot by the door where everyone could see me and whistled. All eyes turned my way.

  “For those of you who don’t know, Mia McBride is thirteen, recently lost her grandmother, and moved here to Christmas Mountain. She’s afraid Christmas is going to pass her by this year. What do you say we show the McBride family what this community is all about?” My heart swelled amid the cheers and promises to help in my campaign to bring Christmas to the McBride’s door.