Jon wiped his face and sat up. “Good! Good! Let’s see if our spooky, broken down house is still there.”
Trudie rolled up her window, put the car in gear and drove up a steep hill. At the crest, she slowed down, and they both peered into the darkness, searching.
“It’s up on the right, I think,” Jon said. “Was it spring or winter that we came here?”
“Autumn,” Trudie said.
The two-lane road was deserted. Theirs was the only car on the road.
“Really? I always thought it was spring. But how could that be? You had dumped me for Cole by then.”
“I didn’t dump you.”
“Yes, you did.”
“Okay, whatever. Keep looking. It might not even be there anymore.”
“Wait a minute!” Jon said pointing right. “Look, over there!”
Trudie craned her neck right and saw the charcoal outline of an old structure, tucked behind some trees.
“That’s it!” Jon said. “That is it.”
“I’m not so sure, Jon.”
“I’m telling you that’s it, Trudie. Stop the car. Pull over!”
Trudie edged over to the shoulder of the road and stopped.
“Do you have a flashlight?” Jon asked, excited and fidgety.
“Yes, in the glove compartment.”
Jon rummaged inside and grabbed it. He switched it on and off as the beam flashed, then pushed the door open and got out. Trudie emerged, slipping on her coat.
“It’s cold out here, Jon.”
Jon switched on the flashlight and swung the shaft of light toward the old house. “Yeah, that’s it, Trudie. That’s the freaky house. Come on.”
Jon tramped forward, stepping in three inches of old snow, picking his way through reaching bushes. Trudie buttoned her coat and advanced behind him.
“Why exactly are we here, Jon?”
“You’ll see,” he said, glancing back.
Trudie’s coat snagged on a tree branch.
“Are you okay?” Jon asked, starting back to her.
Trudie plucked the branch away and continued. “I’m fine. I’ve got to say…this place is scary looking.”
“It’s supposed to be scary, Trudie, it’s a ghost town and these houses are probably haunted.”
“Lovely. I didn’t want to come here twenty years ago but you talked me into it. I can’t believe I’m doing this again.”
“Whine, whine, whine. They’re friendly ghosts.”
“How do you know?”
“Trust me.”
“Right,” Trudie said, doubtfully.
They scrabbled up a hill around gnarly tree roots, and then Jon took Trudie’s hand and helped her up to the old stone path that led to the house.
“Almost there, Trudie.”
Wind whistled through the bare trees, rattling the branches, adding to the eerie silence. Trudie heard the quiet music of the river below and a creaking shutter, swinging on its hinge. They traversed the winding stone path and emerged into an opening, finally standing before the old leaning shack, vapor puffing from their mouths. Jon looked at Trudie and grinned.
“Shall we go inside?”
“Is it safe? Look at that porch. It’s mostly caved in.”
“No worries. I’ll find a good sturdy spot.”
“Be careful.”
“Me? Never. What fun would that be?”
Jon ventured forward, testing the first step of five. He put a little weight on it, bounced and tried the next. It snapped and he sank. “Forget that one.”
“Careful, Jon!”
He tried the third and fourth steps and they held. He reached out his hand. “Come on, Trudie, let’s enter our dream house.”
“You are nuts, Jon.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
He urged her forward and helped her climb the unstable stairs, finally finding a four-foot square patch of safety on the porch. Jon swung the beam of the flashlight around, seeing the black trunks of trees, an old stone well and a leaning outhouse.
“Home sweet home,” Jon said, pulling Trudie close. “Do you know how often I’ve daydreamed about you and me buying this house, remodeling it, putting in plumbing and a boiler and a fireplace… the works… and living here?”
Trudie looked at him, skeptically. “Why here, of all places? There are plenty of nice houses in town you could have dreamed about.”
“I don’t know. Call it my weird and whacky nature, but this is the house I’ve dreamed about. But you were always in that dream, sitting by the fire, reading or sewing or rocking the baby.”
“Baby?” Trudie exclaimed. “You make me sound like some pioneer wife out on the western plains.”
“Of course a baby. I always wanted to have a baby with you. I had the whole thing pictured in my mind. You and me in a big four-poster bed with a feather mattress going at it. You’d always ask for more and I’d always give you more. Every night, you and me making love in that back bedroom. Me on top, you on top. You and me wrestling and kissing and fighting.”
Jon gave her a bold, but tender look. “Yep, you and me having babies together.”
Trudie took a breath. “Jon, I’m not a prude, but you’re embarrassing me.”
“Why? What’s wrong with that? What’s wrong with making love to a woman you love and adore? What’s wrong with loving a woman who turns you up and down and on? What, Trudie? What?”
Trudie looked away. “Nothing, I guess. I don’t know. You just say things that are unexpected or something. I don’t know what to say.”
“That’s me, Mr. Unexpected.”
Jon tugged her toward the front entrance, shining the beam on the shaky floor boards. “I say, let’s go inside and I’ll make great big love to you.”
“Here?”
“Yes! Right here. Right now. Let’s make love and let’s make a baby. Right here in our dream house.”
Trudie pulled away. “Jon, you are out of your mind!”
Jon switched off the flashlight, lowering it. He looked out beyond her into the darkness, as he shoved a hand into his coat pocket.
They were completely isolated, and Trudie felt vulnerable and unsteady. Jon had always been good at making people feel unsteady and off balance. He had a talent for it. He’d done it again.
“Jon... do you love your daughters?”
“What kind of question is that? Of course I love them. Why wouldn’t I?”
“Do they love you?”
He cleared his throat. He switched on the beam, held it below his chin, pointing the shaft of light up, so that his face looked strange and scary. “Yes, I think they love me. Can you believe that? God love them all, they love me and I miss them.”
“Are they with their mothers?”
“Oh yeah. Beth wanted to come with me, but her mother wouldn’t let her and it was Dena’s turn to have them for Christmas.”
“Did you love your wives?”
“Questions. Questions.”
“Did you?”
“Yes, I did. The first one messed around on me and the second wanted to marry somebody famous. I mean, it’s not like I’m George Clooney or Tom Hanks. I’m not a superstar, but she thought I’d be one. Then I found out I didn’t like her all that much. And then she didn’t like me much so... Pop goes the marriage.”
Trudie studied him. “Jon, do you like your life?”
He breathed in. “Well now, let’s see. Yeah, I guess so. I mean, the worst thing in my life is me.”
Trudie laughed.
Jon seized her arm. “Okay, let’s go inside.”
They crept over the threshold, nudged the squeaking door aside and gingerly entered the house. His flashlight explored the rickety old furniture, the crumbling stone fireplace, a broken window, and a curtain billowing with a puff of wind. With the flashlight poised, they inched along, the darkness opening before them and then closing in its wake.
As the floor was revealed, they saw broken boards, shattered glass and old beer cans.
“Ahhh... Now that’s sad,” Jon said, focusing on the beer cans. “That’s just sad to see the old dream so tattered and abused, like some old whore who used to be grand and fine.”
“Not very romantic, Jon,” Trudie said.
“Maybe not, but accurate.”
Jon’s shoulders sank. “Well, we certainly can’t make love in here.”
“I don’t think so,” Trudie said.
Jon turned off the flashlight. The darkness seemed alive in the cold air, the sounds creepy. Jon moved in close to Trudie. They were face to face, the same height, their breathing staggered. “You, my dear Trudie, I have always loved.”
The words hung in the air, waiting.
Trudie trembled from rising emotion. They were close to a wall. Jon leaned in and kissed her. Trudie stepped back, her neck stiffened.
“Are you okay?” he asked, lifting his hands. “Nothing up my sleeve. Promise.”
She nodded and then whispered, “Yeah, I’m okay.”
He touched her shoulder and whispered. “Okay, then I’m going to kiss you again.”
He pressed her against the wall and kissed her again. It was an open kiss, and she was excited by the wet, soft nibbling.
“I have always loved you, Trudie, my dream girl.”
He moved in for another kiss and she felt him hard against her. She was flushed by sudden desire and she threw her arms around him, kissing him back, entranced by swift passion. But when she felt as though she were falling into a current of desire, she fought it. She backed away, gulping air.
Jon waited, watching her. “Come back to my motel room, Trudie. I want to make love to you. I have wanted to make love to you for so long.”
Trudie’s head was filled with flashing things: words, wants, needs, emotions, desires.
She leveled her eyes on him. “To hell with going back. Let’s make your dream come true now, Jon. Let’s make love here... in your dream house.”
Now Jon was stunned. “Okay, you’ve done it, Trudie. You’ve shocked me. Completely shocked me, and that’s not easy to do. This ain’t the movies, Trudie. It’s cold and there ain’t many places where we can safely do this kind of thing.”
“Be creative, Jon. And do the unexpected.”
“That I can do. But there’s no feather bed.”
“Don’t need one, Jon. Let’s both be daring and adventurous.”
“We’ll have to be careful around here.”
Trudie laughed low in her throat. “Didn’t some Hollywood actor once say, ‘Me? Careful? Never. What fun would that be?’”
Jon stared at Trudie with new eyes.
They played, teased and touched. The night seemed to close in around them, blessing them, allowing them isolation and a gentle intimacy. The wind, which had been moving and cold, calmed. Somewhere out in the trees a night bird called, as if awakened by strange music.
Trudie stopped and drew back.
“What?” Jon asked, surprised. “What happened?”
Trudie lowered her head. “Not here, Jon. Not now.”
“But you said…”
She cut him off. I know… I know… But no.”
The softness and warmth left his eyes. He stood perplexed. “Hey, whatever, Trudie.”
“I’m sorry, Jon. It’s just that I want more than… than this.”
Jon buried his hands into his pockets, nodding. “Okay, I hear you. I’ve got that.”
She wouldn’t meet his gaze.
Jon reached, gently lifting her chin. “Hey, kid. It ain’t no big thing.”
Their eyes made contact.
“You and me, Trudie; well, we got lots of time to be lovers. I feel it. I sense it.”
Trudie’s eyes stung with tears and she swiped them away.
“Don’t cry, Trudie.”
“Oh, Jon, I wanted to be adventurous for you.”
Jon laughed. “Trudie, for God’s sake you saved my ass back there. If you hadn’t been adventurous back there, I’d be in jail right now.”
He leaned in and brushed her lips with his, her lips soft and shy.
Jon spoke at a near whisper. “Trudie… I love your lips. I’ve always loved you.”
They remained in that broken-down house for a time, whispering, kissing and touching until the wind kicked up and the cold returned, seeping into their bones, chattering their teeth. Trudie noticed that Jon’s right hand was scraped from the fight, and had been bleeding. She kissed it.
Arm and arm, they started back down the hill to the car, silent and thoughtful. Tomorrow would come. Decisions would have to be made, and actions evaluated and analyzed, and their expanded souls and full hearts would have to be questioned. But on this unforgettable night, which stretched out unpredictably before them—a treasured secret—on this infinite and glorious night, the lovers drove back across the bridge, entranced, liberated and in love.
NINETEEN
On Monday morning, The Christmas Women sat around the dining room table, laptops open, cell phones close by, pouring over emails. There were hundreds of details to be covered and a constellation of issues to be resolved. The challenge was to weed out the less important, nail down the urgent, and assign someone the responsibility to follow through.
There were numerous requests for interviews from local papers, national news networks, blogs and TV stations as far away as Louisville and Cincinnati. They wanted to interview Mrs. Childs, The Christmas Girls and, of course, Jon Ketch. Everyone wanted an exclusive interview with him about his role in the show.
There were financial issues, logistical issues, personal issues, alumni issues. Were The Christmas Women giving more time to some performers and not enough to others? Could the crew get into the school auditorium early enough to build the sets, rehearse the music and map the lighting?
Money was coming in from all directions and it was growing increasingly difficult to manage. Connie needed help, and even though she was likeable and pleasant, she could be territorial and controlling. Still, she’d always been dependable and the girls knew they could trust her. So who should they send in to help?
Trudie had hired a small production company out of Columbus, Ohio to film the entire performance, so the DVD could be distributed to alumni and sold to the public. The production company had called to say they needed more money or they couldn’t do the job. They were, essentially, backing out of a contract they had signed. Did Trudie really want to hire an attorney and spend the time and the money to sue them? Whose money? The scholarship money? Trudie’s money? Meanwhile, she had to scramble to find another film company.
Besides all that, The Christmas Women had not been able to rehearse even one number. Ray kept emailing and texting, strongly encouraging them to meet with him so they could go over the old music and choose which pieces they wanted to perform.
Kristen took a sip of coffee and blew out a weary sigh. “If I’d known what we were getting into when we thought this whole thing up, I never would have said yes.”
“Yes you would, Kristen,” Trudie said, typing an email. “It will all be worth it when Mrs. Childs enters that auditorium, takes her seat and watches the curtain rise. Seeing her face will make it all worthwhile.”
Kristen looked at her friend with renewed admiration. “You look different, Trudie. What is it? Your hair?”
Trudie dropped her eyes to her computer. “I slept well. I had a good sleep. Well, a pretty good sleep.”
Kristen persisted. “Don’t you think Trudie looks different, Mary Ann?”
“She does have good color. You seem more relaxed,” Mary Ann said.
“Okay, I am relaxed. Like I said, I slept really well for what little sleep I got. Anyway, let’s not forget that it’s fine to see everybody and party and have fun, but we’re doing this for Mrs. Childs.”
Kristen nodded. “That’s what I love about you, Trudie. You’re so constant. So good.”
“Stop saying I’m good, Kristen. I’m not that good, okay? I mean, I’m not always good. You’re good too, Kri
sten, and Mary Ann is good. Everybody is good.”
“Kristen isn’t good,” Mary Ann said, with a humorous wink. “She is all evil.”
Kristen laughed. “You are so right, Mary Ann. But wouldn’t Trudie be the greatest mother?”
Mary Ann glanced up at Trudie, knowing this was a hot button issue with her.
Trudie glared at Kristen over her laptop. “Let’s drop this whole conversation and move on,” she said, frostily.
Kristen shrugged. “Okay, Okay...”
Trudie looked at her phone and went rigid. “Oh God!”
Kristen and Mary Ann shot her a look of distress.
“What?” Kristen asked.
“Ray just texted. Mrs. Lyons, you know the high school principal, read about Jon’s fight in the local paper and on the internet. She’s furious.”
“Furious?” Kristen asked. “Why? What’s it to her?”
“Just a second. Ray’s sending another text.” Trudie scrolled. “He says she wants to see him and me ASAP. She said it reflects negatively on the high school and she’s having second thoughts about allowing us to do the show.”
“Bullshit!” Kristen shouted.
“She is a piece of work,” Mary Ann said.
Trudie sat back and slumped. “This woman is such a pain in the neck. What am I going to say to her?”
“Don’t say anything,” Kristen said. “Let me talk to her.”
“That’s not the way,” Mary Ann said.
“Don’t worry,” Kristen said. “I’ll make it professional, just like in court. You’re too nice about everything, Mary Ann. This woman wants to be in control and show everybody what a hard ass she is. Okay, fine. I’m going to ask her a few pertinent and uncomfortable questions.”
Trudie stared into her phone. “Uh oh... Somebody at Rusty’s took a video of the fight and put in on YouTube. Ray sent a link.” Kristen and Mary Ann shot up and scrambled over. Trudie tapped the link and they waited nervously as the video loaded.
It started, and the three girls nosed forward. The quality was good. Jon was punching, weaving and dancing around Big Frank, who was stumbling backwards.
“Wow!” Kristen said. “Look at crazy Jon fight. Where did he learn to fight like that?”
“And that guy is big,” Mary Ann said.
Trudie nibbled on her lower lip, feeling herself sink in despair. She turned to Kristen. “Do you still want to face Mrs. Lyons? You know she’s seen this and is probably going to send it to the school board.”
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