Christmas Coins

by Kristy Tate

  “I don’t know what to think,” Hannah said. “Dad was super mad when we got to the gallery and found it unlocked and unattended, but I don’t think he can still be mad if something horrible happened to Desmond.”

  “I’ve never seen your dad mad,” Zoe said.

  “It happens, but not very often,” Hannah said.

  “Courtney told me you’re angry at Laurel.”

  Hannah tightened her lips. “Maybe. Did she tell you why?”

  “Something about a boy,” Zoe prodded.

  Hannah blew a breath out of her nose. “I’m going to kill her!”

  “Hannah, at your age, I know it might not seem like it, but friends are more important than boys.”

  Hannah shot Zoe a quick glance. “What do you know?”

  Stung, Zoe debated whether to keep her thoughts to herself. Obviously, Hannah wasn’t interested in what she had to say. “I just don’t want to see you lose a good friend.”

  “Who says Laurel is a good friend?” Hannah asked.

  Zoe opened her mouth to say something but closed it when she saw an ambulance with flashing lights and a blaring siren racing their way. She elbowed Hannah and started to run.

  AT THE HOSPITAL, ETHAN tried to answer the doctors’ questions as best he could. Fortunately, it wasn’t too long until Frankie, Desmond’s daughter, arrived.

  Ethan found Hannah and Zoe sitting in the waiting room.

  “Is Dezi going to be okay?” Hannah asked.

  “I hope so, button,” Ethan said. He looked over the top of Hannah’s head to gaze at Zoe. “Thanks for staying with her.”

  “I guess I better get going,” Zoe said.

  “I need to get back to the gallery and make sure Desmond didn’t leave anything undone,” Ethan said. “Do you want to go home with Zoe or come with me to the gallery?” he asked Hannah.

  “Go with you,” Hannah said quickly.

  “I guess we’ll see you at home,” Ethan said to Zoe.

  “Okay.” She squeezed his hand as she left.

  “Why do you say it like that?” Hannah asked after Zoe had disappeared through the wide glass doors.

  “Say what like what?” Ethan asked.

  “Home.” Hannah curled her lip. “As if we all live together. We don’t. She has her apartment in the attic. She should stay there.”

  “Hannah,” Ethan said, surprised. “I thought you liked Zoe.”

  Hannah shrugged and scowled at the same time. It had been a long, stressful day and because they were going to the gallery, it was about to get even longer. Now wasn’t the time to talk about his relationship with Zoe.

  Fortunately, Hannah changed the subject. “What did the doctors say about Dezi?”

  “They need to run some tests to find out what happened.”

  “But he’ll be okay, though?”

  “I’m not sure,” Ethan hedged. He desperately wanted to be able to tell his daughter that Dezi was fine, but he didn’t know what had happened or what was about to happen. “I bet Frankie will let us know as soon as she can.” He put his hand on Hannah’s shoulder to guide her through the busy emergency room.

  A KNOCK ON THE DOOR interrupted Zoe’s bedtime ritual. She rinsed off her toothbrush, gave herself a quick glance in the mirror to make sure her makeup remover hadn’t given her raccoon eyes, and went to let Ethan in.

  He looked even more tired than she felt.

  She motioned for him to come inside. He fell onto her sofa, clearly exhausted.

  “I’m sorry for coming by so late,” he said, even though it was only nine-thirty. “I know you go to bed early so you can be up and baking before dawn.”

  “It’s okay. I was hoping you’d come by and give me news on Desmond.” She dropped onto the sofa beside him. “What did you find out?”

  “It was a heart attack. Frankie, that’s his daughter, blames the gallery. According to her, it’s been struggling financially for years.”

  “Oh, dear.” She took his hand and he laced his fingers with hers.

  “It gets worse. The gallery break-in? It was all a hoax. Desmond staged it to collect the insurance money.”

  Zoe gasped. “So, did they recover all the art?”

  He grimaced. “What Desmond wasn’t able to sell.”

  “What about Tomato Face?”

  His expression lightened. “Harold is fine and back in my possession.” He paused. “Frankie asked me if I wanted to buy the gallery.”

  “And?”

  “It’s been what I wanted, but now...” He shrugged.

  “And why would you want to if it’s losing money?”

  “But I’m not sure it would lose money if I owned it. I would...well, I had lots of ideas, but now—”

  “You just spent all that money on the basement renovations.”

  He nodded.

  “If it’s any consolation, Mrs. Hancock came by today. She’s thrilled with the new apartment.”

  His expression marginally brightened. “When will she move in?”

  “After the holidays.”

  She bit her lip, considering. Should she offer to pay for the renovations? Could she do that? What would Grandma or Courtney say? They wouldn’t be happy.

  “There are a couple of other artists who want to buy the gallery,” Ethan said.

  “Oh no. Not Misty or the Gearheads!” Zoe couldn’t say their names and keep a straight face.

  “Maybe I could work with Misty, but if the Gear-heads took it over, I couldn’t leave my work in there.”

  “They wouldn’t want you to.”

  “You’re probably right.”

  He twisted so he faced her. “What do you think I should do?”

  “Sell the work you’re collecting in your studio online.”

  “Well, that was a fast decision,” he said, sounding unhappy.

  “Maybe it was a fast decision, but it’s something I’ve been thinking about for a long time,” Zoe admitted.

  Ethan pushed his fingers through his hair. “I just can’t...”

  She elbowed him. “Stop being such a snob.”

  “I’m not a snob. I’m a—”

  “Perfectionist,” she finished his sentence for him. “You’re unwilling to share your work unless it’s met your stamp of approval.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with that.”

  “It’s sort of selfish.” She paused. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

  He hitched an eyebrow.

  She took a deep breath, wondering how this conversation would go. “Mrs. Lickel, your mysterious landlord?”

  He waited.

  “She’s my grandmother.”

  He stared at her blankly and dropped her hand.

  Zoe waved around the room. “This is my family home.”

  He blinked and climbed off the sofa. “And yet you let me pay for the basement renovations?”

  She leaned away from him. “It was your idea.”

  He stalked to the window, turned his back to her, and gazed out at the night sky. “I gave up the chance of the gallery so you could have another apartment?”

  Zoe drew her knees up and wrapped her arms around them. “I didn’t ask you to renovate the basement.”

  Turning, he studied her with dark, unreadable eyes.

  “I better go,” he said after a long moment. “It’s been a crazy day, and we’re both tired.” But he didn’t go.

  “Ethan...” she began.

  “I thought we had something,” he said.

  She took note of the past tense article and tried to correct it. “I think so, too.”

  “But you lied to me.”

  “No, not really.”

  “You let me sink thousands of dollars into your grandmother’s basement.”

  “It’s my grandmother’s basement, not mine.”

  His breath whistled as he blew it out. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “What does it matter?”

  “I think it matters because you intentionally didn’t
tell me.”

  “That doesn’t really make sense.”

  “And neither does this.” He stalked toward the front door.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You. Me. Maybe I should move out.”

  She bounced off the sofa and went to him. “Why?”

  He put his hand on the doorknob. “Tell me this, are you more concerned about losing me, or losing a renter?”

  When she didn’t answer right away, he nodded. “That’s what I thought.”

  She grabbed his hand. “I don’t like the way you’re talking to me.”

  “Yeah, well, I don’t like you very much right now, either.” He slammed out the door.

  Zoe went to bed feeling like she’d missed something.

  CHAPTER 8

  “So, why don’t you like Zoe anymore?” Ethan asked Hannah when they were in the rental car and headed for his parents’. He had thought he’d think of Zoe less the further he got from her, but the sad truth was, he just thought of her more. Memories of their argument—along with guilt—rankled in the back of his mind.

  Hannah glanced up from her book. Her pigtails were askew—one tight and one loose—and she looked rumpled and grumpy after their flight. “She’s just always around. I want it to be just me and you sometimes.” Hannah scrunched her nose. “I guess it would be okay if you did things with her after I go to bed so then I don’t have to see her.” Hannah returned her attention to her book.

  Ethan flexed his fingers around the steering wheel. “Sweetie, you know Zoe goes to bed before either of us, right? Because she has to get up so early to work in the bakery.”

  “Oh well. Then I guess you can’t see her,” Hannah said without lifting her gaze from her novel. She flipped a page.

  Ethan decided to change the subject. “Do you think I should buy the gallery?”

  “Of course I do.” She lifted her gaze to meet his. “That’s why God gave us those coins.”

  Ethan bit his lip, considering. His parents had always struggled financially and his dad had been upset with his chosen career path. Even though he’d been living off his art income—and mostly, quite nicely—ever since his graduation from the institute (and how many people could say that?) his dad still thought he should put down his paints and pick up a ‘real job.’ Asking his parents for a loan was out of the question. But there was Uncle Mick. He owned a string of funeral homes that were surprisingly lucrative.

  “What are you thinking about?” Hannah asked him.

  “Dead people,” he said with a laugh.

  “Mom?”

  “Always,” he said.

  “Me, too,” Hannah said with a sigh. “No one can ever take her place.”

  “No one ever will,” Ethan said. He was surer of this than ever.

  ZOE PULLED THE CHRISTMAS decorations out of their hiding place under the eaves. She only had a few of her favorite things—a Santa doll made by her Great Aunt Sofie, a hand-carved olive-wood nativity set her grandmother had purchased in the Holy Land back in the eighties, a cross-stitched Rudolph pillow she’d found at a craft fair, and, of course, the box of coins. She gathered it all together and lugged it into the living room, but on her way, Mildred darted in front of her and sent her sprawling.

  Her knickknacks tumbled across the floor. Thankfully, nothing looked damaged—except for maybe her relationship with Mildred. Nursing her twisted knee, she stooped to gather her things. The coin box lay upended...and empty.

  But where were the coins? Sure, some of them could have rolled to hidden corners, but not all of them.

  Lying prone on the floor, she peered under the sofa and took note of the dust bunnies gathering there. Standing, she pushed the sofa for a better look. She found a pen, a sock, a movie ticket stub, a crayon, but no coins.

  Where were they?

  WHILE HANNAH AND HER cousin cohorts were involved in a noisy game of charades, Mom cornered Ethan. He’d been expecting this...and dreading it. Mom liked to have heart-to-hearts, even though she understood that his heart had been broken by Allison’s death. But because she followed him on social media, she’d seen pictures of Zoe and had an idea of how much he saw her.

  “So, tell me about Zoe,” Mom said without preamble. She sat on his bed. Years ago, his old bedroom had been converted into a sewing room, but she’d kept several of his pieces that he’d created as a kid hanging on the wall beside her racks of spools of thread, her collection of yardsticks, and the overcrowded pegboard.

  Knowing the conversation could no longer be avoided, Ethan put down his novel.

  Mom hitched an eyebrow and assumed an I’m waiting attitude.

  “You’d like her.”

  “A more important question is, what does Hannah think of her?”

  “You’ve talked to Hannah?”

  Mom didn’t deny this.

  Ethan blew out a breath. “I don’t know what happened. I thought they were great together, but now Hannah wants nothing to do with her! I don’t know what went wrong.”

  “Did you ask her?”

  “Who? Hannah or Zoe?”

  “Either, I guess.”

  “I’m not sure it’s worth it.”

  “Really? Because of Hannah? Or because you don’t want to get your heart broken a second time?”

  Ethan considered this. “Both, I guess.”

  “Listen, someone once told me that the greatest gift a parent can give a child is to live a joyful life.”

  “Do you believe that? I’ve seen you and Dad sacrifice plenty for our family.”

  “Yes, we sacrificed, but we did it joyfully. It’s what we wanted to do. Let me explain. My mom worked three jobs to support our family, and she made it very clear that she’d given all she had to give. I never really felt I could ask her for anything—help with babysitting, a ride to the doctor’s office, or even a carton of milk, because everything came with a heaping helping of guilt. I loved my mom and I’m so grateful for her, but I’m also sad she carried around resentment and hostility for most of her life.”

  “I’m not resentful or hostile.”

  “But you might get there if you let Hannah thwart your happiness.” Mom cocked her head. “Does Zoe make you happy?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Then you can’t let Hannah spoil that for you.”

  “Mom—”

  She cut him off. “I was really disappointed you didn’t bring her.”

  Ethan shook his head. “We’re not that serious.”

  “Well, I am!”

  “But what about Hannah?”

  “She’ll get over it. Even if she doesn’t understand when she’s a snot-nosed teenager, she will when she’s older.”

  “I was thinking I could just wait until Hannah graduates and goes to college.”

  “Seven years? You’ll be a totally different person by then! Don’t you know your body continually sluffs off cells? Every seven years, you’re a whole new you! And what about children? What about giving Hannah siblings? And what about Zoe? Does she want children? Can she wait seven years?”

  Of course his mom’s thoughts would steer in this direction. She loved kids and even though she already had seventeen grandchildren, she wanted more. When it came to children, she was like a woman dying of thirst standing at the base of Niagara Falls.

  “Have you and Zoe talked about having a family?” she pressed.

  “Mom!”

  She jiggled his foot. “I just don’t want you to let her slip away.”

  A KNOCK ON THE DOOR made Zoe take a breath. Wading through her collection of whatevers and whatnots, she went to see who had interrupted her frenzied search.

  Courtney stood at the door, her smile fading to an expression of disbelief. “What’s happening in here?”

  Zoe glanced over her shoulder at the mess she’d made. “My coins!” Zoe said. “I can’t find the coins.”

  Courtney paled. “The ones you took to Canterbury for Ancestor Day?”

  Zoe nodded.

&nbs
p; “We brought the box back,” Courtney said. “Did you check it to see if the coins were in it?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “Neither do I,” Courtney said.

  “So the coins might have been lost at the school?” Zoe wandered into the living room and plopped down on the sofa.

  Courtney joined her and draped an arm around Zoe’s shoulder. “This is my fault.”

  “Don’t say that. Listen, I tripped and fell, so the coins might have rolled somewhere.”

  “I don’t think that happened,” Courtney said, glancing around. “It looks like you tore this place apart.” She stood. “Let me help you put things back together.”

  Tears gathered in Zoe’s eyes. “I’m not ready to give up.”

  “Okay, then let me help you. After all, I feel partly responsible.”

  Zoe brushed her curls off her face. “What if the coins were lost at the school?”

  “Someone would have noticed them, don’t you think?”

  Zoe pulled her phone out of her pocket. “Let’s call and ask.”

  “It’s a Saturday and it’s a holiday weekend.” Courtney gently pushed Zoe’s hand down. After an awkward moment, she went into the kitchen and came back out with a plate of cookies. “I’ll go to the school first thing on Monday morning.”

  “Really?”

  “Absolutely,” Courtney promised.

  Zoe sniffed and plucked a cookie off the plate. Cookies couldn’t make the coins reappear, but they did ease the pain.

  ETHAN SAT ON THE PEW beside Hannah. Allison’s ghost hovered nearby. Sometimes he thought he could smell traces of her perfume hanging the air. A hundred times a day he’d catch glimpses of her in Hannah’s mannerisms and conversations. He would never be able to forget her. But could he love again?

  Zoe flashed in his mind. He’d been hard on her, he knew that.

  The music director, Lyle Digoni, his parents’ next-door neighbor, picked up the baton to lead the congregation in a hymn. Because I Have Been Given Much.

  He used to love this song, but since Allison’s death, the words rang too true. And now they rankled. Mostly, because he didn’t think he had anything left to give. He tried to sing along. Beside him, Hannah sang in a clear sweet soprano. After clearing his throat, he was able to join in.