Home for the Holidays (25 page)

“T
his is the Old North Church?” Emily stood outside Christ Church, made famous in the Longfellow poem. “The ‘one if by land, two if by sea' church?”

“The very one,” Ray assured her. “Boston's oldest surviving religious structure.”

Emily tilted back her head and looked to the very top of the belfry. “If I remember my history correctly, a sexton…”

“Robert Newman.”

She nodded. “He warned Paul Revere and the patriots that the British were coming.”

“Correct. You may go to the head of the class.”

Emily had always been fascinated by history. “I loved school. I was a good student,” she said. A trait her daughter had inherited.

“I can believe it,” Ray said, guiding her inside the church.

They toured it briefly, and Emily marveled as Ray dramatically described that fateful night in America's history.

“How do you know so much about this?”

Ray grinned. “You mean other than through Charles,
who's lived and breathed this stuff from the time he was a kid?”

“Yes.”

“The truth is that, years ago, I edited a book—a mystery novel, actually—in which the Old North Church played a major role in the plot.”

Emily was so enraptured by Boston's history that she'd forgotten Ray was an important figure in New York publishing.

“As a matter of fact, I have plenty of trivia in the back of my mind from my years as a hands-on editor.”

As they walked, Ray described a number of books he'd edited and influential authors he'd worked with. Apparently he no longer did much of that. Instead he had a more administrative role.

Emily found it very easy to talk to Ray, and the hours melted away. It seemed they'd hardly left the condominium, but it was already growing dark. She admired the Christmas lights and festive displays, which weren't like those in Leavenworth, but equally appealing.

They stopped for a seafood dinner and then walked around some more, taking in the sights and sounds of the season. As Emily told him about Leavenworth, Ray grew more amused with each anecdote. “I wish I could be there to see Charles's reaction.”

Emily continued to feel guilty about Ray's brother—and about Faith—but she couldn't have known. Her one wish was that Faith and Charles would be as compatible as she and Ray.

Being with him these last few days before Christmas made all the difference in the world. If not for Ray, she'd probably be holed up in the condo baking dozens of cookies and feeling sorry for herself.

“Despite all the mix-ups, I'm glad I'm here,” she told him.

“I'm glad you're here, too,” Ray said. “I'm enjoying your company so much. Do you want to know what else I'm enjoying?”

Emily could only guess. “Being in Boston again?”

“Well, that too. But what I mean is that I'm completely free of phone calls.”

The first thing Ray had done, once he'd contacted his office and informed his assistant that he wouldn't be returning until after the holidays, was turn off his cell phone.

“You might have missed an important call,” she reminded him.

“Tough. Whoever's in the office can handle it this time. I'm unavailable.” He laughed as he said it.

Emily laughed because he did, but from the little she'd learned about his work, it was a hectic series of meetings and continual phone calls. Ray must be under constant pressure, dealing with agents' and authors' demands, in addition to various vice presidents, sales and marketing personnel, advertising firms and more. Although he held a prominent position with the company and obviously interacted with many people, he seemed as lonely as she was. He'd told her that aside from his work and a few social commitments, he had no reason to rush back to New York. Indeed, he seemed eager to stay here in Boston.

“Coffee?” he asked when they reached the Starbucks where she'd had her last encounter with Heather.

Emily hesitated, but then agreed. After all these hours of walking, she was exhausted and her feet hurt. Yet, at the same time, she was invigorated by everything she'd seen and done—and utterly charmed by Ray.

While he stepped up to the counter to order their
drinks, she secured a table. As luck would have it, the only vacant one was the same table she'd occupied while waiting to meet her daughter. Her thoughts inevitably flashed to Heather, and Emily wondered where she was now and what she was doing. No, it was probably best not to know.

A few minutes later, Ray joined her with two tall cups of coffee. He slipped into the seat across from her. “Time like this is a luxury for me,” he said.

“I want you to know how much I appreciate—”

He took her hand, stopping her. “What I'm trying to say, I guess, is that I've avoided it.”

Emily frowned, uncertain she understood his meaning.

“I loved being with you today, talking and laughing with you. The truth is, I can't remember any day I've enjoyed more in a very long while.”

“But I'm the one who's indebted to you.”

“No,” he said emphatically. “
I'm
the one who owes
you.
I'd forgotten,” he said quietly, “what it's like to give myself a free day. To do something that's not related to work.” He paused. “There seems to be a great deal in my life that I've let slide. I needed this wake-up call.”

“In other words, I'm an alarm clock?”

He grinned. “You're more than that.”

They were flirting with each other, she realized. Normally, conversations such as this terrified her. She'd married her high-school sweetheart and had rarely dated since Peter's death. Her daughter, sad as it was to admit, had more experience with men than she did.

Despite her determination not to, she was worrying about Heather again. Tears filled her eyes.

“Are you okay?”

Embarrassed, she nodded. Wiping the tears from her
cheeks, she offered him a watery smile. “I was just thinking about my daughter.”

“She's with friends, isn't she?”

“So she says.” Emily rolled her eyes.

“Everyone has to grow up sooner or later, and among other things, that means learning how to judge other people's intentions.” He shrugged. “Some lessons are more painful than others.”

Sniffling a little, Emily agreed. “I can't think about Heather, otherwise I'll get upset. It's just that I had all these plans for the two of us over Christmas.”

“What kind of plans?”

It seemed a little silly to tell Ray about them now. “I packed our favorite Christmas ornaments, so we could decorate a tree the same way we do every year.”

“You and I could get a tree.”

“You'd be willing to do that?”

“It's Christmas, isn't it? I haven't put up a tree in years.”

“No tree?”

He chuckled. “Too much bother to do it on my own, but I'd love to help you. First thing in the morning, we'll buy a tree.”

Her spirits brightened instantly.

“Anything else?”

“I always roast the traditional turkey, but I felt that since we were in Boston we should cook lobster. I love lobster tail with lots of melted butter. I've never prepared a whole lobster, though. I thought it'd be fun to go to a fish market and pick one out.”

“That sounds like an excellent idea. Lobster for two.”

“This is great!” Emily crowed happily.

After finishing their coffee, they walked back to the con
dominium hand in hand. By the time they rode up in the elevator, Ray had his arm around her. Being this close to him felt…natural. She rested her head against his shoulder.

Ray unlocked the door and swung it open, but he didn't immediately reach for the light switch. When Emily stepped into the living room, Ray turned her into his arms. He closed the front door with his foot, and they stood in near darkness, the only light seeping in through the blinds. She leaned against him, eyes drifting shut.

Ray's palm cradled her cheek, his touch gentle. He rubbed his thumb across her lips and Emily sighed, wanting him to kiss her, afraid he wouldn't—yet afraid he would.

Standing on her toes, she slipped her arms around his neck and whispered, “Thank you for the most wonderful day.”

“Thank
you.
” His lips found hers then, and it was sweet and sensual all at once.

He brought her full against him as their mouths met again and again, one unhurried kiss following another. Emily's senses spun out of control but she pulled back, fearful of what might happen if they allowed this to continue.

Ray exhaled shakily. “I'm not sure that was a good idea, but I'm not sorry. Not at all…”

Emily kissed the side of his jaw. “Me, neither,” she whispered.

She felt his smile. “Don't worry, Ray, I promise not to ravish you,” she teased.

“Damn.”

“Well…” Emily laughed softly. “I could reconsider.”

It was Ray's turn to be amused. “You ready for the lights?”

“I suppose.”

When Ray touched the switch, the room instantly went from dark to bright. But he didn't immediately release her.

When they separated and moved farther into the room, Emily noticed the flashing message light on the phone. Ray noticed it, too. Emily's hopes soared—could it be Heather?—but then she remembered that her daughter didn't know where she was staying.

Ray pushed the caller ID button and groaned. “Four calls,” he muttered, “and they're all from my mother.”

S
outhern Florida in December was paradise. There was no other word for it. The beach was flawless, the water blue and clear and warm, the sunshine constant. It was as close to heaven as anyone who'd spent a winter in Boston could imagine.

What Heather didn't know was why she felt so miserable in such a perfect setting. She had every reason in the world to be happy, but she wasn't. To make matters worse, Elijah was growing irritated with her moods.

“Get me a beer,” her hero called from where he was stretched out beneath a palm tree on the beach, one of his stalwart companions beside him.

Heather got up from the beach towel where she was sunbathing and walked back into their motel room. She opened the small refrigerator and brought out a cold beer. Without a word she delivered it to Elijah. He looked at his friend, nodded, and the other man stood up and left.

“Let's talk,” Elijah said, patting the sand next to him.

“About what?” Heather crossed her arms stubbornly.

“Sit down,” he ordered. He pointed at the empty space his friend had just vacated.

Reluctantly Heather joined him.

“All right,” he muttered after opening the beer. He took a long swig and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Don't give me that. You haven't been yourself since we left Boston.”

Heather didn't say anything. He knew she felt terrible about leaving her mother behind. If he couldn't figure it out, then she wasn't going to tell him.

“I thought you'd like Florida.” Elijah made it sound like an accusation, as if he'd done everything humanly possible to provide for her happiness.

“What's not to like?”

Elijah nodded. “Exactly—so what's the problem?”

“You're right. I'm not happy.”

He wrapped his arm around her neck, the cold beer bottle dangling between two fingers. “What is it, babe?”

Heather cringed at his use of the word
babe,
but she'd given up trying to convince Elijah to call her anything else. What particularly irritated her was that she suspected it was the term he used with all his girlfriends.

“If you must know, I'm worried about my mother.”

Elijah tightened his grip around her neck by taking another healthy swig of beer. “I thought we already talked that out.”

“We talked.” He seemed to think it was a closed subject. Heather wished it was, but none of this was turning out the way she'd hoped. The motel was a dump, she was sick of fast food, the other women didn't like her, and…

“What is it now?”

She shook her head, letting her long hair swing. “Nothing.”

“Don't give me that,” he said again. “You've been in a piss-poor mood from the get-go.” He spread his arms and looked out at the rolling waves of the ocean. “Here we are in paradise and you're whining about your mother.” He made it sound ludicrous.

Maybe it was, but Heather couldn't help herself. “I'm just worried about her.”

“You're
worried
about Mommy?” Now he made it seem like one big joke and that infuriated her even more.

“You don't have a clue,” Heather cried. Vaulting to her feet, she tore down the beach, kicking up sand. A few minutes later, she was out of breath and started walking, her eyes filled with tears.

“Wait up,” Elijah shouted.

She was surprised he'd come after her. Heather waited for him and then fell into his arms, weeping softly. Elijah held her in his muscular embrace.

“All right, babe, tell me all about it.”

“You don't understand.”

He kissed the side of her neck. “I can't be happy when you're miserable, you know.”

And that made Heather remember why she loved him. Taking a deep breath, she tried to explain.

“Mom was born and raised in this dinky town in Washington State. This is her first trip to the East Coast.”

“Get out of here! Her first trip?”

Heather nodded. “I left her all by herself.”

“She loves you, right?”

“Of course. She's my mother.”

“And you love her?”

“Of course—why else would I feel so awful?”

“Don't you think she'd want you to be happy?” Elijah asked as if following his logic was a simple thing.

“Yes, I suppose, but…” Heather felt confused and unsure. “I wish it was that easy.”

“It is,” he argued. “Just don't think about her.”

“She's probably miserable and alone, and I did this to her.”

“Babe,” he said, more gruffly this time. “You didn't ask her to fly to Boston, did you?” When she shook her head, he muttered, “Then get a grip. The others are starting to complain.”

“Who?”

“Peaches, for one.”

Heather had tried to make friends with the women but they were impossible. She was a college girl, so they disliked and mistrusted her on sight.

“Peaches would complain about me no matter what I said or did.”

“That's not true,” Elijah asserted.

“Yes, it is. It's the same with the others.” She didn't mention the way the other girls had made fun of her. Heather wasn't accustomed to riding on a motorcycle for long periods of time and suffered a bad case of TB, better known as tired butt.

“Walk with me,” Heather suggested, tugging at his arm.

Elijah hesitated. His only concession to the beach was a sleeveless T-shirt. Even in the Miami sunshine, he wore his leather pants and boots.

“Just for a little way,” Heather coaxed.

Elijah glanced over his shoulder and then nodded. “Not far, all right?”

“Sure.” At the moment Heather would have promised him anything. They hadn't been alone since they'd left Boston. Even the motel room was shared with another couple. Naturally she was stuck with Peaches, who made no effort to hide her disdain for Heather.

They walked for a while, until Elijah decided they'd gone far enough, and sat down in the sand. “Tell me about
your
mother,” Heather said, pressing her head against his shoulder.

Elijah was silent for a moment. “Not much to tell. She's a regular mother, or I think she would've been if she'd stayed around.”

“I'm sorry.” Heather felt bad for bringing up unhappy memories.

“It was a bummer after she left, but I survived.”

“What was Christmas like for you?”

Elijah pulled out his pack of cigarettes, lit one up and took a drag before responding. “It wasn't any Santa down the chimney, if that's what you mean.”

“How so?”

“Did I mention my dad took off a year before my mother?”

“No.” Heather felt worse than ever.

“No big deal. We had good foster parents, and the state always made sure we had at least one gift under the tree.”

Heather slid her arm around his waist.

“What about you?” he asked.

“You don't want to know.”

“Sure I do,” he countered.

Heather wasn't sure where to start. “I told you about Leavenworth, right?”

“Yeah, it's a Bavarian kind of town, you said.”

“Right. Christmas is a big deal there and with my mother, too. I think she always wanted to make up for the fact that my dad died when I was young, so she really did the Christmas thing up big. We had dozens of traditions.” Heather grew sad again, just thinking about all she was missing.

“You're a big girl now,” Elijah told her. “Traditions are for kids.”

Heather nodded but she wanted to tell him that people didn't outgrow their need for a Christmas stocking or decorating a tree or hot apple cider on Christmas Eve.

Elijah sighed. “Are you okay now?”

She shrugged. “I guess.”

“Good.” He stabbed his cigarette into the sand and then stood. Extending his hand to her, Elijah helped Heather to her feet.

“Thank you,” she whispered, kissing him.

“That's much better,” he said. He placed one arm around her waist and drew her close. “Forget about your mother.”

Heather doubted she could. Despite everything, she knew her mother was all alone in Boston, completely miserable without her.