Home for the Holidays (29 page)

E
mily woke the morning of Christmas Eve and stared up at the bedroom ceiling, musing that this was by far the most unusual Christmas of her life.

Not since the first Christmas following Peter's death had she dealt with such complex emotions during the holidays. For one thing, she'd been forced to acknowledge that Heather was an adult now, making her own decisions without the counsel of her mother.

As if
that
wasn't strange enough, Emily was in emotionally unfamiliar territory, living with a man she'd only known a few days. She sat up in bed and reviewed their time together. Ray was a hotshot New York publisher badly in need of a vacation, a career bachelor by all accounts. She was a widow and a small-town kindergarten teacher. Their meeting was accidental, as amusing as it was unexpected. They got along well, laughed together, and enjoyed each other's company. Much as she wanted to continue the relationship, Emily was realistic enough to accept that in a few days they'd both go back to their individual lives,
three thousand miles apart. She decided then and there to make the most of their remaining time together.

After a quick shower, she dressed and emerged from the bedroom to discover that Ray was already up and reading the morning paper. The coffee was made. When she entered the kitchen, he lowered the newspaper and smiled.

“What's on the agenda for today?” he asked.

Emily wasn't sure. Back in Leavenworth, she'd be delivering charity baskets in the afternoon. Then, after a dinner of homemade clam chowder with Heather, followed by hot apple cider, she'd get ready for the Christmas Eve service at church. Home again, they'd go to bed, looking forward to a lazy Christmas morning, when they'd open their gifts and enjoy a late breakfast.

“I don't know what to do today,” she said, feeling at a loss. “This year is completely unlike any I've ever experienced.”

“What would you
like
to do?”

They'd spent their days sightseeing, and while Emily had thoroughly enjoyed this tour of American history, she wanted to concentrate on the season now.

“I'd like to bake cinnamon rolls,” she said, coming to the decision quickly. “I do every year, specially for breakfast on Christmas morning. I think that would put me in the holiday spirit more than anything.”

“Sounds fantastic. While you're doing that, I'll shop for our Christmas dinner. What shall we have?”

Emily shrugged. “A turkey might be a bit much for just the two of us.”

“Didn't you say something about lobster earlier?” Ray asked.

She nodded, smiling. “Lobster would be perfect.”

Emily must've realized she'd want to bake bread, because she'd tossed in a packet of yeast when she'd bought the supplies for her cookie-baking venture. She began to systematically search the kitchen cupboards for bowls and pans.

When Ray finished reading the paper, he put on his overcoat. On his way out the door, he came into the kitchen, where Emily was busy assembling ingredients. The recipe was a longtime family favorite, one she knew by heart. Ray took her by the shoulders and turned her so she couldn't avoid looking at him.

“I know this Christmas isn't anything like you anticipated, and I'm sorry about that. But it's the best Christmas I've had since I was a kid—the year my dad got me the red racing bike I so desperately wanted.”

“Oh, Ray,” she whispered, “that's the nicest thing anyone's said to me in a long, long time.” Unable to resist, she slipped her arms around his waist and hugged him. She hadn't been this intimate with a man in years, nor had she felt such longing. He didn't kiss her and, although she was disappointed, she applauded his restraint. There'd be time later to enjoy the sweetness of each other's company.

Whistling, Ray left the condo, and as soon as she'd mixed the dough, Emily set it in a slightly warmed oven to rise. Pulling on her coat, gloves and scarf, she hurried out the door. She wanted to buy Ray a Christmas gift and while she was at it, she needed to stop at the grocery store.

The weather was exactly as it should be: cold and clear, with snow falling lightly. Everyone seemed to be bustling about, intent on last-minute Christmas shopping. There was an infectious spirit of joy and goodwill wherever she went.

Ninety minutes later, when Emily returned to the condo, her arms were laden with packages and groceries. She hummed a Christmas carol as she waited for the elevator. She hoped Ray had returned, too, but when she walked inside, the condo was silent and empty.

As quickly as she could, she unloaded her packages, hung up her coat and hid Ray's present in the bedroom to be wrapped that afternoon. She turned on the gas fireplace, and gentle flames flickered over the artificial log. She went to the radio next, and an instant later, the condo was filled with the glorious sounds of holiday music.

Ray didn't come back for another hour; among his purchases was a couple of deli sandwiches. Emily had been so busy, she'd forgotten to eat breakfast and it was now well past lunchtime.

“I think I should probably put these lobsters in water,” he said, setting a large box on the counter. He filled the sink. “Should I add salt?”

“Salt?”

“They live in salt water. They might need it.”

“I don't think so.” Emily was preoccupied with unwrapping the sandwiches. Not until she turned around did she notice two huge lobsters looking directly at her. “They're alive!” She felt sorry for them and while Ray carried their sandwiches to the table, she released the rubber bands holding their claws together. Poor things, it seemed a shame to keep them prisoner.

Ray got two cold sodas from the refrigerator. “I wasn't sure about getting live lobsters, but I figured I could always exchange them if you'd rather.”

“Ah…” Emily was afraid to admit she'd never cooked a
live lobster in her life. Nor had she ever eaten anything more than a lobster tail. “This should be…well, a challenge.”

“We'll figure it out,” Ray said.

Emily agreed. They were both hungry and didn't attempt conversation until they'd finished lunch. To all outward appearances, they were like a long-married couple anticipating each other's needs. Ray handed her a napkin, she gave him the pepper mill, all without exchanging a word.

“Since neither of us knows that much about cooking lobsters, perhaps I
should
exchange these for cooked ones,” Ray suggested once they'd eaten.

“That might be best.” She took their empty plates into the kitchen and let out a small cry.

“What?” Ray demanded.

“One of the lobsters is missing.”

“What do you mean, missing?”

“There's only one in the sink.”

“That's impossible.”

“I'm telling you there's only one lobster in the sink.”

Ray entered the kitchen and stared into the sink. “One of the lobsters is missing.”

Emily placed her hand on her hip. “The editor's eye misses nothing,” she teased.

“Where could it have gone?”

“That's for you to find out. I've got dough to knead.” She moved to the oven and was about to remove the bowl when she felt something attach itself to her pant leg. Glancing down she saw the lobster.

“Ah…Ray.” She held out her leg. “I found the lobster.”

“I can see that.” He squatted down and petted the creature's head as if it were his favorite pet.

“You might want to detach him from my pant leg.”

Ray frowned. “How did the rubber band get off his claws?”

“Er…I took them off. It seemed cruel.”

“I see.”

“Ray, this is all very interesting, but I'd prefer not to be worrying about this lobster crawling up my leg.” She was trying hard not to giggle.

“If you have any ideas on how to remove him, let me know.”

Emily tried to shake her leg, but the lobster was firmly affixed. Ray started to laugh then, and she found it impossible not to join him.

“What are we going to do?” she asked between giggles.

“I don't know.” Ray bent down and tugged at her jeans, but the lobster wasn't letting go. “Maybe you should take off your pants.”

“Oh, sure.”

“I'm not kidding.”

By then, they were nearly hysterical with laughter. Emily leaned against the kitchen counter, her hand over her mouth, tears running down her cheeks. Ray sat on the floor.

“You've got yourself quite a mess here.”

“Just return me with the lobster.” Emily could picture it now: Ray walking into the fish market, with her slung over his shoulder, the lobster dangling from her pant leg.

They burst into laughter again.

There was a knock at the door, and Ray, still laughing, left the room. It must be one of the neighbors, Emily supposed, someone else who lived on this floor. She went with Ray, not about to let him escape without helping her first.
They had their arms around each other and were nearly doubled over with laughter when he opened the door.

An older woman stood on the other side, wearing a fur coat and an elaborate hat with a protruding feather. Cradled in the folds of her fur was a white Pomeranian. The dog took one look at Emily and growled.

“Ray!”

“Mother!”

After a few seconds' silence, he asked, “How did you get in?”

“Some nice young man opened the door for me.” She glared at Emily. “And who's this?” Bernice Brewster demanded.

Ray looked at Emily and started laughing all over again. “Do you mean Emily or were you referring to the lobster?”

F
aith hoped it would snow on Christmas Eve; to her disappointment the day was cold and bright, but there was no sign of snow. Charles had gone out on some errand, and she'd stayed home, her favorite Christmas CD playing as she flipped through Emily's cookbooks, looking for Christmas dinner ideas. Really, she should've thought about this earlier. Charles had suggested a roast, and she was beginning to think that was a good plan. Since she'd never made a turkey, she was a little intimidated by the prospect.

Sipping a cup of coffee, she read through one recipe after another, searching for inspiration. The more she read, the hungrier she got.

The phone rang, and she sighed, half wondering if she should answer. It wouldn't be for her. Still, habit and curiosity demanded she pick up the receiver.

“Merry Christmas,” she greeted the unknown caller.

“Mom?” a small quizzical voice returned.

“Heather?”

“You're not my mother,” Heather cried.

“This is Faith.”

“Faith!” Heather sounded beside herself. “What are you doing in Washington? Where's my mom?”

“I came to surprise your mother, only she isn't here.”

“Mom's still in Boston?”

“Yes,” Faith said. “Where are you?”

“Boston.”

Faith frowned. “I thought you went to Florida with some guy on a Harley.”

“I did, but we…we had a parting of the ways. Where's my mother?”

“She's staying in Charles Brewster's condominium. I don't have the address but I understand it isn't that far from the Harvard campus.”

“Not Professor Brewster?”

“One and the same. Why?”

“You mean to say he's in Leavenworth, and you are, too?” Heather asked incredulously.

Faith smiled at the comedy of errors. “Yes. I arrived shortly after Charles did. I came with Santa and the elves and then—”

“Who?”

“Never mind, it's complicated. But listen, everything's fine. Charles has been absolutely marvelous about all of this. He agreed to let me stay here until my original departure date.” Faith hated to think what might've happened if he'd insisted she leave. She might still have been at the airport, waiting for a standby seat.

“You're talking about
Professor
Brewster?”

“Yes. Professor Charles Brewster.”

“You say he's been…marvelous?” Heather seemed genuinely surprised.

“Yes.” In fact, he'd been more than that, but Faith wasn't about to share any of the details with Heather.

“He
isn't
marvelous,” Heather insisted. “He gave my roommate a C when she worked hard on every assignment and studied for every test. Well, okay, she fell asleep in his class, but who can blame her? The guy's boring.”

“I happen to think he's a fascinating man,” Faith said sharply, “so please keep your complaints to yourself.”

“Faith?” Heather said, her voice dropping. “Are you…interested in Dr. Brewster?”

“That's none of your business.”

Heather gave a short, abrupt laugh. “You are! I don't believe it. Just wait until Tracy hears this. Does the professor feel the same way about you? No, don't answer that 'cause I'll bet he does.” She laughed again, as if this was the funniest thing she'd heard in weeks.

“It isn't that amusing,” Faith said, surprised by her need to defend Charles.

But Heather had already moved on to her own concerns. “So Mom's still in Boston,” she said.

“Yes, she couldn't fly home without paying a high-priced penalty.”

“That's wonderful.” Heather sighed with relief. “Don't say anything to her, okay?”

“Yes, but there's something you—”

“I want to surprise her, so promise you won't say a word.”

Faith leaned against the kitchen counter and raised her eyes to the ceiling, resisting the urge to laugh. “You have my word of honor. I won't let her know.”

“Great. Thanks, Faith. Say hello to the professor for me.”

“Sure.”

“I'm going to be my mom's Christmas surprise.” With that, Heather terminated the call.

Faith's smile grew. Heather was about to discover a surprise of her own.

Just then, the front door opened and Charles staggered into the house, his arms stacked high with packages. Blindly he made his way into the dining room, piling the festively wrapped gifts on the table. Bags hung from his arms, and he set those next to the boxes.

“Good grief!” Faith rushed forward to help him. “What have you done?”

“I went shopping.” His smile was as bright as sun on snow. He looked downright boyish, with a swath of brown hair falling over his brow, his eyes sparkling.

“Who are all these gifts for?”

“The Kennedy kids get a bunch of them and there are a couple in here for you and…” He seemed decidedly pleased with himself.

“Charles.” He resembled Scrooge the day after his nightmare, rushing about buying gifts. Faith half listened for Tiny Tim.

“I got something else for Emily, too, in appreciation for trading places with me.”

This was quite a switch from his initial attitude. “The way I remember it, you said you'd walked into the middle of a Christmas nightmare.” Faith couldn't restrain a smile. “And then I showed up.”

“That was no nightmare,” he said softly. “That was a gift.”

Faith didn't know what to say. His intensity flustered her and she felt the heat rush into her cheeks. After the sleigh ride, something had happened between them, something that was difficult to put into words. She sensed
that sharing her pain and the bitter disappointment of her divorce had, in some strange way, released
him.
Charles hadn't said anything, but Faith realized words were often inadequate when it came to conveying emotions. She'd noticed the changes in him last night and even more so this morning.

“You got presents for the Kennedy kids?” she asked, pointing to the packages.

He nodded. “Did you know their dad got laid off last month?”

The kids hadn't said anything to her, but apparently they had to Charles.

“They didn't tell me, either,” he told her before she could comment, “but I overheard Mark and Thomas talking about it. And then, early this morning, I saw someone deliver a food basket to the house. With six children, it's got to be tough this time of year.”

“What a sweet thing to do. If you want, I'll help you write up gift cards and deliver them.”

He nodded and the boyish, pleased look was back. “I enjoyed myself today. I didn't know Christmas could be this much fun. It's always been a time I dreaded.”

“But why?”

Charles glanced away. “It's a long story, and a boring one at that.”

“Involving a woman, no doubt.”

He shrugged.

Faith waited expectantly. She'd shared her pain with him; the least he could do was trust her enough to divulge his.

“I see,” she said after an awkward moment. She turned back to the kitchen.

Charles followed her. “If you want to know—”

“No, it isn't necessary,” she broke in. “Really.”

“It was a devastating experience, and I'd prefer not to discuss it.”

“I understand,” she said and she did. Faith reassured him with a smile, gathering up the cookbooks and replacing them on the shelf.

“Her name was Monica.”

Faith pretended not to hear.

“I loved her and I was sure she loved me.”

“Charles, really, you don't need to explain if you'd rather not.”

He threw off his coat and sat at the table. “But I would. Please.” He gestured to the chair across from him.

Faith pulled it out and sat down. He took her hands, holding them in his own. “I adored her and assumed she felt the same way about me. I bought an engagement ring and planned to give it to her on Christmas Day. Thankfully I never had the opportunity to ask her to marry me.”

“Thankfully?”

Charles's fingers tightened around hers. “She told me on Christmas Eve that she found me dull and tedious. I learned later that she'd met someone else.”

Faith knew he didn't want her sympathy and she didn't offer it. “I think she was an extremely foolish woman.”

Charles raised his eyes until they met hers. “I
am
dull and tedious.”

“No,” she countered swiftly. “You're brilliant and absentminded and quite possibly the kindest man I know.”

A slow smile touched his mouth. “And you,” he said. “You're the most marvelous woman I've ever met.”