Luke's Crazy California Christmas (3 page)

“It's nothing. I placed it under my seat.”

“OK, fine.” From her canvas bag, she pulled out a package of specialty jellybeans. “Want some?” she offered.

I didn't really, but I had a feeling she'd take it personally if I refused. “Sure.”

She ripped open the package and poured a bunch in my hand.

“Thanks.”

“So, are you from Chicago too?” She popped a couple jellybeans into her mouth.

This was going to be one long flight and talking was the last thing on my mind. “Why? Are you from Chicago?”

She nodded.

“Oh, that's cool. I actually took off from North Carolina this morning and switched planes here.”

“But you said you moved from California. So, are you like a Cali native or something?”

“We don't really call it Cali.” I squinted my eyes at her playfully.

“Oh, sorry. I am corrected once again.” She gave me a salute, and sun from the window glinted off the multi-colored stones from the many rings on all her fingers.

“Yeah, I was born there. Mom and Dad divorced and Mom wanted a change.” Man, why was I telling this stranger my life story?

“My mom too. She works for this airline, so she can basically live anywhere in the country. My parents are divorced also. Mom just moved over the summer. She wanted me to come with her, but I didn't want to leave my friends. You know. So this is my third trip to CA. It's OK if I abbreviate it, right?” she teased, with a sarcastic grin and a slight tilt to her head.

Charli looked a couple years younger than me. She might have actually been pretty. It was hard to tell with all the dark makeup.

“Hey, call it whatever you want. I'm not the Cali Police or anything.” I grinned and she grinned too. It then occurred to me that I might be acting more friendly with her than I should. Was I flirting? This was the first time I'd had a girlfriend. And until today I usually had Andrea with me when other girls were around. Not that I really noticed them. I turned to look out the window. “Um, anyway, I hope you'll have a good time visiting your mom over Christmas.”

“Oh, don't get me going on Christmas…” Except that she did keep going on about Christmas, and she laid out every issue she had or ever did have with the holiday.

It kind of bothered me that she felt this way. This wasn't just another holiday. It was the celebration of the birth of Christ—the Savior of the world. And yet hadn't I just been irritated by the whole Christmas holiday earlier in the day?

But this was different. The whole Santa, shopping, commercialism version of the holiday did get old, but the true meaning of Christmas, that's what was so important. I thought about telling her just that, but I knew if I did, it would spur on a long conversation and I just wanted quiet.

Just then, the on-board safety announcements started and Charli ended her diatribe to listen. That didn't mean she stopped communicating, as she rolled her eyes during several passages in the script.

They mentioned storing our belongings underneath our seats, and it made me think about Andrea's gift again. A part of me did want to open it, but not now that I had an audience with Charli. Who knows what she'd say about it.

A few minutes later, the beverage service caught Charli's attention as they moved closer to our row. I took that as my chance to grab the package again. I stuffed it inside my coat. When the beverage cart cleared the aisle, I excused myself to the restroom.

I hated these airplane restrooms with their tight spaces and odd smells. I stood there for a moment and stared at the package while turning it around between my fingers. I almost feared opening it. It's not like Andrea and I had parted on bad terms. She didn't even know how disappointed I'd felt that she'd turned me down.

This was stupid. I set it on the edge of the sink and then ripped open the wrapping. It was a journal of some kind. A Proverbs prayer journal, from what it said on the cover. Wait, I recognized it. She'd shown it to me the night of homecoming, but she wouldn't let me see what she wrote then. I opened it to see Andrea's name inside. She sent me her journal? Why would she do that? Quickly, I closed it and slipped it back into my coat before returning to my seat.

Charli turned to me as soon as I sat back down. “You opened it, didn't you?”

“Opened what?”

“Your package, of course. I understand. You wanted some privacy. So I won't even ask what it was.” She glanced down to the magazine in her hands. She flipped a page.

I still stared at her, waiting. I hadn't known her long, but silence seemed incredibly foreign to her.

She peered back to me. “What?”

“I'm just waiting for it.”

“Hey, I can be quiet when I want to.” She held up her magazine. “What do you think of this one?”

I'd been wrong. It wasn't a magazine like most girls read, fashion or entertainment and all that. It was a trade journal for tattoos. The longer I knew this girl, the more uncomfortable she made me. “Are you getting a tattoo?”

“No. I mean, I already have three. You want to see them?” She started to pull down her coat and shirt sleeve at her shoulder.

“That's OK.” I stopped her.

She shrugged. “Suit yourself. I'm a tattoo artist. Actually, I'm just an artist, and at the moment I've been designing tattoos for this shop in Chicago. The owner is a friend of my dad's.”

Things were now becoming abundantly clear about Charli. And it just made me miss Andrea all the more. Why hadn't I called her when I had the chance? Now I'd have to wait hours until we arrived in LA. What time would it even be on the East Coast? Hopefully, still early enough that I could call her before her curfew.

“You can take out your package. I won't bother you. I promise.” She held up fingers like a scout.

I gave her a half smile. “It's nothing. Just a book.”

“A book. That must mean you read. I like smart men.” She gave a silly smile and rolled her eyes once again. “You read your book, and I'll draw out some new sketches. Then you can tell me which one you like the best.” She removed a full-sized sketchbook from her seemingly bottomless bag.

“I don't know that I'm the best person to help you with that.”

She gave me and my outfit of a button-down blue shirt and black jeans a quick once-over. “You're probably right. You are a little too preppy for my tastes, but look around. This plane is filled with old people and families. You're stuck with me.”

Stuck is exactly how I felt, suctioned between the window and the armrest, millimeters from this strange girl who had an uncanny way with a pen. I watched her sketch a skull with flames billowing out of the eyeholes.

I removed Andrea's journal from my coat and opened it.

A handwritten note was stuck between the first and second page.
Luke, I'm letting you borrow my prayer journal while you're gone. You even have my permission to read my entries and add some of your own. Keeping this journal has helped me more than I can say. I know you have a lot of things going on with your dad and college and everything. Don't forget to pray on it. I'll miss you. Love, Andrea.

Now she just made me feel bad. I'd been angry with her and then she went and did this for me. I'll admit there have been times when she'd been completely confusing to me. But lately she'd been...what's the word...peaceful. More confident too.

I read over her note again—
Love, Andrea
. Love? She'd never written that to me before—not in a text or an email. Were we really at the stage to start signing off with
Love
? We hadn't even said that to each other in person. Did I love Andrea? I didn't know, and at the moment it was just giving me a headache.

But maybe she was right about one thing. I needed to pray. And I would. At some point. Later.

3

Charli and I parted ways after we exited the plane, but not before she turned and grabbed the cellphone from my hand.

“What are you doing? Hey, I need that.” I reached for my phone.

“Of course you will,” she said as she typed into my phone. “Now you have my number.” Then she handed it back. “Keep in touch. I'll be here all week, and I get bored easily.”

I could have guessed that. I nodded with a smile, but I had absolutely zero intention of calling her. Charli was good at keeping me occupied on a plane, but it's not like I planned to keep her number on speed dial. “Is your mom coming for you?” I asked.

“She's working. I'll just grab a taxi.”

I knew I should offer her a ride, but that was taking this acquaintanceship way farther than I wanted it to go. “My dad can take you home.” The words shot out of my mouth like a quick line drive.

“It's OK, really. Mom works less than five minutes from the airport. We're doing dinner and all that.”

We walked outside with our luggage, and I helped her into a yellow taxicab.

It wasn't long afterwards that my dad drove up. A warm breeze ruffled my hair as I went for the car handle. Those familiar Santa Ana winds. The late-afternoon sun shone through white fluffy clouds in a hazy blue sky. What a difference from the weather this morning.

I was home. Home? Where was home anymore? This place where I'd been born and lived my entire life until four months ago? Or the piedmont of North Carolina, even with its forty-degree temps?

I hopped inside Dad's car and we took off for his new place. Our Newport Beach house had been sold right before Mom and I moved to NC in August. Dad had moved out of Orange County and bought a condo in LA. The company he owned, The Box King, had a warehouse in downtown Los Angeles. So I guess it only made sense that he'd set up his office and move to LA now that our family home had been sold off. He had a completely different life without us. I bet he even had a girlfriend by now.

“How was your flight?” Dad gave a cursory glance and then returned his attention to the traffic exiting the airport.

“It was early.”

“Sorry about the change of date, but you'll be glad after we go to your UCLA interview tomorrow morning.”

My hand tightly gripped the edge of the seat, but I didn't reply. What I had to say wouldn't have been respectful.

My phone beeped.
Just your overprotective mother. Reply with a simple yes, and I'll know you're OK.

YES! I'm OK.

Love you!

Lu2

The rest of the ride remained rather quiet, and I was glad for it. It gave me a chance to think. Think about college and Andrea and what future lay ahead of me in both those arenas. I even thought about Charli. Maybe I
should
call her. Just to be nice. We're supposed to be Christian witnesses out in the world, aren't we? It would be rude just to ignore her, wouldn't it? Of course, if I knew Charli, she'd probably contact me before the sun went down.

~*~

Dad pushed open the door to the condo. It was a new construction and everything inside was perfect, from the beige-colored walls to the furniture arrangement and the hanging artwork, but not one photograph of Monica or myself. It even smelled new. Too perfect. Had Dad hired someone to decorate? Because this was not his style. Did Dad even have a decorating style? I doubted it.

The other odd thing about it—no Christmas decorations. Not a wreath or a ribbon. It was like the Grinch had beat us home and cleaned it out.

“Nice place.” I set my bags down in the living room.

“Glad you like it.” He totally missed my sarcasm. “Your room is the first door on the right. The bathroom is directly across the hall from you. Go check it out. Let me know what you think. I have to make a phone call.”

I followed the hallway down to the bedroom. Too perfect again. A queen-size bed covered in a navy-blue bedspread, a comfy chair in the corner, an oak desk up against the window. Then I saw it. I dropped my bags and crossed the room to where a guitar case had been propped against the wall next to the closet. I placed it on top of the bed and undid the clasps on the case. It creaked as I flung the cover back and it plopped into the mattress.

A pink, sparkly
Girl-Power
sticker reflected from the front of the polished wood of the guitar. My fingers glided over the smooth surface and encircled the sticker—the same sticker that had been stuck there as long as I could remember. Then I heard Dad's heavy steps over the hardwood floor outside the door.

“So? What do you think?”

I picked up the guitar by the neck and glanced over at Dad standing in the doorway. “Where did you find it?”

“Oh, uh.” He crossed his arms. “Up in the attic or someplace before I moved out of the house. I don't remember.”

He was lying. I could always tell when he lied. There was a certain something in his smile. I hated that smile, and I'd seen it in every excuse he'd made to Mom over the last couple years.

I took a step closer to him. “I wanted to take her guitar when I moved. Why would you hide it from me?”

“Why would I hide Monica's guitar? Look, Luke, I don't want to get into any of this with you. I thought you'd like to play it or something. It's Christmas. Can't we just have a good time together for once?”

I could have said the same thing to him. But speaking of Christmas… “So, are you planning to get a tree or something?”

“What?” Dad dropped his arms to his side. “Oh, yeah, a Christmas tree. I haven't really had a chance to decorate yet. Thought you might like to put the tree together like the old days.”

“The plastic one?”

“Sure.”

Something told me it wouldn't fit in with his current décor. Or his new decorator.

“Anyway, unpack and clean up. I have someone coming over for dinner I want you to meet.”

“Who?” I narrowed my eyes on him.
Could this be the decorator?

“Her name is Heather Bacon.”

I held back a snicker.
Bacon?
Like the breakfast food. As I suspected, divorced less than a year, and he already had a girlfriend…or something. I guess I should be glad he'd waited until the ink had dried on the divorce papers.