Merry Humbug Christmas (15 page)

Almost two hours later the popcorn tub sat empty on Joss’s

knee, and Patrick held their two empty water bottles. Hand to heart, Joss sniffed and blinked back the moisture from her eyes. It had been years since she’d watched a Christmas-themed movie or television

show of any kind, aside from the ten minutes of
How the Grinch Stole
Christmas
she’d sneaked in like a ten-year-old and an R-rated movie when she’d happened upon it by accident a couple of years back.

And now, like the Grinch himself, Joss thought that Cary Grant and Loretta Young—and all of those fresh memories of her mother—had

caused her heart to grow two sizes in the movie theater that day.

She glanced over at Patrick to find him watching her closely.

“What?”

Merry Humbug Christmas.indd 112

7/23/13 1:07 PM

Once Upon a Jingle Bell

113

“I’m just wondering,” he said. “You look very pensive. Regret

that we came?”

She scratched her sweater where her heart pushed toward it and

shook her head. “Not at all. I’m just remembering my mom and how

much she loved the movie. She was a real sap when it came to some things.”

“Take after your father, did you?”

Joss poked out her tongue at him, and Patrick laughed.

“Feel like a walk?”

Joss nodded and pushed up from the soft chair. She stood in the

aisle waiting as Patrick leaned over his mother’s shoulder and kissed her cheek.

“Do you need help getting back to your cabin?” he asked her

softly.

“Oh, no indeed. You two enjoy yourselves.”

“Can I arrange a special date for us tomorrow?” he whispered,

and Joss watched the two of them with envy. “How about we have

breakfast in your cabin, just the two of us.”

Kathleen nodded. “That sounds just lovely.”

Clutching her hand, he kissed her cheek again, and then the

top of her hand. Instead of leaving, Patrick stepped over toward the Dentures. “My mother says you all have everything in hand?”

“Absolutely,” Caroline replied. “We’ll see her safely home.”

He thanked them before squeezing his mother’s shoulder one

last time, reaching for Joss’s hand. “Ready?”

She wished Kathleen a good night as she took it, and the two of

them strolled toward the theater entrance.

Patrick deposited the bottles and popcorn tub into the trash can

as they passed.

“You are so sweet with your mother,” Joss told him as they fol-

lowed the throng of people out of the theater.

“She’s easy to be sweet with,” he answered.

“I’m envious,” she admitted.

“You and your mother were close?”

Merry Humbug Christmas.indd 113

7/23/13 1:07 PM

114

Merry

Humbug Christmas

“As close as a teenage girl can be with her mother,” she said with a smile. “She died when I’d just reached that pivotal age of working up a good resentment, blaming her for everything wrong in the world.”

“Ah,” he replied, nodding. “I never really had that with my

mother.”

“Boys and their mothers have a very different dynamic. Did you

at least resent your father?”

“Nope. Sorry to disappoint you. I had a nice rebellion without

hating them.”

“Figures.”

He chuckled. “What does that mean?”

“Your perfection annoys me.”

“No worries,” he reassured her. “You just need to get to know me

better. You’ll be thrilled with all of my issues.”

“Promise?”

“I do indeed.”

Patrick pushed open the glass door that led to the deck, and a

whoosh of cool air blew Joss’s hair back from her face. He placed his arm around her shoulder as they headed toward the railing, and they seemed to wander on instinct to just the right spot to peer out into the night sky.

“It’s kind of sad how close I live to the ocean,” Joss said, “and how seldom I take the time to enjoy it.”

“I know what you mean. I went surfing in Santa Monica with

some buddies back in August,” he told her, “and that was only about the third time I’d been on the water all year.”

“You surf too?”

“I just learned a couple of years back.”

“Do you ever just lounge around on the couch and eat potato

chips?” she asked in hope.

“I don’t like potato chips.”

“Of course you don’t.”

“But I’ve been known to polish off a large pizza and a bag of

Chips Ahoy in one afternoon.”

Merry Humbug Christmas.indd 114

7/23/13 1:07 PM

Once Upon a Jingle Bell

115

She turned toward him and folded her arms across her chest,

shaking her head. “I don’t think I believe you.”

“It’s true.”

“Nope. I think you’re just feigning imperfections now to make

me feel better. Vegging out with pizza and cookies? I don’t think so.

You’ll have to prove that one.”

“I think you’ll be quite stunned when you discover how dormant

I can be when I really want to.”

“I live in hope.”

He moved closer, their faces separated by no more than a few

inches. “Do you now?”

Joss’s heart thudded against her chest, and she wondered if

Patrick might actually have heard it when he hovered there staring into her eyes that way.

“Kissing you now,” he whispered, and he waited just long enough

to make her question whether he was a man of his word.

And then he delivered. Thankfully.

When they parted, Joss struggled against actually swooning.

“You’re very good at that,” she told him softly. “A lot of practice, I presume.”

“In our case, I think it’s more about chemistry than skill.”

“Well, there is that,” she admitted with a chuckle. “In fact, I’m not sure I’ve ever had this much chemistry with a man in my life.

But I don’t really think you should underestimate your talent . . . you know . . . where your lips are concerned.”

Patrick laughed. “Then we are a mutual admiration society.”

“Bon jour, mademoiselle.”

The two of them turned to find the Auberjonoises approaching.

For some reason Joss could only remember the first name of their

daughter Amberly, who wasn’t with them, of course.

“Hello!” she exclaimed, a little too eagerly. “How are you? . . .

Patrick, these are the Auberjonoises. . . . Did I pronounce that correctly? . . . Connie introduced them to me when I first boarded.”

“Jean-Pierre,” the husband said.

Of course! Jean-Pierre.

Merry Humbug Christmas.indd 115

7/23/13 1:07 PM

116

Merry

Humbug Christmas

“And zees is my wife, Adrienne.”

“Good to meet you. Patrick Brenneman.”

“Irish,” Jean-Pierre observed as they shook hands.

“Yes. And you’re French,” he returned with a smile.

“Oui.”

“Have you and your daughter been enjoying yourselves?” Joss

asked.

“I suppose,” he answered, and Joss thought at first that he might be joking. But without a hint of amusement showing on his straight, deadpan face, she reconsidered.

“My husband has had enough of the cruising experience,”

Adrienne told them. “He’s even considering disembarking in Cabo

San Lucas and flying back to Los Angeles.”

“Oh,” Joss replied. “That’s too bad.”

“It’s just a bit contained for my taste,” he added.

“We’re going on a scooter tour in Cabo,” Adrienne said. “He’ll

feel better once he gets out in the world again. Oh, perhaps you

would like to join us? We’ll see the migratory water birds and vari-ous varieties of local plants, and end up at the botanical gardens.”

“Oh, that sounds lovely,” Joss remarked, hoping Patrick would

get them out of the invitation somehow.

“It does,” he said, and she looked up at him. “But Joss and I are going parasailing.”

“We are?”

“We are. I was going to wait to tell you until we docked so you

didn’t have time to mull on a good excuse to get out of it.”

“A good plan,” she replied.

“Too bad,” Adrienne said. “Perhaps we’ll see you again before we

get back to port in Los Angeles.”

“I hope so.”

“Enjoy yourselves,” Jean-Pierre added as they walked away.

“Bonsoir.”

“Good night.”

Once they disappeared from earshot, Joss turned toward Patrick

and planted a hand on her hip.

“Parasailing. Really, Patrick?”

Merry Humbug Christmas.indd 116

7/23/13 1:07 PM

On the tenth day of Christmas,

Murphy’s Law gave to me . . .

ten sharks a-snapping,

nine Scrooges hiding,

eight careers crashing,

seven songs a-shrieking,

six teeth a-breaking,

five cold sardiiiines!

four dirty words,

three French friends,

two hearty shoves,

and a Partridge with the first name Keith.

Merry Humbug Christmas.indd 117

7/23/13 1:07 PM

Merry Humbug Christmas.indd 118

7/23/13 1:07 PM

10

As the parasail caught the air and sent them floating high

above the water, Joss’s legs pumped as if she could run back

down to the ground. Arms flailing, she screamed at the top of her lungs until she ran out of breath, then she gasped for more air and took up the screeching right where she left off.

“Calm down,” Patrick shouted to her from the parasail tandem

beside her, but she didn’t seem to hear him. “Joss! Calm down, love.”

“We’re going to fall,” she insisted. “Patrick, we’re going t-t-t—”

“No, we’re not. Look! Look at me.”

“You said it would be smooth and easy,” she squealed. “You said it would be
majestic
, and smooth and easy!” Seething, she added, “This is not majestic, Patrick!”

Patrick laughed and reached toward her. “Joss. Calm down and

enjoy the ride. Just hang on to the straps and enjoy it.”

“I . . . I can’t,” she screamed. “I can’t!”

“Yes, you can.”

119

Merry Humbug Christmas.indd 119

7/23/13 1:07 PM

120

Merry

Humbug Christmas

“Why? Why couldn’t we rent scooters like normal people?” she

called to him. “What is wrong with you?”

“You thought the French couple was normal?”

She seemed to think it over for a moment before shouting, “No.”

“Did you really want to spend a whole day with them?”

She deflated a bit. “No.”

“Okay then. Just take a few deep breaths and—”

“What’s that? Patrick, look! What is that down there?”

Patrick followed the invisible line between Joss’s outstretched

arm and the blue-green water beneath them. It only took an instant to make the connection, and he began to debate whether or not to

lie to her in the name of comfort.

“Do you see them?” she screamed, and Patrick debated on how

to respond. Just as he started to suggest they might be friendly, non-human devouring dolphins, Joss screeched. “It’s SHARKS!!”

Joss had figured it out for herself. There, swimming in the waters below them, he couldn’t deny it: the clear shadows of several lurking sharks.

“Those are sharks down there! It’s time for their lunch . . . and we’re lunch!”

After that Joss’s screams dwarfed the verbiage. But then it didn’t matter that he couldn’t make out exactly what she howled toward

him; the spirit of her hysteria translated.

“We’re going to be
shark lunch
!”

“No, we’re not,” he reassured her. “We’re two hundred feet

above them.”

“You know what?” she wailed. “If someone dangled a cheesecake

two-hundred feet above me, I’m pretty sure
I’d follow it
!”

“They’re not going to follow us.”

“No? Then why are they FOLLOWING US?”