Mission of Christmas (4 page)

Chapter Five

Saturday Evening

Andy did what he did, mingling and chatting up different people. He saw Erica stop to talk to a few of her coworkers in the graphic art department.

Probably telling them what an ass he was, making her come with him.

He smirked, and she caught his eye across the room.

For a second, he thought maybe she’d gotten the same strong feelings he’d been getting whenever he was around her. It was a reassuring thought.

While shopping, he was certain she’d remembered that night camping out… How she could forget, he’d never know. The experience had remained imbedded in his head all his life. Even when he’d been married, he’d never had a night as hot, as memorable as that one.

He’d known her all his life practically, but he couldn’t be sure about her feelings. Telling himself he knew—that was one thing. But it didn’t always make him right.

Even as a kid, Erica had kept what she felt pulled tight inside. He’d always known she’d hated Christmas. What kid didn’t want to show off new presents? She never did, saying she couldn’t bring them to school. There was more to the story, though. He’d felt it in his gut, even as a kid. Christmas was ruined for her long before her parents died.

And it broke his heart.

Christmas was a time of love, of giving, and of special happiness. Erica deserved happiness just like everyone else.

She deserved happiness.

And Andy wanted to give her that. Because…

Well, because…

A clanking fork jarred Andy’s attention. The owner of the company stood on a small stage, the melodic bell chiming through the music and chatter, bringing everyone’s gaze to the front.

Yeah, Andy needed the distraction.

Good.

It was time for Secret Santa.

After a several-minute-long speech, one of the VPs came out dressed in a Santa costume along with two ladies from the office. They started calling names.

He waited and watched, and when his name was called, he stepped up to the front to accept his gift. The small box was wrapped in bright green paper with a delicate bow. Whoever wrapped it had either taken great care or paid to have it done.

The card revealed Tawny, who’d been rather rampant in her pursuit of him for the last year. He was surprised she hadn’t hinted she’d gotten his name for the Secret Santa at Best Buy today.

He wondered how she’d managed to swing that. He hesitated, his finger on the lid, hoping he could open it in public.

To his surprise, Tawny’d only bought him a nice tie. He let out a sigh of relief, holding it up so others could see. Tawny made her way toward him, and he smiled at her, mouthing “thank you”.

It was nice. He’d been worried it would be a G-string or something. Or worse.

Then he saw the slip of paper underneath, and the key attached to it. He hesitated before opening the note, but shouldn’t have been surprised to read the request to join her upstairs after the party.

He tried not to roll his eyes. Tawny got closer. And he moved farther away.

This wasn’t why he was here.

His gaze immediately darted to Erica, who stood in the back, next to one of the other graphic artists, neither of them paying any attention to the festivities.

Santa called out the last name.

“Erica Jones.”

Erica about dropped her glass.

Hawkins watched her walk up to the front, bewilderment on her face. The plain red package—complete with a bow barely hanging on for dear life—made its way into her hands. The wrapping job wasn’t as polished as so many other gifts, but that couldn’t be helped. Being on the bottom of the pile hadn’t improved its looks either.

Erica ripped off the paper, a cross between childhood giddiness and adult mistrust.

“Who’s it from?” someone called out.

“I don’t know. There’s no name,” she answered back, a smile on her face, like she got mystery presents all the time. A smile that Andy recognized immediately as her fake, pretend-to-be-happy one.

Her hands trembled, not that anyone would notice, but he did. She looked physically frightened of what might be in the box. Her eyes were wide, and for a brief second, she glanced at him.

He smiled at her.

She didn’t return the favor.
 

Yes, he’d bought her the present. He hated her not having a gift under the tree. She deserved presents too. He’d bought it last week, and had one of the other ladies in the office bring it to the party for him. Erica wouldn’t have let him if she’d known about it.

She narrowed her gaze, cursing him with her eyes. She peeled the rest of the paper off, and ran her finger down the black box, and her face went deathly pale.

Tears glistened in her eyes, but not really tears of joy. Her lip quivered, and her brow furrowed.

If he wasn’t sure about how she felt, the daggers she shot him when their eyes met pretty much spoke mountains.

Not exactly the result he’d been expecting.

The room stood still for a moment.

“So what is it?” someone else yelled.

Jumping, she held up the box so everyone could see. “Perfume.” She waved it in the air for just a second, long enough to show the flash of the bottle, but not long enough for anyone to recognize it.

She shut the box and headed right for him, the room parting for her as she marched. A tear fell from each eye, and she glared at him as though she wanted to punch him.

He opened his mouth to speak, but she waved her hand at him, moving right past him as if he didn’t exist. The room came alive with whispers and chatter, hands over mouths as people made their predictions.

She headed straight for the door, pausing long enough to talk to a graphic artist. The gal handed her a cigarette and a lighter.

Whoa. She was furious. She hadn’t smoked in four years.

He thought women were supposed to like gifts of perfume. It’s girly, it’s feminine. Isn’t that what they liked?

Chapter Six

Saturday evening

By the grace of God, the wind wasn’t blowing at a gale force tonight, and I was able to get the cigarette lit on the first try.

I coughed as I inhaled the first puff. It had been years since I smoked. But it was either smoke a cigarette or scream at Hawkins.

And I didn’t feel like making a scene.

Some people actually liked Christmas.

Idiots.

Cars zoomed by on the road. The hotel sat on a corner, but the corner wasn’t a typical ninety-degree angle. The road curved more than it turned, so cars went through the intersection at roughly a thousand miles per hour, each car’s resulting wind blasted me as I stood there.

I’d wiped away the tears running down my cheeks just as I came outside, and I wasn’t shaking anymore. The nicotine calmed me down, and already I felt the buzz in my head from the drug.

I managed to get two good puffs before the door came open and Hawkins appeared.

“That’s bad for you.”

“Fuck you.”

“Not now, people will see.” He gestured to the street where cars flew by, stepping precariously close to the edge of the sidewalk we stood on. I wondered how many cars came up on the curb and hit pedestrians.

Wouldn’t it be really nice if one of them took out Hawkins?

I took another puff. “You’re a real piece of work, Hawkins.”

“I thought women were supposed to get gifts they liked at Christmas.”

I waved the box at him. “This shit’s too expensive! It’s—”

“I know how much it is.” He stepped a little closer to me. “I also know how much you like it.”

“Which is why I use it sparingly. It’s too expensive for daily use.” I shook my head, my chest aching. “You don’t understand.”

“What is wrong with giving you a nice present for Christmas?”

“Because, dammit, I don’t want it taken back!” I froze, realizing I had said much more than I meant to.

“What does that mean?” he asked. “Why would I take it back?”

I looked around. There was no place to sit out here, at least one that wasn’t covered in snow—or the remnants of snow, anyway. And I didn’t feel like a wet ass.

Already had my foot in my mouth.

Hawkins moved into my personal space and took my arm. “Erica? What does that mean? I can’t read your mind.”

My lip trembled and tears erupted. I closed my eyes, trying to stop the burst, not that it did any good.

Christmases past came to mind, and all I could see was opening the shiny gifts I forced myself not to love because I knew they’d be taken back in a few weeks. Or the dirty Barbie doll with matted hair and torn clothes—the used one they’d found in a trash bin or at the Salvation Army.

Toys that would disappear because they were broken when they acquired them, or had to be taken away because they couldn’t afford to pay for them.

“Erica?”

I opened my eyes and met his gaze that swam with worry and passion and hurt. My lip quivered and I inhaled a breath. “I hate Christmas. I hate it because I never had a good Christmas.”

“I’m sorry, baby,” he said, pulling me into his arms.

I threw the cigarette on the ground and fell into his embrace.

The warmth of him was like a shield against the bad. It felt like his heat reached deeper into my soul, forcing me to expel the hurt.

I didn’t look at him as I spoke. The words came out like diarrhea. “When I was little, my parents would get me a Barbie doll for Christmas. A used one. Dirty, matted hair, face paint chipped, like they’d tried to clean it with something, and all the color wore off. The hair, combed as smooth as possible, would be tattered and uneven. I’d go to school, so proud and excited over my new dolly, and the other girls would have these shiny, pretty Barbies, and mine would be dirty and old. I’d stick her in the back of my desk and wait until I could sneak her in my backpack and take her back home.”

“Geez,” he whispered, a kiss on my temple.

“And when I got older, I’d want a new boom box or Walkman or something, and I’d get it. Then after a few weeks, it would disappear. Mom and Dad would take it back to the rent-to-own place because they couldn’t afford the payments. Or they’d pawn it to get money. I never had a present that was really mine.”

Hawkins stroked the back of my head, his fingers tangling in the curls I’d pinned up. “I didn’t know.”

I reveled in the feel of him. “You didn’t know because I didn’t tell anyone.”

“I’m so sorry.”

I tried to shrug off the pain. Pull myself up by my bootstraps and move on. “Now you understand why I can’t accept this gift.”

“Come on, let’s go home. We’ll talk about it later.”

No words were on my tongue, but in my head, I screamed that I couldn’t let him spend so much money on me. I didn’t want to be a charity case, which was how he’d see me now.

Charity.

Andrew cracked open a beer and dropped on my couch. We’d been home about five minutes, and I’d gone straight to my room and got out of the dress. Back to my Saturday night uniform of fuzzy socks and pajamas. When I came back out, I saw he’d undone his tie, and his gift lying on the table. My perfume sat next to it, the stark black box a contrast to his white one.

He surfed through the channels but nothing of interest was on. He didn’t even pause at the rerun of
It’s a Wonderful Life.

Thank God.

I couldn’t stomach much more holiday cheer. Too much of the bad Christmases swirled through my mind, and as much as I wanted to step away, I really couldn’t. Talking about it only brought the pain back—like picking a scab and wondering why it bled.

I poured myself a glass of wine and joined him.

“I wish I had that new JJ Abrams movie,” I said. I missed everything that came out last summer, and the one I’d wanted to go see the most was the new JJ Abrams latest dive into cult phenomenon. What can I say? I like my blowy-up stuff. Especially a touch of sci-fi thrown into the mix.

“Maybe you’ll get it for Christmas,” he said, getting up to look at my movie collection. He froze right after he spoke.

I didn’t say anything. I was too tired to argue with him. He was smart enough to turn the conversation to the movie choices. We settled on the third Indiana Jones movie, the one where Sean Connery plays Indiana Jones’s dad. I made popcorn while Hawkins put the movie on.

A classic action adventure was always a good escape from that whole thinking thing.

He pulled off his shoes. That was always the sign he wasn’t going anywhere for a while.

Great, I was stuck with him. I didn’t want to be, though wallowing in my own memories seemed like a bad idea tonight. In a way, I appreciated his company. I wasn’t happy I’d unloaded on him at the hotel, but at least he hadn’t been disgusted after my admission.

Or if he was, he wasn’t showing it. After all, he was here. He could have been back at the hotel with Tawny. The idea of that coupling made me feel a little queasy.