Nolan Trilogy (61 page)

“I know you wanted a miracle,” he whispered.  “On this day of all days, I wanted to give you one.  I wanted to bring her home for you today.” 

Leah nodded, opening her eyes, seeing him through prisms, and tried to speak, but nothing came out. 

“I promise you, Leah.  I promise I’ll stop at nothing to find Grace and bring her home.” 

Rob fumbled with the box, opening it, and Leah saw the Tiffany’s logo on the white satin top, and the platinum band with the diamond solitaire framed in velvet sitting in the bottom.

“Will you marry me?”  he asked, meeting her eyes, his so serious, like he thought she might say no.  Leah shook her head, unable to speak, tears choking her throat.  “So when our little girl comes home, she’ll have her family waiting for her?” 

Leah sobbed, throwing her arms around his neck, whispering her assent.  “Yes, yes!” 

Rob held her close, kissing her deeply before presenting the ring to her, this time out of its box, sliding it onto her trembling ring finger.  She looked at it in the dawning early morning light now streaming in through the skylight.  It fit perfectly.

“I told him your ring size,” Erica said through a mouth full of Bit O’Honey she’d gotten in her stocking. 

“You knew?”  Leah blinked at her.

“He bought the ring months ago.”  Erica revealed this secret with glee, seeing her father’s face flush. 

“I knew you’d come back to me.”  He met Leah’s eyes and she saw how his glistened in the light.  “Just like I know we’ll get Grace back.” 

Leah let him sweep her into his arms, standing and twirling her around in front of the Christmas tree, pulling her close so he could kiss her properly, if a little reticently, in front of Erica. 

“I hope so,” she murmured against his chest as he held her, stroking her hair, and she met Erica’s eyes, remembering their crazy, spontaneous walk through the snow, their impromptu snow-angels, their wish on the morning star.  They weren’t little girls anymore.  They didn’t believe in magic.  There was no Santa Claus.  There were no Christmas miracles.

“Congratulations.”  Erica came over, still chewing her candy, and put an arm around Leah’s neck, giving her a long hug.  Rob watched them, smiling.  “Now we get to plan a wedding!” 

Rob groaned.  “Can’t we elope?” 

“Are you kidding?”  Both girls looked at him, aghast, and then they looked at each other and burst out laughing.  Maybe there were no fairy godmothers or magic wands, but they had each other, and for the first time in weeks, Leah felt almost like her old self again.

Erica would never have met Clay if Father Michael hadn’t volunteered her for the part of Virgin Mary in the Christmas Eve Nativity Scene.  It was all Father Michael’s idea, a live-action nativity to replace the wooden carved figures that usually adorned the sanctuary.  She only agreed because there were no lines, like a play.  She just had to stand there holding a baby, put it in the manger and look serene.  Considering the roles she’d played for the church in the past few months—although those had been much darker, and far more secret—she knew she could do this one with her eyes closed. 

Besides, it was Father Michael who was asking, with those big blue eyes and his sweetly appearing smile, and how was she supposed to resist that?  Father Michael said he wanted a young couple to play Mary and Joseph, and so one of the boys from St. Casimir had been brought in.  Erica didn’t know Clayton Marshall Webber III from Adam, but they’d spent three weeks wearing scratchy wool costumes, chewing gum and having bubble-blowing contests—Clay carried Beech Nut Spearmint wherever he went—while Father Michael directed the wise men and argued with Father Patrick, who was completely against all the shenanigans. 

Father Patrick won the argument about the livestock—two lambs, a donkey, and a goat were sent back to the Eastern Market where they’d come from—but Father Michael had gotten his way with the concept of a “live” nativity, including Mary, Joseph, three wise men, and an angel.  The angel was just Alice Kernighan dressed up in white robes, wearing a halo and standing on a pedestal behind them. 

And of course, a baby Jesus. 

“Whose baby is it?”  Erica had asked, looking down at the sleeping newborn as Father Michael handed it over. 

“Foster child,” he’d explained, tucking the swaddling blankets in around the baby’s face.  “She’s just on loan.” 

“She?”  Erica had smirked, raising her eyebrows at him.  “Jesus is a girl?” 

“Don’t tell anyone.”  Father Michael winked.  “I picked this one because she’s so quiet.  She has to sleep through the service.” 

“Hmm.”  Erica had looked at the sleeping infant.  It was a cute baby with lots of dark hair, and Clay glanced over her shoulder at it.

“Hey, maybe Jesus was a girl,” Clay had speculated as Father Michael left them to go talk to Father Patrick about the last minute details of the Christmas Eve service.  “Don’t they always show him with long hair?  And those robes… could have been hiding anything under there.” 

Erica had laughed in spite of herself and the baby in her arms had stirred but didn’t wake.  In fact, she stayed quiet through the whole thing—quieter than Clay, who kept whispering all sorts of horribly sacrilegious things into Erica’s ear to make her laugh.  She tried to just smile serenely and not meet his eyes, or she was bound to crack up.  His last joke almost did her in—
What’s the difference between Jesus and Picasso?  Only takes one nail to hang a Picasso
—but thankfully it was time for her to put the baby in the manger, and she could hide her stifled giggles as she bent over and tucked the baby in. 

Really, it was Father Michael’s fault she ended up sneaking out of the warehouse after her father and Leah had gone to bed, on Christmas Eve no less.  She never would have taken Clay up on his offer if it hadn’t been for the way Father Michael frowned whenever she laughed at one of Clay’s jokes, and found a reason to separate them whenever Clay got too close.  Once, Clay had been teaching her to Lindy Hop, and although Erica was about as graceful as a turtle in a tutu, he’d managed to get her to do the basics before Father Michael discovered they were tripping the light fantastic while he was chasing a goat down the hallway and called rehearsal off for the day. 

She blamed Father Michael—and, as always, her incessant curiosity.  Yes, she’d been trying to make him jealous, flirting with Clay.  But she was also intrigued when Clay asked her to meet him, saying he had something interesting to show her. 

It was Father Michael’s fault she agreed to meet Clay around the block from her house at two in the morning, slipping into his 1955 Chevy Sedan and messing with the radio while he drove them through the streets of Detroit, getting on the freeway and then off again, taking them for a long, uneventful drive into the country.  And it was Father Michael she was still thinking about when Clay parked on a back road and turned to kiss her. 

He smelled like Beech Nut spearmint and Aqua Velva, a heady combination, but he took his gum out before he kissed her, pressing it with his thumb against the dashboard when he leaned in to touch his lips to hers.  It was a pleasant sensation and Erica let him gather her up, enjoying all his hard angles against her soft curves. 

His tongue found its way into her mouth and she let that happen too, letting things take their natural course, the heat of their bodies, the fast pant of their breath steaming up the windows of his Chevy.  Erica even dared to put her hand on his leg, sliding it up his jean-clad thigh until she found his erection, smiling when she heard his sharp intake of breath.

“Is this what you wanted to show me?”  she whispered, rubbing her hand up and down, liking how it made her feel—powerful, in control.  He was putty in her hands. 

“Yowza!”  Clay’s eyes widened in the dimness, looking at her with confusion and a little trepidation.  Had he thought she was a good girl?  That made Erica want to laugh.  Good girls didn’t sneak out and meet boys in the middle of the night.  “Easy there, Tiger.  Come on, follow me.” 

He opened the driver’s side door, even coming around to her side like a gentleman.  The gesture was so sweet it made Erica feel like crying, and she climbed out of the car, hugging her coat around her.  It hadn’t been snowing after midnight mass, but it was snowing now, coming down in big, fat flakes, settling in their hair and melting on their cheeks. 

“Come on.”  He climbed up onto the big hood of the Sedan, holding his hand out and helping her up.  She sat beside him, looking puzzled.  It was darker out here, away from the city.  She could barely discern the shape of fields, the dim glow of windows in far away houses like rectangles painted on the night. 

“Look up.”  He pointed skyward, leaning back and putting his hands behind his head. 

“At what?”  Erica did the same, leaning back on the hood.  The sky was a clear field of velvet, displaying so many stars it made her gasp in surprise. 

“Amazing isn’t it?” 

“So many!”  Stars in the city never looked so close. 

“When it snows, there’s no moisture in the air, so the sky is clear.  No clouds.” 

Erica glanced over at him.  “How did you know that?” 

“I paid attention in science class.”  Clay pointed up and Erica looked again, seeing something streak across the sky. 

“What was that?”  She half-sat, squinting at the spot where she’d seen the stream of light, wondering if she was seeing things.  “Is that a UFO?  Or… oh my God! Are we being attacked?” 

“Relax.”  Clay laughed, pulling her back down.  This time she settled close to him, putting her head on his chest.  “It’s a meteor shower.  The Ursids.  See?  That’s Ursa Minor right there.” 

“Where?”  Erica shook her head. 

“See the big dipper?”  He pointed and she followed the line of his finger. 

The big dipper was easy enough to find.  “Yes.” 

“Okay, follow that over… that’s Polaris, the north star.  Ursa minor is right between.  That’s where tonight’s show takes place.” 

“There’s another one!”  Erica exclaimed, pointing.  She cocked her head at him, meeting his eyes in the dimness.  “You must have really liked science class.” 

“Nah.”  He squeezed his arm around her shoulder.  “My dad’s an astronomer.  He said the Ursids would be most active on Christmas and Christmas Eve.” 

“Wow.”  Erica settled back into her comfortable position, head resting on his chest.  She could hear his heart beating, even through his coat.  “Why isn’t he watching it with you?” 

“He’s in Washington.”  Clay shrugged.  “When President Eisenhower asks you to head up a committee, my father asks, ‘How high?  ’”

“But on Christmas?”  Erica made a face.  “Who are you spending Christmas with?” 

“My mother.” 

She smiled.  “Does your mother know where you are right now?” 

“She doesn’t even know where
she
is after two nightcaps and a happy pill.”  Clay snorted laughter.  “Merry Christmas and ho ho ho.” 

“Look, there’s another one!”  Erica pointed. 

“Do you think there’s life out there?”  Clay asked, sounding thoughtful. 

“Where?” 

“You know, other planets.” 

Erica considered.  “I don’t know.” 

“You think we’ll ever get there?” 

“Outer space?”  she laughed.  “Like in flying saucers?” 

“Well, the Russians launched
Sputnik
,” he reminded her. 

Erica shivered.  “Would you want to go?” 

“Anywhere but here,” Clay replied.  She felt his hand stroking her hair, which was growing damp from the snow.  It was starting to fall heavier, sticking to their clothes.  She saw a snowflake caught on the edge of Clay’s eyelashes and he blinked it away, looking at her. 

“I don’t know,” Erica murmured, sliding her leg up over his.  “Here isn’t so bad.” 

He didn’t bridge the gap, she did, pressing her lips to his, reveling in the warmth of their mouths, the steam of their breath rising in the cold night air.  She felt him responding, hands beginning to roam, seeking her softness, reaching under her unbuttoned coat. 

“Come on, I’m getting cold,” Erica murmured, sliding off the hood of the car.  “Let’s go get warm.” 

“What are you doing?”  Clay watched as she went around to the driver’s side, opening the back door. 

She winked.  “There’s more room in the backseat.” 

He gaped at her as she shrugged off her coat, wearing her dungarees and a white sweatshirt and boots, tossing it onto the seat. 

“You coming?”  Erica cocked her hip, hands on them, and then she crawled into the backseat of the Chevy.  For a moment, she thought he was frozen to the car, like a hood ornament, and then he hopped off, the snow crunching under his boots as he came around the car door. 

Erica had already pulled off her boots, leaving them on the floor with her damp coat.  Clay hesitated only a moment, a bemused look on his face as if he’d just been told something incredible—like he’d just won a thousand dollar prize—before diving into the backseat with her, shutting the door behind him.  She giggled at his enthusiasm, wrapping her arms around his neck, feathering kisses over his snow-wet face. 

“It’s really coming down out there,” she murmured over his shoulder, glancing out the window at the white flakes, like a thousand flying moths, as she unbuttoned his coat.  “What if we get stuck out here in the snow?” 

“That would be a scandal.”  He grinned, shrugging off his coat.  “But I can’t think of a better way to spend Christmas.”