INSTEAD OF RISING TO FIX Herb’s lunch, Maxine stayed in bed until she heard his truck leave the driveway. When she was sure he wasn’t coming back, she slipped out of bed and into the kitchen for her morning coffee. Herb’s empty lunch pail sat on the counter, and her note with the number to Alcoholics Anonymous was crumpled beside it. Didn’t surprise her. Herb stopped paying attention to her years ago.
But today she had better things to do than worry about Herb. Today the Senior Center was holding a Christmas Bazaar, and Maxine had agreed to bring in some of her handmade items to sell. With Christmas three weeks away, she had no time to make anything new, but she had boxes of knitted hats, crocheted potholders, and doilies that would make wonderful presents. Not to mention the sack of crocheted snowflakes leftover from the classes she’d been teaching twice a week at the Center for almost a month. At that particular moment, Maxine was content, even happy. She had her job cleaning houses, the classes at the Center, and good friends. She yawned and looked at the clock. Best get her big butt moving. Helen would be there any minute.
While the coffee brewed, Maxine went to the bathroom to shower. But the foul smell beside the toilet was so strong, she had to hold her hand over her nose. Damn that crappy man. Herb’s dirty clothes were heaped in a pile near the hamper. His shit was all over the floor.
Furious, she gathered his soiled clothes and marched them out to the trash even though it was thirty-two degrees outside and snowing. Dressed in robe and slippers, Maxine was so angry, she didn’t care if her neighbors saw her bare legs or ratty hair. This was one set of clothes she was never putting in her washing machine ever again. She was so angry, she didn’t even check the pockets for loose change.
Maxine used her anger to scrub the bathroom floor. This was her house, too. She might be married to a slob. That didn’t mean she had to live in a barn.
When the floor was clean, Maxine stepped into the shower. She let the hot water pulse against her neck, releasing some of the tension. As she shampooed her hair, she wished she could go back in time and marry Larry, or that Herb would drive off the road and into the river. Maybe this was her fault. Instead of harping about his drinking, she should encourage him to drink more. With his diseased liver, it was just a matter of time. Maybe she should give him a case of beer for Christmas.
As she dressed, Maxine pushed Herb from her thoughts. He’d already ruined most of her life. He wasn’t going to ruin one more day. Donning her Christmas sweater with the red poinsettias, Maxine was dressed and ready when Helen and Shirley pulled into the driveway. She had even found a pretty, plastic poinsettia for her hair.
Three months ago, if anyone had told Maxine she would be standing behind a card table selling hats and potholders at a Christmas Bazaar, she would have laughed. But by ten a.m. that’s exactly what she was doing. While Christmas carols played in the background and the smell of cinnamon rolls and brownies wafted through the building, Maxine encouraged customers to try on hats and rummage through her box of potholders. Singing along with the carols, she was having a grand time and enjoyed every minute visiting with the people who stopped to chat. Two months ago Maxine could have counted her friends on two fingers. But today everyone was cheery, and almost everyone who stopped at their table bought something. Potholders and doilies from Maxine, brownies or fruitcake from Helen, or used books and cast-off jewelry from Shirley. They were busy during the noon hour when secretaries on lunch breaks and tellers from banks stopped in for last minute gifts.
“Thank you,” she said between bites of fudge, to a woman who purchased a dozen snowflakes to hang on her tree. Maxine had to eat standing up, which wasn’t hard to do. Instead of eating something healthy like the Center’s lunch special—chicken noodle soup or a tuna sandwich— Maxine munched on caramel popcorn, chocolate-covered pretzels, and homemade fudge. None of it healthy, but every bite delicious.
Things slowed down after three. By then, Maxine was tired—a happy tired. While she and Shirley took down the table, Helen tallied their earnings. After deducting the five dollars they owed the Center for their space, they had made a nice profit.
“Not bad.” Helen handed Maxine an envelope containing her share of the earnings. Ready to leave, they were halfway out the door when Linda stopped them.
“Maxine, wait.” Linda ducked into her office and returned with a check. “I should have given this to you yesterday, but I forgot.”
“What’s this for?” Maxine stared at a check for twenty-five dollars.
“Last week’s classes. We added an extra five because we like you so much. And,” she said with a wink, “it’s almost Christmas.”
“You’re kidding.” Twenty-five dollars for having fun and laughing? “Thank you.” Maxine grinned. Who’d have thought she’d get paid for doing something she loved?
She waited until she was alone inside her house before she opened her envelope. Five. Ten. Twenty. Thirty. She counted out the money and sank into her sofa. Between what she sold at the bazaar and Linda’s check, she had more than three hundred dollars. More than enough money to buy something special for Abbie and Grace for Christmas.
She added the check to the cash and kissed the envelope. “Fa la la la la, la la la la,” she sang as she danced around the room. For once, they would have a nice Christmas.
***
Even though Grace found it inconvenient to reschedule her haircuts and manicures, everything considered, she was glad she had a job to go to. Now that it was December, she’d have something else to decorate besides her own house, which was decorated the day after Thanksgiving. When she asked Kent if they were going to put a tree in the office, he said yes, they always did, and would she like to be in charge? “Yes,” she said, already planning the decorations. Gold and ice blue were the year’s popular seasonal colors, and instead of an angel or a star, she’d make a huge gold and blue bow to put on top of the tree and cascade to the floor like a river.
Humming “Silver Bells,” Grace was standing on a chair trying to attach the bow to the tree when the front door opened, filling the lobby with a cold breeze and the smell of snow and ice. “Be right with you,” she said, adjusting the bow. When she looked down, there, holding a huge double white poinsettia and grinning, was Michael. She almost fell off the chair.
“Careful!” He dropped the plant on the counter and rushed toward her.
“I’m fine.” The minute he touched her, Grace forgot all about the pretty woman who had opened his door. So what if he was married? She was, too. Didn’t mean they couldn’t be friends.
“Gotcha,” he said with a smile.
If he hadn’t been there to catch her, she would have been sprawled on the floor. He was always coming to her rescue, just like he did that night when Rob was too busy to finish his dinner. “I’m such a klutz.” She loved his smile, the way he smelled like vacations in Paris and island breezes.
“You,” he said, “are many things. But a klutz isn’t one of them.” He made sure her feet were solid on the floor before he let go.
“Thanks.” Grace smoothed her skirt, making sure everything was neat and in order.
He pointed to the plant. “For you. And your office. To say thanks for helping me get the house.”
“You didn’t need to do that.”
“Yes, I did.” He looked at his watch. “You wouldn’t be free for lunch, would you? I’d like to celebrate.”
When he smiled like that, she couldn’t resist. Besides, she was starving. “Let me get my coat.”
Instead of taking her to Hart’s where Rob liked to dine, Michael suggested the nearby Italian diner tucked between the floral and jewelry stores, her favorite place, Rudy’s. He held her hand, so she wouldn’t slip on the ice as they navigated the short two blocks in the snow. She wasn’t cold; she didn’t feel the flakes at all. It was like walking in a romantic wonderland until her foot hit an icy patch. She grabbed his arm before she fell.
“Looks like we’re making a habit of this.” Michael caught her, and they both laughed. Outside, the diner was decorated with blinking red and green lights. Inside, it smelled like cinnamon and mulled wine. The air was festive, full of Christmas.
Unlike Rob, who always made observations about the menu, often suggesting foods Grace hated, Michael asked, “What looks good to you?”
She met his gaze without speaking.
Moments later, studying the menu, she tried to calm her shaking hands. Her heart was beating so fast she was sure he could hear it. Lasagna. Ravioli. Tortellini. Michael. She tried to keep her thoughts on food, which was hard to do with him sitting across the table.
“We’ll have the cheese fondue appetizer,” he told the waitress. “Grace?”
“Grilled chicken salad.” Grace closed the menu.
“You want more than a salad.”
Yes, she did. Grace lowered her eyes. “No, a salad’s fine. And a glass of tea, please.”
“The house ravioli,” Michael said. “And a bottle of Merlot. Two glasses.”
They sat in awkward silence until the wine was served. Grace’s mouth was dry. She could already taste the woodsy flavor. She wondered what it would be like to kiss him. She watched his hand on the bottle, the long steady fingers cupping the wine glass. He clicked her glass and took a drink. She raised her own glass and all but inhaled the wine, hoping it would calm her.
Refilling her glass, he said, “You didn’t stop by my house the other day, did you?”
“I, um.” Grace froze.
“The woman from the cleaning service said a pretty lady stopped by but seemed confused. I was hoping it was you.”
The cleaning lady? Grace relaxed. “When are you moving in?”
“The van arrives in the morning. I’ll have a busy weekend.”
Grace circled the rim of her wineglass with her finger, making it sing. He’d be in by Christmas.
“You’re suddenly quiet.”
“Wishful thinking,” she said. “I love that house.”
“Good. You can help me decorate it.”
“Me?”
“Of course. You worked magic on that tree in your office. Ah,” Michael smiled as the waitress put the fondue in the middle of the table. “Dive in.”
Grace avoided cheese. Like mayonnaise, milk and other fattening foods.
“Don’t be shy.” Michael pushed his plate across the table and settled beside her. Dipping a piece of bread into the warm cheese, he held it to her lips. “Open.”
She savored the salty explosion. She licked cheese from her bottom lip and dunked a cube of bread and offered it to him.
“Delicious.” He swallowed in a slow sensuous bite. “Another?” She nodded, unable to deny the heat rising inside.
They lingered over the fondue. By the time the waitress delivered the ravioli, they were no longer hungry. Fuzzy with wine, Grace would have sat beside him all afternoon, but she finally remembered her job. “What time is it?” she said with a start.
He looked at his watch. “One-thirty.”
She stood. “I’m late. I have to go.”
They walked back to the office, touching, but not speaking. She stopped at the door. “Thanks for lunch.”
“You’re welcome. Have a nice weekend. I’ll be busy moving in.”
She stalled, unwilling to let him go.
“If you get bored, I have some boxes that need unpacking,” he said, as if reading her thoughts.
She shot him a quick glance to see if he was teasing. She couldn’t tell. “Thanks for lunch,” she repeated.
“My pleasure.” They might have stood there all day if it hadn’t been for the phone. “I have to get that.” Grace moved toward her desk, waving goodbye. “Aspen Grove Realty.” She couldn’t focus on her job or the person on the phone. All she could think about was Michael. His new house, his hands, his lips and his smile.
***
Jeremy was standing by his locker talking with Charles and a few of his friends. Determined to ignore him, Abbie clutched her books closer. When she passed him, she diverted her eyes. He wasn’t worth the energy. Jessica could have him.
But all that changed after art class. She was all but out the door when he stopped her. “Hey, you mad at me?” He looked totally sincere.
“No.”
“Then what’s wrong?”
“You said you would call.”
“I know,” he said. “But I had to help my dad. All weekend.”
“Is there a law saying you can’t pick up a phone for three seconds?” Her voice was shaking.
“You’re right,” he said. They were almost at her English class. “Next time, I’ll do better.” He smiled, and she forgave him, just like that. Just like Saturday had never happened.
“Catch ya later,” he said, then walked on down the hall, taking her heart and good intentions with him.
Three weeks before Christmas and Abbie still hadn’t persuaded Jeremy to show her how to draw that picture. Any other girl would have given up. But she wasn’t any other girl. In many ways, she was like her father—a hard worker, a good student—but she was also like her mother, determined to win in spite of rejection.
To make matters worse, Heather would be spending winter break with her father. That meant Abbie would have to spend most of Christmas vacation alone. But in the meantime, she and Heather had this week, this weekend.
On their way home from school, Tyler said, “Jessica’s having a party at her house Friday night. Wanna go?” They were in the front seat of Tyler’s car, Heather cuddled next to Tyler. Abbie sat beside her, next to the door.
“No,” Abbie said.
“Jeremy’s going,” Tyler teased.
“Is not.” Abbie said. “Is he?”
“Of course, he is,” Tyler said. “Everyone cool is going.”
“Are you?” Abbie said.
Tyler squeezed Heather’s hand. “If I don’t have to work.”
“Since when did you start hanging out with Jessica and her stupid friends?” Abbie said.
“Who’s hanging out?” Tyler said. “It’s a party.”
Later, after Tyler dropped them off at Heather’s, Abbie said, “Are you going to go?” They were eating day-old pizza, drinking sodas, and lounging on Heather’s bed,
“Go where?” Heather reached for another slice of pizza.
“Jessica’s party.”
“Depends.”
“On what?” Abbie said.
Heather wrinkled her nose. “Well, if Tyler’s going, he’s not going alone.” She wiped the grease from her hands and closed the lid of the empty pizza box.
“Can I go with you? Abbie said.
“If we go. Lucky I don’t have to go to my dad’s this weekend. And watching my mom cry makes me crazy.”
“Settled.” Abbie tried to high-five, but Heather shrugged her hand away, sinking into her pillow texting Tyler. Abbie thought about the day she’d be as relaxed texting Jeremy. The thought made her giddy.
Abbie spent the rest of the week thinking about the party. She hated Jessica, but on the slightest chance Jeremy would be there . . .
She was wearing a new pair of jeans. Her hair was curled softly around her face and her heart felt like the motor in a racecar. Jessica’s house was lit up like a carnival in honor of Christmas. Cars were parked on either side of the street. But not Jeremy’s. His Camaro wasn’t there. They approached the front door, and Abbie hesitated. If he wasn’t there, why suffer through what would promise to be a miserable evening? But Tyler had already pushed the door open, and he was waiting for her to enter.
Inside, the fake tree near the window with synthetic white and gold poinsettias made everything feel as phony as Jessica’s laugh. The music was so loud the windowpanes rattled, and even though she had never smoked pot, Abbie could smell it coming from the kitchen. Clearly, Jessica’s parents were gone, and probably weren’t coming back any time soon.
They put their coats on the pile in the living room. “Hey, Tyler. Heather.” A history nerd from school cornered Heather almost the minute they arrived. Keeping an eye out for Jeremy, Abbie left them to discuss the Spanish Inquisition. She got enough censorship at home; she didn’t need another lesson in persecution. She circled the house, listening for Jeremy’s laugh. Once she thought she heard him in the den, but when she looked in the room, all she found were some guys playing cards and munching corn chips.
Upstairs, five boys were eating Cheetos and playing Dungeons and Dragons.
“You are walking down a dark hallway,” Charles Kennedy said.
“Is there a door at the end of the hallway?” the boy beside him asked.
“A heavy door,” Charles said.
“Is it locked?”
Abbie had never played D & D. It had the reputation of being the devil’s game, and she wasn’t enamored with killing people. But if Charles was here, Jeremy was bound to be, too.
“Look what the dog dragged in,” Jessica stood behind her. “If it isn’t Drabigail.”
He’d better be here. He’d better be worth it. Abbie didn’t back away.
The D & D game stalled. Everyone was watching. Someone snickered, “Cat fight. Cat fight.”
Rick Chapin, a senior, stepped between the girls and put his arm around Jessica’s shoulders. “Play nice.”
“Yeah,” Scott Lander said. “Come on, Abbie. Let’s get something to drink.” He took Abbie’s arm and all but pulled her toward the kitchen, where the room was filled with snorts and testosterone. “Somebody get this girl a drink.”
The keg sat outside on the patio, surrounded by snow. Rick filled a cup and handed it to her. “Bottoms up, pretty lady.”
“No, thanks,” Abbie said. Jeremy wasn’t in the kitchen, or outside by the keg either.
“Go on,” Scott said. Someone behind her called, “Chicken.”
It wasn’t like she’d never tasted beer before. She had, a couple times when her parents hosted summer barbeques. But that was tasting. This was guzzling. “No,” she put up her hand as Rick tipped the cup to her lips. Everyone was watching. It was just one cup. She didn’t want to make a scene.
“No,” she said, pushing her way out of the kitchen. She knew Jessica was watching. Watching and laughing.
She’d been through the whole house and found everything but Jeremy. She was on her way back down the stairs when she saw him. Jessica had her arms wrapped around his neck. They were sharing a beer at the bottom of the stairs.
She couldn’t move. She felt numb.
Jeremy hadn’t seen Abbie at the top of the stairs, but Jessica had. She smiled that sick sweet smile and flipped her hair like a prom queen before she led Jeremy to the kitchen.
“Slut,” Abbie muttered as she navigated the stairs. In the living room, she dug through the pile of coats until she found hers. The white lights on the fake Christmas tree blinked off and on. She was suffocating. Needed air. Was going to be sick.
“Hey, Buchanan.” Jeremy stepped closer. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“’Spose not.”
He was standing too close. She wanted to . . . If she were smart she would . . .
He stepped closer. She moved back and fell over the ottoman. “Come on,” he said, helping her stand. “Let’s blow this scene.”
“I have to find Heather.” She pulled away from him.
“Last time I saw her, she was upstairs with Tyler.”
“But . . .”
“Trust me,” he said. “She isn’t going to miss you.”
He helped her into her coat while the Christmas tree lights twinkled behind them. Off. On. Off. On. They silhouetted Jeremy in an enchanting holiday glow. He held out his hand and she took it. Backlit by the lights, he was her Christmas wish come true. Her head pounded. Her heart surrendered, and she knew she’d never look at a Christmas tree the same way ever again.
She expected him to take her straight home. Instead, he drove across town and stopped at Burt’s Diner. They ordered Cokes and fries and talked about school, art and cars. He had this old Camaro he was fixing up. His dad wanted him to be an electrician, but he wanted to be an artist. He wanted to go to Europe after high school and study the great artists. Dipping a fry into ketchup, he said, “And what about you, Abigail Buchanan. What do you want to do after high school?”
“Go to San Francisco.”
He nodded. “Like that old song says, you’d be pretty with flowers in your hair.”
Corny, but she laughed anyway.
“How’s your portfolio coming along?” He waved at the waitress to refill their sodas.
Abbie shrugged. “I’m almost done.”
“Yeah,” he said. “Can I see it?”
Maybe. “Sure. If I can see yours.”
“No problem.”
Before he took her home he drove out of town, stopping on a hill that overlooked Aspen Grove. He let the car idle while they watched the town’s lights flicker. He reached for her hand.
“I like your car,” she said.
“Thanks. I hope to have enough money by summer to get it painted.”
By summer. If everything worked out, they’d be studying at the art institute in San Francisco.
He leaned over and kissed her.
They might even be lovers.