“I don’t believe what you’re humming.” Sloane stood in the doorway between Elise’s kitchen and living room, a glass of eggnog in his hand. He was watching Elise and Clay put the finishing touches on a Christmas tree.
“I can wish, can’t I?” she said, stretching on tiptoe to rearrange one of the god’s-eye decorations Clay had made for her.
“‘I’m dreaming of a white Christmas’?”
“Are you?” She turned a little and shot him a smile. “You’re so sentimental.”
He laughed, but he stayed to watch as the two of them completed the task they so obviously loved. Everything seemed so natural, so right, that it was hard to believe only a month had passed since he and Elise had become lovers again. It seemed like a lifetime.
“The tree’s crooked,” he pointed out, after the last ornament had been hung.
“Have you no sense of tradition? It’s not supposed to be straight. If there was a Christmas tree in Bethlehem, it was crooked.” Elise came to stand beside him and Sloane pulled her close. They examined the tree together. “Actually,” she admitted, “it’s a little more than crooked. Horizontal might be a better word.” She poked her elbow in his ribs when he laughed at her. “It’s just like you to wait until the tree has been decorated before you point out problems.”
“Actually, I like it. I’m thinking of starting a pool. The person who comes closest to guessing the exact minute when that tree hits the dust wins a dinner for two at the Miracle Springs Inn.”
“Ebenezer Scrooge. Making profit off the misery of the world.”
His arm tightened around her. “You do realize where you’re standing, don’t you?”
Elise smiled. She had wondered how long it would take Sloane to get around to the obvious. “No. Where?”
“In the crook of my arm with my fingers dangerously near your armpit.” He tickled her a little to make his point.
“Such a romantic!” She squealed. “You’d rather tickle me than kiss me?”
“Kiss you? Why would I want to do that?”
“Because I’m standing under mistletoe and so are you!”
“I’ve been meaning to discuss that with you.” He brought his face down to hers. They were a scant inch apart. She shut her eyes. “Are you a druid?” he asked.
She opened her eyes and glared. “What?”
“A druid. That tree, the mistletoe, the holly on your dining-room table. All druid traditions.”
“No, I’m just a crazy woman who invited you and your son for Christmas Eve dinner.” She shut her eyes again. “Kiss me if you’re planning to be fed “
“Such bribery.” Sloane met her lips for a kiss that lasted as long as propriety would allow. Then he straightened. “You don’t taste like a druid.”
“How does a druid taste?”
“Different.” He lifted his hand and tucked a long strand of hair into the braid that trailed nearly to her waist. “Very, very different.”
“That’s reassuring.” She gave him a bright smile, then turned back to Clay who was staring at the tree. “What do you think, Clay? Other than the angle, don’t you think we did a great job?”
The Scotch pine was covered with dozens of small god’s-eye ornaments. Each ornament consisted of two crossed branches wrapped in an intricate design of different-colored yarns. To go with them Elise had wired hangers on small glitter-dipped pine cones and hung them beside the god’s-eyes. At the last minute, she and Clay had examined their attempt at decoration and then run out to the store to buy strings of miniature flickering lights. Sloane had taken one look at the resulting mixture of technology and homespun charm and disappeared to buy a bright gold star for the top.
“It’s interesting,” Clay answered tactfully. “Unique.”
“My son has a way with words,” Sloane said proudly.
Clay looked at his father and grinned. Elise thought her heart would burst. For tonight, the peculiar tension that seemed to hover in the air between Clay and Sloane had dissolved. They seemed to have forgotten about roles and expectations, and they were thoroughly enjoying each other. During the past month she had seen this absence of tension very rarely.
“Ignore him,” she counseled Clay. “Come help me check the pie.”
“Actually, if you don’t mind, it’s past time for Amy to get here. I told her I’d wait outside.”
“Better hurry then. She might beat you.” Elise and Sloane together watched Clay spring for the front door.
“Remember?” they said together, then stopped.
“You first,” Sloane said, playing with her braid.
“Remember the Christmas Eve I waited for you out on the front porch after my parents went to bed?”
“That’s what I was going to say.” He tossed the long braid over his shoulder and wrapped his arms loosely around her. “You were blue by the time I got there.”
“You were always late.”
“I never wanted you to know how anxious I was to see you.” He kissed her forehead.
“We gave each other presents.”
“I gave you a Beatles album.”
She smiled in remembrance. “I still have it.”
“You gave me a pocket watch.”
“Who says I’m not practical?”
He rested his cheek on her hair. “I still have it. It stopped ticking years ago, but I never did throw it away.”
“Such an old softie.” She put her arms around his waist and leaned against him, wrapped in memory. “You kissed me out on the front porch, and your lips were ice-cold.”
Sloane was still remembering the watch, silent for so many years. “I ought to take it to the jeweler’s and see if it can be fixed.”
That possibility gave Elise a surge of pleasure, although she didn’t know why. “I wonder what Clay and Amy will give each other.”
“They’re younger than we were. Not as serious.”
“They’re both older than they should be. That’s one of the things they share. And they’re just as serious as we were.”
“If that’s true, we’d better keep our eye on them. I’m still adjusting to having a son. A grandson would be too much.”
“Bob’s got his eyes open, believe me. Amy’s so well chaperoned that she’ll never have a chance to get into trouble.” Reluctantly Elise pulled away and turned toward the kitchen. “About that pie.”
“Why do you suppose Cargil let Amy come to dinner over here?” Sloane asked.
“I’ll bet he has a date.”
He grabbed her arm and stopped her. “A date?”
She laughed and slapped his hand away. “Do you want this pie to burn?”
He followed her, standing with his arms crossed as she lifted the pie from the oven. The sudden heat brought roses to her cheeks, and wisps of hair around her face curled delicately. He admired the softening effect for a moment before he spoke. “Who’s he dating?”
“You’re playing Miracle Springs’s favorite sport. I’ll warn you, professor, you may leave here with a small-town mentality.” Elise set the pie on top of the stove and wiped her forehead with the back of her hand.
“Who?”
“Carol Groves. She’s a widow. Lives down by the railroad crossing. They’ve known each other for years.”
“And she mellowed him enough to let Amy come here?”
“More likely Carol invited Bob to dinner by himself. It’s hard to carry on a romance with a teenager staring you down.”
“We’re managing nicely,” Sloane said, pulling her back to lean against him for a moment.
Elise understood the difference, even if Sloane didn’t. Bob and Carol had all the time in the world. She and Sloane had to make memories to last a lifetime. She relaxed against him for a moment, and his arms tightened around her. A month had slipped by. More months would come after it, each one taking on the frantic pace of a river nearing its destination. In no time Sloane and Clay would be gone. She dismissed the thought. This month had been the best in her life. There were more coming. That was what she had to think about—that and each precious moment as she lived it.
A half moon lit the tropical winter landscape, resplendent with poinsettia in full bloom and tall evergreens sporting bright red berries that screened Elise’s house from those of her neighbors. Clay watched Amy, her arms filled with packages, climb out of her father’s car and shout goodbye as he drove off. Then the boy stepped off the porch and joined her on the sidewalk. She set down her packages, and as naturally as if they’d always been together, they melted into each other’s arms.
Clay lowered his mouth to Amy’s and greeted her with a kiss. She wrapped her arms around his neck and stood on tiptoe to kiss him back. For a minute they were oblivious to everything else.
“Merry Christmas,” Amy said, when she could talk again.
“Merry Christmas.”
“I’ve missed you.”
“I’m glad you’re here.” Clay watched as Amy retrieved her presents, then he put his arm around her waist and they began their walk to the house. “I was surprised your father said yes.”
“I think he was glad I had a place to go. He’s having dinner with Carol.”
“Again?”
“Yeah. That makes three times since school let out.” She giggled a little. “I think he’d marry her if he thought he could talk her out of keeping her Pekingese.”
“Maybe he’ll get used to it.”
“Maybe. Carol’s a good cook, and she loves to wait on him. He always comes back looking relaxed and happy.”
“Do you like her?”
“She’s okay. She tries to be nice to me, but she talks to me like she talks to her dog.” Amy raised her voice three octaves. “Amy sweetie pie, have just one more bite of your pork chop. There’s a good girl. It’s so-o-o-o good for you. Do you want me to warm it up? Cool it down? Chop it up? Put it back together?” She giggled and resumed her normal tone. “She’s perfect for Daddy.”
They reached the porch and Clay leaned against a pillar, pulling her against him to delay their entrance into the house. “Why didn’t your father discover her sooner?”
“Elise. I think he’s been hoping for years that…” her voice trailed off.
“That she’d marry him?”
She nodded. “I hoped the same thing. She already feels like my mother.”
“I don’t know what a mother feels like,” Clay said with a tiny smile, “but I suppose if Elise married my father, I’d find out.”
“Are they going to get married?”
“I don’t know. They never say anything about it.”
“Are you still leaving in June?” Amy transferred her packages to one arm and smoothed back an errant lock of Clay’s hair.
“Sloane has to go back to Boston. I guess I’m going too. If he still wants me.”
“He’s your father. Of course he wants you,” she said indignantly.
“Amy, just because he fathered me doesn’t mean he wants me. Haven’t you figured that out yet? How many kids do you know who actually live with both their parents?”
“But that’s divorce, not… not this!”
Clay kissed her forehead. “Sloane thought he was doing the right thing by bringing me to live with him, but he’s not getting anything out of it. Eventually, when people don’t get something out of whatever they’re doing, they stop doing it. He’s playing father now, but he’ll get tired of it. Then he’ll find another place for me.”
“But he’s your father,” she repeated.
“That doesn’t mean anything,” he explained patiently. “The only person you can ever really count on, Amy, is yourself.”
“You can count on me.”
Clay laced his fingers through Amy’s short curls. “I hope we’ll always be friends.”
“But you don’t think we will be.”
“People change.”
“You sure were raised funny.” Amy stood on tiptoe once again and kissed Clay’s nose. “You’ve got a lot to learn.”
The front door opened, and Elise stepped out on the porch. “Are you two ready for dinner?”
“I’m always ready for dinner,” Clay told her, pushing away from the pillar and catching Amy’s hand.
Inside, the house was fragrant with the smells of pine and baked ham, cinnamon and bayberry candles. Amy took a deep breath. “Now this is what Christmas is supposed to smell like. Elise, you never had a tree before, did you?”
“No. My mother thought they were much too messy. If we put up anything, it was always one of those ten-inch ceramic trees with blinking lights.”
“I like this better.”
“So do I.”
“I haven’t had a tree since I left home,” Sloane said, coming to stand next to her. “I’d forgotten how sentimental it can make you feel.”
“We always have a tree,” Amy said. “An artificial one. One year I sprayed it with pine air freshener to make it smell real and Daddy sneezed every time he walked by. I guess I overdid it.”
Clay laughed and squeezed Amy’s hand. “We always had a tree at Destiny. Not fluffy evergreens like this one, usually—they were scarce—but whatever we could get. Everybody made decorations—paper chains, popcorn and cranberries. Then, on Christmas night, we’d stand around it and sing carols.”
“Sounds like you had the most authentic celebration,” Elise said, laying her hand on Clay’s shoulder.
“And I’ll bet you made god’s-eyes for the tree, didn’t you?”
Clay nodded. “It was always beautiful.”
Elise looked at Sloane and saw the regret in his eyes. She shook her head in warning. One thing she was sure of, Clay would not understand Sloane’s sadness and it was better for Sloane to keep his feelings to himself. Clay had his good memories; they were important to him. It was better that he didn’t know the effect they had on his father.
Dinner was a festive affair. Elise was in her glory cooking for the people she loved most in the world. She had planned the menu for weeks, like a new bride serving dinner for the first time to her in-laws. There were baked ham and sweet potatoes rich with butter, brown sugar and spices. There were green beans, overcooked the long, slow Southern way and delicate yeast rolls. There were mincemeat pie and a biiche de Noel made from sponge cake and mocha cream frosting with marzipan mushrooms to make it look like a real Yule log. And finally there were groans from everyone and protests that they could not eat one more bite.
Afterward, Elise and Sloane relaxed together on the sofa while Amy and Clay did the dinner dishes to the loud strains of rock music interspersed with an occasional carol.
“Nothing could point out how unusual those two are more than the fact that they offered to do the dishes,” she told Sloane.
“I never washed dishes. Not once in all the years I was at home.”
“You were a rotten teenager. You should have had one just like you were as punishment.”
“Clay’s too good to be true. It’s like he’s always aware of what adults want from him, and he goes out of his way to give it to them.” He pulled Elise to rest in the crook of his arm and stroked her hair. “I’d be happy if he’d argue with me once in a while or yell at me or throw things.”
“I’m sure he thinks if he did, you’d toss him out on his ear.”
“I wouldn’t.”
She turned a little so that she could brush his cheek with her fingertips. “Then tell him. Tell him you love him and plan to keep him no matter what he does. It would relieve his mind enormously.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“It’s a start.”
“I’m not sure I understand love, but I understand what it’s not. It’s not pretty words. It’s what you do for somebody.”
She thought about his comment as she traced a line down his nose and smoothed her finger over his mustache. Finally she brushed his lips lightly. “I’ll bet that in fifteen years, no one has ever told that boy he’s loved. You should be the first.”
“The last time I told someone I loved them was seventeen years ago.” Sloane caught Elise’s finger between his teeth and bit it lightly. Elise withdrew it. “I believe I was in the throes of passion at the time.”
Elise was shocked at Sloane’s statement. “What about your wife?” she asked.
“I didn’t love her.”
“Why did you marry her then?”
“She was pregnant. She lost the baby right after the wedding.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I wasn’t. She would have made a lousy mother, and I had no desire to be a father. We were both relieved, as awful as that sounds.”
Elise tried to understand. “But you married her? You must have felt something.”
“Duty. And just barely that. Neither of us had any illusions about the potential our marriage had. It was strictly to give the baby a name. I resented her for being careless about taking her pills; she resented me for being in the right place at the wrong time.”
“You love Clay. You would have loved the baby, too.” For some reason, Elise wanted to believe her assertion was true.
“Lise, haven’t you noticed? This is not top-notch parent material you’re sitting next to. Clay snuck up on me, grabbed me by the gut when I least expected it. But a baby? I don’t think so. As much as I regret the years I lost with Clay, I can’t be sure it wasn’t for the best. If I’d had him with me all that time, maybe I wouldn’t love him now.”
She wanted to believe he was just being hard on himself. She knew he was still adjusting to parenthood, trying to come to grips with the sudden onslaught of emotion he felt for his stranger-son. But there was something that rang true in his words. She couldn’t imagine him tenderly holding an infant, walking the floor at night while the baby teethed or screamed from an earache.
Clay was a real person with ideas. But a baby? What was a baby other than a mass of nerves and sensations it couldn’t interpret? A baby took patience, endless unqualified love and faith that your efforts would be rewarded with a healthy, happy human being farther down the line. Elise wasn’t sure that Sloane had those qualities. But she wasn’t sure he didn’t, either. He was always a puzzle.
“It’s funny we should be having this talk now,” she mused. “Tomorrow is all about birth and hope and love.”
“And miracles.”
“Sometimes the biggest miracle is finding we have more inside us than we thought.”
“Always the optimist.”
“Always the pessimist.” Elise leaned over and kissed him, then she drew back. “You loved me seventeen years ago because I saw more in you than anyone else did. Maybe I still do. And maybe I see more than you do.”
“What do you see?”
What did she see? A man who for all his academic titles and success still didn’t truly believe in his own value as a human being? A man who was afraid to reach out, a man who wanted to share himself with his son but didn’t know how? A man who for seventeen years had not uttered the three most precious words in the English language to anyone?
“I see Sloane Tyson. A man who has so much to give that those of us who love him would never be able to take it all if we had a millennium to try.”
“Lise…”
She put her finger against his lips to stop him. “I love you, Sloane. I’m not ashamed of it, and I’m not trying to bind you to me. I just want you to know I still do. I don’t think I ever stopped, and I don’t think I ever will.” She rested her head on his shoulder.
“And what happens when I leave?”
“I go on loving you.” There was a commendable lack of self-pity in her voice. “And we both go on with our lives, glad for the time we did have together.”
Amy and Clay came out of the kitchen, arm in arm. “All clean.” they said together as if they’d rehearsed it.
“Terrific.” Elise tried to sit up and fell back groaning. “I can’t move.”
Sloane gave her a push and watched as she finally got to her feet. It amazed him that she could act so naturally after what she had just said. She had told him she loved him as if it were the most normal, everyday kind of thing to tell someone. He wondered what it said about the depth of her feelings. He wondered what it said about his own reluctance to say the same words.
“It’s time to open presents,” Elise announced. “Under the Christmas tree.” She turned back to Sloane and extended her hand to help him off the sofa.
“Can you lower me to the rug under the tree or shall I call for a crane?” Sloane let her pull him off the sofa. He filed away her words and his thoughts about them to examine another time. He had always been good at living for the moment.
When everyone was sprawled around the tree, Elise passed out packages. “Amy, you go first.”
Amy opened Elise’s gift, exclaiming over the blue and gray sweater she had once admired when they shopped together. Clay was next, opening one of Sloane’s gifts. He seemed genuinely thrilled with a beautifully bound book from a multivolume encyclopedia that was waiting for him at home. Elise would have throttled Sloane, who had been stubbornly determined to give his son something so impersonal and academic, except that she knew that along with the encyclopedia there was also going to be a new stereo for Clay on Christmas morning.
Elise went next, opening a monogrammed leather wallet from Amy, and Sloane followed with a large volume of E.E. Cummings’s poetry from his son. Then they began again. Amy rattled Clay’s present, frowning. “I can’t tell what it is.”
“You’re not supposed to be able to tell,” Clay said helpfully. “If you could tell, I wouldn’t have had to wrap it at all.”
Amy stuck out her tongue at him and began to rip off the wrapping. Inside the small box was a silver and turquoise pin in the shape of a tiny bird. “It’s beautiful.” She leaned over and kissed Clay on the cheek. “Thank you.”
Clay just smiled. Amy handed him his present next, and he performed the rattling ritual before he opened it. It was a colorful plastic watch, exactly like the ones every other student at Miracle Springs High had. “Because you’re usually late,” Amy informed him.
“Is he?” Elise asked with interest as Clay kissed Amy in thanks. “It’s obviously in the Tyson genes.”
Sloane grunted in protest as he handed Elise her present. She unwrapped it slowly, sadly aware that it was the last Christmas they would spend together. She wanted to draw out each moment. She opened up the box from an expensive boutique in nearby Ocala and shook out the burgundy silk that lay inside. It was a blouse, richly detailed with cutwork and lace and Victorian in style. “It’s beautiful. Thank you.”
Sloane stole his own thank-you kiss and then reached for his present. He opened it with no ceremony, just ripped open the wrappings and stared at the contents of the box. “Where did you get this?” he asked finally.
“Don’t you remember?”
Sloane shook his head.
Elise covered his hand with hers. “You gave it to me seventeen years ago. Right before you left town. I’ve kept it all these years. I’m glad I did.”
“What is it, Sloane?” Clay asked curiously.
Sloane held up his old journal. The cover was smudged with ink and the corners were torn away. Even with the smell of Christmas dinner hanging heavily in the air, the journal gave off the pleasant, musty scent of the past. “I kept this from the time I was your age until I turned eighteen,” he told Clay. “I guess it has every feeling I felt in it, every single thing I did.”
“And you gave it to Elise?” Clay asked. It was obvious he wanted to know why.
“Did you ever read it?” Sloane asked, turning to her.
“No. I couldn’t.”
Elise was sure Sloane understood. He had thrown it at her in anger the day he had come to say goodbye to her. “Read this if you ever get lonely,” he’d said. “It’s all you’re ever going to have of me if I leave tomorrow and you don’t.”
And she had been lonely for him. So lonely sometimes that she’d picked up the journal just to feel his presence. But she’d never read it. She’d never wanted to suffer that much. And the day she’d decided not to fly to Vermont to see him once more, she had packed the journal in the attic and never looked at it again.
Not until yesterday when she had unpacked it and wrapped it in Christmas paper.
“I’m not sure I’ll be able to read it either,” he admitted, staring blankly at the cover.
“It’s the past. And now is now. That’s why I’m giving it back to you.”
“Thank you.” His eyes caught hers and held her gaze.
Amy and Clay got to their feet. “I’m going to walk Amy home,” Clay informed them.
“She lives a long way from here. I’ll drive you,” Sloane said, still looking at Elise.
“We’re walking.” Clay took Amy’s hand. “I’ll be home late.”
Elise smiled at Clay’s show of spirit. She could see that his father appreciated it, too. “Fine,” he said, giving in gracefully. “I’ll see you later.”
There was a flurry of goodbyes and thank-yous, then the two teenagers departed. She went to the living-room window and watched them disappear down the street. Sloane came to stand behind her, and his arms encircled her waist.
“Two gifts, Lise. You gave me two gifts.”
She knew immediately what he meant. “My love and our past,” she said.
Sloane was silent, but he pulled her closer.
“Both were freely given,” she said. “No strings.”
He spoke after a long silence. “You’re coming over tomorrow?”
“I still have to give Clay the book I bought for him.”
“Come early. I’ll make brunch.” Sloane’s hands worked their way up her sides to her shoulders. Slowly, he turned her around. “Are you in a hurry to get rid of me now?”
Elise shook her head.
“How do soft carols, another glass of eggnog and me under the Christmas tree sound?”
“Like the best Christmas present of all.” She lifted her hands to the top button of his shirt. “But let’s save the carols and eggnog for later.”
“Much later,” he agreed, bending his head until his lips were a fraction of an inch from hers. He began to tug her blouse out of her skirt until his fingers grazed the soft skin of her stomach.
“Much later,” they said together. And then they didn’t say anything for a long, long time.