A Christmas Hope (3 page)

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Authors: Joseph Pittman

BOOK: A Christmas Hope
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A blaring horn from behind caused her to slam on the brakes and that's when a loud smack jolted them forward.
“Shit,” Nora called out, tossing the car into P
ARK
.
They had been rear-ended.
“Mom!”
“Sorry, honey. Are you okay?”
“Yeah. Just surprised me is all.”
“Okay, wait here, let me see what happened.”
Nora unclenched her seat belt, not her teeth, as she made her way out of her prized car to assess the damage and to confront the dumb idiot who had crashed into her. What she saw was a battered old farm truck, two people up inside the high cabin. As she made her way toward the driver's side door, she stole a look at the back of her prized Mustang. The fool had taken out a brake light, left a small gash on the side bumper. She could see the bright red paint on the grille of the truck.
“Hey, look what you did,” she said, pointing to the damage.
The man behind the wheel stepped out, closing the door behind him.
“What I did? You just pulled out, didn't even look to see if there was traffic.”
“Traffic? In Linden Corners? Not exactly two concepts that go together.”
“Nora?”
“Excuse me?”
“You're Nora, aren't you? Gerta's daughter.”
Nora blinked away the snow that was falling in her face, clearing her eyes. Who was this farmer and why did he know who she was? She looked over at the other passenger in the truck, saw a young girl with a scrunched-up nose peering over the high dashboard, and that's when she knew who he was, knew who the girl was, and what they were doing here just a short distance from Gerta Connors's house.
“Brian Duncan,” she said, placing her hands on her hips for effect.
“You recognize me?”
“No. But one and one in this case still equals four. I'm guessing that's Janey Sullivan in the truck. My mom talks about the two of you all the time.”
“Small world, huh? She talks of you often, too, especially lately,” he said. “We were just heading to your mother's house to pick her up to take her to the annual village Halloween party over at the community center. We call it the Spooktacular.”
Nora allowed a knowing smile to cross her lips despite herself; she'd guessed it right. Linden Corners would never let a holiday pass by without some kind of celebration; like its middle name was “annual.” “How nice. But I don't get your costume,” she said, assessing his faded jeans, scuffed boots, and red flannel shirt. “You some kind of farmer?”
“Ha ha, no, I haven't changed yet. Janey in there, she's a windmill.”
Of course she was, Nora thought.
“I'm sorry about your car,” Brian said, “but you did just pull out without warning. I tried to warn you, but . . . you know, crunch.”
“Yeah, crunch,” Nora said.
Silence hovered between them, snow beginning to coat their shoulders.
Brian broke the quiet before it became deafening. “What do you say we get the kids inside where it's warm, then we can figure out what to do . . . about this.” He spread his hands before the damage to her car. The truck appeared fine, just old and apparently indestructible.
Nora had other ideas about what she wanted to do, high on the list was wringing this guy's neck. Her car! But she knew Brian was right, get the kids out of the cold, deal with things then. Mother mode before lawyer, she told herself. She could hear her mother's words ring inside her mind, telling her that Brian is very practical and wise, and he had an easy, calming nature to his six-foot frame. No wonder Gerta liked to be around him, he had soothed her during a difficult transition period. Now it was Nora facing one, but she didn't need his bit of calm. She had no need for the services of Brian Duncan.
She gave him one last look. Even after an accident he had an affable way about him, from the gee-whiz smile to the thick brown hair where snowflakes were making him gray. Then she couldn't resist taking one last look at the damage to her car, wondering if it could be repaired. She wondered if the same applied to her.
“What's that they say?” Brian was asking.
Nora realized Brian was still talking to her. “I'm sorry, I must have zoned out. What did you say?”
“They say most car accidents occur when you're almost home.”
Words failed Nora. What he'd said, she knew it was just another of those homespun adages courtesy of the quaint village of Linden Corners, yet the words rang deep inside her. She craned her neck to look over at her childhood home, so close she could almost touch it.
Yup, almost home. And it was no accident she was here.
C
HAPTER
2
B
RIAN
B
efore his unexpected move to Linden Corners, Brian Duncan was never a leader, as he was always content to be a follower. He had a tendency, sometimes annoyingly, to wait for others to plan the big events in life, happy to embrace the group dynamic. How things had changed in the nearly two years since this place had become home. Surrounded by a town full of residents, all of them dressed up in an array of crazy costumes and all seemingly having a good time, he had to admit he'd done a good job with the turnout. He'd been skeptical at first when Martha Martinson approached him about planning the village's annual Halloween party: “It will be good for you to get to know the longtime residents more, those who don't come to your tavern and drink their lives away.”
“Oh, the boring people,” Brian had remarked.
Still, it wasn't difficult to book the space, hire the DJ, ask a few of the local moms to help him decorate—many of them he knew thanks to Janey—and there you have it, the Eckert's Landing Halloween Spooktacular, now in full, gory swing. It was just after seven o'clock at night and much of the trick-or-treating was over, as least for the younger kids like nine-year-old Janey. The parents were happy to let their kids run around now in their costumes while under the protective cover of the auditorium at the Corner Community Center, known locally as the CCC, located just down the street from Edgestone, the local retirement center. Brian had been sure to pass along invites to the folks over there, thinking they would enjoy watching the children acting out their costumes with the enthusiasm only sugar produced. The party was scheduled to end at eight, when the kids and probably the seniors would go home and any of the remaining adults who wanted to continue the night's festivities could do so down at George's Tavern. Brian was expected at his business after the final prizes for best costume had been given out.
For now, he sipped at a glass of too-sweet fruit punch, watching as Janey interacted with her friends and classmates, running around the perimeter of the auditorium with a willowy grace as though the wind had taken control of her. She looked adorable dressed up as the windmill, her arms and legs serving as the four sails, countless Popsicle sticks glued to an old bedsheet with white lights brightening not just her mood but the room. Right now she was spinning her arms as she ran, and the effect was kind of cool, Brian had to admit.
“She looks happy.”
Brian turned to see his friend Cynthia Knight standing beside him.
“Hey, hi, wasn't sure if you were going to make it,” Brian said, giving her a quick peck on the cheek.
“What, and have Jake miss his first Halloween party? I don't think so.”
Jacob Knight was the little miracle boy, a bundle of blue eyes and blond hair, who was hanging out in a pouch that clung to Cyn's shoulders. He was born back in July in the middle of the night, healthy, happy, a gift to parents who had long ago given up on ever having a child. He'd given new life to the residents of Linden Corners, a symbol that even in the face of tragedy inspiration was always around the block.
“What's he supposed to be?” Brian asked.
“He's an angel,” Cynthia said. “No costume necessary.”
“And you?”
“I'm the Goddess of Sleep Deprivation,” she said. “See these bags under my eyes?”
“Ha ha,” Brian said. “Where's Bradley?”
“Parking the car. Ever the good husband and doting father, he dropped us off at the front entrance,” she said. “Don't worry, he'll be here, he wouldn't miss out on your lame attempt at a costume.”
As if on cue, the usually buttoned-up corporate tax lawyer Bradley Knight appeared, dressed in blue jeans and an unusual-for-him blue-checked flannel shirt. He made his way through the crowd, kissed his wife and the head of his sweet baby before shaking Brian's hand. Standing together, both men looked like twins.
“Really, guys, farmers? Those are the best costumes you could come up with?” asked Martha Martinson, coming up from behind the small group. She was the proprietor of the Five O' Diner, and she knew of what she spoke. The diner opened at five in the morning, catered to the local farmers who didn't feel like cooking for themselves.
“Brian was supposed to wear a suit,” Bradley said. “See, he was supposed to be me, I was supposed to be him.”
“I just can't wear suits anymore,” Brian admitted with a noticeable shudder. “Not since I left behind my old life in New York. I wore them every day for nearly ten years and I nearly strangled myself with those horrible ties. I know Halloween is about pretending to be someone else, but the idea of playing my old self... no thanks. I didn't like it then and I won't like it now. Sometimes even Brian Duncan doesn't compromise.”
“You got to be careful of someone who refers to themselves in the third person,” Cynthia said. “A sleep-deprived Cynthia should know.”
“Look over there, you see that? You guys are dressed just like Marla and Darla,” Martha said, pointing to a far corner where the notorious Linden Corners twins were huddling together over slices of pepperoni pizza. Indeed, Martha was right, both ladies wore simple blue jeans and thick flannel shirts, straw hats completing the image.
“Great, so now when people ask who we are, we'll say Marla and Darla.”
“Now that's funny, we can say they're Brian and Bradley,” Martha said, slapping Brian's arm before moving off, no doubt to spread the word to everyone assembled. She wouldn't miss a soul. Humor in Linden Corners didn't go very deep.
“All right you three, go have fun,” Brian said, “and, Bradley, no need to stick so close to me, you know?”
“Sure thing, Darla.”
“Hey, why am I her and not Marla?”
They all laughed before the Knight family went off to join in the festivities of the spooky celebration, leaving Brian to himself for a few moments of needed peace. He looked at his handiwork, the auditorium all aglow with orange and black lights, streamers, the “Monster Mash” song playing for like the eighth time already tonight, with the kids dancing and giggling at the silly, ghoulish-sounding lyrics each and every time. He was glad everyone was having a good time, even if he himself wasn't fully embracing the event. The party was missing one of its chief organizers. Gerta Connors, who had, of course, supplied the party with plenty of pumpkin pies. She was still back home helping her daughter and grandson get settled. But she had promised to make an appearance, “and hopefully coax them to join me, I think it would be good for them.”
“For Travis,” Nora had said.
“See you soon,” Gerta said to Brian before he left them to their homecoming.
Brian recalled Gerta mentioning that Nora was coming for a visit, but from what he'd seen in the backseat of her now-banged-up Mustang it looked like more like Nora and her son were making Linden Corners their new home. It wasn't his place to pry, and while Gerta was usually very forthcoming with details about the lives of her daughters, so much so that when she didn't say anything she spoke volumes, this was one of the rare cases when she hadn't gone into details. Brian had to wonder if she even knew the whole story. The arrival of Nora Rainer was indeed a curious case. From the sour expression he saw upon her face, she didn't appear happy to have returned home, and him smashing into the rear of her car was not exactly getting their homecoming off on the right foot. If he were Nora, the last place he'd want to be was at a party full of people who considered gossip a sport.
Brian continued to absorb the party's antics, noticing a table of older men and women, most of them not dressed in costumes but enjoying the atmosphere nonetheless. At the center of attention was the white-haired ball of fire known as Elsie Masters, the longtime proprietor of her own antique shop located down the street from the tavern. She'd hit her seventieth birthday two months ago and, widowed more years than she'd been married, word was she had opted to sell the building and business when she moved into Edgestone. Her laughter dominating the small circle of people, she appeared to have made the transition to Linden Corners' retirement community all too well. Presently she was engaged in conversation with an older, silver-haired gentleman, his face undecipherable behind a plastic phantom mask. Elsie appeared to be flirting with a man whose presence was ghostly at best.
Brian, in his usual state of worry, sometimes wondered if the retirement home might be a good place for Gerta Connors as well. How he worried about her living alone in that big house, especially during the long winter months, which, in this town, could mean most of the year. He supposed he should let the issue rest for now, what with Nora and her son, Travis, back in the village and living with her. Brian felt a pang of jealousy; he didn't come from much family—parents, a sister, a nephew—and what he did have, well, distance was a word that came to mind, even during hugs. Gerta Connors had become a combination of mother figure and grandmother, to him and to Janey, and he was forever grateful to have her as part of their lives.
In fact, the plan had been for her to join them tonight for the party, their makeshift family as tight as any blood relations in town. Gerta loved nothing more, outside of her family, than the strong community bond that existed in Linden Corners. And then, as if Brian had willed it, there she was coming down the stairs from the main entrance, and she wasn't alone. Brian couldn't help it, his heart swelled.
Nora was escorting her mother inside, the sturdy Travis at their side. Two of them wore eager smiles as well as costumes. Gerta was dressed, hysterically, as Queen Elizabeth herself, complete with crown and a scepter made from aluminum foil, and as the residents of the village began to notice her entrance they curtsied. Gerta played the role to the hilt with a final, royal wave that had them all clapping. Travis had apparently found some odd assemblage of clothes in the attic that helped transform him into a pirate, his mother's eye makeup completing the look. Nora wore sensible slacks and a sweater.
“Glad you could make it,” Brian said. “Are you Betty Crocker?”
“No, I'm an accident victim,” Nora stated rather defensively. “You didn't leave me much choice in coming. I wasn't about to let my mother drive herself in this snow. Seriously, Brian, there's like six inches out there on the ground already and it's not even November.”
Brian checked his watch. “Got less than five hours to go.”
“Gee, can't wait.”
“You can't turn back the clock, Nora, dear,” Gerta said. “And you can't wish it forward, either, what's the point of that? All you do is lose precious time worrying about things you can't control rather than enjoying what time you have. Please, dear, just try and relax for once. My daughter here, Brian, she was always the uptight one of all my girls.”
“Thanks, Mom, I'm so feeling the love in this room,” Nora said. “So, Brian, how about you act the role of a gentleman and get me a drink. Wine will do, beer if I have to.”
“Party's dry,” Brian said.
“Excuse me?”
“It's a party for the kids, we agreed there'd be no booze.”
“Don't you run my dad's tavern?”
Not exactly true, but for now he went with it. Truth was, he owned the building and the bar, a Christmas gift last year from her mother, but Nora didn't know that detail. “Sure,” he said, “and when this party is over, you're more than welcome to stop by and I'll get you that wine you want. Though I have to warn you . . .”
“Yeah, I know, Dad never was any good at picking wines. Called it firewater, you were better off with water and a shot of prayer,” she said, a hint of nostalgia crossing her pretty face. Like she was reaching back to remember her beloved father, the affable George Connors. “You know, Brian, the cheap wine is one tradition you could lose.”
Brian nodded. “So, fruit punch or cider?”
“Cider, I'll pretend.”
Brian started off toward the refreshment table, only to return moments later with plastic tumblers for them all. Along the way he'd found Janey and asked her to join them, suggesting perhaps she could invite Travis to join her and her friends, her nose scrunching up when he said it. A typical Janey look, though Brian had to be glad the idea of boys was still unappealing to his daughter. She'd only just turned nine a couple weeks ago and he was more than happy to keep her entrenched in the relative innocence of single digits. What would he do next year, or even three years from now when those dreaded teenage years reared their ugly head? He stole a look back at Cynthia and Bradley, happily showing off their gurgling little guy and he realized he'd missed out on all that infant stuff. How he and Janey had come together to form their family, it had been a long road, one tinged with much sadness but intermixed with enough happy moments to get them this far. They were a team, and they looked out for each other.
So, protest giving way to the generosity that embodied this town, Janey took hold of Travis's hand. He looked nervous as she led him toward a group of kids who were dancing up a storm. Some hip-hop song began and the kids squealed with delight, moving suddenly in a jerky motion that was lost on Brian. But Travis joined in, soon swallowed up by the group of kids. Travis was a nice-looking kid, and even if Janey was too young to see it, a couple of the older girls happily took the new boy into their mix.

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