A Holiday to Remember (13 page)

Jayne got stiffly to her feet. “I think we have some housekeeping to take care of.”

She spent the morning in the dormitory with the girls, requiring them to collect their dirty clothes in piles and clean up their rooms, even to the extent of sweeping the floor.

“We’re not going to be here,” Haley muttered, trying to use the broom with one hand. “What difference does it make if our room is neat?”

“It’ll be nicer to come back to.” Monique took the broom
out of the younger girl’s hand. “Let me do this. You’re just making a mess.”

Once their rooms were neat, Jayne had them each pack a bag for three nights. “If we need to be gone longer, we’ll come back for more clothes. Or maybe,” she said, eyeing Selena’s mountain of laundry, “we’ll spend a day at the Wash-A-Rama.”

With their bags lined up in the entry hall, they returned to the kitchen in time to see the snowplow erupt onto the circular front drive. Jayne allowed the girls to go watch, with the admonition to be careful and stay out of the way.

She put on her coat and went to supervise, of course. The steps and walks Chris had cleared meant she didn’t have to wear boots or tramp through the snow. But she couldn’t say thank-you because he’d stayed out of sight all morning.

After one more soup-and-sandwich lunch, the afternoon proved to be perhaps the most difficult four hours of the whole ordeal. Seven girls wanted to be somewhere else, a somewhere that included all the conveniences modern life had to offer. Sitting by the fire had lost its charm. They didn’t want to read, play games or work puzzles. Even their beautiful Peace Tree couldn’t hold their attention.

“I want music,” Selena said. “I want to dance!” Singing to herself, she gyrated around the library in a very energetic version of salsa dancing.

Taryn stood at the window, watching the melting snow drip off nearby branches. “I’m bringing my favorite movies with me.” She listed all the latest fantasy epics. “That’ll keep me going for at least three days.”

“Hotel rooms don’t have DVDs,” Haley said in a disparaging tone. “You only get to watch what’s on their menu.”

“Well, then, I’ll go buy a DVD and hook it up.”

Beth rolled her eyes. “Yeah, right. I’m sure you know how to hook up a DVD player.”

“I do,” Taryn insisted. “I’m not stupid, like some people.”

Beth got to her feet. “Like who?”

Jayne stepped up beside them. “Each of you, take a separate corner of this room and stay there. We’re not having this kind of argument. Not today. Not any day.”

The two disengaged and went to different parts of the library. Jayne eyed the other girls sitting around waiting. “Everyone understands the plan, I hope. A peaceful afternoon until we are ready to leave?”

The five girls nodded and returned to being bored and sleepy. Sarah, at least, had a book to read. Monique fidgeted; Yolanda snored lightly as she napped. Selena painted her fingernails, and then Haley’s.

One of the outside doors banged open, and they all jumped.

“You know it’s Mr. Hammond,” Selena said, giggling. “He’s always doing that.”

“You’re right.” Chris stood in the door to the library. In his arms he carried a huge stainless steel bowl, with another of equal size turned upside down as a top. “Quick, somebody go get bowls and spoons. I have something special here.”

He went to the library table farthest from the fireplace. Looking at the mahogany tabletop, he quirked an eyebrow. “Maybe we need a plastic cloth, too. Or plastic sacks. Something waterproof.”

Jayne lifted an eyebrow as she looked at him. “What have you done?”

“Quick,” he said. “I’m freezing to death.”

Yolanda brought bowls and spoons and Jayne laid out the plastic tablecloth they’d been using in the kitchen. With a sigh, Chris set his burden on the table.

“This, ladies, is a delicacy only available in winter, and only when it snows. Not only that, but you must have the purest, cleanest snow for this particular treat.”

Haley gazed up at him as if he were a magician. “What is it?”

Edging the tips of his fingers under the rim of the top bowl, Chris revealed his treasure with a flourish. “Snow cream!”

When they all just stared at him, he took a step back. “You don’t know what snow cream is? How sad is that? Look.”

From his coat pocket, he drew a bottle of pure maple syrup, no doubt from the main kitchen. “I hiked way up the mountain to find this snow—no footprints or paw prints or hoofprints anywhere near, just rock underneath and rocks above. Now we’ll take this pure snow and drizzle it with syrup, like so.”

He poured a thin stream of maple syrup over the snow in the bowl.

“Like a golden cobweb,” Sarah said.

He nodded. “And then…we eat.”

Jayne wondered, as she savored her own snow cream, how many times this week she had stood back and watched Chris Hammond make some kind of magic for these girls. Not with disappearing bunnies or cascading card tricks, but with his own generous spirit and cheerful good nature. A situation that might very well have aggravated them all had been enjoyable, most of the time, because he’d been there.

Her girls would miss him. The rest of their vacation simply would not be the same. Warmer, perhaps, and more comfortable. But not nearly as much fun.

And Jayne didn’t have to remember a single moment before this past week to know she would miss Chris Hammond for the rest of her life.

J
AYNE DROVE
the largest school van to the circular drive in front of the manor and parked by the steps. The girls carried their bags out from the entry hall for Chris to load into the luggage space.

Each girl gave him a hug after he’d taken her bag. He stopped trying to remember all the different ways they said thank-you—he was too busy keeping his tears contained.

A small sedan parked behind the van, and Jayne got out. She handed Chris the keys. “Feel free to keep this car as long as you’re in town. When you’re finished, just leave it with the sheriff’s department. They’ll get it back to the school.”

He nodded. “Do I have to fill the tank up before I turn it in?”

She gave a rueful smile. “Consider the gas your Peace Holiday gift.”

“I don’t have one for you.”

The girls were playing around in the relatively warm afternoon, checking out the melting snow, rediscovering plants and rocks and benches that had been hidden by the blizzard. Jayne looked at them all, and then shook her head. “You’ve given us a week of gifts, from the fire that kept us warm to the games you played and…” her eyes met his “…and the stories you told. None of us will forget.”

“Promise?”

“Amnesia jokes are not funny.” She frowned at him and then, suddenly, put her arms around his neck and her lips to his cheek.

“Thank you,” Jayne whispered. “You’ll never know….”

Her words trailed off, and her arms closed tightly around his neck. Then she stepped back, making no effort to hold back the tears.

“Take care. Drive carefully,” she added, with emphasis. “No more accidents.”

He held up his hand. “I swear.”

Turning away, she called to the girls. “Everybody in the van. Make sure you have your purse, bag, book, whatever you brought out here. No arguing,” she said, even as someone inside the van protested, “about who sits where. Let’s just get to town.”

With the driver’s door open, she looked at Chris again. “I’ve checked the building and locked the doors. All you have to do is drive away.” For a moment she looked down, as if she wanted to say something else.

But she simply waved, got into the van and started the engine. As they followed the circular drive, the girls rolled down the windows and put their arms out to wave goodbye, reminding Chris of a beetle with legs too short to reach the ground.

The van disappeared into the forest lining the long drive from the highway to Hawkridge Manor, the drive he’d walked a week ago with anger and determination overcoming the pain of his injuries.

Well, he wasn’t angry anymore. But there was plenty of pain left to go around. Some of that pain would simply have to fade with time. Nothing else could be done. But he had caused some of it, and he intended to make amends.

Starting with his plans for dinner tonight.

The romantic, candlelit meal Chris had started planning for that evening failed to materialize.

He arrived at Charlie’s cabin to find a note on the door: “Dr Appt.” The doctor’s office had sent him to the hospital. At his granddad’s weekly chemotherapy session, the doctor had detected a problem with Charlie’s heartbeat.

So instead of getting cleaned up and buying flowers, Chris spent the late afternoon and evening hours sitting by his grandfather’s bed, holding the old man’s thin, dry hand.

“What am I doing here, anyway, wearing this stupid excuse for a nightgown and hooked up to all these machines?” Charlie rolled his head fretfully on the pillow. “Why such a fuss? We all know I’m headed for the exit door, one way or the other.”

“The rest of us would like to delay that exit as long as possible. More water?” Chris picked up the pitcher to fill the glass on the bed tray, then realized Charlie hadn’t taken a sip since the last time he’d filled it.

“Hell, no, I don’t want water.” His granddad pushed the rolling tray away. “I want to know what you’re doing here with me in the first place. You look like death warmed over.”

Chris winced, and Charlie cackled. “Well, you do. When’s the last time you had a shave, boy?”

“The morning I left your house.”

“And you haven’t changed your clothes in about as long.”

“Pretty much.”

“No wonder you stink.”

“I do?” He sniffed a fold of his shirt. “I guess I do.”

“But you say you found Juliet?” Charlie shook his head. “It’s hard to believe. I mean, what else were we supposed to think? When I got there, you were lying up against a tree, dead for all I knew, with that car burning like an inferno nearby. Nobody thought she could have just walked away.”

Chris rubbed his eyes with his free hand. “We’ll probably never know exactly what happened, or how she ended up with Elizabeth Jayne Thomas. Unless Jayne remembers.”

Charlie didn’t answer; he’d dozed off again. He’d been doing that since Chris arrived—falling asleep, then popping awake again to resume the conversation exactly where they’d left off. The nurse said the medications were to blame.

For the first time in five hours, Chris released Charlie’s hand and slumped into his chair, head back and eyes closed. He’d been looking forward to that change of clothes, the shower and shave Charlie said he needed. By now he should have been sharing a gourmet dinner with Jayne, making her smile, undoing some of the damage from the last few days. Even with seven girls watching, he’d have managed to at least hold her hand.

“But you say she doesn’t remember a thing,” Charlie continued, as if his fifteen-minute nap had never happened. “Not any of the time you two spent together, or how she ended up with this other grandmother?”

Chris lifted his head and opened his eyes. “Not a minute.”

“Maybe that’s all to the good. Some of what happened, she shouldn’t have to live with.”

“Right.” He hated to be the one who’d brought the rape back to her. And he didn’t know how to take it away again. Those scary dreams of hers were as close as she ever needed to come to remembering.

Charlie tapped his fingers on the bed. “In the meantime, you’ve got some work to do.”

“I think so.”

“Sounds to me like she’s got good reason not to trust you.”

“Yes.”

His granddad scowled at him. “So what are you doing hanging around here?”

“I came to spend time with you, Charlie.”

“Well, six hours is about as much time as we ever spent in the same room together, son. I’m getting tired of waking up and seeing you staring at me.”

“So you’re telling me to leave?”

“I’m telling you to go get some rest. And then see about wooing this woman you want. Bring her to me—I’ll set her straight.”

Grinning, Chris got to his feet. “Is that a threat?”

“You bet. Now go.” Charlie waved him out of the room. “I’ll still be around tomorrow.”

“I’m holding you to that.”

After so many hours in a heated building, Chris was relieved to step outside into the cold night air. The world of electricity seemed strange after a week without. He’d lost his tolerance for asphalt parking lots under the glare of bright white lights and the intrusion of illuminated building signs. The stars didn’t shine so brightly with all this competition. He really missed the blackness of the Hawkridge nights.

Driving down Ridgeville’s Main Street, he was surprised to see all the lighted Christmas decorations—shining Santas, wreaths and bells and snowmen. A lighted Christmas tree stood in practically every window. After the girls’ Peace Day celebration, Chris had practically forgotten about Christmas.

Then, as he registered at the reception desk of the Ridgeville Inn, he realized today was Christmas Day. His weary eyes finally saw the garlands of greenery hung from the doors and windows and the staircase banister. He turned toward the elevator and, amazed, took a step backward at the sight of a huge Christmas tree decorated with gold and maroon glass balls and thousands of twinkling lights. Somewhere—the dining room, maybe—a piano played Christmas music.

He should have wished Charlie a Merry Christmas before he left the hospital; they might not share another one. Regret made Chris even wearier.

Once he got to his room, a long, hot shower revived his spirits somewhat. Shaving, he decided, could wait until tomorrow. Clean underwear, socks, sweatpants and a T-shirt definitely made the world a better place. The mirror in the bathroom showed that his bruises had turned an ugly shade of green, splotched with yellow and brown.

Those old aches and pains, he thought, were probably not as much punishment as he deserved.

Taking a candy bar and a soda from the room’s minibar, Chris sat on the bed, staring at the phone. What was Jayne doing with her Christmas night? Not celebrating, he knew. What would she say if he wished her a Merry Christmas?

Would she talk to him at all?

The phone stared back without answering. There was only one way to find out.

J
AYNE’S EVENING HADN’T
turned out as she’d expected.

On the drive from the school into Ridgeville, the girls had concluded that their choice for dinner would be pizza.

Sarah, riding in the front passenger seat, looked over at Jayne. “Is that okay, Ms. Thomas?”

“I think it sounds delicious. And we won’t have to dress up.” Since all Jayne really wanted to do was crawl into bed and pull the covers over her head, a slight delay for pizza didn’t matter very much.

As they reached the outskirts of town, the girls began to exclaim at the holiday decorations on houses, barns and fences. When they turned onto Main Street, the shops were closed but the windows displayed every sort of holiday scene.

Jayne glanced at the date on the dashboard clock display. “Good grief. It’s Christmas Day.”

Sarah laughed. “That’s right, it is. Merry Christmas, everybody.” A chorus of greetings responded.

“Happy Yule.”

“Mazel tov.”

“Merry Merry!”

“Here’s to world peace,” Yolanda said. And all the girls laughed.

Jayne wondered what Chris and Charlie would do for Christmas Day. Her yearning to be with them was silly, she knew. She hadn’t remembered anything about
before.
She didn’t like Christmas, she’d told him several times.

Still, she would have felt better not being alone.

The Ridgeville Inn very kindly gave them three rooms on the same floor—two connecting ones for the girls, and a room across the hall for Jayne. The girls all took turns flipping lights on and off, celebrating the luxury of life without flashlights. They switched on the televisions and immediately
began to squabble over which program to watch. Jayne had to referee the fight over renting “in room” films, as well.

“One movie a day in one room a day,” she told them.

“But I haven’t seen any of these movies,” Taryn wailed. “Can’t we have a movie in each room? Every day?”

“No.”

“Could we have two movies a day in one room?”

“No. One movie, one room, each day. And no adult ratings. General audience movies only.”

Monique groaned. “We might as well watch cartoons.”

“Those are the rules. If I discover you’ve broken them—and I will, because I’ll have daily printouts of the room charges—there will be consequences, just as if we were still in school.”

“Can we have room service?” Beth asked. “They have chips and dips, and cheese trays and hot artichoke dip with pita toast and—”

“That’s the good news.” She smiled at them. “The pizza restaurant is closed for the holiday.” Predictable groans greeted her announcement. “Room service is our best option. So you can study the menu and decide what you’d like to eat while I take a shower.” She turned to Sarah. “Don’t let them loose.”

Sarah smiled. “We’ll be fine.”

The problem with being alone was that she had too much time to think…about Chris. She pictured him driving down the mountain, turning onto River Road and pulling to a stop at his grandfather’s house. Her mind showed her a wood cabin with a stone chimney—was that memory, or something he’d told her?

He’d mentioned the cabin in the stories, she recalled, when Juliet—she—had visited. Today, Charlie, his grandfather, would be glad to see him. Chris would get into clean clothes—his old ones had been a little rank—and the two men, old and
young, would talk. Maybe Chris would tell him about finding Juliet. And losing her again.

Out of the shower, Jayne took the time to rub lotion on every inch of skin she could reach. The steamy mirror reflected a blurred image of her body—not the slim, agile form of a girl who could climb mountains and trees and do somersaults through the grass. Jayne didn’t remember ever being slender. Had Elizabeth Jayne fattened her up as a disguise, like a goose being raised to provide liver for paté?

Such treachery still stunned her. She turned the blow dryer on High, hoping to blow out or brush off the hurt. It didn’t work, of course, but clean lingerie, slacks, shirt and sweater left her feeling ready for almost anything. Even room service for eight.

She allowed the girls to order anything they wanted, which turned out better than she expected. Yes, the servers delivered seven different appetizer dishes, and five different large pizzas blanketed an entire bed. But at the end of the evening, only three boxes of leftovers remained. Jayne suspected those would be empty before long.

“No one leaves this floor until tomorrow morning,” she told them, giving her instructions for the night. “No one leaves their room after eleven, so get the drinks and candy bars you want before then. Be quiet in the hallway—other people are trying to sleep. We don’t have anywhere else to go if they kick us out. Except back to Hawkridge.”

“Oh, we wouldn’t want to go there,” Yolanda declared.

“No movies,” Haley added.

“Exactly,” Jayne said, smiling. “Do not destroy the room, the furniture or the televisions. Please avoid spilling drinks and grinding food into the carpet. Remember, one movie in one room.”

“Shoot,” Taryn muttered. “I hoped you’d forget.”

Selena looked at her with eyebrows raised. “This is Tommy you’re talking about.”

“Ahem.” Jayne cleared her throat. “I expect you to represent the school in a way that makes me proud. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to call. Just dial my room number, 593. Questions?”

The girls shook their heads.

“Then I hope you have a good night watching free TV and one movie rated for general audiences.”

“We got the message,” Beth said, holding the door for her to leave. “Good night, Ms. Thomas.”

“Good night, girls.”

Smiling, Jayne crossed the hall and let herself into her own room. She’d never gotten to know a group of students quite so well. She would miss them when school started and life returned to normal.

Just as she pulled her pajama top over her head, the phone rang.

Maybe she wouldn’t miss them, after all. How could they possibly need her again already?

She sighed and picked up the phone. “What now?”

Chris said, “I guess you were expecting someone else?”

H
E HEARD HER GASP
over the phone line. “I, um, I thought the girls were calling.”

Always the girls. He supposed he’d better get used to it. “Do you need to keep the line free? I can let you go.”

“Oh, no. That’s…I mean, they can come across the hall, if it’s an emergency.”

“You have a room to yourself? That’s a restful change.” And this was a silly conversation, not at all what he wanted to say.

“I’m not sure the girls won’t jump out of their rooms like
popcorn kernels escaping a hot kettle.” She gave that low chuckle he loved. “But the absence of noise is wonderful.”

“I’m glad. You deserve…well, a lot of wonderful things.” Could he sound more adolescent? “I wanted to wish you a Merry Christmas.”

“Oh.” After a pause, she said, “Merry Christmas to you, Chris.” Her voice sounded…warm. Almost happy. “Did you get to your grandfather’s house without trouble?”

“Not exactly.”

“What happened?”

“Charlie’s sick.” He described his panicked exit from the doctor’s office to the hospital.

“Oh, Chris, I’m so sorry. Will he recover?”

“This time, probably. He’s on his third round with the cancer, though, and the chemo is just to keep him as comfortable as possible.” He wiped his eyes on the sleeve of his T-shirt. “They aren’t sure how long he’ll last.”

“I know that must be hard for you. Watching someone you love fade away requires more strength than seems possible, sometimes.” Her soft tone and gentle words gave him comfort he hadn’t known he needed.

He hoped he had the strength to offer the same. “You were with your grandmother when she passed away, weren’t you?”

“Yes. Except…” The gentleness disintegrated, to be replaced with cold steel.

Chris hardened his own resolve. “She wasn’t really your grandmother, you were going to say?”

“Well, evidently she wasn’t. There’s…proof.”

“I’ve been thinking about Elizabeth Jayne.” He cleared his throat. “Although it’s easy to be angry about what she did, maybe we have to offer her some understanding.”