Celebration (26 page)

Oftentimes, when they worked late at night and both were tired, she would share a cup of coffee with the reporter and let her hair down. As a friend, Jack had every right to ask the questions he was asking. “It's okay to ask, Jack. I didn't tell him. I suppose it's possible he could know from someone in town. It is what it is, Jack. Life is going to go on no matter who comes to dinner Christmas Eve and no matter if I'm divorced or not. I guess I'm more a widow than a divorcee, but then I filed for divorce first. I should know the answer to that, but I don't,” Kristine said fretfully.

“I don't think it matters in the scheme of things, Kristine. So, how's the Christmas shopping going. I know how to put doll buggies together and all that girl stuff. My sister has three girls, and I always have to do it.”

Kristine laughed. “I'll remember that. I think I have it covered. When the girls wake up we're going to start to decorate the house. It's snowing. That means any minute now I expect to be riddled with Christmas spirit.”

“Good for you. It's snowing here in Washington, too. The city is about to shut down. I'll see you Christmas Eve, Kristine.”

“You're sure your family won't mind?”

“Not at all. They're going to Oklahoma to spend the holidays with my sister who just had a new baby. The first boy, so it's a big deal. I'm going for New Year's.”

After Kristine hung up, she checked on her sleeping grandchildren and the dogs before she dressed for the outdoors in a heavy jacket and fur-lined boots. It was time to gather the evergreens to decorate the house. Time to bring the stuff from the Kelly farm inside so she could try to figure out what it all meant. Time to put something in the Crock-Pot for dinner before the girls woke from their naps.

It was midafternoon when Kristine sat down by the kitchen fire to sip at a cup of freshly brewed coffee. The dogs stirred but remained in their cocoon, warm and content. The pungent smell of evergreens on the newspapers by the back door was more heady than the expensive perfume on her dresser. She inhaled deeply as she stared through the window at the falling snow. In another hour or so it would look like a winter wonderland outdoors. Perhaps if the girls were up to it, they would go outside and make Christmas angels in the snow. She'd done that with her own mother when she was little, but she'd never done it with her own children.

“The past is prologue, Kristine. Don't look back. You can't unring the bell,” she murmured as she got up to refill her coffee cup.

Her world was almost perfect. If it was a perfect world, would she be bouncing off the ceiling with happiness? If everything was perfect, where would the challenge be? What would there be to look forward to?

Kristine eyed the beige wall phone, willing it to ring. It did. She bounded out of the chair to catch it on the second ring so it wouldn't wake the children. “Hello,” she said breathlessly.

“Mom?”

“Cala, what's wrong?”

“Nothing's wrong, Mom. Pete says we should stay in town. The roads are bad. Is that okay with you? How are the kids?”

“Pete's right. It's snowing pretty hard. The girls are fine. We went sled riding. They had a wonderful time. They ate all their lunch and should be waking up soon. We're going to make snow angels down by the barn when it's time to feed the dogs. We're making decorations when they wake up, then it's cookie-baking time after dinner. You and Pete enjoy yourselves.”

“Do they miss us?” Cala asked wistfully.

Kristine blinked. “They jabbered about you all morning long,” she fibbed.

“Snow angels, huh?”

Kristine blinked again. “Yes.”

“I don't think we ever did that, did we, Mom?”

“No, Cala, we didn't. When you were younger, we lived in warm climates with no snow. When you were older, you were ... I was too busy. I used to do it with my mother. If you don't think it's a good idea, we won't do it.”

“No, no. The girls love snow. I promised to make a snowman with them.”

“I know,” Kristine fibbed again. “There will be plenty of snow to do that tomorrow, trust me.”

“I do, Mom. Trust you, I mean.”

“I know, Cala.”

“Pete's giving me the evil eye. He wants to buy everything he sees for the girls.”

“That's because he's a doting father. Jackson Valarian called a little while ago. I invited him for Christmas Eve. He said he's an expert at putting doll buggies and girl stuff together. I snapped him up.”

“That's good, Mom, because Pete is all thumbs, and I can't follow directions worth a darn. If I tell him, he'll want to buy more. Make sure Ellie eats.”

“Okay. Go on now, hang up and be careful driving home tomorrow.”

“Bye, Mom. Love you.”

The sweetest words in the whole world. “Love you, too,” Kristine said happily.

Almost perfect.

 

 

Aaron Dunwoodie stood on the balcony of his rented condo to stare out at what the locals called the Pacific Jewel.

Hawaii, land of sunshine, luscious palm trees, gentle breezes, and sun-kissed beaches. His gaze was intent as he stared down at the honeymooners and the families with small children as they frolicked in the bright blue water.

Been there, done that. He had the deep bronze tan to prove it. He shifted his feet to lean on the railing. He was bored out of his mind. He'd read just about every book in the library plus all the local newspapers. He'd played endless games of solitaire until he'd worn out the cards, refusing to buy another deck. He'd watched inane television shows until he no longer bothered turning on the monster set in the living room. He'd long ago given up on the radio because he couldn't bear to listen to what he called mushy love songs. He'd actually screwed up his courage, driven to the North Shore, and surfed the Banzai Pipeline. He'd washed out, but that was okay. He'd done it and would have gone back a second time until he heard a bunch of brash kids refer to him as ‘that old duffer on the boogie board.'
Shit, I am an old duffer.
An old duffer who still had all his hair and teeth and a solid waistline. An old duffer who could still get it up when and if the occasion warranted. He'd sold his surfboard the second day for a quarter of what he paid for it originally. His dreams of being the Big Kahuna were shot down by a bunch of pimply, smart-ass kids.

Kristine said she loved Hawaii. Did she love the islands for what they were or did she love Hawaii because she'd come here with Logan and her children? He had to admit he didn't know.

From off in the distance he heard the afternoon bell signaling the mail was in along with his copy of the
New York Times
and
USA Today
.

Who in the goddamn hell spent Christmas in Hawaii? He needed to get out of here. He needed to go someplace where it was cold so he could shiver and think about what he was going to do with the rest of his life.

He'd made a mistake where Kristine was concerned. He never should have left that day. He never should have given her an ultimatum. Ultimatums never worked for either party. All you had in the end were regrets. And he sure as hell had a bushelful of those.

Pride had to be the most serious sin of all.

If he wanted to, he could be out of here in a heartbeat. For the past three months he'd lived in bathing trunks. Hell, he hadn't even bothered to unpack his winter clothes. All he had to do was gather up his shaving gear, throw his summer shorts, trunks, and sandals in a duffel, call the maid to clean out the fridge, and he was on his way.

If he wanted to.

“Shit!” he said succinctly.

He was a man with a purpose as he headed for the elevator that would take him to the ground floor for his mail and papers.

Woodie carried the packet back to his apartment and dumped it on the dining room table. He popped a Budweiser and carried the papers to the small deck off the living room. He sighed. He'd always been conscientious to a fault. He trotted back to the dining room, ripped at the clasp on the bank envelope, and unceremoniously dumped the contents onto the glass-topped table with its elaborate silk flower arrangement. Bank statements, a pile of Christmas cards. He recognized his ex-wife's handwriting on one of the cards. Then he saw it, the familiar handwriting, the long white envelope with the return address of Summers Farm in the left-hand corner. His hands trembled so badly he could barely pick it up, and when he did, it dropped to the floor.

Woodie tortured himself for several minutes before he could pick it up a second time. Then he brought it close to his nose to see if it carried his love's scent. It did. For one brief moment he thought he was going to black out.

Kristine.

She was restless.
Antsy
, as Cala would say, and she didn't know why. Was she nervous because Mike and his family would arrive tomorrow and Tyler the next day? No, she decided. Maybe it was all the caffeine she'd been drinking these past two days. Unlikely. Three more days till Christmas. She was ready, had been ready for days now. The house was decorated from top to bottom. It smelled heavenly. The tree was up and decorated, the gifts wrapped in shiny silver paper with huge red-velvet bows. She'd been forced to pile them high around the tree and into the corners for the overflow. She'd even bought a red-velvet Santa Claus suit for Jack, who promised to play the great man Christmas morning.

Kristine shook her head to clear her thoughts. If what she was feeling had nothing to do with all of the above, what was wrong with her? There was no doubt in her mind that she was wired. Even though it was near midnight, she knew she'd never be able to sleep if she went to bed. The miniature colored lights on the twelve-foot Christmas tree were not having the tranquilizing effect she thought they would have when she sat down with the dogs for her last cup of coffee of the night.

She hadn't heard from Woodie. That was the bottom line. Woodie was her problem. She'd hoped and even prayed that he would call or send a card. Obviously, he wasn't going to forgive her. Where was he? What was he doing? Did he think of her?

Christmas was such a special time of year. Christmas was supposed to be a time of miracles, although she had yet to experience one. Wasn't she worthy of one? Surely she'd done something good in her life to warrant a small miracle. Just one.

Kristine looked at her watch. Almost midnight. Did she want to drive over to Woodie's house and sit outside like a lovesick fool? She'd done it hundreds of times over these past years and always felt like a fool when she got home. Still, she found it comforting to sit in his driveway, staring at his dark house. Once or twice she'd actually gotten out of the car, walked up to the door, and rung the bell, a rehearsed speech ready to roll off her tongue in case Woodie was home and opened the door.

The dogs, sensing her restlessness, whimpered softly. “It's snowing out,” Kristine said. “We're going to have a white Christmas. The kids will love it. It's going to be so nice to see Mike's new baby. I hope he doesn't mind that I brought down my old cradle from the attic. Cala said he wouldn't mind. I'm not sure about that. Young people today want bright new things, not old antiques.” Both dogs lifted their heads to listen to their mistress's sad voice. Gracie whimpered as Slick nipped her nose before he snuggled into the corner of the sofa where Kristine had been sitting. They watched her, their eyes alert, as she stared out at the falling snow.

“I'm going over to Woodie's house. You guys stay here where it's nice and warm. Be sure to guard all those presents under the tree. No chewing the ribbons, Slick,” she said as she left the room.

“This is so stupid, it's beyond belief,” Kristine muttered as she slipped the car into gear. “I never acted this stupid when I was sixteen and in love with Logan.”

Kristine shivered as she waited for the 4-by-4 to heat up. She turned on the radio. Bing Crosby's mellow voice was crooning “I'll Be Home for Christmas.” Hot tears flooded her eyes as she struggled to see through the swirling snow. The windshield wipers clicked back and forth with furious intensity. She turned the radio off.

Twenty minutes later, Kristine pulled into Woodie's driveway. “This is a stupid, dumb, asinine thing I'm doing. No one in their right mind would come out here at midnight during heavy snow to sit in the dark and stare at an empty house. No one. Absolutely no one.” Yet, here she was. And she didn't feel one bit better. “I need to go home where I belong,” she cried as she blew her nose lustily. She turned the radio back on to hear the old crooner still singing. It must be Bing Crosby night. Sentimental music for insomniacs.

It was toasty in the car, and she had a package of cigarettes. If she cracked the window a bit she could sit here and smoke for a little while.
My life,
she thought bitterly as she fished for a cigarette in her purse.

 

 

Woodie rolled over, his eyes going to the red numerals on the bedside clock. He groaned. Twelve-thirty! “Shit!” He'd always been a good sleeper. Regardless of the time, the minute his head hit the pillow he was out until six the following morning.
I don't have to go to the bathroom, I feel fine, the house is quiet, so what the hell woke me up?

He'd rolled in at nine-thirty, dumped his bags in the kitchen, stashed the few groceries he'd bought at a Quick Check for morning, showered, and hit the sack at ten-thirty after he listened to the news. So what woke him up? Snow was quiet. It wasn't that windy outdoors. Some wild animal was probably prancing around on his roof. For some reason the raccoons loved his roof. Yeah, that must be it. He was about to roll over and go back to sleep when he realized he could see light from his bedroom window. “What the hell!” he muttered as he jumped out of bed to run to the window.

Woodie's heart leaped in his chest when he saw what looked like a utility vehicle sitting in his driveway with the lights on. Living way out here in the middle of nowhere, as he put it, he always knew one day he'd be the target of a burglar. “We'll just see about that.” He was dressed in two minutes. He used up another five minutes getting his double-barreled shotgun out of the closet. He liked the comforting sound of the shells sliding home.

Woodie didn't bother turning on any lights as he made his way down the steps to the first floor and then out to the kitchen.
If I'm quiet, I can sneak around the back of the truck, creep up to the passenger side of the door, grab it, open it, and shove the shotgun in the motherfucker's face. Yeah, yeah, that's what I
'
ll do.
His heart pumping, he followed his own instructions. He had one bad moment when his left hand reached out for the door handle. Maybe he needed to scream or yell like those Ninja people did when they were about to attack. The yell and the surprise element would give him time to get his right arm up with the shotgun.

He had a head rush then as his hand grappled with the door handle. Shit, what if the robber locked it? He removed his hand from the door handle and stepped back into midleg-high snow.
Think
,
think,
he told himself. His heart thundering in his chest, he advanced three steps and reached for the door handle with his left hand, his right hand and arm cradling the shotgun. He did a leap in the air, landing with his feet spread apart, yelling at the top of his lungs, “Yoweee! Move, and your brains are on the roof.” He gave the door a vicious yank, yelling, “Yowee!” a second time at the top of his lungs as a cloud of smoke swirled about him and the most bloodcurdling scream he'd ever heard in his life shattered his eardrums. “Get your sorry ass out of that truck right now before I blow your fucking head right off your shoulders! Move! Move!” he shouted, snow and cigarette smoke blinding him. “The police are on the way!” he yelled.
Yeah, like they would really come all the way out here.
On the other hand, did this crook know the phone was disconnected? How long had they cased the place before making the decision to rob it? What the hell kind of burglar screamed bloody murder? “I told you to fucking move!”

“Woodie! Oh my God, Woodie, is it you!”

“Kristine! Kristine, is it you? Jesus, I almost blew your head off.”

“I know. Why do you want to kill me? My God, Woodie, I can't believe it's you.”

“Guess what, I can't believe it's you either. I just got home a couple of hours ago. How did you know?”

“I didn't know. I come out here sometimes and sit in front of your house. I cry and wail and smoke cigarettes, then I go home and sometimes I can sleep and sometimes I can't.”

“I got your letter. That's why I came home. I almost killed you. If I had sneezed, I would have. This thing has a hair trigger.”

“You didn't. That's all that's important. I'm so glad you came home. I love you, Woodie. I really and truly love you. If you still want to marry me, I'm yours.”

“Listen, can we talk about this inside? I'm freezing my ass off.”

“I'd love to go into your house. I missed you, Woodie.”

“Not half as much as I missed you.”

“Can we get married?” Kristine asked tearfully. “Where were you, Woodie? Why didn't you call or write?”

“Is tomorrow soon enough? I didn't think you wanted me to call or write. Kristine, do you look at me as an old duffer?”

Kristine backed up a step. “No way,” she gurgled. “Why?”

“No reason. Want some coffee or something?”

“Or something. I want you!”

“Do you want to go for it right here or should we head up the steps?”

Kristine pretended to think. “I'll race you to the second floor!”

“In the old days you could have taken me,” Woodie said, panting from the top of the stairs.

“In the old days I wasn't a grandmother,” Kristine gasped.

“You're a grandmother!”

“Does that change things?” Kristine asked as she peeled off her heavy sweater and turtleneck tee shirt.

“It's probably right up there with being called an old duffer,” Woodie said as he dropped his pants to the floor.

“Are those ... ?”

“Never mind, Kristine.”

“They are. They really are yellow Calvins!” Kristine hooted with laughter.

In spite of himself, Woodie laughed with her. “You ain't seen nothin' till you see me in my blue Speedo. I wore it to go surfing, and these wise-ass kids called me an old duffer. I could model it for you.”

Kristine wiped at her eyes, still laughing. “I would like to have seen that.”

“It wasn't pretty. I don't think I ever made love to a grandmother wearing long underwear.”

“You learn any new tricks while you were away?” Kristine asked as she unbuttoned her long johns.

“Why do you want to know?” Woodie asked slyly.

“Because I'm four years worth of horny, that's why.”

“Nah. Same old same old.”

“That's good enough for me. I was just testing you.”

“What about you, did you learn any?”

“A few. Cala tells me ... things. Young people today are so ...
limber.
They go by a
manual.”

“A manual?” Woodie said, perspiration dotting his brow.

“Uh-huh. Cala made photocopies of some of the more ... interesting pages.”

“Why are we even talking about this? It's obvious you don't have the pages with you.”

“Oh but I do. They're in my purse.”

“Oh.”

“I don't see any point in getting dressed and going out to the car, do you? Let's just do what we always did.”

“Get in this bed, Kristine. Now!”

“I love you, Woodie. I told you that, didn't I?”

“Yes. And I love you, too, even if you are a grandmother. Later, I want you to tell me how that happened. Come here, Kristine.”

“I thought you would never ask,” Kristine said, pulling the comforter over both of them. “Oh, God, I left the lights on in the truck. The battery is going to die.”

“Who cares?”

“Not me.” Kristine sighed as she rolled over on top of Woodie. “Now, just shut up so I can show you what I learned.”

“But you said ...”

“I lied.”

 

 

“That was one of the best breakfasts I ever ate, Woodie. Lately, all I've been eating is a bran muffin and coffee for breakfast. You have to eat stuff like that when you're about to hit the half century mark. Are we going to get married today?”

“I'm for whatever you want. Wouldn't it be a good idea to do it the first day of the new year? You said the kids will be home for a week. You want them there, don't you?”

“Of course. We could do it twice. I don't want to let you out of my sight. We lost four whole years because of my stupidity. I don't want to lose another day. If we wait till New Year's Day, will you swear never to leave my sight?”

“I swear,” Woodie said solemnly.

“You were golfing buddies with Judge Harmon, weren't you? Will you ask him to come to the house and many us there?”

“Sure.”

“I want you to come out to the house and stay with us. You'll have to start off in the spare bedroom, though. I have grandchildren now and I can't ... won't ... you know, plus the kids will be sleeping in the house. We'll figure something out. The worst-case scenario is we can go to the barn. It's heated, and there's all that lovely warm straw. That goes under the heading of experimental.”

“I wouldn't have it any other way. Are you sure my staying at the house will be okay with the kids?”

“They aren't kids anymore, Woodie. They're young adults. They'll be fine with it.”

“I want to hear everything. Let's take our coffee into the living room by the fire. I want to hear every single thing that went on while I was gone.”

“Will you tell me every single thing you did?”

“Absolutely. This is going to be a marriage based on trust and truth. No secrets. Okay?”

“It's wonderful, isn't it, Woodie? How many people do you know who get a second crack at happiness?”

“Not many. The truth is I don't know anyone unless you count my ex-wife, and she married for money because she thinks all that wealth will make her happy. For her it might work, but I wouldn't bet the rent on it. I don't know if that counts. Probably not. Start talking, Kristine.”