Heather Graham (8 page)

“What did you do to him?” Don asked Cathy, a fine tinge of jealousy in his voice.

“Nothing that bad, honest!” Cathy protested.

“Who are you? What are you after? Take my wallet, I’ll just hand it to you…”

“You’d just hand it over. No reflexes—too much booze, huh?” Don said.

“Don’t tell him that!” Cathy chided. “There’s too much violence these days. He has a wife and little children depending on him. He should never put up a fight if someone tries to steal his wallet.”

“Cathy!” Don said with some aggravation. “We’re trying to make him see the error of his ways. Look at you!” Don commanded Jimmy. “Within another year, you will have flesh you can’t get rid of around your jowls! Within another few years, you could be on the streets, drinking gin while sleeping against a damned dumpster.”

“Watch the ‘damned,’ Don,” Cathy warned.

Jimmy looked from one of them to the other. Groaned, shook his head as if trying to clear his vision, trying to make them disappear.

“He can’t go home like that,” Cathy said.

“He needs a cup of coffee,” Don told her.

“Coming right up. Cream and sugar?” Cathy asked Jimmy.

“I don’t want coffee.”

“Black. Black coffee,” Don told Cathy.

Jimmy looked down. Suddenly there was a Styrofoam cup of steaming dark liquid in his hands. He screamed. Threw the cup away from himself. Hot coffee flew everywhere, luckily missing his clothing and skin.

“He needs another cup,” Don said.

“Now don’t lose this one. I’m not good at all at this stuff yet,” Cathy warned.

Another cup appeared in Jimmy’s hands. He held on to it, his hands shaking violently.

“Come on, now, have a sip,” Cathy urged.

Jimmy O’Connor sipped his coffee, staring at them. “I’ve gone to hell!” he whispered, and sipped the coffee.

“Not yet, but you might well have been headed there,” Cathy told him.

Jimmy took a look at her. Drank the rest of the coffee in one swallow.

“Think he’s ready to go home?” Don asked Cathy.

“Sure.”

“Where’s his car?”

Jimmy O’Connor’s eyes darted toward a smart-looking little Mazda. The Mazda’s lights blinked on; its engine revved. A second later, the Mazda leapt toward them.

“No,” Jimmy O’Connor said. “No, no, no…”

He shook his head, stared at his car, dropped the coffee cup, and started running toward the street.

“Truck!” Cathy cried out.

Jimmy O’Connor didn’t hear her. He raced out onto the road, then stood dead still in the center of it, mesmerized by the lights.

Don came flying out, slamming into Jimmy, hurtling them both to the side of the road as the vehicle sped on by.

“Hey!” Cathy shrieked after the truck, but it was gone, heading into the night. Cathy ran over to where both men lay on their backs, side by side now. She dropped to one knee beside them. Don groaned. Jimmy just stared up at her.

“Don, are you … hurt?”

He groaned. “The brown ale was good. The truck was bad,” he said. Cathy helped him up. In turn, he stretched a hand down to Jimmy O’Connor.

Jimmy came to his feet, staring at them both. “I saw my life,” he said. “Saw those lights, then my life. And I wanted to live. To go home. To Sharon. My kids. I have the world’s greatest son, the prettiest daughter. My in-laws …” He shrugged.

“Hey, you know a little schism with the in-laws is natural,” Don said.

“It is?” Cathy demanded.

“A tiny schism,” Don said.

“I just always thought that Sharon—she was always there—that she should be, that she’d always be. And I didn’t really realize just what that meant. I have to get home, I have to—” He broke off, staring at Cathy. “Can you do more of that coffee thing?” He started patting his coat pockets. “I need a comb. I need—”

“Coffee,” Cathy told him.

“Comb.” Don produced one.

Jimmy drank another cup of coffee. Accepted the comb, pulled it through his hair.

“How do I look?”

“You’ll do,” Cathy told him.

He grinned at her suddenly, glanced at Don wryly. “She does nicely, too.”

“Yeah?” Don arched a brow to his wife.

“Who are you two? What are you?” Jimmy demanded.

“The Angels,” Don said.

“Cathy and Don Angel,” Cathy said firmly, staring at her husband.

“But what—” Jimmy began.

“Does it matter who or what we are?” Don asked him quietly.

Jimmy shook his head. “Not if… not if you’ll pretend to be clients for me—for a little bit. Please. Give me an excuse for being so late tonight. I swear to you, I’ll never need another one.”

“I’ll get the car,” Don said.

“I’ll drive!” Jimmy insisted.

“I’ll get the car,” Cathy said.

The Mazda’s lights blazed; the car came forward, just like an obedient puppy. The three of them piled into it. Before Jimmy could touch the wheel, the Mazda jerked into action, taking them the few blocks home to Jimmy O’Connor’s house.

As Jimmy got out of the car and stared at the place, Cathy and Don got out to stand behind him.

“I’m suddenly afraid to go home,” Jimmy said. He’d come home, yeah, but he was late. Sharon would forgive him; she’d try to make everything appear all right in front of her parents. Still, he felt guilty. Oh, God, he thought, just give me this one chance without words being said, without the kids being hurt. Please, I just need one more chance…

“Why are you afraid?” Don demanded.

Jimmy shook his head. “I don’t exactly know except that maybe … I didn’t know before what I’ve come so close to losing.”

Don took him by the arm. Firmly, Jimmy thought. “Let’s go,” Don insisted.

“Hey, slow down. My in-laws are in there.”

“But we haven’t got all night,” Don said firmly. Cathy caught Jimmy’s other arm. Between them, they managed to lead him up the steps and into the house before he could protest again.

“Okay, okay,” Jimmy said. He fumbled for his key. Before he could find it, the front door flew open. A little boy with bright, hopeful eyes stood there. “Daddy?”

“Hey, squirt, I’m home,” Jimmy said, plucking up his son. He stepped into the house, followed by Cathy and Don. “Where’s your mom?” he asked.

“In the kitchen,” the little boy said.

“Ah, Mum, Dad,” Jimmy said, coming into the living room. He was still awkward, uncertain. Cathy and Don followed closely behind him. Cathy stepped forward to greet the handsome older couple who had come to check out the commotion at the front door. “Cathy and Don, I’d like you to meet my in-laws, Abby and Earl Challifour. Abby, Earl… Cathy and Don Angel.”

“How do you do?” Earl Challifour said politely, shaking their hands. He looked at his son-in-law curiously, but seemed satisfied that Jimmy O’Connor was sober.

“And of course,” Jimmy continued, “I’d like you to meet my son Timmy, and over there …” Jimmy hesitated a minute, “Laura, come over here sweetie. Meet Mr. and Mrs. Angel.”

Laura, looking pretty in her little velvet pinafore, came shyly forward. She went straight to Cathy, smiling. “Are you really an angel?” she asked.

Cathy stooped down to her. “I really am—I have been since I married Don. It’s his last name. So it’s been mine since we married. Your mommy took your daddy’s name, O’Connor. Like your own.”

“Oh,” Laura said. “You look like an angel.”

“Sweetheart, angels have wings!” Abby Challifour said, shaking her head to Cathy in a manner that said Kids! without hurting little Laura’s feelings.

“You have to be a real angel,” Laura insisted.

“Laura!” her grandmother murmured. “I am so sorry—”

“No, no, we’re sorry,” Don broke in. “We didn’t mean to keep Jimmy working so late, it’s just that we’re going to be hit with a big problem if all our plans aren’t solidified by the new year.”

“Your plans?” Abby Challifour said with polite enthusiasm.

“For our new house,” Cathy said.

“For the business—” Don began.

“The business,” Cathy said.

“House—” Don began.

He laughed. “We’re just trying to have everything done,” he said to the Challifours.

“Mum, Dad, excuse us, will you? I want Cathy and Don to meet Sharon.”

“Yes, please,” Cathy said, and she hurried along with Jimmy O’Connor into the kitchen. Jimmy entered, calling out his wife’s name.

They could see Sharon out on the pretty little enclosed side porch. Jimmy stepped on out to talk to her.

“Jimmy!” She was startled to see him in the house. He looked at Sharon, into her eyes—velvet brown, soft, warm, giving—she smiled. A beautiful smile. Other than the roundness of her stomach, she remained slim. Her short brown hair was stylishly cut. And when she smiled, when her eyes touched Jimmy’s, she wasn’t just pretty, she was beautiful.

He took her into his arms and kissed her soundly. “I love you,” he whispered.

“Jimmy … I’m so glad that you’re home. I was so afraid that—”

She broke off because he kissed her. Kissed her lips, her forehead, her cheeks, her lips.

“I almost didn’t come home,” he said very quickly. “I—I didn’t know that I wanted to be home, that I needed to be home. I love you so much, I—”

He broke off, looking over his wife’s shoulder and suddenly realizing that there was a bag lady sitting at the table on his porch.

“Who … who …?”

“This is, er, Maggie,” Sharon said uneasily. “Everybody needs a little warmth at Christmas,” they both heard.

Cathy Angel was standing in the doorway to the porch.

Sharon looked at Jimmy.

“Who… er…?”

“Cathy, my wife, Sharon. Sharon, Cathy Angel. And Don—that’s her husband right behind her.”

“Hello,” Sharon said.

“Merry Christmas,” Cathy said.

“Thanks.” Sharon stared at them, then smiled suddenly, her insight much like her daughter’s. “Thank you, really. You brought Jimmy home tonight, didn’t you?”

“He really did want to be here,” Don said.

“Okay, but now who—” Jimmy began again.

“Maggie. This is Maggie St. Johns,” Sharon said.

“Hi, Maggie.”

“I can just leave—” Maggie began.

“No!” Jimmy, Sharon, Don, and Cathy said in unison.

“You’re welcome here, honest to God, you’re welcome,” Jimmy said to her. “Just sit tight for a minute, huh, Maggie? Promise me. Sharon, you come into the kitchen with me for just a second.” He smiled at Maggie, urging Sharon toward the kitchen. He propelled her into it, right behind Cathy and Don, holding her hand tightly.

Sharon smiled at her unexpected guests a little awkwardly. “Can I get you something?” she offered.

“No,” Jimmy told her. “Sharon—”

“Jimmy, that’s so rude.”

“Sharon, they brought me home. Trust me, they don’t want anything. I just want a minute with you.” He stared at Cathy and Don. “You know, it would definitely be a minor miracle if my father-in-law were to allow me a few more minutes alone with my wife. Perhaps, if the two of you were to talk with him and Mum for a bit, it would give me a chance…”

“Is that on our list?” Don said to Cathy.

“You are pushing it, don’t you think?” she replied.

“What list?” Sharon asked.

“Never mind. Jimmy, we’ll go in and have a conversation with your in-laws and keep them busy for a bit. You two … enjoy,” Don said. He took Cathy’s arm and led her into the parlor. “I guess he could be a grumpy old fellow, Sharon’s dad, eh?” Don said. “Reminds me of your father, Cathy.”

Cathy kicked him discreetly on the shin.

Then they went into the parlor. From the kitchen, Jimmy and Sharon could hear them beginning a conversation with Sharon’s parents.

Sharon looked up at Jimmy, her arms locked around his neck.

“Who are they?” she queried. Her eyes were shining. There had been tears in them, Jimmy realized. She was smiling against that beautiful, soft glitter in her eyes.

“I told you, sweetheart, Cathy and Don. The Angels.”

“Angels?”

“Their last name is Angel. Cathy and Don Angel.”

“They aren’t clients.”

“No. They aren’t clients.”

“Then who—”

“I don’t want to know. I don’t even want to ask.”

She shook her head. “They are angels. They brought you home to me.”

He enveloped her in his arms. “I’m home forever, I promise it, every single night. I won’t stray, and I won’t fall.”

“Jimmy—”

“I promise it.”

“If you falter, I’ll be here.”

“You’ve been a damned angel,” he told her.

“I love you so very much.”

“That’s a damned miracle,” he told her.

He kissed his wife, very tenderly. Took her hand. “Let’s go see the kids and the gorgons.”

“Jimmy!”

“Let’s go see the kids and my wonderful in-laws.”

She arched a brow and started to laugh. Jimmy O’Connor began to leave the kitchen, then remembered the poor skinny creature sipping soup on his back porch.

“Sharon, have you got anything that wretched creature could wear besides that old coat you’ve put over her?”

“Of course.”

“She’s skin and bones.”

“I make clothing, remember.”

“I didn’t mean you had to give her something brand new.”

Sharon smiled. “I just happen to have something brand new. I’ll be right back.”

Twenty minutes later, their guest was washed and dressed in new stockings, a wool, knit dress, and an embroidered sweater. Her shoes were still a little off; but her hair had cleaned up beautifully. Before the shower, she’d looked like a very old woman, now it was clear she was only in her late thirties or early forties. She was as grateful as she was stunned.

“You’re going to have Christmas with us,” Jimmy told her.

“Oh, I can’t. I can’t possibly.”

“Why not?” Jimmy demanded.

“It just wouldn’t be right. I couldn’t impose.”

“You’re not imposing,” Sharon said firmly, but she looked back to her husband, “How do we explain her to my folks?”

“Your name is Maggie, right?” Jimmy said to the woman.

She nodded.

Jimmy shrugged. “She’s my cousin, Maggie, just in from the city.”

“Can there possibly be a stray O’Connor cousin?”

“Distant cousin, then.”

“From what city?” Sharon asked.

“Who cares? Pick a city.”

“New York?” Maggie suggested happily. “I always liked New York.”