In the House On Lakeside Drive (13 page)

“So warm it up.”

“Okay.” He grabbed an eight-by-eight pan and opened the oven, putting the sausage inside, plastic and all. He then turned the oven on four hundred degrees and closed the door. “This is nice,” he said, “all the new stuff.”

“Could have done without someone trashing the place to get it, though.”

“True.” Josh watched the sausage through the lighted window. Soon a smell began to waft through the kitchen, and it was one that was making the eighteen-year-old turn green.

“What the hell is that smell?” Remy asked, nearly gagging.

“The sausage,” Josh said, talking through a pinched nose. “It needed to warm up, remember?”

Bright blue eyes widened in horror. “You put it in the oven?!”

“Well, how
else
was I going to warm it up?”

Remy grabbed the nearest towel and wrenched the oven open, grabbing the metal pan and nearly throwing it into the half-filled sink. The towel was a poor insulator, being made of synthetic material, and Remy was running his hand under cold water while trying to stop the towel from smoldering. “You
idiot
!”

“I'm…I'm sorry. How was I supposed to know?”

“Josh, don't you ever pay attention when Miss Rachel cooks?”

The younger tenant shrugged. “Kind of.”

Obviously not when she's making sausage,
Remy thought bitterly. Just then the smoke alarm went off, blaring its warning for the whole house to hear. The sounds of feet tramping across the floorboards and stairs filled the air, and the sight of Evan scrambling for the towel remnants and throwing them outside while dressed only in his smiley-face boxers made Remy blush and Josh howl with laughter.

“What in the hell are you two doing?” Evan shouted over the din.

The room fell instantly silent as Sam held the remains of the smoke alarm in one hand and a barstool in the other. “Problem solved,” he said, resting the barstool back onto the floor. Then he wrinkled his nose. “What melted?”

“The plastic coating on the sausage roll,” Remy said. “Josh put it in the oven to warm up.”

“Josh, why would you do that?” Evan asked, silencing Josh's laughter.

“Well, it was frozen, and…and I needed to cut it up, so…”

“Ever heard of a microwave, genius?” Sam muttered.

“Well, the oven worked too, and…and I'm not used to that new microwave. Remember what happened when I made soup the other night?”

Silence fell as the memory of Josh's soup container exploding in the microwave flashed before their eyes. “Fair point,” Sam conceded.

“Guys, why are you cooking breakfast in the first place?” The sound of Rachel's voice sailed across the room, followed by a huge yawn. “You weren't happy with toast?”

“Well, eggs sounded good,” Remy said, pointing at his perfectly cooked pan of scrambled yolks. “Then Josh said bacon, and there wasn't any…”

“But there was sausage, but not the little link kind, only this log thing. In plastic. And frozen.” Josh looked as though he was about to cry. “I just wanted to help…”

“Well, it's the thought that counts, right?” Evan looked as his girlfriend, who had her hand plastered palm to forehead. The bemused smile on her face spoke volumes, as did the chuckles fighting to escape her throat.

“I guess.”

“Here,” Sam said. “Let
me
make the sausage.” He searched in the freezer, finding another roll of the breakfast meat. He then turned toward Josh. “Now, here's how you defrost it in the microwave…” The pair then stood in front of the appliance, Sam explaining the process as Josh pressed the buttons. “See? Much easier, huh?”

“Yeah! That wasn't hard at all!”

“Remy, might as well throw in some toast,” Rachel said, clearing the dirty dishes from the bar table. “Those eggs will keep.”

“I've got a better idea,” Evan said, pulling the dining room table out from its place under the kitchen windowsill. “Let's sit here. I'll throw a tablecloth on it, and voila…Christmas breakfast.”

“We're still gonna have ham later?” Josh asked, worry coloring his face.

“Yes, Josh. Ham later.”

“Cool!” the young tenant said with a grin on his face. “Then presents, then…”

“Off to your folks' house,” Rachel reminded him. “Your mom's coming to get you at five.”

Josh looked out at the rapidly falling snow. “But look,” he argued. “Look at all the snow out there!”

“This is Michigan, Josh. We have snow tires.”

“But we might get snowed in!”

“Your dad drives a plow truck. I think you'll get home just fine.” A slow grin spread over Rachel's face.

“Aw, man…how come Sam doesn't have to go home?”

“My dad's out of town on business,” Sam said, his face a little crestfallen. “And my brother and sister are stuck at work and school.”

“Well,” Josh said. “Okay.”

“And I don't have anywhere else to be this Christmas,” Remy said, cutting Josh off at the pass.

“Well, I didn't think you'd go stay with your uncle. He's a mean jerk.”

“Damn straight.”

“Okay, okay,” Evan said. “Those eggs are getting cold.”

“My eggs!” Remy raced for the pan. Soon the little group settled down to their impromptu breakfast, and the sounds of Remy and Josh arguing over dishes followed. “Nice to know they wanted to surprise us,” Rachel said as she, Evan, and Sam cleared out for the living room.

“Would have been nicer if they hadn't tried to burn the place down while they did it,” Evan said with a grin. “Still, could have been worse. At least they didn't cut off a finger. Or a limb.”

“I heard that!” Remy shouted from the kitchen.

Chapter 17

Dinner had been a grand affair. Josh ate his way through piles of ham, mashed potatoes, green beans and crescent rolls, and he looked longingly at the Dutch apple pie sitting next to the homemade pumpkin on the stove. “Is there whipped cream?” he asked.

“In a minute, Josh,” Rachel clucked, feeling the food she'd cooked settle in her stomach. It was her tradition to have the kids cook dinner one night a week, but on holidays she would go all out and let them have a break. “Dishes only,” she'd told the three current tenants as she made course after course. The promised chore awaited, the sink full of crystal dishes and good silverware. She sipped a hot chocolate slowly, working up the motivation to get up from her chair. “The pie will wait.”

“No, it won't.” Josh looked crestfallen. “It might go stale.”

Remy snorted as Sam tried in vain to stifle a chuckle. “The way
you
eat?” Remy said finally, a note of incredulity in his voice.

“It might!”

Even Evan had to laugh. “I promise, no pie of Rachel's ever goes stale. Hasn't yet, not since I been here.”

The youngest tenant looked uncertain. “You promise?”

“I promise. Besides, there are a lot of packages calling to be opened.” Evan's pale eyes twinkled, a mischievous grin spreading over his thin face.

“Oh, man, presents!” Josh leapt from his seat and raced for the living room, where the Christmas tree twinkled merrily in the late afternoon sun. The snow had stopped falling earlier, and the untouched drifts looked like white waves on dry land. “Hey, here's one for Remy!” the young man cried, starting to make piles of the various boxes and containers in front of him. “One for Sam, one for Evan…hey, here's one for me!”

“Better get in there, guys, before he starts opening them too,” Rachel said, watching her older tenants gradually rise from their seats and plod into the living room. A moment later, she followed them. Remy had taken a seat on the couch, Sam had taken the seat opposite Remy, and she herself fell into her own favorite tan overstuffed recliner. “So, how goes it, Josh?” she asked, causing the small young man to stop his sorting.

“Not bad! There's a lot of stuff here…”

“Well, you going to admire the wrapping paper or open them?” Evan asked as he slid into his own comfortable chair, setting his feet on the matching ottoman. “I'd like to know what's under all that wrapping.”

Josh took it upon himself to start handing out presents, playing the part of Santa Claus. Once the parcels had been doled out, each looked a little sheepish, not wanting to be the first to tear into their packages.

“Well, someone has to go first,” Evan said, picking up a small box from Sam. It was wrapped in white paper, with a gold-and-red ribbon tied around it. He carefully untied the knot and lifted the top. “A silver chain,” he said. “Too short to be a necklace…is it a bracelet?”

“Kind of,” Sam said. “I got it engraved too.”

Evan studied the piece. “A puzzle piece. I get it. Thanks, Sam.” He smiled.

“You're welcome.” Sam's long, thin fingers ran over a large shirt box wrapped in glossy paper. He tore into it to find a new t-shirt that had the message, “If you can't read this, learn Braille” on it. Sam felt the raised bumps in the t-shirt that spelled out the message in Braille across the chest. “Cool!” he said. “Thanks, Remy!”

“I got one too. Yours is orange, mine is sky blue.” Remy smiled.

“Well, people will certainly see you coming a mile off,” Rachel laughed. “But they are cool.”

Remy pulled at bright blue wrapping paper to find a gift card to buy some new mp3 downloads. “I didn't know which people you liked,” Josh explained. “Mom said that you'd like that instead of me guessing.”

“Smart lady, your mom,” Remy said with a small smile. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” Josh was shaking a long, cylindrical tube with gusto, listening to it rattle as he fiddled with the tape on the ends. “I wonder what this is.”

The tape finally came free to reveal a poster made from a photograph. It was one Evan had taken shortly after Josh had moved into the house the previous summer, featuring all three tenants sitting on the porch. Sam was smiling, tapping Josh on the shoulder as Remy sat next to him and chuckled. The moment was forever etched in a smaller photo that sat on the mantle near the old fireplace in the living room, and Josh had loved the image from the moment he saw it. “Wow, thanks Rachel! Now I need a frame to put it in!”

“Open this next,” Evan said, handing Josh a large flat parcel. The younger man tore through it to find the frame he'd just mentioned, a plain black one with protective glass to keep the image from fading.

“Great!”

Rachel had been quietly opening her own presents—a new frying pan from Josh, a t-shirt from Remy that said “my students love me…just ask the ones I live with,” and the new earrings from Sam—when she realized that everyone had opened their presents. “All set?” she asked.

“Looks like it,” Remy said, sifting through the pile of paper at his feet. He was holding a CD of eighties classics in one hand as his fingers searched the floor underneath him.

“Hey, here's one,” Josh said, holding up a small square box with red-and-gold ribbon.

Sam's foot nudged something at his toe. He reached over to find it, locating a larger box with similar wrapping to the one in Josh's hand. “This one too. Whose name is on it?”

“Evan's,” Josh replied. He looked at the box in his hand. “This one's unmarked.”

“I know who it goes to,” Evan said. “I'll take that one, Sam.” He hefted the parcel as he took it from Sam's hands, feeling the weight of the object inside. “It's not a paperweight, is it?”

“Open it up and find out,” Rachel said.

Pale eyes peered into the box. “Wow,” he said, pulling out the pocket watch. He opened the silver cover to see the old-fashioned face and marveled at the mechanisms for telling the date and weather. “This is…this is…”

“A good replacement for that old wristwatch?” Rachel asked. She smiled, rose from her chair, walked over and kissed her boyfriend.

“Better than good. It's perfect.” He gazed up into Rachel's green eyes, taking in her pale face and wavy red mane. “Thank you. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas.”

“Hey, there's this little one,” Josh said.

“Give it to Rachel,” Evan said. “It's hers.”

Puzzled, Rachel took the small parcel. She opened it to find a black velvet ring box inside. She carefully opened the ring box to find a wide silver ring inside. Around the top was an inscription:
find the right piece, and the picture becomes whole.
There was a blank space on top. “Evan,” she said, her voice breathless. “What…”

“Probably not the best way to do this, but here goes,” her boyfriend said. “Rachel Colosanto, there is no one else I'd rather spend the rest of my life with. I've found the right piece, and my picture is whole. Would you consider, possibly, becoming my wife?”

“Oh, my God,” Rachel said, her throat thick with tears. “Yes, Evan. Yes, I will!”