Our First Christmas (38 page)

“Here, Meg, let me help you down.” Chris smiled as he held his hand out once the sleigh had stopped at the Hayloft.

With his help, Megan jumped lightly to the snow-covered parking lot, only to lose her balance when Brad, the athlete no less, stumbled into her as he slid from his seat. Scrambling, he nearly dropped a bag and quickly hid it back under his jacket, darting a look at the couples nearby.

“What the hell was that?” Megan whispered to Chris.

“A bota bag,” was the terse reply. Chris's jawline hardened. He was watching Brad intently, as the basketball player snaked his arm over Claire's shoulder and trudged off in the direction of the main door of the restaurant.

“What's a bota bag?” Megan couldn't restrain her curiosity.

“You don't know?”

“If I knew, would I ask?”

“Okay, so you're ignorant,” he teased, pulling her stocking cap over her eyes. “Or maybe naïve.”

“I'm not—” She started to argue, then shut up. Okay, so she was naïve. A little.

“A bota bag is kind of like a purse, but it's a watertight container that can hold liquid, usually alcohol. It's got a thin strap that holds it neatly over your shoulder and a spill-proof spout. You have to squeeze the bag as you hold it to your mouth in order for the contents to squirt into your mouth.” His blue eyes narrowed in thought. “I wondered why Brad kept hiding under the blanket. I guess we know now.”

“I thought he was just showing off. You know, for Claire.”

“I figured he'd been drinking, but I didn't think he was actually doing it on the sleigh ride itself. I thought that he had probably had a couple of beers before the ride began.” He glanced to another sleigh where a young priest was talking with a couple of kids. “Let's just hope that Father Anthony doesn't catch wind of this, or we'll all be in big trouble.”

“All of us?” Megan asked.

“Yeah, there's been a big stink at school lately about alcohol. Well, and drugs, of course. A few of the members of the basketball team were caught drinking and smoking weed a couple of weeks ago, and they're suspended. Off the team. Pending hearings, probably kicked out of school.”

“Was Brad one of the players who was put on probation?”

“Somehow he skated. That's why he's still here.”

“And didn't seem to get the message,” Megan said.

“He's not exactly known for his brains.”

“Hey!” Ken and Leslie joined them. “Guess what?” Ken asked. “You and I have just been volunteered by Father Anthony to take the horses back to the barns.”

“Why us?”

“Dunno. But I wasn't going to argue. Besides, he picked a couple other guys, too.” To Leslie, Ken said, “Can you two wait for us inside? We just have to get the horses back to the stables; someone else will take care of them and the sleighs.”

Once inside, after they'd spent a few minutes in the small restroom, Megan purposely chose a table removed from the immediate friends of Claire and Brad, but Leslie kept smiling at the Upland girls, as if sharing a special secret with them.

“Can't you ignore Claire and her crowd?” Megan asked her friend.

“Relax, will you? I told you that the kids in our sleigh were really okay. And the boys should be back any minute.”

“Let's hope so,” Megan said.

“How long could it take to unharness a horse?” Leslie said, then giggled.

“I suppose that depends on where you have to take the horse to unhitch him. We aren't exactly in the middle of acres and acres of farmland, you know.”

Leslie laughed again, as if Megan were hilarious.

While a DJ played requests, several couples ventured out onto the dance floor. For a moment, Megan pictured her sister Natalie shimmering in white, while floating in Adam's arms. Adam. Tall, dark, wonderful Adam, now married to her sister. Somehow it didn't hurt as much as it had a few weeks earlier. For now, she forced her thoughts back to the present.

A few minutes later Chris and Ken, along with a few other “volunteers,” came clattering back into the restaurant, stomping snow off their boots and brushing it from their hair.

Megan's eyes wandered to the dance floor where Leslie had begun dancing with Ken. As if she'd tripped, she wrapped her arms around Ken's neck and was laughing loudly. Megan frowned. She had never seen Leslie warm up to a boy so quickly.

“Wanna dance?” Chris asked as he turned her face toward his with a gentle touch of his hand.

“Yeah.” Megan nodded absently, letting Chris guide her to the dance floor. She tried to forget about her friend and her erratic behavior, but each time they danced near Ken and Leslie, it became more evident to Megan that Leslie was acting strangely. She was giggling and talking loudly. Every once in a while she would miss a step, and then break up into uproarious laughter.

“Chris,” Megan whispered.

“Yeah.”

“Do you think Leslie's been drinking? Or she's on something?”

Chris stopped dancing. “I don't know.... It's possible, I suppose. I did see her standing with part of Brad's crowd before the last time we came inside. Ken hasn't said anything to me about it, and he's not usually the kind of guy who would drink at a school function.”

“Or slip her a Mickey?”

“What? No!”

Megan wasn't so sure, and she saw her friend trip and catch herself on Ken again. “I don't feel good about this.” She was shaking her head, mentally struggling. She didn't want the night to end, but at that moment Leslie threw back her head and closed her eyes, almost as if she was going to pass out.

“But it's only ten thirty!”

“I don't care. Something's wrong.” Megan chewed on her lip thoughtfully.

“All right, but it seems as if she's enjoying herself to me,” Chris said. Then, to Ken and Leslie, “Meg thinks it's time to take the girls home.”

“So soon?” Ken complained. “I thought you girls didn't have to be home until midnight.”

“Yeah,” Leslie said thickly. “What's the rush, Meg? I'm having a terrif . . . terriff . . . a great time.” She giggled and staggered toward Meg. Had Ken not caught her she would have landed on the floor. “Oops, guess I lost my balance—”

Meg grasped Leslie firmly by the arm and propelled her to the checkroom.

“You've been drinking,” Megan accused as she helped Leslie put on her coat.

“You could tell?” Leslie was incredulous. “I just had a little bit.”

“What do you mean . . . a little?” Megan asked, her eyes narrowing.

“I only had a couple of sips.” Leslie giggled.

“What else?”

“What'd'h mean?”

“Some kind of drug? Pills? Pot?”

“ No—I just . . . just . . .”

“Great, Leslie. Just fricking great!” Megan shot Ken an icy glance as they walked out the door toward his car. “Did you have anything to do with this?”

“Nothing! I had no idea that she had been drinking. I don't even know where she got the stuff,” Ken said indignantly.

“Oh, that was easy.” Leslie giggled as she slumped into the front seat and Ken got behind the wheel. “One of the guys, that big basketball jock, he gave me a drink, or two. Right before we came in here.”

“What was it?” Chris asked.

“Some kind of wine . . . I'm really not sure. The guy said it would warm me up, and he was right!” Leslie smiled as she laid her head on Ken's shoulder before Megan strapped on her seat belt.

“Are you sure you didn't know about this?” Chris demanded, staring at Ken.

“Look, Johnson, I told you I didn't know anything about it, and that's it!” Ken's fists clenched around the steering wheel.

Chris and Megan climbed into the backseat. Ken slammed his door shut and started the motor. The car roared out of the parking lot and slid on the icy streets.

“Hey! Take it easy, man,” Chris shouted. “I didn't mean to accuse you of anything. I just wanted to know how Leslie got the drinks.”

“Umm,” Leslie mumbled as she nearly fell asleep. “It was Claire's idea.... She's . . . she's nice. . . .”

Not so nice,
Megan thought. “What a surprise,” she said, not bothering to hide her feelings.

“Hey . . . hold on a minute,” Chris ordered. “You can't blame Claire.”

“Why not? It's her fault, or at least that boyfriend of hers, Brad, his fault.”

“No, it's not,” Chris reiterated. “No one forced Leslie to drink anything tonight. She said so herself.”

“But Leslie never drinks,” Megan argued, heatedly defending her sleeping friend.

“She did tonight.” It was a flat statement.

“She did it to be accepted by those stupid Upland-Gable girls!” Megan threw back at Chris. “How are we going to get this past my parents?”

“We'll come in for a few minutes,” Chris offered, but Megan wasn't sure how that would play out. A few sips? Megan didn't think so. Her friend was acting like she'd downed five or six shots.

When they were in the Simmons's driveway, they tried to rouse Leslie. It was difficult, but with the aid of a little cold snow down her neck, she seemed to sober up a little. Though pale, she still looked reasonably presentable, and Megan hoped that her parents wouldn't notice Leslie's abnormally sluggish reactions.

Though angry with Megan for sliding snow under her sweater, Leslie finally seemed to grasp a bit of the gravity of the situation. Supported by Ken, she assumed a casual walk.

“Mom, we're home,” Megan shouted in the direction of the den, where the flickering blue light emanating suggested her parents were watching television. To Chris she said, “I'll take it from here.”

“You sure?” he asked, and then kissed her on the cheek when she nodded and started shepherding a teetering Leslie up the stairs.

At ten the next morning, Megan woke up. Leslie was sleeping in a bag on the floor. Madonna was curled up next to her, the cat's long hair ruffling with each of Leslie's deep breaths. Leaning over the side of her bed, Megan gave her friend a push.

Moaning, Leslie rolled over.

Madonna hopped onto the bed and then to the windowsill.

“Wake up. It's after ten.”

“Too early,” Leslie grumbled, wadding her pillow over her head.

“No, it's not! We've got to get up and act normally if we don't want Mom and Dad to get any more suspicious than they already are.”

“Oooo . . .” Leslie said as she raised her hand to her forehead. “This must be what a hangover is all about. And I don't get up until one. Sometimes two.” She blinked. “That would be p.m.”

“Forget it. And as for the hangover, you earned it.”

“Don't be such a goody-two-shoes . . . or is it three shoes? Something weird that Mom always says.” Wincing, Leslie blinked again slowly as if testing to see if her eyes still worked.

“What the hell were you doing last night?” Megan insisted.

“Making new friends?”

“More like enemies.”

“They were nice to me.”

“They got you drunk.”

“I got me drunk.”

“You're lucky no one slid something else into your drink,” she said.

“The whole blind date was your idea,” Leslie reminded her.

No, it was Chris's,
Megan thought,
and it had backfired.

 

Megan's parents were waiting for them in the kitchen. Her father was reading the Sunday paper, and he glanced over the top of his glasses as the girls entered the room. Although he smiled at them, Megan sensed trouble. Leslie looked green at the sight of the scrambled eggs and toast.

“How did the date go last night?” Megan's father asked, scanning the open Sunday paper with his reading glasses.

“It was okay,” Megan said, wishing the topic would just disappear. “We had fun, I guess.”

“You don't know?” her mother said, her eyebrows pulling together.

Pale, Leslie nodded. “It's just that we didn't know too many people.”

Dear God, she actually appeared green, like she might barf up anything she tried to eat, so Megan said, “We'll just have a little toast and take it upstairs, okay?”

Her mother's eyes narrowed, but before she could protest, Megan grabbed a couple of napkins and two slices of toast, then headed back upstairs. Leslie followed her, and as they reached the upper hallway, made a beeline for the bathroom. Great! If her parents had any idea what had happened, they'd be upset, maybe call the school and Leslie's parents. They could even drag Chris's family into it.

With one ear cocked toward the open staircase, Megan waited, then when a white-faced, shaky-legged Leslie reappeared, hustled her into the bedroom and shut the door. It seemed they'd escaped, thank God.

For now.

The few days remaining until Christmas passed slowly for Megan. Christmas itself had lost some of the wonder and magic it had once held for her. She could remember a few years ago, when early Christmas morning she and Natalie had raced down the stairs to catch a first glimpse of the tree with many presents displayed invitingly beneath its boughs. No matter how early the girls had arisen, their mother had always been up before them.

The lights on the tree would be glowing in the early morning winter darkness, and the girls would smell freshly baked cranberry bread. The sisters had hardly been able to contain themselves through the meal, knowing that there were hidden surprises waiting for them under the tree.

Best of all, there was always something unique hidden in the needles of the pine tree. Usually in a plain white box or a handwritten envelope, the special gift that Mom and Dad had planned all year long was the last one opened, after all of the gifts under the tree were gone. It was one last prize. One envelope had read “Bow Wow” and had contained a dog biscuit. That was the Christmas that Snow White, the funny little mutt of a puppy, had joined the family. Another Christmas, the envelope had said simply: “24 months or 500 miles, whichever is greater, WARRANTY.” That was the now old ten-speed bike. It was strange to think that, this Christmas, Megan didn't feel any enthusiasm for the yearly ceremony.

Of course most of her restlessness was due to Chris.

It had been over two days since their date, and he hadn't called her. And she wasn't going to phone him. At least not right away. And, though she hated to admit it, her mother was right; the house did seem bigger and lonelier without Natalie. Megan didn't even want to think about Adam. Of course, Megan hadn't seen him since the wedding. Except for a quick e-mail from Natalie, no one in the family had heard from them. It was weird, really.

On Christmas morning Megan woke up feeling empty. Even the enticing scent of her mother's baking couldn't lure her down the stairs.

A lot of her ennui could be attributed to Chris, she supposed. She liked him; she liked him a lot. Not with the same deep feeling that she had felt for Adam, of course, but she did definitely think about Chris, which kind of pissed her off.

Then there was the other little irritation. Ken had called Leslie. He had even gone over to her house once since the sleigh ride. They seemed to be a couple already, and after less than a week Leslie was sure that she was falling in love with him.

As if! In love? After a single date?
Leslie had always been a dreamer, but this time she had really gone off the deep end, and that pissed off Megan as well.

It was as if the whole world had conspired against her. And it had all started with Natalie's wedding. Yeah, Megan was in a bad mood, a real bad mood.

On Christmas morning.

Finally, Megan forced herself to get up. She threw on a short skirt and a sweater, then brushed out her hair and attempted a bit of makeup. She stared at her reflection in the mirror critically. She was far from gorgeous like her sister, but she was okay—kind of. She played around with eye shadow and mascara and then gave up. She was a nerd, a “braniac” as Natalie had often referred to her. Despite her gray eyes and high cheek bones and thick hair, she was still “the girl most likely to run a major company by thirty.”

Ugh.

Aunt Janice came over and, though everyone in the family tried to keep up their spirits, everything seemed off. Even Mom's Christmas turkey tasted bland.

Later, after dinner and when Aunt Janice had gone home, Megan was clearing the table when the telephone rang. “I'll get it,” she shouted. Maybe it was Chris.

“Hello,” she said.

“Hi, Meg! It's . . . so good . . . to hear your voice,” Natalie said at the other end of the line. She was actually blubbering, sobbing into the phone.

“Nat! Are you crying? What's wrong? Is Adam all right?” Megan's thoughts leapt instantly to pictures of instant disasters—boating, swimming, scuba-diving accidents. What could have happened?

“No . . . no . . . Adam, I mean we're both fine. It's just that it's Christmas and I miss all of you so terribly.” Natalie sniffed loudly. “How—how are you? How was Christ—Christmas?”

Megan imagined her sister dabbing a finger under her eyelids to swipe at the mascara running down her cheeks. “It was okay, but, you know, different. Without you.”

“It's Natalie?” Mom said, waterworks flowing from her eyes, too, as she waved frantically to get the phone. “It's Nat,” she said to her husband. “Get on the extension.”

Another round of sobs from Natalie.

“I'll talk to you soon,” Megan said, and handed the phone to her mother, who clutched the receiver in two hands.

“Merry Christmas, honey!” Carol Simmons said to her daughter who was, Megan knew, in the Bahamas. With Adam. And Natalie was crying? Homesick on her honeymoon? Well, it was Christmas, but Natalie had known that when they'd set their wedding date so close to the end of the year. Though Megan missed her, she didn't feel sorry for her older sister in the Bahamas with Adam. Megan pictured the two of them laughing in the sun as they ran in the sand. Their bodies were tanned and sleek, foamy waves chasing them. Megan imagined Adam chasing her sister, catching her and kissing her as they fell into the sand, still embracing as the tide rolled around them.

No, Natalie with Adam in paradise should
not
have been crying.

When the doorbell pealed, Megan, the only member of the family not on the phone, answered the door.

Chris was standing on the porch, his hair a little wet from melting snowflakes, his face ruddy from the cold. Stupidly, her heart soared a bit.

“Hey,” he said, appearing uncomfortable.

“Hi,” Megan responded, and then added, without thinking, “What are you doing here?”

“I don't really know,” he said. “It seemed like a good idea to show up and say, ‘Merry Christmas,' but now I kinda feel like a dweeb.”

She laughed and stepped onto the porch, pulling the door shut behind her. “You're definitely
not
a ‘dweeb.' Merry Christmas.”

Relief washed over his features, and she noticed just how good-looking he was with his hair mussed and a bit of embarrassment still clinging to him.

“Come in,” she said, then, glancing up at the sprig of mistletoe her father had tacked over the porch, kissed his cheek. “Payback,” she said, pointing up.

His grin widened.

“Gotcha!” she said, realizing she was actually flirting with him as she led him into the house. In the kitchen her mother, a tissue pressed under her eyes, was just hanging up the phone. “Sorry, I . . . didn't hear you come in,” she said. “I was just talking to Natalie and Adam.”

“Adam was on the phone, too?” Megan asked, and her heart dropped. She'd missed a chance to talk to him!

“Yes, Meg. Oh! He told me to give you his love.”

She felt as if a thunderbolt had struck her.
His LOVE.
Oh. God. Then she blinked and realized it was just an expression, a greeting from her new brother-in-law. Still . . .

“He also wished you good luck with the debating team. You know your father,” her mother said with a roll of her expressive eyes. “He brought it up
again!
”

Megan cringed. “I wish he wouldn't. I'm not . . . I'm not sure that I'm even going to try out.” Now who sounded like a “dweeb”?

“Of course you are,” her father, hearing the tail end of the conversation, said. He nodded at Chris and placed a hand on Megan's shoulder. “You're the one who said you wanted to become a lawyer, right?”

Megan wanted to wither through the floor even though it was kinda cool that her father was
so
proud of her. Inwardly she wondered if he, a little disappointed that Natalie had decided to marry so young, had turned all of his own ambitions toward his youngest. Megan had heard it whispered that at one time he, too, had hoped to become an attorney. Until he'd gotten married in a rush as Natalie was on the way. No one had ever admitted it, of course, but Megan had done the math and didn't buy the whole “premature” thing, as Natalie had been born at over seven pounds with a full head of hair.

Besides, it wasn't that Megan had changed her dreams; it was just that she wasn't sure she was ready to share all her deep, dark desires with Chris just yet. “Maybe a lawyer,” she admitted, and her father scowled.

“Never give up on your dreams, Meg. Never.”

Her parents exchanged glances that held stories Megan couldn't hope to understand, and her mother reached for her pack of Virginia Slims sitting on the counter.

“No ‘maybe' about college or law school!” her dad insisted. Then, a little more calmly, he added to Chris, “Megan here is the top of her class. Straight A's all through high school. Colleges already interested.” He was actually beaming. Once more, Megan wanted to die. This attitude was beginning to be a habit, but her mother, shaking out a long cigarette, came to her rescue. “Jim, stop it.” Then, as she found her lighter, Carol Simmons added, “Don't listen to your father's blustering, Meg. You know how he is—every once in a while he gets up on his soapbox and gives all of us the benefit of his years of wisdom. You go out for the team if you want to, but don't you feel that you're pushed into it! And, as for you”—she scowled in her husband's direction—“why don't you go put some more logs on the fire in the study? Or . . . something?” With that she slipped on a thick sweater and stepped onto the patio, where she lit up.

Later, after a few hours of television and leftovers, her parents finally went upstairs to bed.

When her parents had left the room, and their soft footsteps echoed from upstairs, Chris turned to her and winked. “Alone at last!”

For the first time that day, Megan was a little nervous. She had never been alone with him really, and that wasn't the only problem. Even at seventeen she'd rarely gone out on a date alone with a boy; she'd mainly hung out with a group of friends.

So now, on the couch, the television flickering and the fire dying, she felt a little awkward. When Chris leaned in to kiss her, she closed her eyes and felt his lips touch hers tentatively at first and then a little harder. A warmth spread through her blood, turning her bones liquid, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him back.

So this is how it feels,
she thought as he held her close and she heard her own blood rushing in her ears. The world seemed to spin, to shine, and she wondered about letting go, touching him, feeling his body closer still.

A floorboard creaked overhead, and she nearly jumped out of her skin. She pushed him back and, breathing with a little difficulty, shook her head. “This . . . this isn't smart.”

“Nothing happened,” he said, but his eyes had darkened, and she knew he'd felt that same adrenaline rush as she had. His own breathing was ragged, his lips swollen, and she swallowed hard just thinking of the feel of his mouth upon hers.

“I know, I know, but . . . you know, Mom and Dad are just upstairs.”

“We could go somewhere.”

“No.” She couldn't leave; her parents would have a fit. She wanted to kiss him again, to let him touch her, to let that wild child within her rise up and experience all there was to life, to step across those unwritten lines, to reach out, to live a little and . . . oh, God, no! She slammed that door shut, put that wayward imp back into a dark corner of her mind. This was happening much too fast. Thinking of doing more than just kissing Chris was a mistake. It was just way too soon.

“It's Adam, isn't it?” he said suddenly, and her head snapped up.

“Adam?” Her gaze found his, and she saw a bit of pain in the blue depths of his eyes. “I mean, why would you think that—”

“Because you're in love with him.”

The accusation seemed to hang in the air between them, a dark, nasty idea, but the raw, unaltered truth.

“No.” She shook her head, her tongue nearly tripping on the lie. “Adam? He's . . . he's Natalie's husband.” Even now the word was hard to say and seemed to stick in her throat.

“Leslie said something to Ken.”

Megan closed her eyes and wanted to strangle her friend. “About Adam and me?”

“About your fantasizing about him.”

“I don't . . .” She started to argue, but let the words die away.

“About your thinking you're in love with him.” Chris sighed. “And I saw it at the wedding. There you were, this beautiful girl with a fake smile and sad eyes. You couldn't give me, or anyone but Adam, the time of day. It pissed me off.”

She felt suddenly miserable. How many people had noticed? Her mom, Natalie, maybe even Adam himself! Just the thought of it made her uncomfortable.

“So,” he said, reaching for her hand and linking his fingers through hers, “I did something a little mean.”

“What?” she asked, intrigued, and she saw a muscle work in his jaw.

“I decided to teach you a lesson.”

“A lesson?” she repeated as she was beginning to understand. The kiss under the mistletoe. Oh, God, it had been some kind of backhanded joke?

“But, of course, it backfired. I kissed you and . . . Wow.” He actually blushed. “It was crazy-good. And there we were in front of everyone. It was stupid.”

She shook her head. “No, Chris. It was wonderful.”

“Yeah, well, I thought so, too, and so instead of teaching you a lesson, it taught me one.”