The "What If" Guy (12 page)

I thrust the napkins at Henry, who hunched over, dripping gravy on the hardwood floor. Cody looked as if he would burst with laughter. “Henry, man, you can borrow one of my shirts. Come on, we’ll find one that will fit you.”

Henry started unbuttoning his shirt. As soon as a slice of his chest came into view, I glanced at Holly. She grinned at me and winked. Henry followed Cody from the dining room, shooting one last exasperated look at me. The kids cracked up.

I slid off of my chair to my knees, fighting back tears. There wasn’t much gravy on the floor—most of it had been splattered all over Henry’s chest and crotch—so I gathered the shards of broken porcelain. “I am so sorry,” I whispered to Holly.

“Oh, hon, it’s okay.” She helped me gather the pieces. “It’s just a stupid dish. Don’t be worried.”

“But your gravy boat.” My lips trembled. “I recognize these dishes. They were your mom’s.”

“I can find a new gravy boat on eBay,” she insisted. “Sit down and eat your food before it gets cold.”

I didn’t know what I had done to deserve a friend like Holly. “Okay.”

I stood and smiled at everyone self-consciously, including my father, who looked at me like I had lost my mind.

“You high or somethin’?” he grumbled.

“Why does everyone keep asking me that?”

“Because you’re acting like a tweaker, Mom,” Elliott said.

“I am not.”

“Mommy?” Thomas said. “I’m all done.”

Since Holly was still on her hands and knees, I turned to help him.

Splat.

I gasped. His plastic
Thomas The Tank Engine
plate flattened against my stomach, a mixture of stuffing and cranberry sauce adhering to my sweater. I peeled the plate away.

“Can I borrow a shirt, too?”

§

Holly gave me a clean sweater to wear, then left me in her bedroom to change. I stood at her dresser in my bra and jeans, examining the framed pictures lined up at the base of the mirror. Photo after photo of Holly and Cody’s happy children. I smiled and buttoned the sweater. They had such a beautiful family. I wished that Elliott and I had one, too.

“Holly?” I called over my shoulder. “Can I get a copy of this picture of your kids to hang on my fridge?”

No answer.

I went to the door, the sound of the guys laughing in the dining room echoing up the stairs. “Holl?” I stepped into the hallway. The bathroom door was open a crack and light shone from it.

“Holly,” I said quietly, crossing the hallway. I pushed open the creaky door. “I don’t have any pictures of your kids, and I—oh.”

Henry stood in the bathroom, naked down to his trim waist.

I hadn’t seen him shirtless in over thirteen years, but I reacted to him now just as I had then. I was tugged toward his body as if he reeled me in on a fishing line. My gaze lingered on his flat stomach and down the trail of fine, brown hair that disappeared behind the button on his jeans. The same shade of brown hair lightly shadowed the middle of his chest.

Henry’s eyes met mine.

“The door wasn’t closed, I…” I sounded too idiotic to continue.

We stared, neither of us moving in the soft light of the antique fixture that hung above his head. I was the deer and Henry was the headlights.

He stepped closer. My heart pounded so violently, I was pretty sure I’d started to vibrate. His hand hovered a centimeter from cupping my cheek, sending a rolling wave of heat across my face and down my neck.

My breath caught in my throat. The memory of every single kiss we’d shared came rushing back like a slide show of blissful pictures, each and every one making my insides tingle.

Henry’s lips parted.

My mind sang an operetta.
He’s gonna kiss me. He’s gonna kiss me.

“Autumn.” His voice came out hoarse, his breath warm on my lips.

Kiss me. Kiss me. Kiss me.
My heart quivered. The tips of our noses brushed together, and I closed my eyes slowly, intoxicated by the moment.

“Holy crap, Mr. T.”

Elliott’s voice rang out from the darkened hallway. Henry immediately stepped away from me, his eyes clouded. He snatched Cody’s shirt off the countertop.

“Are those burns?” Elliott came into the bathroom, pointing at Henry’s stomach.

On Henry’s midriff, just above the top of his jeans, a large red splotch surrounded a quickly rising blister.

I gasped. “Oh, shit.”

“Way to go, Mom.” Elliott frowned at me.

“El, go downstairs and ask Holly for an icepack, okay? And do not repeat that word.”

“Yeah, whatever.” He bounded down the stairs.

I looked at Henry and grimaced. “I had no idea that the gravy was so hot. Can I help you? I’m sure Holly’s got some burn ointment or something in here.” I swung the medicine chest open and it banged into the wall.

Henry pulled Cody’s T-shirt over his head and then took hold of my arm. “Relax. Slow down before you hurt someone.”

“I already have.”

Henry laughed huskily. The same laugh I’d heard in his classroom on the afternoon of Elliott’s conferences. “Stop being so nervous around me. We’re friends, right?”

I nodded numbly. I wanted him to kiss me. I wanted to feel his lips on mine, his body pressed against me. I wanted to hear him say that he still loved me, that he forgave me for breaking his heart in the rain so long ago. And then, I wanted him to lock the bathroom door, lift me onto the countertop, and...

Focus. Stay focused.
Friends was good. Friends was a start. Friends was a whole heckuva lot better than what we’d been a few weeks ago.

“Okay,” I whispered.

We left the Judds’ house about thirty minutes later, shortly after my dad announced that he needed a beer before he killed someone. Henry didn’t say good-bye, but he did make eye contact as I shooed my father and Elliott towards the front door. My stomach whirled among the chorus of good-byes and happy Thanksgivings.

Just before I pulled the door closed, Henry
winked at me.

Chapter Eight

“Merry Christmas, ho, ho, ho,” I said.

Elliott’s look screamed boredom. “It’s only the second week of December.”

We walked along the sidewalk, the crowd around us bubbling with excitement. I nudged him. “Come on, don’t be a Scrooge.”

I could tell he wanted to smile. “This is lame.”

Every year since I was seven or eight, the town of Fairfield has hosted a full-on Christmas extravaganza, complete with ice skating, cookies and eggnog, wreath-making lessons, caroling, and the lighting of the community Christmas tree in the park. I surprised myself by actually looking forward to this year’s festivities. Maybe I needed a break from the mundane, maybe I was enthusiastic because of the light dusting of snowflakes we’d gotten overnight, or maybe I was just plain crazy.

In the weeks following Thanksgiving, my hometown had begun to appeal to me. I enjoyed my job more than before. I liked seeing the regulars, week after week, when they came to pick up prescriptions and get a dose of gossip from Helen and Doris. Customers had gotten used to seeing me, and often asked about Elliott or my father. It was like having a large, yet slightly intrusive, extended family. Another improvement since Thanksgiving was that Henry and I had been true to our agreement to be friends.

Yeah.
Friends
.

It wasn’t what I wanted. I wanted us to admit that we were still in love, to recreate one of our hot and heavy make-out scenes from college, then ride off into the sunset together. But every time I’d seen Henry since Thanksgiving, we hadn’t even come close to touching. I’d hoped that being friends was really code for:
Let’s reignite the flame, baby, and start a slow burn.

I pulled Elliott close. “Just come and drink some wassail with me, okay?”

“What the crap is wassail?” he asked, his voice muffled by my coat.

I gasped in mock horror. “Oh, my son, your big city upbringing has thwarted you. I have failed you as a mother by never exposing you to the Fairfield Christmas Festival.”

Elliott pulled away, a smile on his face. “That’s not very P.C. In Seattle, they called it a Winter Party.”

Fairfield called their event the Christmas Festival, and proudly displayed a life-sized, illuminated nativity scene right in the middle of town. Fairfield had their own version of politically correct.

“Around these parts, Christmas reigns supreme,” I said.
“Why do we need the sled?” Elliott eyeballed the old-fashioned wooden sled I dragged behind us.

“We’ll use it later to haul the tree back up the hill.”

He looked skeptical. “Whatever you say.”

In the center of town, strands of red and green lights were strung high between telephone poles, and wreaths of fresh evergreen and holly hung on every door, window, and pole. Holiday songs—fittingly sung by country music artists—twanged from hidden speakers. People strolled around wearing Santa hats, and little kids sucked on candy canes.

Elliott and I bought cups of hot cider from Fisk’s, then made a couple of ornaments, despite Elliott declaring how nerdy it was. I even convinced him to join me in singing with the carolers for a handful of songs, and we bought a wreath of flocked holly to hang on our front door.

“You two should go pick out a tree before all of the good ones are gone,” the woman selling wreaths said cheerfully. “They have some balsam pines that are the bee’s knees.”

Elliott snickered. “The bee’s knees?”

I put my arm around him quickly. “A balsam sounds delightful. Thank you for the advice.”

She nodded.

I scooted Elliott toward the tree lot outside the library building. “Don’t make fun of people,” I whispered.

We wandered through the meager assortment of trees—some tall and lush, others resembling the tree in
A Charlie Brown Christmas
, a spattering of needles around their trunks. Elliott liked the bigger, fuller trees, and I wanted one of the small, lonely-looking ones that would fit in our modest living room.

Fingering the needles on a thick blue spruce, I asked Elliott, “How about this one? It’s nice and thick, and we could put it by the front window, so people can see the lights from the street.”

“Nobody walks that far up the hill,” he said from behind a seven-foot tree that had dark brown sap on the ground around its trunk.

I shook my head and joined him. “I walk up and down that hill all the time.”

“Yeah, but nobody else does. We could put the tree in the bathtub and just as many people would see it. Let’s get this one.”

“Do you see all of that sap? It’ll be everywhere. And it’s a pain in the butt to wash off, you know.”

“Whatever. It’s not that hard.”

“Yes, it is.”

“How do you know?”

“I’ve tried to wash it out of my clothes and off of my hands before.”

“You’re a city lady. When have you ever had to wash off sap?”

“I grew up here. I used to climb trees all the time.”

“I don’t believe that.” He gestured at the blue spruce I’d been eyeing. “Fine. Get that one. Grandpa will complain, though. He said he didn’t want a tree.”

“Grandpa always complains.” I smiled. “He hasn’t had a Christmas with family in town for years. He’ll love it, no matter how much he gripes.”

“Yeah, probably.” Elliott looked wearily at the sled. “We’re gonna pull the tree all the way home?”

I handed a twenty to the vender and tilted the spruce onto its side to drag it over to the sled. “Ugh.” I grunted under its weight. “It’s sturdier than I expected.”

Together we half-dragged, half-rolled the tree to the side of the library, then I tied it onto the sled with twine. Balsam needles pricked my fingers. “Ow,” I yelped.

“The whole bottom half is hanging off of the back of the sled,” Elliott said. “Won’t that break the branches?”

“Yeah. Let’s try pushing it up onto the sled more.”

He bent over and shoved on the trunk a few times, barely scooting the tree forward. “This tree’s made of lead.”

“Switch places with me. You tug on this end, and I’ll push the trunk. Just try not to break the tip.”

We took our new positions, and I pushed the thick tree trunk six or seven times, barely shuffling it forward.

Elliott stared at the tree. “The twine came undone.”

“Crap.” I scratched my head. “Can you lift it at all?”

Elliott tried unsuccessfully. “Should we call Grandpa?”

“No, I can do this.” I deepened my squat, and gave it another heave. “How does it look?”

A voice rumbled from behind me. “Looks pretty good from back here.”

My legs turned to gelatin, and my ears rang. I glanced over my shoulder. Henry stood there, wearing a leather coat, a long, knotty-wool scarf the same shade of gray as his eyes, and a stocking cap on his head. He was the epitome of a man’s man, with his perpetual whiskers and half-smile. I literally thought I would melt.

“Hi.” I tried to stand, but lost my grip on the tree trunk and stumbled backwards.

“Whoa there, chief.” He laughed.

Again with the chief thing?
I steadied myself and put my hand on my hip, trying to look casual. “So…hi. Whatcha doin’?”

He grinned. “I’m enjoying the festival.” He nodded at Elliott. “Hey, Elliott. How’s it going?’

“Hey, Mr. T. Got any twine on ya?”

Henry patted his pockets. “Sorry. Fresh out.”

I looked at my Christmas tree with contempt. “I picked the world’s heaviest tree. No joke. This thing is like a giant redwood.”

“Why don’t I help you?” he asked.

“You don’t have to.” I waved my hand. “I can do it.”

“You’re gonna bust up your back or something,” Elliott said.

“Give me a little credit. I almost had it.”

Elliott scrunched his face. “No, you didn’t. Aren’t you supposed to take it easy on your back when you’re old?”

I raised my eyebrows at Henry. “Did my kid just call me old?”

He shared a smile with Elliott. “I believe he did.”

“All right.” I bent and hoisted the tree, groaning. “I’ll show you…”

Henry took hold of my hips, and pulled me up to a standing position. My skin tingled beneath my layers of clothing. “Oh, no you don’t,” he joked, lifting the lead tree with one hand. “You’ve got to be careful in your old age.”