Twelve Days of Christmas (7 page)

Cain straightened the tree and Julia clasped the middle of it while he adjusted the last screw. She remained tight-lipped, unwilling to hand him additional ammunition to use against her.

Cain broke the silence with a question. “How long have you been playing the piano?”

“I thought you considered music noisy racket.” He'd made a big scene about it only a few days ago.

“I had a bad headache that night.”

“Oh.”

“I suppose you're looking for an apology for that, as well as everything else.”

“Not particularly.”

“Good, because I wasn't going to give you one.” He finished and leaned on his haunches again. “Is it straight?”

Julia stepped back and examined the tree before she nodded. “It is. Thank you.”

“I'd say it was my pleasure, but it was more a pain in the butt.”

“Then why did you do it?” He really was the most exasperating person.

“Well, for one, you needed help, and for two, I'm a bit taken aback to find I don't dislike you nearly as much as I thought.”

Julia laughed and pressed her hand over her heart. “Who knew?”

“Knew what?” he asked, looking up at her with a quizzical expression.

“That you could be such a silver-tongued devil.”

Cain laughed. He bounced back to his feet and grabbed his take-out bag. “See you in the morning.”

Not until her apartment door closed did Julia realize he was basically telling her he'd meet her at the elevator.

Julia sort of hated to admit it, but she was looking forward to seeing Cain on Monday morning. She listened at her front door for what seemed like forever, but he didn't show. Her goal was to make it look like their meeting up at the same time every morning was pure accident. It wasn't, of course, and she'd pulled this little trick more than once.

As time ran out, with no option left, she had to leave or miss the bus. Cain was a no-show. Either he'd left earlier than normal or he was running late. The temptation to tap on his door was strong, but she resisted.

Giving him the wrong impression about her intentions made Julia extra-cautious. Letting him think she might be interested in him romantically wasn't part of the experiment. Still, he'd made a point about the two of them connecting that morning. She couldn't help but wonder what the deal was. Knowing him, it was probably a ruse to keep her guessing and on her toes. That would be just like Cain.

The closer it got to Christmas, the crazier her workday became. Shoppers crowded the store, searching out the perfect gift at the best price. Being this busy made the time pass quickly for Julia.

During her lunch break, she barely had time to grab a few bites as she read the comments on her blog. The number of hits had doubled.

Doubled.

SassySusan: See? Knew it was working. So glad you stuck with your plan. Met his grandfather, did you? Devious little devil you turned out to be.

JingleBellGirl: Who says he's not your type? He bought you a latte. What more do you want?

And the comments went on for pages. People were loving this project and giving her all kinds of encouragement. What her readers liked and mentioned most was the latte Cain had gotten her. Like Julia, her readers saw the fact that he'd gotten Julia her favorite drink as a seismic shift in Cain. This one action was proof that killing him with kindness was working even better than they had hoped. To Julia's way of thinking, it had taken far longer for that crack to show itself than she would have liked. Nevertheless, she'd take it.

Although she hadn't given the Christmas-tree incident more than a casual mention, several of the readers picked up on that as well. As far as Julia could tell, Cain didn't oppose Christmas, he just wasn't into it. In retrospect, that made sense. For many years now it'd been just him and his grandfather. It wasn't like he had an extended list of people he needed to shop for or a big family. Knowing what she did, she had an idea.

As soon as she was finished with her shift, Julia took the bus to Manor House to see Cain's grandfather. She'd packed the last of the homemade chocolate-chip cookies to bring him that morning, but that was just an excuse to seek him out a second time in as many days.

Sharon, the woman who was at the reception desk at Manor House, smiled when she saw Julia.

“You're starting to become a regular, aren't you?”

“Guess I am,” Julia called out as she rushed past. “Bernie's in room 316, isn't he?”

“Probably not.”

She skidded to a stop. “Oh, is he up in the game room again?”

“Could be. Check there first.”

“Will do. Thanks.” With a wave and a jaunty step, Julia was off to the fifth floor. Sure enough, she found Bernie sitting at the table, working on the same jigsaw puzzle he had been the day before. Two other men were off in the corner, playing cribbage, she noticed.

Bernie glanced up, and when he saw her, his face immediately broke into a smile. “You're back.”

“Promised you home-baked cookies, didn't I?”

“You brought them?” His eyes widened with delight.

“I sure did.” She set her bag down on the tabletop and brought out the plastic container with the cookies.

“You sweetheart. If my grandson was foolish enough to refuse these, then I'll gladly accept them.” Right away he peeled off the cover and snatched a cookie. After a single bite, he closed his eyes as if tasting ambrosia. “Better than I imagined. Almost as good as the ones my wife baked, God rest her soul.”

“Thanks.” She pulled out a chair and sat down. “I didn't run into Cain this morning.” Missing him had weighed on her mind most of the day. It seemed Cain wasn't the only one who'd grown accustomed to their morning ritual.

“He's sick,” Bernie mentioned casually as he reached for a second cookie.

“Sick?” That was a shock. “I saw him last night and he seemed well enough then.”

Cookie in his hand, Bernie looked up. “What time was that?”

“I don't remember. Around seven, I think. Why?”

“Wasn't feeling great then, either. He usually stops by Sunday afternoon, but he didn't want to give me whatever it was that upset his stomach. Surprised he didn't mention it when he saw you.”

“He helped me haul my Christmas tree up the stairs.” Then, because she felt she needed to explain, she added, “The elevator was out of order.”

“Talked to him this morning and he sounded sicker than a dog. From what he said, he spent most of the day in bed. Guess it's the flu.”

“Oh dear.” Julia immediately felt terrible. What little she knew of Cain told her he wasn't a man who took easily to being ill.

“You okay?” Bernie asked.

“Fine.” She brought her head back to the present. “I had an idea. Don't know if you and Cain have plans for Christmas Day?”

“Nothing more than dinner right here at Manor House. What makes you ask?”

“How about you come to my apartment? I'll be alone, and it would be a good excuse for me to cook.”

“You a good cook?”

“Good enough. Living alone, I don't get much practice,” she explained, “but I have my mother's and grandmother's Christmas recipes.” She welcomed the excuse to host dinner for Bernie and Cain.

“You going to serve more of these cookies?”

“I can make that happen.”

“Turkey and the fixings?”

“Whatever you want,” she assured Bernie.

“Count me in.” He chuckled.

“What's so funny?”

“You being kind to Cain and me reaping the benefits.”

Julia smiled. “Cain might refuse once he finds out it's me, you know.”

“Let him. If the boy wants to turn down a home-cooked Christmas dinner he can, but I'm no fool.”

Julia glanced at her wrist for the time. She was scheduled to be at the Boys and Girls Club to help with their practice for the holiday program. “Gotta scoot,” she said.

“Thanks again,” Bernie said, as she collected her purse and bag. “You feel free to stop by anytime.”

“Will do.”

“You don't even need to bring cookies. Your pretty smile is enough to brighten this old man's day.”

Julia had taken an instant liking to Bernie. Just like Sharon claimed, he was a real sweetheart. Leaning forward, she kissed his cheek. “I'll visit again soon.”

Bernie pressed his hand to his cheek. “Not shaving for a week,” he told her, grinning ear to ear.

The practice with the kids at the Boys and Girls Club went well. Julia accompanied them on the piano as they rehearsed their songs for the program, which was scheduled for the night of December 23. She'd come to know a number of the children involved and admired the staff. Julia was grateful for the opportunity to volunteer. She liked the work they did with the neighborhood kids and enjoyed making this one small contribution.

“Really appreciate this,” Jeremy Craig said when the practice was over.

They'd dated briefly, earlier in the year. Nothing serious. Julia liked him well enough and he seemed to feel the same, but there wasn't a spark between them, and it was foolish to pretend there was.

“Glad to do it, you know that.”

Jeremy hugged her and walked her to the exit. “You walking again?”

“It's only a few blocks.”

“Not sure I'm comfortable with that.”

“Jeremy, it's perfectly safe. This is a good neighborhood. I've never even had a hint of a problem. The streets are well lit and there are businesses along the way. Nothing's going to happen.”

“Okay, okay.”

“Besides, I've taken karate classes.” She had, but that had been a few years back and she'd had to stop after three lessons. The way she figured, when the time came and she needed to defend herself, her training would kick in. She hoped that wouldn't be necessary, but if it was she would be prepared.

She hoped.

On the walk home Julia passed the deli where she often grabbed something quick for dinner. The owners knew her by her first name. Although she wasn't especially hungry, she went inside.

Right away Levi acknowledged her with a raised arm. It was past the dinner hour and business had slowed to a few lingering patrons eyeing the variety of selections behind the glass case.

“What do you have that's good?” Julia asked, looking through the case herself. Levi made the best salads imaginable, but she had a weakness for his soups, which he cooked daily himself.

“What I got that's good?” he repeated in a heavy New York accent. “Everything is good.”

“True enough.”

He leaned against the case, his weight on his hands as he waited for her to make her selection.

“What's the soup today?”

“Chicken noodle.”

Julia's head came up. Chicken soup was exactly what Cain needed. “Give me a quart of that.”

“One quart of soup coming up.”

Julia scanned the salads, but nothing appealed to her.

“Anything else I can get you?”

“I'm good.” Julia remained full from lunch. She'd boil herself a couple eggs once she got home.

She paid for the soup, and her steps were filled with purpose as she headed back home. Getting the soup to Cain while it was still hot was a priority. Once inside the building, she dropped off her coat and purse at her apartment and went directly across the hall to Cain's. Schroeder probably needed to be walked, too. She'd volunteer to do that as well.

She knocked on his front door.

No response.

“Cain, it's me,” she called, pressing her ear to the door. Sure enough, she heard him moving on the other side.

“That's supposed to entice me to open my door?” he grumbled.

She couldn't let him know she knew he was sick. “Come on, open up,” she said when he ignored her summons.

“Go away,” he told her.

“Not going to happen. I want to know why you didn't meet me at the elevator this morning.”

“Why do you care? I'm avoiding you.”

“No, you're not. If you remember, we specifically talked about it. I want to know what's up.”

The lock turned and he cracked open the door. “I'm sick.”

She exhaled a deep sigh as if this was news to her. “I thought that must be the case.”

“Why'd you think that?” The door remained only slightly ajar, just enough for him to talk to her without shouting.

“Like I said, I just figured something had to be wrong when you weren't at the elevator this morning. Now, are we going to talk through a crack in the door or are you going to let me in?”

“No. Go away.”

“What about Schroeder? Does he need to go out?”

“The building manager took him out.”

“Come on, Cain, I thought we were past this. Let me in.”

He grumbled something under his breath that she didn't quite hear. From what she could make out, it was a good thing she didn't pick up on all of it.

Reluctantly, Cain opened the door all the way and she entered his apartment.

When she did, she stopped short. “Whoa, you look horrible.” And he did. He was deathly pale and his eyes were rheumy. If that wasn't enough, his hair was a mess; he wore sweats as if he was fighting a chill. His feet were covered in white sports socks.

“Okay, you've verified—I'm sick. Now leave.”

She held up the container of soup. “I brought you dinner.”