One Bright Christmas

by Katherine Spencer

  “What would you name him?” the girl asked.

  Lauren didn’t have to think about that much. “I’d call him Wilbur. Like the pig in Charlotte’s Web? Do you know that story?”

  The girl shook her head.

  “That was my favorite book when I was a kid. Even now,” Lauren added. “Wilbur was a lonely little pig without a mother, too,” she recalled. “But things turned out all right for him.”

  “My dad reads to me to a lot, at night before bed. I’ll ask him to find that book for us.”

  “Good idea. I’m sure he can find it at the library.”

  Lauren couldn’t quite picture surly Cole McGuire reading bedtime stories. But wonders never cease in this world, she reminded herself.

  She noticed her aunt and Cole emerge from the barn. As his gaze settled on her and his daughter, he frowned, then walked quickly toward them.

  She couldn’t quite fathom his reaction, though he certainly had one. She stood up, the piglet cradled in her arms. Was he concerned—or even angry—to find his daughter talking so freely with a stranger? Parents were very cautious these days, she knew, and with good reason.

  “I was just showing your daughter the piglet. She was very excited to see him,” Lauren explained.

  He nodded, his mouth a tight line. “Phoebe, let Lauren bring the piglet into the barn now. You can see him later.”

  “Can I just go with her and watch? Please?”

  Absolutely, Lauren was about to blurt out. But she caught herself, for once, and instead waited to hear his response.

  “Yes, of course. We’ll go together. Jessica made a spot for the piglet with Tilly. Let’s see if she likes him.”

  Phoebe ran and practically skipped ahead, too excited to keep pace with the slow, plodding adults.

  Lauren couldn’t help but smile as she watched her. “How old is she?”

  “She’s five years old.”

  “She’s adorable. We had a very nice conversation.”

  He answered with a curious look. “I noticed.”

  Lauren didn’t know what to say after that. Jessica was standing in the open doorway of the barn, waiting for them, with Phoebe hopping at her side.

  “Here he comes, our little charmer. Tilly will fall in love with him,” Jessica predicted.

  Lauren hoped that was so. She didn’t know much about these things and wondered what would happen to the little pig if the sow didn’t nurture him. He felt so fragile, nestling into the warmth of her arms.

  “You’ll be just fine, Wilbur,” she whispered, hoping that no one noticed.

  In the shadowy barn, Lauren handed Wilbur over to Jessica, who stood in the pigpen with a large sow who was covered with black spots.

  “Tilly’s just had a litter,” her aunt explained. “I hope she takes to him.”

  She set the piglet down next to the sow, who was lying on her side, feeding her offspring. Jessica set him among the brood and watched while he found a spot to eat. Tilly sniffed him curiously, then lowered her head again.

  “So far, so good. I hope her maternal instincts take over.” Jessica looked up at Cole and Phoebe. “You’ll have to watch that he’s fitting in with the litter and getting enough to eat. And that the other pigs aren’t pushing him around too much. He’s much smaller than they are,” she warned. “If she doesn’t take to him and protect him, someone will have to bottle-feed him for a while. He’s still young and at risk if he’s not nursed properly.”

  “I’ll watch him, Mrs. Morgan. I love him already.” Phoebe’s tone was definite and touched Lauren’s heart.

  Jessica rested her hand on Phoebe’s shoulder and smiled. “Thank you, honey. I won’t worry one bit with you watching over him.”

  Her aunt glanced around the barn at the other animals. “Everyone looks very cozy. Thanks for putting down fresh straw, Cole. I have a few bales at home to bring you but needed the space in the van for the animals. I’ll bring them next time.”

  “No worries—whenever you get to it.”

  They headed out of the barn. Lauren was eager to go home. She climbed into the van while her aunt gave McGuire a few more instructions.

  “Don’t worry. I know what to do, and I’ll call you with any questions,” he replied.

  He leaned over and looked into the van as Lauren was clicking her seat belt shut. “No more runaways. Even the one-eyed donkey. Though he’d love to work on his putting.”

  Lauren tried not to laugh. “Why don’t you take him to mini-golf? There’s a cute one on the turnpike. It has a Star Wars theme.”

  He rubbed his hand over his mouth and stepped back as Jessica climbed into the van and shut her door. Lauren could tell he, too, was trying not laugh.

  Phoebe had been the last to leave the barn and now clung to Cole’s leg. She peeked around her father and shyly waved. Lauren wondered what had happened to her loquacious side, but little kids could be like that—bold one minute, timid the next. She really was adorable, either way.

  As they pulled out to the main road, her aunt said, “I know he comes across a little brusque at times, but Cole is a good guy. He’s been through a lot.”

  Was it so obvious she’d been thinking of him? Lauren decided Jessica had not guessed that but just wanted to defuse the tension between them. Lauren was curious about Cole but didn’t want her aunt to get the wrong idea. A bad divorce is what she guessed Aunt Jess meant by “he’s been through a lot.” It was fine to leave it at that.

  “As long as he’s repaired the fence and keeps the animals contained, I don’t care what sort of guy he is,” Lauren said honestly. “His daughter is sweet.”

  “You were a big hit with her. Phoebe is usually very shy. More than shy,” Jess noted. “She’ll barely speak to most people. Even if they’re familiar.”

  So that’s why he’d given her odd looks after she spoke with Phoebe. “Baby animals are a good conversation starter,” Lauren said. “Not so much at a cocktail party, but works like a charm with a five-year-old.”

  “I’ve gone over plenty of times with animals. She’s curious but sticks like Velcro to her father and hardly says a word.”

  Lauren didn’t get that. Children usually loved her aunt. She knew how to talk to them, having brought up three of her own. Lauren did believe that children and dogs know who their friends are, and she did love the little ones; she had even considered becoming a teacher instead of an attorney. Maybe Phoebe had picked up on that. Children were sensitive, and Cole McGuire’s daughter seemed even more sensitive than usual.

  When Lauren imagined having children of her own, there was always a little girl in the picture, though she was sure she would adore either a daughter or a son if and when she was ever blessed with a baby. The “if and when” part had come to the forefront lately. She tried not to think about it or see herself facing some baby-making deadline. But it was hard to put the issue aside when so many of her friends, and her sisters, not only talked about the question but were starting families left and right.

  One life crisis at a time, Lauren reminded herself as she stared out at the passing scenery on the Beach Road. Bare trees and stretches of golden marsh grass rushed by, distracting her from worrisome thoughts. It really was so pretty here, she realized.

  If I have to figure out my entire life over again, at least I picked a good spot for it.

  * * *

  * * *

  “You’re not wearing that, are you?”

  Only her sister Jillian could get away with that line. Or their mother. Jillian had a touch of Molly in her personality, too. Though Lauren had inherited the complete software. Amanda, on the other hand, was too considerate to put an outfit critique quite that succinctly.

  But Lauren could tell from the expressions on both of their faces as they lounged across her bed that the clothes she’d chosen for her dinner date with Joe did not merit the
sister seal of approval. She sat at the dressing table and started on her makeup, determined to weather the protest.

  “Black leggings, boots, and a black sweater. It’s more than a Saturday-night outfit. In New York, it’s a uniform,” Lauren countered. “In fact, there might be a law there that everyone under forty has to dress like this at least once a week.”

  Jillian rolled her eyes. “Spare me the city snobbery. I know we’re only country mice, but you look like a Ninja warrior. Or maybe a bank robber? You’re not planning on wearing a black ski mask with that, are you?”

  Amanda grinned. “What about that wrap dress you had on the other day? That color looks super on you, Lauren.”

  “The wrap dress! Good idea. You look fantastic in that,” Jillian agreed.

  Lauren liked the dress and knew that she looked especially attractive in it. It emphasized the positive aspects of her figure and disguised the less than positive. But she also had her reasons for not fussing, even though it was Saturday night.

  “I purposely went low-key. I don’t want to give Joe any ideas,” she admitted. “I’m not even sure why I agreed to go out with him again. I’d rather stay home with you guys and play Scrabble.”

  Jillian sat up, bouncing Amanda. “Wow, don’t get too excited. I know he’s a lawyer, but he doesn’t seem that boring.”

  “I never thought Joe Wagner was boring.” Amanda had been in the same year at school as Lauren and had known Joe well back then, too. “He was always fun to be around, and he seems the same. Just older. And successful,” she added, “lawyer or not.”

  Lauren paused, mascara wand in hand. “You forgot to say, He’s such a nice guy.”

  Amanda met her gaze in the mirror. She knew Lauren well. “I didn’t want to remind you. I have a feeling his niceness still counts against him. Though I can’t really understand why. Especially considering what you just went through with that stupid Greg. Who was anything but nice to you.”

  Lauren knew that was true. She wasn’t sure either.

  “You should definitely know better by now and give good old Joe another look,” Jillian added.

  Lauren had picked up a lipstick, but Jillian’s words gave her pause.

  “Eyes or lips,” Amanda warned, reminding her of the classic makeup rule. “That jungle red will definitely give him ideas. Though I think he has a few already.”

  Lauren stared at the lipstick for a moment and set it down. She turned to them. “How do I manage to dress myself every day without step-by-step directions from you two? It’s positively amazing.”

  “Not very well, truth be told,” Jillian muttered. She tried to stifle a smile but couldn’t stop it. “I’m sorry. You set me up for that one.”

  Lauren was miffed by the comment for a moment, then couldn’t help laughing. But just to show she wasn’t taking any sibling guff, she picked up a stuffed dog from the dresser and threw it at her younger sister. Jillian deftly blocked the attack with her arm, and the toy bounced off Amanda, who sat back in surprise.

  “You guys! We’re not in middle school anymore, remember?”

  Jillian ignored her and retaliated with a bed pillow. It landed squarely on the dressing table, and a cloud of face powder flew up and settled on the front of Lauren’s black sweater and all over her face.

  Lauren blinked and stood up, then stared down at herself. That was the end of her Ninja look. She’d be wearing the wrap dress after all.

  “Nice move, Jill. I hope you realize that you’re paying the dry-cleaning bill.”

  “Sorry!” Jillian held her hands up in a sign of surrender as she and Amanda huddled together on the bed, reduced to a fit of giggling. “You should see yourself. It was so worth it.”

  Lauren glanced at her reflection and started laughing, too.

  “I have half a mind to go downstairs just like this. But I know you guys won’t let me.”

  “I dare you,” Jillian said.

  “It won’t make any difference to Joe,” Amanda said.

  “He’ll still think you look great.”

  Lauren knew that was true. And it gave her pause. If she still thought of Joe as just a pal after tonight, she’d better let him know. Before their high school reunion got out of control.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  I saw him, Lucy. He stood as close to me as you are right now. He spoke to me, too,” Fran reported in a breathless voice. “Real nice. Just like a regular guy.”

  Lucy had been careful to avoid the movie insanity that had struck the town that morning, and she had almost succeeded. She wouldn’t have stopped in the village at all, but just as she was leaving the house, Rosemary Holmes called and asked if Lucy would kindly pick up a book of stamps at the post office on the way over. Rosemary had a pile of thank-you cards to mail and no one else to buy her stamps. The idea of refusing or pointing out that such an errand was not part of her job never crossed Lucy’s mind.

  As long as she avoided the diner—where she knew Charlie was in overdrive—she figured she’d be fine.

  Several huge trailer trucks from the production company, filled with equipment and who knows what, had pulled into the village lot by the harbor late last night and covered nearly every spot. She saw a few people from the crew near the trucks, though she’d heard that the filming had started at Lilac Hall. There was more equipment there, she imagined, as well as the fancy trailers belonging to the movie stars. She didn’t let her thoughts wander too far in that direction.

  Fran’s eyes were bright and her cheeks tinged with pink, maybe from running to catch up with Lucy. Or maybe from her morning’s adventure.

  “I can’t believe you went to Lilac Hall this morning, Fran. What time did you get up?”

  “Half past five. There was already a crowd when I got there. The stars took forever to come out of their trailers, and then there was another wait to get an autograph. But it was worth it. Craig was so nice. Not snobby at all, just like a regular guy.”

  Lucy rolled her eyes. “He puts his pants on one leg at a time. Just like Tucker. He didn’t descend off a cloud.”

  Fran laughed. “You know how I love Tucker. But I’m the first to say there a big difference between my husband and Craig Hamilton. Look, he gave me his autograph.”

  Fran had been clutching a book to her chest and Lucy finally saw the cover: Scene by Scene, Craig Hamilton’s memoir, which had been published a few months ago. Lucy had known that Fran was reading it. Fran had offered to lend it to her, but Lucy had claimed she had no interest—though she had leafed through it surreptitiously in a bookstore one night, feeling a mixture of relief and anger when she discovered that she had not been mentioned, even in passing.

  Had their relationship meant so little to him? She had faced that hard truth long ago, but it was still difficult to see the proof in black and white.

  Fran read the inscription aloud. “‘Thank you for sharing your beautiful village with us. Best wishes, Craig Hamilton.’”

  “Very nice. But I wouldn’t get too excited. He probably wrote the same thing a hundred times today.”

  Fran gazed at the page, then finally closed the book. “I know. Even so, I think it was a very gracious thing to say. He’s got class. You have to grant him that.”

  Lucy wasn’t willing to grant him anything. “Did he remember you?”

  “If he did, he hid it well . . . But I know he’d remember you, Lucy. How could he ever forget?”

  “Right. Like I’m going to get up before dawn and stand in line to find out. That’s the last thing I’d ever do.”

  Fran touched her arm. She looked so sympathetic, Lucy felt terrible snarling at her. “I know, honey. Don’t be silly. That’s not what I mean at all. I’m just saying you should see him. Send him a note or something. I’m sure if you got in touch, he’d reply. After all this time, wouldn’t it help to talk to him? To finally have some answers? I bet he’
d be willing if you asked. I bet he wants to talk to you, too.”

  “Oh, Fran. What answer do I need to hear? Why a guy who made a lot of promises and plans left a nineteen-year-old girl waiting all night under a birch tree? Do you think there’s some mysterious thing that happened that I don’t know? He was struck on the head and got amnesia? Or was run down by a bus and couldn’t get a message to me?”

  Fran gripped Lucy’s arm. “Isn’t there a famous movie where that happens? With Cary Grant and Deborah Kerr? They were supposed to meet at the Statue of Liberty.”

  “The Empire State Building,” Lucy corrected her. “She gets hit by a car crossing the street and ends up in a wheelchair.”

  “But Cary Grant still loves her,” Fran pointed out.

  “Why are we even talking about this? I have to get to work.”

  Fran looked suddenly contrite. “I’m sorry, Lu. I know I’m being a pest. It’s just that if I were in your shoes, I would figure out a way to see him and have my say. There must be things you want to say that have been brewing inside you for years. Even if you don’t care why he did what he did. There must be things you want to get off your chest.”

  Lucy knew that was true. Then decided, as she always did, there would be no point in telling him off. It wouldn’t change anything. It wouldn’t soothe or reassure that naive, loyal little girl who’d stood under that tree all night. That girl was gone. The woman who remained didn’t need or want a thing from that man.

  “All I would say is, ‘Thanks. You did me the best favor of my life.’” Even if she had felt like a bug squashed on a windshield at the time. “My life turned out fine. Better than fine. It’s all ancient history, Fran. If he wants my autograph, he knows where to find me.”

  Fran looked like she was about to say more, but then she nodded and stepped back. “You’re right, Lucy. It works both ways. I bet, with Google and all, he knows you still live here. After what he did, he should make the move to get in touch. Maybe if he does, you’ll feel differently. I won’t say any more about it,” she quickly added. “I promise.”