One Bright Christmas

by Katherine Spencer

  She took a breath and raised her chin. “We rarely get do-overs in this life, but that’s a nice thought, Craig. You take care. Good luck with the rest of the movie.”

  She turned and left the room without meeting his glance. She walked toward the elevator, barely dodging the janitor who mopped the corridor at this time of night. Her head was spinning, and she couldn’t return to work yet. She sought refuge in the nurses’ lounge. The room was empty, luckily. She made herself a cup of tea and fell into a plastic chair.

  He would have done it over, really? What did he mean by that? Lucy knew she would never ask him. She didn’t want to know now. What would be the point?

  They had been so young and naive. They wouldn’t have gotten very far or stayed together long, she always told herself. It was all for the best. Or maybe that was just sour grapes?

  The thoughts swirled in her head, so many questions unanswered. The big clock on the wall reported she still had six whole minutes to pull herself together.

  It would have to be enough.

  * * *

  * * *

  “What do you think of shopping today, Ezra? It’s Monday; the shops will be empty. Well, compared to the weekend.” The crowds had been his excuse for the last few days, but Lillian knew it was something else altogether. “We can get out early. Have lunch somewhere nice,” she added.

  “Perhaps.” He’d been reading a section of the newspaper. He glanced up at her. “I have to pick up another order of flyers at the print shop. I’m going to put them up around Essex, too. I could do that later in the afternoon, I suppose. After the shopping.”

  His reply infuriated her. “Can’t you take a day off from dog hunting? Why can’t his real owners hunt for him?”

  Ezra shrugged. “I expect they are looking. We’ve only spoken once or twice, but that’s a good point. We should coordinate, so we’re not covering the same ground and duplicating efforts.”

  “That’s not what I meant and you know it. They’re not looking nearly as hard as you for a good reason. They don’t want that dog back. He must be a troublesome creature. Perhaps he chews things up, or he’s not housebroken.”

  Ezra nearly laughed. “We had him here for several days, Lillian. He was perfectly behaved.”

  “Of course he was, out in the mudroom. What damage could he do out there?” She sighed. “So, you’re willing to pencil me in for a few hours this morning for shopping, is that it? No commitment to lunch?”

  “Let’s start with the shopping and see how the day goes.”

  She took a deep breath, trying to summon some patience and gratitude for this shred of a compromise.

  The phone rang, and Ezra grabbed it. It had rested only inches from his hand ever since the dog hunt began.

  “Yes, this is Dr. Elliot,” he replied to the caller. “Oh my. That’s excellent news. Let me get a pad and pen. I’ll take down the information.”

  He hopped from his chair to the counter, then said, “Which direction was he headed? Did you notice?”

  Lillian simmered. Another dog sighting. Another wild-goose chase for her husband. He would hang up the phone and run to don his parka and hat, then race out of the house, not to be seen again until dinnertime—if even then.

  Where will this end, dear Lord? Honestly, I’m asking for some help here.

  “A man on Bayview said he spotted Teddy this morning,” Ezra reported, moments after hanging up. “He was sure of it. Seems the little scamp tipped over his trash pails. I guess the poor boy is hungry. Hate to think of what he’s been surviving on the last few days.”

  Ezra had already dashed off to dress in his warm clothes. She followed him to the mudroom and leaned on her cane. “So you’re racing out to track down this hot lead? Like a detective on call all hours of the night and day?”

  Ezra was changing his good shoes for his waterproof walkers. “This is important to me, Lillian. I’ve tried to explain. If you can’t understand, well . . . I think it’s just willfulness on your part.”

  He slung the dog’s leash around his neck and headed to the kitchen to stock his pockets. The meat scraps were already in a little plastic sandwich bag. He removed the bag from the fridge and added to that his phone and wallet, a handful of tissues, and a few cough drops. “I’ll be in touch.”

  “I hope so. I suppose I won’t see you until dinner,” she said, more to herself than to him.

  “Perhaps not. Keep the home fires burning, dear. And say a prayer.”

  A prayer that you’ll get over this insanity, she replied silently as he slipped out the door.

  * * *

  * * *

  Lucy had a long break between her private patients on Monday. She sat in Willoughby’s Bakery & Café with her laptop, working on her records. Charlie wouldn’t have liked to see her giving business to his competition, but it was far easier and more convenient to sit here than try to work at the diner or go all the way home. And prettier, too, she thought. Molly and Betty Bowman decorated their cafés in a very tasteful way, like French bistros, Lucy thought, with small marble tables and tile floors and beautiful showcases of foods, cakes, and breads. Their shop in Newburyport was just the same.

  And the food was delicious and a lot more appetizing than the diner’s, though she felt guilty for that disloyalty, too.

  She’d found a cozy spot in the corner, next to the big window that framed a view of the harbor. The neighborhood was quieter that it had been on Friday. But the bakery was busy, with customers coming in for lunch and mothers pushing baby strollers and leading toddlers by the hand.

  “Lucy? I see you hiding over there.”

  Lucy looked up to find Fran walking toward her, carrying a white bag of take-out food.

  “You caught me,” she confessed as they kissed each other on the cheek. “I had a few minutes to catch up on paperwork. If I dare to stick a toe in the diner lately, Charlie is liable to wrap an apron around me.”

  Her description made Fran laugh, though she knew it was true. “No worries, my friend. I’ll never tell him you hang out here. I thought you were back at the hospital this week.”

  “Just a few shifts, to fill in. I was there last night.” She paused, wondering how much she should say.

  But her friend was already doing the math as she sat down opposite Lucy. “You were on duty last night? Craig was still there, I heard. He was just released this morning. Did you see him?”

  Lucy was not surprised at her questions. Fran never wasted time getting to the point. “I didn’t intend to. But, yeah, I did see him.”

  Fran looked pleased by the report. She flipped off the cover of her soup. “Glad to hear it. That’s progress.”

  “I was just passing his room, to check if he was all right. I didn’t even expect him to be awake. It was after midnight.”

  “So did you speak to him, finally?”

  Lucy suddenly realized that she’d never told Fran how Craig had caught up with her after church that Sunday and what he’d said. “I did, a little. But it wasn’t the first time.”

  Fran lifted her head and stared at her, wide-eyed. “What? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. I didn’t tell anyone.” She knew Fran wanted to say I’m not anyone and was thankful she did not.

  Instead, Fran said, “So, when was this first time? Start at the beginning. Tell me everything.”

  Lucy wanted to laugh at her serious expression. “Did you learn these interrogation techniques from Tucker? Where’s your pad and pencil? Don’t you need to take some notes?”

  Fran spread a bit of butter on a brioche roll she’d set beside her soup. “You’re wasting valuable time, Lucy. I have to get back to the office soon, but you’re not getting out of here until I hear the full story.”

  Lucy felt cornered, but it was also a relief. The situation had been simmering inside her for over a week n
ow and she hadn’t shared it with anyone. Fran was the perfect confidante and might even give her some sound advice.

  She quickly told her friend how Craig had waited for her after church two Sundays ago and what he’d said—and her reaction.

  “I wasn’t even sure I wanted to visit him at the hospital. But once I was on his floor, it felt inevitable. He was very nice to me,” she added. “I give him credit, after the things I said. But I still can’t agree to rehash the past, Fran. Despite all his fine words—and some things he said really surprised me—I can’t even say, I accept your apology. I don’t think I do. And I won’t lie. What would be the point?”

  Fran had finished most of her soup. “It sounds to me like he’s really sorry. That must mean something to you?”

  “It does, I won’t deny it. It makes me feel . . . better. A little,” she added. “But it doesn’t make up for what he did.”

  To that girl, she wanted to say. That sweet, trusting girl who believed that he made the sun come up in the morning. The girl who had just about put her entire life in his hands. She really did see her younger self as another person entirely, a vulnerable, naive young woman whom she needed to protect and comfort. And whom she needed to champion now.

  Fran pulled a chocolate chip cookie from the white bag. “Want a bite?” Lucy shook her head. “You know what I think?”

  “I do,” Lucy said. “But you’ll tell me anyway.”

  “Aren’t you even curious to hear what he has to say? His explanation? His side of the story? You just told me he said things that surprised you. So it seems you don’t know it all.”

  Lucy shifted uneasily, then stared out the window. She had imagined every possible version. There was nothing—or very little?—he could add at this point. “Maybe I don’t. But whatever he says, it won’t change anything.”

  “I think you’re wrong. It might melt that icy heart. When it comes to Craig, I mean. Is that what you’re afraid of? Because it seems to me that you’re afraid of something. That’s what all this stubbornness is about, isn’t it?”

  “Oh, Fran.” Lucy shook her head. “You always had a flair for melodrama. I don’t need to wallow in the past. If he does, fine. I don’t. He said his piece. And he heard my reaction. That’s that.”

  “He didn’t say his piece. That’s the point. No, wait. The point is that you’re making a mistake.”

  Lucy didn’t agree. That’s what counted. “The movie people are leaving in a few days. On the weekend, I heard. They’ll pack up and go, and everything will get back to normal. It will be as if he never came here. Nothing happened. Nothing’s changed.”

  “You know that’s not true. Your life is different already. You’re different. Not that it shows,” Fran said, “but inside. He apologized to you. More than apologized. Sounds to me like the man bared his soul. That must have changed your feelings about him a little? Made a tiny tweak in the story you tell yourself about the past? Show some compassion, Lucy. It’s not like you to act this way.”

  When had her friend gotten so smart about people—and how their hearts and minds really worked? Secretly, Lucy agreed with her. But she knew that if she admitted it, Fran would never give up.

  “I don’t act this way usually. That’s true. But this is different.”

  Fran stared at her, then sighed. “I know I keep saying this, but I wish you’d listen. If you don’t talk things out with him, you’ll be sorry.”

  “I won’t be, Fran,” she quietly insisted. But somewhere between last Sunday and last night at the hospital, something deep inside had shifted. Very slightly. But she did feel that inner emotional scale, which weighed the pros and cons of the question, tilting now in Craig’s favor.

  Maybe she could find a drop of forgiveness in her heart? She wasn’t sure what to do. The clock was ticking down. Was it pressuring her to act—or counting down the hours she still needed to hang tough?

  Maybe she should just concentrate on her work and getting ready for Christmas and let time take care of this problem. Wouldn’t that be the easiest solution for all?

  * * *

  * * *

  Joe had left town the week prior, on Thursday, to visit his mother, who now lived in Scottsdale, Arizona. She’d retired there with his stepfather. Saturday was his mother’s birthday and so he had skipped a visit at Thanksgiving in favor of this trip.

  Lauren found his absence a relief. Their work relationship had gotten a little tense after the confusing meeting with Maddie Belkin last Monday. With Joe out of town, she didn’t have to dodge unwanted dinner invitations.

  He did call once a day to check up on things. But he hadn’t called her on the weekend, which was also a relief.

  She had hoped that the wonderful ice-skating interlude with Cole would extend into an impromptu Saturday-night date. But Cole had to bring Phoebe to a party at David and Christine Sawyer’s, and Lauren was a bit disappointed when he left her with the standard parting promise of “I’ll call you.” She’d heard that one before.

  But he did call on Sunday evening, much to her delight and relief. He asked her out to dinner for the following Saturday night. She had hoped to see him sooner, but there was Phoebe to consider. Lauren knew it was probably hard to leave her with a sitter during the school week.

  It’s best not to rush these things and If it’s meant to be, it’s meant to be were her favorite mantras as the week started. Still, she couldn’t help feeling that her days in Cape Light were slipping by. How much time would she spend with Cole and Phoebe before she had to go?

  She arrived at the law firm very early on Wednesday, even before the receptionist. Joe was already there. She left her coat and briefcase in her office, then peeked into his office. He sat behind a pile of papers and mail, a stack of pink message slips in the center of it all.

  “I wasn’t gone that long. I’ll be digging out all week.”

  “That’s what you get for sneaking off to play golf in Scottsdale.”

  “I didn’t sneak off. I was visiting my mother, for her birthday.” He looked a little miffed at the accusation, then grinned. “Can I help it if she and my stepdad are obsessed with the game? You should see the course they brought me to. I thought I had died and gone to heaven.”

  Lauren laughed. “The ever-so-slight tan line across your forehead from the baseball cap—dead giveaway.”

  “You got me, Miss Marple. Guilty as charged.” He leaned back in his leather chair. “By the way, how’s your investigation into Dendur Software going? Dig up any dirt to confirm Maddie’s story?”

  Lauren had made progress but had not shared much on the phone, preferring to tell him in person. “I’ve spoken to both of the women who Maddie claimed received the same treatment from Dendur—lower salary for the same work, men who were less qualified being promoted over them or kept on when the positions of female coworkers were cut.”

  “Really? What did these women say?”

  “They told stories similar to Maddie’s, once I got them talking. They all seemed impressed that she was taking a stand.” And had seemed a bit embarrassed, or at least regretful, that they’d given up without a fight, Lauren had thought. “I think hearing she’s come forward and is going after Dendur made a big impression. Maybe even gave them hope. So far, only one has agreed to give us an affidavit.”

  “Give it time. You might win the other woman over. Even one voice corroborating Maddie’s claim helps.”

  “That’s just it, Joe. Both of these women know other women who experienced the same treatment, and they gave me more names. This thing is mushrooming.”

  Joe’s eyes grew wide. “How big?”

  “I’m not sure yet, but certainly more than we expected. Definitely potential for a class action suit. I have to follow through now, don’t you think? They may want to join Maddie’s suit, not just corroborate her story.”

  “Have you asked them?”r />
  “I wanted to ask you first. Then we need to run it by Maddie.”

  “Of course. Let’s see what the next group has to say. If their stories are substantial enough, I mean. This case has to be solid, or we’ll get slapped off like pesky mosquitos.”

  “Nobody is slapping me off of anything,” Lauren promised as she rose from her chair. “I’ll keep you posted. I’ll line up the calls.”

  He leaned forward. “Great work. Really. Why don’t we get together for dinner one night, Lauren, and you can bring me up to speed? How does tomorrow look?”

  Lauren felt a knot in her chest. She liked working with Joe, but this was the part she was not liking lately. Especially now that her relationship with Cole seemed to be more than a hopeful wish.

  “Betty has her holiday band concert at school. I promised her I’d go.”

  He shrugged. “Sounds cute. How about Friday?” She was relieved he had not offered to join her. Thankfully, a middle-grade band concert really was a bridge too far, even for Joe.

  “Decorating the tree that night. Family ritual.” She stressed the word “family,” hoping he’d get the hint—no non–fam members allowed.

  “Oh, I see.” He sat back, his eyes narrowing. “Should I go for the third swing? Your curve ball is pretty sharp this morning. I’m afraid to ask about Saturday.”

  Lauren didn’t know what to say. Actually, she did know, but she wasn’t sure if this was the time to say it.

  “Hey, remember when we were in high school and I’d ask you to do things with me and you’d say you were sorry, but you had to wash your hair that night?” Joe grinned, remembering, but she could sense the excuse still stung.

  “I do,” she answered in serious tone. “That wasn’t an excuse either. Nice hair was a really big deal back then.”

  “It was,” he agreed. “But how about now? I get the feeling you’re going to say that again. That you have to wash your hair Saturday night?”