Christmas on the Coast

by Lee Tobin McClain

  There was Paul, handsome and haunted. She swallowed against her suddenly dry throat. “Come in. You look like you could use some lunch.”

  “That bad?” He was trying to joke, but there was no humor in his eyes. The conversation with Davey’s grandparents must not have gone well.

  “Do you want to talk about it? My sister’s here,” she added so he would know not to share anything confidential.

  He shook his head. “No, thanks. I’ve burdened you enough already.”

  “Not a burden.” She led the way to the kitchen and put the sandwich she’d intended for herself onto a plate, cut it in half and handed it to Paul. “Have a seat. Eat up.”

  “Hey,” Paul said to Erica, and she responded in kind. Then he wrapped his arms around Davey from behind and blew into his neck, making a raspberry sound that made Davey laugh.

  “Every time I come over here, I get a meal out of you,” Paul said to Amber. “It’s starting to seem unfair.”

  “Are you going to turn it down?” She nodded at the golden grilled cheese she’d handed him.

  “No way.” He sat and ate the sandwich in just a few bites while Davey showed him the drawing he had made.

  Hunter babbled and ate the Cheerios Erica put on the table for him, and the adults talked casually about events and people around town, and it was cozy and warm, like family.

  Amber loved it. She was supposed to be such an adventurer, always portrayed herself that way to other people, but in truth, she had a big homebody side. Although she liked excitement and travel, she was happiest when she was taking care of people.

  All too soon, Paul stood. “Come on, Davey my man,” he said. “We need to take Sarge back home. We’re heading to the park this afternoon, but first, we both need a little rest.”

  “Okay, Daddy.” Davey sounded surprisingly amiable.

  Father and son thanked Amber, and then the pair of them, with Sarge at their side, walked back toward their cottage.

  Amber stood at the window watching them. Paul kept a hand on Davey’s shoulder and tilted his head so he could hear what the little boy was saying. When they got to the house, Davey grabbed a small rubber football, one that looked like it was meant for the dog. He threw it, and Paul jumped up and caught it while Sarge barked.

  Amber smiled. Paul was upset, but he was still able to be a good dad.

  “You’ve got it bad, don’t you?” Erica sounded amused.

  “Shut up,” Amber said. “Can’t I admire the view without you making a big deal of it?”

  “Sure you can.” Erica came to stand beside her. “It’s a very nice view.”

  “I really like Davey.” It was a dodge, but it was also true. Davey was a sweet kid, and motherless, and it brought out Amber’s protective side.

  “Paul seems like a good guy.” Erica returned to the table, where she used a napkin to wipe off Hunter’s mouth. “But he’s sort of screwed up, right?”

  “Well...yeah, he is.” Amber sighed. “Through no fault of his own, he’s had a lot of bad things happen to him, and they’ve affected him.”

  “Uh-huh.” Erica watched her and just listened, one of the things Amber loved most about her sister. “And what does that mean to you?”

  Amber thought. “It means he’s complicated, and he has a precious little boy who’s had a complicated life, as well. And there are all kinds of reasons why I should keep that in mind and stay away from him.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  MARY ALWAYS DID good business during the By Golly, Be Jolly Christmas Shopping Night, traditionally held the first Monday in December. Tonight was no exception, so she was glad she’d gotten all five of her employees to come work part of the evening. That way, everyone could fit in a break to enjoy the festivities and do a little shopping of their own.

  She stepped outside herself, felt how brisk the air was and went back inside to grab her cape and hat before heading down the street. All the little trees in front of the shops were lit up with white lights. Down where Main Street dead-ended into Beach Street, a group of carolers sang. At the other end of the block was the big train display, so popular with the kids.

  She wanted to take in the peace, think about the reason for the season, enjoy all the friends and acquaintances who greeted her. But she just wasn’t feeling it. Was it the plans for Victory Cottage, or was it Imogene? Either way, her anxiety about the past had amplified until it was a constant ache in her stomach.

  “Mary!” Amber came over and greeted her, her nephew, Hunter, on one hip. She wore a bright red cap, and her color was high. She looked healthy and happy. “How’s business tonight? Come get a hot mulled cider with us!”

  “I’d love that, dear.” So many people were in family groups during the holidays and at events like this. Mary rarely felt bad about being single and basically childless, but if she were going to feel that way, it would be on a night like tonight. So it was nice to have a friend to walk around with.

  “There’s Drew and Ria.” Amber gestured toward a small group coming out of the clothing store, the man holding a white cane in one hand and his wife’s arm in the other. Drew had lost his vision in a police accident. When he’d come to the Healing Heroes cottage to help one of his daughters through a hard time, he’d ended up reconciling with his ex-wife. That made Mary happy.

  “Sophia will want to see Hunter if she looks over this way.”

  “Why...oh.” Of course, since Sophia, Drew and Ria’s older daughter, was Hunter’s biological mother. “Is that hard on you and Erica?”

  Amber shook her head. “No, I think it’s nice. Good for everyone. Especially this little peanut.” She kissed the top of his bald head, making him chortle.

  “I think I see Paul and Davey down by the trains,” Mary said. “Should we hurry up and try to catch them?”

  “No,” Amber said quickly. “We shouldn’t.”

  Mary looked sideways at Amber as they walked along. The attraction between her and Paul was so obvious that it shimmered in the air between them every time they were together. “What’s the barrier?” she asked, knowing she was being blunt. But Amber was always blunt with her.

  “It’s complicated.” Amber looked down the block toward Paul and Davey then, and the longing in her eyes was so intense it made Mary’s heart hurt. “But there are barriers, big ones. So the less time I spend near those two, the better.” She bounced Hunter. “I need to focus on this guy, anyway. I’m aiming to be Aunt of the Year.”

  “There’s something to be said for that,” Mary said. “Enjoy the child and then give him back to his parents when he gets fussy. And don’t forget to buy him lots of books.”

  “From Lighthouse Lit, of course.” Amber smiled. “I’m on it. I stopped in last week and got a whole stack of board books.”

  “Perfect. We have such cute ones.” Mary smiled to picture the bright new selections she’d unpacked a couple of weeks ago, in time for Christmas shoppers.

  “Hey, I never thought to ask, but do you have any kids?” Amber asked the question casually, shifting Hunter in her arms, continuing the slow strolling pace they’d gotten into.

  Mary looked up at the darkening sky. No matter how many times she heard it, that question always threw her. She bit her lip.

  Amber looked sideways at her, eyebrows raised, and then some sort of understanding crossed her face. Obviously, she’d noticed Mary’s too-long pause. “Hey.” Amber bumped her arm lightly. “I’m sorry if I was out of line. I don’t mean to be nosy.”

  “Not a problem.”

  “It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it, I totally understand. I should know better. People are always asking me invasive questions about my health and my surgeries and my prognosis. In fact, I’ve figured out the perfect answer to that kind of question. Do you want to hear it?”

  “Sure.” Mary was grateful that Amber was talking on, giving he
r a chance to compose herself.

  “Just say, ‘What did you ask me?’ as if you didn’t hear the question. Then they have to ask again. And you say ‘What did you ask me?’ again. Makes people stop and listen to themselves, and they usually stifle it at that point.” Amber’s face twisted into a wry smile. “Except Primrose Miller. She’s in a category of her own.”

  Mary smiled. Primrose prided herself on knowing everything about everyone.

  “Go ahead, practice it on me,” Amber invited.

  “No. You aren’t being rude asking such a normal question. My criteria for that is, does the person asking care about me or not. And I think you do.”

  “I do. I’m glad we’re getting to be better friends.”

  “Me, too.” And Mary was lonely and having the odd inclination to share. “I had a daughter,” she started. Then her throat tightened and she couldn’t say anything more.

  Amber put an arm around her. “I’m so sorry.” They were walking slowly now, a little out of the mainstream of the crowd. “What was her name?”

  “Margaret, but we called her...” She sucked in air. “We called her Daisy. And I don’t think I can talk about it.”

  “Of course,” Amber said instantly, and gave her shoulders a squeeze. Then she pointed toward the trains. “Uh-oh.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Here’s a change of subject for you. I just noticed that Davey’s grandparents joined the fun.”

  Glad for the distraction, Mary looked down the road and saw an older couple standing behind Paul and Davey, the woman weighed down with bags. “I should get her into my shop. She looks like a big spender.”

  “Yes, she is.” Amber’s gaze was fixed on the little group. “And Paul just got really tense. I think things are a little shaky between them.”

  “Davey seems happy, though.” Mary could see the child bouncing excitedly and trying to look into the bags the woman carried. “Doesn’t take much to get kids on your side, at Christmas.”

  A memory of Daisy, waving her arms excitedly as she stared at the newly lit Christmas tree, formed in Mary’s mind, a clearer image than she’d had in years. A hard, aching lump formed in her throat. What was wrong with her, letting herself remember? She knew better.

  “Let’s walk the other way,” Amber said. “I definitely don’t want to get in the middle of that.”

  So they turned around and headed back toward the bay end of the block, and Mary spotted Imogene on the edge of the crowd. She was walking alone, smoking a cigarette and looking at the lights, and Mary felt a surprise pang of sympathy for her. Did Imogene have anyone with whom to spend the holidays, or had she pushed everyone away?

  “Just the woman I wanted to see!” Kirk’s loud voice rang out behind them. “Have I got news for you!”

  “What news?” Mary asked Kirk, and then smiled when she saw that he was walking alongside Trey and Erica and their two dogs. “Merry Christmas shopping,” she said to the couple, and gave Erica a quick hug. She reached down to pet Ziggy, who was wearing a large blue cone around his neck, the kind that kept dogs from bothering their wounds after surgery. “Oh, dear. How is his recovery going?”

  Erica lifted Hunter out of Amber’s arms and handed him to Trey. “He’s doing fine, other than wanting to lick his incision. That’s why he’s wearing the cone of shame.”

  Mary reached inside the cone to scratch the big dog’s ears, and he leaned against her leg. It was a sweet weight, and he was just the right height that she could pet him without even bending down. His fur was soft and fluffy, just as Baby’s had been. “I’m sorry, big boy,” she crooned. “Poor thing.”

  A grin tugged at Trey’s mouth. “He got what was coming to him, for getting rambunctious in the wrong neighborhood.”

  “I was waiting to get him neutered until he was older, since he’s so big,” Erica explained. “It can be better for their bones and tendons and all that. But then we found out some news.” She frowned down at the dog, who panted back up at her.

  “He’s been getting out and getting frisky.” Kirk sounded delighted. “That’s my big news. The upshot is, there’s a whole litter of little Ziggys.”

  “Oh, no.” Mary couldn’t help laughing. Ziggy’s antics were notorious. “Who’s the lucky mama?”

  “It’s Goody’s dog, Cupcake,” Erica said. “The black-and-white poodle mix?”

  “And Goody’s furious,” Amber contributed. “Her dog is smaller, and younger, and she didn’t intend for her to have a litter yet, especially not with a, quote, mutt like Ziggy. But nature took its course.”

  “How does she know Ziggy’s the father?” Mary remembered a couple of times when the poodle had escaped, and Goody had enlisted everyone in her shop to help find her.

  “DNA testing,” Trey said, and now he wasn’t able to restrain his laughter. “She made us get Ziggy tested, and she tested the pups as soon as they were born, and she got the results last week.”

  Mary was still petting Ziggy. “I can’t believe what they can do with genetic testing these days.”

  “So anyway,” Kirk said, sounding excited, “Goody wants to get rid of the puppies because she thinks they’re mutts. I thought you might want one, Mary.”

  Mary pulled her hand away from Ziggy and stared blankly at Kirk. “Are you kidding? I thought we settled this.” Then she couldn’t resist rubbing Ziggy’s ears some more. “I’m almost seventy. I can’t have a dog of this size.”

  “Well, but they won’t be that size,” Kirk explained reasonably. “Not quite. Goody’s dog only weighs, what, fifty pounds?”

  “Something like that.” Erica nodded. “So the pups should end up no more than sixty-five pounds. I did promise Goody I’d help her find homes for the pups. Also explained to her that she can charge a lot for a poodle mix, that nobody but a breed purist thinks of them as mutts. They don’t shed, and they’re so cute.” She leaned down and kissed Ziggy’s head. “Just like you, huh? Cute, but bad.”

  “Well, it’s impossible for me. I’ll just have to keep loving Ziggy as a friend.” She scratched the big dog’s ears some more and he panted up at her with eyes that seemed full of warmth and sympathy.

  “Uh-oh,” Amber said, her voice changing as she looked down the block. “I’m gonna scoot.” She gave everyone a quick wave and hurried off.

  Erica looked at Trey. “We’d better go, too. Keep her company, and it’s time for Hunter to get to bed. Ziggy, too.” And the little group departed.

  Mary automatically looked where Paul, Davey and the grandparents had been, and sure enough, Paul was walking toward her, slowly. Davey and his grandparents headed into the new toy store.

  Wondering whether Paul had seen Amber flee, Mary watched him approach and greeted him warmly. “I hope you’re having a good night. And I hope you’ll bring that grandmother of Davey’s into my store. I have a lot of pricey new picture books that need to find a home.”

  “If there’s something shiny and new to be bought, Georgiana will find it,” Paul said. “And I’d rather have her buy books for Davey, and support your store, than anything else.”

  “Thank you, dear.” Mary smiled at him.

  “Everyone didn’t happen to leave you alone here because I was coming, did they?”

  Mary studied him. “And by everyone, you mean Amber?”

  Paul nodded. “Yeah. As soon as I came in your direction, she left.”

  “She didn’t tell me she was leaving because of you,” Mary said, which was technically true. “I think they had to put Hunter to bed. And Ziggy, the goldendoodle, he’s just had surgery and needs to rest.”

  “No big deal.” They stood watching the crowd and chatting for a few minutes, and then Mary saw Imogene again. Now she was talking to a man Mary knew vaguely, a fisherman who’d been in town for a few months.

  “Is she bothering you?” Paul asked.

&nb
sp; “Who, Imogene?” Mary considered the question. “She does have her issues, but it’s nothing I can’t handle.”

  “Amber says she doesn’t treat you well.”

  Mary watched her stepdaughter laugh at something the fisherman said. Then they both turned and headed down toward Beach Street, most likely with the destination of the Gusty Gull.

  “She doesn’t treat me well, it’s true,” Mary said. “She suffered a trauma a long time ago, and I think she’s still bitter about it.” She had to wonder at herself, sharing so much information with Paul, and with Amber before. They were both easy to talk to, and it seemed like she wanted to talk.

  It was a tendency she’d have to watch in herself.

  “Lots of people turn to substance abuse after a trauma,” Paul said. “I found that out in my PTSD support group. Or rather, confirmed it there. I’d seen it happen on the streets a lot of times.”

  Mary turned quickly to look at Paul. “She definitely has a drug problem,” she said, “but I don’t think she could have PTSD, could she? That’s for veterans, or people like you, police officers.”

  Paul shook his head. “No, they think now that sometimes civilians have it. Like if they experienced an assault, or lost loved ones suddenly. Especially if there was violence involved.”

  His words sent a flood of images into Mary’s head. Brakes screeching. The loud crunching of metal. Imogene screaming. Both of them running outside to the street in front of their house, to the smoking remains of Ben’s car.

  She could barely breathe. “I need to get back to the bookstore,” she managed to say.

  “Are you all right?” Paul looked at her, his forehead wrinkling, and put a hand on her arm.

  She shook it off. “Yes, just busy! Nice talking to you!” It was an art, getting people to leave you alone, shutting them out. An art she’d perfected.

  If they lost loved ones suddenly... If there was violence involved...