Christmas on the Coast

by Lee Tobin McClain

  “But...why?” Paul’s voice was plaintive, and Amber’s heart ached for him. “Why would she do that? And why would she tell you?”

  A gust of cold wind hit Amber, making her wrap her arms around herself. There was no answering the question of why Wendy had done it; that secret had gone to the grave with her. Amber could only attempt to answer the second question. “I don’t know why she told me. It just happened that, that last time I visited with her and interviewed her, she obviously had something on her heart that she needed to say. I guess I was just the person who was there when she got that urge to confess.”

  “To confess.”

  Amber nodded. “She said she loved you so much, and she knew that it would break you. And she was afraid that you’d stop caring for Davey if you knew, and you’re such a great father... Paul, she felt terrible about the whole thing. She couldn’t stop crying. And she begged me not to tell you. I didn’t know what to do, so I just listened and then did what she said.” It wasn’t an adequate explanation, but it was the truth.

  His arms crossed over his chest. His eyes were cold, colder than the wind.

  Clearly, from Paul’s reaction now, she’d made the wrong decision.

  The days and weeks leading up to this day seemed to flash before her eyes. The night Davey had come to her house, upset. The time Paul had called her to come help him at the preschool. The work they’d done together. Their kiss.

  When in there could she have fit in a conversation about the fact that his wife had had an affair and his son wasn’t his son?

  But she should have found a way. Clearly, she should have found a way. By not telling him, she had ruined any chance of them being together, of him trusting her.

  And why should he trust her? He was an honorable man, and she... Well, it was never going to work for a guy like him and a girl like her, anyway.

  Only now, as it was withering away, did she realize how strong her hope had grown. How much she’d wanted to be part of Paul and Davey’s family.

  Davey. She looked back into the bookstore and saw that Davey was now in Erica’s arms, while Trey held Hunter. Davey was looking in their direction, his expression worried.

  “Paul.” This felt like the most urgent part of the whole thing and she had to say it right. And from the looks of things, she had to say it fast, before Paul completely turned off to her. She grabbed his folded forearm, held on when he attempted to fling her off. “Be mad at me,” she said, “but don’t take it out on Davey. Let’s move where he can’t see us.” She pulled at his arm, hoping to shepherd him away from the plate glass window.

  He pushed her hand off his arm, gently enough, but she felt the quivering rage beneath those fingers. “Don’t touch me.” Paul’s face was steel.

  “You’re the only father he’s ever known and you have to stick with him. You are his dad.”

  He stared at her blankly then. “You think I’d abandon Davey? What do you think I am?” He glanced toward Davey, and then he did step out of the child’s sight line. That meant he was closer to Amber, facing her down. “Were you ever going to tell me? Or were you just going to let me be the dupe who didn’t even know he was raising someone else’s kid?”

  She felt lower than a piece of mud on someone’s shoe. This had to be such a horrible shock to Paul. She tried to imagine what it would feel like if she discovered that Hannah wasn’t her biological child, but that was impossible. Her love for Hannah was all tangled up with the fact that she’d borne Hannah from her body. And not to imply that adoptive parents couldn’t feel that way, because Amber knew they could, but adoptive parents had known the situation from the beginning. Paul was only now discovering it, discovering his whole set of beliefs about Davey—about Wendy—were wrong. Her heart ached for him.

  He rubbed a hand over his face, looking dazed as well as furious.

  “Look,” she started, “this must be so hard to take in—”

  “Don’t even try.” He cut her off. “How could you dare to try to comfort me about this? This secret you’ve been keeping from me while you were acting like you were my friend. Like you were even more than my friend.” His voice had risen as he’d spoken until he was practically yelling, and a family, two parents and a child, coming out of the store stared at them, looking shocked. The father picked up his little girl and they hurried away.

  She had to get him to calm down, for his sake and for Davey’s. “Don’t yell. You don’t want people to think poorly of you,” she said. “These are Davey’s friends’ parents. Don’t say things you’ll regret.”

  He glanced over at the retreating family. There was another family coming out of the store, too. She saw him breathe in deeply, saw him twist his neck as if it hurt.

  When he spoke again, it was in a low, steady voice that was somehow worse than the shouting. “I never want to see you again. Get out of my life.”

  “Oh, Paul...” She drew in a breath and nodded. This wasn’t unexpected. This was what she deserved.

  “You’re not worth caring about.” He nearly spat the words.

  Mechanically, she went back into the store to get her purse and her jacket, trying to keep hold of herself, trying not to cry.

  Davey attached himself to her leg. “Miss Amber, stay with me,” he said.

  She bit her lip and closed her eyes for a moment, trying to shut out his cuteness. But she couldn’t shut out his high-pitched child’s voice. “Stay with me,” he begged again, with that telltale whine that meant he was getting tired.

  She reached down and, as gently as possible, pulled his hand away from her leg.

  He grabbed on again, harder.

  Her throat tightened into an ache. More firmly now, she loosened his fingers and then held on to his wrists. “Davey, honey. I have to leave.”

  “No, don’t go.” He started to cry. It was as if, somewhere in his perceptive young soul, he sensed the finality of this, and his quiet sobs broke her heart. Her own tears overflowing, she waited until Paul came in the door and started walking toward Davey, his eyes determinedly away from hers, and then she left in misery, passing Imogene on her way out.

  She’d been through a lot in her thirtysomething years. Most notably, getting diagnosed with cancer, losing her mother and getting diagnosed with a recurrence. Those were horrible days.

  But this day, in some ways, was the worst of all. Happiness had been at her fingertips, like a colorful helium balloon.

  It hadn’t even floated away slowly; it had burst.

  Happiness, her chance at it, was gone.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  MARY SCANNED the bookstore and sighed with satisfaction. The event had been successful, as evidenced by the fact that people didn’t seem to want to leave. The families milled around, talking to each other, eating more cookies and shopping for books for their kids. And Mary was fine with it. She was feeling great about the store and her work here.

  Telling off Imogene had been hard, but worth it. Finally, she’d admitted to herself that there was nothing she, personally, could do to help Imogene fight her demons. She’d texted referrals to a couple of counselors and an online support group. Now it was up to Imogene to follow up.

  She felt like she’d shed a huge weight.

  From her spot behind the counter, she handed out free books to the families that hadn’t gotten them already. Everyone was so enthusiastic and grateful. She listened to the happy voices and sucked in the smell of chocolate and evergreen. Yes, she was getting into the Christmas spirit.

  “Hey, everrybody.” It was Imogene’s voice, coming from the front of the bookstore.

  Funny how one word from one person could put a damper on her mood. In the past, she would’ve rushed over to Imogene and tried to placate her, but she was through with that. Instead, she leaned forward, elbows on the counter, and watched as Imogene lurched around. It was pretty obvious she’d been drinking
.

  “Hey, listen up,” Imogene called out.

  Mary’s insides twisted. Yes, she’d given up on helping Imogene herself, and yes, she felt good about that. But Imogene still had the power to hurt her.

  “You all think Mary is so great,” Imogene said in a loud voice that had most people staring at her. “But did you know she’s involved with the mob? Where’d you think she got her money?”

  Mary’s stomach was churning now as her customers stared from her to Imogene and back again. Other conversations had stopped, and Imogene moved to the center of the store, turning slowly around as if she wanted to look at everyone.

  Then she spoke. “Did you know she’s had people killed?”

  The words hung in the air and made Mary’s heart lurch. Yes, she blamed herself in many ways for what had happened to her daughter and Ben. But to think that there were people, at least one person, who thought she’d ordered the hit? That was beyond belief.

  Everything seemed frozen to her—people’s shocked faces, Imogene’s sneer, the children’s confused questions. The Christmas music blared on, sounding tinny and cheap, and she reached down and shut it off.

  “Someone should call the police,” a woman said.

  Mary felt dizzy. Was one of her customers going to call the police on Mary, even after all this time?

  “She shouldn’t be allowed to make a scene like that,” the woman continued, and Mary realized she meant she might call the police on Imogene. And then there were several of her customers clustered around her.

  “It’s her fault, not mine,” Imogene yelled.

  “Sit down.” Erica urged Mary onto the stool behind the counter.

  Trey had approached Imogene. “Ma’am, you need to leave,” he said in his best police-authority voice.

  “What an awful end to a really nice night,” one of the mothers said. “That woman is obviously out of her mind.”

  The voices couldn’t seem to melt the ice inside her. She was humiliated, her privacy broken, her past revealed. She felt raw, scraped open.

  Trey was ushering Imogene out, and Imogene was going, though she continued to call out threats and accusations.

  Mary looked around, then spoke in a low voice to Erica. “Could you ask everyone to leave? I just want to go home.”

  “Of course.” Erica moved through the little crowd, speaking to everyone. A couple of people were cleaning up the cookies and napkins and plates, and others expressed concern and sympathy, or even just squeezed her hand, before exiting the store. And then everyone was gone and she was alone.

  No, not alone. “We’re driving you home,” Erica said, and she and Trey walked with Mary to their vehicle and drove for the short distance, then deposited her at her house. Erica insisted on walking her inside.

  Once Erica left, Mary sank down into a chair, staring straight ahead while memories played across the screen of her mind. Ben’s voice, his cheery goodbye that morning. Her daughter’s excitement about getting to go somewhere with her stepdaddy, just her alone. The feel of the little arms around her neck, hugging her goodbye.

  And then once they’d left, she’d gone back inside and planned her earnest effort to connect with Imogene. She’d bake her favorite coffee cake, ask her about school and friends. It wouldn’t make their relationship perfect, not right away, but she’d hoped that by putting something positive into the bank of their relationship, it would continue to improve.

  But before she could get started on her plan, a loud crash had sounded outside. They’d both rushed out and discovered Ben’s truck, wrapped around a giant tree in their front yard. In the distance, another car engine sound was disappearing.

  She’d never forget the sight of twisted metal, of bodies, of blood. Her whole world, and Imogene’s as well, shattered.

  Mary heard a whining sound, and at first she was so lost in the past that she didn’t know where it came from. It sounded again and she realized it was her puppy, Coco. The little dog managed the great leap to the ottoman and then another into Mary’s lap. There, she planted her paws on Mary’s chest and licked her face.

  Her face, that was wet with tears. She cuddled the dog close to her chest and gave herself up to the pain she’d been trying to shut out for years.

  Sometime later—she had no idea how long—the phone rang. This late at night, it was either a wrong number or bad news.

  She wasn’t going to answer, but it stopped and started again, and she warily picked it up and clicked into the call. “Hello?” she croaked out.

  “This is the Pleasant Shores Police Department, is this Mary Rhoades? Listen, a vandal broke into your store and destroyed a bunch of the books.”

  “Excuse me. What did you say?” She couldn’t take it in, couldn’t take anything in, not tonight.

  “No need to come down now. We’ve got it cordoned off and the rest of your merchandise should be safe tonight, but you’ll need to call your insurance company in the morning.” He went on, talking about fingerprints and photographs and cleanup.

  She agreed to everything and after ending the call, let her head tilt back against the chair.

  There was no doubt in her mind as to who the vandal was: Imogene.

  It drove home the fact that this was never going to go away. Why had she thought she could start over? She would always have to deal with Imogene and with the past. And it wasn’t fair to the citizens of Pleasant Shores to have her here.

  She looked down at the puppy. She’d have to move. And moving, with no idea of where she was going... She couldn’t put a puppy through that upheaval.

  She clutched Coco, her chest heaving with a sob. She didn’t want to give the dog up. Didn’t want to lose everything, not again.

  But fair was fair. She’d hold the puppy for one more night, take it into her bed and tomorrow she would take it to Kirk or Goody, let them find a new home for it.

  The puppy’s fur was wet. So wet. She tried to dry it off with her sleeve, but the source of the moisture was her own tears. And they weren’t drying anytime soon.

  * * *

  ON THURSDAY MORNING, Paul walked through the door of Mary’s vandalized bookstore. Some self-preserving part of him was glad that he had something constructive to do this morning.

  He’d gone through the motions of helping Davey get dressed, fixing him breakfast and dropping him off at school, but he was numb inside. Every time he started to feel, or think, the huge realignment his world had made last night threatened to overwhelm him. Better to just stay busy.

  “Glad you could come,” Trey said. “Mary didn’t even come in yet. Too upset. We already took prints and got all the evidence we could, so now we just want to get the place cleaned up to help Mary out.”

  “Sounds good.” Paul hadn’t seen any vandalism when he walked in the door, but when he progressed farther into the shop, he realized that books were ripped off the shelves and thrown all around, some defaced with paint, some that looked like they had been stomped. Compared to the cozy and comfortable environment it had been last night, this was a travesty. “Was it her stepdaughter?”

  “You know about her? Yeah, we think so. Earl and one of the other guys are looking for her right now.” Trey shook his head. “I just don’t get how anybody could do this to a bookstore. To any place, really, but books help people. They’re a good thing.”

  “That’s why,” came a voice from the counter, and Paul looked over to see Drew Martin, a guy he’d met a few times but didn’t know well. Drew had been in the Healing Heroes cottage last year. “To some people, anything good is something they should destroy.”

  Yeah. Paul swallowed. But sometimes things that were good just destroyed themselves. Sometimes, things that seemed good really weren’t. An image of Wendy smiling at him and hugging him, singing alongside him in church, tried to press itself into his mind. He shook it away like a dog emerging from a lake would
shake off water. “What’s the plan here?”

  “I just took a bunch of pictures for the insurance people,” Trey said. “They said we could clean up, but that we should save the damaged books and store them somewhere safe. Any that are undamaged, put on that display table up front for Mary to go through and organize.”

  “We’ll inventory all of that later,” Drew said. “For now, I’m doing phone calls. Insurance, cleaning companies, workers that were to come in today.”

  Paul started in, helping Trey. Picking up the stacks of destroyed books and loading them into boxes made Paul feel a little sick. “These books could have made kids happy,” he said.

  “Yeah, I noticed that it’s mostly kids’ books that are destroyed. Wonder what that’s about.” Trey put another armload into a box.

  “What about the young adult books, for teenagers?” Drew asked.

  Paul walked over to that section. He’d noticed Mary had a good collection of those books last night.

  Almost every shelf was bare. The floor was ankle-deep in ripped, stomped books. “Destroyed,” he told Drew.

  Like his own life had been destroyed. He shook off the self-oriented thought, grabbed another box and knelt in the young adult section, loading up the ruined books.

  “At one point,” Trey said, “Mary mentioned that she hadn’t seen the stepdaughter since the girl was a teenager. Wonder if there’s a connection with her destroying kids’ and teenagers’ books?”

  “My thought exactly,” Drew said.

  When his phone vibrated with a text and Paul pulled it out and saw his in-laws’ names, he blew out a sigh.

  Need to see you today. Where are you?

  Great. But this day couldn’t get much worse, so he texted his location and they said they would be there in an hour or less.

  It hit him then: they were related to Davey by blood. Paul himself wasn’t, if last night’s story was to be believed. They’d be shocked to even hear it hinted that their daughter had had an affair.