A Little Christmas Spirit

by Sheila Roberts

  The woman Lexie had seen earlier appeared at the door. She was slender, and her hair was perfect. There was no wedding band or glinting diamond on her left hand, but from the suspicious way she eyed Lexie it was clear that she wasn’t going to be inviting Lexie in for a chat.

  So a girlfriend, and an insecure one at that. Lexie’s pleasant vision of neighboring back and forth vanished with a poof.

  She made the effort to be neighborly, anyway. “I’m Lexie Bell, and this is my son Brock. We live across the street,” she added, pointing to her place, “and thought it would be nice to welcome you to the neighborhood.”

  “I’m Isobel,” said the littler girl.

  “I’m Arielle,” said her sister. She handed the box over to the woman. “You want to see our rooms?” she asked Brock.

  “Let’s get your room squared away before you start having company,” the woman said to her in a tone of voice that brooked no argument. She gave Lexie a smile that almost moved the meter up to polite. “Thanks for these. The kids will enjoy them.”

  “Our pleasure. Welcome to the neighborhood,” Lexie said.

  “Thanks,” said the woman and shut the door.

  Of course there was no Looking forward to getting to know you. No We’ll have to have coffee sometime. No nothing. Lexie found herself feeling cranky as they walked back across the street.

  “Can I go over... May I go over and play tomorrow?” Brock asked.

  “We’ll see,” Lexie answered and sighed inwardly. Apparently they were doomed to have sucky neighbors.

  Still, she found herself looking out her window at the house across the street a lot after they got home. Not spying. She just happened to look that way once in a while.

  She could see lights on inside, people moving about. Around ten the woman got in the car and left. So together but not living together yet. But obviously serious since she was helping her boyfriend move.

  Oh, well, so what if he’d been nice-looking, if he had kids. There were other nice-looking men out there who liked kids.

  Somewhere.

  Meanwhile, she’d live her life, and the neighbors would live theirs. They’d wave occasionally. Maybe the kids would play together. But that would be it.

  Except the next afternoon there was the man, standing on her front porch. He smiled at her. It wasn’t a sexy smile like Jayce the Meat Man’s, but it was a friendly one, set in a nice face with kind, gray eyes, a face that said You’ll like me once you get to know me.

  “Hi, I’m Truman Phillips,” he said. His voice was warm, and it, too, promised she’d like him.

  “I’m Lexie Bell,” she said.

  “The Cupcake Queen. Those were spectacular.”

  Not simply good but spectacular. Why did he have to have a girlfriend?

  “It wasn’t much,” Lexie said modestly.

  “It was great, and the girls and I appreciated the gesture. And the sugar. We drove straight here yesterday—seventeen hours—and the girls had been up since the crack of dawn. It was a long day, and I was bushed before we even started unloading. The place is chaos.”

  “Maybe you and your girlfriend could use some help,” Lexie offered. “I’m pretty good at putting away dishes.” Where was the girlfriend today? Lexie had seen no sign of her car.

  Not that she’d been spying. It was just a casual observation she’d made.

  “No girlfriend,” he said. “It’s just my daughters and me. My old college pal, Margo, lives up here, though. She helped us get our stuff unloaded. You must have met her when you dropped off the cupcakes.”

  “I did.”

  No girlfriend. Oh, happy day! Truman Phillips was easy to look at, and he had two nice little girls. How was he single? Why was he single? What happened to the mom? It was hardly something you could ask a new neighbor, but she was dying to know his story.

  “Well, if you could use some help,” she offered again.

  He looked as if she’d offered him an all-expenses-paid vacation to the Caribbean. “Really?”

  “Sure.” The sound of voices had brought Brock downstairs from his room. “Brockie, would you like to go to Mr. Phillips’s house and help them?”

  He immediately began jumping up and down. “Yes!”

  “It looks like you’ve got some helpers,” she said to Truman.

  “Great. We could use it. Margo had things going on this weekend, and I wasn’t looking forward to unpacking the kitchen stuff alone. We only got as far as setting up the beds last night.”

  “Moving is exhausting,” Lexie said as she took Brock’s coat from the hall closet. “But it’s also an adventure.”

  “That it is, and the girls and I were ready for one.”

  “You sure your husband won’t mind?” Truman asked as they crossed the street.

  “It’s just Brock and me.”

  He nodded, taking that in.

  The moment they were in the house Arielle had Brock by the hand and was towing him up the stairs, her sister following with a squeal.

  “They’re excited!” Truman explained.

  “Of course they are. How old are they?”

  “Arielle is ten going on sixteen, and Isobel is seven.”

  “They’re sweet.”

  “They are,” he agreed as he led the way to the kitchen. “They have their moments, but they’re good kids. When you’ve got good kids it makes everything bearable.”

  Had Truman Phillips’s life been unbearable with his ex? Lexie was dying to know.

  He gestured to her foot. “Are you sure you’re okay to do this?”

  “Oh, yes,” she assured him. “It’s only a chip fracture, and I’m hoping to lose the boot and get into a brace by Christmas.”

  “I bet you’re ready for that. I broke a leg once. Was stuck in a cast for an eternity and a half. I hope you don’t have the kind of job where you have to be on your feet a lot.”

  “I do. I’m a teacher.”

  He looked impressed. “There’s a noble occupation. Where do you teach?”

  “Fairwood Elementary.”

  “Any chance either of my girls will have you?”

  “I’m afraid not. I teach kindergarten.”

  “Is your son in your class?” Truman wanted to know.

  “He’s in first grade.”

  “So just one grade behind Isobel.” Childish laughter drifted down to where they sat. “Looks like the kids are getting along well,” Truman said. “It’ll be nice for the girls to know someone when they start school. It’s hard starting halfway through the year.”

  “It is unusual to see kids moving in partway through the school year,” Lexie said, avoiding a direct question. Was that still being too nosy? Not compared to asking what happened with his ex, which was what she really wanted to do.

  “It just worked out that way. I bought the bookstore in town. It took a while to get all the proverbial ducks in a row.”

  A man who loved books. It was all Lexie could do not to sigh like a girl who’d just gotten a chance to meet her favorite rock star.

  “I’ve been in there a few times and loved the friendly vibe.”

  “Hopefully, we can keep that going.”

  “What made you decide to buy a bookstore?” she asked.

  “Books are what I do. I owned a store in Los Angeles and it was great, but I really wanted the girls to grow up in a small town. My friend told me about Great Escape and got me in touch with the owner. I came up and checked it out. Checked out the school and was impressed. Everything fell together.”

  “It sounds like it,” Lexie said. Upstairs she could hear little feet running and more squeals. Brock was probably in heaven. Play buddies, at last. Maybe things were falling together for her and Brock as well.

  “You like it here? Are the neighbors nice?” Truman asked.

  W
hat to say to that? “It’s a quiet neighborhood.” She’d tell him about Mr. Mann when the time was right.

  He nodded. “Well, at least we have a kid across the street for the girls to play with.”

  And a woman for you to play with.

  Don’t be in a rush, she cautioned herself.

  But after organizing spices and pots and pans together, and after he’d sprung for pizza delivery, it only seemed right to invite him for dinner the following night as she was getting ready to leave. Not rushing. Just being neighborly.

  “That’d be great. What can I bring?”

  It was easy to see where his girls got their good manners.

  “Nothing but your appetite.”

  “I can do that.”

  He called for the girls, and they ran to the head of the stairs, Brock with them. They all looked overheated, their faces red, hair damp. All three were smiling.

  “Time for us to go home, Brockie,” Lexie said.

  “I don’t want to go,” he protested.

  “Can he stay and help us?” asked little Isobel.

  “No, but we’ll see you all tomorrow. You’re coming over to our house for dinner,” Lexie said to her.

  “Yay!” hooted Brock.

  “Can we have spaghetti?” Isobel asked.

  “Isobel,” her father chided.

  “It’s okay. We like spaghetti,” Lexie said. Except she had no makings for sauce and no hamburger in the house. She’d have to make a run to the grocery store.

  She’d get an Uber.

  22

  I think my family all need books for Christmas, Shannon replied when Lexie texted her about her new neighbor.

  Your book binge won’t be able to compete with my cheese bread, Lexie texted back.

  Or your cuteness. Should I hate you?

  LOL. Maybe.

  But she wouldn’t once the monster box of Godiva chocolates Lexie had bought her got delivered.

  Call me after. I need deets!

  Maybe there wouldn’t be that many deets to share. Maybe Truman Phillips wasn’t looking to jump into something. And even if he was, he might not want to with her. Maybe he was simply happy at the thought of not having to deal with making dinner for his kids.

  Or maybe there really was such a thing as Santa, and he’d delivered a great man just in time for Christmas. One could always hope.

  Lexie made it to the grocery store on her own just fine without any help from a certain neighbor—thank you, Uber—and was able to serve the requested spaghetti along with her killer cheese bread and a salad. Truman had come bearing eggnog ice cream, which paired quite well with Christmas cookies, and everything was consumed with much chatter and giggles. It was a happy time, and she could tell by the appreciative look in Truman’s eyes as he watched her that he was interested in her. Sooo...maybe he was looking to jump into something. Or at least walk into something.

  After dinner, Brock and the girls played Candy Land, which gave the adults time to visit. Truman, Lexie learned, was a big fan of PBS and every British mystery he could get his hands on. Naturally, owning a bookstore, he loved to read.

  “So far my girls are big readers, too,” he said, looking fondly to where the kids sat at the table playing.

  “It sounds like you’re doing everything right as a parent,” Lexie said.

  “I’m trying.”

  He looked wistful, and she couldn’t help asking, “What happened with their mom?”

  His lips crumpled up like he was trying to swallow something distasteful.

  Lexie immediately regretted her nosiness. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”

  “Don’t be. She had some problems. She’d always been kind of a, uh, partyer, which, I confess, I thought was exciting when I first met her. But somewhere along the way the partying got wilder, and then completely out of hand. Drugs. She’s in rehab. Again.”

  “Oh, I’m really sorry,” Lexie said.

  He looked so sad. She wished she could think of something else to say but found herself at a loss.

  “This stuff happens. I’m just grateful it didn’t happen when she was pregnant with either of the girls.” He shook his head. “When we first got together she loved being with a smart man,” he said, using air quotes. “And, of course, I loved how vivacious she was. I guess we’re your typical case of opposites attract. Nobody tells you that opposites also can drive each other crazy. We were like puzzle pieces that seemed like they should fit together but didn’t. Anyway, I couldn’t stand to see what she was doing to herself, and I sure couldn’t let the girls be around that.”

  “Of course not. Do they miss their mother?”

  “Sometimes. We’ve been separated for four years now, so they were little when we were still together. They know Mommy has some troubles and include her in their bedtime prayers.”

  “Children are so forgiving,” Lexie said.

  She could easily picture the two little girls kneeling by their beds, hands clasped just like Brock did, asking God to bless Mommy—a Hallmark movie, a Debbie Macomber novel and a Thomas Kinkade painting all rolled into one.

  “So far so good. I make it a point to never bad-mouth their mother. It’s hard not to sometimes, but I want the girls to understand that everyone has faults.”

  Like Stanley Mann. Lexie felt a sudden poke to her conscience.

  “And if you were to cut everyone out of your life who wasn’t perfect, you’d wind up with nobody in it.”

  Another poke. Ouch!

  “Not that she gets to be around them when she’s messed up like this,” he hurried to say. “We’re taking it one day at a time. If all goes well with rehab, we’re talking about her coming up to visit this summer. We’ll see.”

  “You are a good man,” Lexie said, impressed.

  “I try the best I can. It’s hard to keep all the balls in the air sometimes. Margo’s always been supportive. She’s got someone in her life now, but she’s determined to make time to watch out for us.”

  Which explained her not-so-welcoming attitude when Lexie showed up at his door.

  “So that’s me. What about you?”

  Fair was fair. She’d stuck her nose into his love fail. It was only right that she share hers. She looked over to make sure Brock wasn’t listening. Of course he wasn’t. He was having too much fun with his new friends.

  She summed up the sad story in one sentence. “He cheated when we were engaged, and we broke up.”

  “Maybe it’s a good thing you realized what you were about to get into before you actually got married,” Truman said.

  She nodded. “It is. It hurt, though.”

  “Does he see Brock?”

  She shook her head. “He gave up parental rights.”

  Truman shook his head in disgust. “You really did have a lucky escape.”

  “I guess I did,” Lexie said. “Anyway, I got a great little boy out of the deal, so I’m not complaining. And I love my job and my house. And I like this town. We only moved in a few months ago, so I’m still getting to know people.”

  “I think I’m going to like it here,” Truman said. “I sure have a nice neighbor,” he added, making her blush.

  * * *

  Happy holidays! she texted later to Shannon.

  OMG! For me, too. Chocolates just arrived. You are the best.

  No, you are. Shannon had been a lifesaver for her.

  Now bring me a perfect man. And tell me about yours? How was din-din?

  He loves my cheese bread.

  And you, I bet.

  Maybe.

  Who knew? One thing she knew for sure. Truman Phillips was one neighbor she was really going to enjoy.

  About that other neighbor. Truman’s words hovered over her like a pesky ghost.

  * * *

  Stanley had seen t
he new neighbor when he was out walking Bonnie. He’d also seen Lexie over there on Saturday, taking the man goodies. He supposed she’d never bring him anything again.

  On Sunday he watched from his dining-room window as the man and his girls trooped across the street to her place, probably for dinner. Stanley supposed, now that she’d found someone her own age who also had kids, that there’d be a lot of that. She had no need of him anymore.

  Even if she needed him, she didn’t want him. After his goof he wouldn’t be getting invited over for dinner. Or needed to run errands. He certainly wouldn’t be invited to any more school programs.

  What did he care? He was fine on his own.

  He was lying. He already missed being part of Lexie and Brock’s life. Spending time with them had become a habit, and now that she’d broken the habit he found himself feeling...empty. Even Carol didn’t seem to be speaking to him.

  “What do you think I ought to do?” he asked Bonnie.

  She gave a yap and wagged her tail. Give me a dog treat.

  Life was simple when you were a dog, he reflected as he tossed her a treat. You ate, you barked, you pooped, you chased a squirrel or two, and then you slept. You didn’t think about people you missed or people you’d managed to irritate and alienate. You simply wagged your way through the day.

  It was so much more complicated for human beings. Maybe humans thought too much. Maybe, like dogs, they needed to simply go by instinct.

  Stanley’s instincts told him that if he ever wanted the human equivalent of a dog treat he was going to have to apologize to Lexie for upsetting her kid. He still didn’t think he’d done anything all that wrong, but sometimes you had to apologize even when you felt you shouldn’t have to.

  He went in search of his phone, Bonnie trotting after him.

  “You gonna make sure I do this?” he said to her. He sure needed someone to give him courage.

  He could feel his heart rate speeding up as he made the call. What should he say? How should he begin? That ringing felt like a countdown. Before a bomb was due to go off.

  The ringing stopped, and his call went to her voice mail. Then came the tone that signaled it was time for him to talk. His brain chose that moment to take a nap.