Christmas Wishes

by Debbie Macomber

  “It has to do with you.”

  “Me?”

  “Yup. I met Vickie and Diane at Pacific Place, and we had lunch at this wonderful Italian restaurant.”

  LaVonne sat across from her, and Martin automatically jumped into her lap. Tom got up on the chair, too, and leisurely stretched out across the arm. She petted both cats with equal fondness.

  “I ordered the minestrone soup,” K.O. went on to tell her, maintaining her exuberance. “That was when it happened.” She’d worked out this plan on her way home, inspired by Wynn’s joke about the olives.

  “What?”

  “I had a psychic impression. Isn’t that what you call it? Right there with my two friends in the middle of an Italian restaurant.” She paused. “It had to do with romance.”

  “Really?” LaVonne perked up, but only a little.

  “It was in the soup.”

  “The veggies?”

  “No, the crackers,” K.O. said and hoped she wasn’t carrying this too far. “I crumbled them in the soup and—”

  “What did you see?” Then, before K.O. could answer, LaVonne held out one hand. “No, don’t tell me, let me guess. It’s about you and Wynn,” her neighbor said. “It must be.”

  “No…no. Remember how you told me you don’t have the sight when it comes to yourself? Well, apparently I don’t, either.”

  LaVonne looked up from petting her two cats. Her gaze narrowed. “What did you see, then?”

  “Like I said, it was about you,” K.O. said, doing her best to sound excited. “You’re going to meet the man of your dreams.”

  “I am?” She took a moment to consider this before her shoulders drooped once more.

  “Yes, you! I saw it plain as anything.”

  “Human or feline?” LaVonne asked in a skeptical voice.

  “Human,” K.O. announced triumphantly.

  “When?”

  “The crackers didn’t say exactly, but I felt it must be soon.” K.O. didn’t want to tell LaVonne too much, otherwise she’d ruin the whole thing. If she went overboard on the details, her friend would suspect K.O. was setting her up. She needed to be vague, but still implant the idea.

  “I haven’t left my condo all day,” LaVonne mumbled, “and I don’t plan to go out anytime in the near future. In fact, the way I feel right now, I’m going to be holed up in here all winter.”

  “You’re overreacting.”

  Her neighbor studied her closely. “Katherine, you really saw something in the soup?”

  “I did.” Nothing psychic, but she wasn’t admitting that. She’d seen elbow macaroni and kidney beans and, of course, the cracker crumbs.

  “But you didn’t take the class. How were you able to discover your psychic powers if you weren’t there to hear the lecture from Madam Ozma?” she wanted to know.

  K.O. crossed her fingers behind her back. “It must’ve rubbed off from spending all that time with you.”

  “You think so?” LaVonne asked hopefully.

  “Sure.” K.O. was beginning to feel bad about misleading her friend. She’d hoped to mention the invitation for Monday night, but it would be too obvious if she did so now.

  “There might be something to it,” LaVonne said, smiling for the first time. “You never know.”

  “True…one never knows.”

  “Look what happened with you and Wynn,” LaVonne said with a glimmer of excitement. “The minute I saw those two raisins gravitate toward each other, I knew it held meaning.”

  “I could see that in the crackers, too.”

  This was beginning to sound like a church revival meeting. Any minute, she thought, LaVonne might stand up and shout Yes, I believe!

  “Then Wynn met you,” she burbled on, “and the instant he did, I saw the look in his eyes.”

  What her neighbor had seen was horror. LaVonne couldn’t have known about their confrontation earlier that day. He’d clearly been shocked and, yes, horrified to run into K.O. again. Especially with the memory of her ranting in the café so fresh in his mind.

  “You’re right,” LaVonne said and sat up straighter. “I shouldn’t let a silly letter upset me.”

  “Right. And really, you don’t even know how much of what your college friend wrote is strictly true.” K.O. remembered the letter she’d written for Bill Mulcahy. Not exactly lies, but not the whole truth, either.

  “That could be,” LaVonne murmured, but she didn’t seem convinced. “Anyway, I know better than to look to a man for happiness.” LaVonne was sounding more like her old self. “Happiness comes from within, isn’t that right, Martin?” she asked, holding her cat up. Martin dangled from her grasp, mewing plaintively. “I don’t need a man to be complete, do I?”

  K.O. stood up, gathering her packages as she did. Toys and books for the twins, wrapping paper, a jar of specialty olives.

  “Thanks for stopping by,” LaVonne said when K.O. started toward the door. “I feel a hundred percent better already.”

  “Keep your eyes open now,” she told LaVonne. “The man in the soup could be right around the corner.” Or on the top floor of their condo building, she added silently.

  “I will,” her neighbor promised and, still clutching Martin, she shut the door.

  Sunday afternoon Wynn came to K.O.’s door at three, his expression morose.

  “Cheer up,” she urged. “Just how bad can it be?”

  “Wait until you meet Moon Puppy. Then you’ll know.”

  “Come on, is your father really that bad?”

  Wynn sighed deeply. “I suppose not. He’s lonely without my mother. At loose ends.”

  “That’s good.” She paused, hearing what she’d said. “It’s not good that he’s lonely, but…Well, you know what I mean.” LaVonne might seem all the more attractive to him if he craved female companionship. LaVonne deserved someone who needed her, who would appreciate her and her cats and her…psychic talents.

  “You ready?” he asked.

  “Let me grab my coat.”

  “You don’t have to do this, you know.”

  “Wynn, I’m happy to,” she assured him, and she meant it.

  The airport traffic was snarled, and it took two turns through the short-term parking garage to find an available space. Thankfully they’d allotted plenty of time.

  Wynn had agreed to meet his father at baggage claim. No more than five minutes after they’d staked out a place near the luggage carousel, a man wearing a Hawaiian shirt, with long dark hair tied in a ponytail, walked toward them. He didn’t have a jacket or coat.

  K.O. felt Wynn stiffen.

  “Wynn!” The man hurried forward.

  Wynn met his father halfway, with K.O. trailing behind, and briefly hugged him. “Hello, Dad.” He put his hand on K.O.’s shoulder. “This is my friend Katherine O’Connor. Katherine, this is my father, Moon Puppy Jeffries.”

  Moon Puppy winced. “Delighted to meet you, Katherine,” he said politely. “But please, call me Max. I don’t go by Moon Puppy anymore.”

  “Welcome to Seattle,” K.O. said, shaking hands. “I’m sorry you didn’t arrive to sunshine and warmer weather.”

  “Thank you. Don’t worry, I’ve got a jacket in my bag.”

  In a few minutes Max had collected his suitcase and Wynn led the way to his car. “It’s been unseasonably chilly,” K.O. said, making small talk as they took the escalator to the parking garage. Max had retrieved his jacket by then.

  At the car, Wynn took the suitcase from his father and stored it in the trunk. This gave K.O. an opportunity to study father and son. She glanced at Wynn and then back at his father. After the description Wynn had given her, she’d expected something quite different. Yes, Max Jeffries looked like an old hippie, as Wynn had said, but his hair was neatly trimmed and combed. He wore clean, pressed clothes and had impeccable manners. He was an older version of Wynn and just as respectable looking, she thought. Well, except for the hair.

  “It was a surprise to hear you were coming for Christmas,
” Wynn commented when he got into the car.

  “I figured it would be,” his father said. “I didn’t mention it earlier because I was afraid you’d find a convenient excuse for me not to come.”

  So Max Jeffries was direct and honest, too. A lot like his son. K.O. liked him even more.

  They chatted on the ride into Seattle, and K.O. casually invited him for cocktails the following afternoon.

  “I’d enjoy that,” Wynn’s father told her.

  “Katherine wants to introduce you to her neighbor, LaVonne.”

  “I see,” Max said with less enthusiasm and quickly changed the subject. “I understand your book is selling nicely.”

  “Yes, I’m fortunate to have a lot of publisher support.”

  “He’s writing a second book,” K.O. said, joining the conversation. It pleased her that Max seemed proud of his son.

  “So, how long have you two been seeing each other?” Max asked, looking at K.O.

  “Not long,” Wynn answered for them. His gaze caught K.O.’s in the rearview mirror. “We met through a psychic,” he said.

  “We most certainly did not.” K.O. was about to argue when she realized Wynn was smiling. “We actually met through a mutual friend who believes she has psychic powers,” she explained, not telling Max that her neighbor and this “psychic” were one and the same.

  As they exited off the freeway and headed into downtown Seattle and toward Blossom Street, Max said, “I had no idea Seattle was this beautiful.”

  “Oh, just wait until nighttime,” K.O. told him. It was fast becoming dark, and city lights had begun to sparkle. “There’s lots to do at night. Wynn and I took a horse-drawn carriage ride last week and then on Friday night we went on a merry-go-round.”

  “My first such experience,” Wynn said, a smile quivering at the edges of his mouth.

  “Your mother and I never took you?” Max sounded incredulous.

  “Never.”

  “I know I had some failings as a father,” Max said despondently.

  “Not getting to ride on a merry-go-round isn’t exactly a big deal, Dad. Don’t worry about it,” Wynn muttered.

  That seemed to ease his father’s mind. “So what’s on the agenda for tomorrow?” he asked brightly.

  Wynn cast K.O. a look as if to say he’d told her so.

  “I can take you on a tour of Pike Place Market,” K.O. offered.

  “That would be great.” Max thanked her with a warm smile. “I was hoping to get a chance to go up the Space Needle while I’m here, too.”

  “We can do that on Tuesday.”

  Max nodded. “Do you have any free time, Wynn?” he asked.

  “Some,” Wynn admitted with obvious reluctance. “But not much. In addition to my appointments and writing schedule, I’m still doing promotion for my current book.”

  “Of course,” Max murmured. K.O. detected a note of sadness in his voice and wanted to reassure him. Unfortunately she didn’t know how.

  Chapter

  11

  Wynn phoned K.O. early Monday morning. “I don’t think this is going to work,” he whispered.

  “Pardon?” K.O. strained to hear.

  “Meet me at the French Café,” he said, his voice only slightly louder.

  “When?” She had her sweats on and was ready to tackle her treadmill. After shedding the two pounds, she’d gained them again. It wasn’t much, but enough to send her racing for a morning workout. She knew how quickly these things could get out of control.

  “Now,” he said impatiently. “Want me to pick you up?”

  “No. I’ll meet you there in ten minutes.”

  By the time she entered the café, Wynn had already purchased two cups of coffee and procured a table. “What’s wrong?” she asked as she pulled out the chair.

  “He’s driving me insane!”

  “Wynn, I like your father. You made him sound worse than a deadbeat dad, but he’s obviously proud of you and—”

  “Do you mind if we don’t list his admirable qualities just now?” He brought one hand to his temple, as if warding off a headache.

  “All right,” she said, doing her best to understand.

  “The reason I called is that I don’t think it’s a good idea to set him up with LaVonne.”

  “Why not?” K.O. thought her plan was brilliant. She had everything worked out in her mind; she’d bought the liquor and intended to dust and vacuum this afternoon. As far as she was concerned, the meeting of Max and LaVonne was destiny. Christmas romances were always the best.

  “Dad isn’t ready for another relationship,” Wynn declared. “He’s still mourning my mother.”

  “Shouldn’t he be the one to decide that?” Wynn might be a renowned child psychologist but she believed everyone was entitled to make his or her own decisions, especially in matters of the heart. She considered it all right to lend a helping hand, however. That was fair.

  “I can tell my father’s not ready,” Wynn insisted.

  “But I invited him for drinks this evening and he accepted.” It looked as if her entire day was going to be spent with Max Jeffries, aka Moon Puppy. Earlier she’d agreed to take him to Pike Place Market, which was a must-see for anyone visiting Seattle. It was always an entertaining place for tourists, but never more so than during the holiday season. The whole market had an air of festivity, the holiday mood infectious.

  “What about LaVonne?” he asked.

  “I’ll give her a call later.” K.O. hadn’t wanted to be obvious about this meeting. Still, when LaVonne met Max, she’d know, the same way Wynn and K.O. had known, that they were being set up.

  “Don’t,” he said, cupping the coffee mug with both hands.

  “Why not?”

  He frowned. “I have a bad feeling about this.” K.O. smothered a giggle. “Are you telling me you’ve found your own psychic powers?”

  “Hardly,” he snorted.

  “Wynn,” she said, covering his hand with hers in a gesture of reassurance. “It’s going to work out fine, trust me.” Hmm. She seemed to be saying that a lot these days.

  He exhaled slowly, as if it went against his better judgment to agree. “All right, do whatever you think is best.”

  “I’ve decided to simplify things. I’m serving eggnog and cookies.” And olives, if anyone wanted them. When she’d find time to bake she didn’t know, but K.O. was determined to do this properly.

  “Come around five-thirty,” she suggested.

  “That early?”

  “Yes. You’re taking care of arranging their dinner, right?”

  “Ah…I don’t think they’ll get that far.”

  “But they might,” she said hopefully. “You make the reservation, and if they don’t want to go, then we will. Okay?”

  He nodded. “I’ll see what I can do.” Wynn took one last swallow of coffee and stood. “I’ve got to get to the office.” Slipping into his overcoat, he confided, “I have a patient this morning. Emergency call.”

  K.O. wondered what kind of emergency that would be—an ego that needed splinting? A bruised id? But she knew better than to ask. “Have a good day,” was all she said. In his current mood, that was an iffy proposition. K.O. couldn’t help wondering what Max had done to upset him.

  “You, too,” he murmured, then added, “And thank you for looking after Moon Puppy.”

  “His name is Max,” K.O. reminded him.

  “Maybe to you, but to me he’ll always be the hippie surfer bum I grew up with.” Wynn hurried out of the café.

  By five that afternoon, K.O. felt as if she’d never left the treadmill. After walking for forty minutes on her machine, she showered, baked and decorated three dozen cookies and then met Wynn’s father for a whirlwind tour of the Seattle waterfront, starting with Pike Place. She phoned LaVonne from the Seattle Aquarium. LaVonne had instantly agreed to drinks, and K.O. had a hard time getting off the phone. LaVonne chatted excitedly about the man in the soup, the man K.O. had claimed to see with her “
psychic” eyes. Oh, dear, maybe this had gone a little too far….

  Max was interested in absolutely everything, so they didn’t get back to Blossom Street until after four, which gave K.O. very little time to prepare for the meeting.

  She vacuumed and dusted and plumped up the sofa pillows and set out a dish of peppermint candies, a favorite of LaVonne’s. The decorated sugar cookies were arranged on a special Santa plate. K.O. didn’t particularly like sugar cookies, which, therefore, weren’t as tempting as shortbread or chocolate chip would’ve been. She decided against the olives.

  K.O. was stirring the rum into the eggnog when she saw the blinking light on her phone. A quick check told her it was Zelda. She didn’t have even a minute to chat and told herself she’d return the call later.

  Precisely at 5:30 p.m., just after she’d put on all her Christmas CDs, Wynn arrived without his father. “Where’s your dad?” K.O. demanded as she accepted the bottle of wine he handed her.

  “He’s never on time if there’s an excuse to be late,” Wynn muttered. “He’ll get here when he gets here. You noticed he doesn’t wear a watch?”

  K.O. had noticed and thought it a novelty. LaVonne wasn’t known for her punctuality, either, so they had at least that much in common. Already this relationship revealed promise—in her opinion, anyway.

  “How did your afternoon go?” Wynn asked. He sat down on the sofa and reached for a cookie, nodding his head to the tempo of “Jingle Bell Rock.”

  “Great. I enjoyed getting to know your father.”

  Wynn glanced up, giving her a skeptical look.

  “What is it with you two?” she asked gently, sitting beside him.

  Wynn sighed. “I didn’t have a happy childhood, except for the time I spent with my grandparents. I resented being dragged hither and yon, based on where the best surf could be found. I hated living with a bunch of self-absorbed hippies whenever we returned to the commune, which was their so-called home base. For a good part of my life, I had the feeling I was a hindrance my father tolerated.”

  “Oh, Wynn.” The unhappiness he still felt was at odds with the amusing stories he’d told about his childhood at Chez Jerome and during dinner with Vickie and John. She’d originally assumed that he was reflecting his own upbringing in his “Free Child” theories, but she now saw that wasn’t the case. Moon Puppy Max might have been a hippie, but he’d imposed his own regimen on his son. Not much “freedom” there.