by Janice Lynn
Her son? This was Dirk’s mother!
“Uh,” Abby hedged, her face flaming. “He’s in the shower.”
“Really? Or is he just trying to avoid me insisting on him coming home for Christmas?”
“Dirk’s not planning to come home for Christmas?” Abby couldn’t fathom having a family and not wanting to spend the holidays with them. Was he not going home because of her pregnancy? Or because of the past?
“He’s volunteered to work on the holidays, hasn’t he?”
“He’s working on Christmas Eve,” she admitted. They both were. “He gets off at seven on Christmas morning.”
“I’d hoped…” His mother sighed. “No matter what I’d hoped. I’m going to have to face facts. If he refuses to come home, we’ll just have to bring Christmas to him. Tell me, Abby, just what’s your relationship with my son and how good are you at planning surprises?”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
ON SATURDAY, December twenty-second, Abby watched Dirk spoon a helping of green beans onto a cheap paper plate held by a rough-looking, unshaven, dirty man wearing multiple layers and carrying a toboggan.
Was he the last person to be served lunch?
They’d fed over two hundred today. Too many people with no homes, no food, no family, no Christmas.
She glanced around the dining area of the shelter. Smiling faces. Lots of smiling faces. And chatter. Being warm and having food in their bellies seemed to have turned up the noise level. Along with gift packages that included several basic amenities, baths were being offered. Several had taken the shelter up on that offer, but most had declined.
“This was a good work.”
Surprised at Dirk’s comment, she turned to him. “Yes. All the charities I volunteer with are good works.”
He met her gaze. “You’re a good person, Abby.”
Slightly uncomfortable at the intensity in his eyes, she shrugged. “I’m no different than anyone else.”
The corner of his mouth hitched up in wry amusement. “You’re the most giving woman I’ve ever met.”
Ignoring the depth of his look because she quite simply wasn’t sure how to take it, she winked playfully. “Thank you. I try.”
“Why is that?”
“Why is what?” She wiped the metallic serving area with a washcloth, more to busy her hands than because of any spilt food.
“Why do you do so much for others?”
Feeling her face go warm, she shrugged. “My parents worked for Second Harvest. Both of them. It’s how they met. After they died, a lot of people did a lot of things to help me. I want to do my part to give back.”
“And?”
And she didn’t want to dig any deeper than that. Didn’t want to look beyond the obvious reasons for volunteering. “And so I have.”
“Why so focused on Christmas?”
She took in his confused expression. “My fondest memories of my parents all revolve around the holidays.”
He nodded as if he understood, but she doubted he did. After all, he still had a family who loved him, a family who craved to spend time with him and celebrate special occasions. A family he held at arm’s length despite their continued efforts to be close to him.
“The Santa suit you wore was my father’s.” She wiggled her fingers inside their plastic serving gloves.
“You mentioned that the day you loaned it to me.”
“He played Santa every year for various charity groups.” How she cherished memories of seeing her father dressed up, of him scooping her into his arms and telling her he was off to be Santa’s helper. Once upon a time she’d believed he really was Santa and just couldn’t tell her. The times she and her mother had gone with him had been magical. He’d always made her feel special, loved.
“Good for him,” the man who’d also played Santa for her said a bit wryly.
Abby just smiled, continuing her blast from the past. “Every Christmas Eve my father would put the suit on and put out my presents. He didn’t know I knew, but the last two years, I snuck up and watched.”
“You snuck up?” That brought a smile to Dirk’s face. “Okay, so you’ve not always been on the nice list.”
“Of course I have always been on the nice list. No way would I ever be on Santa’s naughty list.” She gave him an innocent look. “When my father had finished putting out my presents, my mom would offer him the cookies we’d made. My last Christmas with them, he pulled her into his lap on the sofa instead. They laughed and giggled and…kissed.”
“So you literally saw your mommy kissing Santa?”
She laughed. “Yes, I literally did. I thought it wonderful how much they loved each other, how much fun they had with Christmas. All I ever wanted was to grow up and be like them.”
He didn’t say anything for a few moments. “Yet you chose nursing instead of going to work in philanthropy?”
Abby stared at him, amazed at how much he saw. She had always planned to go into philanthropy. “My aunt was a nurse. She convinced me I needed career skills to see me through life. I wasn’t sure at first, but once I started school, I loved nursing.”
“And the philanthropy?”
“I love that, too. Nursing is philanthropic work in many ways. It makes me feel better inside.”
“Because you feel closer to your parents when you’re helping others?”
Abby wondered how he’d seen what she’d rarely acknowledged herself, that volunteering made her feel less alone. Particularly at the holidays, when she’d otherwise be trapped inside her house with nothing to distract her from the loneliness of having no family.
“Yes,” she admitted, “I guess it does make me feel as if I still have a connection to them.”
“That’s why the mad rush at Christmas? Because you want to feel closer to your parents?”
“I, well, I don’t know. Possibly.” She bit the inside of her lower lip, not wanting to admit the depth of her reasons. “They were wonderful parents. I missed them so much after they were gone.”
“How did they die?”
“A house fire. Electrical wiring gone bad, according to the fire report. I was at a schoolfriend’s house for the night. Everything was destroyed except a few storage bins in the basement.” She gave him a blurry-eyed smile. “Those bins had Christmas decorations in them.”
His expression softened. “The decorations you have up in your house?”
She nodded, surprised that he’d made the connection, then mentally scolded herself. Of course Dirk would make the connection. The man was brilliant.
“I’ve added a few pieces over the years, especially to the Christmas village as it’s my favorite, and I’ve had to repair things, but, yes, my decorations are mostly all items that were part of my childhood. The only tangible parts left, actually.”
Which explained a lot about Abby’s love of Christmas. Dirk sighed, glanced up to see a latecomer standing in the food line, and forced a smile at the unkempt man.
“Green beans?” he asked the man, who was of indeterminate age. Could have been in his forties, could have been in his seventies. A lot of the homeless were like that. They lived such a rough life with exposure to the elements aging them more rapidly and were so rumpled that it was impossible to estimate an accurate age.
The man nodded, extending his plate. Dirk scooped a big spoonful onto the plate, which was already burgeoning with food.
“Roll?” Abby held one out with her tongs.
Again, the man flashed a toothless grin. “Thanks, pretty girl.”
Abby blushed. “You’re welcome.”
“He’s right, you know,” Dirk commented when the man walked over to a vacant seat at a half-occupied table. “You are a pretty girl.”
“Thanks.” But rather than smile at him, as he’d expected, she averted her gaze, wiping at the counter again as if she wasn’t quite sure how to take his compliment.
He understood. He didn’t know quite how to take his compliment either. Wasn’t he the one insisting tha
t they were just friends? Yet he fought the desire to take her into his arms constantly.
She was right to be wary. He didn’t want to hurt her, battled with the need to put distance between them.
But she was pregnant with his baby and he couldn’t turn his back on her. Wouldn’t even if he could.
Soon decisions would have to be made. Decisions Dirk wasn’t sure he was ready to make, but he had little choice given the circumstances.
Abby had cooked most of the previous day while Dirk had been at work at the hospital. She’d only had to do last-minute items that simply couldn’t be done ahead of time for dinner to taste right.
He should be arriving any moment. Would he be upset with her? He had no idea what she had planned, just that he was coming over for dinner.
Nervously, she swept her gaze around her living room. The tree blinked in multicolored magic. Her village houses glowed invitingly, making Abby imagine strolling along between them, hand in hand with Dirk as they peeped into shop windows and snuggled together to stay warm.
Despite being on edge, she smiled at the memories attached to each one of the special pieces to her mother’s Christmas village. She ran her hands over the church’s steeple. The first piece her father had given to her mother because it had reminded him of the small church where they’d married.
Mistletoe was in his basket next to her lit fire. Candles burned on the mantel and coffee table, blending with the pine of her tree to add a spicy Christmas scent to the room. Dinner and company waited in the kitchen.
God, she hoped everything went as planned, that his mother hadn’t been wrong. But deep in her heart Abby wondered if she’d made a mistake in going along with this Christmas surprise. What if Dirk was upset? What if he thought she’d overstepped her boundaries?
Which was the crux of the matter. What were the boundaries of their relationship? He kept insisting they were just friends, yet he looked at her with desire in his eyes, looked at her with possessiveness in his eyes. She was pregnant with his child, crazily in love with him, and wanted to share her life, their baby’s life, with him. But the him she saw, not the broken man he saw reflected in his mirror. She deserved better than walking on emotional eggshells for the rest of their lives.
On cue, the doorbell rang, causing Mistletoe’s eyes to open. He yawned, but didn’t budge from his basket.
“Nothing fazes you, does it, big guy?” she said to the lazy cat as she walked into the foyer. Pasting a nervous smile on her face, she opened the front door.
A freshly shaven and showered Dirk stood there, looking more handsome than she’d ever seen. Perhaps because he was smiling and running his gaze up and down her.
He held up a bottle. “I’d have brought wine but I figured apple cider was more appropriate considering.”
“Um, apple cider is fine.” Casting a wary glance over her shoulder toward the kitchen, she motioned him inside, closing the door behind him to block out the cold air rushing in. It hadn’t started snowing yet but the weather forecast predicted there was a good chance of it.
Abby took the bottle. “I’ll just put this in the kitchen while you remove your coat.”
Slipping his coat off, he glanced around the room. “Wow, you’ve really gone to a lot of trouble for just the two of us.”
“About that…” She waited until his eyes connected with hers, trepidation bubbling in her belly.
Only his gaze shot past her to where he could see into the small dining area, could see the table set with eight place settings. His smile faded. “It’s not going to be just the two of us? Did you invite some of your friends from the hospital?”
She shook her head. “No, I have a Christmas surprise for you.”
Furrows dug into his forehead. “You know how I feel about Christmas.”
“I do know.” Please don’t let him be upset that she’d gone along with his mother’s suggestion. Please.
“Okay.” He exhaled slowly, moving close to her, close enough to touch. “I’m trying to deal with your Christmas excitement, but no more surprises.”
Cupping his handsome face, she stared into his eyes, knowing she loved him, knowing she wanted him for ever, to spend all her Christmases with him and their child, and any future children that might come along. “Dirk, I—”
“Dirk! You’re here!”
His expression instantly transformed to terseness, instantly tightened with cold accusation before turning toward the woman who’d entered the room.
What the—? Dirk rotated his jaw, counted to ten, inhaled and exhaled, anything to try to keep his mounting anger under control.
“Hello, Mother.” He’d never mentioned Abby to his family, so his mother couldn’t have been the one to make contact. But how? Surely Abby wouldn’t have gone behind his back? This would explain why his mother’s calls had eased.
Clearly having no clue as to the enormity of what she’d done, Abby’s fingers clasped his arm. “Dirk?”
Seeing the stricken look in her eyes, he fought the need to reassure her. How could he reassure her when panic gripped his throat, cutting off his airways?
“I’m surprised to see you here, Mother.”
She walked to him, turned her cheek up to him. Automatically, he bent to kiss her in spite of his displeasure at her invading his holidays. God, he wasn’t up for Christmas Intervention II.
“I can see why you like Philadelphia so much.” His mother beamed in Abby’s direction. “Your Abby is quite lovely.”
“She’s not my Abby.” But she was quite pale, looking back and forth between them, clearly trying to size up the dynamics taking place. How could she have done this?
“Are the rest of the crew here?” But he could hear that they were. Over the sounds of the Christmas music playing, he could hear his nephews chatting back and forth, hear his sister shushing them.
“Holidays are meant to be shared with your family. We wanted to spend ours with you, Dirk, because we love you.”
He raked his fingers through his hair. “So you invited yourself to Abby’s?”
“No,” his mother laughed, wrapping her arms around him to give him a hug. “I mentioned how much we wanted to see you over the holidays, that we planned to surprise you with a visit, and asked your lovely Abby to help. She invited us here. Such a good girl, Dirk. I like her.”
Dirk struggled to process his mother’s words. “When did you talk to Abby?”
His mother gave him one last squeeze, starting to look a little nervous herself. “We’ve talked several times over the past week. She’s absolutely lovely, son.”
“Yes, you’ve mentioned that a time or two,” he bit out tersely. God, what were they up to? If they brought out video tapes and photo albums again, he was out of there.
“I’ll, uh, I’ll go check on dinner.” Abby gave him one last look, her lower lip trembled, then she disappeared into the kitchen, the low rumble of his brother’s voice greeting her.
Abby had had no right to invite his family, to plan a Christmas dinner with them behind his back. Just what had his family told her? That he was a broken man? Pathetic and weak at the loss of his wife and child? That he might as well have died in that car wreck, too?
He should have. Sandra and Shelby should have lived. He should have been the one taken that morning.
“Dirk.” His mother gave him a look that would have stopped him in his tracks during his younger years. “When I spoke with Abby, I’d hoped Philadelphia had been good for you, had removed the blinkers you’ve worn for the last four years. It’s time you dealt with this.”
Something inside Dirk snapped.
“Have you ever considered that I have dealt with this, only not to everyone else’s satisfaction? Guess what, Mother, I’m the one who has to wake up every single day knowing that I will never look into my wife’s eyes again, that I will never feel Shelby’s fingers wrapped around mine again. You should respect that I’ve dealt with this and let me be.”
“If you’d dealt with this,
we wouldn’t be having this conversation, would we? Because you would have come home for Christmas.”
“What? And be put through the hell of last year? I don’t think so.”
“We hired a top psychiatrist, Dirk. We followed her recommendations to the letter—”
“A psychiatrist?” Oh, God, that was rich. “I’m not crazy.”
“No one thinks you are.”
He paced across the room, spun to meet her gaze. “I was ambushed last Christmas.”
She took a deep breath and didn’t back down. “You were surrounded by people who love you and want what’s best for you. People who want you to enjoy life again.”
“What was best for me is lying in a cemetery in Oak Park.” Dirk couldn’t stop the words from streaming out of his mouth. Couldn’t stop the feelings of hurt and betrayal streaming through him. “Something you conveniently forgot when you planned last year’s fiasco. Tell me, what Christmas torture do you have in store for me tonight? Pictures? Home movies? Personal recollections of my wife and daughter? Because if that’s the case, you should leave now, and take the rest of the family with you.”
A loud gasp caused both Dirk and his mother to spin toward the kitchen door. Abby held on to the door frame as if she might slide to the floor if she didn’t.
Sharp pain zig-zagged across her face.
Hell. He raked his fingers through his hair. What was wrong with him? He’d never verbally attacked his mother before. Not even last year during the worst of the intervention, right before he’d walked out on them. No, he’d just calmly gotten up, informed them that they were mistaken about him and that he was leaving. And he’d left.
His mother recovered before he did, pasting a weak smile to her face as she regarded Abby. “I’m sorry, dear. It’s rude of us to come into your house and squabble over family disagreements.”
Family disagreements? Dirk wanted to laugh. Was that what they were calling invading his life?
“I came to tell you dinner was finished if you’re ready to eat.” Disillusionment shone on her face and when their eyes met, she quickly averted her gaze from his.
