by Ginny Baird
“I think you know what I mean. He’s been looking at you all goo-goo-eyed ever since you got here.”
“Your dad’s just trying to help.”
“Yeah, and so are you. Help yourself to this family,” he said with a bitter edge.
“Justin, that’s not really fair. Nobody wants to know who I am any more than I do, believe me.”
“Meanwhile, you’ve got it awfully cushy not knowing, don’t ya? Cushy enough to worm your way into my dad’s heart.”
Lucy’s face warmed. “I... You don’t know that’s true. Besides, my stay here is only temporary. Very soon I’ll have my old life back and be out of your way. But Justin, in the meantime...” She studied him sincerely. “I’d sure like it if you and I could make some sort of peace.”
“You mean like, if I’m not nice to you, you’ll tell?”
Her shoulders sagged as she hurt for him. She knew the boy was having a rough time, but she honestly wasn’t here to make things any tougher. “I’m not saying that it’s mandatory.”
“Man-da-who?”
“Nothing’s mandatory, Justin. I’m not forcing you to do anything, because I know that I can’t. You’re practically a man now. Old enough to make your own decisions.”
He eyed her suspiciously. “Well, if you’re not forcing me, just what are you doing?”
“Asking you.” She raised her brow. “Pretty please? Your choice.”
Just then, William came inside carrying a stack of mail. He looked from Lucy to his son, and then back again. “Is something going on in here?”
Lucy stared at him innocently. “Nothing at all.”
William turned toward his son. “Justin?”
“Nothing, Dad. It’s nothing, okay?” He turned and ducked into the kitchen, as something in William’s stack of mail caught Lucy’s eye.
There was a picture of some guy on the back of a real estate brochure. A face with short dark hair and big black eyes floated over a fairy-tale scene, a castle with hot pink turrets. What was it about the banner fluttering from one of the turrets—Let Magic Maker Mitch Find the Castle of Your Dreams—that called her up short?
William’s voice hummed from far away as her whole world went woozy.
“Bridget? Are you all right?”
She felt a sharp stab of pain above her left temple. “Oh! Oh, my head.” Lucy blinked hard, stumbling toward him.
William caught her in his strong arms and shored her up against him. “Bridget? What’s wrong?”
Bridget? Why was he calling her that? Lucy felt herself spiraling into a dark tunnel, visions swirling around her: Gus serving up pancakes... Mitch handing her packages... Waking up on the sofa here... And, huh? Her parents dancing to Billie Holiday...?
“I’m... not really me,” she breathed as William embraced her.
Sleigh bells sounded as her world went black and something strong lifted her up and carried her away.
William addressed Dr. Mass, his voice tinged with concern. “She’s going to be all right, isn’t she, Doc?” Beside them, Bridget was stretched out on the sofa, covered by a throw blanket.
“Oh yes, fine,” Dr. Mass said. “It’s not as bad as it looks. She’s just getting over the shock.”
“You mean, about who she really is?”
“Could very well be.”
“But why would that make her faint?”
Dr. Mass stroked his snowy beard. “At times, these amnesia cases involve some sort of internal conflict. When the memories start to resurface, they’re not always a welcome relief.”
“You’re saying she’s scared to face the truth about who she really is?”
“That all depends on what she has to gain—and lose—by becoming herself again.”
William cast his gaze on Bridget, slumbering like a beautiful princess. Perhaps he’d been reading too many fairy tales to Carmella, but he couldn’t help but think she looked like she’d stepped right out of one of those storybooks’ pages. But in the tales he’d read his little girl, it was always a handsome prince that came along. Not some wayward banker with a middle-class mortgage and a couple of kids.
“Dr. Mass,” he said, meeting the older man’s eyes. “Can I ask you something?”
“Go right ahead.”
“Well, I know this sounds crazy. Loony, for sure. Asking you of all people... But something has happened in this house, something that defies all... What I mean to say is—” He drew a breath. “Do you believe in Santa Claus?”
“Believe in Santa Claus? Who me?” Dr. Mass chuckled and thumbed his chest. “Why, of course I do!”
“You what?” William sputtered.
“William, my boy,” Dr. Mass said, packing his medical bag, “I’ve known you your whole life. I’ve seen you grow from diapers until now, and you’ve become a very fine man indeed. But somewhere along the line, you changed. I’m not sure when. Maybe it was when you lost Karen. You seemed to lose your faith.”
“But, Santa! I’m talking the guy in the red suit!”
“Yes, yes. The one who comes on Christmas Eve. Is that the one you mean?” He snapped his bag shut and looked up. “But see, that’s where you’ve gotten things mixed up.”
“Mixed up how?” William asked, perplexed.
“I don’t know who on earth started that myth, because that’s what it is, a flat-out untruth.”
“Aha! So there is no Santa.”
Dr. Mass, who’d started toward the door, stopped walking. “There is a Santa Claus, indeed,” he said, meeting William’s gaze. “But can’t you see? He doesn’t just exist on Christmas Eve. He’s here the whole year through!
“June, September, yes, even in January. It’s not so much about the man in the red suit as it is about what’s in your heart. All you have to do is open yourself up to the magic and believe.”
Emma entered the living room to find William sitting in a wing chair by the sofa.
“Is the doctor gone?”
“Yes.”
She quietly shut the kitchen door behind her. “You’re really worried about this girl, aren’t you, son?”
“I’m worried about her and Carmella, too. About what the truth is going to do to all of us.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t have lied to Carmella.”
“Mother! I never lied!”
“You evaded the truth.”
“No, I didn’t know it,” he said firmly. “In fact, I’m still not sure I do.”
She sat in the chair opposite his and spoke with a kind smile.
“Come now, William. You’re a little old to believe in Santa.”
He longingly studied Bridget, sleeping on the sofa, then met his mother’s eyes.
“Am I?”
“What are you saying? That you’ve fallen in love with a total stranger?”
“I never said that, precisely. Only...”
“What?”
“You know how it’s been since Karen died.
Emma studied her son. “Lonely.”
“Yes.”
“But surely you can’t believe—?”
“In miracles, Mother? Why not?”
Just then, Carmella entered and rushed to Bridget’s side. “Is she going to be okay, Daddy? Please tell me that she is.”
“Yes, sweetie,” he assured her, “she’s going to be just fine.”
The child’s face brightened as she turned toward her Grammy. “Did you know she sings really pretty? She sang to me, and it was just like Mommy.”
A tear glistened in Emma’s eye as she looked from Carmella to her son. “Why not, indeed,” she said softly.
****
Chapter Eight
Mitch hustled toward his desk, where an assistant sat goggling at his computer.
“If you don’t mind?” he said, shooing the underling away.
The girl stood and scurried off, casting him an odd look.
Good help really was hard to find. Probably shopping on Q-Bay.
Mitch dropped into his chair with a sigh. Seconds
later, his gaze locked on the computer screen. “Sweet Merry Christmas!” he cried aloud. “That’s my Luce!” And it was, too, only more bodacious. He’d never known Lucy to go for getups like that. Hey, wait a minute. What did it say? She weren’t no mom, for God’s sakes. And how could she think her name was Bridget? Was it possible she didn’t really know?
Mitch panicked briefly, wondering if this was some sort of trick she was playing. Maybe an attempt to make him reconsider the whole kid thing. Or maybe, just maybe, she was getting back at him. Yeah. That could be it. They were supposed to be together for the holidays, and Mitch suddenly realized he hadn’t seen her for five days! Nope, he thought shaking his head. Doesn’t seem like my Luce. She don’t play no mean tricks. She’s a good girl. Really simple.
He ogled the jingle bell tassels, eyes popping. And now her simples was protruding out all over the place. Jesus. Was this any sort of way to behave at the holidays? Mitch quickly crossed himself, hoping his parents hadn’t seen. Then he gave the office a slow, studied perusal. Other agents sat at their desks, smirking at their computer screens. They couldn’t all be tuned in to this?
“Hey, Magic Maker Mitch!” Amanda called from the front. He’d never liked Amanda. She was always into everybody’s business. “You going to go over there?”
Mitch stared at the copy under Lucy’s picture seeing an address was listed. Then, ignoring Amanda and the other gawkers, he grabbed his coat and headed for the door.
Grant, Emma, and the kids stood in the foyer, wearing their coats.
“Mom, Dad,” William said. “Thanks so much. It’s really nice of you to do this.”
“Bosh!” Emma said. “The kids love ice-skating. Besides, they need a break from the madness.”
“We all do!” Grant proclaimed.
“I don’t see why I have to go, too,” Justin said with a scowl. “The fuzz brain’s the one who likes to skate, not me.”
“Just cooperate, Justin,” his dad said. “The fresh air will do you good.”
“I already got some fresh air.”
“You probably shouldn’t remind him,” Grant whispered gruffly in Justin’s ear.
William saw them off from the porch, grateful that the snow had stopped and his lawn had cleared. Even the television trucks had moved on. Thank God. What a circus!
He came back in the house and was surprised to see Bridget sitting unsteadily on the sofa.
“You’re up.”
She rubbed her eyes and glanced around the room. “Oh, yes. I know this place.”
He strode over and sat beside her, gently taking her hand. “Sure, we’re in the living room.”
“Our living room?” she asked, squinting her eyes.
“No, I’m afraid it’s mine.”
“No, it’s not,” She squeezed his hand firmly and met his eyes. “William, it’s mine.”
He kindly patted the back of her hand with his free one. “I’m afraid you’ve gotten things confused.”
She pulled free of his grip and studied the decor. “Of course, the wallpaper is different.”
William ran a hand through his hair. Dr. Mass had been wrong about Bridget. She wasn’t getting better. In fact, she seemed even worse! “Bridget, listen to me—”
Blue eyes flashed as she centered her gaze on his. “Why are you calling me Bridget?”
“That’s your name, isn’t it?”
“No, I don’t think so. I mean, it’s familiar.”
“Do you remember how you got here?”
She gripped the arm of the sofa and stood, staring around her. “That much is a blur. But this place, yes. I remember it. Recall it quite well.” Her eyes traveled to the mantel brimming with Christmas decorations, then settled on a spot to the right of the hearth. “Especially the hidden passageway behind the bookcase.”
William felt his anxiety spike. She wasn’t just confused; now she was growing delusional. “Wait right there. Don’t move for a second,” he said, snatching his cell off the coffee table. “I think I’d better call Dr. Mass.”
“But Chris Mass has already come and gone!”
“You remember that?”
“I thought I heard talking.”
William felt himself flush, wondering how much of the conversations she’d overheard. First the one with Dr. Mass and then the one with his mother. “We thought you were sleeping.”
She lightly shook her head. “Maybe it was a dream I had. Some talk about Santa Claus?”
William’s neck flashed hot. “This will just take a sec,” he said, starting to dial. “Why don’t you sit until I get back? Just to be sure?”
Lucy took a seat in a wing chair as William slipped from the room. He was trying to whisper, but his voice rose in apparent panic. “What do you mean you can’t come? I just told you she’s acting delusional! A baby? Well, tell the woman to wait! I don’t know. Cross her legs!”
Lucy didn’t know much about what was happening, but she didn’t believe herself to be delusional. The truth was, everything was getting clearer. So clear, in fact, that now she was certain she’d been right about the bookcase. She stood with determination and steadied herself. While the wood at the back of the built-in shelf had been painted white, she was betting she could still find that loose panel. Lucy carefully moved a few books out of the way, setting them on a lower shelf. Tap-tap, tap-tap... It was right around... here... She laid a fingernail under the edge of the panel and tugged lightly. To her amazement, it moved. Gingerly, she slid it sideways. A small dark hollow gaped open. Inside it sat a single switch. She lifted it and loud humming noise sounded. Slowly the bookcase before her began to move.
Lucy stepped back with delight. I knew it. I just knew it! Suddenly, everything came back in a flash, as blinding and bright as the whitest snow blizzard. This was her house. She had lived here!
William appeared beside her, slack-jawed. “You weren’t kidding about that passageway,” he said, staring ahead into the cavernous space.
She turned toward him, cheeks aglow. “William,” she said. “I know how I got in your house.”
He looked at her in disbelief. “Don’t tell me you came from in there?”
“I used to play in there all of the time. Just like Nancy Drew.”
“Wait a minute. What are you saying? That you used to live in this house?”
“When I was just a kid.”
He stared back into the deep, dark tunnel. “Where does this go?”
“Come on,” she said, “I’ll show you.”
She stepped forward and he laid a hand on her shoulder. “Maybe I should go first.”
“All right,” she said, smiling. Of course this was her house! Something about the shock of hitting her head, and not knowing who she was, must have sent her back to it. Back to the one safe haven she remembered, even if she couldn’t recall anything else.
William attempted to scoot past her in the narrow space, bringing them almost chest-to-chest. He paused, looking down into her eyes. “Who designed this place?”
“Someone who used to work for the government. Paranoid schizophrenic, some say.”
“Nice.”
They were so close, nearly touching, that for a second Lucy couldn’t breathe. He was the best-looking man ever, in many respects way more attractive than Mitch. He had all of the qualities Lucy wanted, everything she’d hoped for in a man. She’d convinced herself he didn’t exist. But he did, and here he stood, in the flesh. Funny thing was, they’d never been properly introduced.
“My name’s Lucy,” she said, her voice coming out as a squeak.
A slow smile worked its way across his handsome face. “That so?”
“Lucy West. I’m a waitress at the diner downtown and live on Ninth Street.”
Brown eyes sparkled with delight. “I never thought you were much of a Bridget.”
“No.”
He studied her for a prolonged beat and for an insane moment Lucy hoped that he might kiss her. She’d harbored the same wish under the mist
letoe. Although then, she hadn’t fully recalled that she had a fiancé. There was no more denying that now.
“Shouldn’t we... You know?” he said, tilting his chin in the direction of the tunnel.
“Yeah, right,” she said, stepping back so he could move forward.
At the outdoor skating rink, Justin reluctantly dragged himself onto the ice beside his sister. In a gaggle of girls nearby, one young lady in particular had her eye on the boy. Emma nudged Grant. “Look over there.”
“Where?” He craned his neck to spy the pretty brunette giggling into her hand. “Well, I’ll be...”
“Do you think Justin has any idea?” Emma asked.
Grant chortled. “Seems like he’s going to now.”
Emma watched with amusement as the girl skated toward Justin, puffy earmuffs framing the long brown hair flowing behind her as she went. She tapped Justin on the shoulder just as he was about to break into a stride. He turned to stare at the girl in surprise, his neck and the tips of his ears reddening.
“Just like his father,” Emma said with a warm smile.
“Hmm,” Grant replied. “Looks like she’s asking him to skate.”
Carmella stood between her brother and the girl, glancing happily from one to the other. “Go on!” Emma heard her shout. “I’m going to have cocoa with Grammy and Poppy.”
“I’ll come, too,” Justin said, racing after her.
The girl’s face fell. But then little Carmella took charge. “Oh no you don’t,” she said, shoving Justin back on the ice. “Not enough cocoa for you.”
Justin whirled to face the girl, his whole face beet red.
Grant laughed and then whispered to Emma, as Carmella approached, “Good to see his sister didn’t let him chicken out.”
Seconds later, the girl held out her hand and Justin took it, letting her drag him onto the ice.
“Looks like Justin’s got a girlfriend,” Carmella chirped, trudging forward.
Emma and Grant looked at each other and grinned.
Mitch exited his SUV and stormed up the walk to the front door of the Kinkaid house. Something funny was going on here, and whatever it was, he was going to get to the bottom of it. He rang the bell and waited. Then tried again. Nothing doing. Hmm. There was still a car in the drive. Maybe they hadn’t heard him, he thought, deciding to use the knocker. Mitch checked his cell for the time, guessing he’d already been standing here ten minutes.
