by Cathy Lamb
Barry Lynn said, “She’s right. Your Sarah would be the perfect Mary. Tell her to get rid of all that makeup and the scary clothes, and we’ve got ourselves a mother. And, everyone, to avoid suspension, don’t forget my toy drive!”
“She’d never agree,” I said. Sarah as Mary? The I-Will-Do-As-I-Want-You-Can’t-Stop-Me child? The girl whose boobs hung out of her shirt? The girl with the black makeup?
“Ask her,” Barry Lynn said. “She’s a rebel, Meredith, and we all know why. Heck, I’ve been a rebel all my life, and my childhood was a heck of a lot better than hers. Give her the opportunity to be someone else.”
“Tell her we all want her to do it, that’ll make her feel welcome, feel good about herself, get approval,” Shelby Narrin said. Shelby’s about twenty-five and was an annoying, complainy person until she started volunteering at our soup kitchen and realized it was about time to quit whining about her life.
“She’ll rise to the occasion, you’ll see, Meredith,” Norm soothed. “It will be a blessed event, too.”
Chapter 8
“There’s a horse and wagon like thing outside our house, Aunt Meredith.”
“A what, Jacob?”
He pointed out the parlor’s window.
I scrambled over the couch, got my leg stuck in a cushion, twisted, and fell flat on my face.
Jacob helped me up. “You’re kind of klutzy, Aunt Meredith.”
“You’re right, I am.” I got myself rearranged and put together again, then stared out the window.
The driver and . . . oh my gosh . . . the driver and Logan waved back at me. I watched as Logan jumped out of the buggy and came toward the door.
“Is that the man you’re going to dinner with?” Jacob asked.
“Uh. Yes.” Logan had control of my mind, I was sure of it. He’d stopped by the B and B two days before and said, “Meredith, I’d like to take you out to an early dinner on Wednesday before rehearsal. I’ll be by to get you at 5:00.” I had nodded my head as if I was a robot.
“He’s huge. He’s like a giant.”
I put my arm around Jacob’s shoulders. “Come and meet him.”
He shook his head. He was so, so shy.
Sarah pounded down the steps as the doorbell rang. “That’s the date, right?”
I eyed her outfit, suggestive, inappropriate, and her makeup, suggestive, inappropriate.
“Don’t argue with me now, Aunt Meredith. You’ve got a man at the door. First date in forever, right? You’ve been on a drought. A barren desert. No water at all.”
I rolled my eyes as Sarah opened the door. “Hi. We haven’t officially met. I’m the rebellious teenager. I have stressful problems and cause Aunt Meredith all sorts of worries. I know the police by name. They know me, too. My aunt thinks I dress like a—”
I clamped my hand over her mouth. “Hello, Logan. Come on in.”
He shut the door behind him, and the entry seemed to shrink exponentially; even our old-fashioned Christmas tree with popcorn and cranberries seemed smaller.
“It’s nice to see you again, Sarah,” he said, his voice kind. He shook her hand. Sarah looked surprised at first and I thought she blushed, but then she turned to glare at me. I don’t know why she glared at me except to say that she is an angry teenage girl and they glare for no reason.
“Jacob,” he extended his hand to Jacob. “I’ve listened to you play the piano many times. You’re a talented musician.”
Jacob hung his head as he blushed.
“Chin up,” I whispered. Jacob obediently put his chin up. I was working with him to look people in the eye, stand tall. It was a constant battle. He’d simply been metaphorically hit too many times in his life.
“He’s either playing piano or writing songs. He has more talent than anyone,” Sarah said. “Man, that would be boring for me, though. I prefer sneaking out at night.”
I rolled my eyes at her. Sarah rolled her eyes back, crossed her arms over her chest, and stuck out a hip.
Logan didn’t say a word until Sarah glanced up at him.
“Sarah,” he said. “Don’t sneak out at night again. It’s dangerous. You’re a young woman, alone, and you will eventually attract someone dangerous to you, and then you will regret ever leaving this home. In fact, you will pray that you were back in it . . .” Logan had a few more pointed sentences for her then said, “Don’t cause your aunt worry. She cares about you, she loves you, and she doesn’t deserve it. You don’t deserve it, either. You’re obviously bright and articulate. Don’t ruin your life with poor choices.”
I thought Sarah was going to turn away in a huff, but I think Logan scared her too darn much to do that, standing there with those huge shoulders and that authoritarian air. Yep, I hid a smile. Logan intimidated her. Ha! Maybe I had a secret weapon.
When he was done, Sarah whispered, “Okay . . . okay . . . I hear you . . . I won’t do it . . . okay . . .”
Then he turned to Jacob. “When did you start playing piano?”
“A long time ago,” he said, his voice soft. “The ladies at the church let me come in and play. One of them gave me lessons. It gave me somewhere to go when . . .” He rolled his lips in tight.
“When our mom was out running around at night,” Sarah said, back to sarcasm. “Or when she was out running around during the day. She’d leave for days at a time. I took care of him.”
I wanted to slam my hands to my face, then jump on top of my cowgirl hat. How could she have left them like that?
“She did take care of me,” Jacob said, pointing at Sarah. “I remember watching Sarah make me pancakes for my third birthday, and she made me a cake out of a mix and we put the pink icing on it together. She walked me to school, and she always packed my lunch with Pop-tarts and peanut butter and jelly, and she came to my parent-teacher conferences.”
The innocent words of a child can pierce right through the heart, can’t they?
“At Christmas Sarah always wraps up a bunch of presents for me,” Jacob continued. “She makes most of them herself. She can do anything. Art. Painting. Embroidery stuff. Sewing.”
As Jacob went on and on about the glories of his sister, the only time he was ever animated, I saw, once again, the fierce love those two had for one another. They had raised each other.
“You’re a wonderful sister, Sarah. Kind and giving.” Logan turned to Jacob. “You’re going to play in the Christmas concert, aren’t you?”
I had already told him that Jacob had refused.
“No.” He looked down at his clasped hands. “If I played at the concert all the kids would see me.”
“What would be wrong with that?”
“They already think I’m a nerd. They call me that and other names. They call me sissy and girly and wimp.”
“What do you say back?” Logan asked.
He shrugged his shoulders. “Nothing. I tried at first but they made fun of me. It got worse.”
There was a loaded silence, and I knew that Logan was thinking this through. Maybe he could help here. The only thing I could think to do was to teach Jacob how to fight better, but the kid was a lover not a fighter, and that had not worked.
“Come with us to dinner, Jacob,” Logan said. “Sarah, you can tell me more about the things you make, and school, and what you like to do besides sneak out at night which you’re not going to do anymore.”
She humpfed at him.
“Would you like to go to dinner with us?” I asked. I saw hope rise in Jacob’s eyes, but he peeked up at Logan, trying to figure out if Logan really wanted him to go, or was faking it.
“I’d like you to come, Jacob,” Logan said.
Jacob didn’t need further encouragement. He ran to get his coat.
“Sarah,” Logan said, “I want you to go, too, but you’re going to have to take off that makeup and pull a sweater on.”
“Gee whiz. That’s a nice idea,” I drawled, noting again Sarah’s clothes, inappropriate, and makeup, inappropriate.
She
opened her mouth to argue, then got a sulky expression on her face to which Logan said, “Sulky expressions don’t work with me, and they’ll also give you wrinkles. We’re leaving in five minutes. Want to come or not?”
She did.
And, unbelievably, amazingly, the four of us had a wonderful time in a restaurant decked out in red, green, and gold for Christmas after an old-fashioned carriage ride.
In the middle of dinner, Sarah actually smiled at me with no makeup on her face and wearing a pretty purple sweater.
I wiped my tears with my napkin. I was touched. Logan had heard about a problem in my life and had taken action to help me. What a man.
Logan patted my knee under the table.
What a man.
* * *
My dishwasher blew, along with a rush of water. I called the plumber. He pulled the dishwasher out.
“Groan,” I sighed.
“Yep, Meredith. This is definitely a groan sort of project. We’ll be here tomorrow. I’ll take the dishwasher out with me.”
I peered into the hole left by the dishwasher. What was that? Was there a cutout in the wood? I tapped at it and it moved. I drew my finger around the edges. It was about twelve inches by twelve inches. I moved part of it, then another part, which seemed to be clinging to each other more from years of decay and water damage than by anything man-made. I pulled on an edge, and it opened like a door.
A hidden door.
I scrambled out and grabbed a flashlight, then scrambled back in. Inside the hole I saw it.
Shiny and tall.
It was a menorah. I held it up in wonder.
A hidden menorah.
If only this house would talk to me.
* * *
“I am the size of a dump truck,” Mary said. “I feel like I have a St. Bernard strapped to my waist. Wait. I don’t have a waist anymore. I can hardly see my feet. Do I have feet anymore? I had no idea skin could stretch this much. My boobs are so big I don’t know what to do with them.”
“Leave them where they are,” Martha said, whizzing around the kitchen, as usual. She was whipping cream, rolling a cinnamon roll, and mixing eggs, seemingly all at once. “You’ll need those suckers in a few weeks.”
“I am a crazy pregnant woman, aren’t I?” Mary asked. “I’ll be a crazy mother, a terrible mother, and my baby will write papers in first grade about how crazy I am!”
She burst into tears.
Hormones. Those hormones.
* * *
“Can I walk you home, Meredith?” Logan asked.
We were both standing outside the Community Center at the end of a long rehearsal. Christmas carols were ringing incessantly in my head.
“If I said no, you’d do it anyhow, wouldn’t you?”
“Probably.” He grinned. “It’s dark, it’s late, I don’t want you walking home by yourself.”
We said good-bye to a few people. Logan was thanked by all, who were duly impressed with his stage building. We started up toward my house, the cathedral shining in the distance.
“Meredith, I’ve been thinking.”
“You seem to do that way too much, Logan.” I pushed my black cowgirl hat with silver trim down on my head.
“I’m thinking that you and I should officially begin dating. Both fly fishermen, both horseback riders, we love everything you cook, and we love our cowboy boots. We’re a fine pair.”
I felt like crying. I felt like raging. “Logan, listen,” I said, as we passed by the lit up Christmas tree in the middle of the square, so calm and peaceful under a light snowfall. “I don’t want . . .” I stared into those green eyes, steady on mine, serious, listening. “I don’t want to date you.”
“You don’t?” He stopped and put his hands on his hips.
Oh yes, I do! Desperately! “No.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t have room in my life for you or anyone else.” But you could make room! “My business is struggling, I have two kids living with me who are grieving and difficult, I don’t even know how to be a mother, I have a concert to plan, and I’m not looking for a date.”
He studied the sky for a second, as if pondering it for answers. “What about a boyfriend?”
That sounded yummy! “No, not a boyfriend . . .”
“A suitor, then?”
That sounded romantic! “No, not a suitor.”
“Then I’ll be your escort.”
An escort! That sounded kinky. Immediately visions of a heart-shaped bed with heart-shaped chocolates piled up around it came to mind. “I don’t need an escort. I can take care of myself.” I started walking, his shoulder brushing mine.
“Meredith,” his voice grew low, “give me a chance. Give us a chance.”
Okay! Sure! You’re on! “No. I don’t deal in chance; I deal in reality. But, thank you.” I so wanted to cry heaving, shaking sobs.
“Sometimes you have to jump, Meredith.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, sometimes you have to jump and dare and trust.”
“Trust?”
“Trust yourself. Trust me.”
“I don’t know you enough to trust you.”
“I trust you.”
“You do?” I asked.
“Yes, I do.”
“But we’ve hardly been together at all.”
“We’ve been together enough, Meredith. We’re not teenagers. We’ve both seen the world, been through the good and the bad. We have experience with life, we know ourselves, and we know what we want.”
I want you, Logan. To keep my tears hidden behind my eyes where they should be, I admired all the Christmas lights people had decorated their homes with. Lights around trees, bushes, house trim. Santa Clauses and sleighs and presents and a Rudolph with three legs.
“I know you sacrificed your life in New York for two kids. That was honorable and selfless. I know you’re smart and competent because you’re running your own business. I know you’ll volunteer your time to help an entire town. I know you’re funny, that you like to laugh, but you also have had sadness in your life that you seem to be dealing with still. I know you’re a deep person, who’s sincere and genuine, and I could spend a lifetime trying to figure out who you are, and there would still be mystery there, but I’m okay with it.”
I shook my head. This man with the tough face, who towered over me, never ceased to amaze me. I had never met a man who honestly wanted to know anything more than the basics of a woman, starting with her bra size. That’s as far as they went.
I put my hands to my eyes so I wouldn’t spurt tears. “Do you always analyze people this closely, Logan?”
“Only ladies who wear fancy cowboy hats which, by the way, I like about you, too. I like the color, the style. Every day a new surprise hat. Meredith, I’ve got a deal for you. Call it a Christmas deal.”
“I don’t think I want to take your Christmas deal.”
“Meredith, I told you that I would kiss you when you asked me to. I want you to ask me to kiss you.”
Please kiss me, please! “I am not going to ask you to kiss me.”
He took a step closer. “Please.”
That sounds delicious! Terrific! Can we lie down? “I’m not going to do this.”
“I have been wanting to kiss you since I saw you deck that jerk at Barry Lynn’s. Something about a woman who has perfected her right hook gets to me, but you need to ask me to kiss you, like I promised.”
You have gotten to me since the second I saw you. You have tugged at my heart until I couldn’t breathe. We have this unbelievable sexual attraction and a friendship attraction and a talking attraction, not to mention fly fishing, and I can hardly think around you. “Have you been listening to me at all, Logan? I’m not looking to date. I’m not looking to kiss you or hug you or kiss your neck or do any hugging or getting close to your chest or your legs . . .” Oh, I squished my lips closed at that.
He chuckled. “One kiss, Meredith. Ask me. I dare you.”
“Ask me, Meredith.” He took off my black cowgirl hat. “I want to kiss you, honey.” He took off his cowboy hat.
Was I his “honey”?
He hooked an arm around my waist, placed his warm hand on my cheek, and I was up against his strong body, inches away from that mouth, those green eyes soft and inviting and promising a kiss that would blow my cowgirl boots off.
“Okay, cowboy,” I said, my voice trembling. “I’ll take your Christmas deal. Kiss me.”
He pulled me right on in, his lips on mine, soft and warm and demanding, and it was so glorious and passionate and wonderful I could not even think. I could not get enough of those yummy lips, and he could not get enough of mine, and the whole time my body was lit on fire for him, but I felt . . . safe, too, and secure. . . like he was there now and always would be.
Logan pulled back for a second, and I am embarrassed to say that I groaned, I so didn’t want that kiss to end, and I leaned forward again, and the he-man took control, like a real man should. I linked my arms around his neck, to bring him closer, and because, exactly like in those sappy movies, my knees went to mush. Oh, mush! We were pressed tightly together, chest to knee, and I felt like I was making love to the man by my mouth.
He was the one who pulled away. I was lost in this sweet, boiling hot desire, where all I wanted was more, and I leaned against his chest, which was heaving, and my own breath was coming in embarrassing gasps, as if I was dying. Logan said, voice breathless, “Thank you for asking me to kiss you, Meredith. It’s been a pleasure. Trust me on that one.”
“Trust me,” I stuttered out. “I think I can’t stand yet, so don’t let go.”
He hugged me closer and murmured low in my ear, “Hon, letting go of you was never in the plan.”
I took a deep breath. Letting go wasn’t in your plan, yet. Not yet. But wait until you knew.
