The fog deepened as she traveled the half block to her car. Champagne bubble–sized drops of moisture clung to the ends of her hair. As if there was anything worth celebrating, she grumbled to herself, unlocking her door.
Except, of course, the fact that she would be back in L.A. tomorrow.
She slipped inside, then reached over to dump her purse on the passenger seat. It was already occupied.
On it sat a small package, wrapped in Christmas paper printed with mistletoe. As if it might bite, Bailey put out a finger and touched the cool top. There wasn’t any gift tag.
But it had to be for her. And she knew of only one person whose early career included breaking into cars.
There weren’t any instructions included either. Nothing that said, “Wait until Christmas” or “Open me now.”
There didn’t have to be. Even without any words, it was already shouting at Bailey. Get out before things get ugly.
When is that? Bailey thought, staring at the package. Maybe she should have asked her father the question ten years before. When is it too soon…and when is it too late to save what’s left of your heart?
* * *
Bailey Sullivan’s Vintage Christmas
Facts & Fun Calendar
December 25
Charlie Brown asks in A Charlie Brown Christmas: “Isn’t there anyone who knows what Christmas is all about?”
* * *
Chapter 25
“You’re sure you won’t stay for Christmas dinner?” her mother asked, as Bailey stowed her suitcases in the trunk of the Passat.
She shook her head. “If I leave now, I’ll get to L.A. before the holiday afternoon traffic heats up. Anyway, we had the good stuff last night and for breakfast this morning. I think I’ll pass on the tuna noodle casserole.”
Tracy smiled, her gaze turning to the basketball game going on between her son and husband in the driveway. “I suppose I shouldn’t have promised dinner tonight would be Harry’s choice.”
Looking over, Bailey had to smile too. Her little brother had been inhaling food since the first moment he’d walked in the door. Apparently Cheerios, Hot Pockets, Flamin’ Hot Cheetos, and rocky road ice cream were not available at UC Berkeley, or didn’t deliver quite the same punch of flavor.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t get him to commit to the store.” She’d cornered him during his third piece of pumpkin pie and floated the notion that he might want to take over The Perfect Christmas after college.
“Oh, honey,” her mother said, reaching out to tuck a lock of Bailey’s hair behind her ear. “Don’t feel bad. Not only wasn’t that your job, but Harry’s too young to commit to anything.”
Bailey nodded. “You’re right. I remember myself at that age.” Running away from home and from Finn. See? Too young to get in too deep. Smart enough to realize that.
Tracy laughed. “Oh well, you on the other hand…”
Me on the other hand? Better not go there. Bailey shut the lid of the trunk with a decisive click. “I should get on the road.”
“You always knew what you wanted the minute you saw it.”
Finn.
“Yes, well, I’m pretty good at knowing what I don’t want too.”
Finn.
Tracy’s expression turned sad, and she brushed at that errant piece of Bailey’s hair again. “I was miserable for a long time, and I’m afraid I made you miserable right along with me. I should have been your rock, and instead you were mine.”
Bailey’s calf itched and she used the toe of one sneaker to attack the phantom bite, hoping that easing the scratch would ease the memory of broken sobs echoing in an empty bathtub. “Mom—”
“I can’t help but think I taught you that trusting people could get you hurt.” There were tears in Tracy’s eyes.
Bailey turned away from them. “It’s okay, Mom.”
“It’s not. What I have with Dan…I wouldn’t want you to miss out on that.” She let out a watery laugh. “Okay, okay, I see by the expression on your face that you’re not entirely convinced that Dan and I are on strong footing again.”
“Maybe I’m convinced of the strong feelings…but just not about how long they will last. Dan’s a good man, I know that. But Mom, are you sure you want to take the chance again?”
“I can only answer that the way I answered when you asked me why I let you date Finn. I don’t feel like I have any choice.” Her mouth curved as her gaze drifted toward her husband, crowing because he’d just beat Harry for the rebound.
Inside the house, the phone started ringing. Tracy grimaced. “I doubt the men will stop their game to answer that.”
“I’m on my way, Mom. Go ahead and get it. I’ll call you when I get home.”
Tracy flapped her hand. “Who would I want to talk to over you right now? The phone can wait.”
But Bailey couldn’t. Everyone knew good-byes weren’t her thing, and she was ready to get this one over with. She reached out to hug her mother. Ran over to give Dan and Harry quick embraces. Then she was back at her car and she jumped in before things could get any stickier.
The last thing she saw in her rearview mirror was her own gaze, which she resolutely ordered away. It fell on the mystery gift that she’d placed on the dashboard, still unopened. So then she had to order it from that too.
Look ahead.
Starting for the bridge that would take her to the freeway and then on up to L.A., she heard sirens. They sped closer and she pulled to the side of the road as emergency vehicles rushed past her and then took the next corner.
She grimaced. It looked as if somebody’s Christmas wasn’t going to be a happy one.
It made her think of little Angel, and that made her think of Finn, and that got her back onto the street, her foot on the accelerator. Those sirens were still wailing, though, and the sound seemed to collect inside her empty chest. She slowed as she crossed the intersection where the vehicles had gone right, and she peered in their direction, but could see nothing amiss.
Curiosity killed the cat, she reminded herself, but even as she felt guilty for her sudden nosiness, she flipped her right clicker and made her own turn.
Ambulance chasing wasn’t such a difficult art in a small town with wide streets on a quiet Christmas morning. Today was clear of fog too. She cruised slowly through each intersection, looking for signs of trouble, and didn’t find any even as she approached downtown.
The hairs on the back of her neck prickled as she realized she was definitely getting closer to the siren sound. She unrolled her window an inch to get some fresh air in the suddenly close car.
It’s probably just a tourist gone apoplectic after getting a load of his hotel bill from the Del, she told herself. Or maybe the security alarm at the boutique next door to The Perfect Christmas had tripped accidentally again.
Then she smelled something burning.
Then she turned a corner and saw the emergency vehicles, lights flashing, gathered at a familiar block.
Then she got closer and realized they were parked outside The Perfect Christmas and that over the tall profiles of the bright red vehicles, there was smoke rising.
It took several hours for the emergency workers to put out the fire to their satisfaction. They figured that after old Mr. Baer finished his morning coffee in his patrol car outside the store, he’d mixed up the brake and the accelerator—Bailey had only mentally added again when they told her about it—and though they’d managed to extract him from the car that was lodged in the first floor before the fire started…well, then the fire had started.
The whole town had shown up at one time or another to watch the action until the fire trucks had pulled away. A little something to do between Christmas breakfast and the hour the ham had to go in. Tracy, Dan, and Harry, who had arrived on scene short minutes after Bailey, had expressed appreciation for the community support, but now they were gone too, off to the hospital to visit Mr. Baer. He was checked in for observation but expected to make a full recovery.
The same could not be said for The Perfect Christmas.
The police had strung yellow tape around the destruction—what Mr. Baer’s patrol car hadn’t gutted, the ensuing fire had finished off. All that was left were remnants of the outside frame. Most of the roof had collapsed.
Bailey sat alone on the curb across the street and watched ashes flutter up, then drift back down in the afternoon breeze, a little like snowflakes. A stiffer wind drove a flurry of them all the way across the pavement, where they floated in the air around her.
She’d done it, a semihysterical voice said inside her head. Though she might not have saved the store, she’d brought snow to Vermont.
A couple of blocks away, the Methodist church was playing carols from its bell tower. It seemed almost too plain—one simple melody at a time—after night after night of the unlikely and sometimes boggling carol collaborations at Christmas Central.
Bailey didn’t look away from the blackened shell that had once been the family business when a body sat down beside her. Her peripheral vision took in battered jeans and motorcycle boots.
Finn.
“I talked to your mother,” he said. “I promised I’d stop by and see how you’re doing since she said you’re not answering your cell.”
How nice of him. Neighborly. Being her mother’s friend.
“You look cold,” he continued. “Do you want my jacket?”
She didn’t feel the temperature. Her hand waved absently. “I have something in my car.”
“I’ll get it.”
He was back in moments, and he draped her short parka over her shoulders, then dropped back down beside her. “Maybe you should head over to Walnut Street. Take a shower to get that smoky smell off you.”
“I really need to get on to L.A.,” Bailey said. She sounded numb. She felt numb. “They’ll be expecting me back at the office in the morning.”
“The day after Christmas?”
Bailey shrugged. “In retail, it’s December. It’s like March is for tax accountants. For divorce attorneys, the busy time is right after the New Year. Folks who’ve vowed not to spend one more Christmas with their spouse du jour.”
He didn’t have a response to that. Maybe because the idea depressed him as much as it suddenly did her.
The breeze picked up, another gust fluttering the yellow police tape. More ash swirled. Through the store’s blackened exoskeleton, Bailey saw a charred beam finally lose its battle with gravity, crumbling as it dropped.
Her spine crumbled with it.
She curled into her knees, pushing the heels of her hands into her eyes. Though she couldn’t move away, she couldn’t watch any more of this.
“Bailey?” She felt Finn’s hand hovering over the back of her head, but then it was gone.
She wished he’d touched her.
“What’s wrong?” he asked quietly.
She didn’t know. “Nothing should be, right? This is all I’ve ever wished for, isn’t it? I called the store an albatross and now it’s gone. No one would blame me for not wanting to take over the nothing that’s left, would they?”
“I guess not.”
“Yes. So…so, it’s happy holidays to me.”
But instead of being relieved, she was all at once angry. “I hate it,” burst out of her mouth and she jerked straight, her hands curling into fists.
Suddenly she wanted to have every tantrum she’d swallowed, she wanted to cry every tear she’d held back, she wanted to scream with all the frustration of a five-year-old who had lost her trust that a family would last forever. “I hate it.”
Her nose started to run and she swiped her hand underneath it, smelling the smoke on her own skin. Another puff of air tried cooling the heat of her face, but it only burned hotter as a piece of charred paper fluttered by. The remains of a Perfect Christmas shopping bag.
She snatched it out of the air and squeezed it in her fist. “Here’s my secret,” she said, learning it herself as each word exited her mouth. “It was never Christmas I hated, but December 26. We’d go back into the store and it wasn’t pretty anymore. You’d see all that was left was damaged or broken, just like what happened to my family.”
“Bailey—”
“I hate when things get ugly. When they aren’t perfect anymore. It’s why I wanted to leave by the twenty-fifth. But this time the ugliness came too early.”
As quick as it had appeared, the anger inside her extinguished. Her voice sounded as weary as her soul. “This time it came too early.”
“I’m sorry, GND.”
She opened her fist to stare at the scrunched paper and ash in her hand. “I held some of the vintage things back so there’d be new stock the day after Christmas. But I guess they’re all gone too.”
Glancing over at Finn, she saw that he was staring at what was left of the store. “I don’t know why I’m so upset about this.” She managed a hoarse little laugh. “It’s almost funny, now that I think about it. I joked to myself I wanted to burn the place down. I even told Mr. Baer that first night I came back that nothing flocked can stay.”
She sighed, looking around the quiet block. “Nothing stays. Nothing lasts. Nothing.”
The street had been deserted after the fire engines left, the lookie-loos having gone home and the stores around them closed for the holiday. But in the distance she could see a small, ragtag parade heading their way. Shepherded by a couple of young teen girls in new pastel-colored hoodies, a half-dozen littler kids were tooling along the sidewalk on skateboards, scooters, and bicycles, each one buckled into a gleaming helmet.
Trying out their new gifts, Bailey decided. When she and Trin were girls, they used to speed up and down the streets, hair flying free, never thinking of what accident might lie around the next corner. Kids were so much safer today.
Finn didn’t appear aware of their approach. Without looking at her, he dug his hand in his jacket pocket. “I don’t know if this will help,” he said, holding out the gift he’d left in her car. “But I noticed you haven’t opened it yet.”
Bailey stared down at the present. “I…I was afraid to,” she said, surprised by her own honesty.
Finn smiled. “It’s a gift, not a weapon.”
“I have nothing for you.” She still didn’t touch it.
“Maybe not, but that’s okay too. It’s for you, GND, no strings attached.”
Her hand was slow to take it from him. Even slower to tear through the paper. Her nervous pulse pounded in her ears as she lifted the lid. Inside the box was another, smaller box, and—
“It’s my vintage ornament. The one I dropped,” she said, holding it up. The old, ruby-colored glass swirled and dipped. Somehow the fractures barely showed. She glanced up. “You unbroke the heart.”
“You made something more of me, a long time ago, so I’m happy I could return the favor—even in a small way.”
Holding the glass in the palm of her hand settled her nerves somehow, and made it easier to open the second box. Shocked, her pulse jolted back into high gear.
Finn cleared his throat. “I brought it with me that last summer when you were gone. I designed it myself, had it made. It’s a promise ring.”
Gold and silver, a B entwined around an F. Tears stung the corners of her eyes.
“Bailey, it’s still my promise to you.” He held out his left hand. The heavy ring he’d worn on his little finger was gone and on that bared knuckle was the same insignia. A B entwining an F. The only tattoo he’d never removed.
She couldn’t look away from it. “No.” No!
“Yes. I was in love with you then. I’m in love with you now. It didn’t go away. It’s not going away. If nothing else, well, I can promise that lasts.”
“On the beach—”
“I wasn’t ready to admit the truth.”
“Finn…” Her voice trailed off as she realized they were surrounded by the parade of kids she’d seen tooling toward them before. They took no notice of the adults, just pushed b
ack their brand-new helmets to survey the ruins across the street.
One of the little kids, she saw now, was preschooler Angel, balancing on a spangled banana seat while a pair of training wheels kept him steady. The miniframe was red with black handlebars, and a flashy water bottle was clipped to the side.
She caught Finn’s eye, nodded to the boy. “Bicycle?” she whispered.
He smiled, shrugged, then rose to his feet. “Anyway, GND, happy life.”
“You’re…you’re leaving?” She looked down at the ring, and then back at his impassive face. Had she dreamed him saying he was in love with her?
“I told you,” he said, gesturing to the items she cradled in her lap. “Those are gifts. Not weapons, not strings. Maybe they’ll bring you some warm memories as you’re expediting those divorces up in L.A.”
At her glass and steel building where she spent so many overtime hours that she was too tired to realize the matching soullessness of her condominium. Sure there were communities in L.A., but where she lived and the way she worked didn’t encourage them.
She had never encouraged them in her life. It had always been easier to avoid disappointment by keeping her distance.
Finn turned and started off down the sidewalk. She stared after him. He was walking away from her as he’d done outside Angel’s apartment building. Walking away and taking all his gifts with him.
Except for…
She looked down at the repaired heart. The promise ring. B and F entwined forever.
He was in love with her?
“Wait!” she heard herself call out.
He paused, slowly turned. The kids’ helmets swiveled too, all of them looking at her, expectant.
The church bells were ringing louder with peal after bright peal, or maybe it was really the shattered shards of her heart, tinkling, clattering, finally coming together after having been broken that day she heard her father say, “Get out before things get ugly.”
Finn was in love with her. How could that ever get ugly?
And how could she let him walk away when she was in love with him too? But it would mean she would have to take off her metaphorical helmet, and…and…
Must Love Mistletoe Page 24
