by Susan Wiggs
“We don’t know anything about this boy. Suppose we give him the main role and he disappears?”
“He won’t. I have a feeling about Jabez,” Eddie said.
“A feeling. And we should hang the whole production on your feeling.”
“Why are you being so bullheaded about this? You heard him, Maureen. You know I’m right. He’ll blow the doors off.”
“That’s not the only consideration here. There are lots of other things to consider.”
“Like what?”
She opened her mouth. Closed it again. For a minute, he thought she was going to tell him something. Then she shut down. He could see it, like a curtain going down over her eyes, and in its place he saw nothing but distrust. What was up with that?
“It’s a community event,” she said. “I have to do what’s best for the community.”
“What’s better than a kick-ass production? Everybody wins.”
She flinched, and he didn’t know why.
“Tell you what—you put him in that role and I’ll make sure he doesn’t let you down.”
Another beat of hesitation. Then worry again.
“Come on, Maureen. Have a little faith.”
She looked affronted. “I have plenty of faith.”
“That’s what you said about the first snow, too. Seems to me you’re hedging your bets.”
She looked even more affronted. “Just suppose I go along with you and I do it your way.”
“Suppose you do.” He gently took the clipboard from her and scribbled Jabez’s name on the cast list. “There. It’s done. You can go post it for everyone to see tomorrow.”
For a second, he thought she was going to…he wasn’t sure what. Faint, maybe. For the first time, she looked straight into the unblinking lens of Chet’s camera. Then, still a little green around the gills, she walked purposefully to the church vestibule, Chet dogging her footsteps, and hung the list on the bulletin board, stabbing a tack into the top. Finally, she turned to Eddie, eyes narrowed. He could almost see her calculating. “Don’t forget about writing that original song for the program,” she said.
“What?” He’d heard her, though. So had the camera crew. They were hungry for any little bit of conflict they could record; it made for more interesting TV.
“Just like I said on the flyer. Original song, written and performed by Eddie Haven.”
“Yeah, about that. I don’t think so.”
She folded her arms in front of her. “You expect me to do things your way, but you won’t even perform a song? You know what I think? I think you’re afraid.”
“Oh, now you’re trying to psychoanalyze me.”
“For your information, I don’t give a hoot about your psyche. Or any other part of you except your musical talent.” She looked him square in the eye. “I think you’re afraid to show that part of yourself.”
“Number one, what makes you think there’s that part of me to show? And number two, what makes you think people would be interested?”
“Those women in the bakery the other day were certainly interested.”
“You’re not going to see folks like that at your damn Christmas pageant.”
“They’d come if they knew you were performing.”
Eddie couldn’t help himself. He laughed aloud. “You crack me up, Maureen. You really do. Do people call you Moe?”
“Not to my face.”
“Come on, it’s a nickname.”
“I’ve never had a nickname.”
“You do now. I’m calling you Moe.”
Her face turned red, though he couldn’t tell if it was anger or a blush. “You’re trying to change the subject,” she accused, as if she hadn’t just done exactly that. “I just want to make sure I have your cooperation about the original song. Will you do it?”
“I’d do anything for you, Moe.”
“Now you’re mocking me.”
“I’m giving you what you want. How is that mocking you?”
She didn’t answer, but pursed her lips and stared at him for a long, drawn-out moment. She stared at him so hard it was almost sexy.
The subtle thrum of excitement took him by surprise. It was a surprise because she was not his type, not in the least. His type tended to be girls with big tits and outgoing personalities, girls with names ending in i, who drew little hearts in place of the dot over the i. Girls who didn’t constantly question and challenge him.
Now here was this Maureen, this librarian, all buttoned into her matching sweater set, checking him out. Challenging him while the whole exchange was recorded for a documentary. And against all common sense, he felt turned on.
Nine
“Score. He’s sleeping like a log.” Logan O’Donnell came out of Daisy’s bedroom, his face wearing that peaceful expression of bliss that comes from having rocked a child to sleep. “Took three books, including two readings of Babar and the Wully-Wully.”
Daisy couldn’t help smiling at him. Not only did his every expression and nuance remind her of Charlie, but Logan had a peculiar boyish appeal that was impossible to resist. People talked about “Irish charm.” Logan O’Donnell embodied it, and in him, the attribute seemed to be both a blessing and a curse. Making friends and getting girls had always been easy for him. Keeping promises and staying sober—not so easy. Yet for Charlie’s sake, Logan was succeeding at both. Now a junior in college, he lived in a sub-free frat where drinking and drugs were absolutely forbidden.
But it was still a frat. That meant they were just as crazy, but they stayed up later and partied longer. Logan was as popular as ever with girls, and even as a commuter student, Daisy was aware of this. She tried not to mind, but these things did matter in a very big way. Suppose, she’d think, during her crazy times when she couldn’t help herself, suppose he got serious about someone. That someone would be a part of Charlie’s life, and Daisy would have no say whatsoever in who she was or what influence she’d have over their little boy.
When Daisy confessed things like this to Sonnet, her best friend, Sonnet would tell her to quit obsessing. Easier said than done. Daisy knew the cause of her obsession lay within her, not in Logan or some sorority sister he was dating. The truth was, Daisy ached for things she couldn’t have. The encounter with Julian only underscored that fact. Sometimes she woke up at night feeling so lonely she thought she would disappear. Even though her life was filled with abundance—family, friends and most especially, Charlie—there was a huge, missing gap of something. In her heart of hearts, she knew what would fill that gap.
“There’s something I want to ask you,” Logan said, taking a seat on the sofa beside her.
“What?” She turned, pulling her knee up to her chest, hoping the turmoil didn’t show on her face. “Have I been a good girl this year?”
“Sure,” he said with a teasing grin. “That’s exactly what I’m wondering.”
“Let’s see. I finished twenty-one credit hours at school, and I can officially count myself a sophomore. Oh, and my GPA? A three-point-six. Not too shabby, eh?”
“You are a star. I always knew it.”
She wasn’t a star. She was someone who stayed home with her baby every night, so she tended to use the time to study. The rest of the time, she hung out with Charlie, and she worked. She’d shot several weddings that year, earning enough to pay the rent and keep Charlie in Cheerios. With respect to money, she knew she was beyond lucky. Her tuition was covered by family money. Charlie’s expenses were covered by Logan.
Not having to worry about money was a priceless gift. But it was also an obligation.
“Seriously, I do want to ask you something,” Logan said. “I feel bad, taking Charlie away on Christmas Eve.”
You feel bad, she thought, biting her tongue.
“Not being together as a family at Christmas feels all wrong to me,” he continued.
Welcome to the club.
“So I wanted to invite you to spend Christmas on Long Island with my family,” he said.
Crap. Holy crap, she thought.
“You’re looking at me funny,” he said.
“Have you mentioned this to your parents?” she asked, thinking about the O’Donnells, and how slow they’d been to accept her.
“I did mention it, and they said you’d be welcome. You’re Charlie’s mother. That makes you part of the family.”
She narrowed her eyes in suspicion. “What’s the catch?”
“No catch. We want you with us.”
Ever since she’d decided to allow Logan to have Charlie on Christmas Eve, she had faced the holiday with dread. She’d never been separated from Charlie for more than a few hours. An entire night would be torture for her, certainly. And maybe for Charlie, as well. Logan’s offer addressed her deepest fear, offering her a way to be with her little boy on Christmas Eve.
There was a catch, however. And that catch was having to leave her own family—her parents and brother—behind in Avalon. That was going to hurt. She loved Christmas Eve with her family—her two families, now. Her dad’s and her mom’s. Somehow, it all worked. There would be a dinner at the Inn at Willow Lake, which her dad and stepmom ran, and then the pageant with her mom and Noah and their kids, at Heart of the Mountains Church. Afterward, they’d take a slow drive through town, admiring the light displays and feeling the pervasive, quiet magic of the holiday.
Daisy told herself she wasn’t a kid anymore. She had a kid of her own, and her decisions were governed by what was best for him. And going to the O’Donnells’ place was the best choice for Charlie.
A fleeting thought about Julian Gastineaux crossed her mind. The quick visit at the library wasn’t enough. He’d been in Avalon last Christmas, and they’d managed to steal a few hours together, talking nonstop, both of them feeling the exquisite tension of unacknowledged attraction. If she knew Julian was coming home this year, would that color her decision? Bluntly honest with herself, she knew she wouldn’t budge from Avalon.
The notion shocked her. Could she care about someone that much? Was she that selfish?
The point was moot, however. Julian had already told her he wouldn’t be coming home for the holidays. What Daisy really needed to do was put him from her mind. And out of her life. Things were never going to work out for the two of them, and the smart thing would be to move on, to find a way to live her life without constantly looking back over her shoulder and wondering, what if?
She considered the present situation, and realized without the promise of seeing Julian, nothing was holding her back. It would be the first Christmas Eve away from her parents and brother. They were her family. But Charlie was her future. Besides, she would come back to Avalon on Christmas day in time for not one but two feasts—a kid-centered midday meal with her mom and Noah and their two little ones, then dinner with her dad and Nina at the oh-so-elegant Inn at Willow Lake.
She smiled at Logan, who had no idea what was going on in her mind. And she said, “I’d love to spend Christmas Eve with you.”
His face lit with a smile. “Cool. I was hoping you’d say so. I know you got off to a rocky start with my folks, but that’s over. They love you as much as Charlie and I do.”
She tried not to read too much into his words. Logan tossed around the word love, but she wasn’t certain he knew what it meant on the deepest level. “I hope you’re right about your folks,” she said.
“It’s going to be great. The beach at Christmas—it’s awe some there. The deck has a view of the lighthouse, and the beach goes on for miles.”
“I know.”
“Oh. Uh, yeah.”
They’d made Charlie at the beach house at the very farthest tip of Long Island, a forgotten place swept by wind and sea. Their senior year in high school, when Daisy had been stupid with emotional pain over her parents’ divorce, she went to an unchaperoned party there, never knowing that one illicit weekend would change the direction of her life for good.
Feeling awkward, she got up and headed for the kitchen. “Hey, can I get you something to eat or drink? I can make coffee, or—”
“Thanks, but I need to head back. I’ve got an early class tomorrow.”
She envied him, living on campus. Being able to sleep until ten minutes before class was a luxury she’d never experienced. Her mornings were an intricate and lengthy ordeal, getting Charlie dressed and fed, his diaper bag packed for the sitter, hugs and kisses doled out, then a commute to campus. “I’ll see you around, then,” she said, and walked him to the door.
“I’m glad you said yes,” he told her. “To Christmas, I mean.”
“It was easy to say yes. Thanks for asking me, Logan.”
“No problem.” He took hold of her shoulders. Before she realized what was happening, he kissed her. Really kissed her, in a way she hadn’t been kissed in a very long time. For a few seconds, she forgot everything; she felt completely filled up by the kind of passion and heat that kept loneliness at bay.
She felt slightly breathless, her senses heightened by his touch. It scared her, this kind of wanting. Could it be she was so lonely that she would cling to anyone? Did it matter that this was Logan? Or was she just desperate?
She pulled away in confusion. “Bad idea, Logan,” she said. “You shouldn’t kiss me like that. You shouldn’t kiss me at all.”
“Why not? I liked it. I think you liked it, too.”
“The last time you kissed me like that, we made Charlie.”
He stuck his hand in his back pocket, took out his wallet. “Don’t worry, this time I came prepared—”
“Logan,” she said, and to her dismay, her voice broke in the middle of his name. It was just that his touch brought all her loneliness to the surface. “Logan, I—”
“You what?” he asked, taking her hand, carrying it to his mouth.
Why did he have to be so cute? Why was she such a sucker for those Irish looks—boyish face, red hair and green eyes? Because he had that physique, of course—the shoulders and strength of a rugby player, and gentle hands that knew more about her body than she dared admit.
“I think we should keep this about Charlie,” she whispered, not trusting herself to speak louder, past the thick emotion in her throat. Yes, she was alone to the point of pain. Yes, she ached to be touched and held. She ached to make love, something that hadn’t happened for her since Charlie was conceived. But not like this, not out of loneliness and desperation.
“It’s okay for it to be about you sometimes,” Logan said.
“Which is why we’d better say good-night.”
He didn’t get mad. He didn’t sulk. Instead, he cradled her cheek in his hand, gently skimmed his thumb across the ridge of her cheekbone. “Sure,” he said, leaning down to place the lightest of kisses on her forehead. “That’s what we’ll do.”
He took off into the night, hurrying away in a swirl of snowflakes. She stood at the door, watching his tail-lights disappear. She sighed against the glass pane, touched her lips and wondered how her life had become so complicated.
Ten
Maureen woke with the worst what-have-I-done headache of her life. It was the kind of headache she imagined women suffered after a night of partying, maybe even after wild sex with someone slightly dangerous.
Not that Maureen would know. But she read a lot of books.
Her current headache had to do with the choice she’d made last night. She had allowed herself to be persuaded by Eddie Haven to put a stranger in the role that was supposed to belong to Cecil Byrne. What was she thinking? She hadn’t been thinking. She’d been so caught up in Jabez’s performance, and then in Eddie’s simple, persuasive argument that she’d simply caved. The documentary film crew had recorded everything and somehow she hadn’t been able to choose anyone but Jabez.
She scrambled into her clothes. There was still time to change what she’d done. Surely no one had seen the list yet. She could simply change the original. No, she thought, giving Franklin and Eloise a cup of kibbles. The list was written in indelib
le, unforgiving ink. She would have to redo the whole thing.
The air was crisp and cold on her face as she got in the car and drove to the church. For a split second, she considered exceeding the speed limit. But no. Going too fast often ended up costing more time, particularly when the roads were slippery with snow and ice. The town was just waking up, with the first wave of commuters heading to the station, the brigade of fitness fanatics out jogging in skintight warm-ups, lights winking on at the bakery and newsstand. It was interesting to see this whole world of activity that took place in the semidark of the early-morning hours.
No, it wasn’t interesting. It was nervewracking. She didn’t understand all these early risers. Didn’t any of them stay up late into the night, absorbed in a novel they couldn’t put down? Maureen did so every night. In order to wake up in the morning, she required two alarms and three cups of coffee. One of her favorite things about being a librarian was that the place didn’t open until nine-thirty in the morning, a very civilized hour, in her estimation.
At this time of day, there were no other cars at the church. No tracks marked the freshly fallen snow, she saw with relief. She hurried to the main door and used the key she’d been given. Even so, she felt…furtive. Sneaky. As though she was doing something wrong.
“Good morning,” said a friendly voice behind her.
She gasped and dropped the keys as she spun around. “Jabez, you startled me.”
“Sorry, didn’t mean to.”
“What are you doing here at this hour?”
“Hoping to get a look at your list,” he said. “You said it would be posted in the lobby today.”
“Yes,” she heard herself say, “but it’s not quite final…” Her voice trailed off. She was in a pickle now. She regarded Jabez’s unusual face—mild, with unexpected flashes of intensity. Even in the stark morning light he appeared beautiful and somewhat exotic. She could still hear inside her head every single gorgeous note he’d sung at the audition, and she knew deep down that Eddie was right. This boy was born to sing. Having him do so for all of Avalon would be a priceless gift to the community.
