Lakeshore Christmas

by Susan Wiggs

  “I’ll trade you,” said Maureen, holding out the gift basket.

  Carolyn’s face lit up. “From the cookie exchange?”

  “That’s right.”

  “You’re an angel.” She handed Maureen a batch of mail.

  “Ditto,” said Maureen, sifting through the stack. Plenty of junk mail, ads for sexy garments she would never wear, places she would never go. There were also Christmas cards—a few stragglers from people in far-off places. And, at the bottom of the stack, an official-looking business envelope. “Oh,” she said.

  “Everything all right?”

  “Yes.” Maureen turned the envelope over, touched her thumb to the return address. “This is the kind of thing you both expect and dread. I believe it’s a contract for another job.”

  “You’re leaving?”

  “I might not have a choice. Everyone’s worked so hard to keep the library from closing, but we fell short. There’s no way to reach the goal in time.”

  “Change is always hard,” Carolyn observed. “But it’s usually for the best, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Merry Christmas,” Carolyn said. “Thanks again for the cookies. See you at the pageant tonight.”

  Maureen managed a wobbly smile. Then she fled upstairs and ripped open the envelope. There it was in black and white. An offer from the securities firm in Boston. She would be a corporate librarian, in charge of company documents and archives. It was for a bigger salary than she had ever dreamed of. And it couldn’t have come at a better time. A securities firm. Even the name sounded—well, secure. Safe. She ought to be feeling a sense of relief, not defeat.

  She dressed for the evening in clothes she believed suited a pageant director—a charcoal-gray wool jumper, dark leggings and knee boots with low heels and soft soles. The outfit suited someone who was meant to be behind the scenes, in the background. Invisible.

  Her one concession to whimsy was to don the Christmas earrings the little ones had given her. For a moment she was tempted to wear her hair long and loose, the way she had the night of the tavern. No. She didn’t want to send the wrong message and besides, her hair would only get in the way.

  “I need to quit fussing over myself,” she told the cats, expertly clipping her hair into a bun. “You two wish me luck. It’s showtime.”

  Twenty-Three

  The Inn at Willow Lake was festooned with twinkling lights strung from the trees along the driveway. Gaslights glowed along the railed porch and electric candles lit the windows of the large historic building. A grand Christmas tree dominated the bay window in the front. There was something achingly pretty about the place, a warm quality that filled Eddie with a peculiar nostalgia. Peculiar, because he wasn’t looking back and remembering times past. Instead he was remembering the past he’d never had. It was the kind of scene that would make Maureen exclaim with delight. If she were speaking to him, anyway.

  He parked and walked up to the front door, lifting his collar high to protect his neck from the knife blades of wind blowing off the frozen lake. He hurried inside to the Christmas tree room—a large Victorian parlor with a roaring fire in the white marble fireplace.

  Several guests milled around, listening to music or playing board games at the occasional tables around the room. Two women immediately leaned toward each other, whispering. He took care not to make eye contact. His parents were waiting by the big central hearth, their faces wreathed in smiles. Their cheery expressions were so well practiced that Eddie was probably the only one around who understood there was nothing behind the smiles and words of welcome.

  “Oh, Eddie,” said his mother, folding her arms around him. “Let’s sit.” She drew him to a dainty-looking sofa and chairs by the fireplace. He could feel some of the other guests in the lobby looking on. To outsiders, the three Havens probably resembled the all-American family—Mom and Pop and their strapping son, having a reunion just in time for Christmas.

  “We were just having a cup of coffee,” his father said. “You want some?”

  “I’m good, thanks.” Eddie was surprised. Finally it struck him. Something was different about his parents. They seemed… more present. And they lacked that powerful sharp perfume of early-afternoon cocktails, a smell forever associated with his childhood.

  “I can’t wait to get to know Maureen Davenport better. It was so kind of her to pay us a visit. She certainly seems taken with you. We’ve been hoping for a long time that you’d meet someone special,” his mother said.

  Eddie wondered how to explain his and Maureen’s relationship. Up until recently, he thought they were something—until Maureen went behind his back and drew aside the curtain of his past. What the hell did she expect to accomplish? Now he didn’t know what to think, or what to tell his folks.

  “She’s pretty special, but—”

  “And she thinks you hung the moon,” his mother finished for him. “Finally, Eddie.”

  “She doesn’t actually think that anymore,” he admitted. “I kind of blew it with her.”

  “Why, because she invited us here?” Larry asked.

  Eddie stared at his father. Shit. Had Maureen—

  “She didn’t say a word,” his mother said, correctly reading Eddie’s expression.

  “Don’t look so shocked,” Larry said with a hint of a smile. “We know more than you think we know.”

  His mother’s smile was less assured. “We understand why this isn’t your favorite time of year, and we wanted to talk to you about it, try to explain.”

  “I’m not asking for an explanation, Barb,” he said. “I’ve figured out a way to spend the holiday that works for me.”

  “We’re hoping to find a way that works for us. As a family. Ah, Eddie. We did our best. Granted, our best wasn’t always so hot. Those years we spent Christmas on the road—we did it for you.”

  Right, he thought, that was always a real picnic for me. He said nothing.

  “We believed it was a good way to distract you from thinking about all the things we didn’t have and couldn’t give you. We were broke, Eddie, and didn’t want you to know.”

  “What the hell—” He stopped himself, realizing he’d raised his voice. “What do you mean, broke?”

  His parents exchanged a glance. “Your grandparents both got sick and their union coverage wasn’t enough,” his father explained. “That assisted-living place, the one we visited so often, wasn’t covered at all. Keeping up with their expenses took nearly everything we had. Most years, that meant skipping the big holiday extravaganza. We thought it would be less painful to do something entirely out of the mainstream. You were such a quiet boy, never complaining. When you hit the stage every night, you lit up like a Christmas tree, literally. We had no idea it was bothering you.”

  Eddie sank down onto a chair. “You should have said something. I would have understood.” He wondered if his life would have been different if they’d simply leveled with him. Maybe he wouldn’t have grown to resent the holidays. Maybe he wouldn’t have been so angry in college and so desperate to fit in that he drank himself into oblivion every chance he got. No, he thought, dropping the maybes and what-ifs. You don’t get to look back. You look ahead.

  He kept his mouth shut, stared down at his hands, carefully lining up his fingers in the shape of a steeple. Deep inside him, something unfurled and flew free—old resentments, the last of them, the ones he never talked about at meetings because he didn’t want to admit they were there. Then he lifted his head and regarded his parents, who weren’t perfect but who loved him, and a kind of pleasant resignation settled over him. A kind of peace. “It’s okay,” he said quietly. “It’s okay.”

  “Son,” said Larry, “I had my pride. Too much of it. And FYI, you’re never going to have to deal with something like that. Your mother and I took out a policy.”

  “You didn’t have to do that.”

  “We did it for you. Are we good, son?” Larry asked.

  “Yeah,” said Eddie. “We’r
e good.” It was a good start, any way. They all knew they weren’t going to resolve a lifetime of issues over one holiday, but the door had cracked open.

  A small sigh of relief escaped his mother. “Well, then. Tell us more about this Maureen Davenport. She said you’ve composed an original work for the Christmas program.”

  “It’s good to see you showing your talent,” Larry interjected, “instead of hiding who you really are.”

  “I’m sure the program is going to be one for the ages,” his mother said, clasping her hands in delight.

  Eddie looked from one parent to the other, feeling all the years of his childhood weirdly compressed into this moment in time. The three of had been an unconventional family in many ways, but they’d been a family. They’d looked out for each other and made music together, and fought and laughed and lived their lives in each other’s company. He remembered a childhood of moving from place to place, wishing he belonged somewhere. Maureen had made him remember the laughter and affection, and the fact that he always felt safe and loved, even when he was in the back of the van eating HoHos and staring out the window at strangers in unfamiliar places. When he looked at his parents, he no longer saw everything he did not want to be. He saw people who were flawed but who wanted him to be happy.

  He could be happy with Maureen. He knew it, and that was why, like an idiot, he’d pushed her away. Something in him didn’t think he deserved her.

  “Yeah,” Eddie said, “about that. I have a favor to ask.”

  Maureen had one stop to make on the way to the performance. It would only take a few minutes, and she was neurotically early for the pageant, anyway, so there was no need to hurry. She stopped by the library. After hours, it was eerily deserted, a quiet and somber place. She thought about one of her favorite novels, Children of the Book, about some kids who get locked in the library after closing time. At first frightened, they gained wisdom and ultimately salvation from the books they read.

  Performing her lifelong ritual, Maureen turned down a random aisle. Eyes shut, she ran her hand along the spines of the book, stopping when she felt just the right one. She pulled it out, let it drop open and placed her finger on a page. Then she opened her eyes.

  “Launder garments in the shape in which they are to be worn: zipped, velcroed, and buttoned up, with pockets emptied and cuffs unrolled. The simplest nontoxic stain removal method is cold water and ice.—Martha Stewart.” So that was what the library had to say to her. After reading the snippet aloud, she shut the book, muttering, “Good to know.”

  There were no revelations here or anywhere else, no easy answers. Just an old, venerable and doomed institution. She saw the latest Troubadour—true to his word, Lonnie had written a letter to the editor.

  To the editor and people of Avalon: This is the first time I ever wrote a letter like this so excuse me if I screw something up. Two years ago I couldn’t write hardly anything except my name. This was embarrassing. but also it made me stop dreaming about doing anything with my life. I didn’t learn to read in first grade like most people. I learned at age twenty-four, from Miss Maureen Davenport at the library, in the adult literacy program. Last year I earned a GED and started my own trucking company. Without the library, I never would of learned. If the library closes, how many people like me will miss out? I can’t give you a number because most are like me, afraid they might seem dumb or weak. She didn’t just teach me to read. She gave me back my dream. Don’t let the library close. Or you will close the doors on someone’s dream. Hugo Lonigan.

  “I’m so sorry,” she whispered to the ghosts and echoes that haunted the marble halls. “It’s going to be hard to say goodbye.” It was probably a good thing she’d be moving away. Living in Boston, she wouldn’t have to watch the building and its surroundings transformed into a commercial center of shops and boutique hotels.

  On the way out, she noticed the collection cart under the book return slot was filled to overflowing, likely from people returning materials after a last-minute holiday cleaning. Several books littered the floor. Out of habit, she picked them up. The last one flopped open, and a phrase on the page caught her eye: “Unless you change direction, you’ll wind up where you’re headed.”

  Twenty-Four

  Outside, the snow flurries had abated, giving way to a cold, crystalline twilight sky, pierced by early stars. As far as she could tell, Maureen was the first to arrive at the church. She’d cautioned the parents of the little ones against arriving too early. The kids would be keyed up and rambunctious, and they’d end up running off their energy and ruining their costumes. Not that there were any costumes to ruin. That had already been done at the storage unit. So late in the game, all she’d been able to do was tell the parents to try something creative.

  She paused in the parking lot, tilting her head back to look up. She must remember to always look up, to keep the world around her in perspective. The endless bowl of night reminded her of the vastness of the unknown, shrinking her troubles to the size of a pinprick.

  Focus, she thought, letting herself in and turning on a few lights. Don’t try to think about the fact that we’re not ready, that the pageant is a disaster in the making. She’d set out with such a grand vision. She had imagined the spectacle filling everyone with a sense of reverence and wonder. Instead, the costumes weren’t ready, the little ones barely knew the words to their songs and the program was full of stumbling blocks. The final dress rehearsal had been a nightmare. She didn’t even want to think about the voice mail that had been waiting for her this morning. Two of the four musicians in the ensemble were sick. She’d called Ray Tolley in a panic. He’d tried to reassure her, but he hadn’t sounded happy. And—icing on the cake—the entire debacle was being recorded for national TV. The film crew had reassured her that editing would make the production look fine, but she took no comfort in that, not with the live performance looming in front of her.

  She stepped inside and turned on the lights. At least the stage was in readiness, fragrant with the scent of the pine bough swags that decorated the sanctuary. Brass urns of holly branches and potted poinsettias lined the aisles. The musicians’ area to the side was crammed with Ray’s keyboard and an array of amps, speakers and a multichannel powered mixer with tiny stand-by lights flickering. To her surprise, a drum set had been added to the mix.

  Deep breath, she told herself. Take a deep, calming breath. She searched inside herself for a glimmer of hope. Christmas had always had a magical effect on Maureen and her life. No matter how bad things got for her, she always managed to find hope and healing at Christmas. There was something about the holiday spirit of kindness and generosity that nurtured the soul.

  This was supposed to be her moment—a night of song and celebration, something she’d always wanted to do.

  Then again, maybe Eddie was onto something, she thought with a twinge of cynicism. Despite everything she’d hoped the pageant would be, she felt glum about its prospects. She was preoccupied by the library closure, by her aching heart and haunted by the most singularly bad final rehearsal she had ever witnessed. Maybe, just like Eddie had said, she was wrong about the magic. At the moment, it certainly seemed that way.

  “Thanks for being here,” Maureen said to Olivia, who was serving as her assistant backstage. “It’s now or never.”

  “Relax,” Olivia said. “It’s going to be fine.”

  “How many disasters have been preceded by that statement?” Maureen wondered aloud. “I bet that’s what people said right before the Titanic hit the iceberg.” She leaned forward to peek out through a gap in the curtain. Nearly every single seat was filled. The film crew was set up, cables snaking along the side aisles. Excitement crackled in the air, and in spite of her misgivings, Maureen felt herself getting caught up. Even the usually dour Mr. Byrne was there, seated with his wife, his son and daughter-in-law. Maureen wondered if things might have worked out differently for the library if she’d complied with his request and given his grandson, Cecil, the
angel’s role. Doubtful, she thought. If she’d gone along with him, she’d be feeling even worse right now for having given a bully what he wanted.

  “Five minutes,” she said to Ray Tolley, who was about to go out and start tuning up. “Can you do it?”

  He grinned. “No worries. Help is on the way.”

  “I need the help to be here right now,” she said.

  “Like I told you, no worries. It’ll be fine.” He studied her for a moment. “You okay?”

  Maureen laughed, because she couldn’t do anything else.

  “Maybe after the program, you and Eddie might want to—”

  “Eddie and I don’t want to do anything together,” she said, cutting him off. “Sorry, but it’s not like that for us. In fact, when this is all over tonight, I’m going to ask the court to declare that his community service is fulfilled.”

  Ray smiled. “Didn’t you know? That ended for Eddie years ago.” He headed for his keyboard.

  It took a moment for the words to sink in. Eddie had let her believe he was court ordered to work on the Christmas pageant. In reality, he was doing it…why? Why on earth would Mr. I-Can’t-Stand-Christmas subject himself to weeks of the holiday, year in and year out?

  She spotted him on the opposite side of the stage and caught his eye. He shot her a look that was unreadable, but gave her a thumbs-up sign as though everything was all right.

  All right?

  She found Jabez, getting into position. “You’re wearing that?” she asked.

  He shrugged, seeming unconcerned by his jeans and hooded sweatshirt. “I’m an existential angel,” he said simply. “Don’t worry. It’ll be fine.”

  There was no time to argue. The music started with a few uncertain notes. Then the overture took off, the melody soaring to the rafters, mingling with the subtle aroma of frankincense. Startled by the majestic sound, she leaned forward to see not just Ray on the keyboards, but his bandmates Noah on drums and Bo Crutcher playing the bass. In addition, there were—she did a double take—Eddie Haven’s father on guitar, his mother with a tambourine, warbling backup vocals as the first number commenced. The little shepherds and angels had indeed improvised, all of them in pajamas. Pajamas. It should have looked ridiculous, but instead was adorable. And that was only the start. Nothing was as she’d envisioned. Then the Angel of the Lord appeared, and magic took over.