“Okay, we’ll leave our mothers out of the conversation.”
Now it seemed neither one had anything to say.
“I kept waiting to hear that you were married,” she said after a silence. “But I refused to ask. That’s silly I suppose.” It was like waiting for the dentist’s drill; when it happened there’d be pain and she hadn’t been in a hurry to experience it.
“I assumed you’d get married first,” he said.
Noelle grinned, shaking her head. “There’s something else we need to talk about,” she murmured. “What are we going to do now?” She began with the least palatable option—which was also the easiest. “I mean, we could shake hands and say it’s great to have this cleared up, then just go back to our respective lives.” She waited, watching for a response from him.
His face revealed none of his thoughts. “We could do that,” he said. “Or…” He looked at her.
“Or we could renew our friendship.”
Thom leaned back in his chair. “I like that option.”
So did Noelle. “But, as you said, there’s still the situation with our mothers.” Now she was the one bringing it up, although she’d hoped to avoid any mention of their mothers’ feud. It was futile, she realized. They couldn’t avoid it, no matter how hard they tried.
“If your mother hadn’t borrowed my great-grandmother’s tea service,” Thom began, “she—”
“My mother?” Noelle cried. “I agree she made a mistake, but she was the first to admit it. Your mother refused to forgive her, and that says a lot about the kind of person she is.”
Thom’s eyes were flinty with anger. “Don’t paint your mother as the one who was wronged because—”
Noelle was unwilling to listen to any more. “Listen, Thom, this isn’t going to solve anything. I think it’d be best if we dropped the subject entirely.”
“That isn’t the only thing you want to drop, is it?”
It was a question she didn’t want to answer. A question that implied it would be best for all concerned if they simply walked away from each other right now. Their circumstances hadn’t changed, not really; the business with their mothers would always be an obstacle between them. They could ignore it, but it would never disappear.
She stood and gathered her purse, pulled on her coat. This time Thom didn’t try to stop her.
“So, you’re walking away at the first sign of difficulty,” he said.
“No. As a teenager my heart was open to you and your family, but I’m older now.”
“What’s that got to do with anything?” he demanded.
“This time, my eyes are open, too.”
He looked as if he wanted to continue their argument. But she didn’t have the heart for it. Obviously Thom didn’t, either, because he let her go without another word.
“Help me carry everything in, Greg,” Mary Sutton said as she stepped into the house. Her arms were loaded with plastic bags bursting at the seams.
Mary had never understood or appreciated football, and she didn’t mind saying so. Her husband’s gaze reluctantly left the television screen, where a bunch of men in tight pants and large helmets chased after an oddly shaped ball. As far as she was concerned, it was ridiculous the way they grunted and called out a few numbers now and then and groped their privates right on national television.
“Greg, are you going to help me or not?”
Her husband slowly stood up, his eyes still on the TV. “Honey, it’s third down and inches.”
He might as well be speaking Greek, but she wasn’t going to argue with him. From the sudden reaction of the crowd, something had happened. Greg muttered, shaking his head in a disparaging manner. Mary pretended not to hear and walked back out to the car.
A moment later, he met her in the garage. “We’re losing.”
“Sorry, darling.” She hoped she sounded sympathetic, but she didn’t try very hard. Men and their football.
“What on earth did you buy?” he complained, lifting the last of the blue plastic bags from the car’s trunk.
“Oh, various things,” she said dismissively. “This Christmas basket project hasn’t been a positive experience,” she went on, following her husband into the house.
“Why not?”
Distressed and angry, she blurted out, “You won’t believe this. Sarah McDowell was there!”
“At Wal-Mart?” Even Greg sounded surprised. “Don’t tell me we’ve lost our shopping privileges there, too?”
“Very funny.” The incident at the Value-X would haunt her forever.
“So you got along better?”
“I wouldn’t say that, but I did discover the problem. We had the same list.”
“For the Christmas baskets?”
“Yes.” Mary set her load on top of the kitchen counter.
The football game ended, and Greg reached for the remote control to turn off the television set. He opened the first sack and seemed pleasantly surprised to find a stash of candy bars. “For me?” he asked. Without waiting for her to respond, he peeled the wrapper halfway down a Baby Ruth bar and took a bite.
“You can have them all.” She threw herself onto the sofa.
Her husband walked into the family room and sat down. “You’d better tell me exactly what happened.”
“What makes you think anything did?”
Greg chortled. “I haven’t been married to you all these years without knowing when something’s bothering you.”
“Oh, Greg,” she moaned. “I behaved like such an idiot.” She longed to cover her face with her hands.
“What went wrong this time?”
She shook her head, unwilling to reveal how low she’d sunk. One thing she’d discovered years ago was still true: Sarah McDowell brought out the very worst in her. It never failed. Mary became another person whenever Sarah was around—a person she didn’t like.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“No. I want to crawl into bed and hide my head in shame.” The most embarrassing part of all was that the pastor’s wife had seen the whole thing.
“Tomorrow morning, I need to go back to the Club.”
“For what?”
“I need the second half of the list.”
“What’s on the list?”
“I won’t know until I see it, now will I?” She didn’t mean to be short-tempered, but this afternoon hadn’t been one of her best.
“I don’t know if I want you driving. There’s an ice storm forecast.”
“Greg, I have to get that list. I told Sarah I’d take care of this. It’s my responsibility.”
“Then I’ll drive you.”
“You will?” Mary felt better already.
“Of course. Can’t have you out on icy roads.” Her husband finished off the candy bar and returned to the kitchen, where he rummaged through the bags on the counter. “You never did say why you bought all this candy.”
Mary looked over at the ten plastic bags that lined her kitchen counter and shuddered. Half of them were filled with candy bars. “You don’t want to know.”
Greg didn’t respond, but she caught him sneaking more Baby Ruth bars into his pockets and the sleeves of his sweater. He wasn’t fooling her, but some things were best ignored.
On the other hand, certain things had to be faced. “Greg,” she said thoughtfully. “I’m worried about Thom.”
“Why?”
“Did you see him with Noelle last night? The two of them were dancing.”
“Yes, dear, I saw them.”
“Doesn’t that concern you?” she asked.
“No.” He added a couple of candy bars to his pants pockets, as though she wasn’t going to see them protruding.
“Well, it should. Noelle is a sweet girl, but she’s her mother’s daughter. She’s not to be trusted.”
“Thom is an adult. He’s fully capable of making his own decisions. My advice is to stay out of it.”
Mary couldn’t believe her husband would say such a
thing to her. “You don’t mean that! After what happened the last time—”
“You heard me. Stay out of it.”
“But Thom is—”
Greg just shook his head. She wanted to say more but swallowed the words. Fathers weren’t nearly as caring and concerned about matters of the heart; they lacked sensitivity. Greg hadn’t spent time with Thomas the way she had that fateful summer ten years earlier. The McDowell girl had crushed him.
Her husband started toward the garage.
“Greg,” she said.
“Yes, dear?”
“Put the candy bars back. I’m adding them to the charity baskets.”
He muttered something under his breath, then said, “Yes, dear.”
When Thom returned from the mall, he was suffering a full-blown case of the blues. His apartment had never seemed emptier. The small Christmas tree he’d purchased already decorated looked pitiful in the middle of his coffee table. Some Christmas this was turning out to be.
The light on his answering machine blinked, demanding his attention, and for half a heartbeat he thought it might be Noelle. But even as he pressed the Play button, he realized she wouldn’t phone.
“Hey, Thom, this is Jonathan Clark,” the message said. “Give me a call when you’ve got a moment.”
Thom reached for the phone and punched in the number the investment broker had left. He knew Jonathan but didn’t consider him a close friend. He was a business associate and Kristen McDowell’s fiancé. This was the first time Jonathan had sought him out socially; Thom hoped it had something to do with Noelle.
After a brief conversation, they agreed to meet at a local pub. Jonathan didn’t say why, but it didn’t matter. The way Thom felt, he was grateful for any excuse to get out of the house. The walls were closing in around him. Some jovial guy-talk and loud music was exactly what he needed. Although Jonathan was about to marry into the other camp, Thom knew he’d be objective.
Jon was sitting at the bar nursing a dark ale when Thom joined him. The music in the background was Elvis Presley’s “Blue Christmas”—appropriate under the circumstances. They exchanged pleasantries and then Jonathan got right to the point.
“I wanted to make sure there weren’t any hard feelings about last night.”
“You mean finagling it so I ended up dancing with Noelle? No problem.”
“I didn’t really want to do it, but Kristen seemed to think it was important.”
Thom pulled out his wallet and paid for his beer when the bartender delivered it. “Like I said, it wasn’t a big deal.”
“So you and Kristen’s sister were once an item?”
“Once.”
“But no more?”
Thom took a deep swallow of the cold beer. “There’s trouble between our families.”
“Kristen told me about it.”
“You’re lucky, you know.” Jonathan faced none of the challenges he did.
“Very,” Jonathan agreed.
There was a pause, not an uncomfortable one. Jon seemed willing to discuss the situation further, but he wouldn’t force it. He’d left it up to Thom.
“Noelle and I talked after the dance,” he finally ventured.
Jonathan swiveled around on his stool in order to get a better look at Thom. “How’d it go?”
“Last night? Good.” His blood warmed at the memory of their kisses. It’d taken every ounce of self-control he’d possessed to let her go. That was one of the reasons he’d suggested they meet at the mall today; it was neutral ground.
“Did you two work everything out?”
“We tried.” He waited, half hoping Jonathan would question him about it. Jonathan didn’t. Thom sighed, feeling a little discouraged. Now that he’d started, he wanted to talk. “I think we’re both leery of getting involved a second time,” he continued. “Her home’s in Texas now and I live here.”
“Right, got ya.”
“But it’s more than logistics.” He tipped back the mug and took another swallow of beer. “We have…this situation. She wants to defend her mother. I want to defend mine.”
“Only natural.” Jonathan glanced at his watch.
Thom shut up. He had the feeling he was boring the other man. Perhaps he had someplace he needed to be.
Jonathan’s next remark surprised him. “Kristen and I were making out our guest list and I put down your name. You’ll come, won’t you?”
“Sure,” Thom answered almost flippantly, and then it occurred to him that if he accepted the invitation, he’d see Noelle again. He found himself eager for the opportunity. “Speaking of the wedding—” well, not really, but he didn’t know how else to introduce the topic “—did Kristen ever mention her sister being involved with a guy named Paul?”
Jonathan considered it for a moment, then shook his head. “Not that I can remember. Why?”
“Just curious.” And jealous. And worried. Noelle had said it was over between her and this Paul character, but Thom had to wonder. She seemed far too willing to walk away from their conversation this afternoon. Maybe the relationship with Paul wasn’t as dead as she’d led him to believe.
“Paul,” Jonathan repeated slowly. “Did she give you a surname?”
Thom shook his head.
The door to the pub opened, and Kristen McDowell walked inside. Jonathan glowed like a neon light, he was so pleased to see her. “Over here, sweetheart,” he called, waving his hand.
Kristen walked to the bar and slipped her arm around her fiancé’s waist. “Hello, Thom,” she said as naturally as if they saw each other every day. “How’s it going?”
“All right. I understand congratulations are in order.”
Kristen smiled up at Jonathan and nodded.
Thom felt like an intruder. Reaching for his overcoat, he was getting ready to go when Kristen stopped him.
“There’s no need to rush off.”
He was about to pretend he had people to see, places to go, but then decided not to lie. “You sure?”
“Of course I’m sure.”
Thom was eager to learn what he could about Noelle, so he lingered and ordered another beer. Jon did, too; Kristen had a glass of red wine.
Thom paid for the second round. The three of them sat on bar stools with Kristen in the middle, talking about Christmas plans for a few minutes. “She had me call you,” Jonathan confessed suddenly.
Kristen elbowed her fiancé in the ribs. “You weren’t supposed to tell him.”
The second beer had loosened Thom’s tongue. “She damn near knocked me off my feet when I first saw her.”
“Kristen?” Jonathan asked, sounding worried.
“No, Noelle.”
“Really?” This appeared to please Noelle’s younger sister. “So you’re still stuck on her, after all these years.”
“Damned if I know,” Thom muttered. He did know but he wasn’t willing to admit it. “We decided it’s not going to work.”
“Why not?” Kristen sounded outraged.
“We met and talked this afternoon,” Thom informed them both.
Jonathan frowned. “I thought you met last night after the dance.”
“We did.”
“So you’ve talked twice in the past twenty-four hours.”
“Yeah, and like I said, we both realized there are too many complications.”
Kristen raised her hand for the bartender. “We need another round.”
“I think we’ve already done enough damage,” Jonathan protested.
“Coffee here,” she said, pointing at her fiancé. “Same as before over here.” She made a sweeping gesture that included Thom.
The bartender did as requested. As soon as the wine and beer arrived, Kristen turned to face Thom. “I thought you loved my sister.”
“I did once.” He was still working on his second beer.
“But not now?”
Thom didn’t want to answer her. Hell, the last time he’d admitted to loving Noelle he was just a kid. But he’d st
ood up to his parents and been willing to relinquish everything for Noelle. To say he’d loved her was an understatement. He’d been crazy about her.
“Well?” Kristen pressed. “Don’t you have an answer?”
“I do,” Thom said, picking up his beer. “I just don’t happen to like it.”
“What’s that mean?” Jonathan asked Kristen.
“I think it means he still has feelings for Noelle.” Then, as though she’d suddenly remembered, she said, “Hey! Her birthday’s on Christmas Day, you know.”
Like he needed a reminder. Not a Christmas passed that Thom forgot.
“She doesn’t feel the same way about me,” he murmured.
“Yeah, right,” Kristen said, exaggerating the words. It took only two beers for him to bare his soul—and it was all for nothing because Noelle didn’t love him anymore. It took only two beers to make him maudlin, he thought sourly.
“Yeah, right,” Kristen said again.
“It’s true,” Thom argued. “Did you ask her?”
“Did you?” Kristen asked.
NOELLE McDOWELL’S JOURNAL
December 22
Afternoon
I blew it. I had the perfect chance to have a rational conversation with Thom. We had a chance to settle this once and for all without the angst and emotion. It didn’t happen. Instead I let the opportunity slip through my fingers. Naturally I have a wealth of excuses, the first one being that I didn’t sleep more than a couple of hours all night. This situation between Thom and me was on my mind and I couldn’t seem to let it go. My feelings swung from happiness to dread and from joy to fear, and then the whole cycle repeated itself. I kept thinking about what I wanted to say when we saw each other again. Then I started worrying what would happen if he kissed me.
How is it that I can develop complicated software programs used all over the world, but when it comes to Thom Sutton I’m hopeless?
Mom’s home from shopping, and when Carley asked if she’d gotten everything she needs for the Christmas baskets, it looked as if Mom was about to burst into tears. She said she had a headache, and went to bed. Apparently I wasn’t the only one suffering from too little sleep. I have a feeling that something happened with Mrs. Sutton again, which is bad news all the way around.
On a Snowy Night: The Christmas BasketThe Snow Bride Page 9
