by Lisa Jackson
“Are you warm enough?” Chris asked.
She nodded her head in jerky movements to indicate that she felt fine, but her chattering chin gave her away. He hugged her closer, and it felt right.
All too soon, he said, “Here’s the park,” pointing in the direction of the trees. “Let’s pull up next to the pond before we join the others.”
Chris directed the horse over to the icy pond. Several wobbly-legged children and cautious parents were precariously skating by the streetlamp’s light. The carolers were suddenly quiet, entranced by the scene. Even Claire’s loudmouth of a boyfriend had become still, at least for the moment; then he ducked under the blanket again.
The black horse snorted; steam rose from his nostrils. He nickered softly, and somewhere close by, another horse answered. For a heartbeat it was as if she and Chris were captured in a magical dreamland. He reached under the blanket and took one of her gloved hands in his, and she didn’t pull away.
“I’d like to spend some more time here, but I think that maybe we’d better join the others,” he said.
She nodded her agreement, and he flicked the reins, allowing the anxious horse to trot off in the direction of the other sleighs and carolers.
When they joined the group, Megan and Chris caught up with Leslie and Ken. He had his arm around her, and they whispered together, laughing as if they’d known each other for years.
When Megan caught Leslie alone, the other girl said, “Okay, you win. I thought this would be a nightmare but Ken . . . He’s great.” Leslie was actually blushing as she glanced over at the boys, who were talking with some others. “We had a great time. And the Upland-Gable girls were okay.”
“Seriously?” Megan couldn’t believe it.
“Yeah. Real friendly.”
“But Claire—?”
“Is stuck on herself. And on Chris. That’s what the girls in my sleigh said.”
“She’s with the basketball jerk—er, jock.”
“I know,” Leslie said, “but everyone said she’s been interested in Chris since he transferred from Boston.”
That explained a lot, and Megan felt more than a little bit of jealousy until Chris returned and hooked his arm around her waist. It seemed the most natural thing for him to do. As they sang a few more carols she told herself not to listen to Leslie’s gossip, but that was before Megan, turning her head, caught Claire’s frosty glare. Her blond hair glistening in the lamplight, Claire whispered a private joke to her date. Brad laughed out loud, then cast a sly, sidelong look in Megan’s direction. Subtle, the basketball geek was not. Obviously Claire had made Megan the butt of some bad joke. She was an outsider, but then, that wasn’t exactly a news flash.
When the caroling was finished, Chris once again began helping the kids into his sleigh. Megan couldn’t help seeing the wistful looks that Claire cast in his direction and, when it was her turn to board the vehicle, Claire paused for a moment, letting her full weight rest on Chris as she stepped upward into the sleigh. She seemed to slip, and then caught herself by clinging to Chris’s neck.
“Damn it!” she swore, her pretty face puckering. “It’s these new boots. The leather is so slick in the snow.”
“Be careful,” Chris cautioned as he assisted her. “Are you all right?”
“I . . . think so,” she said, looking into his eyes. Her gloved hand slid and lingered across his shoulders, and Megan thought she might be sick. Claire’s damsel-in-distress ploy was right out of some of those stupid romantic movies Natalie watched late at night, a move that seemed to be from the sixties.
Save me.
Chapter 7
“Here, Meg, let me help you down.” Chris smiled as he held his hand out once the sleigh had stopped at the Hayloft.
With his help, Megan jumped lightly to the snow-covered parking lot, only to lose her balance when Brad, the athlete no less, stumbled into her as he slid from his seat. Scrambling, he nearly dropped a bag and quickly hid it back under his jacket, darting a look at the couples nearby.
“What the hell was that?” Megan whispered to Chris.
“A bota bag,” was the terse reply. Chris’s jawline hardened. He was watching Brad intently, as the basketball player snaked his arm over Claire’s shoulder and trudged off in the direction of the main door of the restaurant.
“What’s a bota bag?” Megan couldn’t restrain her curiosity.
“You don’t know?”
“If I knew, would I ask?”
“Okay, so you’re ignorant,” he teased, pulling her stocking cap over her eyes. “Or maybe naïve.”
“I’m not—” She started to argue, then shut up. Okay, so she was naïve. A little.
“A bota bag is kind of like a purse, but it’s a watertight container that can hold liquid, usually alcohol. It’s got a thin strap that holds it neatly over your shoulder and a spill-proof spout. You have to squeeze the bag as you hold it to your mouth in order for the contents to squirt into your mouth.” His blue eyes narrowed in thought. “I wondered why Brad kept hiding under the blanket. I guess we know now.”
“I thought he was just showing off. You know, for Claire.”
“I figured he’d been drinking, but I didn’t think he was actually doing it on the sleigh ride itself. I thought that he had probably had a couple of beers before the ride began.” He glanced to another sleigh where a young priest was talking with a couple of kids. “Let’s just hope that Father Anthony doesn’t catch wind of this, or we’ll all be in big trouble.”
“All of us?” Megan asked.
“Yeah, there’s been a big stink at school lately about alcohol. Well, and drugs, of course. A few of the members of the basketball team were caught drinking and smoking weed a couple of weeks ago, and they’re suspended. Off the team. Pending hearings, probably kicked out of school.”
“Was Brad one of the players who was put on probation?”
“Somehow he skated. That’s why he’s still here.”
“And didn’t seem to get the message,” Megan said.
“He’s not exactly known for his brains.”
“Hey!” Ken and Leslie joined them. “Guess what?” Ken asked. “You and I have just been volunteered by Father Anthony to take the horses back to the barns.”
“Why us?”
“Dunno. But I wasn’t going to argue. Besides, he picked a couple other guys, too.” To Leslie, Ken said, “Can you two wait for us inside? We just have to get the horses back to the stables; someone else will take care of them and the sleighs.”
Once inside, after they’d spent a few minutes in the small restroom, Megan purposely chose a table removed from the immediate friends of Claire and Brad, but Leslie kept smiling at the Upland girls, as if sharing a special secret with them.
“Can’t you ignore Claire and her crowd?” Megan asked her friend.
“Relax, will you? I told you that the kids in our sleigh were really okay. And the boys should be back any minute.”
“Let’s hope so,” Megan said.
“How long could it take to unharness a horse?” Leslie said, then giggled.
“I suppose that depends on where you have to take the horse to unhitch him. We aren’t exactly in the middle of acres and acres of farmland, you know.”
Leslie laughed again, as if Megan were hilarious.
While a DJ played requests, several couples ventured out onto the dance floor. For a moment, Megan pictured her sister Natalie shimmering in white, while floating in Adam’s arms. Adam. Tall, dark, wonderful Adam, now married to her sister. Somehow it didn’t hurt as much as it had a few weeks earlier. For now, she forced her thoughts back to the present.
A few minutes later Chris and Ken, along with a few other “volunteers,” came clattering back into the restaurant, stomping snow off their boots and brushing it from their hair.
Megan’s eyes wandered to the dance floor where Leslie had begun dancing with Ken. As if she’d tripped, she wrapped her arms around Ken’s neck and was laughing loudly.
Megan frowned. She had never seen Leslie warm up to a boy so quickly.
“Wanna dance?” Chris asked as he turned her face toward his with a gentle touch of his hand.
“Yeah.” Megan nodded absently, letting Chris guide her to the dance floor. She tried to forget about her friend and her erratic behavior, but each time they danced near Ken and Leslie, it became more evident to Megan that Leslie was acting strangely. She was giggling and talking loudly. Every once in a while she would miss a step, and then break up into uproarious laughter.
“Chris,” Megan whispered.
“Yeah.”
“Do you think Leslie’s been drinking? Or she’s on something?”
Chris stopped dancing. “I don’t know.... It’s possible, I suppose. I did see her standing with part of Brad’s crowd before the last time we came inside. Ken hasn’t said anything to me about it, and he’s not usually the kind of guy who would drink at a school function.”
“Or slip her a Mickey?”
“What? No!”
Megan wasn’t so sure, and she saw her friend trip and catch herself on Ken again. “I don’t feel good about this.” She was shaking her head, mentally struggling. She didn’t want the night to end, but at that moment Leslie threw back her head and closed her eyes, almost as if she was going to pass out.
“But it’s only ten thirty!”
“I don’t care. Something’s wrong.” Megan chewed on her lip thoughtfully.
“All right, but it seems as if she’s enjoying herself to me,” Chris said. Then, to Ken and Leslie, “Meg thinks it’s time to take the girls home.”
“So soon?” Ken complained. “I thought you girls didn’t have to be home until midnight.”
“Yeah,” Leslie said thickly. “What’s the rush, Meg? I’m having a terrif . . . terriff . . . a great time.” She giggled and staggered toward Meg. Had Ken not caught her she would have landed on the floor. “Oops, guess I lost my balance—”
Meg grasped Leslie firmly by the arm and propelled her to the checkroom.
“You’ve been drinking,” Megan accused as she helped Leslie put on her coat.
“You could tell?” Leslie was incredulous. “I just had a little bit.”
“What do you mean . . . a little?” Megan asked, her eyes narrowing.
“I only had a couple of sips.” Leslie giggled.
“What else?”
“What’d’h mean?”
“Some kind of drug? Pills? Pot?”
“ No—I just . . . just . . .”
“Great, Leslie. Just fricking great!” Megan shot Ken an icy glance as they walked out the door toward his car. “Did you have anything to do with this?”
“Nothing! I had no idea that she had been drinking. I don’t even know where she got the stuff,” Ken said indignantly.
“Oh, that was easy.” Leslie giggled as she slumped into the front seat and Ken got behind the wheel. “One of the guys, that big basketball jock, he gave me a drink, or two. Right before we came in here.”
“What was it?” Chris asked.
“Some kind of wine . . . I’m really not sure. The guy said it would warm me up, and he was right!” Leslie smiled as she laid her head on Ken’s shoulder before Megan strapped on her seat belt.
“Are you sure you didn’t know about this?” Chris demanded, staring at Ken.
“Look, Johnson, I told you I didn’t know anything about it, and that’s it!” Ken’s fists clenched around the steering wheel.
Chris and Megan climbed into the backseat. Ken slammed his door shut and started the motor. The car roared out of the parking lot and slid on the icy streets.
“Hey! Take it easy, man,” Chris shouted. “I didn’t mean to accuse you of anything. I just wanted to know how Leslie got the drinks.”
“Umm,” Leslie mumbled as she nearly fell asleep. “It was Claire’s idea.... She’s . . . she’s nice. . . .”
Not so nice, Megan thought. “What a surprise,” she said, not bothering to hide her feelings.
“Hey . . . hold on a minute,” Chris ordered. “You can’t blame Claire.”
“Why not? It’s her fault, or at least that boyfriend of hers, Brad, his fault.”
“No, it’s not,” Chris reiterated. “No one forced Leslie to drink anything tonight. She said so herself.”
“But Leslie never drinks,” Megan argued, heatedly defending her sleeping friend.
“She did tonight.” It was a flat statement.
“She did it to be accepted by those stupid Upland-Gable girls!” Megan threw back at Chris. “How are we going to get this past my parents?”
“We’ll come in for a few minutes,” Chris offered, but Megan wasn’t sure how that would play out. A few sips? Megan didn’t think so. Her friend was acting like she’d downed five or six shots.
When they were in the Simmons’s driveway, they tried to rouse Leslie. It was difficult, but with the aid of a little cold snow down her neck, she seemed to sober up a little. Though pale, she still looked reasonably presentable, and Megan hoped that her parents wouldn’t notice Leslie’s abnormally sluggish reactions.
Though angry with Megan for sliding snow under her sweater, Leslie finally seemed to grasp a bit of the gravity of the situation. Supported by Ken, she assumed a casual walk.
“Mom, we’re home,” Megan shouted in the direction of the den, where the flickering blue light emanating suggested her parents were watching television. To Chris she said, “I’ll take it from here.”
“You sure?” he asked, and then kissed her on the cheek when she nodded and started shepherding a teetering Leslie up the stairs.
At ten the next morning, Megan woke up. Leslie was sleeping in a bag on the floor. Madonna was curled up next to her, the cat’s long hair ruffling with each of Leslie’s deep breaths. Leaning over the side of her bed, Megan gave her friend a push.
Moaning, Leslie rolled over.
Madonna hopped onto the bed and then to the windowsill.
“Wake up. It’s after ten.”
“Too early,” Leslie grumbled, wadding her pillow over her head.
“No, it’s not! We’ve got to get up and act normally if we don’t want Mom and Dad to get any more suspicious than they already are.”
“Oooo . . .” Leslie said as she raised her hand to her forehead. “This must be what a hangover is all about. And I don’t get up until one. Sometimes two.” She blinked. “That would be p.m.”
“Forget it. And as for the hangover, you earned it.”
“Don’t be such a goody-two-shoes . . . or is it three shoes? Something weird that Mom always says.” Wincing, Leslie blinked again slowly as if testing to see if her eyes still worked.
“What the hell were you doing last night?” Megan insisted.
“Making new friends?”
“More like enemies.”
“They were nice to me.”
“They got you drunk.”
“I got me drunk.”
“You’re lucky no one slid something else into your drink,” she said.
“The whole blind date was your idea,” Leslie reminded her.
No, it was Chris’s, Megan thought, and it had backfired.
Megan’s parents were waiting for them in the kitchen. Her father was reading the Sunday paper, and he glanced over the top of his glasses as the girls entered the room. Although he smiled at them, Megan sensed trouble. Leslie looked green at the sight of the scrambled eggs and toast.
“How did the date go last night?” Megan’s father asked, scanning the open Sunday paper with his reading glasses.
“It was okay,” Megan said, wishing the topic would just disappear. “We had fun, I guess.”
“You don’t know?” her mother said, her eyebrows pulling together.
Pale, Leslie nodded. “It’s just that we didn’t know too many people.”
Dear God, she actually appeared green, like she might barf up anything she tried to eat, so Megan said, “We’ll just have a little toast and take it ups
tairs, okay?”
Her mother’s eyes narrowed, but before she could protest, Megan grabbed a couple of napkins and two slices of toast, then headed back upstairs. Leslie followed her, and as they reached the upper hallway, made a beeline for the bathroom. Great! If her parents had any idea what had happened, they’d be upset, maybe call the school and Leslie’s parents. They could even drag Chris’s family into it.
With one ear cocked toward the open staircase, Megan waited, then when a white-faced, shaky-legged Leslie reappeared, hustled her into the bedroom and shut the door. It seemed they’d escaped, thank God.
For now.
Chapter 8
The few days remaining until Christmas passed slowly for Megan. Christmas itself had lost some of the wonder and magic it had once held for her. She could remember a few years ago, when early Christmas morning she and Natalie had raced down the stairs to catch a first glimpse of the tree with many presents displayed invitingly beneath its boughs. No matter how early the girls had arisen, their mother had always been up before them.
The lights on the tree would be glowing in the early morning winter darkness, and the girls would smell freshly baked cranberry bread. The sisters had hardly been able to contain themselves through the meal, knowing that there were hidden surprises waiting for them under the tree.
Best of all, there was always something unique hidden in the needles of the pine tree. Usually in a plain white box or a handwritten envelope, the special gift that Mom and Dad had planned all year long was the last one opened, after all of the gifts under the tree were gone. It was one last prize. One envelope had read “Bow Wow” and had contained a dog biscuit. That was the Christmas that Snow White, the funny little mutt of a puppy, had joined the family. Another Christmas, the envelope had said simply: “24 months or 500 miles, whichever is greater, WARRANTY.” That was the now old ten-speed bike. It was strange to think that, this Christmas, Megan didn’t feel any enthusiasm for the yearly ceremony.
