Mixed Signals

by Liz Curtis Higgs

  David ran his hand over his hair once more, grabbed his armload of gifts, and headed out the door, across the wooden porch covered with an inch of fresh snowfall. “Whiter Than Snow.” They’d sung it at church last night at the Christmas Eve service. His sins, red as scarlet, were whiter than snow. On a day like this, he almost believed it. He had friends, a place to go, a reason to celebrate. A new memory to blot out twenty-seven Decembers he didn’t care to remember.

  He yanked the door shut on his pickup and turned the key. The truck coughed and wheezed. “Not today, buddy. Start.” The Ford obeyed, launching him across the frozen, muddy driveway and onto Spring Creek Road. His bald tires were no match for the slippery pavement, sending his truck fishtailing up the hill toward Old Jonesboro Road. He eased off the gas, forcing himself to slow down and take his time even as the dashboard clock reminded him that Belle would hit the parking lot in less than ten minutes.

  He smiled as he listened to her chatting over the intro to her last record. “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas,” she sang out as the music swelled and Perry Como took over.

  “Think I will, Miss O’Brien,” David said into the frigid air, warmed only by the thought of catching up with her before she slipped out the door. The deserted streets invited him to lean on the pedal a little harder, willing Belle to wait, to find something to delay her exit. Minutes later, when he pulled into the empty parking lot on Court Street, David was out of the truck and halfway up the block before the engine stopped shuddering. He took the steep steps up to WPER two at a time. The beribboned jewelry box jingled in his suit pocket.

  His chest tightened when he flung open the glass doors, either from sprinting or anticipation, he couldn’t tell which. He reached the studio in a half-dozen strides, paused to toss up a hasty prayer, and yanked open the door.

  Burt spun around in surprise. “Hey there, David. What brings you here on Christmas?”

  Belle was gone. He’d missed her.

  Disoriented, David blinked at the balding disc jockey displaying a Ball State sweatshirt and a gap-toothed grin. Now what? He felt ridiculous, charging in like a madman in search of a woman they worked with every day. “I … uh, just wanted to make sure your turntables weren’t … er … acting up.”

  “Nope.” Burt seemed unaware of David’s stretch for an excuse. “They’re fine. No wow, no flutter.”

  David knew that. He’d rebuilt the turntables before he installed them, had replaced the idlers while he was at it. The only thing that went wow or flutter in that studio was his heart whenever he glimpsed a certain auburn beauty spinning tunes.

  “Glad to hear it.” David tried to sound upbeat, despite the heaviness settling in his chest. So much for his Santa-style visit. Belle’s gift would have to wait until Monday. “Merry Christmas, Burt.”

  The DJ grunted in response as David swung back out the door. No use letting one small disappointment ruin an otherwise promising day, David decided. He checked his watch again. Ten after three. Dinner was waiting. Good thing Norah’s place was only four blocks away.

  The engine was still warm as he turned the key and sent the Ford careening up Court Street then sliding down Main, grateful that his was the only moving vehicle on the road. When Norah’s three-story brick Victorian came into view, the sight warmed him more than the truck heater ever could. Candles flickered in the windows, evergreen wreaths with a dusting of snow hung on every door and window, and a wispy curl of smoke circled both chimneys, hinting at crackling fires on the hearths inside.

  If a better place to spend Christmas existed, David couldn’t imagine where that might be.

  He spotted Patrick’s Blue Boat, parked on Church Street behind a minivan with North Carolina plates. Turning the corner, he pulled up to the curb and yanked on the emergency brake, angling the wheels toward the sidewalk. Snow and the steep hill made for a dicey combination, especially when the forecast called for another two inches by midnight.

  He prayed Belle would take it slow and easy over the mountains between here and home. Did she have a car phone? Norah, prudent woman that she was, probably had tucked her cellular into Belle’s purse.

  David rounded the corner on foot. Close up, the house appeared even more inviting. An enormous fir tree, wrapped in tiny white lights, strands of popcorn, and multicolored ornaments, sparkled in the bay window. The faint strains of Christmas carols floated down the front steps. He made a mental note to sweep away the snow before he left later that night. Anything to help Norah. She deserved it, not only for including him on her Christmas dinner list, but for all the kind things she’d said and done since he’d returned to Abingdon.

  He pressed the packages against his chest long enough to free one hand for the doorbell while he kicked the snow off his shoes. Hearing the sound of muffled laughter, he noticed the enticing aroma of fresh-baked bread and realized he was smiling so hard his cheeks ached. Man, what a Christmas!

  The door swung open and there stood Norah, wearing a red silk jacket. And a look of utter confusion. “David!” Her voice barely topped a whisper. Her eyes registered dismay.

  Uh-oh. He swallowed a lump that suddenly claimed his throat. “Norah?” Something was wrong. She wasn’t stepping back, inviting him in. Wasn’t flashing her usual smile of welcome.

  And was that Belle’s voice in the background? Why wasn’t Belle on her way to Moravian Falls? What was happening here?

  His packages suddenly felt heavier than bricks. His tongue was thick, immovable. A lame “Merry Christmas” was all that came out.

  Now Norah was swinging the door open wider, waving him inside, her expression shifting to … shock? discomfort? He lifted his feet like lead weights and stepped into the foyer, his eyes riveted on the dining room to his left.

  That’s strange. Things seemed normal, in place. The holiday table sagged from the Christmas feast that covered every inch—turkey, ham, bowls of fragrant vegetables, with a huge poinsettia as the centerpiece.

  Guests sat at each place setting, exactly as he’d imagined: There was Patrick, looking as if he’d been hit broadside by an eighteen-wheeler. A middle-aged man and woman he didn’t recognize. And Belle. He’d never dreamed she’d be here. Never imagined she could wear such an agonized expression.

  Five place settings. Four taken, one left.

  One for Norah.

  Not for him.

  He wasn’t expected. Not included after all.

  The pain hit without warning, like a blow from a blunt instrument. The disappointment of two dozen other Christmases pressed down on his chest, squeezing the breath out of him. The memories crushed him—years without trees or decorations, without hugs or presents, telling fibs to friends about what a happy holiday they’d had at the Cahill house. He saw himself as he’d been: a little boy, crying in his bedroom, wishing once, just once, there’d been a plate full of turkey with all the trimmings, or a package with his name on it.

  Or a circle of loved ones, seated around a table.

  His voice sounded like a stranger’s. “I … I’ve made a mistake.” He began backing out, feeling lightheaded. As if from miles away, he heard Patrick’s voice calling his name. Then Belle’s voice, more desperate.

  It was all a cruel joke. Invite a Cahill for Christmas dinner? Not in this town. Not anywhere.

  Through the wave of painful images that crashed over him, David sensed Norah tugging on his arm. “David, this is wonderful!” Her voice, unnaturally bright, resembled crystal on the verge of shattering. “Come in, come in. We have enough food to feed an army.”

  He was too disoriented to resist and so allowed her to pull him further into the house. She scooped up his packages and headed for the tree in the living room. His eyes followed her long enough to see the stockings marching along the mantel. Norah. Patrick. Belle. Maureen. Robert.

  Not David. Of course not. He wasn’t invited. Why had he thought he was on the guest list?

  Patrick. Patrick had said so.

  David turned in the man’s
direction and found his boss moving toward him wearing a face full of apology. “David, there’s been a misunderstanding.”

  fifteen

  Everything is difficult before it is easy.

  SAADI

  DAVID FOUND HIS VOICE, clearing his throat as if the heartache could be as easily dislodged. “It’s no one’s fault but mine.” For hoping too much. For wanting it too badly.

  “No!” Belle appeared from behind Patrick, pushing past him. Her sweater sparkled with gold sequined stars that matched her eyes, moist and glistening. “It’s my fault. I was the one who … who … anyway, my parents are here, David. Come meet them. We’re truly glad you came.”

  He coughed out a response. “Your parents?”

  The older couple was standing now. Of course. She had her mother’s petite stature and her father’s auburn hair. How had he missed that?

  The situation became more transparent by the minute. Belle and Patrick. Mom and Dad. Norah, the hostess with the mostest. He’d clearly been wrong about Belle and Patrick being finished. Dead wrong. Patrick was meeting her parents. Maybe making a big announcement. About tying the knot.

  The last thing this party needed was some lonely gate-crasher cluttering up the place.

  “I gotta go.”

  He swung around, yanking open the oversized door and stumbling onto Norah’s front porch, nearly knocking off her wreath and all its berry trimmings. The vise in his chest tightened another notch.

  “David, please!” Belle was right behind him, snagging the sleeve of his suit. His brand-new suit, the one he’d hoped might impress her. He turned back, reluctant to face her, knowing his anger and embarrassment would be all too apparent.

  Belle was inches away from him, her cheeks almost as red as her holiday sweater. “David, I’m so sorry.” She looked sincere, but her lame apology changed nothing.

  “Forget it.” He tried to pull away but her small hands gripped his sleeve tighter still.

  “Please hear me out.” She craned her neck as if trying to maintain eye contact with him.

  It was no use avoiding her pleading gaze. He stood stock still, fixing his eyes on hers. She wants my attention? So be it. He stared at her and realized Belle was shivering all over. From the cold, probably. Her eyes were red-rimmed, swimming with tears. Must be the cold as well.

  “David, Norah wanted you here for Christmas from the beginning. It was my idea to—”

  “Look, you don’t have to explain. I get it, okay? I hope you two will be happy.”

  Before she could say another word, David bolted across the porch and down the steps, nearly falling when his foot hit a slippery patch. He knew she was following him, but he didn’t care. Not when she called out his name on a sob, not when the jingling in his pocket reminded him of a precious gift he’d chosen for her alone.

  Because he’d let himself care for her.

  And he hated himself for that.

  Because he’d trusted all three of them.

  And paid for it with his heart.

  He reached the truck and pulled the door open so hard the hinges groaned in protest. He fumbled for his keys, cursing the cold that made his hands shake until, frustrated, he dropped the key ring in the snow.

  Belle was by his side in an instant, snatching them up before he saw where they landed. He watched as her fingers closed around the shiny keys.

  She jumped back to her feet with a breathy exclamation. “Ha!” Stepping back, she hid them behind her back, a triumphant gleam in her eyes, a faint smile crossing her tearstained cheeks. “Gotcha!”

  He could do nothing but stare down at her. A sprinkling of snowflakes were tucked among the wispy curls that framed her heart-shaped face. Her blast-it-all beautiful face.

  Why, Lord? Why this woman? Why now?

  Belle fingered the icy keys, debating her best move. Was David ready to go back in the house? Maybe not. How could she make him see this was all her doing?

  Tell him the truth, beloved.

  It was a voice she knew well, and she knew enough to obey without asking questions. She backed up another step to give herself room and took a deep drag of frosty air.

  “David, please believe me. When Norah planned this dinner, she expressly wanted you to be invited. I knew that. Patrick knew, too.”

  “This is supposed to make me feel better?”

  “If it’s any consolation, I feel worse than you do.”

  “How do you know how I feel?” he snapped, eyes narrowing.

  She lifted her hands in submission, being careful not to lose her grip on his keys. It was clear her hold on them was the only thing keeping him there. Dangling from her index finger, the metal keys chilled her palm the same way his cold stare pierced her heart. I never meant to hurt him, Lord. But she had. Deeply. She could see it in those wounded blue-gray eyes.

  Another chilly breath. “Norah and Patrick both wanted you here. But I … I was the one who said, ‘What will my parents think?’ ” She shrugged, knowing how lame her excuse sounded. “Silly, right?”

  David’s expression shifted slightly, his brows lifting out of their furrows. One corner of his mouth turned up in a question mark. “What will your parents think about what?”

  “About …” Belle’s mouth slowed to a crawl while her imagination kicked into a high-gear conversation of its own.

  Say it!

  I can’t say it. David will get the wrong impression.

  He’s waiting, Belle.

  Let him wait. I refuse to make a fool of myself.

  You’ve already done that. He deserves an apology. And the truth.

  Okay, okay, I’m warming up to it.

  He was staring at her, still wearing a question mark on his face.

  Go on, Belle. Say something. Anything.

  “Say!” Her voice squeaked in the key of Betty Boop. “Would you mind terribly if we climbed into your truck? To warm up?” She gulped, ignoring her noisy conscience and waving the keys at him, hoping she looked playful instead of desperate.

  He nodded, expressionless, sending her frozen fingers shaking toward the lock. It clicked open and she stepped back, uncertain. Do I get in on the driver’s side or the passenger’s? One look at the snow-covered road solved that problem. Driver’s side. She used the steering wheel to pull herself up, bemoaning as usual the limitations of her petite stature. Finally settled behind the wheel, she trained her eyes on his and slid back across the seat, headed for the opposite door.

  He was inside the truck in two seconds, shutting the door behind him with a rusty bang. Reaching across to grasp her hand, he yanked her none too gently in his direction.

  “You’re not getting away from me that easily.” His tone was neither cold nor hot, but his gaze burned with purpose. “I don’t know what’s going on here, Belle, but I intend to find out. What does inviting your parents for Christmas have to do with me?”

  “N-nothing.” The truth, Belle. “Okay, something.” She groaned in defeat. “Everything. I was worried that my parents might think you and I … well, I’ve been single so long and …” She dipped her head, knowing her cheeks had to be crimson. “I was afraid they’d come to the wrong conclusion.”

  “Do what?” The question mark look was back.

  “You know. Three couples. Mom and Dad. Norah and Patrick—”

  “Since when are Norah and Patrick a couple?”

  “Oh, for the love of Mike!” She snatched her hand out of his and folded her arms in dramatic disgust. “Where have you been these last few weeks?”

  “At work. At home. At church. Same as you.” That blasted grin she found so appealing was moving across David’s face. “It appears I’ve missed a budding romance between our boss and your landlady, is that it?”

  “It seems you have.” She snorted, not caring how unfeminine it sounded.

  His only reaction was the slight arch of one eyebrow. “So you were concerned that your parents might mistake us as a couple?”

  Belle’s spine snapped to att
ention, nearly lifting her off the Ford’s bench seat. “You can wipe that wry grin off your face, mister!”

  “Wry? Oh, rye!” He touched his lips in mock chagrin. “Coulda sworn it was wheat. Or oat. Pumpernickel, maybe?”

  “Y-you!” She swatted at him as if he were a pesky fly. “This is exactly the kind of misunderstanding I wanted to avoid. People making assumptions, jumping to conclusions.”

  His grin faded, one centimeter at a time. His gray eyes softened, darkened. She felt the texture of the air around them changing. Thickening.

  David’s teasing tone was gone, subdued to a plaintive murmur. “The one who jumped to conclusions today was me, Belle. All along I thought you were headed to Moravian Falls, that I was definitely on Norah’s guest list. When I looked in and saw the table already filled and the stockings on the mantel with everyone’s name but mine and …” His voice trailed off into a lengthy sigh.

  She watched him wrestle with some inner struggle, his jaw clenching, working back and forth. Under the red tie, his throat tightened and swallowed. Without question, this handsome, mature, utterly together guy was doing his level best not to cry.

  His pain touched her in a corner of her heart she didn’t know existed. “David, you’re always welcome here,” she whispered through the tears in her throat. “You know that, don’t you?”

  He shook his head, staring out the front windshield in silence. She watched him watching the snow, swirling in circles down the steep street, the sky heavy, a silvery white. The tall pines that climbed the street bent their branches under the weight of the snowfall, mirroring the mood that had settled over the two of them without warning.

  When David spoke at last, his pitch was lower than she’d ever remembered. “You’re looking at a guy who seldom feels welcome anywhere.”

  With exceeding care, Belle matched her voice to his. “If you want to talk about it, I’m listening.”

  “Maybe I’m not talking.” He shot a searing glance at her, as if testing her sincerity.

  She rested her hand on his elbow, noticing for the first time the fine fabric and cut of his suit. It matched his storm gray eyes perfectly. Fit his muscular form to a T. She forced her eyes to stay focused on his, putting aside the niggling temptations of being this close to a man she found so alarmingly attractive. “David, I thought we were friends. We are friends, aren’t we?”