Mistletoe at Midnight

by LB Gregg

  Chapter Three

  “Someone could have warned me,” I mumbled to my worthless brother as I followed him to the attic bedroom.

  “Well, if we had cell service in upper numb-fuck Vermont, I would have. I don’t think anyone knew who he was until half an hour ago when Mom announced you’d had a crush on him in high school.”

  “I didn’t mean that—although it would have been unusually thoughtful of you to call. I meant about Dad.” My God, the stair railing was festooned with so much garland, bows, sprigs of weathered juniper and Christmas balls, there was no place to put my hand. I hefted my bag higher and let Jake pass. He thumped up the stairs as if he’d been here before. “When were you going to tell me he was sick?”

  “I just found out today. They didn’t want us to worry because the test results aren’t in—but be warned, he’s a little fuzzy.”

  Fuzzy. “You mean like last time.”

  “I don’t know. Mom hasn’t said. But he’s seventy-six years old.”

  “I know that.” After the chemo and a round of radiation treatments fifteen years ago, it wasn’t likely they’d put him through another. I swallowed past the fear and tried to be practical. “He’s seen his oncologist?”

  “Yesterday.” Ryan nodded and knocked my bag into the wall. Something clanked.

  “Could you please be careful?”

  “Sorry. That’s all the information I have. He went for a bunch of tests and we need to just wait and see. We’re going to have a good Christmas for Dad and hope to hell he’s just not getting enough B12. That’s the deal. We need to make this count. We’re going to have a good time.”

  “I just know too much about what can go wrong.” All of it was at the forefront of my mind—but my brother was right. There was nothing we could do today except make this Christmas a good one.

  “We’ll have fun,” he said and then he grinned over his shoulder. “With Caleb Black. Holy crap. The look on your face was priceless.”

  I hit him with my bag as we trudged up the last narrow staircase. More garlands and frippery choked the hall until eventually, under a row of wooden nutcrackers grinning toothily from a shelf above the stairwell, we arrived in the attic. “Could your room be any farther from the front door?”

  “I’m that much closer to heaven.” As promised, Doug Winters had saddled me with the yellow room, one of a pair of rooms that inconveniently shared a tiny bathroom. I felt increasingly like an afterthought.

  Jake trotted happily into the room and located a cozy spot on the braided hearthrug. He circled and within moments snored peacefully by the sizzling gas fire.

  It took my brother and I a little longer to come to terms with the décor. Practicality won over, and I slogged into the room and tossed my bag onto the bed. It sank under an ocean of decorative pillows.

  Ryan’s thrilled giggle grated on my nerves as it had for thirty-one years.

  “Hey. Look at this.” He yanked the outside door wide and a blast of icy air swept in. Snow flaked the carpet. “There’s a gallery.”

  A sturdy balcony straight out of Romeo and Juliet connected my room with the one next door. “Bloody cold out here.” Ryan shut and locked the door. “I guess that’s the fire escape. You just fall into the snow bank below if you catch on fire. No big deal.”

  “Is your room like this?”

  “No. It’s much, much worse. I’ll give you five minutes to do whatever—changing your pants would be prime. No one under fifty wears corduroy, bro. And then, if you’re nice, I’ll buy you a scotch.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with my pants. They’re warm.”

  “They add five pounds.”

  I frowned as he shut the door behind him and I shucked my cords. They were perfectly serviceable pants. He was full of shit. I hadn’t gained a pound since…last year.

  I collapsed in the nest of pillows and pondered the flower-strewn canopy of eyelet and cabbage-sized yellow roses. This was a girl’s room. A little girl’s room. Dolls sat stiff-legged on the mantel, their shod feet poking from frilly dresses. It was kind of funny, really. There were crocheted runners covering all the furniture. This could be Doug Winters’s passive aggressive statement about my sexuality, but I suspected all the rooms bore the same homey stamp.

  The bed was comfortable, so I closed my eyes. My father’s thin face stared back at me, but it was Caleb’s voice that filled my mind.

  “Hey. Is that your father?” I nudged Caleb and he glanced away from his book.

  “Where?”

  “Pulling in.” A U-Haul rocked onto the dirt driveway. Two houses away from the shoddy place Caleb rented with his father, we sat keeping warm in my shit-box Dodge Colt. The engine ran and heat blew weakly through the vent.

  “This was a mistake. I have to go.” Caleb flung the door wide and the icy air blasted in. He pocketed the dog-eared paperback he’d borrowed from me and said, “I’m sorry, Owen.”

  “Go? Where?”

  “I’ll try to call you, okay? Happy New Year, man.” He smiled, that crooked tip of lip, and had I any inkling that this was it—that I’d never see him again—I’d have pulled him by the collar of his corduroy coat right back into the car and made him tell me what the hell was going on. Instead I nodded, and like a fool, I let him go.

  “Later, O.”

  A rap of knuckles interrupted my snooze and I opened my eyes to a cloud of eyelet and lace. I must have been dreaming, because it wasn’t Caleb Black knocking on my door to wish me a Merry Christmas. “Owen. Open the door, hon. It’s Mom.”

  I wouldn’t acknowledge my disappointment, but it acknowledged me as I hefted myself from the bed. I blinked at my watch. I’d lost a half hour.

  “Owen?”

  “Yeah. I know who it is.”

  Jake lifted his head from the carpet and wagged his tail as I let her in.

  “Oh. Isn’t this charming?” She took in the lace and the dolls and then she coughed into her hand in a sorry attempt to cover a laugh. “I’m so sorry. This is dreadful. I wonder if they had a daughter?”

  “I’d take that bet.”

  “Our room has a sunflower motif. It’s a bit startling. Now, enough moping. Come downstairs.”

  “I’m not moping. I fell asleep.”

  “Well, your eighty-year-old uncles traveled from Pittsburg by train and bus and then car to be here and they are downstairs socializing and relieving your father of his fortune, those little card sharks. Quit feeling sorry for yourself, wash your face and get your butt down there. Do you understand? This is important. It’s Christmas.”

  It was useless to argue. “I just needed to change my pants.”

  “Oh thank goodness. Those were dreadful.” She stared at my shirt now and raised her eyebrow. “Are you going to finish?”

  “Finish what?” I slid my shearling slippers on. “Slippers are fine for inside?”

  Mom sighed. “Yes. He’s very handsome, isn’t he?”

  “Who?”

  “Please.”

  “Mom. Do not under any circumstances at all butt in here. You gave me your word.”

  “Fine. Let’s have a cocktail with your father. Otherwise all bets are off and mark my words, I will interfere. I’ll tell him this was all your idea.”

  I narrowed my eyes at her. “Are you threatening me?”

  “Of course I am. I’m your mother. And I want this Christmas to be wonderful.”

  “They’re all wonderful. That’s sort of the hallmark of Christmas. And it comes but once a year.”

  “I know, but your father’s been under-the-weather.” Before I could respond, she held up a hand. “I don’t want to discuss this. He’s just having some problems with his iron. That’s all.”

  “Mom. You can’t hide his illness indefinitely.”

  “I can, until he wants you to know. That’s his prerogative. Right now, he wants to have a Merry Christmas—and save the decisions and the discussion for next week. There’s nothing we can do until then anyway.” My mother’s voic
e was firm enough that I didn’t argue. “No calling your colleagues in Boston either.”

  “I’m a vet, not an oncologist.”

  “You’re a determined man who doesn’t like the word no. You never have.”

  “Fine. Agreed.” She knew me so well. “No calls.”

  “Owen, he’s not getting any younger. I know you don’t want to hear it, but he’ll never be as fit as he was. We’re going to enjoy the holiday. Okay?”

  I nodded and she slipped her lean, strong arms around me and hugged me tight.

  “I just love when we’re all together like this—even when you’re cranky.”

  “I’m not cranky,” I grumbled.

  “Of course not.”

  She squeezed me again and I couldn’t remember the last time anyone had put their arms around me or even touched me. Probably not since Thanksgiving. She’d packaged the leftovers and as we stood in the driveway of my childhood home, she’d hugged me good-bye.

  “I know I’m a pain, but you and Ryan need to settle down now. It’s time. You need someone to love who will love you back. I worry that you’re alone.”

  “I’m not alone. I have Jake.”

  Jake’s tail thumped the carpet.

  “And he’s a very good dog. But he’s a dog.” She scratched his ear. “C’mon. Let’s go. Shake a tail feather.” She said this as if the opportunity to find true love was waiting just down the stairs and if I didn’t hurry, I’d miss it. Jake waited by the door, eager to do his evening thing, so we both plodded down the stairs after my talkative mother.

  We were nearly to the entry when the desk bell rang. Ding ding ding.

  Mom stopped midstair and, peering over the banister, I could have sworn she said shit under her breath.

  Doug Winters’s hearty voice called, “Welcome!” as he burst through the doorway. He was as jolly as Santa Claus, without the ho ho ho. “Our last guest to arrive. Isn’t this a hoot? He’s from Boston too.”

  I shouldn’t have looked.

  Keith Turner stood in the entry, his shoulders dusted in snowflakes. An overnight bag lay on the floor beside him. Hoot? No. It wasn’t a hoot. I squeezed my eyes hoping he and his luggage would disappear, but it wasn’t going to be that easy to lose him. He lingered expectantly by the door and I knew my mother’s real matchmaking plan had arrived in the flesh.

  Shit, indeed.

  I turned my suspicious glare on my mother and said through clenched teeth, “What were you thinking?”

  “I swear I thought it was a good idea at the time. I mentioned it months ago in passing and he never RSVP’d. I would have dissuaded him. Really. Who doesn’t at least phone ahead?”

  We stopped hissing and whispering when it became apparent we had a rapt audience.

  “Hey there.” Keith’s failed attempt to pretend he hadn’t heard us brought a sheepish smile to his face and it made him more handsome. I hardened myself. He was in the past, my fatter past, and he, my ennui and ten pounds were staying there. I was having a fresh start. “Merry Christmas, Owen. Patricia.”

  I hoped to hell he didn’t have the connecting room to mine.

  Doug Winters saved me. “Mr. Turner, I’ve put you in the rose bedroom. It’s small, but it’s convenient to the lobby.”

  Relief that Keith had a shitty room on the ground floor was short-lived because voices filled the hallway.

  “Is dinner ready yet?” Ryan entered looking rumpled and sly and slightly loose-limbed. He held a drink in his hand and he groaned when he saw me. “What the hell are you wearing? You look like a lumberjack.”

  “It’s a red and green shirt. They’re the colors of the season.” I took a look around and realized I blended in to the décor. Ryan had some sort of expensive black silky button-down shirt and black pants combination that seemed gayer than anything in my sartorial experience, but it wasn’t in my best interest to point that out.

  Caleb and his lady friend passed under the heirloom Victorian Christmas ball hanging from the arched doorway. They each held steaming mugs of something—wassail no doubt—and stopped to meet the new guest.

  Keith smiled, and with only five feet separating him from Caleb, the ebony hair, the green eyes and slim build, it all made an embarrassing kind of sense. Because my latest ex? He was the knock-off version of the original.

  I had a type, and now everyone in the entryway knew it, including me. I was suddenly very glad to be blending in to the wallpaper. I grumbled for my mother’s ears only, “Is it any wonder I prefer the company of dogs to people?”

  “They can’t make you coffee,” Mom snapped before turning her stage smile on Keith. “Well, isn’t this a pleasant surprise.”

  “Well, no, not really. You invited—”

  “Yes. How lovely that you thought to surprise us. RSVP is so passé. You look dashing as always, is that Burberry?” I gave her some credit for not looking once between the two men.

  Ryan didn’t spare me for a second as he enacted a dramatic double take. “That certainly clears a few things up for me.”

  Keith showed my mother his nifty bag. “Yes, I just bought it yesterday.”

  My brother placed a hand on my shoulder and squeezed. He said quietly, “I swear to you, I didn’t know he was coming. I would have stopped her—or at least warned you.”

  “Which is why I believe you. I have to wonder if she suspected.”

  “Probably since day one. Seriously, O. He’s the spitting image.”

  Keith kissed my mother’s cheek, and I took a prudent step backward before he decided to kiss me, as well. Caleb stared at my former lover like he recognized him from somewhere. A mirror, perhaps. I may as well have been invisible for all the notice Caleb gave me.

  “Nice to see you.” Keith offered my brother a hand like he might not get it back.

  “Unavoidable. We’re in the trenches now, mate. Time to hunker down and see this through. Man up and do our duty.” Ryan was smashed, but he was absolutely right. We were just going to have to make the best of this.

  “Sure,” Keith said.

  Mom narrowed her eyes at Ryan, but her voice for Keith was hospitable. “How was the trip?”

  “It was long. I’m surprised at how far this place is from Boston. You’ve gone so far.” He shouldered his pricy luggage, and waited for me to explain my decision to move so close to the Canadian border. I was fresh out of explanations. I hadn’t uttered a word to him in six months.

  “What the hell are you doing here?”

  My mother blanched and Keith blinked. “I was invited. I wanted to see the new practice. I…I come in peace. Truly.”

  My mother stepped in and saw to the social niceties since that was clearly beyond me. “This is May, she’s a local girl who teaches ceramics at St. James’—and this is Caleb.” Mom paused for dramatic effect. “He’s an old friend of Owen’s.”

  I kept my eyes steady on the desk bell but I know I flushed.

  “Caleb Black. Such a pleasant surprise to run into him here of all places.” No one dared to contradict her. “And he’s a teacher. You two have so much in common.”

  Keith gave my mother a curious look. “I’m in sales and marketing.”

  “Yes. Well…I’m sure you have other things in common.”

  “Like doing my brother,” Ryan whispered in my ear. “Awk-ward.”

  “Teacher?” I peered at Caleb in confusion as he quietly drank his wassail. “I…I thought you were a pianist.” As if that made a lick of difference.

  “I’m a lot of things. I teach now.”

  “Because those who can’t do, teach. Am I right or am I right?” Ryan snorted.

  My mother put her hand over her face for just a second.

  “Well. Congratulations.” That was all I had.

  Jake grunted impatiently by the door, providing me with an escape route. He scratched his ear slowly and then sat on his butt, stuffed his back foot in his mouth and waited.

  Mom elbowed me and I wanted to elbow her back when she said, “Owe
n’s a vet.”

  “So I understand.”

  He must think…

  What the hell do I care what he thinks?

  The man hadn’t so much as nodded hello to me since I’d arrived. He wouldn’t make eye contact, never mind shake my hand. Maybe he didn’t remember me and was just putting up a front for my conniving mother.

  Nobody said anything as the clock marked the passing seconds like a gong. Doug Winters, bless his innkeeper’s heart, took pity on us. “The rose room is back here. I’m sure you’ll find it comfortable.” I imagined a bed choked with thorns. “If you’ll just follow me?”

  “Well, I should probably get settled before dinner,” Keith said and no one contradicted him.

  As soon as he was out of earshot, Ryan rang the desk bell. “We have a winner. Thanks, Mom, for another excruciating moment.”

  “I just thought it would be nice to invite him. He’s not a bad man. And he’s all alone.”

  “As I recall, that was his choice.” Ryan’s smile was soft, but his words were sharp. He turned to me. “Bro, you can do better.”

  “I take it he’s not welcome?” the woman—May—asked.

  “I invited him in August, for pity’s sake. I miscalculated.”

  “I’ll ask him to leave,” I said.

  “Owen. It’s Christmas.”

  “I’m aware.” I grabbed my coat and snapped the front door wide, desperate for an escape route. Caleb Black’s stare followed me—I felt it as the sleigh bells jingled and I fled to the porch in my sheepskin slippers. Snowflakes swirled in the lamp light and the wind kicked violently from the north and howled over the fields. A frosty tidal wave of white whipped across the lawn as I descended into the night to let Jake piss on the unspoiled snow.

  Chapter Four