Adam handed him the football helmet in a move calculated so that all Jim could do was reach out and take it.
"What do you think, Jim?" prodded Adam. "It's for a nine-year-old boy."
Jim turned the helmet over in his hands. "Pretty nice," he admitted grudgingly. He shot Sage a quick look; he was shy, she realized with surprise. "This kid your son?"
"No, Greg is more of an adopted brother," she said. She sent Adam a questioning glance. She wasn't sure if this was the time to explain her family to Jim.
"Sage has a daughter," supplied Adam. "She's four."
"Oh," Jim said, quickly losing interest.
"I bought Gregory a football to go with the helmet," Sage said, tugging it out of its bag. "To tell the truth, I don't know how to wrap either of them. They're both awkward shapes, and neither came in a box."
To Sage's surprise, Jim reached out and took the football from her. He stood and began tossing it loosely from hand to hand. Sage had a worrisome thought about the safety of the antique clock on the mantel, but Adam seemed relieved to see Jim taking an interest. With the release of this energy, with Jim's moving about, the tension in the air became less palpable, and Jim became more relaxed.
In a few minutes Jim stopped throwing the football from hand to hand. He sat down on the hearth rug beside Sage amid the clutter of ribbon and scraps of wrapping paper.
"I could wrap the helmet and the football for you," he volunteered, to her complete surprise.
Much to her credit. Sage didn't miss a beat. "Good," she said, smiling at him encouragingly. "Use any paper you like. Something a nine-year-old boy might like."
"I'll use the paper with Snoopy on it," decided Jim. He seemed to have let go of his resentment and accepted her presence. Busily he began measuring and cutting wrapping paper, looking glad to have something to occupy his hands. Jim was, decided Sage, definitely handsome when he wasn't scowling.
And so they spent the next half hour, the three of them, wrapping Christmas presents, as though it were something they did together every year.
Then, just when they had almost achieved putting the threat of it out of their minds, the shrill ring of the telephone electrified them out of their comfortable mood.
"That'll be Mom," said Jim grimly with a stricken look.
"Let me talk to her," Adam said, getting up and going to the kitchen to answer the telephone.
"She'll be hysterical," predicted Jim as he put the finishing touches on a package he'd wrapped at Adam's request. It was a present for Joy, a stuffed white-plush unicorn. Adam had picked it out himself.
Sage didn't say anything, just kept ripping tape off the tape spool and sticking it on the package she was wrapping.
"I ran away," volunteered Jim.
"Mm," she said, appearing to concentrate on what she was doing.
"I bet Dad is going to send me back to Mom on the first flight back. I flew into Columbia. You know how I got to Willoree from Columbia? I hitchhiked."
"Mm," said Sage again. She most definitely did not approve of this, but evidently Jim thought he'd found a sympathetic audience in her.
"I wanted to spend Christmas with Dad. I hate to ski. Hate it! All that snow that gets inside your boots so you're walking around in wet socks and your bones get frozen. And those snowboarding wipeouts are a bummer." Jim paused and listened, but all they could hear from Adam was a quiet murmur from time to time.
Sage was trying to think of a suitable reply when Adam appeared in the doorway, a rueful look on his face. "Your mother would like to talk with you," he announced to Jim.
Jim stood. The paper in his lap slid to the floor, and his face flushed slightly. "I bet she would," he said gloomily.
Adam clapped his son encouragingly on the shoulder and handed him the phone.
"Well?" asked Sage as Adam threw himself down on one of the settees and leaned back with a sigh. He looked suddenly very tired.
"It's worse than I thought," he said.
"What?"
"Jamie. Jim. He's been in trouble, Sage. Not serious trouble with the police, but trouble enough. He's been caught vandalizing houses in the suburb where he and Marcia live. You know, throwing paint on driveways, shooting out windows with a BB gun."
"Oh, Adam." Sage's heart went out to him. He looked so worried about his son.
"None of the people have pressed charges, but Marcia has been at her wit's end. She restricted the boy to the house as punishment, and that only made him more rebellious. He began sneaking out at night.
"Oh, no!"
"Marcia says she can't handle him. She thinks it would be good for Jamie to stay here with me for the holidays. That would put some space between Jim and the crowd he's taken up with in the past couple of months."
"How do you feel about it?"
Adam looked thoughtful. "You know I wanted him with me for Christmas, and it'll be a good time for me to talk to him about getting straightened out. I can take a firm hand with him. Marcia's too soft."
Seeing the curious expression on her face, Adam said, "I don't mean to be critical of Marcia. She's a good mother. She's tried. But her quiet upbringing never prepared her for handling a rebellious teenage boy. Right now she's livid. Jim cashed the money out of his savings account and caught a flight down here without her knowing anything about it. She insisted on talking to Jim, mostly to bawl him out, I think. Which he richly deserves."
"Are you going to punish him for coming here?"
Adam's sigh was long and fervid. "I don't know. Probably not, because I'm so glad to see him. I regard this as a chance, Sage. A chance to be a good father. And I want Jim's visit here to be an opportunity for wiping the slate clean and making a new beginning."
She reached out a hand and laid it gently on his knee, giving her silent support. His eyes settled on her, and suddenly they kindled with an intense, rich glow. "I'm the one who's feeling punished at the moment," he said, bending forward. "You and I were going to spend an evening alone." He caught her chin in his hand and turned her face so that he could kiss her on the lips. It was a long, devout kiss, which ended only when they heard Jim's footsteps echoing on the parquet floor of the hall.
Jim appeared in the doorway. "I get to stay," he announced, sounding stunned but happy. His face suddenly broke into a smile. The smile made him look like a different person.
Adam jumped to his feet immediately, hurrying to Jim. He rested a welcoming arm across the boy's shoulders.
"Good, son," he said. "I'm glad."
Sage looked up at the two of them. They looked so much alike, father and son. Jim positively glowed with relief. And despite his worry about his son's escapades, Sage thought that she had never seen Adam looking so happy. So complete.
"Merry Christmas," she said softly as her eyes joined with Adam's over the head of his son.
At that moment, Adam couldn't help thinking, she's beautiful. With the bright flames of the fireplace behind her, Sage was backlit so that her curls formed a light-catching nimbus around her head. To him in that moment, Sage looked like some kind of special Christmas angel.
"Merry Christmas," he replied, for the first time in his life really meaning the words. Happiness sprang from a well deep inside him. He felt a deep satisfaction and a sense of wonder at his own pleasure in having the two people he loved most in all the world together in this room in this lovely old house. "Merry Christmas," he said again, testing it and finding that the words really were true.
And something else was also true: he had committed himself to seeing Jim through this difficult time in his life. It had been a long time—too long—since he'd made a commitment to anyone about anything other than his work.
He wanted Jim to be all right. He wanted that more than anything. Adam had something to give this boy—the benefit of his own experience, a different outlook on life. And love. He could give him love.
He was going to be a good father, one who counted for something, after all.
* * *
"Jim is
a real hottie," Hayley whispered in Sage's ear as they dragged boxes of Christmas-tree ornaments out from the storage space under the stairs one night later that week.
Sage paused to brush the dust off her hands and straightened up. "A hottie?" She wasn't sure she liked hearing this from Hayley, who had so far not been particularly interested in boys.
"You know, good-looking. He looks like he works out."
"I couldn't say, but I think Jim likes you, too," Sage whispered back before she crawled back under the stairs.
They were preparing to trim the Christmas tree, a big blue spruce that used up every inch of the fourteen-foot-high ceiling. Adam and Jim had been invited to participate.
Joy walked through the dining room singing, "Fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la," and there was silvery tinsel twined through her hair and a gold garland wrapped around her shoulders. Snowball wagged along behind, and Sage grabbed at a clump of falling tinsel before the dog could eat it.
"Who dressed you up like a Christmas tree?" Hayley asked Joy.
"Greg did," Joy said, and when Sage attempted to unwrap the garland, Joy ran away giggling.
"Let her go," Sage said when Hayley started to chase after her. "She's having a good time."
"Look," said Greg, proudly holding up a popcorn garland he had made. He and his friend Macon had spent several afternoons stringing long strands of popcorn to drape on the tree. One session had ended in a colossal fight over who ate the most popcorn, and Sage had had to pry the two boys apart before they killed each other, but a truce had been called, and Macon was with them tonight to trim the tree. So was their friend, the unfortunate Zoey Strayhorn of the banana-pudding-in-the-coat-pocket incident.
When the tree finally stood resplendent with ornaments, Sage carefully unwrapped the traditional Christmas star from its tissue paper as everyone else strewed the tree with long trailing strands of tinsel.
"Who gets to put the star on top?" Gregory wanted to know, hanging at her elbow.
Sage looked straight up into Adam's eyes. There was no doubt in her mind that he should have the honor. It would be a first for him.
"Adam will hang the star," she said, carefully resting it in his hands. Adam smiled at all of them before climbing the ladder and gently, carefully, bestowing the sparkly silver star on the tip-top branch.
Then Macon and Greg began chasing Zoey through the house. Irma called a halt to such wild doings and served them all a piece of her famous Lane cake, which she'd made especially for this occasion.
Adam sat on the floor next to Sage's armchair, both of them watching Hayley and Jim, who were sitting on the dining-room window seat. The teenagers were engrossed in conversation, and they caught snatches of Hayley describing the winning football season at Willoree High School. Through the window Sage noted a car traveling slowly past, but so much was going on around her that she scarcely paid any attention to it.
"How's it going with Jim?" Sage asked Adam.
He shrugged. "We're reestablishing our acquaintance. A couple of times I've asked him to do something—such as take out the garbage—and he's challenged me, but I've been firm and refused to let his temper get out of hand. I'm trying to keep him occupied so time won't hang heavy on his hands."
"You know, Adam, since Stanley's gone I can always use help at Kalmia Hill. I'd be willing to pay Jim if he'd like to earn extra money scraping paint or whatever."
Before Adam could answer, the same car that had driven by a few moments before idled slowly past the house again, this time traveling in the opposite direction. Its shiny green finish was clearly illuminated in the light from the street lamp.
Fear lumped itself into a ball in Sage's stomach, and she set aside her plate of cake and rushed to a living-room window, pulling aside the draperies so that she could see out. The car was a green Toyota Camry. It looked exactly like the one that Karen McKenna had been driving when she came to see Joy.
Sage's eyes flew to Joy, who was sitting in her little chair at the coffee table and being helped to eat her cake by Poppy.
Adam noticed Sage's agitated expression. He stood up and came to the window to stand beside her.
"What's the matter?" He knew something was wrong by the watchful nervous way her gaze had leaped to Joy.
"A car." She let the draperies fall back into place and tried to banish the icy chill that suddenly numbed her. "It's silly of me, I know, but it looked like Karen's Toyota. And it went by twice."
Adam understood why this would upset Sage, and he was concerned that she felt threatened now.
He slid a comforting arm around her shoulders. "Don't worry," he said. "It was probably one of Hayley's friends."
She shrugged beneath the weight of his arm. "You're right. I guess I'm just overprotective. I've always been a worrier as far as Joy is concerned." She glanced at Joy, who was unsuccessfully trying to remove cake crumbs from her upper lip with her napkin.
Adam said, to change the subject, "Jim is really looking forward to spending Christmas Eve here with your family."
Although Sage naturally expected Jim to be included now, she hadn't been sure he'd want to come. They all opened their presents on Christmas Eve rather than Christmas morning, which was reserved for church.
"I thought maybe Jim wouldn't like the idea," she said. "You never know with teenagers what to expect."
Adam grinned. "Jim's excited about buying everyone presents, and you know how negative he was about Christmas shopping when he first came to Willoree. In fact, I think he'll be glad to have a job working for you so that he can earn money to buy gifts. The plane ticket wiped out his savings, and I don't plan to reimburse him. I figure he's old enough to live with the consequences of his decision to use his money that way."
"That's reasonable," she said. She was pleased that Jim looked happy tonight, almost like a different person altogether. Now he and Hayley were whispering, and they seemed to be developing an attraction for each other.
Before she decided if that was a good or a bad thing, Sage saw the beam of headlights flashing on the trees lining the street. Unable to stop herself, she turned again to the window. This time she brushed aside the draperies just as the car, a green Toyota sedan, drove slowly past the house.
The overhead streetlight illuminated the interior of the car enough so that Sage could discern a small woman with lank blond hair hunched anxiously over the steering wheel.
Sage let the drapery drop back into place. "It was Karen," she whispered, stricken.
Adam said quickly, "Are you sure?"
"Yes," she breathed, unable to stop her heart from beating so hard that she thought it would burst. "Yes."
"Sage." He wanted to comfort and reassure her. Just because Karen drove by her house in the dark, just because she drove by three times, it did not mean that Joy was in danger. Peculiar behavior on Karen's part, of course, but not necessarily dangerous.
But Sage had whirled away from the window, was wiping Joy's mouth with a napkin, was saying too brightly, "Time for bed, sweetheart." Adam wouldn't have noticed the panic in her voice had he not known what to listen for. Poppy, sitting beside Joy, didn't notice it at all.
Adam watched, tight-lipped, as Sage carried Joy up the stairs, holding her close, her eyes full of fear. The heartrending look on her face called up all of Adam's protective instincts, and he turned toward the window and looked bleakly out. He loved her too much to see something like this tearing her apart inside.
The car did not return. But now that Jim was staying with him and he was caught up in the blessings and burdens of fatherhood, he understood Sage's fear for her own child as he never had before.
Her suffering made him suffer, too.
* * *
It was the next day that Adam had his first big row with Jim.
What started it was the Lamborghini. Jim asked Adam's permission to use his car for a date with Hayley. Adam approved of the date, but he told Jim that he would have to pay for whatever gas he used himself. At this, Jim erupted angri
ly.
"I spent all my money buying a plane ticket to come see you! If you'd pay me back, I'd have money for gas. And for Christmas presents!" The boy's shoulders rose and fell. There was more than anger at the root of this.
He's testing me, thought Adam. Jim's trying to see if he can bully me the way he did Marcia. But I won't let him. I can't let him. If I do, he won't respect me.
"Look, Jim," Adam said wearily. "We've been through all this before. You can have a job with Sage. She's already said so. You could use the money you earn to buy gas."
Jim's face contorted, and his eyes flashed. "I don't want to spend my time digging paint out of crevices in the woodwork. This is my vacation, man."
"If you use my car, I expect you to be responsible enough to pay for gas," Adam said firmly, trying to stare the boy down. Marcia had been right. Jim had developed a volatile temper, and he was hard to handle.
"You're just like Mom," Jim threw at him bitterly. "You've got money. You could pay for gas."
"Sorry, son. But that's the way it is."
Jim swore, then tore savagely out of the room and slammed out the back door. Through an upstairs window, Adam saw Jim rushing toward the lake, where he could be by himself and removed from the house and his father. Jim began skipping pebbles on the water, throwing each with barely controlled fury. Watching Jim, for once Adam was glad that Sage wasn't at Kalmia Hill.
In fact, that very morning Sage was out looking over another handyman-special property, a small house on Beauregard Street that she thought she could buy, fix up and turn over quickly for a profit. Thinking that she wouldn't be back for a while and knowing that his absence would enable Jim to save face when the boy was ready to return to the house, Adam left for the plant, planning to work for an hour or two. He intended to return before Sage did so that he could warn her that Jim didn't seem willing to work for her. Unfortunately, he was too late.
When Adam returned, Sage was hard at work on the second floor, stripping old wallpaper from the walls with a steamer. She climbed down from the ladder and hugged him when he arrived unexpectedly at the top of the stairs. The steam had curled her hair into becoming ringlets over her forehead, and Adam felt buoyed up just to look at her.
Handyman Special Page 17
