Whit looked at his daughters. “I thought you guys loved me.”
“We do love you, Dad,” Lilly assured him. “But you have to face it. You’re outnumbered.”
“But I was counting on being popular when I got back. I brought dinner. And candied apples for dessert. And two DVDs to watch. And the ham. And potatoes. And...”
“All right, all right.” Rosemary turned to the girls. “We did give him the grunt work. And now he’s brought dinner. I think we should let him off the hook. In fact, I think we probably have to give him hero status.”
Pepper and Lilly both claimed he needed more time to prove himself. “For one thing,” Pepper said, “he hasn’t told us what DVDs he brought yet.”
“One’s Father Goose.”
“Yeah! That’s tradition in our family, Rosemary. We always get to watch it over Christmas sometime. It’s really old, but it’s still pretty awesome.”
Lilly wasn’t giving up so easily. “What’s the other tape?”
“It’s a surprise. But it has ‘Wedding’ in the title,” Whit said, in the tone of the long suffering. As far as he knew, the girls’ top ten favorite movies all had to do with brides and bridesmaids and junk like that.
Since they both screamed, he figured he’d scored a good one, but Lilly was quick to move on. “Did you get the other thing we talked about?”
“Yeah, did you, Dad?” Both girls looked at Rosemary.
They were about as subtle as a cattle prod. Rosemary picked up the hint in less than two shakes. “If you got me a present,” she told him, “you can just take it right back. I haven’t been out. Haven’t gotten any of you three presents. You’d make me miserable if you gave me something and I had nothing to give back.”
“It’s not that kind of gift,” Whit promised her, and to his daughters, “we’re going to have to take some lessons on how to keep secrets.”
Rosemary ambled closer, crossing her arms under her chest. “Listen, you three.” She took a breath. “I have an idea. I think it’s probably a stupid idea, and there’s no problem if any of you say no.”
“What? What?” The girls couldn’t wait to hear.
“Well...you all came up to Whisper Mountain to have a different kind of Christmas. That’s why I’m here, too. And since we’ve been doing things all day, and it’s already almost dark...well, Christmas Eve can be on the lonely side if you’re remembering the people who aren’t with you. So, maybe...would you all like to sleep over?”
Whit’s jaw almost dropped. His lady appeared as wary of looking at him, wary of being close to him, as a fragile doe. But before any of them could answer, she forged on.
“We’ve already collected all the food here. And there are a half-dozen bedrooms upstairs—you girls could either choose your own or share together. Your dad could pick another, or else sleep down here. I’m just saying, there’s lots of choices, lots of ways for everyone to be comfortable.”
The girls were all for it, judging from their jumping and hand slapping exuberance. So was he—but Rosemary still hadn’t made eye contact with him.
He most definitely hadn’t taken his eyes off of her. “I think the idea’s brilliant,” Whit said.
“It’s probably not convenient.”
“It couldn’t be more convenient. Like you said, the food’s already here for tomorrow. And we’re not doing the usual Christmas morning big-present thing.”
“I understand that...but you three probably want some family time just for yourselves. I don’t want to intrude. In fact, that may be just what all three of you really want, a quiet family Christmas.”
“Rosemary.” Lilly’s voice went up three octaves. “You’re being silly. We’re already family. We’re together all the time.”
“Yeah. We get family time whenever we want it.”
“I’m on the girls’ side,” Whit said meekly—since the girls were already laying on the arguments.
“Well, you girls don’t have nightgowns and all that—”
“It’ll take me less than ten minutes to head back down the mountain, pick up a few things, get back.”
She started to make another objection, then stopped. She looked at him, eyes full of worry and nerves. When he first saw those soft blues, he’d been stunned by the sadness in them. Now...some impulse had encouraged her to suggest the sleepover. Knowing her better now, he suspected she wanted to do something for the girls—some way to make Christmas Eve and Christmas morning less sad for them.
A sleepover would definitely help that. No question the girls loved the idea, and it’d be good for them. Good for him. But not, Whit suspected, so good for her, not if she was trying to back away from intimacy between them.
So he’d just have to find a way to make the sleepover a good thing for her.
Sometimes a man had to do what a man had to do.
* * *
Just after eleven that night, Rosemary opened her bedroom door and listened. Like the infamous poem claimed, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse. The whole household had started yawning after nine, and completely folded around ten-thirty.
Rosemary knew she wouldn’t sleep, so there was no point in tossing and turning. She crept downstairs barefoot, leaving lights off until she reached the far hall closet in the back.
Her mood was more than ebullient. She’d known the sleepover idea could turn out disastrous, the instant the suggestion came out of her mouth. Encouraging more closeness was risky and foolhardy—especially for a vulnerable family like those three.
But it had all gone so great. Whit made a fast trip back to their place for night gear—and came back with such a huge load that Rosemary had to hold her stomach from laughing so hard. He just looked so beleaguered as he carted in more and more stuff. The girls could have lived for six months in Europe on the “critical things” they needed to stay overnight. Their own pillows. Their own blankets. Their own “sleeping socks.” And both of them claimed to have given up dolls “ages ago,” but it seemed they both slept with life-size stuffed animals—a lion for Lilly, a panda bear for Pepper.
They all chowed down on the chili Whit had brought for dinner, adding cheese on top and dollops of sour cream, then consuming candied apples as if they’d never tasted sweets before. Then the girls charged off for their “blankies,” which were apparently required before curling up with the DVDs Whit had brought.
She’d sat on one end of the couch, with the girls in between and Whit on the far end. Everyone had “blankies” heaped over them, and popcorn bowls on top of that.
Whit kept it together until halfway through Father Goose...when she suddenly realized he’d leaned his head back and was looking at her. If she leaned her head back, she could see him over the girls’ heads. He made gestures of extreme suffering, of major yawns, of gruesome boredom, then covered his head with the blanket.
Silly. Who would have guessed Whit could be downright silly? And since she couldn’t help laughing, she had to cover her head with a blanket, too. Chuckling—downright giggling—until the girls admonished the adults to behave themselves.
Rosemary was still smiling at how easily the evening had gone—and how much simple fun she’d had with them. Now, though, since she was stuck with insomnia, she pulled a footstool into the hall closet. Two weeks ago, she’d planned to forget about Christmas altogether. But now, Whit and the girls had put her in the spirit, in spite of herself.
She tugged down two boxes—neither heavy—and carted them into the living room. Family holidays hadn’t always been spent at the lodge, especially not in recent years, but certain decorations had always been stored here. One box held coils of old-fashioned Christmas lights, the kind that looked like candles and clasped onto each branch.
The second box held four very old, giant glass bulbs—one sapphire, one emerald, one gold and the last ruby-r
ed. Every generation of MacKinnon kids had to wait until they were old enough to be trusted with the “sacred” balls.
She lit candles on the mantel, providing just enough light for her to add those decorations to the tree. It didn’t take long, and once she’d plugged in the old-fashioned lights, she sank in front of the tree with a blanket draped around her.
Memories whispered through her mind...so many Christmas Eves, just like this. Creeping downstairs to look at the lit-up tree, to hear the hiss of fire, to look out at winter stars, to smell the pine and cherrywood. To just inhale the magic of the night.
She heard a quiet footfall, and turned her head.
Whit, wearing jeans and a fisherman’s sweater, was just coming down the stairs. “You couldn’t sleep, either?”
“Just had some last-minute things I wanted to do.” She noted the boxes in his hands. “You, too?”
“Yeah. The girls think we’re not doing presents. And in principle, I don’t think it’d kill any of us to have a less material Christmas. I know we bought all that stuff for their bedrooms at home, but that was different. And it’s nothing I could wrap up, besides. Anyway...”
He was nattering. Whit was so not a natterer.
“Anyway, I bought them each a gift. A camera. Not too easy, not too complex, or that was the goal when I picked them out.”
“They’ll love it!”
He nodded. “I hope so. When they were talking about your darkroom, it made the mental wheels spin. They were both entranced. Pepper, I suspect, will want to take people pictures. Lilly will want to go prowl around outside, snap flowers and trees and just things that draw her eye.”
“They’re both artistic in different ways.”
“I think so, too. When they were little, the ‘twins thing’ was fun for them—dressing alike, talking alike. But these days I can see them trying to differentiate from each other. So I may have bought them both cameras, but I was hoping it was the nature of gift that they could use to develop something in their own individual style.”
“And what’s the third gift you just snuck under the tree?”
She caught his grin by firelight. “The nongift for you. Nothing scary. Nothing over the top. Nothing to fret about. Besides which, the kids’ mother could have told you, I pretty much never get girl gifts right.”
He plunked down next to her, cocked up a leg at the base of the tree. She could feel the heat of his body, see the kindling warmth in his eyes.
Too close. She said quickly, “Would you like a glass of wine? Or a beer?”
“Either one. Whatever you have around.”
“I can guarantee I don’t have anything fancy.”
“Anything you have would be perfect,” he said.
But the way he looked at her, he wasn’t talking about wine. She uncoiled and aimed for the kitchen, unsure what she’d find. She had an occasional glass of wine, but living alone, a bottle usually turned to vinegar before she could finish it. Still, the lodge had a small wine keeper, just underground, with a mishmash variety of wines people had either liked or left or been gifted in the past. She found a Shiraz, opened it, poured it in two jelly glasses. Her mind whirled a million miles an hour at the same time.
There was a background reason she’d come up with the sleepover idea. The reason was real. But now she had the opportunity to do something about it...well, she sure wanted that glass of wine first.
When she came back, Whit had stoked the fire, added a log and was back on the blanket by the tree, an elbow cocked on his knee.
“That tree looks downright magical. In spite of impossible odds,” he said wryly.
She handed him his wine, took a couple serious sips. “All trees look magical on Christmas Eve.” She gulped. “Whit?”
He looked at her.
“I would like to tell you something—the reason I broke up with my fiancé. And the reason I’ve been keeping it a secret.”
“I’ve wondered,” he admitted.
She nodded. “Actually, I’d like your opinion. It was never that I was unwilling to talk about this. It was that I believed I had to keep the secret from my family. And after I tell you, maybe you could tell me if my judgment was right to keep it all quiet.”
He waited. She sipped some more wine, and then started telling the story.
“I practically grew up with George, even though he was a few years older than me. His parents and mine were all doctors. The adults became close friends, did dinners together, parties, sometimes holidays. I didn’t think of George—romantically—until after college. He was a brand-new doctor at the time. I was just starting my first serious job. We were both home after being away for a while, both single.” She shrugged. “We started going out. Had fun. We already shared a lot of history. We didn’t have to waste time getting to know each other, never suffered from those dating nerves. He was so easy to be with...it was almost like we were already family.”
She had to stop for breath—and to finish the last sips of wine. “When he got me the ring, our parents were overjoyed. Beyond overjoyed. They considered it a match of the families. Perfect for everyone. To a point, I felt kind of sucked along by the tide. I loved him. It wasn’t such an exciting kind of being in love, but I thought we were solid.” Again, she had to stop for a gulp of breath. “Unfortunately, that’s when the story gets dicey, so it gets a little tough to tell.”
Whit, as if he already guessed that, had shot to his feet and made the trek to the kitchen to bring back the wine bottle. He refilled her glass.
“Well...I went to my doc for a physical. The thing was, if we were going to be married, I wanted the pill or some kind of regular birth control that we could count on. Not that I didn’t want kids. I absolutely did. But I just wanted to set up house, get settled in our lives first. But the point is...in that physical, I found out that I was likely to be infertile. Skinny tubes. Wouldn’t be impossible, but it was highly, highly unlikely.”
“I’m sorry, Rosemary.” His rough hand cuffed her neck in a quiet gesture of empathy.
“Yeah, I was, too. Devastated, to be honest. I love kids.”
“You don’t need to tell me that. I can see it every time you’re around my girls.”
“Anyway...obviously I had to tell George. Immediately, before the wedding. I didn’t know if it could be a marriage stopper for him, but no matter what, I needed to get this out front for both our sakes. I thought he’d be as devastated as I was.”
Whit frowned. “Instead...what? It didn’t bother him?”
“At first...well, I thought he was amazingly sympathetic. Unselfish. He said he was upset, but he didn’t seem to be. And then...for days after that, he kept saying things...like that this could be a cloud with a silver lining. If we couldn’t have kids, we could have more freedom. Freedom to travel. To be spontaneous. To go places and do things we’d never done before. To be adventurous. To experiment in whatever we wanted to try in our lifestyles. I thought—he was trying to be kind, to help me see that we could have a good marriage without kids.”
Whit’s frown became darker. He didn’t get it yet. Well, it had sure taken her a blue moon to get it herself. She swallowed. Hard. “Okay, so then a couple weeks before the wedding, he called, said he had a surprise for our usual Friday night date. And there certainly was a surprise waiting for me at his place. Whit, I wish to bits you could guess what it was, because I for sure don’t want to tell the rest of this story.”
“I’m sorry. I can’t guess. And you can’t keep me hanging, so just get it out.”
That’s what she figured she had to do. It just wasn’t easy. “There was another couple at his place. A married couple. About our age, maybe a few years older. I thought he was introducing me to friends. But they weren’t friends. He’d only met them once before. They were, um, partiers.”
“Partiers?”
“You know. Like when four people play poker, using stakes like taking off clothes, or anteing up for some type of...behavior. They wanted to strip. To share each other. Switch off. Girls and girls. Boys and boys. Two boys and a girl. And then—”
“Rosemary, tell me you’re kidding.”
“I wish.” She swallowed two huge gulps of wine. “Call me naive. I guess I was. And honestly, I’m not one to judge other people’s choices. It’s just that I never guessed in a million years that George had that kind of secret life. And there was just no chance in the universe that I wanted a marriage on those terms.”
Whit crashed on his back, put a hand over his eyes. “It’s hard to admit this,” he said, “but the last time I was this shocked, my dad told me once and for all that a baby didn’t come out of his mom’s belly button.”
Her jaw dropped. She didn’t know how she’d expected Whit to react. She just knew she needed the story out in the open. But to hear him make a joke...she hadn’t known her shoulders were stiff with tension, until all those knots loosened up. Even her face had felt stiff, because when a bubble of a laugh came out, it sounded downright rusty. “Whit.”
“I can’t talk now. I’m suffering too much shock.”
“You goof. I’m glad I told you. You made it easy. You can’t imagine...”
“Oh, yeah, I can imagine. The scene with the other couple. The scene when you told your parents the marriage was off. I’m sure glad it was you, because—even being a guy—I’d have collapsed for sure.”
Another bubble of laughter escaped her. “It was so awful.”
“Awful is too light a word. How about mortifying and upsetting and maybe even a little sickening?”
“Hey, could I hire you to be my support person?” she asked wryly.
“Sure. I’m pretty expensive. But not for you. For you, I’ll do it for free.”
She sank on the blanket next to him. Once the rest of the tension eased from her system, she felt as strong as a cooked noodle. “Telling George to take a hike wasn’t that hard. But when it came to calling off the wedding, talking to my parents, my brothers...and his mother, who came over demanding an exact explanation.” She lifted a hand in a helpless gesture. “Whit, I couldn’t tell them. It would have affected their friendships. It was George’s business, but all the parents had professional and personal connections together, thirty years of caring about each other.”
Mackinnon 03 - The Bonus Mom Page 14
