This was her family.
Emma hadn’t realized how fiercely she’d missed them—missed this—until she’d returned.
She picked up her phone, held it to get all the women in the frame, then hit record. She wanted to capture it for the possible news piece.
But mostly . . . Emma wanted to capture it for herself.
Chapter Eleven
“Delores.”
On Monday morning, Emma marched out of her office holding a red-headed doll by the hair.
Delores lowered her People magazine, slow as a summer sunset. “What’s the problem today?”
Emma inhaled deeply, trying to breathe in calm and exhale any desire to grab the woman by her veiny throat. “I asked you to order me a backup for nativity Jesus.”
Delores slid an eye to the doll held like a sub-par sacrifice. “Yeah?”
“This doll looks like a clown. It’s suffocating by its own giant mop of red hair.”
Delores flipped a page. “So?”
“So?” The nativity downtown was not a new tradition, nor was the occasional swiping of the holy child. Noah had commissioned a local artist to construct a new nativity, and everything had arrived but the star of the show. Emma had counted on the spare being show ready. “Baby Jesus needs to look like a sweet infant. Not like a demonic spawn on his way to the circus.”
“I think you’re awful closed-minded about what Jesus looks like. I thought we needed some diversity in that nativity. You want a whitey-white Jesus, you go right ahead. But when we get sued by that Al Sharpton fellow or—”
“Twenty clowns in a Fiat?”
Delores’s right eye flinched. “See here—” Her voice hissed like Ursula the sea witch—“I did my job, just like you asked. You got a problem with my work, you take it up with Mr. Kincaid. Last time I checked, he’s my boss.”
Emma had interviewed drunken rap stars more pleasant than Delores.
She forced herself to unclench her fists and attempt a smile.“Please call the nativity artist and check on the status of a new baby Jesus. I’m going to check on a few things downtown.”
“That hot weatherman on channel five said snow’s coming.” Delores spun her chair until her back was to Emma. “Don’t slip on any ice.”
Emma was still fuming when she got out of her car. Across the street in the center of the square, two men in coats and stocking hats were unloading pieces of the nativity and putting them together. Beneath the stable, the manger sat alone, as if it knew the holy child had not been found. Following the sidewalk, Emma stepped into Tiggy’s Toy Store. Run by Phillip Jasper, a retired engineer, rumored to have made his fortune in Silicon Valley, the business was now used to hold bi-weekly poker nights and occasionally sell some toys.
“Can I help you?” Phillip gnawed on an unlit cigar from his post behind the counter.
“I need a baby.”
Phillip smiled. “I’m a little old and a whole lot married.” He pulled the cigar from his lips. “Though I could be talked into sharing a double scoop at the ice cream joint three doors down.”
“I meant a doll. The nativity has suffered a small setback, and Jesus won’t be arriving until next week.”
“The Wise Men are really gonna be ticked at that. All right, let’s find what you need.”
Five minutes later Emma emerged from the store with a suitable doll and an invitation to Texas Hold ’Em. Her toes pinched in her black patent heels as she walked to the nativity, snow lightly spitting. The workers were now nowhere to be seen, so she made her way to the manger and gently laid the baby inside.
“Emma?”
Her hands froze on the doll, and she closed her eyes for a sobering beat before turning to face the one standing behind her.
“Dad.”
Edward Casey, songwriter and singer of “A Christmas Broken Heart,” of the apprehensive face, salt-and-pepper hair, and silver wedding band, looked as out of place on that town square as he was in Emma’s life.
“What are you doing here?” Emma had too many worlds colliding. “I thought this was your busiest time.”
“It is. I, um, I’m performing at some casinos over the Oklahoma line, and I thought I’d spend some time in Sugar Creek. My wife and I are staying at the cabins out east of town. It’s a little bit of a drive, but I couldn’t pass it up.” He smiled hesitantly. “Did you get my wedding announcement I sent you?”
“I did.” Her brain sputtered for words to fill the space. “Did you get my . . . Crock-Pot?”
“Yes. Cheryl said it was a real nice one. Had a timer and everything, right?”
This was the conversation of two people who were strangers. Instead of father and child.
“Sugar Creek’s really changed huh?” Her father glanced around appreciatively, snow sticking to his coat. “It’s homey, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is.” On that they could agree. “I should go. I need to get back to work.”
“You’re working here?”
“Just for the rest of the month.” Emma felt childishly defensive over her job hiatus. “I’m helping with the town Christmas preparations while I take some time off from the show.”
“Yeah, I saw you on TV. I guess people get a little upset when you bash a holiday.”
Emma’s voice went flat. “For some reason, I’ve just never felt that warm flow of the season.”
“Well.” Her father cleared his throat. “I’ll be here for most of the month. Believe it or not, I’m taking the week before Christmas off. My wife kind of put her foot down.”
His wife.
She knew her father had remarried, but it hurt, hearing it from his lips and getting confirmation the woman was a real person.
“You better get off the streets.” Her father moved as if to hug her, but patted her shoulder instead. “It’s really starting to come down. I hope to see you around.”
Emma didn’t know how long she stood there. Long after her father ambled away, as if he’d tossed a bomb and hadn’t bothered to look back at the destruction. He never had.
The damp snow finally penetrated her coat, and Emma pulled herself from her dark, swirling thoughts. A thin veil of flakes covered the ground all around her, her shoulders, even the tips of her hair. She had been too gobsmacked by running into her father to even notice.
The cold metal of the car door handle bit into Emma’s skin as she got in and drove back to city hall on autopilot. Had she stopped at the four-way? Had she slowed down at that speed trap on Davis? Seeing her dad in Sugar Creek was like watching your favorite TV show, only to see a character from a different network walking on. Her dad simply wasn’t in her cast; he didn’t belong in her scenes.
The city administration building was practically empty when Emma stepped inside.
Delores lifted her head long enough to glower. “Have you seen your hair?”
Emma didn’t know what compelled her, but her legs moved almost of their own will right to Noah’s office. She didn’t bother to knock, just stumbled in and shut the door behind her.
Noah sat behind his desk, phone held to his ear. He took one look at Emma and stood. “Bob, I’ll call you back. Something important just came up.” He tossed the phone on the desk. “Emma, what’s wrong?”
Without a single thought to decorum, Emma rushed to Noah, hugged him fiercely, and just held on.
Noah’s arms immediately wrapped around her. “Are you okay?” His hand stroked down the back of her head.
“I’m fine.” She wasn’t an emotional person. To be a success in her career, Emma had to have a PhD in not reacting, not giving into feelings. But today . . . it had just been too much.
“Want to tell me what happened? Did Delores snap at you again?”
She burrowed into his warmth and shook her head. “I was downtown. I saw my dad.”
His body stilled. “He’s here?”
Emma attempted to pull away, but Noah kept her in place, pressed to him, her cheek against his heart. “He’s performing at some casin
os in Oklahoma. He’ll be here through Christmas.”
“I’m sorry.”
There came a point in every meltdown when reason kicked in. Emma knew she was acting ridiculous. She had to pull it together, nice as it was right in this spot. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have barged into your office and thrown myself at you.” Emma sniffed and cursed the obnoxious tears that fell. “It just threw me, you know?”
“He should’ve called you.”
“He’s married.” She realized her hands were all but petting the back of Noah’s sweater and made herself stop. “I knew he was married, but I saw his wedding ring, and he mentioned his wife like . . . like it was no big deal. It was as if I were talking to a distant uncle, someone I used to know.” She looked up at Noah. “He’s not my mother’s husband anymore.”
“But in some ways, he’ll always be.” He brushed a wet strand of hair from her cheek, his fingers a warm arc across her skin. “Your father getting remarried doesn’t negate his time with your mother. I’m sure he loved her.”
“Loved her so much he cashed in on her death?” Ugh, she sounded like she was twelve! She wasn’t this hurt little girl anymore. She was an adult; a mature, level-headed adult. One look at her father, and she was right back to that angry fourteen year old who had called her grandmother and said, “Enough.”
But she couldn’t stand there and whine all over Noah.
“I’m sorry.” Emma pushed away from him, her cheeks rosy with embarrassment. “You smell nice by the way.” Oh, my gosh. This is what the peaks of stress did to her—made her completely lose her filter. I hate Christmas, America! You smell nice! I want you to kiss me until I think of nothing but you!
“Oh, geez!” Emma threw out her hands, fending off Noah’s advance. “Don’t come near me.” She was liable to say anything! “I didn’t mean to fall apart.” She slowly retreated toward the door. “It was such a shock to see my dad, and it started snowing kind of crazy, not that I even noticed, and now my hair’s a mess, and I knew you would understand, but I didn’t mean to get all weird and teary and handsy and sniffy and—”
“Emma?” Noah walked toward her.
“Yes?”
“I’m glad you came to me.” His eyes never wavered from hers. “Once upon a time you told me everything.”
She sighed. “I did, didn’t I?” That had to have been ten kinds of fun. “You poor, poor man.”
“I’ve missed it.” His next words had her grabbing the door for support. “I’ve missed you.”
Clearly the man did not know that Emma’s self-control was currently as strong as a toothpick, as he closed the distance between them and put his hand over hers on the doorknob. She wanted so badly to trace the contours of his face with her hand, to feel that faint stubble tickle her fingers, to slip her arms around his waist and kiss him until he had forgotten she was the girl who had tossed his heart in the dirt and walked away.
“Do you remember what we’d do when you got upset over your dad in the college days?” he asked quietly.
Noah was so close, she could barely remember her own name. “You . . . ” Focus, Emma. “You would take me to the student union, and we’d split a cheeseburger and fries.”
“There’s a diner on the square that has the best shakes in town. How about I buy, and you talk?”
Her lips eased into a slow smile. “Are you asking me out?”
He tugged on her scarf until each end was even. “Consider it a dairy-fueled counseling session.”
“The weather’s getting pretty bad out there. Are you sure you want to go?”
“We’ve still got a few hours before the town shuts down.”
Emma hoisted her purse strap on her shoulder and looked into his smiling eyes. “I used to thank you for the shake and fries with a big make out session.”
Noah gently nudged her out the door and turned out the lights. “Some parts of history are definitely worth revisiting.”
Chapter Twelve
“Sugar Creek needed Jesus.”
At least that’s what Mrs. Carson had said when she’d called Emma the next evening.
“Honey, somebody has stolen baby Jesus right out of that manger.”
“Mrs. Carson, there’s at least six inches of snow on the ground.” From her warm spot on the couch, Emma watched the lights twinkle on the Christmas tree. “What are you doing checking on the nativity?”
“I walked by there on my way to see about my mother. I’m a block away, and I said to myself, I better peek in on Jesus. I didn’t want our Lord and Savior covered in frozen precipitation. But you know what? Our Lord and Savior wasn’t even there.”
“Maybe someone took him inside for some hot chocolate.”
“No, they didn’t.”
“He’s probably at the corner bar.”
“Religious jokes are never in good taste.”
Mrs. Carson did not seem to have the joy deep down in her heart.
“If that fancy magazine is in town,” she said, “we’ll never be able to hold our heads up. You cannot have a nativity without the baby Jesus. The liberals will think we’ve joined them on the dark side.”
Now it was a Republican manger? “Look, all I have as a replacement is a girl doll with a scary red wig. Her hair probably won’t even fit in the manger.”
“That’ll do. Just cover up her head. Pastor Thomas’s church will get riled up if they think you’re trying to make a statement about the Lord’s gender. The All Souls Church on Davis would probably write you a thank you note.”
“Good bye, Mrs. Carson.”
“Are you going to take care of this?”
Her rental car was a tin can on wheels. It sure didn’t have four-wheel drive. “It’s pretty slick out there. And very cold.”
“I see.” Emma could hear a pen tapping on the other end. “Has the mayor told you how much is riding on our town’s success with this Christmas business?”
It truly was a business. Where was it not? “I believe he’s mentioned it.”
“It’s important. Every single detail is so very important. Lots of folks here saw you on the television. They didn’t think you should be in charge of our Christmas activities, but Noah assured us you could do it.”
The woman knew just the right button to push.
The big flashing one that said NOAH.
She had promised Noah she would give Sugar Creek Christmas. Told him she’d work her butt off. She knew he was probably still expecting her to fail, and she was not going to be foiled by a baby doll. If that magazine did stop by the nativity, they were going to see something in that manger if she had to sleep in it herself.
“Consider it taken care of,” Emma said.
Emma grabbed her purse, her indignant attitude, one ugly baby doll, and got in her car. Snow already frosted the ground, the streets, and the housetops. Early that morning, the city’s offices and schools had announced their closures, so Emma had spent the entire day in her yoga pants and sweatshirt working on her story for Sunrise News from the couch. The roads in her part of town were curvy at best, but surely if she took it really slow, she would be fine.
And that’s what she told herself as her car slid all the way down Harrison. Emma prayed to that stolen baby Jesus as her car fish-tailed onto Forrest Street. She clutched the steering wheel with both hands, her grip locked, her jaw set, her eyes trained on the road. But it was so hard to see. Her windshield wipers were a joke, barely scraping a clear spot to look out of. The radio seemed much too loud, so Emma shut it off. She could not concentrate with Beyonce riding along.
Emma saw the small hill on the next road and knew she had to give the car some gas or she’d never make it up.
God, help me.
She pressed the pedal, heard the engine rev, and the little sedan pushed through the snow and climbed its way up.
Then spun out before she got to the top.
“No, no. Come on. You can make it.” Emma gave it more gas, but the tires just whirled in place. “This cannot
be happening. Just a bit further.” But one more tap on the gas was too much. The car swerved and wiggled. Backward.
Emma mashed her foot on the brake. She wilted against the steering wheel when the car obeyed and froze in place.
Yet it still clung to the hill. On her right was a ditch. On her left was a ravine. It might be a ditch. She was a little unclear when one became the other, but what she did know was that if a car went into the drop-off on the left, it would swallow the vehicle whole. And that would hurt just a tiny bit.
“Just going to ease up on the brake,” she coached herself, “and drive this thing in reverse”
As if tugged by an invisible string, the car turned left. Emma pulled on the steering wheel, but the tires would not straighten.
She tried again.
In her side mirror, the ravine loomed perilously close.
Emma laid on the brake again.
But the brakes gave up.
Emma yanked on the wheel and yelled out a prayer.
The little red rental finally cooperated, and to the right it went.
Tail-first into the ditch.
Her head bounced against the seat and ricocheted off her side window at the abrupt stop. Her breath coming in pants, Emma did a mental scan of her quaking body and found not one bone protesting. Though her smarting head would later require some aspirin. And ice cream. When she got out of this mess and safely back home, she would definitely be having ice cream. Perhaps a whole gallon.
But for now, she and the car were in a bit of a predicament.
It could be worse, Emma quickly reminded herself.
The running car shook and sputtered, gave one great shudder, and died.
“Are you kidding me?” Her shaking fingers turned the key, but the ignition merely clicked.
Her gas gauge pointed right to the red letter E.
E for empty.
E for everything is wrong!
Reaching into her purse, Emma felt for her phone. She found two used tissues, a Snickers wrapper, five lip glosses, and a useless pair of sunglasses. Only total idiots and weirdos went into this kind of weather without a phone!
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