“Well, whatever you are. A spirit. A messenger. A goblin.”
“Put some thought into the gift, Andrew. I’m sure it’ll come to you.”
“Oh, and by the way,” Andrew said. “For your information, the apron said ‘The Boss’ on it. It was supposed to be a joke.”
“Beth didn’t think it was funny.”
“And how do you know that?” Andrew said. “Oh, right. You’re an—”
“Andrew, who are you talking to out there?”
Andrew whipped around toward the bathroom door just as Beth emerged.
“Nobody! Just me!”
Beth gave him a curious look. Andrew glanced back at the bed. Lionel was gone. “I was just . . . talking to . . . myself,” he said. “About . . . how much fun we’re going to have.”
Beth shook her head. “Somebody needs some fresh air. Vamos.” She grabbed her coat and scarf and headed out the door.
Andrew stared at the empty bed. The spot where Lionel had just been lounging was completely wrinkle-free.
“C’mon, slowpoke,” Beth called back through the open door. “While we’re still young.”
Downtown River Falls looked like an old-fashioned Currier and Ives Christmas card. The shop windows were spruced up with fake frost, twinkling lights, and various North Pole–themed displays. Andrew and Beth strolled hand in hand along a sidewalk bustling with last-minute shoppers. Beth had a skip in her step, calling out, “Merry Christmas,” or “Happy Holidays,” to everyone she passed.
“It’s still here!” Beth said. She stopped suddenly and gestured to a tiny shop across the square. “I can’t believe it’s still here!” She took Andrew by the arm and tugged him across the street and through the jingling door of a quaint little shop called Forever Christmas.
The inside of the store smelled of hot apple cider and gingerbread. Bing Crosby’s “White Christmas” crooned over the speakers. Beth’s face glowed as she perused shelves and nooks and crannies filled with holiday-themed antiques and knickknacks. “When I was little, this was my favorite place in the world,” she said. “Whenever Mom brought me into town on errands, I’d slip away from her and come here. She always knew where to find me.”
Andrew lifted an old hardback book from a shelf, read the cover. “The Lost Christmas by Alistair Whitman. Set right here in River Falls.”
Beth took the book from him, opened to the copyright page. “Andrew. It’s a first edition! Who would have guessed that one day you’d grow up to be his agent?”
“Yeah,” Andrew said. “And now he’s writing a sequel. The Lost Christmas Revisited. Title needs work, I know.”
“No kidding.” Beth laughed, and then her gaze lit on something perched on a table a few feet away. It was an old music box, a finely crafted antique made of rosewood and polished to a high shine. It depicted a winter scene with miniature skaters on a frozen country pond.
She hovered over the music box for a moment, gave the winding key a turn, and the box began to plunk out a leisurely version of “The Nutcracker Suite” by Tchaikovsky. The little wintry-clad figurines skated across a tiny pond.
Beth watched the miniature scene beneath the glass, then whispered a single syllable: “Wow.”
“Home, sweet home,” Beth said. After half an hour of browsing in Forever Christmas, Andrew and Beth strolled the four blocks to the old Farmer family home tucked away on a quiet tree-lined street called Dogwood Lane. The house was a majestic Victorian built near the end of the nineteenth century and restored at least a half dozen times since. As Andrew stood on the sidewalk by the front gate, the memories came flooding back.
“A real blast from the past, huh?” Beth said.
“Yeah.” Andrew tugged on her hand. “Why don’t we leave it there?”
“Oh, come on,” Beth said. She looped her arm through his. “There were good times here too. I remember those long talks with your mom after my mom died. She was so kind to me, took me in like I was her own daughter. And those gin rummy games with your dad on the front porch. He always let me win.”
“Good ole Dad,” Andrew said.
“Remember the time he surprised you with a train set for Christmas? You two stayed up for hours on Christmas Eve playing with it.”
“Right,” Andrew said. “And then the next morning when I went to wake him up to play some more, he was gone. Didn’t see him for a month after that.”
Beth gave him a playful pout. “You know, you’re a real ‘glass half empty’ guy, Andrew Farmer.”
“So I’ve heard.”
Beth pulled Andrew down to the sidewalk with her. “Look!” There, in a concrete square reminiscent of Grauman’s Chinese Theatre, were two small handprints in the cement, and above them, the inscription Beth Loves Andy.
Beth smiled. “I remember when we did this.” She took Andrew’s hand, placed it over his old print, and put her hand over hers.
Andrew jerked his hand away. “They don’t fit anymore,” he said.
All the joy drained from Beth’s face. She stood up; the magic of the moment vanished.
A man in a wool hat and plaid shirt came around from the back of the house. “Can I help ya?”
“We were just taking a stroll down memory lane,” Beth said. “My husband grew up in this house.”
A wave of recognition swept over the homeowner’s face. He took a step forward to get a better look at his visitors.
“Andrew Farmer? And . . . Beth McCarthy?” Andrew and Beth nodded in unison.
“Well, hello!” the homeowner said. “It’s so good to see you!” He stepped up to them and thrust out his hand.
“It’s me. Mitch Foster! Remember? Got a real bad case of poison ivy on our senior class trip.”
“Itchin’ Mitchin’?” Andrew and Beth said in unison.
Mitch laughed. “Yep, that’s me.”
“Wow,” Beth said. “How are you?”
“Just fine and dandy, thank you very much. Haven’t had poison ivy since.”
“That’s good,” Andrew said. He hoped this little reunion would be short-lived.
“Hey, why don’t you two come inside?” Mitch said. “Megan would love to see you!”
“Megan?” Beth said. “Not Megan Ward?”
“One and the same,” Mitch said.
“I didn’t know you two married,” Beth said.
“Yep. Together forever. Just like you two.”
Andrew made an all-too-obvious glance at his watch. “We’d like to, Mitch, but we’re really short on—”
Beth put a hand on Andrew’s arm. “We’ve got plenty of time. Thanks, Mitch. We’d love to come in for a visit.”
“I just love what you’ve done with the place,” Beth said. Mitch and his pretty auburn-haired wife, Megan, beamed with pride. They’d obviously put a good deal of time and effort into the renovation. “I especially love the wood floors.”
Beth glanced over at Andrew. He was doing his best to look interested, but he wasn’t much of an actor.
Megan smiled at Andrew. “Who knew all this wood was hiding beneath that green shag carpet?”
Andrew shrugged. “Who knew?”
Beth moved to the Foster family photos lining the fireplace mantel. “And these are your children? They’re beautiful.”
“Katie’s eleven and Tyler’s eight,” Mitch said. “They’re going to be so excited when they find out you were here.”
“Oh yes,” Megan said. “You two are neighborhood legends. I mean, your names are everywhere. The trees, the fence, the cement—”
“So, what about you guys?” Mitch said. “Do you have children?”
Beth and Andrew exchanged an awkward look. Tricky territory. Beth managed a smile. “No,” she said. “Not yet.”
“You have to stay for dinner,” Megan said. “So the kids can meet you.”
“I’d love to!” Beth said.
She looked at her husband and knew she’d spoken too soon. For Andrew, the memories of his childhood home were anything but warm and
fuzzy. She felt a wave of sympathy for him.
“You know,” Beth said, “on second thought—”
Andrew cut her off. “Sounds great. Nothing like a home-cooked meal.”
“Great!” Mitch said. As Megan and Mitch headed back to the kitchen, Beth sidled over to Andrew.
“You sure?”
“Yeah,” he said. “This is your weekend. Your wish is my command.”
Beth gave him a kiss on the cheek. “If you decide it’s too much for you, just let me know and we’ll go.”
“Don’t worry,” Andrew said. “I’ll be fine.”
Dinner was in the same dining room where Andrew ate many a childhood meal with his mother. As he sat around the long, cherry dining room table with Beth and the Foster family, he could almost imagine his mother sitting in the same spot where Mitch was now. He remembered how she worked so hard to be cheerful even when her world was falling apart, even when she felt utterly hopeless.
He closed his eyes for a beat and could almost hear her voice asking him about his day, peppering him with questions about his mundane schoolboy life, discussing any and every subject under the sun, anything to avoid the elephant that wasn’t sitting in the room. Where’s Dad? Why is he gone again? Who’s he with? When will he be home?
“You guys still skate out on Waller’s Pond?” Andrew broke out of his momentary trance. Beth was talking to Mitch and Megan’s kids. He noticed Tyler struggling to sit still under his mother’s watchful gaze. His older sister, Katie, seemed to be thoroughly enchanted by Beth.
“All the time,” Katie said.
“So did we,” Beth said. “Some of the best memories of my childhood. Right, Andrew?”
Andrew looked at her as if to be sure she was speaking to him. “Uh, yes. Great memories.”
“It’s fun,” Katie said. “Tyler’s a little scared, though.”
“I am not!” Tyler said. He gave his sister a kick under the table, and she retaliated.
“I don’t get to skate so much anymore,” Beth said. “I miss it. You know what I wish? Been sort of a dream of mine for a long time.”
“What?” Katie and Tyler said in unison.
“I’d like to skate at Rockefeller Center someday. Just me, all alone on the ice beneath that big Christmas tree.”
Andrew looked at Beth. She’d never mentioned this dream before.
“So, Andrew,” Megan said. “Sounds like you’ve been really successful. I can’t imagine what it’s like being a big-time literary agent. Lots of wheeling and dealing, I’ll bet.”
Andrew dabbed his chin with his napkin. The last thing he wanted to do was talk about work. “It has its moments,” he said.
“I’m just amazed we’re here at all,” Beth said. “Andrew’s usually much too busy for spontaneous holiday trips. I’m beginning to think it was divine intervention.”
Andrew did a spit-take and nearly knocked over his water glass. “Whoa. Sorry.”
“You all right, Andrew?” Mitch said.
“Yeah, sorry. Guess I’m all thumbs this evening.”
After dinner, Andrew retreated to the den with Mitch while Beth and Megan double-teamed the dishes in the kitchen.
Kicking back in his favorite recliner, Mitch looked over at Andrew on the couch and smiled. “Andy Farmer. Can’t believe you’re my guest in your old living room.”
Andrew glanced at the clock on the fireplace mantel. Time was his enemy, and with each minute spent listening to Mitch wax nostalgic, he was inching ever closer to 11:58 p.m. Christmas Eve. It wasn’t that Mitch was bad company, it was just Andrew found it nearly impossible to concentrate on anything his old schoolmate was saying. What he really wanted to do was run into the kitchen, grab his wife, and pull her out the door. But instead he said, “Yep, Mitch, hard to believe.”
Tyler shouted from upstairs, “Dad! There’s no toilet paper!”
“Cavalry’s coming, sport!” Mitch called back. Mitch rose out of his chair. “Duty calls.” Andrew waited until Mitch had gone upstairs and then let out a long breath. His stomach was tied in knots, his heart pounding. He headed for the kitchen to check on Beth.
As he drew near the kitchen’s swinging door, he stopped. He could clearly hear the conversation going on as Beth and Megan washed dishes. He peered through the crack in the door and could see them at the sink.
“I didn’t even like Mitch in high school,” Megan said. “I thought he was a nerd.” She rinsed a plate, handed it to Beth to dry. “Then I came home from college one Christmas and ran into him at a party. He seemed different. He made me laugh, and before I knew it, I was in love.” Megan chuckled at the memory. “But who am I to tell you about love? You married your childhood sweetheart.”
Andrew noticed Beth had stopped drying the dishes. She just stood there staring straight ahead. “Beth?” Megan said. A tear rolled down Beth’s cheek. “Honey? What’s wrong?”
“I’m sorry,” Beth said. “It’s just that . . . well, Andrew and I have been having problems for a long time. We don’t really talk about them.”
“What problems? I mean, if you don’t mind me asking.”
Beth’s eyes filled with tears. “Things used to be so good between us, so easy and natural. But in the last few years, we’ve been slowly drifting apart, and lately it seems to have gotten worse. Andrew’s hardly ever home, and when he is, we never talk. He never even looks at me anymore. Not like he used to. You know what I mean?”
Megan nodded. “Beth, all marriages go through rough patches.”
“It’s not that, Megan. It’s something more. Something deeper. And then this morning, out of the blue, he’s suddenly paying attention to me, treating me like he used to, like I’m special to him again.” Beth looked into Megan’s eyes. “Like he cares.”
“Well, that’s great!” Megan said. “Maybe he’s coming around.”
“It just doesn’t seem . . . real,” Beth said. “It seems forced. I don’t know, Megan. I used to believe in true love and forever and all that stuff, but now I’m not so sure. To be honest, I really don’t think Andrew loves me anymore.” Beth started to softly sob. Megan took her in her arms, comforting her.
“It’s okay, Beth. It’ll all work out.”
The eavesdropping Andrew stood dumbstruck on the other side of the kitchen door. He was in trouble. Big trouble. The love of his life no longer trusted him, no longer believed in him.
Then it struck him with a sudden painful conviction: Beth had died thinking that he’d betrayed her, that he no longer loved her.
He was failing at his one chance to make things right.
And in the background, the grandfather clock chimed eight thirty.
CHAPTER TWELVE
As the church bell tolled nine, a light snow fell on the packed River Falls Town Square. The whole town had come out for an age-old local tradition. Every December 22, for the past seventy years, local citizens had gathered for a candlelight ceremony.
At nine o’clock, as the church bell rang, River Falls residents would leave their homes and make their way to the town center, each carrying a lighted candle. The effect of hundreds of townsfolk walking quietly through the streets with their candles was surreally beautiful and deeply moving. The holiday custom began during the early dark days of World War II as a way to honor and remember those local soldiers fighting in far-off lands.
As Beth, Andrew, and the Foster family carried their candles from the house on Dogwood Lane to Town Square for the candlelight ceremony, Andrew stole a look at his wife. He couldn’t seem to get her kitchen confession out of his mind. Did she really believe he no longer loved her? And if she did believe that, how could he possibly convince her otherwise before she met her fate on Sunday night? You’re supposed to be this hotshot agent, he thought, and you can’t even sell your wife on the fact that you truly love her.
He was tempted to pull Beth aside and confess everything. But what good would that do? She’d think he’d lost his mind. She’d probably call the men in the white
coats to come get him.
And what if she did believe him? What then? Would he want to know if he were about to die? It was certain to put a damper on their final days together.
No, it was better she didn’t know.
The short stroll to town seemed like forever as the swirl of anxious thoughts whipped around in Andrew’s head. Finally, they rounded a corner, and there was the square lit up by the glow of several hundred candles.
“Wow,” Beth said. “Breathtaking.”
The Victorian bandstand was decked out with red bows, poinsettias, and green garlands. A majestic twenty-foot Fraser fir towered over the crowd. The tree was thick with handmade ornaments, strands of popcorn, and tinsel, but the lights had not been lit. Beth looped her arm through Andrew’s. “Andrew, look! Isn’t it beautiful?”
“We started a tradition a few years back,” Mitch said. “Everyone in town hangs an ornament on the tree with their name on it. Helps us feel like one big family.”
“That’s lovely,” Beth said.
Andrew nodded toward the big tree. “Guess somebody forgot to pay the electric bill.”
Beth pulled him aside. “All this Christmas spirit too much for you?” she said.
“Are you kidding?” Andrew said. “I love this stuff.”
Beth gave Andrew her “yeah, right” look just as Katie pulled her away.
“Beth, come with me!”
Andrew hung back, watched Beth and the others merge into the crowd near the bandstand. He heaved a frustrated sigh. The last thing he wanted to do was share Beth with a few hundred strangers.
“Isn’t this wonderful!” Andrew turned to the sound of a woman’s voice. She was standing so close to him she was practically rubbing up against him. Andrew gave her a look in hopes she’d get the hint and respect his personal space, but she didn’t budge. He stepped away from her. She was short, less than five feet tall, and was bundled up snugly in coat, gloves, and a woolen hat pulled down over her ears.
“Yes,” Andrew said. He didn’t want to encourage her.
“I just love Christmas,” she said. “Don’t you, young man?”
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