It Really IS a Wonderful Life: The Snowflake Falls but Hearts in Love Keep a Home Warm All Year Long

by Linda Wood Rondeau

  Nice? Shouldn’t there be fireworks, or at least a sizzle?

  He leaned against the car, and Dorie took the opportunity to scoot behind the wheel.

  “Sunday? I’ll pick you up around five.”

  “Okay.”

  He started his car and was off.

  Mom’s warning wailed like a siren, but Dorie willed the clang out of her mind. She shook her head. Mom couldn’t be more wrong about Gabe Wellington.

  ***

  Jamey tossed and turned the night away, his conflicting emotions working his heart like a vise. Why did rage reign when reason told him he had no right to be angry at either of them?

  He knew Gabe had planned to take Dorie out after rehearsal. Jamey had hoped she’d refuse. Apparently she hadn’t. He paced the house, then downed two cups of hot chocolate. Nothing eased his sense of loss. He envisioned Gabe and Dorie in a kiss. The images tortured him like a splinter.

  He should have warned her about Gabe in spite of their boyhood pledge of non-interference in the dating arena. Did a pledge outlive puberty? They hadn’t redefined their code to fit adult situations. Nothing in the rule book said a girl couldn’t date two guys at the same time. Which rule book, though? The one he wished existed or the one he knew he should follow?

  Too late to ask her out now. What good would come of it if he did? He’d let caution rule his heart and waited too long. He’d have to wait in the wings while Gabe and Dorie’s one-act play unfolded. That was the right thing to do, wasn’t it?

  ***

  When Dorie entered the house, she twirled through the living room like Cinderella after the ball, engrossed in the romance and momentarily indifferent to the rags that defined her life. When she stopped spinning to catch her breath, Lenny Michaels’s image danced in her head.

  They’d gone steady for six months before the prom. The night had gone as well as a girl in love could expect. Lenny gave her no clue he liked anyone else, until Dorie came out of the girls’ bathroom and saw him lip-locked with Madison Goranski. Dorie threw her high heels at them and ran off in tears, their laughter trailing her all the way out the door.

  Silly. That was years ago.

  Dorie forced herself into bed. She tossed and turned with her dreams.

  In them Gabe and she danced. He was dressed in a white tuxedo; she wore the burgundy gown she’d put on Boomer. Josh stood by a punch table, wearing Devon’s field uniform. Dorie’s stomach bulged with Emma. They were all at a prom, and the band played Always.

  A second later, Gabe turned into Lenny Michaels, and then Madison Goranski waltzed into the ballroom and danced away with Lenny. From nowhere, Devon appeared, dressed in formal greens. Dorie’s burgundy gown turned into a white-lace wedding dress. Devon swung her around and kissed her.

  The morning light splintered Devon’s image, and Dorie held a tear-stained pillow.

  Chapter Nine

  She’d overslept again. She’d have to hurry to be on time for church.

  Dorie showered, threw on a skirt and blouse, and peeked into Josh’s room. Dressed in his favorite Army tee, he played with his plastic soldiers while Emma sat next to him on her bunched-up unicorn bedspread, her corduroy dress on backward. She pretended to read to Mr. Bear from her children’s Bible, a gift from her Grandmother Fitzgerald. “Jesus loves the little children, Mr. Bear. It says so right here in this Bible.”

  Emma closed her Bible and put Mr. Bear on her lap.

  “And you know what else, Mr. Bear? Soon it’s going to be Jesus’s birthday. We call it Christmas. There are a lot of happy songs we sing at Christmas. My favorite is Away in a Manger.”

  Dorie choked as Emma’s sweet voice, true and tender, echoed in the room.

  A more conscientious mother might have hurried her child along rather than be deliberately late. Instead, Dorie remained out of sight and soaked in the innocence. Another presence, one long absent, a Holy Essence, enveloped the room with Emma’s worship.

  All too soon, fear shooed away the blessed comfort. Would she poison her children’s tender spirits with her own confusion? Oh, for an uncomplicated faith like Emma’s. Dorie recalled a time she believed as solidly as Emma, a faith now lost somewhere between college and Devon’s funeral.

  “Come on, Emma. It’s time to bring Mr. Bear to Grandma’s church.”

  Dorie readjusted Emma’s clothes, shouted in to Josh to hurry up, picked up Mr. Bear, and waltzed downstairs with Emma.

  “Can I wear my Christmas coat, Mommy, the one you bought yesterday?”

  She’d thought to wait until closer to the holiday. Oh, well, November was close enough. “Of course.” How long before Emma outgrew this one? Already tall for her age, her body seemed to sprout inches overnight.

  “Mommy?” Emma, coat sleeves on backward, tugged at Dorie’s skirts. “I’m all stuck again.”

  Once righted, Emma stared blankly at the door. “Mommy, why don’t we have our own church?”

  “Don’t you like Grandma’s church?”

  “I like it, but it’s not our church.”

  Never far from earshot, Josh jumped down the last three steps. “Yeah, Mom. We have our own car and our own house. Why don’t we have our own church?”

  “That’s a good question, and a good question deserves a good answer. Right now, I have to put Boomer into the cellar.”

  Boomer secured, Dorie opened the door. “Last one in the car has to sing—”

  Josh glared.

  “Never mind. Let’s just scoot, okay?

  “Yeppers”

  “’Kay.”

  Emma won the race.

  Mom waited in the church vestibule.

  “Where’s Daddy?” Dorie asked.

  “He’s already gone to class. If you want to go ahead, I’ll bring the children downstairs for Christmas program practice.” Mom tweaked Josh’s cheek. “You are going to make a great Amahl.”

  “How’s that?” Dorie asked.

  While Mom tugged off coats and mittens, she explained how Gillian Davidson had adapted the musical version of Amahl and the Night Visitors into a play for the children.

  Mom took the kids downstairs. Alone in the vestibule, Dorie scanned the bricks and mortar for any sign that she belonged in this place. She thumbed through the directory on the visitors’ table, recognizing only a few names aside from her parents and their friends.

  Then she went into the sanctuary. Daddy said he chose Midville Community Church because of its historical importance—the first church built after the Adirondack town’s settlement in 1807.

  Dorie walked aimlessly through the empty sanctuary until finally resting her hand on the Perkins’s pew. Every Sunday Dorie and the children trailed behind Daddy’s big frame, sheltered from the tornados that upended her life.

  She thanked God for nurturing parents who cared for their children more than life itself, a familial bond that became her retreat after Devon died. Then why separate herself from them now? Had the time come to cut the spiritual umbilical cord? Was hers a second-hand faith, handed down like Grandma Perkins’s quilt?

  Sudden hunger ripped through her. Not for the breakfast she’d missed. She knelt beside Daddy’s pew and heaved a silent prayer through her tears. I need to know You, God. I want to know who You really are, not what others say You are.

  Her mother’s hurried steps interrupted her pleas.

  “Dorie, what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Don’t tell me it’s nothing. A mother senses when her child is hurting. Not a day goes by without you and the kids in my prayers.”

  “Is something wrong?”

  Would Mom ever understand how difficult she made it to break away?

  Chapter Ten

  Dorie stacked the last of the dishes into the cupboard as the doorbell rang. She looked at the clock. Gabe must be the punctual sort, like Daddy, something Dorie had not inherited. Clocks should serve as reminders, not straightjackets.

  Gabe would have to wait for her. She must be a sight wit
h her still-soggy hair. It’d taken an hour and five shampoos to get all the fingerpaint out of Emma’s hair. “Josh, get the door. That’s probably Dr. Wellington.”

  Gabe peeked into the kitchen as Dorie took off her apron. He eyed her like a man who’d been on a deserted island for five years. “Mission already accomplished. You look great.” He reached for her as if to draw her into a hug.

  Dorie stepped aside and tilted her head in the children’s direction. “I need to change and do something with my wet hair. Josh and Emma are ready except for their coats.”

  “Take your time, I’ll sit in the living room with the kids.” He winked at Emma. “I like cartoons. How about you?”

  Emma picked up the television remote and brought it over to Gabe. “Mr. Bear likes cartoons too.”

  The living room secured, Dorie hurried upstairs. She slipped on a dark brown skirt and off-white lace blouse, then made a quick check in the hall mirror. Since Gabe wore a tie and sports jacket, she was glad she’d dressed the kids in their best. Josh looked handsome in his belted Dockers, although he’d resisted changing out of his Army tee. And Emma would steal anyone’s heart in her pink chiffon dress.

  Gabe probably would take them to a nice place—at least where they served coffee in a regular cup instead of styrofoam. At the worst, the dinner would be a boredom buster.

  “Emma, Josh. Get your coats.”

  Gabe laughed as he pointed at Dorie’s stocking-clad feet. “Better go back upstairs. I’d hate to see you catch a cold.”

  “Although I know a real good doctor.” She retreated upstairs, gasping for breath. How did anyone forget to put shoes on? Flirting demanded too much energy. To flirt effectively, one must be clever, but her reservoir of clever had long been displaced by other skills, like mopping floors and changing diapers. When she came downstairs, the children stood at attention, fitted for winter with coats, mittens, and scarves. A broad grin crossed Gabe’s face.

  “However did you manage this?”

  Gabe winked at Josh. “I threatened to remove their tonsils if they made a peep.”

  Josh opened the door. “Can we go now, Mom? I’m real hungry.”

  Bursting into her fourth round of tears since waking from her too-short nap, Emma squeezed Mr. Bear to her chest. “Mr. Bear will be lonely here all by himself.”

  “Do you mind, Gabe?”

  “I suppose we could at least let him ride in the car with us. I have a blanket in the trunk. While we’re in the restaurant, he can take a nap. Is that okay, Emma?”

  She put her ear to Mr. Bear’s makeshift mouth. “He says that’s a good idea.”

  The four, plus Mr. Bear, piled into Gabe’s Volvo. Dorie pinged her head. “Car seats!”

  Gabe huffed. “I’ll grab them from your backseat.”

  Might be a simple thing to change the car seats around, but she’d forgotten them once before at great inconvenience to get them back. “No. Let’s take my car.”

  “Yours? It’s not too trustworthy from what your father says.”

  Anger rose. He had no right to condemn Devon’s car. “Don’t be so quick to judge a car simply because it’s old.”

  “North Country winters are hard on old batteries.”

  This conversation needed to end. “I don’t feel comfortable moving the car seats around. My parents keep a set in their car.”

  “Guess I’ll have to do the same if this relationship is going anywhere.”

  “Relationship? Wait a minute—”

  Emma giggled. “Mommy, what’s a relationship?”

  Dorie flashed Gabe a be-careful-what-you-say-in-front-of-the-kids frown. “It means two people are friends, sweetie.”

  “Dr. Wellington should be your friend, Mommy. Mr. Bear is my good friend.” Emma gave Mr. Bear a hard squeeze. White stuffing puffed from his leg.

  Gabe led the way to Dorie’s car. Josh and Emma scrambled into their car seats, and Dorie fastened them in. Gabe opened Dorie’s door and started to get in. “I’ll drive.”

  “No, I can handle it.”

  “Suit yourself.” He got in on the passenger side and folded his arms across his chest. Dorie buckled herself in, then pulled out her keys from her purse.

  “Mom, you forgot Boomer,” Josh said. “You always forget him.”

  She unlatched her seatbelt. “I’m sorry, Gabe. I have to bring the dog in. I’ll only be a few seconds.”

  He scowled. Could be he didn’t like dogs.

  Dorie stuffed the keys into her coat pocket and ran into the backyard where Boomer romped in rhythm to her jitters. She shooed him into the house through the back door. She probably should have put him in the cellar, but Gabe had waited long enough. “We won’t be long, Boomer. Behave yourself.”

  He retorted with a whine, then plopped onto his doggy bed in the corner of the kitchen.

  Silence reigned when Dorie returned to the car. The motor sang like a nightingale when she turned the ignition. Was it wrong to feel so self-righteous? “Where am I taking us?”

  “The Pines on Fuller Road. Do you know how to get there?”

  “I had dinner there with Mom and Dad last month. You go down Main until you get to Route 47, then turn left at the Antique Barn.”

  “Well, that’s as good a way as any I suppose. I normally take the back roads, but that’ll get us there.”

  As Dorie eased the car out of the driveway, Emma screamed. Dorie slammed on the brakes, pitching everyone forward. Gabe’s head grazed the dashboard. “That’ll teach me not to buckle up.”

  Emma’s sobs echoed throughout the car. “Mr. Bear fell down. I think he’s hurt.”

  Rubbing his head, Gabe got out of the car and opened Emma’s door, retrieving Mr. Bear from the floorboard. “So happens I always carry a stethoscope in my jacket pocket in case of an emergency like this.” He moved the stethoscope around Mr. Bear’s chest. “And I’m happy to say Mr. Bear is fine. Now hold on extra tight so he doesn’t fall again. I’d hate to miss dinner because I had to stop and put a cast on his leg.”

  Emma kissed Mr. Bear on the top of his head. “Now you be careful, Mr. Bear.”

  They arrived at The Pines without any further injury to Mr. Bear, although Josh seemed unusually quiet.

  “Mr. Bear doesn’t have a blanket in our car, Mommy,” Emma said. “He can’t take a nap.”

  Was there any hope for the evening? She shot Gabe a plea. “I know it’s not polite to bring a stuffed animal into a nice restaurant, but she’ll self-destruct if we have to leave Mr. Bear in the car.”

  “Do I have a choice?” Gabe led the way behind the waiter, who seated their group at a table for six under the chandelier, then handed Gabe two menus. Some people said kids behave better when dressed up. Must be true since hers settled into their chairs with the grace and gentility of a lord and lady.

  When the waitress came over, Gabe set down the menus. “We’ll have rib-eye steaks all around. The lady will have decaf mocha latte, and I’ll have decaf regular blend with cream.”

  “And what will the children have?”

  “Milk.”

  Lord Fitzgerald banged the table with his fist. “I hate milk.”

  The six-year-old returns. “You have milk for supper every night. And you know better than to slam the table like that, young man.”

  “I hate their milk.”

  “You’ve never tasted their milk.” Dorie grabbed Josh’s shoulders. “I don’t want to hear another word of complaint. Do you understand?”

  He nodded with bugged eyes. Before Dorie could lean back into her chair, Emma tipped over her water glass. Dorie snatched their cloth napkins, sopped up the excess water, and swept the ice cubes back into the glass while Emma screamed.

  Gabe’s cheeks bulged. “Now what’s wrong?”

  So he was human after all. “She’s scared.”

  “Of water?”

  “She’s afraid she won’t get any more. She’s only three, Gabe.” Dorie stroked Emma’s hair. “It’s okay, honey. I’ll ask the
waiter to bring you another glass.”

  “Better ask for it only half full.”

  “You’ve never tipped over a glass before? Accidents happen, Gabe. Even to surgeons.”

  “I’m sorry. It was a bad joke.” Gabe raised Dorie’s chin. “Look, I adore your kids. And I adore you.”

  Josh’s lip curled like the sinister gunslinger in a bad Western. Gabe returned the snarl with one of his own, inviting a showdown.

  You’re moving way too fast, Gabe. She’d get through this night. Tomorrow, she would end this thing between them, whatever this thing might be.

  A breeze from an open window stirred the curtains near their table, and Dorie felt as if she heard Devon say: “Is he the one you’ve chosen to take my place?”

  “No one can take your place, my darling.”

  “Pardon me?”

  You really need to stop talking to yourself, Dorie.

  “I said that this is a nice place.” Dorie tested her checks with the back of her hand. Warm, and probably as scarlet as the table napkins. The conversation changed to the weather as Emma’s sirens softened to mere sobs. When the steaks arrived, she let out a mischievous giggle. “Grandma Perkins said that steaks are good for black eyes.” Before Dorie could stop Emma, she reached across the table, grabbed Gabe’s sizzling hunk of meat and used it as an eye patch, screeching as the hot grease dripped down her face.

  “Emma!” Dorie snatched the steak and threw it onto Emma’s plate. “Let me look at you, sweetie.” Greasy, but probably not burnt.

  “I’m sorry, Gabe. I thought the kids could handle this. Obviously, they’re not used to eating out, let alone in a nice place like this. I’m afraid they’ve ruined your evening along with your delicious steak.”

  Gabe took his rib eye from Emma’s plate and slopped it onto his own plate. He stabbed his meat as if in defiance of the moment, sliced off a piece European style, and chomped. Don’t worry about it. Extra flavoring. He took another bite as if adding a period to his proclamation.”

  Dorie rubbed the juice off Emma’s cheek with a clean napkin. “I don’t think it burned her.”