I'll Be Home for Christmas

by Fern Michaels

  “You!” She made it sound like he was the devil from hell making a grand entrance.

  “Who’d you expect, Sylvester Stallone? You said it was an emergency. I react to emergencies. My mother trained me that way. I brought everything. What’s wrong?”

  Andi, hands on hips, stared at the man standing in front of her, the dogs circling his feet. She clapped her hands once, and they all lay down, their eyes on the giant towering over them.

  “I had to do a caesarean section on Rosie. Her pups were coming out breach. Come here. Mother and puppies are doing just fine, all eight of them. God, eight more mouths to feed.” Andi’s shoulders slumped as she fought off her tears.

  “I’ll take two. Three. I love dogs. It won’t be so hard. I’m going to meet your price. Three million plus, whatever the plus turns out to be. It’s fair. You’ll be able to do a lot if you invest wisely. I can recommend a pretty good tax man if you’re interested. You might even want to give some thought to taking payments instead of one lump sum. You need to talk to someone. Am I getting girls or boys? Make that four. I’ll give one to my grandmother. That’s another thing, her cat Hannah is sick. I was going to call you in the morning to ask if you’d look at her. Their regular vet is away on a winter vacation.”

  “Oh, my. Listen, about this afternoon…”

  “You don’t have to apologize,” Peter said.

  Andi smiled. “I wasn’t going to apologize. I was going to try and explain my circumstances to you. I appreciate you coming back here. It’s the thought that counts. Are you serious about the pups?”

  Was he? “Hell yes. Told you, I love dogs. Isn’t it kind of cold out here for the new mother and my pups?”

  “No. Actually, dogs much prefer it to be cooler. I was going to take Rosie into the kitchen, though. I leave the door open, and if the others want to come in, they do. At some point during the night, when I’m sleeping, three or four of them will come in and sleep outside my door. There’s usually one outside the bathroom when I shower, too. They’re very protective; they know when you’re bathing and sleeping you’re vulnerable. It’s really amazing.”

  “Bessie was like that. Do you want me to carry the box?”

  “Sure. Can I make you some coffee? I was going to have a grilled cheese sandwich. Would you like one or did you have your dinner?”

  Peter thought about how he’d pigged out on his grandmother’s pot roast. “I’m starved. Coffee sounds good, too. I brought a lot of blankets and towels with me. I thought maybe your heat went out.”

  “I could really use them. My washer goes all day long, and like everything else in this house, it’s getting ready to break down. My furnace is the next thing to go.”

  Peter’s face turned ashen. “Your furnace? Don’t you check it? You need to call PSE&G to come and look at it. My parents…and my brother and sister died from carbon monoxide poisoning. Turn it off if it’s giving you trouble. Use your fireplace. I can bring you electric heaters. Is the fireplace any good?”

  Andi stared at the man sitting at her table, a helpless look on her face. “I…I’m sorry. I don’t know the first thing about the furnace except that it’s very old. The fireplace is in good condition; I had it cleaned in September. I’d probably be more at risk using electric heaters; the wiring and the plumbing are…old. I guess I just have to take my chances. It’s only another two weeks. You said you wanted to…start…whatever it is you’re going to do right after the first of the year.”

  “Tomorrow when I bring Hannah I’ll bring you some of those detectors. I have one in every room in my house. I was away at school when it happened. All you do is plug them in.”

  “I appreciate that. I won’t charge you for Hannah, then.”

  “Okay, that’s fair.” He wasn’t about to tell her each detector cost eighty-nine dollars. She would need at least four of them for the sprawling house and kennel.

  “Want some bacon on your sandwich? Ketchup?”

  “Sure.”

  “I made a pie today. Want a piece?”

  Peter nodded. “Your house smells like the house I grew up in. It always smelled like apples and cinnamon. At Christmastime you could get drunk on the smell. Speaking of Christmas, I give a party once a year, would you like to come? I think you’ll like my grandmother. It’s next Thursday.”

  “I don’t know…I hate to leave the animals. I haven’t been to a party in so long, I don’t think I’ll remember how to act. Thank you for asking, though.”

  “Don’t you have a pair of pearls?” he asked, a stupid look on his face.

  “What do pearls have to do with it?”

  “Your mother’s pearls.” Jesus, he must have missed something when Sadie was explaining party attire. She was staring at him so intently he felt compelled to explain. “You know, pearls to go with the dress. Your mother’s pearls. If you have that, you don’t have to worry about anything else. Right? Can I use your bathroom?”

  “Upstairs, third door on the right. Don’t step on the carpet at the bottom of the steps. Annabelle lies there all the time. She pees on it and I didn’t have time to wash it. She chewed all the fringe off the corners. She’s getting old, so I can’t scold her too much.”

  Peter bolted from the room. Andi stared after him with puzzled eyes. She scurried into the pantry area where a mirror hung on the back of the door. She winced at her appearance. She didn’t look one damn bit better than she had looked earlier. “What you see is what you get,” she muttered.

  Andi was sliding the sandwiches onto plates when Peter entered the room. “This must have been a nice house at one time.”

  Andi nodded. “It was a comfortable old house. It fit us. My mother never worried too much about new furniture or keeping up with the neighbors. It was clean and comfortable. Homey. Some houses are just houses. People make homes. Did you know that?”

  “Believe it or not, I just realized that same fact today. Every so often I trip down memory lane.”

  “I don’t do that anymore. It’s too sad. I don’t know how I’m going to walk away from this place. My mother always said home was where your stuff was. Part of me believes it. What’s your opinion? By the way, where do you live?”

  “In Clark. It’s a new, modern house. Decorated by a professional. Color-coordinated, all that stuff. I don’t think you’d like it. My grandmother hates it. I don’t even like it myself. I try throwing things around, but it still looks the same.”

  “Maybe some green plants. Green plants perk up a room. You probably need some junk. Junk helps. I’ll be throwing a lot away, so you can help yourself.”

  “Yeah? What kind of junk? My plants die.”

  “You need to water plants. Get silk ones. All you have to do is go over them with a blow dryer every so often. Junk is junk. Everybody has junk. You pick it up here and there, at a flea market or wherever. When you get tired of it you throw it away and buy new junk.”

  Peter threw his head back and laughed until his eyes watered. “That’s something my grandmother would say. Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “I’m sorry. You should laugh more often. You take yourself pretty seriously, don’t you?”

  “For the most part, I guess I do. What about you?” He leaned across the table as though her answer was the most important thing in the world. She had beautiful eyes with thick lashes. And they were her own, unlike Helen’s.

  “I’ve been so busy scrambling to make a go of it, I haven’t had the time to dwell on anything. I guess I’m sort of an optimist, but then I’m a pessimist, too, at times. What will be will be. How about some pie? I can warm it up. More coffee?”

  “Sure to everything. This is nice. I haven’t sat in a kitchen…since…I left home. We always ate in the kitchen growing up.”

  “So did we. Are you married?”

  “No. Why do you ask? Do you have designs on me?”

  “No. I just want to make sure Rosie’s pups get a good home. Who’s going to take care of them when you work?”

/>   “I already figured that out. I’m going to hire a sitter. I’ll have her cook chicken gizzards and livers for them. My mother used to cook for Bessie. She loved it. You’re very pretty, Dr. Evans. Why aren’t you married?”

  “Do you think that’s any of your business, Mr. King?”

  “As the owner of those dogs, of which I’m taking four, I should know what kind of person you are, marital status included. Well?”

  “I was engaged, not that it’s any of your business. I wanted to come back here; he didn’t. He wanted to work in a ritzy area; I didn’t. He was in it for the money. I wasn’t. I don’t know, maybe he was the smart one.”

  “No, you were the smart one,” Peter said quietly. “It’s rare that the heart and mind work in sync. When it does happen, you know it’s right.”

  “Your turn.”

  Peter shrugged. “I run my grandmother’s business. She tells me I’m good at it. She’s the only family I have left, and she’s up in years. I always…take…introduce her to the women I, ah, date. I value her opinion. So far she hasn’t approved of anyone I’ve dated. That’s okay; she was on the money every single time. Guess I just haven’t met the right girl. Or, maybe I’m meant for bachelorhood. Would you like to go out to dinner with me to celebrate our deal?”

  “Under other circumstances, I’d say yes, but I have too much to do. I also want to keep my eye on Rosie and the pups. If you like, you can come for dinner tomorrow.”

  “I’ll be here. I’ll bring in the towels and blankets and shovel you out before I leave.”

  “I’ll help you. Thanks.”

  It was one o’clock in the morning when Andi leaned on her shovel, exhaustion showing in every line of her face. “I’m going to sleep like a baby tonight,” she panted.

  “Yeah, me, too. Tell me, what’s it like when you operate on one of the animals, like you did tonight?”

  “Awesome. When I saw those pups and when I stitched up Rosie, all the hard years, all the backbreaking work, it was worth every hour of it. Guess you don’t get that feeling when you label Raspberry Cheese Louise on your lipsticks.”

  Suddenly she was in the snow, the giant towering over her. She stretched out her foot, caught him on the ankle and pulled him down in an undignified heap. He kissed her, his mouth as cold and frosty as her own. It was the sweetest kiss of her life. She said so, grinning from ear to ear.

  “Sweet?” he asked.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Didn’t make you want to tear your clothes off, huh?”

  “You must be kidding. I never do that on a first date.”

  “This isn’t a date.” He leered at her.

  “I don’t do that on pre-dates either. I don’t even know you.”

  “I’ll let my hair down tomorrow, and you can really get to know me.”

  “Don’t go getting any ideas that I’m easy. And, don’t think you’re parading me in front of your grandmother either.”

  “God forbid.”

  “Good night, Mr. King. You can call me Andi.”

  “Good night, Dr. Evans. You can call me Peter. What are we having for dinner?”

  “Whatever you bring. Tomorrow is bath day. I’m big on fast and easy. What time are you bringing Hannah?”

  “How about ten? Our attorney will be out bright and early for you to sign the contract. Is that all right with you?”

  “Okay. Good night.”

  “I enjoyed this evening. Take good care of my dogs.”

  “I will.” Suddenly she didn’t want him to go. He didn’t seem to want to go either. She watched the 4 by 4 until the red taillights were swallowed in the snow.

  He was nice. Actually, he was real nice. And, he was going to give her over three million dollars. Oh, life was looking good.

  

  The following morning, Andi woke before it was light out. She threw on her robe and raced down the stairs to check on Rosie. “I just want you to know I was having a really, that’s as in really, delicious dream about Mr. Peter King.” She hunched down to check on the new pups, who were sleeping peacefully, curled up against their mother.

  While the coffee perked, Andi showered and dressed, taking a few more pains with her dress than usual. Today she donned corduroy slacks and a flannel shirt instead of the fleece-lined sweats she usually wore in the kennel. Today she even blow dried her hair and used the curling iron. She diddled with a jar of makeup guaranteed to confuse anyone interested in wondering if she was wearing it or not. A dab of rouge, a stroke of the eyebrow pencil and she was done. She was almost at the top of the steps when she marched back to her dressing table and spritzed a cloud of mist into the air. She savored the smell, a long-ago present from a friend. She told herself she took the extra pains because it wasn’t every day she signed a three-million-plus deal. As she drank her coffee she wondered what the plus part of the contract would net her.

  Andi thought about Gertie and her friends under the railroad trestle. Where did they go last night during the storm? Were they warm and safe? As soon as everything was tended to and she checked out Hannah the cat, she would drive into Plainfield and try to locate Gertie and her friends. Now that she had all this money coming to her, she could rent a motel for them until the weather eased up, providing the manager was willing to wait for his money.

  The notebook on the kitchen table beckoned. Her list of things to do. Call Realtor, make plans to transport animals. Her friend Mickey had an old school bus he used for camping in the summer. He might lend it to her for a day or so. She could pile Gertie and her friends in the same bus.

  Andi’s thoughts whirled and raced as she cleaned the dog runs and hosed them out. She set down bowls of kibble and fresh water, tidied up the kennel, sorted through the blankets and towels. The heavy duty machines ran constantly. Her own laundry often piled up for weeks at a time simply because the animals had to come first. She raced back to the kitchen to add a note to her list. Call moving company. She wasn’t parting with the crates, the laundry machines or the refrigerator. She was taking everything that belonged to her parents even if it was old and worn-out. The wrecking ball could destroy the house and kennel, but not her stuff.

  She was on her third cup of coffee when Peter King’s attorney arrived. She read over the contract, signed it and promised to take it to her attorney, Mark Fox. Everything was in order. Why delay on signing. The plus, she noticed, amounted to $750,000. That had to mean she had three and three-quarter acres. “Date the check January first. I don’t want to have to worry about paying taxes until ninety-seven. Where’s the date for construction to begin? Oh, okay, I see it. January 2, 1997. We’re clear on that?”

  “Yes, Dr. Evans, we’re clear on that. Here’s my card; have Mr. Fox call me. Mark is the finest real estate attorney in these parts. Give him my regards.”

  “I’ll do that, Mr. Carpenter.”

  The moment the attorney was out of her parking lot, Andi added Mark Fox’s name to her list of things to do. She crossed her fingers that he worked half days on Saturday. If not, she’d slip the contract, along with a note, through the mail slot and call him Monday morning.

  Andi’s eyes settled on the clock. Ten minutes until Peter King arrived with his grandmother’s cat. She busied herself with phone calls. Ten o’clock came and went. The hands of the clock swept past eleven. Were the roads bad? She called the police station. She was told the roads were in good shape, plowed and sanded. Her eyes were wet when she crouched down next to Rosie. “Guess he just wanted my signature on the contract. My mother always said there was a fool born every minute. Take care of those babies and I’ll be back soon.”

  At ten minutes past twelve, Andi was on Park Avenue, where she dropped the contract through the slot on Mark Fox’s door. She backed out of the drive and headed down Park to Raritan and then to Woodland, turning right onto South Avenue, where she thought she would find Gertie and her friends. She saw one lone figure, heavily clad, hunched around a huge barrel that glowed red and warm against the snow-fil
led landscape. Andi climbed from the truck. “Excuse me, sir, have you seen Gertie?” The man shook his head. “Do you know where I can find her? Where is everyone?” The man shrugged. “I need to get in touch with her. It’s very important. If she comes by, will you ask her to call me? I’ll give you the quarter for the phone call.” She ran back to the truck to fish in the glove compartment for her card, where she scrawled, “Call me. Andi.” She handed the card, a quarter and a five-dollar bill to the man. “Get some hot soup and coffee.” The man’s head bobbed up and down.

  Her next stop was Raritan Road and her friend Mickey’s house. The yellow bus was parked in his driveway next to a spiffy hunter green BMW.

  Mickey was a free spirit, working only when the mood struck him. Thanks to a sizable trust fund, all things were possible for the young man whose slogan was, “Work Is A Killer.” She slipped a note under the door when her ring went unanswered. Her watch said it was one-thirty. Time to head for the moving company, where she signed another contract for her belongings to be moved out on December 22nd and taken to storage on Oak Tree Road in Edison. Her last stop was in Metuchen, where she stopped at the MacPherson Agency to ask for either Lois or Tom Finneran, a husband/wife realty team. The amenities over, she said, “Some acreage, a building is a must. It doesn’t have to be fancy. I’m going to build what I want later on. Zoning is important. I was thinking maybe Freehold or Cranbury. You guys are the best, so I know you can work something out that will allow me to move in with the animals the first of the year. Have a wonderful holiday.”

  There were no fresh tire tracks in her driveway and no messages on her machine. “So who cares,” she muttered as she stomped her way into the kennel. The kitchen clock said it was three-thirty when she put a pot of coffee on to perk. When the phone shrilled to life she dropped the wire basket full of coffee all over the floor. She almost killed herself as she sprinted across the huge kitchen to grapple with the receiver. Her voice was breathless when she said, “Dr. Evans.”