A Winter Wonderland

by Fern Michaels

  Jenna accepted a handshake before Tracy added, “I’m Reece’s girlfriend.”

  It took every bit of strength in Jenna to uphold her smile. Through the instant drought of her throat, she managed to push out, “Of course.”

  They released hands and Jenna went straight to gripping her coat. She averted her eyes, feeling as transparent as glass. “I should get out of the way. I’m sure if you ask somebody, they can help you find the Porters.”

  As Jenna started to leave, Tracy asked, “Would you like me to tell them anything for you?”

  Jenna shook her head. What more could she possibly say?

  Chapter 10

  With every step, Reece grew more leery of the scene waiting in Room 303. The beeping of monitors and scent of medications revived a painfully clear vision. He could still see his grandfather, lying in a hospital bed, the family gathered around to bid farewell.

  Now at his grandma’s door, Reece welcomed the contrast. She was fully awake and propped upright in an automated bed. His worries melted away as he kissed her on the cheek. On his grandma’s other side stood his mom. His dad gave a brief greeting, verging on gruff, then went to consult a doctor, not one to trust Reece’s recount. What else was new?

  Reece shut out the thought and asked, “Are you feeling better?”

  “Oh, I’m fine,” his grandma said. “Nothing to get riled up about.” She waved her hand dismissively, a contradiction to the IV cord attached to it. A trace of pain meds seeped into her manner. “How soon can we leave? Place is chockful of germs.”

  His mom asserted, “They need to confirm everything’s okay first.”

  “I already told the doc, I’m fit as a fiddle.”

  After the episode in the car, Reece wasn’t about to let her think she could jet out of here without final clearance. “That’s what you say now, Grandma. But you weren’t that way an hour ago.”

  “Jeez, Louise. Can’t a grown woman have a little scare without creating a fuss? When your daddy was little, someone would yell ‘boo’ and he’d wet his pants. It didn’t mean I’d hold him hostage.”

  “You’re not being held hostage,” his mom argued. “You’re in a hospital.”

  “Yeah, well. They both poke and prod ya, force you to eat tasteless slop, and charge you a ransom.” She turned to Reece. “You be the judge.”

  He couldn’t help but laugh.

  Though his mother’s mouth twitched from a near smile, she arched a brow at him: Don’t encourage her. From a plastic pitcher she poured a cup of water and handed it to his grandma.

  Having people around to help the elderly woman, Reece acknowledged, could prove healthy rather than hindering. Unfortunately, the trade-off of that change would be another I told you so from his father. Reece’s mood declined at the notion. “Do you want me to take Grandma home after they discharge her?”

  “Your dad and I can do that, sweetheart. Her room at our place is ready for her to move back in.” She brushed a piece of lint from the edge of the blanket and asked his grandma, “How about something to eat?”

  “So long as it’s not bread pudding. No sense wasting my teeth while I still have them.”

  His mom rolled her eyes, yet gave in to a smile. “Be right back.”

  Once she’d left the room, Reece heard a release in his grandma’s breath. Her shoulders sank into the pillow, as though tired from keeping up a show.

  He took a seat on the edge of the bed and leaned toward her. “How are you really feeling, Grandma?”

  Her lips tightened. The morning seemed to replay in her mind, adding a subtle hoarseness to her voice. “I’ll be all right, dear,” she said. Then she lifted her chin and tenderly pinched his cheek. A gesture of love, and thanks. She had remarkable strength at her core.

  Reflecting on Jenna’s claims, Reece wanted to probe, to learn how far that strength extended. But now wasn’t the time.

  “Is there anything I can do for you?” he asked.

  “Besides breaking me out of here?”

  “Besides that.”

  She considered this. “You can give me the clicker, I suppose. If I have to sit around doing nothing, might as well watch Wheel of Fortune.”

  He grabbed the remote from a nearby chair and passed it along. “I didn’t realize that show was still on.”

  “Just the reruns.”

  “Isn’t that cheating? To already know the answers?”

  “Not if you’re too senile to remember.” She gave him a wink and started flipping through the channels. “Dear, would you go see what your mother’s scrounging up? Last thing I need is a bowl of mashed peas. Some Jell-O would be nice.”

  “I think I can handle that.”

  He offered a smile he managed to wear until he made it around the corner, just out of her sight line. Leaning against a wall, beneath a swoop of red and green garland, he felt the exhaustion of a roller coaster, a steep drop of what ifs. The emotional jostling of another near loss slammed against his chest.

  He blew out a breath, regrouping. About to resume his mission, he heard his name being called from the side.

  His father.

  “Nurse said Tracy’s looking for you,” he told Reece.

  Tracy was here? Then Reece remembered. He’d sent her a text message. “Where is she?”

  “In the waiting area, where I found you,” he said, “with the estate gal.” Disapproval edged his voice.

  “Look. Nothing happened with us.”

  “If you say so.”

  “Jenna was just there, at the house, and—” He stopped, threw up his palms. “You know what? Doesn’t matter. You’re gonna sit in judgment no matter what I say.” He turned for the hallway.

  “Reece,” he snapped.

  If Reece ignored the order and left, would it be worth it? What story would his father pass on to Tracy?

  He wheeled back around to face a silent glower. It was obvious what the guy wanted to hear. After all this time, might as well get it over with. “Fine. You were right. You’ve won, okay?”

  His father cocked his head. “Won?”

  “About Grandma living alone, about my crazy stunts. You wanted me to play it safe, that’s what I’m doing. Anything that involves a risk, it’s gone. I’m living the way you’ve always wanted. So, yeah. You’ve won.”

  “Now, you hold on,” he said. “I don’t tell you how to live your life.”

  “Oh, really?” A prime example rushed into Reece’s mind. “How about after the accident?”

  His dad shook his head, as if straining to reassemble the memories. Reece, on the other hand, could recall every word, every syllable his father had spewed at that hospital. With the recollection came guilt and shame and resentment from that day.

  “After we crashed, I thought I’d killed Tracy. Did you know that?”

  The knot on his father’s forehead tightened.

  “At the hospital, her family hated me, and they had every right to. But when you got there, more than anything I needed your support. Not a lecture about how badly I’d screwed up. That’s something I was well aware of.”

  His father opened his mouth but, to Reece’s surprise, stalled on any retort.

  “Excuse me, gentlemen.” The nurse who had guided them from the waiting room suddenly appeared. “We have to keep the volume down in here.”

  Neither of them replied.

  “You’re welcome to take this conversation elsewhere.” It was a command, not a suggestion.

  “That’s all right,” Reece answered quietly, tearing his gaze from his father. “We’re finished.”

  Chapter 11

  The house was empty.

  Scanning the family room, Jenna stared at the half-filled boxes, the countless items needing to be inventoried and tagged. According to Terrence’s voice mail, he’d taken the crew home, uncomfortable working today with the client’s health in jeopardy.

  In the industry, he was one of the compassionate ones. Plenty of liquidators would have charged through without a tho
ught. The longer you’re in the business, the more hardened you’re supposed to get. It’s about sales, not people. Simplifying, not complicating. Purging, not collecting. It’s about getting the job done—which clearly wasn’t happening. Two weeks from the estate sale, and thanks to the holidays, they were barely making a dent.

  No question, Terrence had made the right decision. But that didn’t stop Jenna’s frustration from mounting. She snagged a dried-up potted plant she’d meant to toss earlier and dropped it into a black trash bag. From a nearby cabinet she yanked out a stack of games. Their cardboard containers were disintegrating from use. No point checking for missing pieces. Parcheesi, Hangman, Battleship, chess. One after the other, she dumped them all. A deck of Skip-Bo cards spilled over the floor.

  She groaned. “Perfect.”

  On her knees, she snatched them by the handful. She pitched them into the bag, faster and harder with each scoop. This was her own fault; she’d let the job get too personal. Estelle’s shoe box, which she’d brought in from her trunk, would be next on the list. She’d sell what she could and toss the rest.

  Out with the clutter, she reminded herself. Life was easier without it. Her exchange today with Reece Porter had only confirmed that.

  The guy had sent her emotions into a jumbled spiral, and why? Fact was, she barely knew him. He’d certainly never denied having a girlfriend. Nonetheless, a feeling of betrayal swelled inside. Worse yet, of being no better than her father’s mistress.

  The thought was irrational. Just like the tears building behind her eyes. Pushing them down, she reached under the sofa to gather the stray cards. A 9 was just beyond her reach, like so many other things these days.

  Lying on her side, she stretched out her arm. Almost . . . had it . . .

  The doorbell chimed. Reflexively, her finger flicked the card away. Jenna fumed as the bell rang again. Her parked van likely boosted the caller’s hope in summoning a person. Soon, persistence would lead to an annoying series of knocks.

  Jenna marched toward the entry and swung open the door. “Yes?”

  An elderly man stood under the portico, out of the rain. He wore a damp trench coat over his suit and navy bow tie, a fedora hat shielding his eyes. His silver mustache was narrow and neatly trimmed.

  “Pardon me, miss. I hope I’m not bothering you.” He spoke with such tenderness Jenna swiftly reined in her emotions.

  “Not at all. What can I do for you?”

  “I saw an ad for the estate sale with this address. Said it was for the Porters.”

  She should have guessed. Estates with well-known owners tended to attract sneak peeks.

  “I’m sorry, but we’re not having a preview on this house. If you’d like to come back on December seventeenth—”

  “I’m not here for the sale. I . . .” The man grabbed the hat off his head and squeezed it to the medium frame of his chest. “I just need to know if Stella . . .” He inhaled a breath before the rest tumbled out coarsely. “Has she passed?”

  Stella?

  “Do you mean Estelle Porter?” Considering the topic, clarity was essential.

  He mustered a nod as Jenna realized the implication that had drawn him here. Estate sales for elderly residents commonly followed a death. From the stranger’s intensity, Jenna was grateful the day’s emergency had ended the way it did.

  “Mrs. Porter is alive and well,” she told him. “She’s simply moving in with her family.”

  A gasp shot from the man’s lips, which suddenly quivered. Same for his hands. “Thank you,” he breathed. “That’s . . . thank you.”

  Dazed, he fumbled in replacing his hat and started to leave. An old Chevy sat empty in the driveway, streaked with raindrops. The last thing Jenna needed was another distraction, but she couldn’t let him operate a car in his unsettled state, especially with the slick, winding roads in the area. One hospital run was enough for the day.

  “Sir,” she called out, “why don’t you come inside?”

  He angled a quarter of the way back, then raised a hand. “I’d better not. I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

  “It’s just me here, and I’d love the company.”

  The man hesitated, contemplating.

  “Please,” she said, growing weary. “Just until the rain lets up.”

  He glanced at the road, his car, the house. With a small nod, he agreed.

  “Do you live around here?” Jenna asked, padding the silence as she waited for the microwave to beep.

  The man sat in his chair, fingering the brim of his hat on the Formica table. “Summerville Center.”

  “Oh, sure. Over in Tigard.” Two of Jenna’s past clients had moved into the retirement home. “Seems like a nice place to live.”

  He smiled softly.

  At last, she delivered the mug. He steeped his tea bag by lifting and dropping it several times.

  “So,” Jenna said, “you’ve known Estelle—or Stella, for a long time?”

  He took a sip before replying. “It was quite some years ago.”

  Silence again.

  She debated on excusing herself and returning to task, but intrigue, her greatest enemy lately, baited her to stay. “I’m Jenna, by the way,” she began. “And your name is . . . ?”

  Inclining his head, he accepted her handshake. His light blue eyes held a charming if worn twinkle. “Tom,” he said.

  As she watched him take another sip, his look of discomfort growing, the connection sank in. Still, there had to be a million Toms out there.

  “I really ought to be going,” he said suddenly.

  When it came to Jenna’s work, there had always been lines, invisible but clear. Yet after a week with the Porters, those lines were blurring. And now, with the man’s departure imminent, any rules ceased to exist.

  Rising, he donned his hat.

  “Are you Corporal Redding?” she blurted.

  He froze, his eyes downcast. An infinite pause stretched the air taut until he spoke. “Stella told you about me?”

  “Well . . . she . . .” Jenna had to confess, “No. Not exactly.”

  His gaze lifted, swirling with disappointment, confusion. He wanted to know if he’d been forgotten. Jenna understood the feeling, from her father. And she refused to let this kind-hearted man believe the memory of him was lost.

  “Mr. Redding,” she said, coming to her feet, “I have something to show you.”

  In the den, Jenna led Tom around an obstacle of hand trucks and moving supplies. She guided him to sit in the cushioned swivel chair. Forbidding herself a second thought, she presented the infamous shoe box.

  Slowly, he pulled out the photographs and laid them on the desk. His expression lightened by degrees until, as with Estelle, the decades since the war vanished from his face.

  “It was just yesterday,” he murmured.

  “This is you, then, with the mistletoe.” It wasn’t a question, just an observance of a mystery being solved.

  He touched that particular picture and sported a boyish grin. “Had to get creative. I was bound and determined to get a smooch out of that girl.”

  Jenna smiled along with him, feeling as if she had been there. “And did it work?”

  Tom shook his head. “Only on the cheek. Consorting like that was against the rules.” He let out a soft laugh. “’Course, she found me later behind the supply tent and gave me a kiss I’ll never forget. Blew my army socks clear off.”

  “So . . . you two started dating?”

  “Well. Not officially.”

  No elaboration. Perhaps he preferred a less intimate topic.

  Jenna retrieved from the box another piece of the puzzle. The Bronze Star. As she flipped open the case, he tilted his head. “Ahh, yeah,” he sighed.

  “Do you happen to know how she got this?”

  He hummed in affirmation, running his thumb over the grooves of the medal. “We were stationed in Dutch New Guinea at the time. MacArthur was leapfrogging toward Tokyo. Docs and nurses were being rotated up to
the front. Stella volunteered to help, which I didn’t like one bit. And I sure as heck told her so.”

  “But she went anyway,” Jenna guessed.

  Tom glanced up, brow raised. “One thing about Stella. She was the sweetest girl you ever met. But make no mistake, few people were better at holding their ground.” A mix of frustration and admiration seeped into his voice. “Turned out to be a good thing, anyhow. Saved a whole lot of soldiers out there.”

  After a moment, Tom set down the award. He straightened, prompting Jenna to do the same. He was going to leave. But he couldn’t. Not yet. A buried tale was surfacing. All that was left in the box, however, was a tattered book.

  A last ditch effort, she hastened to hold up Jane Eyre. “Any idea if this was special to her?”

  Tom stared for several seconds. His skin paled. As he sank into his chair, any remnants of nostalgic warmth drained away. He handled the book as though poison soaked its pages. On the inside cover was an inscription Jenna could make out from her view.

  My dearest darling,

  Merry Christmas!

  Tom

  Shoulders hunched, he shut his eyes. “That’s all I could come up with,” he said before forcing another look.

  Jenna simply waited, not pushing.

  “It was her favorite novel,” he finally added. “I spent a good half hour trying to write a thoughtful note, and that was it. No mention of love. No gratitude for taking care of me.” He shook his head as tears welled. “I was so angry at the world. It was never her, of course, but that’s who I took it out on.”

  Jenna was struggling to keep up. Yet he gazed at her intently, a plea for understanding.

  “We were being shipped home, from the Philippines. War was over. People were celebrating for days. With all the commotion it took me a minute to even realize I’d been hit.”

  The way he spoke the word, Jenna gathered the meaning. “You were shot?”

  “Some drunken GI had fired off a pistol. Got me right in the kneecap. That’s why we held off marrying. I told Stella I wouldn’t go down that aisle till I could walk nice and smooth. That’s how dumb and stubborn I was.”