Unforgettable Christmas - Gifts of Love (The Unforgettables Book 3)

by Mimi Barbour

  “You’re superstitious,” Christy observed quietly.

  “Actually, I’m not. That’s just a silly habit.” He slid a glass canister toward him, removed the top, and took out two teabags. “I’m not superstitious, and I don’t believe in luck, good or bad. I can’t. I mean, I lost my wife. I’m about to lose my daughter very soon.” He glanced toward the doorway, then looked back at her. “That kind of luck would make a man want to drive off a cliff. No, I despise the idea that all I’ll ever have is bad luck. So I don’t believe in any of that stuff.”

  Those two small knocks on the wood cabinet seemed to belie the proclamation he’d just made. Not knowing how to respond, Christy remained quiet.

  “What with the hospital gossip vine,” he said, “I guess you already know all about my wife’s accident.”

  “Actually… I don’t.”

  At first, she thought the frown planted between his brows was because he didn’t believe she avoided idle hearsay, but then she realized he must be anticipating the painful task of relaying the details of his wife’s demise.

  “Listen,” she automatically offered, “we don’t need to talk about this—”

  “No, it’s okay. They say the more you talk about it, get difficult experiences out into the open, the easier they are to live with.” He stopped suddenly. There was no humor in his small, huff of laughter. “Who am I kidding? It seems like it’ll never get easier.” He leaned his hip against the counter. “Izzie was in the middle of a series of chemo treatments, and my poor, sweet child was so sick. Barb and I were taking turns staying with her. I arrived at the hospital to relieve my wife. She was absolutely exhausted. I should have suggested she stay at the hospital and rest for a while. Get something to eat. Take a nap. But… but she said she just wanted to go home. She wanted to take a shower. Get a few hours rest. The next thing I know, I was being paged to the ER. Barb had fallen asleep at the wheel. She’d run off the road. The car had overturned. I have no idea how the EMTs got her out of that mangle of metal. I spent five of the longest days of my life racing from one end of the hospital to the other. The oncology floor and the critical care unit.”

  Christy reached out to him. She couldn’t not. His shoulder was warm beneath her hand, and she scooted closer to him.

  “After the second day,” he said, his voice barely a whisper, “the doctors told me she was showing no brain activity, but I just couldn’t give them permission to…” He swallowed. “I just couldn’t. But after five days of watching her there. With all those tubes. And machines.” He shook his head. “I had to let her go.” He reached up and slid his fingers over the top of Christy’s hand and looked directly into her eyes. “I thought it was going to kill me, and I’m not kidding when I say that.”

  Every ounce of empathy Christy felt was shining in her eyes; she could feel unshed tears burning her eye sockets. What a horrible nightmare this man had lived through.

  “Izzie finally improved enough to leave the hospital,” he said. “It was damned hard. I was pulled between the joy of having Izzie home and the anguish of getting used to having a family of two. The house was so damned quiet. I never realized how much life Barb brought to our home… to our family.”

  She tensed her fingers gently on his shoulder.

  He heaved a sigh, and immediately the tightness in the air loosened a little. “But losing my wife didn’t kill me.” He offered her a small smile. “Of course, it didn’t. I had Izzie to worry about. To take care of. To focus on.”

  The kettle started to whistle, and Christy turned just enough to switch off the burner, then she swiveled back around to give him her undivided attention.

  Aaron pulled her hand from where it rested on his shoulder, but he held onto it. She was aware of the heat of his skin on hers. His gaze traveled to the doorway, and Christy suspected he was thinking about his little girl, and how sick she was, and the grief that lay in store for him. And his lack of a focus once she was gone.

  She grasped his hand with both of hers and gave a firm squeeze, hoping to offer him some small amount of comfort, but it seemed so little in the face of the dark and daunting times ahead for him.

  Again, he inhaled deeply, and this time when he released it, his shoulders squared and he smiled.

  “Thanks for listening to all of that. I’m sorry that I—”

  “Oh, no.” She cut him off with an emphatic shake of her head. “Don’t you dare apologize, Aaron. When I’m taking care of Izzie, it’s really good for me to know all I can about what might be worrying her, or why she might be feeling stressed, or what’s triggering her sadness. The more information I have, the better able I am to give her what she needs.”

  Of course, Christy could tend to Izzie’s physical needs without being privy to the tragic details of her mother’s death. But she hadn’t wanted Aaron to feel a moment’s regret for having leaned on her.

  His eyes glittered when he smiled into her face, then he did the most extraordinary thing. He hugged her.

  When he stepped away from her, he said, “We need to pour water over those teabags.”

  Christy nodded and reached for the kettle.

  Chapter Three

  Colorful decorations hung from the trees in Northside Park, and the bushes were covered with nets of lighting, although they weren’t all that visible in the daytime. Santa waited in a small shed-like “house” where children could visit, tell him about their Christmas wish lists, and have their pictures taken. The attendant understood and was extremely accommodating when Aaron requested that Izzie not have to stand in line with the other children. The chemicals that had been introduced into her bloodstream to suppress the cancer growth also jeopardized her immune system and made her susceptible to even the smallest germs.

  After spending some one-on-one time with Santa, Izzie had her picture taken, sweetly accepted a candy cane, and then waved goodbye before joining her dad and Christy who waited outside.

  “You looked awfully serious in there while you talked to Santa,” Aaron observed.

  Izzie nodded. “I tried to make him understand what I wanted.” She issued a long-suffering sigh. “He doesn’t get things right very often.”

  Christy smiled as she and Aaron shared a look.

  “He’s got a lot of children to keep track of,” Aaron pointed out.

  The little girl just rolled her eyes. “Daddy, that’s not supposed to matter. He’s magical.” She reached up and touched her chin. “I think maybe he needs to write things down. He should have a pencil and a notebook next to his chair.”

  Izzie was right at the age when children began questioning their belief in jolly old St. Nick, and it was no wonder; they were old enough to remember what they told Santa they wanted. When you asked for one thing yet found something entirely different under the tree, that would be enough to start anyone’s doubts churning.

  “He probably should take notes.” Aaron picked Izzie up set her on his shoulders as they walked toward the parking lot.

  They swung by the grocery store, and while Aaron chose a pine tree and tied it to the roof of the car, Christy and Izzie filled the basket until it was burgeoning. Although Christy knew they couldn’t possibly eat all of this food, even if they had a full week, Aaron had told her to let Izzie buy whatever took her fancy. There was a fresh turkey and all the trimmings for tomorrow night’s dinner, ingredients for making several different kinds of cookies, ice cream, pancake mix, maple syrup, bacon, orange juice. One thing was certain; they wouldn’t starve during the three days they were in Ocean City.

  Soon they were back at the cottage, the groceries were all put away, and the tree was in its stand awaiting lights and decorations, and Christy and Izzie were up to their elbows in flour, sugar, and eggs as they mixed the dough for their first batch of cookies.

  “Sour cream?” Clearly, Izzie doubted Christy’s choice of recipes.

  “Trust me,” Christy told her. “These Southern Sour Cream Cookies will knock your socks off, baby.”

 
“If you say so.” The child stirred the sour cream into the dry ingredients while Christy gave the cookie sheets a spritz of no-stick cooking spray.

  After setting the temperature so the oven could pre-heat, Aaron searched through the cabinets for the cooling racks.

  “So, Christy,” Izzie said, “how come you don’t have a husband or any kids?”

  The question took Christy aback, and for a moment she went still.

  “Hey, sweetheart,” Aaron chastised his daughter gently, “that question’s kind of personal.”

  Izzie seemed undaunted. “Well, she’s here with us. If she was married… if she had kids… she’d be spending Christmas with them, right?” She shrugged. “I just wondered, is all.”

  Her experience from working with kids every day had taught Christy that they had a knack for pointing out the truth, usually in a blunt, no-nonsense manner, just as Izzie had done. They meant no harm. It was just that they hadn’t yet learned about boundaries.

  “It’s okay,” Christy assured Aaron. “I don’t mind answering Izzie’s question.” She paused long enough to moisten her lips. “I was married at one time. And I had a little girl too.”

  She went quiet for a moment, trying to decide how much to reveal.

  “Danielle was her name. The doctors found a tumor in her brain when she was four. They tried everything, but they couldn’t stop that tumor from growing.”

  Izzie’s dark eyes grew rounder with each sentence Christy spoke. “She died?”

  Pressing her lips together, Christy nodded. Then she said, “Not right away. We got to spend two more years together before she… had to go.”

  The mixing spoon stood right up straight in the cookie dough when Izzie released her hold on it. She looked at her father, her voice soft as room-temperature butter. “Did you hear that, Daddy? Danielle died.”

  “I heard it, honey.”

  Izzie looked at Christy. “And your husband? Did he die too? Like my mommy did?”

  Aaron caught Christy eye and she read a deep apology in his gaze. She gave a little shake of her head to let him know it she was okay.

  “No,” she told Izzie. “He didn’t die. He just wasn’t… able to stay with us. Sometimes people can’t.”

  “Oh.”

  Confusion etched the child’s forehead as she tried to figure out exactly what Christy meant. More questions were coming, Christy could see it. So could Aaron.

  “Listen,” he said, his tone boisterous, “we need to get these cookies baked so we can have some lunch and then decorate that tree out there. We have a lot to do if we’re going to go for a drive to see the lights. That was on your list, wasn’t it?”

  “Oh, yes! Daddy, can we go to the boardwalk? I love to hear the waves while I’m looking at the lights!”

  “I guess we can go for a little while,” he said, “If you bundle up good.”

  She gasped with wonder the way only a little girl could. “Do you think it might snow?”

  “I don’t know, honey,” her father said. “The sky does look awfully gray out there.”

  Winters by the sea were milder than those inland. Yes, the air temperature was chilly during the Christmas season, but it didn’t snow very often. But that certainly didn’t keep children from hoping.

  Christy began spooning cookie dough onto the sheets. Aaron came up behind her and placed his hand on her shoulder and murmured in her ear, “Sorry for that.”

  She smiled at him, and watched him bend to kiss his daughter on the crown of her head. Oh, how she missed kissing and cuddling with Danielle. No, she mustn’t go to that dark place. She had cookies to bake and a tree to decorate. She also had a couple of special gifts to wrap so they’d be ready for morning. Focus on this moment, she told herself. Then focus on the next, and the next. That was the only way to avoid the abyss called grief.

  Lunch consisted of simple deli meat and cheese sandwiches, chips, and a dill pickle spear. Then she and Aaron wrestled with four strings of white twinkling lights. Once Izzie flipped the switch and the tree was lit, the three of them hung shiny glass balls on the branches. Aaron lifted his daughter so she could place the star on the very top branch. Christmas music played softly, and Christy witnessed Aaron holding back emotional tears as Izzie stretched out her arms, the shiny aluminum star wobbling to and fro, until she found the perfect position.

  This would be the last time he would hold his little girl as she placed the star on top of the Christmas tree. Christy knew what he was thinking and feeling. She’d been there, lived through the same panicky fear, the same helplessness and sadness.

  She had experienced so many of those moments with Danielle during the last six months of her life. When parents are first told that their child is suffering from what might turn out to be a terminal illness, it was only natural for them to grasp hope in a strangle hold. Doctors are sometimes wrong. Tests sometimes show erroneous results. Parents were adept at lying to themselves.

  But, slowly, reality set in and hope was swallowed up by fear and desperation. That’s when every moment became precious. Each activity, special or mundane, offered an opportunity to capture a memory that would later be cherished, deemed more valuable than gold.

  A lump rose in Christy’s throat, but she swallowed around it, moving to give Aaron a quick hug before patting Izzie’s knee.

  “It looks beautiful,” she told both of them. The strength in her voice surprised her. “We did a great job.”

  Izzie wiggled out of her dad’s arms and raced to the far side of the room to take in their handiwork from a different angle. “It is beautiful,” she exclaimed. “Mommy always liked white lights on the tree. She said it made the tree look like it was in a snow globe.”

  “She knew what she was talking about.” Christy smiled.

  Izzie beamed. “I’ll be right back,” she said, and then promptly hurried down the hallway toward her bedroom.

  “Where’s she going?” Aaron asked Christy.

  The Chipmunks’ rendition of All I Want for Christmas filled the air, and both adults grinned at the silly song.

  Christy shook her head. “I don’t know what she’s after. But I really should start baking the molasses cookies Izzie wanted for tomorrow.”

  He reached out and stopped her with a light touch on the arm when she started past him.

  She looked up at him, a question in her eyes.

  “I know this is none of my business,” he said softly. “But it’s been driving me nuts, and I have to ask. What did you mean earlier about your husband? When you said he wasn’t able to stay.”

  Christy blinked. There had been a time when she’d been so angry with Dave that she wouldn’t have been able to talk about her marriage or her divorce without the use of expletives and a furious tone, but time and distance had rubbed all the hard edges off her outrage.

  “Dave couldn’t cope with Danielle’s diagnosis,” she said. “He couldn’t handle the doctor visits, the hospital stays, the tests. I never would have described him as a weak person—” she shifted her weight from one foot to the other as she tried to formulate some sort of excuse for her ex’s behavior “—but you know how tough it is.” She shrugged. “Some people can handle it. Some people can’t.”

  Aaron frowned. “You mean…”

  “He left us, Aaron.” Her mouth went flat. “Oh, at first he tried. I’ll give him that. He moved out because he said he couldn’t take seeing our daughter so sick every single day. He came to the hospital a time or two. But as Danielle’s condition worsened, he just… stopped.” Her sigh was resigned. “He stopped calling. Stopped visiting…” Christy didn’t know what else to say, so she lifted one shoulder, hoping to convey that there was really nothing left to say.

  “What kind of man could leave his family at a time like that?”

  It was clear Aaron didn’t expect her to answer.

  Then he added, “What an ass.”

  “Yeah, well…” She just let the response trail off.

  Aaron didn’t
need to know that Dave had showed up at Danielle’s funeral, marched his sorry self right up to stand beside her, and had accepted every ounce of sympathy he could wring out of friends and family members. Christy thought the ire smoldering inside her through the service would burn her alive. And then he’d had the audacity to suggest he move back home so the two of them could start over. Never in her life had she felt more like punching someone in the face. She hadn’t become violent, but she had called him every name she could think of before telling him to leave her home and never contact her again.

  Aaron placed one hand on her shoulder and cupped her jaw with the other. “You must have felt so alone.”

  Christy pinched her top lip between her teeth, the pain keeping her focused on the here and now. She just nodded.

  Then Aaron’s features twisted with anguish. “Did your little girl know? Was Danielle aware that her father abandoned her? And you?”

  “I used every excuse I could think of,” Christy told him. “But you know how kids are. They sense so much more than we give them credit for.” Then her eyes did well up as she admitted, “When she left me, she was calling for her daddy. He was all she wanted.”

  Aaron whispered, “The bastard.”

  A tear trailed down her face and Christy smiled ruefully. “I wasn’t able to make Danielle’s last wish come true. I couldn’t make Dave appear at my baby’s bedside. That’s what pushed me to offer to come here. So I could help you with Izzie’s.”

  The distress that had him calling her ex detestable names just a second before drained from his handsome face. The emotion that took its place was powerful.

  “Christy,” he whispered, leaning forward until he was mere inches from her. “You’re such a sweetheart. I… I don’t know what to say.”

  Was he going to kiss her? For one crazy moment, she wished he would. Feeling his lips on hers would certainly be a distraction from the turmoil brought on by dredging up the past.

  He’d called her sweetheart. No, he’d said she was a sweetheart. Big difference. Huge difference.