All Hearts Come Home for Christmas

by Annalisa Russo

  Jillian laid eyes on the beautiful concoction the waiter placed in front of her. “Holy cow. What is this?”

  Without missing a step, the waiter made a grand flourish with his hand, as if introducing a famous celebrity. “Warm banana cake with crème anglaise, toffee sauce, and French vanilla ice cream, mademoiselle.” He backed away slowly.

  Tristán took one look at her face and said, “Don’t think. Just eat.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Wow. Snow, Harborside, and The Christmas Carol performed by Minneapolis’s most talented actors. How in the world did you get tickets at the last minute?” Jillian said as she and Tristán approached her front door. “You said we were going to the movies.”

  Tristán smiled and held out his hand for her key. “You always loved the play. I remember how many times you dragged me to Green Earth’s local version. I think I know every word of the dialogue. ‘You may be an undigested bit of beef, a blot of mustard, a fragment of underdone potato. There’s more of gravy than of grave about you, whatever you are.’ ”

  Jillian laughed. “Yep. Nothing like a good Scrooge. Mean, ornery, but redeemable.” Tristán opened her door but stepped back. “Do you want to come in?” she asked warily. “I have hot chocolate and some Irish Cream to doctor it, if you want.” She waggled her eyebrows at him and made him laugh.

  “I’d love to, but I promised Gracie I’d be home by midnight.” He gestured with a tip of his head toward his house and the light in the living room.

  “Okay…well, thanks for a wonderful—”

  “Shhh…” He put a finger over her lips. “I need to say something to you, Jillie.”

  When he took her by the shoulders, she got goose bumps. Was he planning to kiss her? Or was she setting herself up for disappointment—again? Her heart did a little dance.

  “I missed you,” he continued. “I didn’t know how much until I moved back here.” He pulled her in for a hug, and then released her to run a hand over her hair. “I’ve made a lot of mistakes. Sadie wasn’t one of them, but you, Jillie…I hurt you when I grabbed for the brass ring, and as long as I live, I’ll always regret it. I’ve never said ‘I love you’ to anyone, not even Abuelita. Living back here, in her house, without her, has made me curse my inability to express my feelings. I’m not like that with Sadie, thank God. She taught me what love looks like.” He tucked a strand of hair behind Jillian’s ear. “I won’t insult you by saying what I felt for you back then was love. I was too selfish to be capable of the emotion, but I can tell you, when I’m with you, my heart speaks to me. If you’re willing, I’d like to see if what I feel, or what you feel, will lead to anything. What do you say, Jillie? Can we give this a try?”

  Jillian covered the hand he left on her shoulder with her own and squeezed. Tristán Solano had finally uttered the words she had longed to hear since she fell in love with him so long ago. And she couldn’t, she just couldn’t bring herself to say the words he needed to hear.

  Did she even want to try? When your heart gets broken, sometimes it’s risky to put yourself out there again. What if it didn’t work out for him in her tiny town of Green Earth, Minnesota? What if he decided to join up with the band again? She had a life here, a job she loved, friends—good friends—and family. Her head reeled as if she’d finished off a bottle of champagne.

  “I…need some time to think about what you’ve said, Tris. This is…a little sudden and unexpected, and I’m not sure how I feel about—”

  “Is it Sadie?”

  “Oh, gosh, no!” She grabbed the lapels of his overcoat. “She’s the most precious little girl I’ve ever met. I’d be lucky to have her in my life.”

  Tristán wrapped his arms around her. “Now, if I can only get you to think of me in those terms.” He slid the fingers of one hand through her hair and around to the back of her head. “Jillie, I’m going to kiss you now, so if you have an objection, start talking.” He leaned in until she could feel the warmth of his breath against her lips.

  “Ah, no…no objection,” she managed to squeak out. Then she closed her eyes, and his lips came down on hers in the loveliest way. She felt everything—his hand anchoring her head, the roughness of his woolen overcoat as she twisted the lapels in her fists, the warmth of his hand as he slid it down the side of her neck, and the pounding of her heart in her chest—holy moly. As first-date kisses went—and after eight years, Cleo was right, this was a first date—the kiss invited and enticed, but the closed mouth also implied You’re safe with me.

  The feel of his fingers on her face made her ache, made her hunger, and jogged the memory. It was still there. The myriad sensations that exploded every time they came together. He had to feel it, didn’t he—the flash, the flare-up?

  After several toe-curling minutes, he moaned into her mouth, released her lips, and rested his forehead against hers. He stepped back and made a close study of her face. “I love when you smile and your dimples pop out. Triple D,” he said, tapping each of them with his fingertip.

  She exhaled heavily. “Thanks, by the way, for that unfortunate nickname. It followed me all through school.”

  “I think it finally fits,” he noted, with a chuckle.

  Jillian snorted. “Hardly. But I forgive you.” Then she realized what she said. Could she? Could she really forgive and forget? Living with the pain of rejection for so many years had taken something out of her. She’d have to let it simmer a while.

  Tristán drew her in once more to briefly touch his lips to hers, and then dropped the key in her hand and started down the steps. “Good night, Jillie. We’ll talk tomorrow, okay?”

  “Ah…right…ah, sure, we’ll talk tomorrow.” She stepped into her foyer and watched as he spoke to the limo driver and money crossed hands. He waved at her as he walked backward for a few steps and then jogged the rest of the way to his front door.

  Jillian closed the door and took a deep breath. She leaned back against the door and closed her eyes until she felt her cat rub along her leg. “Buster. What am I going to do about Tristán?”

  Jillian guessed the tabby’s persistent meowing wasn’t a constructive comment as much as it was a request to fill his dish.

  ****

  She tossed in bed for almost two hours before she sat up and scrubbed her hands over her face. Would she ever get to sleep? Not only did the man invade her dreams, now he was responsible for her insomnia. She fluffed up her down pillow and was about to roll over and try again when she heard the tinkle of jingle bells. She bolted upright.

  “You gonna sleep all night?” a figure said from the side of her bed. Melah was covered from head to toe in what seemed to be a red velvet jumpsuit. All she needed was a gray beard and a Santa hat and she could give Macy’s Santa a run for his money.

  “What time is it?” Jillian tried to focus on her bedside clock, which was blinking on and off. “What’s wrong with my clock?” She pushed a few buttons, to no avail.

  “Nothin’. You don’t need to know the time. You always get so worried about losing sleep when I’m around.”

  “What are you wearing? It looks like a jumpsuit, or a tunic, maybe.” She reached over to finger the material. “Wow. I’ve never seen fabric like this, like it could melt in my hand. What is it? Cashmere? Velvet?”

  “Nope. Maybe somebody here might invent it. Feels pretty good, don’t it?” Melah smiled as she ran her hand over the wide sleeve.

  “I guess you’re here because we have to go somewhere,” Jillian said. “I don’t care if we do. I can’t sleep anyway.”

  “You cannot brain today. You gots the dumb ’cause of Tristán. He’s tellin’ you the truth about his feelings, Boo. And you have feelings for him, too. You’re just afraid.”

  “So? In the same circumstances, you would be too. How do I know it will work out? What if I open my heart, and he changes his mind? I don’t need that kind of disappointment again.”

  “Won’t know unless you try, Cher.” Before Jillian could respond, Melah added, �
��I’m just sayin’.” The woman rose off the bed and gestured toward the window. “I brung you a present. Go see for yourself.”

  Jillian slid off the bed and traipsed to the window to peer out. “Yikes! It’s a sleigh, exactly like the one at Harborside. Where did you get it? You didn’t—”

  “I just borrowed it for a while. C’mon, we have to go.”

  Jillian looked down at her dancing elves pajamas. “I don’t suppose I have time to change.”

  Melah laughed. “Ha, funny. No need to change. You look cute in those, Boo. Very festive.”

  Jillian followed Melah out her bedroom door, grateful the woman actually used the door and not the poof thing she did on occasion.

  “I can poof if I want to,” Melah said, reading her mind again, “but I figured you’d enjoy a ride on this here sleigh, on account of it’s Christmas and all.” When they got to the porch, she held out one arm to stop Jillian from proceeding down the front steps. “Hold up. I forgot something.” She took a hard look at the sky.

  “What are we waiting for? The sky is as clear as it can be. No rain. No snow. A quiet night.” Jillian breathed in the crisp, cold air. She could smell the faint scent of pine from the large blue spruce in Mrs. Daily’s front yard.

  “I forgot the snow.” Melah mumbled a few words under her breath.

  Within minutes, the sky opened and poured out what had to be several inches of snow. In no time, the white, pristine stuff covered the ground. Frozen crystals caught the moonlight and turned to millions of sparkles. “How beautiful,” Jillian whispered, holding out her hands to catch a few flakes. “Will the snow still be here tomorrow, or is it only for tonight’s show?”

  “What show? I have a job to do. The least I could do was make the night Christmasy. You like it, right, Cher?”

  “I love it.” Jillian headed toward the red-and-gold-painted sleigh and matched pair of white horses. “Where to?” She hopped onto the sleigh deftly and picked up the reins.

  “Oh, no, you don’t. I drive. Got to bring this sleigh back unscathed.”

  “Unscathed? Fancy word, Melah.”

  “I can talk pretty when I want to. Now, hold on. We’re going to take the elevator.”

  ****

  Melah parked the sleigh outside a large building in a shopping mall outside of town. The snow drifted down peacefully and sparkled in the streetlight. Jillian sighed audibly. “When Sadie wakes up, she’ll want to make snow angels. Sometimes I wish I were a kid again and could feel that snowy day excitement.”

  “You can still feel it. Just look inside.” She yanked on Jillian’s sleeve. “C’mon. We’re goin’ in. Do you recognize this place?”

  “Sure. The lawyer who handled Mom and Dad’s will has an office here. I had to sign some papers up on the fourth floor. What are we doing here? It’s the middle of the night. The place is closed. We aren’t going to break and enter again, are we? I don’t feel like getting arrested for Christmas.”

  “Don’t you trust me by now, Jillie girl?” Melah hitched the horses to a bicycle rack in front of the building and strode toward the front door.

  “Do you have a key to get in? Oh, sorry,” she said, after Melah turned around and shot her a patient-as-Job look. “I forgot who I was dealing with.” She traipsed after the woman, who simply opened the door and stood aside, waiting for her.

  “Oh, no, after you. I insist.” Jillian took the door and waved Melah into the building’s lobby. The place was as impressive as she remembered, with a bank of four elevators to the left of the wide entrance. “Okay…no alarm screaming and no one behind the reception desk—thank goodness. You said something about an elevator?”

  “Don’t worry. Goodness set this up. We go by the third floor first.”

  “But Mr. Burnett’s office was on the fourth floor. I remember distinctly because his address was 444 Clement Avenue on the fourth floor.”

  “Right.” Melah pushed the button for the third floor. “We’re not here to sign legal papers. I need you to see something.”

  They rode the elevator to three and disembarked. The large space held multiple offices, all dimly lit and locked up for the night. “What am I supposed to see?” Jillian whispered.

  “Ha! Now you’re whisperin’ again. You’re too funny. C’mon, this way.” She crooked a finger at Jillian and pointed to a long hallway with offices on either side.

  A lovely carved mahogany door stood regally at the end of the hallway. The door’s glass window was painted in gold letters. Jillian read the words aloud: “Donagon Flannery, Flannery and Associates, Wealth Management. Huh. Mr. Flannery must be the head honcho.”

  “Yep. Remember that, Jillie. Now we ride up the elevator to the fourth floor.

  “Is this about my parents and their will? Because if it is, that’s all settled.”

  “Nope. Just watch.”

  The elevator doors whooshed open, and Jillian plastered herself against the back wall of the elevator. “Whoa!” She watched herself enter the small space and push the button for the lobby. “Is that me?” she managed to squeak out, pointing to the figure who held a manila file against her chest and hummed along with the elevator music. “I can’t take any more of this. I’m going out of my mind.”

  “You’re fine. Sure, that’s you, the day you signed the papers. See the manila envelope? Remember? Now settle down. What happens next is important.” Melah leaned back against the side wall and crossed her arms over her red-velvet-covered bosom.

  The elevator didn’t go immediately to the lobby. The doors slid open at the third floor, and a man in a suit got on. His hair was rumpled, as if he’d shoved his fingers though it multiple times. He shot a brief glance in her direction and then shoved his fists deep into his jacket pockets. The elevator doors slid closed. The man muttered to himself, shook his head, and set his lips in a straight line. Jillian—strange Jillian—moved to the side of the elevator to avoid the agitated man.

  “I remember.” Jillian whispered again. “He was really angry about something or someone.”

  Melah acknowledged her with a nod.

  Jillian felt the pull of the elevator on its way to the lobby. Then the man began to swear. He muttered several curses despite Jillian’s presence.

  “Please don’t say that,” she heard her other self say softly. The man jerked around to glare at her for a few tense moments and then the elevator door whooshed open at the ground level, where they all exited. The other Jillian scurried out of the building with her manila envelope, and the man stalked toward a battered sedan parked along the street. No one noticed the red sleigh or the two horses tied to the bicycle rack.

  “C’mon. We done here,” Melah said. She pulled on Jillian’s arm.

  “Wait a minute! That’s it? What am I supposed to learn from this little episode? The man was obviously upset about something, and all I could think of was how upset my Nonna would have been to hear the Lord’s name used in vain. I had to say something. I think I upset him more. Did I?” She looked to Melah for direction.

  “Get in the sleigh, Jillie, and I’ll explain.”

  When Jillian stepped onto the running board and settled onto the driver’s bench, she found it toasty warm on her backside. “I wish I had some of your talents, or at least a garage. My bottom doesn’t thaw out until I reach school, most days.” Melah handed her a steaming cup of hot chocolate with a mountain of tiny marshmallows. “Not bad, for a cook from N’awlins,” she said. “What’s next? Beignets?”

  “I make great beignets, but not today. Why did you tell the man not to swear?”

  “I told you. Nonna didn’t like to hear anybody curse. She always said it hurt her heart. Then she’d pray for the person who swore, that he’d change his ways.”

  “Did you do that, too?” Melah gave the reins a shake, and the horses took off at a trot. The bells jingled merrily. The full moon reflected off the glistening snow and cast shadows from the large snow-drenched oaks lining the street.

  “I picked up the habi
t from her, so I might have. I don’t remember. Why?” She snuggled deeper into the wool blankets that covered her lap and sipped her chocolate.

  “The man in the elevator was Donagon Flannery. He was in the middle of a bad day. His rent was overdue, he’d just lost a big customer, and his girlfriend took a powder with all the money in the cookie jar.”

  “The Donagon Flannery? The one from the third floor? The boss? How’d he become the boss if a few years ago he was sinking like a boat with a hole in the bottom?”

  “When you spoke to him, Jillie, you turned him around.”

  “I only said four words to him in the elevator.”

  “They were the ones he needed to hear. See, he’d always been a good boy, but he lost his way. You chastised him for cursin’, and he remembered his mama woulda been angry with him, too. He left the building and drove around for a while to try and make some sense of his bad luck. Finally, he found himself outside the church he used to go by as a kid. He went in and asked to talk to Father Owen. He’d been an altar boy there when he was young. The good father set him back on the right path. Donagon Flannery turned his life around in two years, four months, and six days. Now, he’s the boss, and his business helps people with their financial needs.

  “When he speaks to different groups, he always tells the story about the woman in the elevator who changed his life.” Melah pulled up the sleigh in front of Jillian’s house. The horses blew out their nostrils, tossed their heads, and shook their jingle-belled reins.

  “Hmm…I guess there’s a lesson here somewhere.” Jillian handed the cup back to Melah and jumped down from the sleigh. “Do you keep track of all this stuff?”

  Melah laughed. “No, not me, Shug.” She yelled, “Ye-hah!” and the horses took off at a trot down the street.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Buster bit her on the head, another one of his bad habits when he wanted her attention. Jillian batted him away and rolled over to hug the pillow on the other side of the bed. He responded by swiping at her hand and meowing loudly.