Baby Christmas

by Pamela Browning

  Rachel tore at the paper with the air of wanting to get the task over with. The gift for Chrissy was a rattle, a clear doughnut-shaped one with sparkles in it.

  “That’s very nice, Joe,” she said.

  “Now this one.” He handed her a larger package.

  Rachel opened it; it was a bird mobile to hang above the crib. “You wouldn’t have had to buy Chrissy these things,” she said. “She’ll be gone soon.” She sounded troubled.

  “Still. A baby’s first Christmas should be special.”

  She looked at him curiously. “You really mean that, don’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  She shook her head. In the language of head shakes, he wasn’t sure if it meant You’re a real sap or maybe What a nut case or even I don’t understand you.

  “I think,” he said, “there’s a present here for you.” He reached a hand around the back of her head, and when he again held it in front of her face, it was balled into a fist.

  “Open,” he said.

  “I don’t know what you’re doing,” she said.

  “Bringing a little magic into your life. I wish I’d had a way to wrap this. I ran out of paper.”

  Keeping her eyes on his face and looking distinctly skeptical, Rachel pried open his fingers one by one. Inside was a can opener, punch type, exactly like the one Ynez Garcia had broken.

  “You’re underwhelmed, right? You can be honest.” He grinned at her, and she looked for a moment as if she were unsure how to act. Then she laughed.

  “I’d have gotten you something better, but there wasn’t time.”

  “This is exactly what I needed. Thanks, Jœ. You shouldn’t have given me anything.”

  “I…well, I noticed that you don’t have any presents around. You’re supposed to have presents when it’s Christmas.”

  She seemed, in that moment, slightly regretful. “Mimi is going to bring me something from Asia, something special. And I don’t have any other relatives—except my mother, of course, and she isn’t in any condition to go out and shop for the holidays.”

  “That’s too bad for you,” he said, thinking of the rollicking camaraderie of a Marzinski Christmas. Dinner at his parents’ house must have seemed noisy and extremely busy to her.

  “Well, I don’t know,” she said, but then she was all business. “I’d better get to work. The remote control to the television is in the drawer of the coffee table, and if you want something to eat or drink, check the fridge. Formula is already mixed, and there are plenty of diapers in the bedroom.” She took the can opener into the kitchen where he heard her putting it into the dishwasher.

  Then she went into her office, treating him to a worthwhile view of her well-rounded backside in the process, and he could hear her playing back messages on her answering machine.

  Joe sank down on the couch and regarded the Christmas tree with pleasure. The tinsel twisted this way and that, magically reflecting the tiny tree lights. Chrissy’s presents were still under it, and even though they’d been unwrapped, their bright colors lent an air of festivity to the room. He was glad he’d brought the tree and set it up, even though he wasn’t sure Rachel had appreciated or understood the effort.

  He turned on the TV, finding a football game and settling back against the couch cushions to watch it. In the next room he heard Rachel’s office chair squeak as she sat down, and he heard her turn on her printer and open a package of paper.

  He’d spent better Christmas nights. And, he reflected as he zeroed in on an instant replay, he’d spent worse.

  JOE MUST HAVE DOZED, the effects of eating a huge dinner and not having enough sleep the night before. He woke up to the late-night newscast, some announcer acting smarmy and all-knowing as he narrated a holiday piece about Santa’s not having enough chimneys to climb down in South Florida because most houses didn’t have a fireplace.

  It wasn’t the words that caught his attention but the Santa who was being interviewed. Joe could have sworn that this particular Santa was the one who had paid them a visit last night, crescent-shaped birthmark and everything.

  “Hey, Rachel,” he called.

  She answered from her office, “I’m busy, Joe.”

  He got to his feet. “Come see if you recognize this guy. I think he’s the one who came last night.”

  Rachel appeared in the doorway to her office holding a sheaf of papers. She was wearing glasses and squinted through the lenses at the screen. It made her look adorable, that squint.

  “Doesn’t he look like the same Santa?” Joe asked.

  “Not sure.” She pulled off her glasses, sending a shimmer through that glorious hair, but by then the newscaster was wrapping up the program.

  “Well, I think he was the same guy. Strange.”

  Rachel heaved a sigh and rubbed the bridge of her nose with thumb and forefinger. “What time is it?”

  “After eleven. Why don’t you take a break?”

  “Once I finish printing out this report, I will.”

  That was when Chrissy woke up and started fussing. ‘I’ll take care of her,” Joe said as Rachel, who seemed to be functioning on automatic pilot, headed toward the bedroom and the baby. He grabbed her shoulders from behind and steered her instead in the direction of her office. Her shoulders felt narrow and delicate, and he wanted so much to touch them under her blouse. To brush aside the neckline and slide his fingers beneath the fabric, to cup his hands to their contours. He felt a shiver run through him at the thought.

  It was almost as if she felt it, too, because she jumped and put distance between herself and him.

  She was already in her office before he could think of anything to do or say to her, and besides, the baby was crying. Wondering what this would all come to in the end, Joe went and picked Chrissy up out of her crib.

  He’d had, he reflected as he plunked himself down in front of the Christmas tree to feed the baby, several conversations with various brothers-in-law about how babies managed to cry at just the wrong time, but he’d never quite believed that it could be that bad. In this case it probably wasn’t, but he now understood what Greg and Reggie had been talking about, and he even managed some sympathy for Jackson who had so pointedly referred to the problem at dinner earlier.

  So what did people do?

  “You sure are a lot of trouble,” he said affectionately to Chrissy, who was staring up at him with those eyes that put him in mind of someone, and he wished he could think of who it was. Maybe she looked like one of his nieces or nephews when they were tiny—that must be it. They all grew up so fast, and sometimes it was as if they changed overnight, burgeoning into sturdy children before Joe had even become used to the way they looked as babies.

  That would happen with Chrissy, too. Only he wouldn’t be around to see it.

  The thought gave him a pang, disturbingly in the region of his heart. And he’d thought Rachel was too attached to the kid! That showed just how easy it was to develop feelings for a baby.

  “Joe?”

  He looked up to see Rachel standing beside him. “She’s fallen asleep,” he said.

  “I’ll put her back to bed.” Rachel scooped the child from his arms, and even though he wanted to, he didn’t follow her into the bedroom.

  When she came back, he noticed how tired she looked. Not as tired as last night, maybe, but pale-blue half circles rimmed her lower eyelids, and he thought he detected a slight slump to her shoulders.

  Before she could disappear back into her office, he took her hand and drew her closer to the Christmas tree. Suddenly he wanted to get her out of here, to take her someplace where he could impress upon her the fact that he thought she was special beyond words. But they couldn’t go anywhere; they had Chrissy.

  “I hear that eggnog calling to me from the refrigerator,” Rachel said, surprising him. “Want some?”

  “Sure,” he told her. He watched as she turned and went into the kitchen, and the swirl of her skirt made him notice the neat turn of her ankles. He k
ept finding new things about her to admire. That had never happened to him before. Where women were concerned, it was usually just the opposite—he found things about them that turned him off.

  He decided that what he needed was fresh air, a fresh outlook, so he threw open the sliding-glass doors and stepped out on the balcony. The scene was still enchanting, with lights across the water and cars moving along the street below with red taillights, making them look like moving Christmas decorations. Last night—but he didn’t want a recap of last night. He didn’t want to make her uncomfortable, he didn’t want to go beyond what she thought proper.

  “Joe?”

  “Out here,” he called, and she came outside carrying two cups.

  She handed him one, and with his free hand he pulled a chaise longue close to a chair. “Let’s sit down and relax for a moment.”

  He took the chair, and she allowed herself to be pulled down next to him on the chaise longue. He was taken with the notion that if he got to know Rachel, really got to know her, he’d understand better what was going on in her head.

  He sipped the eggnog, which she had spiked liberally with rum from Mimi’s bar. How to find out what he needed to know? How to get her to open up to him?

  He pondered this for a while, during which time Rachel said nothing. He glanced over at her out of the corners of his eyes. She was sitting with her head thrown back and resting against the cushion of the chair, and he was struck all over again with how utterly beautiful she was. And how alone. He supposed it made some sense for her to be alone if she was house-sitting here and hadn’t had a chance to meet any other young singles, but! how could Rachel stand working alone, living alone and, assuming that she did have some recreational time, spending that alone, too? Alone time was a concept that no Marzinski would ever be able to understand. “Rachel?” “Hmm?”

  “You’re so quiet, I thought maybe you were asleep.” “No, merely resting my eyes. Staring at the computer screen creates eyestrain.”

  “Don’t you ever take a vacation?” She laughed ruefully. “I think this stint in Florida is my vacation.”

  “When are you supposed to go back to New Jersey?” “Mimi wants me to stay. She says she likes my company, but I think this place would be too small for us both, over a long period of time. We’d either have to share the bedroom or I’d have to camp out in my office on the futon.”

  The idea of Rachel’s leaving gave him a twisted feeling in his gut. “Why don’t you get your own place in this building?” he asked.

  “I have an apartment in Lakemont.”

  “You can’t like the weather there.”

  “No, I guess I can’t. After living in Florida, even North Florida, I’m spoiled.”

  “Why’d you move from Florida to New Jersey in the first place?” he wanted to know, suddenly curious about everything that might give him a handle on her.

  Rachel glanced away, but before her face turned, he recognized the familiar bleakness there.

  “I…I don’t really want to talk about it, Joe,” she said in a low tone, and he knew then that he had somehow overstepped his bounds.

  Advance and retreat. That’s the way this had gone from the beginning. But he wasn’t discouraged. He’d try for a change in subject.

  “Well, another Christmas is over. I guess Mom and Dad have probably dug out from all the wrapping paper and put away the good china by this time.” He paused. “What did you think of my family?” he asked.

  She shifted and angled toward him. “Lively. Fun. The kind of family I wish I’d had. You can’t imagine how lonely it was being an only child and how difficult it is now to have sole responsibility for my mother.”

  Joe reflected on this. “Yeah, it must be hard.”

  “I like your parents, Joe.”

  “You know, so do I. Right about now they’re probably relaxing on the porch, holding hands and chuckling over the antics of the kids.”

  “How nice that they still hold hands,” Rachel murmured.

  “They’re both romantics at heart. One Christmas, I remember—” He stopped, thinking that perhaps this story was too private to tell Rachel, but she looked so open and expectant that he wanted to share it with her.

  He started over. “I went over to their house about this time of night one Christmas a few years ago. I’d left my presents there when I went out on a call and decided to drop by and pick them up. The house was open, but I couldn’t find my parents anywhere, so I looked out the back door and there they were, all cuddled together under the stars in my old sleeping bag. I tiptoed away so they never knew I saw them, but they were totally wrapped up in each other—well, I guess you know what I mean.”

  He could have sworn that a slow blush was working its way up Rachel’s neck to her cheeks. “I…I think that’s sweet, Joe,” she said.

  “So do I. Someday I hope I’ll have as close a marriage as they do. They’ve been through a lot, raised six kids, and they’re still like two lovebirds.”

  Rachel looked pensive, and in the instant when her eyes met his, he saw something there—a barely concealed longing, a willingness that he hadn’t sensed until now. Despite his best intentions, despite the fact that he hadn’t intended to do anything of the sort, he leaned closer and kissed her on the mouth.

  She was surprised at first, he could tell, but then her lips were soft and pliant. Her mouth opened beneath his as he deepened the kiss. He thought at first that she would quickly put an end to it, after which he supposed he’d go home. But she didn’t pull away. He half expected the baby to wail or fuss, or the phone to ring, or someone to appear at the door. But nothing like that happened, and he made himself stop worrying that it would.

  It was awkward sitting like this, and he moved forward, the better to kiss her. He had in mind a few tentative caresses, then some more caresses not so tentative. But for now there was kissing, and the sweet receptive-ness that met the thrust and parry of his tongue. He was amazed when her arms slid up and around his neck, pulling him closer, and he felt her body softening in his embrace as if she would like him to do more than merely kiss her.

  Which he would like to do. But not like this, with her in the chaise and him on the chair.

  If he moved over to the chaise, that would interrupt what they were doing and she might very well use that momentary lull to express doubt. However, he was very uncomfortable. Very uncomfortable.

  Carefully he disengaged his lips from hers and moved from his chair to the chaise. He was facing her, and it was only a second or two before he was able to recapture her lips. It went so smoothly that he was able to acknowledge to himself how much he wanted her. And that would have been his real Christmas present to her on this Christmas night, to let her know that he desired her and only her, to tell her how he would take her to bed and what he would do there, and also to promise her how much she would like it.

  Yet there wasn’t much time for talking. He was too busy feathering tiny kisses down the long line of her neck to the hollow of her throat, curving his hand around her full breast, glorying in the way her nipple swelled to his touch.

  He loved the taste of her skin, salty and sweet and fragrant with a hint of jasmine. He loved her hands on the back of his neck and the way her fingers wove through the longer hair at his nape. He loved the way her body pressed against his, all pleasure and perfection. He loved—uh-oh, was it possible that he loved her? Loved Rachel?

  He hardly knew her. He’d met her only a little more than twenty-four hours ago. He’d never been in love before, if this was what love was like, this crazy, heart-pounding, willful feeling, a sense of being out of control.

  And Joe Marzinski was never out of control. He knew how to control everything from frozen swimming pool pumps to stuck elevators, from personnel glitches to irate condo owners. But he had the distinct feeling that he wasn’t able to control the most important thing of all—himself. Because for two cents—maybe even less—he would tell Rachel how he felt about her.

  And that
would blow this budding relationship—if that was even what it was—sky high. Take one overardent suitor, take one reticent woman who hadn’t shown a thimbleful of interest in him, and you had the makings of a romantic catastrophe.

  “Joe?” A puzzled Rachel had pulled away and was staring up at him in the starlight, a host of questions in her eyes. She had realized that he was having second thoughts, no doubt, and couldn’t understand why he had stopped kissing her.

  “That’s me,” was all he could manage to say, trying to be lighthearted, trying to think, when all he wanted to do was to take this to completion right here on this flimsy chaise longue. He wanted to make her his own, and he knew that would be exactly the wrong thing to do if he hoped that they could one day care for each other the way he hoped they could.

  “Is anything wrong?” Her eyes were wide and luminous, not to mention perplexed.

  For once he prayed for the baby to cry or the phone to ring or for someone to be at the door. He didn’t know what he could say and still be honest about things. He could hardly tell this skittishly inclined person that he thought he might be in love with her. But because he might be in love with her, he didn’t want to make up some lie. He didn’t think that would be a promising way to start out a relationship.

  He kissed her on the forehead, very gently. He gathered her hands in his.

  “Rachel,” he began, but for a moment he didn’t think he could go on. She was looking at him so tremulously and with such a sweet expression that he almost lost heart.

  But no, his heart was exactly why he was going to speak these words. He cleared his throat and steeled himself against whatever emotion he would engender. It could be anger or perhaps dislike or even rejection.

  “Rachel, I think we need to slow down. I really like you a lot, but I’m afraid we’re going too fast.”

  He heard her catch her breath. “For an almost-engaged couple, that’s a peculiar thought,” she said, and at first he thought she was serious. Then he understood that she was only teasing him.