The Widow’s First Kiss

by Scarlett King

  I’m not the only out-of-towner in here tonight, though. A couple in their early thirties sits in the corner in high-end down coats like the ones Lorena wants—but in drab colors, the woman in olive green and the man in navy. Her red braid glimmers like copper in the semi-dark. He holds a beer he doesn’t drink in one long-fingered hand and looks back at her with occasional sad-puppy eyes when he thinks she isn’t looking.

  Couple troubles. They seem universal sometimes, though they vary in circumstances. I look away politely as the burly, Navy-tattooed bartender comes up to take my order.

  I order my hot brandy—a toddy this time, with honey and lemon. The bartender throws a gob of honey the size of a golf ball in the bottom, and I suddenly remember how carefully Lorena handled her last tiny bit of honey while serving tea. I wish I hadn’t been forced from her side tonight. I wanted to show her that despite the brief amount of time we’ve known each other that I’m already very interested in her—and in making her life better.

  I distract myself by looking around more—and am startled when I realize I’ve overlooked a nearby familiar face: Dr. Whitman’s. He’s perched two stools down from my seat and looks over at me with his small eyes twinkling, a smile hidden somewhere in his beard. “Trouble at home?” he rumbles, his booming voice a perfect fit for his Saint Nick looks.

  “Trouble came to my home. My family’s great.” I turn to him and offer a hand. “Merry Christmas, Dr. Whitman. How are you and your son?”

  He lets out a laugh that he cuts off quickly, as if aware that his voice is big and there are men with alcohol-induced headaches squinting in the shadows of this place. “Well, quite well. It’s Jack’s favorite time of year, of course. I’m sure he’ll be hitting the slopes as soon as his holiday duties are finished.”

  “Holiday duties?” The Whitmans are more than eccentric; sometimes they can be downright cryptic.

  “Oh, nothing serious. Decorations, arrangements, meetings with family. All the things you’d probably expect.” He smiles broadly and scoops up his small glass of schnapps, savoring a small sip. “My son’s flighty, but responsible when it matters.”

  He looks over at the couple in the corner, who appear to be surreptitiously watching us. “Friends of yours?” I ask quietly.

  He chuckles and shakes his head. “No, nothing like that at all. I seem to have attracted some curiosity-seekers again.”

  “Huh.” I look back at the pair. They certainly interact with each other like a couple. “I just thought they were out on a date.”

  “Well they should be on a date,” he grumbles good-naturedly. “There’s not enough romance in this world any more. Even with mistletoe everywhere, some pairs just refuse to smooch. It’s a damn shame.”

  I think wistfully of that lingering kiss with Lorena and nod. “I think you’re absolutely right.”

  We talk and drink for a little while, and I’m two toddies in and starting to relax before Andrea finds us. We’ve been talking about my indecision over what to get Lorena on such short notice, trying to sort out what I can get her that will really impress her. Dr. Whitman is good at making me laugh, and better at finishing his drinks. He loves his schnapps.

  I’m smiling in the middle of a joke when the door bangs open and Andrea stalks in, bundled in silver fox fur, scowling like an angry mother who has just caught her misbehaving son. She sweeps her glaring gaze around like a spotlight as she stands in the doorway until the bartender yells, “Close the fucking door!” She squeaks in outrage and stumbles inside.

  I sigh and drop my face into my hand, and Whitman chuckles and pats me on the shoulder with a meaty palm. Then Andrea sees me, and I hear her stiletto heels clack across the floor toward me so loudly that a couple of the drunks grunt in pain. “Where the hell have you been?”

  “Getting away from you, you crazy shrew.” I keep my voice low, but I’m done pretending that I’m all right with her ridiculous behavior. “Why haven’t you left yet?”

  She stares at me, fists on hips, while a few of the others chuckle at her expression. “You should go home,” she snaps. “Your mother is worried.”

  I roll my eyes. “My mother picked up a phone and talked to me herself. She’s fine, and she knows that I am fine. And at this point, she also knows more than a little of what you have been up to.”

  I can feel myself being watched, probably by Whitman, while I confront Andrea as calmly as I can. Inside, I’m wrestling down the kind of rage that will make a man drink too much, drive too fast, and fuck too hard. I have to dial it back.

  “There’s someone else, isn’t there,” she demands. I feel my heart skip a beat. It’s ridiculous to let her nosiness worry me, but just as with my mother, I feel like I have to protect Lorena from the worst side of Andrea’s personality.

  “I don’t see how anything in my life is your business anymore,” I reply in a low, hard voice. “And I don’t understand why you continue to follow me around, pestering me. I can’t even go out and have a drink without your showing up to bother me.”

  I notice her glancing around, as if she’s realizing for the first time that she’s throwing a hissy fit in public. A few bar patrons have phones out and are recording her. “You should still come home now,” she says, much more uncertainly.

  “Think I’m going to finish my drink first,” I tell her coldly.

  She looks around at everyone watching us, her mouth working, and then looks back at me. “You are being difficult for no reason.”

  “Look, Andrea, it’s pretty clear now that either you’re hitting the cocaine and tequila an awful lot, or you’ve lost your damn mind. We broke up over half a year ago. And as of tomorrow, either you leave, or I’ll be staying at a hotel instead of my own mother’s home, just to get away from you.”

  Her eyes widen. I’ve just admitted in front of cameras that we’re quits. It’s something we had both been avoiding—her out of pride, and me because I wanted a break from dating and didn’t want every other woman like her beating down my door.

  “I can’t believe you,” she murmurs, astounded, and I let out a harsh laugh.

  “Oh, I imagine that you can’t. That part of your mind doesn’t seem to be working right now. Just know that if you kick up a tantrum on your way out tomorrow and upset my mother, I really will get a restraining order against you—and I’ll go straight to the press about doing so.”

  Her jaw drops as if I just slapped her. She knows I have her dead to rights. If her diva reputation gets too enormous, she won’t even manage to get a job as a trophy wife. She’ll be kicked off the rich-guy dating market just as she’s been kicked off of modeling agencies’ client lists.

  Without another word, she turns on her heel and stalks out, slamming the door hard behind her.

  Thank God. “Sorry guys,” I call out, and hear a few grumbles and more than a few sympathetic chuckles. I turn to the bartender and order a round for the bar, and the grumbling stops.

  Dr. Whitman clears his throat, and I turn back to his merry face as he lifts his glass. “Nicely done. I imagine she’ll try some parting shot or another, but I believe you took the wind from her sails when you mentioned going public.”

  I smirk and reach for my glass. The toddy’s already cooling. “Well, I’d rather be spending my evening with the young mother I told you about.”

  “Of course you would!” He drains his schnapps and calls out for his free one. “She sounds lovely. And by the way, I think I know how you might make her Christmas just a little bit brighter, since that’s of concern to you. You said that you wanted to surprise her? I’ve thought of the perfect thing, and I may be of help.”

  A weight lifts off of me, and I lift an eyebrow at him. “What did you have in mind?”

  Chapter 7

  Lorena

  “Mommy, Mommy! Wake up!” comes the cry, piercing through muddled dreams of James’s kisses. I flail awake, eyes flying open to a room full of pale, snow-reflected sunlight.

  “Unh,” I manage, and then shake o
ff the cobwebs and look up at the pink-robed sprite bouncing at the side of my bed. She’s not scared; she’s excited. “What’s this about, sweetie? Did it snow again?”

  “No, not yet! Come see the yard!” She grabs me by the hand, and for a moment I fear she’s going to try and drag me out of bed. But then she smiles and backs off. “Come on!”

  I check my watch. Seven thirty. The light trickling in my window still has a faint tinge of peach-pink to it: dawn light. Ugh, it’s not even Christmas yet, I think as I sit up and rub my eyes. “All right, all right, just give me a minute.”

  Whatever it is, she can barely wait long enough for me to put my hair back in a ponytail and throw on my robe and slippers. Now and again as she waits for me she runs back down the hall to a window facing the front of the house. Then she runs back to me, beaming because of whatever she’s seeing outside.

  I didn’t sleep well. James left me hot and bothered, and a little ashamed of it. It feels like I’m doing something wrong by wanting someone other than Manny. But my heart seems to have already decided.

  I want to be back in his arms. I want to feel his kiss again. Remembering the way he cupped my breast through the flannel of my nightgown makes me shiver and gasp and wish he were here again.

  I shouldn’t be letting myself get distracted by this. Whatever has Cindy bouncing off the walls could be completely benign, or she could be misinterpreting something dangerous. Hastily, I walk after her down the hall, tying my robe around me as I go.

  I look out the window … and do an immediate double take. For a moment, it genuinely looks like I am looking down at someone else’s front lawn.

  The pair of flowering dogwoods that flank the front gate, the little spruce we cover with squirrel food, the old wrought-iron fence surrounding the property, the mailbox, the lamp … all of them are covered in garlands of fir branches, holly, mistletoe, and poinsettias. Several strings of solar lights wind through the decorations, still offering faint gold and white gleams.

  I stare so long that my eyes start hurting, and then reach down and pinch myself through the sleeve of my robe. I’m definitely not dreaming. “What in the world?” I mumble breathlessly.

  Once we’re both wrapped in coats and have proper shoes on, we go out onto the porch to look around at the unexpected decorations. The trees are trimmed. The squirrels are clustered around a new feeder, already filled, that has been fastened to the tree just across from my kitchen window.

  Aluminum-framed deer with contours formed from strands of lights bob their heads in the grass, like they are grazing. A small generator rumbles away in a corner of the yard, keeping them going. There’s a stack of gas cans next to it, under a snow-spattered tarp that has blown aside partway to expose them.

  Someone has even built a snowman. It is chunky and unrefined, clearly the work of someone who hasn’t built one in years. I can see the prints of huge gloved hands where the man who made it struggled with getting the head round and the carrot nose even.

  “Who did this, Mommy? Was it Santa Claus?”

  I know who it is right away. James mentioned a surprise. He’s wealthy, he likes me … he kissed me. He could pull this off, especially with a little help. And he actually has some reason to—at least if he’s not pulling off an elaborate hoax.

  “No, Santa’s too busy at this time of year. But he does have some friends that help him out. I guess we’ll have to see who shows up to take credit.” I wink at her, and she giggles and wanders out across the yard to look at everything.

  I haven’t had a man try to impress me in years. And this … brings quiet tears to my eyes as I watch my daughter toddle around happily in her own little wonderland. “It’s so beautiful,” I murmur.

  I catch sight of someone watching us from across the street, and turn with a smile, expecting it to be James. My smile fades immediately, and I feel my delight in the moment deflate slightly as I see who is standing there.

  Andrea Case stands beside a cute gold Porsche, wrapped in furs, with gold-rimmed sunglasses hiding her eyes. Her arms are folded, and her mouth is a line. I’d probably have recognized her from her attitude alone if I didn’t already know what she looked like. I know at once that she knows who did this as well—and that her presence here is a declaration of war.

  She starts walking slowly across the street toward me. She would look more menacing if she wasn’t wobbling on stiletto heels on a just-plowed street, but I still don’t want Cindy to have to deal with whatever crap is about to come out of her mouth. I call out to my daughter to get her attention.

  “Sweetie, if you want to keep playing in the snow, I need you to go put your scarf on.” Cindy has a favorite purple scarf that she got from the church last year, and I know mention of it will tear her away from the surprise. It will also take her a little digging to find.

  Her face lights up and she nods, turning to amble inside. I help her up the steep front steps and she wanders over to the coat closet. I close the door behind her—and only then turn to face the woman glaring at me from just outside my gate.

  “May I help you?” I say calmly as I walk down the stairs.

  “Who are you?” she demands. “I just saw James drive away from here not half an hour ago. What interest does he have in you? Answer me!”

  My heart starts pounding. I’ve endured a lot of scorn from rich city bitches like this one, who come up for weekend vacations with their big egos and nasty opinions. I’ve learned to keep the pain and humiliation deep in my aching chest, and wear a mask of polite indifference, like retail workers use. “If you’re talking about Mr. Norris,” I say in such an even tone that it startles her, “I’m being hired as his mother’s driver and assistant.”

  She wilts slightly, her aggression melting enough that I can see the confusion behind it. “Then why would he do all of this?” She waves her hand around. “I saw him leave with that … overdressed mall Santa he was drinking with.” Her hand settles on the gate latch, as if she’s about to invite herself in.

  I fold my arms across my chest as I come to stand firm on the other side of the gate. She’s got almost a foot of height on me and is obviously nasty and possibly violent. But if she thinks she’s stepping one foot closer to my home and my baby daughter, she’s out of her mind.

  “He would do all of this because the man’s trying to get me to take on a high-needs client on short notice during the holidays, and he wants to make sure I’m willing to drop everything and help him out. Besides, I have a two year old. Without his help, she wouldn’t have much of a Christmas at all.”

  I look her right in the eyes as I say this, and I do not look away. I feel sick inside, but she’s not rational and I can’t let her take control of this situation. I wish James was here to sort this out.

  “Wait. You’re the new assistant he’s hiring for his mom?” Again, there’s more confusion in her voice than relief. “But you’re just the help. Why be nice to you at all? Clearly you need the money too much to turn down the job, regardless of the time of year.” She runs her hand over the aging iron of the gate and scoffs.

  It’s like a kick in the stomach, but it only fuels my anger—and my resolve. “Because unlike most of you spoiled children who call yourselves elite, he actually gives a damn about people who aren’t doing as well as he is.”

  She just scoffs again, her eyes widening, as if she’s astounded that I would be this stupid. “What do you even know about him? I can’t believe that even a Cinderella-wannabe like you would be this stupid!”

  This time, the blow doesn’t fuel my anger—it smothers it as she talks. The cold starts to trickle in to replace it. Cold, hard reality that I’ve been trying to ignore since the moment James sat down at a small café table with me and Cindy. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Well of course you don’t. He’s picked the most naive, desperate piece of ass he could find in this shithole town.”

  My eyes narrow. “I think you’re the one misreading the
situation between myself and Mr. Norris.” Inside, it feels like icy fingernails are digging at my heart. “All I am expecting out of Mr. Norris and his mother is a steady job.”

  “And do you think that your work for his mother is all he’s expecting?” she snaps back, though with a bit less force. “I don’t think he picked you because you’re particularly qualified.”

  I lift my chin. “Actually I’m a certified nursing assistant with years of experience as an attendant and driver.” Was a CNA, anyway. I had just gotten my license when Manny died, and the need to care for Cindy has made it impossible for me to commute for a real job. But it is still true, and I brandish it like a weapon as I continue to glare at Andrea.

  “Oh,” she mumbles, suddenly looking slightly embarrassed. Then she takes a deep breath before speaking again with something almost like sympathy in her voice. “Well … look. Just keep in mind that he’s the kind of man who will toy with the help if she’s pretty enough and he’s bored. I’ve known him for a long time, and I know how easy it is for him to break hearts—whether he means it or not.”