A Wild Goose Chase Christmas: Quilts of Love Series

by Jennifer AlLee

  When Brandon called that morning suggesting he pick up both their mother and her, it had seemed like a good idea. That way, in the highly likely event that Mom still wasn’t up to driving home the car she’d left at church, Izzy could do it. Besides that, she liked the thought of the three of them arriving at church together, like a normal family would. It all made sense.

  It also made sense that Brandon, who owned three cars, would choose one that could comfortably accommodate three people.

  But when had her big brother ever done anything that made sense?

  The Mini Cooper in her driveway was cherry red, sleek, and had a roomy backseat—if you were a two-year-old.

  As she stared, Brandon opened his door and unfolded his tall frame, resting his forearms on the roof. “Are you going to get in the car or stand there all day?”

  She walked up to the vehicle, noting that her mother already held court in the passenger seat. When she got to Brandon’s side, he reached down and pulled the driver’s seat forward. Izzy lifted one foot, then stopped.

  “Now what?” Brandon huffed in irritation.

  “I’m just trying to figure out how to get in.” Crawling into the small space behind the front seat was always a challenge, but doing it while wearing heels and a skirt turned it into a perilous act.

  “Isabella, quit fooling around and get in the car.”

  Mom’s command, combined with the use of her formal first name, snapped Izzy as if she’d shot it from a rubber-band gun. When Izzy was little, she couldn’t understand why she and her grandmother had the same name. Mom got tired of answering the same questions over and over, so instead she called her Izzy. Now that Gran was gone, Mom must have thought it was OK to go back to the old name again.

  Izzy looked at Brandon. His thumb tapped restlessly on the black leather of the seat. “You should have brought a bigger car.” She whispered the words, hoping her mother wouldn’t hear.

  He looked down at her skirt and shoes, and the thumb tapping stopped. “I’m sorry, Iz. I brought the Coop because Mom loves it. I didn’t even think about how small the back is.”

  Of course he didn’t. Because Brandon lived his life that way, jumping from impulse to impulse, doing what his gut told him to do. Somehow, it worked for him. His bold risk-taking had made him a bundle in business. But a person couldn’t be right all the time. What worried Izzy was that one day, his gut would send him in the wrong direction.

  But today wasn’t the right time to think about Brandon and his life choices. Today was about Gran’s life: the mortal life she had lived and the eternal one she was living right now.

  “It’s OK, Brandon.” Izzy smiled. “But can you help me get in?”

  Her brother clasped her hand in his. As he helped her maneuver her way into the cramped space, his palm on the small of her back, her mind flashed to the time when she was six, learning to ride her new bike. Dad had taken off the training wheels. He and Brandon stood on either side of the bike, holding it steady, jogging down the street with her as she pedaled, her knees pumping faster and faster. When they let go, Mom laughed and clapped, doing a little hop on the front lawn.

  Izzy had one foot in the car, but as she brought her other foot in, the toe of her shoe caught on the door frame and she lost her balance. With a little grunt and a final push from Brandon, Izzy dropped onto the car seat. She looked up at her mother, hoping to see a trace of the happy, exuberant woman from her memory. No such luck. That woman had been gone for a long time.

  5

  The church was half full by the time they arrived. As they made their way from the parking lot to the sanctuary, Izzy was stopped more than once by folk who wanted to wish her well and share their condolences.

  “I didn’t know Gran had so many friends.” Brandon kept his voice low as he walked between his mother and Izzy.

  Mom nodded. “Your grandmother always was the life of the party.” She looked like she had more to say, but she pressed her lips together and swallowed, her eyelashes fluttering.

  A lifetime of reading her mother’s body language told Izzy they needed to get her into the church and sitting down before she fell apart. “Brandon, why don’t you and Mom go in? There’s a pew reserved for family right up front.”

  “Where are you going?” he asked.

  “I need to find Pastor Quaid. Let him know we’re here and make sure everything’s ready.”

  Brandon frowned. “OK. But don’t take too long.”

  She watched them walk away. Mom was once again hanging on to his arm like a drowning woman clutching driftwood, but this time her shoes weren’t totally to blame. Mom and Gran had had a rocky relationship, but they still loved each other. No daughter could lose her mother and not need some support.

  Izzy took a deep breath just as Edna Summers, the church organist, approached her.

  “Sweetheart, I am so sorry for your loss.” She took Izzy’s hands in hers and squeezed them tight. Edna was a little bird of a woman, but years of pressing the keys of the pipe organ had kept her fingers nimble and strong.

  “Thank you. And thank you for playing today.”

  “My pleasure, dear. I love everything you picked. I’m sure Isabella will be looking down from her heavenly perch, singing along and dancing in the aisles.”

  The image made Izzy smile. “I bet you’re right. Have you seen Pastor Quaid? I want to talk to him before the service starts.”

  Edna motioned behind her. “Try his office. He’s probably getting in some quiet prayer time.”

  Izzy hugged the woman, then headed toward the back of the building. Rounding a corner, she ran right into a tall man in a navy blue suit. As his hands reached out to steady her, she looked up—not at the man she was looking for, but into the eyes of the last man she expected to see that day.

  “You’ve got to be kidding,” she growled.

  Max Logan’s brow furrowed. “Excuse me?”

  She took a step backward, hands up and palms facing him. “What’s the deal with you? You can’t take no for an answer so now you’re following me to my grandmother’s funeral?”

  “Miss, you’ve got the wrong idea. I—”

  “No, you’ve got the wrong idea.” She jabbed a finger at him. “My grandmother is dead. The last thing I want to do is talk to you about a smelly, raggedy old quilt!”

  Color rose in Max’s cheeks, and a muscle twitched in his jaw. “You might want to keep your voice down. People are starting to look.”

  Making a scene wouldn’t honor Gran’s memory, but she wasn’t about to let him off the hook, either. “Please leave,” she said, her voice low and well mannered.

  “I can’t do that,” he answered, equally as calm.

  “Why not?”

  “Because I’m here with my grandfather.”

  Izzy’s stomach dropped as she realized the mistake she’d made. “You brought Virgil?”

  “Yes. To pay our respects. Not to talk about the heirloom quilt you have so little respect for.”

  She couldn’t even look at him. Her eyes burned as she dropped her gaze to the pavement. “I’m sorry. I had no right to attack you like that. It’s just been so hard since Gran died, and I’ve been at odds with my brother and my mother, and … and …”

  Izzy never cried in front of people. Ever. But to her horror, she was crying now. That one small confession to a man she barely knew blew a hole through her emotional dam and everything she’d held back for the last week flooded out. When he put his hand on her arm, she cried harder. And when he pulled her down the pathway, she stumbled along with him, blind to where they were going.

  “Sit down.”

  As he guided her onto a wood and wrought-iron bench, Izzy realized they were in the area set aside as a prayer garden. In the summer months, it was a beautiful place to be, full of bright, colorful flowers and lush green plants. Now, it was brown and withered, a perfect complement to her battered spirit. A moment later, Max pressed a white handkerchief into her palm. She looked down at it, and
a laugh mixed with her tears.

  “How many of these things do you have?”

  “A stockpile. My mother taught me that a gentleman always carries a handkerchief.”

  Izzy nodded and dabbed at her eyes. When she looked at the white cotton, now streaked with black mascara residue, she gasped. “I’m afraid I just ruined it.”

  He shrugged. “That’s OK. Consider it a peace offering.”

  Peace. What a lovely idea. There’d been more than enough conflict in Izzy’s life already; she didn’t need any more. On Monday, she and Max would once again be at cross-purposes, but for today, they could be civil.

  “Thanks. I’d like that.” She continued dabbing at her eyes, but Max shook his head and took the handkerchief from her.

  “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re just making it worse.” He found a clean spot on the fabric and wrapped it around his finger. “Close your eyes.”

  She leaned away from him.

  He laughed. “It’s OK. I’m a gentleman, remember? And we’re in the middle of a truce. You can trust me.”

  She let her lids fall, exhaling a deep breath. A moment later, his soft, cotton-covered fingertip swept across the skin at the top of her cheek. When it rubbed a bit harder, her head jerked away.

  “Hold still. I don’t want to poke you in the eye.” His murmured words were followed by the warm fingers of his free hand embracing her jawline and chin, holding her head steady.

  As Max tended to makeup repair, Izzy began to relax. For a moment, she let herself forget all the things that had gone wrong in the last week and simply concentrated on the luxury of being taken care of. A smile grew on her lips, and a thumb brushed across the corner of her mouth.

  Izzy’s eyelids snapped up. Max had finished cleaning off her errant mascara, but his hand still rested against her cheek. His eyes, brown and bottomless, looked as surprised as she felt.

  “Why are you being so nice to me?” Izzy’s voice crackled in her throat.

  Before Max could respond, a voice called out to them. “There you are!”

  Max’s hand jerked away as if he’d touched a hot stove. He turned toward Virgil, who was shuffling down the path toward them. “Izzy needed some time alone before the service.”

  Virgil put his hand on his grandson’s shoulder and looked down at Izzy. “I see. I’m glad Max could be there for you when you needed to be alone.”

  The way his eyes danced, Izzy was certain he’d seen Max touching her cheek. She cleared her throat and smiled. “I’m feeling much better now. And thanks to your grandson, I no longer look like a raccoon. Now I really need to find Pastor Quaid before the service starts.”

  As Izzy stood up, her left knee caught. Not now. Whether it was from the damp November weather or the build-up of stress, her body was not doing well. She flexed her leg until the joint gave way, returning to somewhat fluid movement. But when she stepped forward, it wasn’t as steady as she had hoped.

  Max wrapped his hand around her forearm, steadying her. “You know, I would sure appreciate it if you’d take Virgil in and show him where to sit. He’s looking a bit tired.”

  Virgil’s eyebrows shot up like two bushy white exclamation points. “Why, I’m not—” The two men’s eyes locked and Virgil nodded his head. “I’m not feeling as perky as I thought I was. It would be nice to sit down for a while.”

  Izzy bit her lip. What a pair these two were. She barely knew them but they looked out for her welfare like she was part of their family. “I still need to talk to Pastor Quaid.”

  “I’ll find him for you.” Max said. “If he needs anything, I’ll come get you. OK?”

  “OK.” Izzy nodded. She crooked her arm through Virgil’s and, just like her mother and brother before them, they held each other up.

  As they exited the garden, Izzy glanced over her shoulder. Max still stood by the bench, hands stuffed in his pants pockets, watching them.

  Max couldn’t stop watching her.

  After finding Pastor Quaid and getting his assurance that everything was running smoothly, he’d gone to the sanctuary in search of Virgil. He’d found him directly behind the row reserved for family.

  “Why did you sit so close to the front?” Max whispered as he slid in beside him.

  “Izzy put me here. Guess that makes us family.”

  Not quite. But it meant she realized how important his grandfather had been to her grandmother. And maybe that the two families could continue being important to each other.

  Izzy sat on the end of the row. Beside her was a man whose tailored black suit had certainly cost more than all the clothes in Max’s closet combined. His arm was slung over the back of the pew and he leaned toward her, whispering in her ear. Max’s spine stiffened. Was he her boyfriend? Or part of the family?

  On the other side of the man, a woman brought her hand to her mouth, stifling a sob, but not before it got the man’s attention. He immediately turned from Izzy and took up the same posture with this woman. “Are you OK, Mom?”

  Mom. It was the family pew, so if this woman was his mother, it stood to reason she was Izzy’s mother also. Which made the man Izzy’s brother. Max enjoyed a moment of relief. Then he asked himself why it mattered to him whether or not Izzy had a boyfriend.

  He had no answer.

  Max tried to concentrate on the service, on the celebration of the life of Isabella Randolph, but it was useless. His thoughts kept going back to Izzy, and he couldn’t keep his eyes off her. When they first met, he’d wondered if she was a student, but he couldn’t make that mistake today. Her hair hung loose around her shoulders, cascading in a silky golden waterfall over the bright blue scarf that broke up the somberness of her black dress. From where he sat he could hear the triumph in her voice as they sang “Joy to the World.” When the pastor told a humorous story about her grandmother, Izzy’s full-throated laughter drew a laugh from Max as well.

  An elbow caught him in the ribs. He turned to Virgil, who leaned over and hissed at him. “Don’t make it so obvious, son.”

  Max wanted to correct his grandfather, tell him he’d misunderstood, but he couldn’t. Gramps had caught him red-handed. What was he doing? It wasn’t like him to lose his head over a woman, no matter how attractive she was. And to be fawning over her at her grandmother’s funeral … definitely not the act of a gentleman. He needed to pay attention to what the pastor was saying and not let his focus drift.

  The man in the pulpit smiled down at the friends and family in the pews. “Isabella didn’t have a perfect life, but she never lost the joy that comes with knowing who you are in Jesus—something she shared with her namesake granddaughter, whom we all know as Izzy.” He leaned on the highly varnished wood in front of him, craning his neck and smiling down on her. “Izzy, you inherited more than her name. Even today, when our hearts are heavy, I see the same joy in you. You are her legacy.”

  Every eye in the church turned toward Izzy, so Max had no choice but to follow suit. She had been doing a good job holding herself together, but Pastor Quaid’s tender words undermined her composure. She sniffled, trying to hold the tears back. Head down, shoulders shaking, she struggled. Max looked at her brother, glaring at the back of his head and mentally demanding that he offer comfort.

  Her brother removed his arm from their mother’s shoulders and leaned toward his sister. But before he could put a consoling hand on her knee, the mother let loose with a series of gut-wrenching sobs. The son paused for a split second, unsure who needed his attention more, but his mother won out.

  Max leaned forward in his seat. He wanted to console Izzy. He wanted to gather her up in his arms and let her cry all over the front of his jacket, runny mascara or not. But he couldn’t. He wasn’t family. He wasn’t even a friend. He was barely an acquaintance. He’d overstepped enough already.

  Virgil didn’t let lack of familiarity stop him. He pulled himself up, walked to Izzy, and plunked down on the hard wooden seat, wedging himself between her and the side of the p
ew. As soon as he put his arm around her shoulders, she leaned into him, letting her tears silently fall onto the lapel of his sport coat.

  Letting out a sigh, Max leaned back as the tension fell from his shoulders. Thank God for Gramps. Nobody would think twice about a grandfather figure lending a shoulder. If only Max could stop wishing it was his shoulder she was pressed against.

  It didn’t take long for Izzy to regain her composure. When the organist pounded out a rousing rendition of “When the Saints Go Marching In,” Izzy was on her feet, clapping and smiling. There was that joy the pastor mentioned. She certainly had it in abundance.

  As the last notes died down, Pastor Quaid addressed the crowd again. “The Fontaine family would like to thank you for celebrating Isabella’s homecoming. Anyone who’d like to join them at the cemetery for the interment is welcome. Otherwise, please enjoy cookies and punch in the multipurpose room.”

  Izzy turned to her brother. “I’ll meet you and Mom at the cemetery.”

  Brandon looked up from his seat in the pew. He still had one arm around the shoulders of his mother, who was doubled over, a fistful of used tissues clenched to her nose. “Why aren’t you coming with us?”

  “I’ve got to drive her car, remember?”

  “That’s right.” He frowned and looked from his sister to his mother and back again. “Will you be OK by yourself?”

  Izzy nodded and smiled at him. But as Brandon led their mother away, Max noticed the quiver in Izzy’s chin as she forced that smile to stay in place. He couldn’t keep his mouth shut any longer.

  “You really shouldn’t be alone right now,” he said, getting as close to her as the pew between them would allow.

  For a moment, he thought she was going to argue the point. But then her mouth relaxed and she blinked several times. “You know, I don’t want to be alone, either. Were you two planning to come to the cemetery?”

  “No,” Max said.

  “Yes,” Virgil said a split second later.