A Wild Goose Chase Christmas: Quilts of Love Series

by Jennifer AlLee

  “Something smells good,” Virgil called.

  “It looks good too,” Izzy called back. “Dinner’s ready.”

  As Virgil made his way to the table, Izzy went to where her mom sat in a rented wheelchair. “Can I help you to the table, Mom?”

  “That would be nice.”

  Once Janice was settled at the table, Izzy looked at the empty seat beside her. “Where’s Brandon?”

  Janice looked around the room, then her eyebrows lifted in remembrance. “He went outside to make a phone call.”

  Izzy scowled, and Max rose from his seat. “Do you want me to get him?”

  “No, thanks.” She motioned for him to sit. “I’ll do it.”

  She found her brother at the end of the front porch, hunched over his cell phone. A piece of his conversation made its way to her.

  “I can’t right now. But you know I’m good for it.”

  “Brandon.” She called to get his attention.

  He jumped, then held up one finger and spoke into his phone. “I’ve got to go.” He hung up and dropped it in his pocket.

  “What was that about?” Izzy asked.

  “Nothing. Just a buddy of mine.” His expression became overly animated as he walked past her. “Where’s that meal you made? I’m starving.”

  She grabbed his arm and pulled him to a stop. “What’s going on? You’ve been acting weird all week.”

  “Of course I’ve been acting weird. My grandmother just died.” Jaw set like granite, he jerked away from her. “Let’s forget this and have a nice family meal, OK?”

  Izzy sighed as he stomped through the doorway. If he wanted to pretend everything was fine, she’d go along with it. But only for today, only because she wanted to provide a nice holiday for their guests. Tomorrow, life would go on as usual, and Brandon was going to spill his secret.

  Whether he liked it or not.

  13

  Izzy’s hand was warm in Max’s, and he wanted nothing more than to sit there and hold it. But the prayer couldn’t go on forever, and Max really should have been focusing on what she was saying.

  “Thank you, Lord, for the blessings of family, and of new friends.”

  Max dared to peek at her out of the corner of his eye and found she was looking right at him. Caught in the act, she smiled and squeezed his hand.

  “Amen.”

  “Amen,” the chorus of voices around the table answered her as everyone dropped hands and began reaching for bowls and plates of food.

  The next ten minutes were filled with the clatter of silverware against china and murmurs of please pass the and pardon my reach. Brandon put food on his mother’s plate. Then Izzy leaned over and cut the turkey into bite-size pieces for her. With something to distract them, the lingering tension between Brandon and Izzy seemed to dissipate.

  Beside him, Gramps took a forkful of sweet potato casserole. “This is delicious, Izzy. So much better than Denny’s.”

  She laughed, her blue eyes sparkling. “I’m glad you like it, Virgil. To be honest, I was worried about how it would all turn out.”

  “You worried for nothing,” Janice said, scooping her fork into dressing and spearing turkey with her good hand. “Your grandmother would be proud.”

  Apparently Izzy was not used to getting compliments from her mother, because she froze, water glass halfway to her lips. She didn’t say anything at first, almost like she was waiting for another comment or a but. When it didn’t come, she smiled. “Thanks, Mom.”

  Max relaxed, and it wasn’t until that moment that he realized how tense he’d been. He hadn’t known what to expect today. But getting the chance to spend time with Izzy, learn more about her, made it worth the risk. As they sat around the table, enjoying food and making small talk, it was turning out better than he’d hoped. He even dared believe that he could come to an agreement with her family about the Wild Goose Chase.

  Janice dabbed the corner of her mouth with her napkin. “Izzy, did you get that box from my house?”

  “I picked it up last night,” she said with a nod.

  “What box?” Brandon asked.

  “Our special ornaments,” Janice answered. “I want to put them on the tree tonight.”

  Virgil sat a little straighter, intrigued by the conversation. “What tree?”

  Izzy swirled the last bit of her biscuit around her plate, mopping up gravy. “It was Gran’s tradition to trim the Christmas tree after Thanksgiving dinner. We do it every year.”

  Just like that, the peace Max had settled into was yanked away. His face grew cold. He looked at Virgil but Gramps hadn’t made the connection yet.

  “Isn’t it too early for a tree?” Virgil asked.

  “It’s fake.” Brandon waved his hand in the direction of the garage. “I’ll bring it in when we’re done eating.”

  “Mom figured since she wouldn’t have a Christmas tree of her own this year that it would be nice to put her special ornaments up here.” Izzy continued talking about ornaments she and Brandon had made as children, but the words faded away into a buzzing static in Max’s ears until finally there was no sound at all but that of a woman crying.

  Max rose to his feet, pushing his chair from the table so sharply the dishes rattled. “Excuse me.”

  He headed for the front door, desperate for air. Behind him, Virgil’s voice broke through the fog. “Uh-oh. I should have warned you. The boy doesn’t do well with Christmas.”

  Leaning against the porch’s half-wall, Max took in deep gulps of cool night air. No, he didn’t do well with Christmas. He hadn’t for a very long time.

  Behind him, the door opened and closed. Although his head was down and his eyes were closed, he felt Izzy standing beside him.

  “This is the second time I’ve had to chase a man out onto this porch,” she said, feigning lightheartedness. When he didn’t answer, she laid her hand softly on his shoulder. “Are you OK?”

  He looked at her, unsure how much to share. “I’ll be fine.”

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  It wasn’t something he normally shared. But looking into those eyes, so open and full of compassion, he couldn’t hold back. “I don’t have many good memories of Christmas.”

  Most people would prod for more details, but Izzy simply waited, giving him time to move at his own pace.

  “When I was ten, my father walked out on my mother and me on Christmas Eve.”

  Her brows furrowed, the corners of her mouth turned down. “Max, I’m so sorry.”

  Stuffing his hands in his pants pockets, he straightened, pulling his shoulders back. “The worst part was what it did to my mother. She was never the same afterward.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She cried for days. She could barely function. Gramps finally convinced her to see someone and she was diagnosed with clinical depression.”

  Max examined Izzy’s face, waiting for telltale signs of shock or disgust, but none presented themselves. Just the same open, accepting air. He continued.

  “They put her on medication and it helped some. She had good spells. But every year around Christmastime, without fail, the dark cloud descended on her again.”

  So many years of crying, so many tears. Max had never known when it would start, but he wanted to be prepared. Wanted to help his mother however he could. That’s when he started carrying handkerchiefs.

  “One year it got so bad that she ran out of the house. She was hysterical, but she grabbed her keys and drove off.” Max would never forget that night. Pacing, cursing at his father for leaving them, at his mother for turning his childhood into a soap opera of drama and melancholy. Calling Gramps, then falling asleep on the couch while the two of them waited for his mother to come home. Finally, the knock on the door the next morning, the sober policemen standing on the porch, arms straight at their sides.

  Max shook his head at the memories. “I don’t know if she meant to kill herself or if she just lost control. But she took a corner too f
ast and wrapped her car around a tree. Gramps took me in, and it’s been him and me ever since.”

  “Max.”

  There was nothing a person could say when presented with such information. But hearing her say his name with such warmth and understanding touched him more than all the empty platitudes he’d received from well-meaning friends and relatives.

  She put her hand on his forearm. “I can never know exactly how you feel, but I can imagine. My father died when I was eight.”

  Max’s stomach flopped, and he kicked himself for selfishly believing he was the only one who had experienced loss. “What happened?”

  “He was a police officer, doing his job. Wrong place, wrong time.” She smiled, covering the quaver in her voice. “He saved a little girl and her mom. He was a hero.”

  There was no need for words. His hand covered hers and he lost himself in her deep blue eyes, swimming in emotions.

  She gave his arm a squeeze and slowly pulled her hand away. “If you don’t want to stay, I understand. But I wish you’d try to create some happy Christmas memories with us.”

  “I might not be very good company.”

  “You’ve seen my family at their worst,” she said with a laugh. “I don’t think anything you could do would be worse than that.”

  He hung his head. He’d done everything he could for so long to avoid thinking about his mother and those terrible years. Anything to push away the pain. But now, sharing it with Izzy, the burden didn’t seem as heavy. Maybe he could do this.

  “I think Virgil would enjoy it, too.” Izzy leaned closer, trying to coax a smile out of him. “We’ll probably all share stories about Gran.”

  “I definitely don’t want to disappoint Gramps,” he said slowly. “All right. I’ll stay.”

  14

  The tree was beautiful. Curled up in the easy chair, her morning mug of tea cupped in her hands, Izzy enjoyed the festive display and mulled over the events of the previous evening.

  Max’s revelation had taken her by surprise, but it explained a lot. Why he and Virgil were so close. Why family legacy and heritage meant something to him. No wonder Gran had promised him the Wild Goose Chase quilt. It represented family continuity and strength, something that had been lacking in his life.

  Despite his resistance to joining in on a Christmas tradition, he’d seemed to enjoy himself. Trimming the tree had turned into a celebration in its own rite. Everybody had a story to tell about Gran. Most of them silly.

  “Remember the time Gran decided we should make our own wrapping out of brown paper bags? After we bought all the stamps and markers, it would have been cheaper to buy wrapping paper.”

  “What about the popcorn-stringing fiasco? After an hour of trying we had a string about ten inches long. Epic popcorn failure.”

  “What about the time she took Bogie to have his picture taken with Santa? He grabbed that elf’s hat and we ended up chasing him through the mall.”

  There was no shortage of tales to share. Before she knew it, Max had joined them at the tree, taking multicolored glass balls out of the packages and threading hooks through the loops, then handing them to Janice and Virgil to hang on the tree. When it came time to open Mom’s special box, Janice had explained every piece to their guests.

  “Brandon made this during his Star Wars phase.”

  “When was that,” Izzy asked, “last week?”

  Brandon playfully bumped her shoulder as their mother held up a lopsided TIE fighter made of Legos with a satin loop coming from the center. The glue that held it together had seeped from between the bricks, making it appear as though it had flown too close to the sun.

  “And this one is Izzy’s,” Mom said, holding up the next ornament. “Our tiny dancer.”

  Izzy had grabbed the pipe-cleaner angel with the tulle tutu, hoping to hang it before Max noticed and asked any questions. She hadn’t been fast enough.

  “You’re a dancer, Izzy?”

  “Not anymore. But she used to be. She had so much promise.” Janice’s voice dropped, pulled down by disappointment.

  Izzy answered Max’s questioning look with a shake of her head. “It’s a story for another time. How about this one, Mom?” The macaroni and yarn snowflake Izzy handed her had the desired effect, turning her mother’s attention to how artistic Brandon had been as a child.

  It was the low point in an otherwise lovely evening.

  Izzy sighed. Bogie, who lay on the floor beside the chair, raised his head and whined. She reached down, scratching behind his ear.

  “Do you think she’ll ever forgive me for not living up to her dreams?”

  The dog sneezed, and Izzy laughed.

  “I don’t think so, either.”

  Bogie jumped to his feet, ears pitched forward. A second later a knock sounded on the front door. Izzy glanced at the clock on the mantle. Who would drop by unannounced at eight in the morning?

  The face on the other side of the peephole wasn’t familiar. She opened the door, holding Bogie back with her foot. “Yes?”

  The man on her porch wore a suit and dress shirt but no tie. He held a dark red file folder in his hand. “Sorry to bother you so early, ma’am. Do you know a Brandon Fontaine?”

  “Brandon’s my brother. Is he OK?”

  “He’s fine, ma’am. At least, I assume he is. I’m trying to find him, actually.”

  Why was this man looking for Brandon? And why here? “Have you tried his home?”

  “Yes, ma’am. There’s no one at his last known address. Do you have his current address by any chance?”

  A chill hit Izzy, more than just the early morning breeze. Something wasn’t right. “I can give him a message if you’d like.”

  The man’s lips moved up into something resembling a smile, but his eyes remained hard. He opened the file and flipped through a few papers. “How about the Mini Cooper? Do you have any idea where he parks that?”

  It took all the self-control she had not to turn and look at the closed door of her garage. What had Brandon gotten himself into? “I’m afraid I can’t help you.”

  “Ma’am, the sooner I find your brother, the easier this will be for everybody.”

  For once, Izzy was glad Bogie wouldn’t stop barking at her feet. She squatted down, scooped him up, and held him in front of the stranger at her door. “You’re agitating my dog. I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

  The man no longer bothered with the charade of a smile. He took a card out of an inner jacket pocket and handed it to her. “He needs to call me as soon as possible. Make sure you give that to him.”

  Izzy took the card, pushing the door shut as soon as her fingers were clear and flipping the knob on the deadbolt. She let Bogie loose on the floor with a plop, then peered out the slit between the curtain and the window frame. The man in the suit walked to the end of her driveway, got in a car, and started the engine. At the same time, she noticed a tow truck down the street. When the car drove away, the truck followed.

  Fingers shaking, Izzy put the man’s business card on the table and picked up the telephone. A moment later, she was leaving a message on Brandon’s voice mail.

  “I don’t know what’s going on with you, Brother, but you need to come over here. Now. You’ve got some explaining to do.”

  “You’ve lost everything? What does that mean?”

  Izzy stared at her brother, unable to process what he was telling her.

  “Just what it sounds like. I’m broke.”

  Since Izzy hadn’t wanted to talk in front of their mother, and Brandon refused to stand on the porch in case the suited repo man returned, they were left in the backyard, sitting in white plastic chairs coated in sunbaked dirt. Brandon had tried to dust his off before he sat, but it was useless.

  “How can you be broke?” This was Brandon, the man with three cars and the upscale condo. The man who drank his Starbucks every morning while he checked his investments on his iPhone. “I don’t understand.”

  He pushed
back against his chair, raking his fingers through his dark hair. “I made a mistake.”

  “A mistake? How can you lose everything on one mistake?”

  “It was a big mistake.” He sighed, but it sounded more like the groan of a dying animal. “It was a Bernie Madoff-size mistake.”

  Izzy gasped. “Brandon, you didn’t—”

  “No, of course not.” He waved her words away. “I’m not like Bernie. I’m like the guy he ripped off.”

  Relief was instantly followed by fear for her brother. His impulsive decisions had finally caught up with him. Then the pieces began falling into place.

  “That’s why you changed your phone number. So the creditors can’t find you.”

  He nodded.

  “What about last night? You had a bet on the game, didn’t you?”

  He nodded again.

  Izzy shook her head in disbelief. “If you’ve lost everything, why did you waste your money gambling?”

  “Do you have any idea what the odds were on that game? If my team had won, I would have made a nice chunk of change.” He sighed. “It was a chance to move in the right direction and I took it.”

  “It was a foolish risk and you lost.”

  “I know. You don’t have to remind me.”

  “What about the Coop? That’s why you wanted to park it here, isn’t it? You’re hiding it.” She leaned forward, fists on her knees. “You’ve made me an accomplice.”

  He scowled at her. “An accomplice to what? All I did was park my car here. There’s nothing illegal about that.”

  Izzy wasn’t entirely sure if there was or there wasn’t, but it felt all wrong. “You can’t run from this, Brandon. If you do, it’ll only get worse.”

  “What do you expect me to do?” He shot to his feet, hands cutting the air. “They want to take everything I have.”

  “Do you owe it to them?” She took his silent stare as an affirmative. “You have to make it right. Face it and deal with it.”

  His shoulders sagged; his head dropped. “I’ll have to start over. I don’t know if I can do that.”