The Christmas Key

by Lori Wilde

Led him to where kids and parents were lining up to see Santa at the North Pole exhibit set up on the courthouse lawn.

  Mark looked at Naomi, raised his eyebrows. “Is it okay if I come along?”

  “You want to stand in line with us to see Santa?” she asked, hoping he’d say no. She appreciated him for being there, but she still felt too discombobulated to deal with him.

  Hunter squeezed Mark’s hand. Nodded. “He does, N’omi.”

  She crouched to Hunter’s eye level. “Are you sure he wants to come along? Did you ask his permission?”

  Hunter tilted his face up to Mark. “Daddy?”

  “I’m sorry,” Naomi mumbled. “I don’t know why he keeps doing that.”

  Shepherd peered down at the little boy who was looking at him as if he’d created the entire universe. “There’s nowhere else on earth I’d rather be.”

  He sounded so genuine and sincere it rocked Naomi to her core.

  “My, my,” said an older woman with two little girls who came to stand in line behind them. “Don’t you have the most beautiful family, sir.”

  Instead of correcting the woman, Shepherd beamed, slid his free arm around Naomi’s shoulder, and said, “Why, thank you, ma’am.”

  And Naomi couldn’t decide if she liked that or not.

  They were leaving the North Pole exhibit after Hunter had his picture taken with Santa, and they ran into Terri, dressed as an elf and passing out flyers advertising her Hot Legs Gym and Day Spa.

  “Good to see you again,” she told Shepherd.

  “You too.” He nodded.

  “Naomi,” Terri said. “Just wanted to let you know everything’s straightened out with the caterer for next Saturday night’s dance.”

  “Thanks,” Naomi said. “I do appreciate you picking up the slack. I know I haven’t been at the top of my game.”

  “Paah.” Terri waved a hand. “My pleasure. Glad I could help.”

  “I feel like I’ve let the committee down.”

  “Not at all.” Terri glanced at Hunter, who was rubbing his eyes and yawning. “We understand.”

  Hunter tugged on Shepherd’s hand. “Up!”

  Without even thinking about it, Shepherd didn’t miss a beat. He reached down and hoisted the little boy onto his hip.

  Hunter buried his head against Shepherd’s neck, yawned again. The kid smelled of cookies and exhausted little boy.

  “Looks like someone is ready for a nap.” Terri smiled at Hunter. A big hug of a grin, full of kindness and Christmas cheer. She switched her gaze to Shepherd. “You’re a natural.”

  “Thanks.” He was anxious to get Hunter and Naomi home. She needed a nap as much as the boy. He didn’t know why she’d almost fainted earlier. She seemed fine now, but he was still concerned. She’d been pushing herself far too hard.

  “You’re coming to the dance next weekend, right?” Terri said.

  Shepherd glanced over at Naomi. “I haven’t been invited.”

  “Naomi,” Terri scolded. “You didn’t invite him?”

  Naomi flushed, stuttered. “I . . . I didn’t think he’d want to come.” She shifted her gaze to his knee.

  He’d left his cane back at the rectory. His knee had been feeling stronger the last couple of days, and he’d come here only intending on dropping off the toys for the toy drive. He hadn’t expected to hang out on the square with Naomi and Hunter.

  “You absolutely must come,” Terri invited. “Naomi needs an escort. I want to see her out on that dance floor. She’s been spending far too much time making sure other people have fun and not having enough of her own.”

  “I agree with you completely, Mrs. Longoria,” he said.

  “Please,” she said. “Call me Terri. I’m so glad you’ve come to Twilight.”

  “I’m pretty glad about that too, Terri,” he said, and meant it. The reason he’d come here was a sad one, but the people he’d met were friendly and welcoming.

  “And you, Miss Naomi . . .” Terri pointed a finger. “Need to take advantage of the day spa gift card we gave you as a thank-you for heading our committee.”

  “I’m sorry, Terri. I just don’t have time for a massage.” Naomi ruffled Hunter’s wind-tousled hair. “I’ve got to chase after this little one.”

  “Make time,” Terri said. “It’s like the oxygen mask on the airplane. You have to take care of yourself first before you can help anyone else.”

  Naomi shook her head. “I appreciate the gift card, I truly do, but I’m just too busy. I haven’t even had time to put up the Christmas tree yet. I hate for the gift certificate to go to waste. Can I give it to someone else?”

  “I’ll watch Hunter for you if you want to go for a massage,” Shepherd offered. “I’ll put up the tree for you too.”

  “I knew I liked you.” Terri poked him gently in the ribs with her elbow. “Yes, Naomi, do what he said.”

  Naomi glowered at him.

  He took in the dark circles under those big blue eyes. She might not want to take time for herself, but she needed it. Badly.

  “See you at the dance next weekend,” Terri called over her shoulder as she turned to greet newcomers. “And you . . .” She pointed a finger at Naomi. “Redeem your gift card and get that massage.”

  “You don’t have to go to the dance.” Naomi leaned in closer to whisper.

  “But I want to go,” Shepherd whispered back, inhaling her wonderful aroma. She smelled like holiday cheer. Cinnamon and vanilla. Just being near her boosted his spirits. “Unless you don’t want me to go.”

  “It’s a free country.” She drew back. Her shrug was quick and prickly. All cactus. “Stay. Go. Suit yourself.”

  Why was she upset with him? Shepherd didn’t get it. He thought they’d been having a good time. All he’d done was offer to watch Hunter so she could go get a massage. Was that a mistake? He was missing something.

  “Where are you parked?” Shepherd asked, shifting a sleepy Hunter to his other shoulder.

  “Here.” She held out her arms. “I’ll take him.”

  “I’ll carry him to the car for you.” He put starch in his voice and steel in his stare.

  She looked as if she might protest, but then nodded. A curt little bob, stiff and out of sorts.

  “Have I done something to upset you?” he asked.

  “No,” she denied.

  “Then what gives?” he asked. “Why have you been giving me the cold shoulder?”

  “I didn’t . . . I haven’t . . .” She blew her breath out through puffed cheeks.

  “Does it have anything to do with me being ex-military?” he asked, navigating around a gaggle of women dressed as serving wenches, dancing on the sidewalk outside the wine store, Fruit of the Vine. “Does my being here stir up the grief over losing your brother that you haven’t dealt with?”

  “I’m dealing with my grief just fine,” she snapped. “Thank you very much.”

  “Are you?” He didn’t know why he was pushing her. This wasn’t the time or the place. He had a sleeping boy on his shoulder and they were dodging dancing street wenches.

  “Yes.” Her eyes were full of bristles.

  “Are you mad?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. I like seeing you this way.”

  That confused her. “What? Why are you trying to tick me off?”

  “I just want you to know you don’t have to constantly be in an up mood.”

  “This is me. It’s my personality,” she said, her smile sharkish. “I’m a happy, happy person.”

  “You don’t look very happy right now. Which is okay, by the way. You shouldn’t have to cover up your sadness or your anger.”

  “I. Am. Happy.” She ground her teeth. “Oh. So. Happy.”

  “Then tell me about your brother.” Shepherd wasn’t sure what he was trying to accomplish. What was his end goal? Honestly, other than getting her to open up to her emotions she’d been tamping down for a year, he didn’t have an agenda.

  Don’t you? The
key you’ve been carrying around in your pocket says otherwise.

  “I get it.” She shook a finger at him. “You’re trying to get a reaction out of me. Well, it’s not going to work. This is Christmastime and I’m not going to let anything or anyone spoil it.”

  “Tell me about your brother,” Shepherd pushed. “What was he like? What was his favorite breakfast cereal? Was he a Star Wars fan or did he prefer Star Trek? Did he like math? Or English? Did he ever break his arm? Could he swim?”

  He saw the flash of anger in her eyes. Watched her fold the anger up and smile it away. Big. Stretchy. You’re-not-gonna-get-to-me smile. She was seriously mad at him, but determined not to show it. He admired her stubbornness. Her jaw was a steel bear trap snapping closed.

  “If I were going to tell you about Clayton, it wouldn’t be here. Not like this.”

  “Where?” he asked. “When? Let’s set a date.”

  In that moment, he understood why he was pushing her. He couldn’t continue lying to her. For one thing, he was miserable keeping the secret. For another, he seriously liked her. She deserved the truth.

  And when you tell her, if she hates you, what then?

  Then she would just hate him. He didn’t have any other option. No, he couldn’t continue to lie to her, nor could he let her continue to lie to herself. She thought if she just pretended everything was fine, then she could make it so.

  “Tell me about Clayton,” he murmured.

  “Oh look!” Naomi pointed. “They’ve got the snow throw up.”

  “Snow throw up?” he said, confounded. “Snow vomit?”

  Naomi laughed, and the corners of her mouth crinkled. But he could see past the happy façade to the pain lodged deep in those blue eyes. “Not snow vomit, silly. That came out wrong. Let me try again. They’ve put up the snow throw.”

  He knew she was dodging the topic of her brother. He didn’t know whether to keep pushing and ruin the moment, or let it go and enjoy himself.

  And he was enjoying himself. Whenever he was with her things felt lighter. Brighter.

  “C’mon.” Naomi plucked the sleeve of his coat, dragging him along with her.

  A colorful booth had been erected on the square. The booth was decorated with blinking, multicolored twinkle lights and blared Christmas music. Currently “Jingle Bells.” It reminded him of a carnival midway booth at the fair. The game was similar to the one where the object was to knock down milk bottles with softballs.

  Except the milk bottles were shaped like flat-topped bowling pins with images of elves on them. And instead of softballs, you bought a bucket of snowballs to chunk.

  “This was Clayton’s favorite game,” Naomi murmured so softly that Shepherd could barely hear her. “He killed at it.”

  “Competitive, was he?”

  “You have no idea.” She laughed, but it was a hollow sound, filled with suppressed grief.

  “So tell me.”

  “I . . . I . . .” Something flashed in her blue eyes. Fear.

  He understood now why she didn’t want to talk about Clayton. Why she refused to accept her grief. She was terrified that if she gave in to it, she would fall apart and there would be no putting her back together again.

  Shepherd got it. He’d been there.

  But because of that, he knew something she didn’t know. As long as you resisted the grief, as long as you ran from it, feared it, no matter how hard you tried, you could never heal.

  “I can’t talk about Clayton,” she said. “Can you please just give me Hunter so I can take him home?”

  “You miss your brother,” Shepherd said. He missed Clayton too. He’d known the young Marine only a short time, but it had been easy to fall for Clayton’s eager enthusiasm and open heart. They’d been friends. As good friends as rank had allowed them to be.

  “Terribly,” Naomi confessed, the soft pillow of her bottom lip trembling.

  “You don’t have to pretend to be happy with me. It’s got to be a grind.”

  “No, no,” she denied, trying to force another smile. “I am happy.”

  “Here’s something I’ve learned,” he said. “Whatever you resist persists. You keep tamping down that grief, eventually it’s going to take a big toll. On your health, on your relationships, on your future.”

  “I’m not resisting my grief.”

  He stared at her. “Denial of a problem isn’t healthy.”

  “Please.” She held out her arms, the lines of emotional pain tightening her lips. “Give Hunter to me.”

  She was trying so hard not to fall apart. Straightening her shoulders. Setting her jaw. Thrusting out her chin.

  Watching her shut down her emotions touched him to his core. She was so brave. He wanted to fold her into his arms and tell her that everything was going to be all right if she just let herself grieve.

  But this was not the time or place to hold her feet to the fire. They were in a public space, surrounded by a throng of revelers.

  He’d planted a seed. For now, it was all he could do. Giving her his most tender smile, Shepherd placed the sleeping boy into her waiting arms.

  Chapter 16

  The following day was Sunday, and Shepherd had been in town since Monday. Almost a week spent in the company of Naomi’s loving family. The more he was around them, the more he liked them.

  Pastor Tom invited Shepherd to attend church services. “Please come. It won’t be the same without you.”

  How could he say no to that?

  Shepherd couldn’t remember the last time he’d attended a sermon. He wasn’t entirely comfortable. He tugged at his tie. Sat up straight in the wooden pew. Wished he could take out his pocketknife and start whittling.

  But Naomi was here, and that’s all that mattered.

  He sat next to her in the front row, which wasn’t his seat of choice, but she was the pastor’s daughter and expected to sit front and center. So here he was. Because there was nowhere else he wanted to be except by her side.

  Irene sat in her wheelchair on the opposite side of the aisle. Hunter was back in the nursery with the other kids.

  Pastor Tom’s sermon was on forgiveness and it hit close to home. Shepherd wondered if the minister had somehow discovered who he was, for it seemed as if Tom was looking straight at him.

  And speaking of the truth . . . He’d intended on telling Naomi who he was yesterday at the festival, but she’d asked him to take her home. Begged off from cooking dinner, claiming she had a headache, and spent the evening in her room. He’d eaten take-out pizza with the rest of the family and spent most of the dinner trying to figure out if his pushing Naomi to talk about Clayton had caused her headache, or if she just couldn’t face him across the dinner table.

  Either way, he’d been miserable.

  This morning, at the church, he’d come over to apologize for upsetting her. She’d smiled that sweet smile of hers and said, “Don’t be silly. You don’t have a thing to apologize for.”

  Then she’d patted the seat beside her in the pew, and here he was.

  He glanced over at her. She was so beautiful it took his breath away. She was dressed in a long-sleeved blue velvet dress that matched her eyes. The material draped luxuriously over her curves, the wide circle skirt covering her knees. Her dark hair curled to her shoulders, gorgeously unbound. She looked like an angel perched atop a Christmas tree.

  Maybe he should tell Tom who he was before he broke the news to Naomi. Especially since the pastor was talking so animatedly about forgiveness.

  “Once you take the time to get to know people,” Pastor Tom said, “you’ll come to understand that we are all driven by our fears and wounds. That everyone is doing the best they know how in the moment. Once you understand, you can forgive them. Just as others forgive you for your mistakes.”

  It sounded so good. Like a reprieve. Shepherd wanted to believe it, but he didn’t trust the ability of people to forgive. Would Pastor Tom be able to forgive him if he knew Shepherd could have saved Clayton, b
ut hadn’t?

  Guilt overwhelmed him. Stronger than ever. He almost mumbled an excuse to Naomi and scrambled out of the church.

  But then Pastor Tom finished up his sermon and the music started. The congregation sang from hymnals. Quaint and old-fashioned in this era of electronic prompters spelling out the lyrics on an overhead screen. Naomi held up her open hymnal so he could read from it and sing along with her.

  Which was nice, because he had an acceptable excuse for moving closer to her.

  Naomi’s voice was sweet and pure. He heard it above all the others. Even though she was not singing any louder than anyone else. His ears were tuned to her and only her.

  She sang and her song filled him. He was inside her. Resonating. Vibrating. Humming.

  Enrapt. More present than he’d ever been in his life. Not even in war had he been so focused. Her rendition of the hymn opening up a whole new world of sound.

  They were not separate, the two of them. They were one in her tower of song. Naomi sang, and because he heard her voice, he was part of it. Part of her.

  It was the odd and intimate and exciting. This stunning knowledge. He felt suspended in time and space. Surrounded. Submersed. Utterly alive, and aware of his aliveness right in the middle of the ordinary and mundane.

  Beautiful.

  It was easy to feel alive on a battlefield when a man knew he could die at any moment. But to feel this alive, teeming with life in the most common of places?

  What a gift!

  He wanted to grab the feeling with both hands and hold on to it for dear life. But as soon as he had the thought of clinging, the feeling disappeared.

  But he’d caught a glimpse. Seen a glimmer of what could be.

  Shepherd was bowled over. Mind-blown. A mystical, mental union in song.

  Naomi sang the last note, tilted her head toward him, and slanted her eyes up at him. A secret smile playing at her lips. As if she felt exactly the same thing.

  If he’d left, he would have missed one of the most moving moments of his life.

  Something shifted in Mark Shepherd after Sunday’s church service.

  Naomi didn’t know what it was, but he seemed calmer, less edgy. After dinner, he didn’t immediately run back to the rectory as he had the previous week. Instead, he lingered every evening all through Monday’s game of Chutes and Ladders with Hunter and Tuesday’s double feature of Frosty the Snowman and Miracle on 34th Street.