The Giving Season

by Rebecca Brock

  God help me, she thought and plastered her friendliest smile on her face. All of a sudden she wanted to do nothing but burrow into the nearest snowdrift and tunnel out of there Bugs Bunny-style.

  Blissfully oblivious to his family’s confusion, Michael turned to Jessy as he hefted Ben onto his shoulders. “Jessy, these rugrats are my twins, Ben and Marie. Guys, this is my friend, Miss Jessy Monroe.”

  “H’lo,” Jessy said and raised her hand in a feeble wave, feeling her cheeks blaze as she nodded her greetings to the kids. She knew Michael was watching her with that familiar teasing smile on his lips—which did absolutely nothing to help her relax.

  “And I’m the big rugrat’s mother,” Michael’s mother said, smiling as she stepped off the porch. Jessy felt almost immediately at ease, seeing nothing but friendly curiosity in the woman’s eyes as she extended her hand. “Lyssa Forrester. Nice to meet you.”

  Jessy felt awkward and huge as she shook Lyssa’s hand. Michael’s mother was petite and birdlike, with the same twinkling eyes as her son and a headful of curly silver hair that she pulled back with a girlish headband. She possessed an aura of warmth that enveloped Jessy and eased away her nervousness. Jessy liked her instantly.

  “Jessy Monroe,” Jessy said softly, forcing her smile to relax from what felt like a death’s head grin. “Hello.”

  “Hiya, Mom.” As Michael grinned and kissed his mother’s cheek, Jessy caught the questioning look in Lyssa’s eyes and felt the urge to explain everything to her right then and there. Oh, but this was awful. This was worse than awful.

  Jessy looked up to the porch and caught the other man’s eye. At first glance, he seemed to be a glowering, imposing giant of a man. Then he smiled, and Jessy recognized the same mischievous glint she’d seen in Michael and Lyssa’s eyes.

  “For Pete’s sake, what are we doing standing out here in the snow?” Lyssa laughed and took Jessy’s arm, shepherding her towards the porch. “I hope you two are hungry—I’ve got a twenty-five pound turkey in there with our name on it.”

  What’d you do?” Michael asked her, flicking a quick smile to Jessy as he put down Ben and Marie and straightened up again. “Postpone Thanksgiving for us?”

  “Well—technically we postponed it.” Lyssa looked at Jessy and winked. “We haven’t started in on the leftovers yet.”

  Jessy couldn’t help but smile, reminded of her own mother by Lyssa’s teasing manner and warm eyes. As Lyssa hurried up the steps and disappeared into the house, Jessy felt a twinge of envy for Michael. He still had his mother. He had a whole family.

  “And of course you skip out on the year you have dishwashing duty,” the other man said, the gruffness in his voice contradicted by his smile.

  “Jessy, this is my older brother, Frank.” Michael smiled as he guided Jessy up the slippery porch steps. “Frank, this is Jessy Monroe. We met on the bus on my way up from Illinois.”

  “Poor thing. How’d you stand to be cooped up with him so long?” Frank smiled and playfully jabbed an elbow into Michael’s side. Somehow he managed to look menacing even when he smiled, with his shaved bald head and dark, deep set eyes. He was just a few inches taller than Michael, but his huge shoulders and long legs made him seem gigantic. Jessy had to tilt her head back to smile at him as he shook her hand.

  “Nice to meet you,” Jessy said and smiled.

  “Ditto.” Frank glanced at Michael again, keeping a straight face even though his eyes gave him away. “So do you want me to run a background check when I get home?”

  “Frank’s a sheriff,” Michael said dryly as Frank laughed and Jessy shakily smiled. “But he’s more Barney Fife than Matt Dillon.”

  “Keep it up and you might hurt my feelings,” Frank said and grinned. “Listen, I gotta go. I just got a call about some post-Thanksgiving domestic disturbances that I have to break up.”

  “Coming back for Christmas?”

  “Hell, yes. Mom’ll skin me alive if I don’t.” Frank looked over to Jessy, still smiling. “You’ll still be here by then, I hope?”

  Jessy nodded. “Unless they kick me out.”

  Frank glanced over to Michael again. “I think I like her.”

  Michael grinned and slung his arm around Jessy’s shoulders, completely surprising her by the gesture. “Yeah, me too.”

  “Well, gotta go knock some heads together.” Frank grinned as he shrugged into his jacket and jogged down the porch steps. “Take care, Mikey. See you at Christmas, Jessy.”

  They waved goodbye and waited until Frank’s taillights were out of sight before Michael led her into the house. Her attention was immediately captured by the mouth-watering scents of roasted turkey and homemade bread. She was almost embarrassed to realize that she was starving.

  They entered the foyer without speaking. Jessy took the opportunity to look around, unabashedly staring as she slipped out of her coat and followed Michael into the house. There was no television in the living room. Instead, an overstuffed couch and a set of leather wingback chairs surrounded the room’s main attraction, a huge stone fireplace. Hand-crocheted afghans were artfully draped over the backs of the couch and chairs. Bookshelves lined the walls, and on the mantletop were dozens of framed photographs of Michael’s family, frozen moments captured in color and black and white.

  For a moment Jessy felt as if she had just stepped into one of her favorite childhood dreams, a home filled with warmth and love and happiness.

  Michael knelt down in front of Ben and Marie gave them both quick kisses. “Where’s your sister?”

  “She’s upstairs crying.” Ben turned to Jessy and flashed her a gap-toothed grin. “Wanna come up and see my hamster? Miss Purty’s real friendly.”

  “No, she isn’t,” Marie said and grimaced. “She poops on me when I try to hold her.”

  “Wait a second, guys,” Michael said. “Why is Libby crying? What happened?”

  Lyssa entered the living room, wiping her hands on a dishtowel as she read the sudden worry on Michael’s face. “Don’t worry, honey—Libby’s fine. It’s just that darn Christmas dance at the school.”

  “Oh, no.” Michael managed a weak grimace. “This is something about a boy, isn’t it?”

  “Apparently Tommy Anderson is going to the dance with that stuck up little Kathleen McClure.” Lyssa tsked and shook her head. “Boys that age are so silly. Can’t see a diamond in a pile of coal.”

  “When did she get old enough to worry about boys?” Michael took a deep breath and sighed, smiling again to Jessy. “Would you like to meet my daughter?”

  “Maybe I should wait until after you talk to her.”

  “To tell you the truth, I can use all the help I can get.” Michael’s smile slanted sadly. “Falling off her bike or fixing her dollhouse I can handle. This new stuff with boys and dating and clothes—” His voice trailed away as she shrugged. “Libby’s ten going on forty. Sometimes I think she’s more mature than I am.”

  “Not that that’s such a great challenge,” Lyssa said and smiled, winking at Jessy before bending at the waist to be eye-level with Ben and Marie. “How about some help making the tea? You can introduce Miss Purty to Jessy after dinner.”

  The twins grinned and ran full speed towards Lyssa, streaking past her as they disappeared into the kitchen. Lyssa managed to flash Michael and Jessy a quick smile before she hurried to chase after them. Alone with Michael in the living room, Jessy suddenly felt awkward again.

  “Maybe you should go in to talk to Libby first,” she said quietly.

  “Trust me, I need you to be my back-up on this.” Michael grinned as he led Jessy to the staircase, his hand lightly flattened against the small of her back. His touch made her feel uncomfortable, all too aware of her size. It was silly, really—obviously all he had to do was look at her and know how overweight she was—but for him to actually feel it—

  She managed to glance up to him, surprised when she saw he was still smiling at her. Jessy only wished she knew how to interpret that smile.
Was he laughing at her? Mocking her? She didn’t think he was the kind of man who would do such a thing, but after so many years of dodging insults and ignoring vicious criticism, she was afraid to trust her instincts.

  “Wait a second,” Michael said as he stopped on the staircase, a few steps below Jessy. She turned to face him and was struck anew by the quiet warmth in his eyes. God, how she wanted to believe it was sincere. She wanted so badly to believe that he was a nice guy.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked quietly.

  His smile held a moment as he shook his head slightly. “I just—I know all this is really weird for you, walking into the middle of my life like this, but—” His voice trailed away as he reached out and took her hand, holding it so carefully that Jessy felt as if she’d suddenly turned into spun sugar. “I’m glad you’re here. I really am.”

  For a moment Jessy didn’t know what to say or do. To her mortification tears suddenly burned her eyes. Hiding it with a smile, Jessy sniffed and swiped at her cheeks with the back of her hand. Michael wasn’t fooled, but he had the good grace not to draw attention to her emotional slip.

  “I know,” he said softly, his voice as gentle as his gaze. He gave her hand a faint squeeze as he continued up the stairs, Jessy at his side.

  Comfortably silent, they continued to Libby’s room, hands still lightly entwined. For Jessy, the mere act of holding Michael’s hand felt at once unnatural and wonderful. She knew that most women would take such a thing for granted, but she couldn’t—and she didn’t think she ever would. Human contact was unfamiliar and strange, but now she found that she craved it.

  And now that she realized what she had been missing, it would make it that much harder to eventually leave.

  They stopped in front of Libby’s door and Michael knocked lightly. Jessy subtly slid her hand out of his; she knew that if she were Libby, the last thing she’d want to see was her father with another woman and get the wrong idea. She knew from her students that kids usually hoped that their divorced parents might get back together. And who knows, maybe Michael and his ex-wife could reconcile. His ex would have to be a complete idiot not to realize what she was giving up.

  “Libs? Can I come in?” Michael knocked again when there was no reply. “Libby, honey—”

  “The door’s open.” Libby’s voice sounded thick with tears, and as Michael opened the door Jessy instantly understood the true cause of Libby’s pain.

  Libby Forrester was ten years old and extremely pretty, with long dark hair and her father’s chocolate-brown eyes—and she was at least fifty pounds overweight. Jessy looked at Libby and saw herself at that age: unhappy and lonely and frustrated. Her heart went out to the girl.

  “What’s wrong, sweetie?” Michael asked as he sat beside Libby and held his arms out to her. Libby fell into them gratefully, her sobs renewed as she buried her face against his chest. Michael looked up to Jessy and she could see his own pain; whatever had hurt Libby was hurting Michael twice as much.

  “He—he said I was too fat—” Libby moaned, her breath catching miserably as she looked up to Michael again. Jessy remained in the doorway, still unnoticed by Libby. She had to fight the urge to go to the girl and put her arms around her.

  “Who did?” Michael asked, the slightest edge of protective anger creeping into his even tone. He gently wiped the tears from Libby’s cheeks. “Who, Libs?”

  “Tommy Anderson,” she said quietly, looking down at her lap. Her father’s presence seemed to calm her greatly. “Somebody told him I liked him, and he told a bunch of people that I was too fat to take to the dance. So he asked Kat McClure instead.” Libby raised her gaze to her father’s, and Jessy could see a maturity in her eyes that far exceeded an average ten year old’s. “He’s right, isn’t he? Boys don’t like me because I’m too fat.”

  “Oh, Libby,” Michael kissed her forehead, pulling her close to him. “It’s not like that at all.”

  “Then why—?” Libby’s voice trailed away as she finally noticed Jessy in the hallway. Her expression immediately tightened, and Jessy suddenly wished she’d stayed downstairs and allowed Michael this time alone with his daughter. “Who’s that?”

  Michael took a deep breath and sighed. Apparently he’d picked up on the same note of accusation in his daughter’s voice that Jessy had heard. “Libby, this is my friend Jessy Monroe. We met on the bus and—I invited her to stay with us for Christmas.”

  Libby stared at Jessy for what felt like an eternity, studying her with an intensity that made Jessy blush. She managed a faint smile, hoping she looked friendly and unthreatening. Some of the distrust faded from Libby’s eyes, and Jessy thought she might understand why: Libby knew that her father could never be anything but friends with someone overweight like Jessy. Common sense and her own painful experience told her that much.

  “But Dad—” Libby looked back to Michael again. “What about Mom?”

  Jessy cringed. Great. She stood mutely by the door, completely bewildered by how to handle this situation. Anything she said or did now would be wrong, anyway. If she came on too strong, too friendly, Libby would think she was just trying to butter her up and get on her good side. If she remained quiet and calm, she would seem like an aloof witch who didn’t care.

  How did she get herself into these situations?

  “Libby—” Michael’s voice was firmer, but no less loving. “Your mom and I have talked to you about this. I’m sorry, baby, but I don’t think we can ever go back to the way things were.”

  “Don’t you still love her?”

  Michael glanced almost guiltily to Jessy—which struck her as odd, because why should she care if he still loved his ex-wife? Of course, for some stupid reason she did care, but he didn’t need to know that.

  “I’ll always love your mother because of you and Ben and Marie,” Michael said softly. “But we don’t love each other enough to be married. It wouldn’t be fair to any of us.”

  “But what if she came back?” Libby asked, voice very quiet. “Like to spend Thanksgiving with us?”

  Michael stiffened slightly. “What are you talking about, Lib?”

  “Mom’s coming home for Thanksgiving. She called while you were gone.” Libby smiled slightly, a hopeful glow in her eyes. “She never spends Thanksgiving with us. Maybe she’s going to stay this time.”

  “Lib, honey—” Michael seemed at a loss for words. He helplessly glanced at Jessy, not that she could help him out. She felt just as stunned as him, if not more so.

  “Libby!” Lyssa yelled from downstairs. “Time to set the table!”

  Taking that as her cue, Libby scrambled off the bed and hurried out of the room, leaving Jessy and Michael to look at each other in a suddenly awkward silence.

  “Your wife is coming home?” Jessy finally managed to say, hating the squeaky nervousness in her voice.

  “Ex-wife. And I had no idea.” Michael ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath. “Usually she just calls the kids.”

  “Maybe I shouldn’t stay,” Jessy said softly. She straightened up and nodded to herself. “Yeah, I should go. This is—you should be with your family.”

  She hurried out into the hallway and was halfway down the steps before Michael caught up with her. He gently grabbed her arm and turned her around to face him. “Jess—wait a minute—”

  “I shouldn’t—” Jessy took a breath and closed her eyes for a moment, collecting her thoughts. “This is the first Thanksgiving your kids have had with their mom for a long time. I shouldn’t be here.”

  “Yes, you should.”

  “I’m intruding.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  Jessy gazed at him for a moment. He was so placid, so damnably self-confident with his calmness, that she could almost believe the idea of staying wouldn’t turn into a horrible fiasco.

  “What will your wife—ex-wife—think if I’m here?”

  “I don’t care what she thinks.” Michael smiled faintly, deepening his dimples ever
so slightly, and studied Jessy for a few moments. She could almost feel the tension floating out of her body; how someone could have so much of a calming effect on her, she’d never understand. “I want you to be here. For me.”

  “I don’t want to cause trouble between you—”

  “You won’t. Trust me. Our problems were around a long time before you entered the picture.” Michael’s smile widened. “So will you stay? Please? For me?”

  “Boy, you’re really working the puppy-dog eyes, aren’t you?” Jessy couldn’t help but grin.

  “Is it doing anything for you?”

  “Possibly.”

  “Then yeah, I’m working the puppy-dog eyes.” Michael batted his lashes and laughed. “Really, Jessy. I’d like you to stay.”

  Jessy took a deep breath and gazed at him for a moment, and finally nodded. “Okay. But I swear, if you two start reinacting ‘Kramer vs. Kramer’ I’m out of here. Seriously.”

  Michael laughed and slung his arm around her shoulders, a casual gesture that caused Jessy’s heart to catch and stutter. “You’ve got yourself a deal. Now let’s go eat.”

  Jessy allowed him to lead her down the stairs and into the dining room, wondering just what fresh hell she’d stumbled into now.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Jessy felt as jumpy as a cat, even though dinner was blissfully uneventful, with no sign of the mythical ex-wife. Which was fine. The longer Jessy could put off that eventual confrontation, the better. The woman was in for a potentially unpleasant surprise.

  Jessy ate sparingly, even though dinner was delicious and she felt like she could demolish the entire tray of cornbread dressing by herself. She tried to relax and enjoy the dinner, but she could tell just by looking at Michael that he felt just as tense. Even Lyssa didn’t seem too happy about the prospect of hosting her ex-daughter-in-law for dinner.

  At least the kids were happy, and their unabashed joy helped Michael unclench his jaw and smile more as the dinner wore on. By the time all of the second and third helpings had been eaten, the atmosphere at the table was as relaxed as it was going to be. As they talked and laughed and got to know each other, Jessy realized that they made her feel more welcome than she had ever felt in her life.