The Christmas Room

by Catherine Anderson

  She sighed. “My poor dad. His behavior has become legend in this valley. People wag their tongues constantly about him, never stopping to wonder what changed him.”

  “What did?”

  She shook her head. “If we see each other again, maybe I’ll tell you. I promised myself that I wouldn’t be glum today.”

  “Aw, come on. Now you have piqued my curiosity.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “It’s just a very sad situation, Cam. That’s not how I want you to think of me, some gal who always talks about herself.”

  “I don’t think that, so let loose.”

  She hesitated. “Okay. You asked for it. I believe my dad holds himself to blame for my mother’s death.”

  Cam winced. “Why? She died from cancer. That’s a natural cause.”

  She glanced over at him. “I need to have your word that you’ll never repeat this. I’ve never told anyone, and my father would be extremely upset if this became more fodder for the gossip mills.”

  Cam never gave his word lightly. “I can’t think of anyone I’d want to tell or need to tell. So you have my word that I won’t.”

  She took a deep breath and released it. “After I was born, my mother started having female trouble. Eventually her gynecologist wanted her to have a complete hysterectomy. She kept getting cysts on her ovaries.” She lifted her cup to take a sip of wine and then sent him a questioning look. “Are you uncomfortable discussing female stuff?”

  Cam shook his head. “No, of course not.”

  She licked her lips and swallowed, her dainty larynx bobbing in her slender throat. “Her periods were extremely heavy, so much so that she grew anemic. I can actually remember that, so it must have spanned several years. It got so bad that she had to get iron shots fairly often, and the injection site always burned and ached afterward, sometimes for days. It was as if she had a reaction or something.” She gazed across the river. “Both my parents wanted more children, my father especially. He hoped to have a son who’d someday run the ranch.” She forced a smile. “Not that he feels a woman can’t do that. It’s just easier on a man physically. One night—I can’t remember how old I was, maybe eight—I heard them arguing upstairs in their bedroom. They rarely fought, so it frightened me, and I huddled at the bottom of the steps, listening. Mama was crying. She told Daddy that she wanted another child as much as he did, but she couldn’t go on like she was. Daddy asked her if she could hang tough for another six months. If they couldn’t make a baby in that amount of time, she would have the surgery.”

  Cam’s stomach knotted. “Oh, God.”

  Kirstin nodded. “Yes, oh, God, and I say it prayerfully.” She shrugged her shoulders. “I was just a kid. I didn’t understand any of it then. I only knew my mama was sick, and my daddy didn’t want her to let a doctor make her feel better. After that, it seemed to me that she just got well. I know now that she stopped getting any cysts. She never got one again so far as I know. She remained healthy, had regular exams, and went through what seemed to be a normal menopause.

  “When I was sixteen—maybe just turned seventeen—she started getting what she called ‘whinges’ in her side. Sharp pains. They’d come and go. They’d last for only a little bit, making her press a hand over the spot and gasp, but she felt fine otherwise. I remember her saying that she thought it was her appendix flaring up. When she went for a checkup, the gyn found nothing that alarmed him. He said the appendix can become inflamed. He’d known patients who had warning flare-ups but had never gone into full-blown appendicitis. He told her what to expect if she did and to go directly to the hospital.”

  “Was your dad concerned?”

  Kirstin sent him a scolding look. “Of course he was concerned. He loved her with all his heart. But she’d been thoroughly examined and there was nothing to indicate something serious was wrong. And he was no longer bent on having another kid. I was born in his early forties. He was in his late fifties by then.”

  Cam had heard his mom say that ovarian cancer was a stealthy killer that often went undiscovered until it was too late. “So the gyn missed the cancer.”

  She nodded. “It was probably a tiny tumor at the time. He had no reason to suspect cancer, so he palpated her ovaries like a doctor does in any routine exam.”

  “Dear God. He missed it, and she ended up dying.”

  Kirstin nodded. Her face had gone pale. “I helped Dad care for her. If I hadn’t, the ranch might have gone under. He was with her as much as he could be. At the end, he bought her things she liked to eat, things she craved. If he thought she might like something we didn’t have on hand, he’d drive to town late at night even though he was exhausted from busting his ass all day. Raspberry sherbet. Later, when dairy upset her stomach, he got different flavors of sorbet. He spooned broth into her mouth. He adored her, and watching her die nearly killed him.”

  Cam didn’t need her to connect all the dots. “So your dad blames himself because he asked her to postpone getting a complete hysterectomy years earlier.”

  She nodded. “If he hadn’t asked her to wait another six months, she would have had no ovaries later, thus no ovarian cancer to kill her. I can see his reasoning, flawed though it may be.”

  Cam digested that. He tried to imagine how he might feel in a similar situation, and he had to admit he would wish he’d never asked his wife to wait before she had a surgery that would have eventually saved her life. Of course, Sam Conacher hadn’t known back then that she would never have the surgery at all. “Damn, that’s rough.”

  “One night right after she died, he got roaring drunk—even drunker than usual. I was awakened by a loud crash, and I found him on his knees in the living room. He was sobbing, rocking back and forth, and saying, ‘Annie, forgive me. Annie, forgive me.’” She shivered. “He was so plastered he never even knew I was there. He said, ‘If it would bring you back, I’d put a bullet in my brain. I swear to God I would. But nothing will bring you back, and with me gone, our baby girl would have this ranch dumped on her shoulders. I can’t do that to her.’”

  Cam understood Sam Conacher now in ways he almost wished he didn’t. It was a lot easier to just dislike the guy.

  “I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”

  “I believe I asked you to,” he replied. “Besides, yesterday I told you stuff I rarely talk about. I’m not proud of that period in my life, the mistakes I made, not only getting Becky pregnant but also putting her through a disastrous marriage that never should have happened. I haven’t seen her since Caleb’s birth, but I don’t think her life has gone well. Multiple marriages with kids from different fathers. Sometimes I wonder if her inability to stick with one man is my fault.”

  “That’s crazy. I’m sure having a baby and then giving it up left her with some emotional scars, but you were no more responsible for that than she was.”

  “Do you know how weird this feels?” he asked, giving her a long look. “We’re friends. I don’t know how that happened so fast.”

  “Me, either. Something just clicked between us. I felt the connection yesterday and still do today.”

  “It’s a good thing, making friends,” Cam told her. “None of us ever has enough of them.”

  “I have fewer than most,” she confessed. “Lots of acquaintances, and I think most of them like me, but not many people I can call whenever I just need to talk. Those kind of relationships require an investment of time, and I don’t have much to spare.”

  Cam heard what she didn’t say, that it was easier to stay home than to go out with acquaintances and upset her father. She was such a pretty woman and sweet as well. She was wasting the best years of her life. But who was he to talk? Back in California, others had thought the same thing about him, but Cam would never feel that he had misspent a single day. He’d raised a fine son, and he’d been there for his parents when they needed him.

  She grew quiet
again. Then she said, “If my dad knew I told you all that, he’d want to wring my neck.”

  Cam hooked an arm around her shoulders and gave her a quick hug. He could tell by a quick inhalation of the scent of her hair and shirt that she’d worked on the ranch until she’d left to meet him. The varied scents told a story of haying horses and cows and feeding grain. To him it was familiar and yet alluring when combined with her feminine essence.

  “Your father will never hear it from me,” he assured her. “And it’s probably been good for you to get it off your chest.”

  She looked him directly in the eye. “So, tell me, Cam. Do you plan to see me again?”

  “That depends on you.”

  “I’d love to,” she replied. “Just say the word.”

  “Tomorrow?”

  She smiled. “Is this our version of jumping in with both feet?”

  “I’m not one to jump into anything, but I don’t hesitate to move cautiously forward when something feels right.”

  “Lunchtime works great for me. There’s a place farther downstream where rocky fingers divide the river into thirds, creating narrows I can jump across. I can walk here from the ranch, and my father won’t think twice about it. I often go walking during my break, and this has always been one of my favorite places to do that.”

  Cam yearned to kiss her. Her lips, a pale rose-pink color, shimmered in the sunlight. A strand of jet hair lifted in the breeze and slid over her cheek. He decided to resist the urge, though. They were, as she’d pointed out, close to her father’s ranch, and they were in plain sight.

  “Can you be gone long enough for a walk and lunch?” he asked her.

  “Yes, around two hours, and tomorrow I’ll bring the food. I’ll make our picnic tonight and hide my cooler out in the woods so Dad will never know I’m meeting you.”

  “Normally when my schedule is clear, I do a lot of driving around, looking at expired listings and watching for property for sale by owners, but I can head home for lunch.”

  “We’re on,” she said with a grin.

  Chapter Three

  There had been a half day at Caleb’s new high school. He hated going to classes in August, so he’d been glad to get out early and have a chance to do something fun. Only, Gram was writing, and he wasn’t supposed to disturb her unless he was bleeding to death. He’d checked on the horses. The dogs were huddled and sound asleep at the base of Gram’s yard table, so he couldn’t take them for a walk. And he didn’t feel like watching flicks on TV that he’d already seen.

  Last night he’d watched his dad make a picnic lunch for himself and Kirstin Conacher, so he knew they were on the opposite bank somewhere. He decided to walk downriver until he spotted them. Then he’d drop to his belly in the tall grass along their side to spy, since he had nothing better to do and no one would ever know, and maybe he’d learn something about the opposite sex.

  Caleb didn’t have to walk that far before he saw them. As planned, he dived to the ground and parted the grass. Before five minutes passed, he realized that this was going to be way more boring than anything else he could have done. From a distance, Caleb decided that the guys at school were so right. Kirstin Conacher was hot, and his father was totally blowing it with her. He wasn’t even holding her hand. It looked to Caleb as if all they’d done so far was talk. That was so lame. In the locker room, he heard other boys discussing how they didn’t waste any time with girls, not even on a first date. Maybe his dad needed to read a how-to book, or something.

  Finally he saw his father give her a loose hug. All he did was curl his arm around her shoulders, though. What was he thinking? Was he bashful? As he watched his dad put what remained of the picnic back into the cooler, Caleb decided he should stay hidden until they walked upriver toward the pullout, where he’d seen her truck parked. It would take his dad a while to walk back to camp. He’d have to lug that cooler across the bridge and along the paved road to the automatic gate. Then it was a long way down the gravel lane to their driveway. Even if he cut across the alfalfa field, it would take time. Caleb could race back to the cabin and turn on the TV, and nobody would ever know he’d been gone.

  Only when he got home, Gram was outside, letting the dogs out of her yard for a short run. He slowed his pace as he drew near his grandmother. Sunlight beamed down on her, making her look like an angel with a halo. Maybe it was only that he’d gotten taller over the summer, but she suddenly looked so small and skinny to him. He couldn’t make the heavy feeling that something wasn’t quite right with Gram go away. Losing Gramps had been horrible, and now Caleb felt a clawing fear that he might lose her, too. She was more a mother to him than a grandmother, and he didn’t know how he and his dad would live without her.

  “Why are you home so early?” she called out.

  “We got out before lunch,” he yelled back.

  “You should have knocked. I have a coffee cake cooling on the counter for your afternoon snack. I would have made you a sandwich, and you could have had some cake for dessert while it was still hot from the oven.”

  Caleb drew up in front of her. “I didn’t want to disturb you, and I got bored, so I walked downriver.”

  Her blue eyes sharpened on his face. “Caleb McLendon, have you been spying on your father?”

  Caleb tried never to fib. It was the one thing that really pissed Gram off, and his dad, too, for that matter. “I couldn’t rent a movie without permission. I had hardly any homework and got it done in five minutes. I checked all the animals, and I’m not supposed to bother you while you’re working. What was I supposed to do, play games on my phone? I get in trouble for doing that too much, too.”

  Gram’s eyes transformed from looking like high-tech sensors to warm and twinkly. “Well. Don’t keep me in suspense. How did their walk and picnic go?”

  That was one of the things he loved about Gram. She hardly ever got upset about stupid stuff that she could let slide. “My dad crashed and burned.”

  “What?”

  “You need to talk to him, Gram. He never even kissed her. I don’t think he knows much about girls.”

  His gram burst out laughing. “I don’t think your father needs dating instructions from me. He barely knows Kirstin yet. Sometimes when you’re older, you’re not as impulsive. Personally, I’d be offended if a man tried to kiss me too soon.”

  Yeah, well, Caleb thought, you’re so old that you’re almost an antique. But he didn’t say it aloud. “I’m starving. Can I have some coffee cake?”

  She hugged his waist and led him toward her trailer. He draped an arm over her shoulders, and under the layers of her clothing and light jacket, he felt the bony ridges of her shoulders poking against him. It made him want to feed her vanilla ice cream with extra caramel topping, her favorite. Maybe he could do that later if she’d watch a movie with him. “I hope Dad gets his act together. It’d be awesome if his girlfriend lived next door. Less gas to go see her.”

  Gram laid her head on his shoulder. “Oh, Caleb, you’re good for me. You lighten my mood. I don’t think your father is thinking about fuel consumption right now.”

  “Maybe not. The guys at school talk about Kirstin Conacher a lot. They all think she’s hot, and now that I’ve seen her, I think so, too.”

  Gram chuckled. “Oh, dear, the terrible sixteens have arrived.”

  • • •

  When Cam and Kirstin reached her truck, he found himself wishing that he didn’t have to end their time together so quickly. But he sensed she felt the same way, and he’d see her again tomorrow. Meeting here was a great idea. Except for occasional pedestrians or a raft of fishermen drifting downstream, they would have privacy. And even if someone saw them, they probably wouldn’t recognize Kirstin from a distance.

  Cam no longer felt so concerned about her father’s reaction if he learned they were seeing each other. As his mother had reminded him, his own dad w
ould have told the old fart to do his worst and seen Kirstin, anyway. Cam did worry about the repercussions for Kirstin, though. The longer they could meet in secret, the more time she would have to decide if seeing him was important enough to her that she was willing to pay the price.

  He let the cooler slip from his grip and plunk on the gravel. At the door of her truck, emblazoned with CONACHER RANCH in bold green, she turned to smile up at him. “I still feel bad about boo-hooing to you about my father. Tomorrow I promise to be lighthearted.”

  “You didn’t boo-hoo, and I enjoyed listening,” Cam assured her, and he meant it. “Small talk is boring, so I’m glad you shared more of your family history. It sheds a whole new light on your father for me. Helps me understand where he’s at in his life. Maybe he could benefit from some counseling.”

  Her cheek dimpled in a smile. He longed to touch his fingertip to the indentation before it disappeared. “Dad will never go to a shrink. ‘Any man who seeks advice from an academic who learned about life by reading textbooks is a damned fool and a pansy-ass.’”

  Cam threw back his head and laughed. “That sounds like my old man. Stubbornness must be a trait of that generation.”

  “Or of Scotsmen.”

  She tipped her head to give him a questioning look. Cam stepped in close, curled an index finger under her chin, and bent to touch his lips to hers. He meant it to be a sweet, getting-acquainted kiss, but the instant their mouths touched, heat ignited between them. She tasted of wine, heady and intoxicating. Desire punched into him like a clenched fist. She melted against him and curled one slender leg over the backs of his knees. He felt his arms lock around her as if of their own volition. At the edges of his mind, he knew this was crazy. They were standing near a fricking road where anyone could see them. Her truck could be easily identified by those who drove by.

  He forced himself to end the kiss, hauling in a steadying breath as he backed away from her. She wobbled on her feet, making him grab her arm to lend her balance. Her gunmetal blue eyes were unfocused, her expression dazed. He wondered if he looked just as stunned.