Christmas from the Heart

by Sheila Roberts

  But lo and behold. What was this? There sat a miniature red wooden sleigh with all manner of greens and red-and-white flowers sticking out of it. And a candy cane to boot. Oh yeah. Livi would love that.

  Someone else thought it looked good, too—a teen boy wearing a stocking cap and a collection of zits on his nose. Guy snatched it away as the kid reached for it.

  “Hey,” the kid protested. “I was gonna buy that for my girlfriend.”

  “You gotta be fast, kid,” Guy said. “Get her some carnations and chocolate.”

  Poor kid. He was probably hoping he’d get lucky with this cutesy little offering. Well, there was getting lucky and there was desperation. Guy was desperate.

  He hurried to find the fastest checkout line. There was no such thing. Every checker was busy and the lines stretched clear to the North Pole. Even the express lane was clogged. Guy’s blood pressure was going to go through the roof.

  He got in line behind an old man with a cart that was practically overflowing. Eggnog, boxed dressing, enough onions to make an entire kitchen crew cry while peeling them, spuds, lettuce, turnips and carrots, canned soups, canned green beans, some kind of rolled-up white lump of meat, whipping cream, little colored marshmallows, canned pineapple and other cans of fruit. Butter, eggs, milk. Pop, beer. Red paper plates and napkins, tinfoil. Was there any shelf in the store the old man hadn’t hit? Antacid. Guy could have used some of that. His stomach was churning.

  “It’s a fifteen-item limit in this line,” he pointed out to the old man.

  The man was stooped and skinny. He had bushy eyebrows and hair growing out his ears. The wedding band on his left hand suggested that he’d been given a list and checked it twice. And the downturned mouth suggested he was in no mood to be messed with.

  “Close enough,” he said, daring Guy to contradict him.

  “Can I at least go in front of you?” Guy asked. “I have to be somewhere.” I’m late to my execution.

  “No, you can’t,” the man snapped. “My wife needs this stuff for dinner.”

  “Oh, come on.”

  “Wait your turn.”

  The old man not only had too many items, he had coupons. The same woman who had rung up Guy’s purchase only the day before was working the register. She gave Guy an apologetic look.

  “Oh for crying out loud,” Guy said in disgust, and shoved a twenty at the man. “Here. Take this. It’s worth more than your damned coupons anyway.”

  The man looked ready to give him a verbal lashing until he saw the bill. “You young pups are always in such a hurry,” he grumbled. But he took the money and pocketed his coupons and let the checker finish up without any more delays. Then he shuffled away.

  “Sorry,” Suz the checker said to Guy as she rang up his purchase. “I’m not allowed to say anything to people when they get in line with too many items. I’d get in trouble.”

  “It’s okay,” Guy said, and paid her. He was already in deep shit so, really, what was his hurry? Oh yeah, anxious to explain, anxious to try to fix this mess. To know how his story was going to end. The suspense was killing him.

  Or maybe it was guilt.

  “Merry Christmas,” Suz said to him, handing him his receipt.

  It would be anything but merry if he couldn’t make things right with Livi. He wished Suz a merry Christmas and made his way back to the car.

  Darkness was taking over and as he drove to Livi’s house he tried rehearsing different openings. “Livi, I know what you must think of me... I know I should have told you who I was right from the start... Give me a chance to explain...”

  He kept stalling out after that last opening. He had no idea how to explain.

  He drove down Livi’s street. Porch lights were winking on and Christmas lights coming to life. A group of people dressed in winter garb stood in front of a house singing a Christmas carol. Everything looked greeting card perfect. The churning in Guy’s stomach picked up speed.

  The white icicle lights were on at the Bergs’ house, and so was the porch light, inviting visitors to stop by for hot cocoa and a chat. This was going to be some chat. Inside his fleece-lined leather gloves, Guy’s hands were sweating as he clutched the floral arrangement. He forced himself to go onto the front porch and ring the front doorbell. He was fearless on the slopes, zipping down double black diamond trails, but he stood on Livi Berg’s front porch with his mouth dry and his heart hammering.

  The door yanked open so quickly and forcefully, he found himself taking a step back. There stood her brother, looking ready to pull off Guy’s head and drink his blood.

  “I need to see Livi,” Guy said, keeping his voice even.

  “She doesn’t need to see you,” said brother David.

  He was about to close the door when Livi appeared behind him, her parka in hand. “It’s okay, David,” she said, and slipped past her brother onto the porch, shutting the door behind her.

  The expression on her face was a hundred times worse than her brother’s. She was disgusted, and Guy felt every bit of that disgust. He hadn’t felt like that since he got hauled into the principal’s office when he was twelve for blowing up a hair spray bottle in the girls’ bathroom.

  “I’m surprised you had the nerve to come back,” she said. The words came out like chips of ice.

  “I had to. I couldn’t leave letting you think...” Here he skidded to a stop, unsure where to go next. This was already coming out badly.

  “Letting me think what? That you’re a stingy, sneaky fake? How dare you pretend to be a decent human being.”

  “I am a decent human being,” he protested.

  “No, you’re not. You’re...Guy Hightower.” She spat out his name as if it were a dirty word.

  Well, it wasn’t. Maybe this latest generation of Hightowers weren’t the most perfect men on the planet, but they weren’t crooks or scoundrels, either. They were men trying to run a company under the mighty shadow of a father who had been larger than life. They were trying to keep things going and not screw up. Okay, so they made some less than stellar choices along the way. Did that make them a pack of Scrooges?

  “Yeah, I’m Hightower,” he said. “That means I’m responsible for the finances of an entire company and hundreds of jobs. I do the best I can, make the best decisions I can.”

  “Oh really? And was the way you treated Christmas from the Heart the best decision you could make?”

  “Well, excuse me for giving money to other charities. That’s what really made you mad, wasn’t it? You didn’t rate as high and it rankled.”

  “No, that’s not it,” she shot back, her voice rising.

  “Oh? Really? Then what?”

  “You...deceived me.”

  “Well, can you blame me? If I’d told you who I really was, you’d have run me over instead of giving me a lift into town.” She’d been more than willing to help a stranger. He flashed back to how she’d grilled him about his business as she drove him into town. It hadn’t hurt that he was a rich stranger. “As it was, you took one look at my car and couldn’t wait to help me out. Why was that, Livi?”

  “You were stranded!”

  “Yeah, a rich dude stranded right here in Pine River,” he said. “You know, I thought when you first picked me up that you were being nice. That you were into me. Were you into me or my money, Livi? Did you really see a man stranded by the side of the road or a rich sucker to hit up?”

  Her eyes flew open as if he’d just slapped her.

  Okay, that was a low blow and totally unfair. Why was he turning the tables when he should be on his knees, begging her to forgive him?

  “I thought I saw a knight in shining armor,” she said, her voice trembling. “I thought I’d met a nice man with a good sense of humor and a generous heart, but really all I met was a fake. You lied to me, Joe. Guy. Whoever you are.”

  “I
told you why I lied.”

  “Were you ever going to tell me the truth?”

  He held out the floral arrangement. “Yeah. Right now. It’s why I came back.”

  His gift didn’t have the desired effect. She looked at it in disgust. “Are you trying to buy my forgiveness?”

  “No. This is a peace offering.” She was making this so difficult. He swore. “Come on, Livi,” he urged. “We got off to a bad start months ago. I was a jerk. I admit it and I’m sorry. But I was stressed. Our company’s been going through some hard times.”

  “A lot of people are going through hard times,” she said and her gaze rested on his Maserati parked at the curb. Judging him because of his car?

  “Come on. Seriously? You’re going to judge my business decisions by the car I drive?”

  Her only response was to lift her chin to a holier-than-thou angle.

  “You know, you’re not the only nonprofit out there. I’m a CFO trying to keep my company alive and well. Every decision I make is for the good of the company. And just because I drive a nice car it doesn’t mean I’m made of money.” Now his voice was rising.

  “Poor, poverty-stricken Guy Hightower and his expensive foreign car,” she mocked. “You were on your way somewhere when I first met you, weren’t you? I’d better let you get going. I hope you’ll forgive me if I don’t invite you in for dinner after all. I’m sure you can find something to eat on your way. Oh gosh, I hope you can afford it. Times are tough.”

  There it was, that same adder’s bite he’d seen in her email. His own chin lifted. “Nice speech. Sweet little Olivia Berg, the darling of Pine River. Until you cross her. Maybe I’m not the only fake around here.”

  The rosy hue disappeared from her cheeks and her face suddenly looked pale as snow. Crap. He was a tool.

  He opened his mouth to say so, and, once more, ask to start again, to remind her of everything he’d done for Christmas from the Heart since he came to town, but she cut him off. “I’m sure your mother will love those flowers,” she said, and yanked the front door back open.

  “Livi, don’t!” he protested as she slammed it shut.

  “Come on, we’re bigger than this,” he pleaded, banging on the door. It didn’t open.

  And now here came the carolers, singing “Joy to the World.”

  All the joy had sure been sucked out of Guy’s world.

  He left the floral arrangement on the porch, then slumped to his car. He drove away, going back over every word he’d said on Livi’s front porch, analyzing where he’d gone wrong, trying to figure out what it would take to climb out of the deep, dark Grinch hole he’d dug for himself.

  He should turn around, go back. Pound on Livi’s door until she opened it. Promise her anything. Tell her that he wanted the life she had, that he wanted her.

  But he didn’t have the life she had. He never would. And he sure wouldn’t have her.

  He called his mom. “I’m on my way.”

  “Good. I can hardly wait to see you.”

  Somebody would be glad to see him. A little way out of town he found a fast-food burger joint and pulled into the drive-through. A burger and a shake, Christmas Eve dinner of champions. Yeah, merry Christmas.

  15

  Livi sat at the kitchen table, crying, dinner preparation long forgotten.

  Terryl sat next to her, an arm around her shoulder. “I’m sorry, Livi,” she finally said.

  “Don’t be. I’m glad he’s gone. He’s a fake and a creep, and I wish I’d never met him,” Livi finished on a sob.

  “Do you? Really?” Terryl asked softly.

  “Yes,” Livi insisted. “I had this silly fantasy that I’d met a man who was everything I’d ever wanted, that maybe something could happen between us. It was all so romantic—kisses and walks in the snow and working side by side distributing turkeys and hams and Christmas stockings. And...it was like Disneyland. All pretend. Nothing was real.”

  “Except maybe the way you both felt.”

  “I could never love a man like that.”

  “A man who helped you do all those good things?”

  “Don’t you see? It was all a cover, a facade. An act. His heart wasn’t really in any of it. He was just putting on a show.”

  Terryl sighed and moved to fill the electric teapot. “I think you need some tea.”

  She needed more than tea.

  Her father finally braved the storm of female emotions and joined them, David at his heels. He took the chair Terryl had vacated and put an arm around her. “I’m sorry, Snowflake.”

  Her dad’s gentle comfort really turned on the tears.

  “What a gutless wonder,” David said. “He should have told you who he was.”

  “If he had, she’d never have given him the time of day,” said Dad. “I probably wouldn’t have, either. But maybe the man wanted to make a new start. It looked like he was doing a pretty good job while he was here.”

  “Yeah, well, a man will do a lot to get into a woman’s pants,” David muttered.

  “You are not helping,” his wife scolded.

  “She’s better off without him,” David said in his own defense.

  Yes, she was. Joe Ford was a fictional creation. He’d come to town, painted a nice story and then, like Frosty the Snowman, melted away. And, unlike Frosty, he wouldn’t be back again someday.

  * * *

  It was almost midnight when Guy’s Maserati finally purred down the snowy driveway to his mom and stepdad’s house on the shores of Lake Coeur d’Alene. He grabbed his overnight and computer bags and the box with the chocolate pot that had started his whole ugly Christmas adventure and went to the door.

  His mom threw it open before he could even ring the doorbell. She looked like an ad for a high-end clothing magazine. Tasteful slacks and sweater, fancy scarf knotted at her neck, pearl earrings, hair carefully colored to hide the gray.

  “You’re here,” she sang, and drew him to her for a hug. As always, she smelled like Chanel. It was her signature perfume and Dad had gotten it for her every year. Guy had ordered some and had it shipped.

  Behind her stood her husband, Del, looking natty in wool slacks and a red cashmere sweater, holding a highball glass in his hand. “Glad you finally made it, Guy. How about something to chase away the cold,” he offered as he and Guy shook hands.

  Guy needed to chase away more than the cold. He doubted a drink would get rid of all the depressing thoughts that had been riding with him ever since he left Pine River, but he nodded, dumped his overnight bag and laptop case, and followed them into the enormous living room, carrying the family treasure he’d been commissioned to deliver under his arm.

  The decorators had been busy. Fir garlands and gold ribbons hung from the stair railing leading to a second-floor landing, and a tree decorated in gold and red stood guard in the front hall. As he’d predicted, there were the greens and the Mercury glass and candles on the mantelpiece over the mammoth stone fireplace, and there stood the twelve-foot tree lighting up a far corner of the room with enough presents piled beneath it to keep an entire third-world nation busy opening them.

  And there sat his stepsisters, Lizbeth and Melianna, both as skinny and fashionable as the last time he’d seen them. He had the same mixed feelings about each one.

  Lizbeth had hated his mom on sight, which hadn’t endeared her to Guy. She’d done everything she could to sabotage the relationship, but she’d lost that battle and consoled herself by getting drunk and making a scene at the wedding. Mom had forgiven her and they’d eventually called a truce. They didn’t go shopping or do all those girl things Mom had hoped for once she had daughters, but at least Lizbeth got past making scenes. She’d made a small effort to be nice to Guy and his brothers, giving the impression that she was trying to make up for her earlier tacky behavior, and he was polite in return, but he still co
uldn’t forgive her for not falling in love with his mom.

  Unlike her older sister, Melianna could be bought, and she’d taken advantage of Mom’s generosity early on. She’d made a play for Guy at the wedding and had been both shocked and insulted when he hadn’t jumped at the chance to sleep with her. She still considered him a challenge and loved flirting with him whenever they met—even if she did have a man in tow. Tonight, it looked like she didn’t. She was a spoiled brat but at least she was a fun-loving spoiled brat.

  She slid out of her chair and flitted across the room to give him a not so sisterly hug. “Brother dear, about time you got here.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure you missed me,” he said, disengaging himself.

  “You should have flown in,” Del told him.

  “I would have if it wasn’t for this,” he said, and handed over the chocolate pot.

  “Thank you, dear,” gushed Mom. “We’ll have to make hot chocolate for Kimmy in it tomorrow,” she said as she opened the box.

  “She wanted to stay up and see you,” Lizbeth told Guy, “but it was getting late so I sent her to bed.” Her tone of voice implied it was all Guy’s fault her daughter had been banished from the party.

  Just as well. Kimmy was a high-energy kid, who loved being the center of attention, and Guy wasn’t sure he had the emotional energy to deal with her at the moment. She would have been all over him. He’d won her devotion when he danced with her at the wedding, swinging her around until she was helpless with giggles and she’d been his Mini-Me ever since. Yeah, he had that effect on women.

  Most of them.

  Mom pulled out the china pot from its nest of packing. “Great-grandma’s chocolate pot,” she said happily. “Limoges.”

  Melianna looked over Mom’s shoulder. “Nice,” she said. “What a cool thing to pass on to one of your daughters.” Hint, hint.