Deck the Halls

by Donna Alward

  “Shoot, it was no problem. You didn’t have to get me anything.”

  “Heh,” the old man answered. “Don’t have many people to buy for anyway. Merry Christmas, George.”

  The afternoon went much the same. Business owners, neighbors, friends . . . several popped by with thanks for something he’d done, the littlest thing, really, and brought cards and gifts and one little girl gave him a toilet paper roll ornament she’d made as a way to say thank you for putting her chain back on her bike last summer. He didn’t understand why it was all happening, didn’t know what to say through his surprise, but at the same time, a warmth expanded in his chest each time someone made a point to say Merry Christmas.

  It was nearly quitting time when Laurel came out to see him. The customers were all gone, presumably to their own homes to get ready for the holiday and family festivities. “Big plans tonight?” he asked, pulling the door shut.

  “Just dinner at John and Moira’s,” she said. “Christmas Eve at the in-laws, and then in the morning we’ll have Christmas breakfast at Ethan and Willow’s. Because of the boys.”

  Those little boys unwrapping presents, a huge extended family laughing and talking over bacon and scrambled eggs and probably pancakes. It sounded so damned perfect.

  “George, I wanted to give you this. I know we didn’t say anything about exchanging gifts, but you need to know how much you’ve meant to me—to us—these last months. Without you, I’m not sure Aiden and I would have worked out our differences. And the garden center . . . you started by sweeping up and watering and now I know I can have this baby and The Ladybug will be in great hands. It’s a load off my mind, and I’m thankful and so stinkin’ proud of you it’s ridiculous. So Merry Christmas.”

  She handed him a gift bag. It was fairly big and not heavy but definitely full. “Should I open it?”

  “If you want to.”

  He grinned. He had a whole stack of little gifts to take home . . . holy doodle, he was going to have presents beneath his tree after all. But this one . . . it was Laurel after all. He reached inside, pulled away the clump of fluffy tissue paper, and removed a black fleece jacket and two work shirts.

  Each one was embroidered with the Ladybug Garden Center logo and had the word Manager written below it.

  He met her eyes and raised his eyebrows. “Manager?”

  “I know I’m not due for a while, but now is as good a time as any. I can focus my hours more in the office and you can see to the day-to-day running of the place. It comes with a raise, George. Not a huge one, but a little something. And benefits.”

  He didn’t know what to say. Thought he should sit down but there was nowhere to sit. “God, Laurel, you’re sure?”

  She smiled tenderly. “Amy was right. We have more faith in you than you have in yourself. You’ve earned this, George.”

  Amy. The day had been nearly perfect except the one person he really wanted here, he’d driven away.

  “I don’t have anything for you,” he said quietly. He seriously hadn’t considered exchanging gifts with anyone this year. He hadn’t expected to receive any gifts at all.

  “I have all I need, honey. Now you go home and let me clean up here. Aiden’ll be by after his shift so I’m just putting in time anyway.”

  “You’re sure?”

  She laughed. “Go.”

  He put all his presents in a shopping bag, put his jacket and shirts back in the pretty gift bag, and carried them all to his truck. The market was still open for another few hours, closing at five, so he ran in quickly and bought himself a single serving turkey dinner at the deli, thought twice, and bought a second one for Christmas dinner tomorrow. Though he’d never been a fan of fruitcake, there was a solid brick of one marked down in the bakery section and he put it in his basket. His last stop was for eggs and bacon. He wasn’t much of a cook, but he could make bacon and eggs and celebrate the good things in his life. Even Amy. Even if she’d gone back to Brooklyn, her coming here had started a chain reaction of good things that he could build on.

  When he arrived at his apartment, her car was parked in one of the visitor spots.

  He took three deep breaths, warned himself not to get his hopes up, and stepped out of his truck.

  She got out of her car at the same time, and their eyes met. She smiled . . . oh, that wonderful, sweet smile, and the bonds around his heart eased.

  “You’re late,” she said, her smile widening.

  “I stopped at the market. If I’d known . . .”

  “You would have rushed right home?”

  “Damned right.”

  It must have been the right answer because the spark went sizzling between them again.

  “I heard you had quite a day at work.”

  “I get the feeling you had something to do with that.”

  She walked up to him. “Do you want to talk about this inside?”

  “If that’s what you want.”

  “Let me take one of your bags.” She took the bag containing the eggs, bacon, and juice, and followed him into the building and up the stairs. Once inside she pushed off her shoes with her toes and left them by the mat. Then she took her groceries and put them on the kitchen counter, turned around, and walked into his arms.

  He wanted to hug her back, but his hands were full of plastic bags. Instead he closed his eyes and reveled in the feeling of her arms around him, her body close to his.

  She backed away, let him put down the bags, then took his hands. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, rubbing her fingers over the tops of his hands. “I’m sorry I yelled at you and said those things. And I’m sorry that even for such a short time, I gave up on you. That was wrong. You’re not in this alone. I asked for you to just get over years of issues and baggage, when we both know that’s not how it works. I’m sorry, George. I hope you forgive me.”

  He pulled her into his arms, close to his chest. “Of course I do. You weren’t wrong, you know. I’m just . . . a work in progress.” He frowned a little. “I have to admit. After I put the lights on the tree in your yard, and you didn’t say anything, I thought you couldn’t forgive the things I said, too. I thought you’d left.”

  She shook her head. “I had to look after a few details. Come, sit down for a minute. By the tree.”

  He followed her to the sofa and sat down beside her.

  She reached into her purse and took out a long, slim box, about the size of a business envelope but maybe an inch deep. It was wrapped in red foil with gold ribbon and bow. “My present to you. Open it.”

  “You don’t want me to wait until tomorrow?”

  “No. Not for this one.” Her smile was wide and bright with excitement. “This is part of what took up my time the last few days.”

  He tore off the ribbon and slid his finger beneath the tape on the paper. Inside the box was a sheaf of papers. “What the heck?” He took them out, scanned them quickly, met her gaze. “I don’t understand.”

  “There’s a group of veterans that do a bike tour every year. I know you don’t have a motorbike anymore, so this gives you a one-month rental and insurance, plus the tour package the group uses. The road trip is for two weeks, the first two weeks of April. I know it’s not New England in the fall, but . . .”

  He didn’t care. It could have been to Timbuktu. He could already imagine the feel of the wind on his face and the road slipping away behind him. “Amy, it’s too much.”

  “It’s not. It’s just right.” She smiled at him. “Say you’ll go.”

  “But Laurel’s baby is due . . .”

  “I ran this past Laurel first. She said you’re not to worry and to go and have a good time.”

  He stared at the papers once more. God, what a rush it would be! It was the perfect gift. How could she know him so well after such a short time?

  “I don’t have anything for you,” he said, feeling like a heel for the second time that afternoon. “I feel awful.”

  She shook her head. “Don’t be silly. You
put the lights on that tree, and I went to sleep at night seeing them out the bedroom window. And you’ve given me so much the last few weeks. Stories about Ian . . . those are better than anything. You can’t buy that kind of stuff.”

  He put down his gift and took her hand in his. “And what about us, then? I can’t move quickly on this, Amy. I don’t want to hurt you, or get hurt myself. Not that there are ever guarantees, but I don’t want to be careless. You’re too important for me to mess this up.”

  “I’ve been thinking about that,” she replied, leaning against his shoulder. “It’s a long drive, but we could do it now and again. Or take the train. Spend some weekends getting to know each other better.” She put her hand on his knee. “Take it one day at a time, with no pressure about the future.”

  “You mean try to make this work?”

  She nodded. “I’m willing if you are, George. But I have issues too, and I understand if what . . .” She halted. “The baby thing. I can’t ever give you that. I don’t want to deprive you of fatherhood if it’s something you really want.”

  He pulled her close. “That isn’t even on my radar, and it’s you I want. All of you, not just the easy bits. I’ve a long way to go before I could be anyone’s father. So no, sweetheart, that’s not a deal breaker for me.”

  She let out such a deep breath that he knew it had been troubling her a great deal. He wondered how many men had missed out on her love because of her fertility. Their foolishness was his gain. “So we’re going to move forward, one day at a time, working with each other’s flaws? Hardly sounds exciting,” he teased.

  But her eyes were soft and serious as she answered. “I don’t need exciting. I just need honesty and love. And if we work with that, I think it’ll all come right in the end.”

  “Me, too.” And when he couldn’t wait any longer, he kissed her, long and deep. And after a very long while they got up and heated up turkey dinners in the microwave, and cuddled on the sofa.

  And when Christmas Eve turned into Christmas morning, it was with Amy held close in his arms as they lay spoon fashion on the sofa in front of the tree, sleeping.

  Chapter Ten

  Amy woke early, her arm stiff from being beneath her all night, but loving the feel of George being the “big spoon” behind her. She stretched, then snuck out of his arms and to the kitchen, where she started making coffee and quietly put bacon in a pan on the burner. It didn’t take long and George came up behind her. “Merry Christmas,” he murmured in her ear, sending shivers down her spine.

  “You need a big breakfast. We have a long drive ahead of us.”

  “We do?”

  “Yep. Today’s the second half of your present. Christmas dinner with my parents.”

  “Oh.”

  She reached for his arm, understanding the wariness in his voice. “It’s okay. I went down there this week, and had a long talk with them, and they really want to see you, George. You were his best friend. Now you’re my best friend. It’s time you came home for Christmas.”

  Amy was pleased when he didn’t argue. Instead they ate bacon and eggs and toast while the sun was just coming up, and then she waited for him to throw a few things in an overnight bag. If they left now they’d be home by mid-afternoon. Just in time for her mom’s turkey and mashed potatoes and special sausage stuffing. When they got outside, she handed him the keys to her car. “You can drive if you want.”

  “You’re sure?”

  She laughed. “I’ve driven there and back already this week. I don’t mind being the passenger. Or we can swap at lunchtime. Whatever.”

  The drive provided more opportunities for them to talk, and Amy loved the pride in his voice when he told her about his promotion and all the people who had brought presents. “I didn’t even open them yet,” he said, shaking his head. “I got distracted.”

  “They’ll be waiting when you get back.”

  “I didn’t know people felt that way. That they even noticed me.”

  She reached over and took his hand. “People see you. I see you, George.”

  He pulled the car over and kissed her for about five minutes, and then they hit the road again.

  He got quieter, though, as she directed him to her neighborhood and they dealt with heavier city traffic. “You can see why I use the train to commute,” she said quietly, looking over at his tense face. “I love my neighbors and my job, but I have to tell you. I understand why you like Darling. There’s room to breathe there.”

  When he pulled up in front of her parents’ house, he killed the engine and they sat there for a few moments. Her heart ached for him. This was a big deal, but she also knew what waited for him inside. He just had to be ready to take the step.

  “You thinking about the last time you were here?”

  He nodded, and she saw his throat bob as he swallowed.

  “Ian was full of it. And the last time you were here you kissed me on the back step.” She grinned at him. “If you’d made your move, I’m not sure I would have been able to resist.”

  His gaze locked with hers. “I wish I had. Maybe it all would have turned out differently.”

  “Maybe. But we’re here now, right? And I’m happy, George. So let’s just be thankful for second chances.”

  “I am,” he said, reaching for her hand. He lifted it and kissed her knuckles. “More than you’ll ever know.”

  “Okay. Then let’s go inside.”

  * * *

  George tried to keep his hands from shaking as he walked to the front door of the Merck house. It was just as he remembered; an older bungalow with a little front porch, but the paint wasn’t peeling at all, there was a wreath on the door, and Ian wouldn’t be waiting inside.

  He looked over at Amy and gathered strength.

  And when they reached the front door, it opened before he could knock. Mrs. Merck stood there, an older version of the woman he remembered, lines at the corners of her eyes and mouth, but the same warm, welcoming eyes.

  “Welcome home,” she said, and held out her arms.

  He stepped into them and felt something beautiful slip into place. All the years of running, of wandering, of feeling in the way . . . it all evaporated with a hug from his best friend’s mother. This was what had been missing. Family. That they still invited him into theirs after all that had happened was the most humbling moment of his life . . . and he’d been humbled a lot.

  When he finally let go, Amy and her mom both had tears in their eyes. Ian’s father stood behind, unsmiling, his expression filled with emotion. George held out his hand. “Sir,” he said quietly. “Merry Christmas.”

  Owen Merck took his hand and gripped firmly. “We’re glad you’re here,” he said gruffly.

  Amy cleared her throat. “Okay, then. Now that we got all that over with, let’s lighten things up. I’d say this constitutes an eggnog toast.”

  Amy showed him to a spare room—not Ian’s old room, thankfully—and he stowed his overnight bag. When he got back to the living room, she handed him a glass of eggnog and invited him to sit down and relax. Their tree was a stunner, full of those glass balls he loved so much. Picture perfect, with white twinkling lights and a beautiful white angel on the top. Beneath it were presents, all opened, tidily arranged. There was one left, though, a little cloth gift bag with a wide ribbon and a tag on it. He leaned closer to try to read it. His name was on it.

  Mrs. Merck saw the direction of his attention and got up from the sofa. “We have something for you, too, George.” She picked up the bag and took it to him where he sat on the sofa beside Amy.

  “You really shouldn’t have done this.”

  “We wanted to,” Owen said. “We’re just so glad to see you, son.”

  Son. George’s heart constricted and he looked over at Amy, who was smiling wistfully. “Open it, honey,” she said, putting her hand on his knee.

  She’d called him honey. This whole day, the last two days, were like something out of a dream. If it was, he wanted to open thi
s last present before he woke up to reality.

  He untied the bow and reached inside the silk bag. There was another box inside, smaller than the one Amy had given him, a little tin one like he’d seen in stores to put gift cards in. He carefully took off the lid and looked inside.

  It was a card, the size of a business card, with a doctor’s name and appointment time written on it.

  “I don’t understand.” He looked up.

  “I told you I was good at red tape. This is an appointment with a counselor in Montpelier. He comes highly recommended, particularly with EMDR therapy.” Amy squeezed his hand. “That’s for PTSD. I thought you might prefer a male doctor to a female for this, but if you want to change we can find someone else.”

  “But . . .” George looked down at the card. Yes, he was going to have benefits now, but would they even cover something like this or a portion of it? “I don’t know how to say this. I appreciate the gesture, but I’m not sure I . . .”

  He couldn’t bring himself to say the words. That his salary plus assistance allowed him to pay the bills but not have a lot leftover.

  Owen spoke into the silence. “It’s paid for, George. For as long as you need.”

  George put down the card. “I can’t accept that. I’m sorry, and it’s a wonderful thought, but I can’t.” They couldn’t know about what really happened that day if they were being so kind and generous. The eggnog churned in his stomach.

  “We never did anything with Ian’s life insurance,” Owen explained. “Never felt right. But this . . . he’d approve of this. He’d want it for you. He’d want you to stop blaming yourself and for you to have a happy life.” Owen’s gaze slipped to Amy. “And if you’re going to date my daughter, I have a vested interest in your health. So let us help you, George. It’s what we want more than anything.”

  George’s lip quivered but he regained control of it. “It’s so much more than I deserve.”

  “Maybe someday you’ll see that’s not true,” Amy’s mom said softly.