Fortunately, when Mitchell woke up this morning he was a boy again. A cheerful, charming boy, who willingly ate all his breakfast, didn’t kick the table leg and quieted down when she asked him if he wanted to watch TV for a while.
Mitchell came in from the living room. “Mom, where’s my cowboy hat?”
Remembering how much she’d missed him when he was with Richie, she felt her heart overflow with love. She stooped to his level and caught him up in a fierce hug.
“Mommy,” he protested, wriggling away.
“I love you, my darling son,” she said. “It wasn’t the same around here while you were gone.”
Mitchell grinned winsomely up at her. “I missed you, too. Now can you help me find my cowboy hat? I’m going to need it when Tom teaches me to ride the pony.”
“I put it on my closet shelf for safekeeping,” Beth said, taking his hand. “Let’s get it together.” It was a felt hat, a miniature Stetson that Mitchell’s grandfather had given him. She’d stored it on a high shelf because she worried that he would step on it and ruin it.
“Okay,” Mitchell said, and off they went.
At least he was looking forward to doing something with Tom. He wasn’t totally against Tom’s presence in their lives. That was a hopeful sign.
“HOW ABOUT IF I DROP BY this afternoon and make sure Mitchell understands the finer points of scooter safety?” Tom asked when he called later.
Beth leaned back against the kitchen wall, closing her eyes against the waves of longing that washed over her when she heard Tom’s deep voice rumbling over the phone wire. “That would be wonderful. He’s been asking when he can ride it, and I’ve been putting him off.”
“I’ll be over around three.”
“Do you want to stay for dinner?”
A hesitation. “I told Leanne and Eddie that I’d eat with them and the kids. She’s making my favorite—meat loaf.”
“Oh, well, that’s fine. Maybe another time.”
“Sure. See you soon.”
“’Bye.”
“Who was that on the phone, Mom?” Mitchell, wearing his cowboy hat and boots, clomped in from outside, where he’d been romping in the dry leaves under the grape arbor, working off some of his excess energy.
“It was Tom, and he’ll be over soon to let you show him how well you ride your new scooter.”
Mitchell brightened at this. “Oh, boy,” he said. “That’ll be fun.”
“How about if you and I pick up all those Lego in the kitchen?” Beth asked brightly.
“I don’t want to.”
“We’ll do it together.”
“I want to play with my new Yu-Gi-Oh! cards,” Mitchell said stubbornly. He started to walk away.
“Not so fast. First, we pick up the Lego, then you can play with the Yu-Gi-Oh! cards.”
“Oh, Mom,” he said, verging on a whine. But he let her propel him to the kitchen, and they soon had piled the Lego in their box. True, she picked up more Lego than Mitchell did, but at least he was cooperating. Experience had taught Beth that this was unusual when Mitchell had just returned from Richie’s.
WHEN TOM’S TRUCK PULLED into the driveway later, Mitchell ran out the door with an excited whoop. Beth, who had been working in the kitchen, followed as far as the doorway, wiping her damp hands on a towel.
“Hiya,” Tom said to Mitchell as he slid to a stop.
“Hiya,” Mitchell replied, scuffing the ground with his feet. He seemed suddenly shy.
Beth knew she lit up at the sight of Tom. She felt her face flush and wondered if Mitchell would notice. He wasn’t particularly aware of her, though. He only had eyes for Tom, who favored him with an easy grin.
“How about if we get that new scooter out of the garage,” Tom said.
“Okay. Tom.” Mitchell added Tom’s name as if it was an afterthought.
“I’ll finish my chores in the kitchen and be there in a minute,” Beth called to Tom, who managed a surreptitious wink. Beth smiled back. Somehow it wasn’t so bad that they couldn’t kiss upon meeting when he was letting her know that they were on the same wavelength and that he missed kissing her, too.
In the kitchen, she finished putting away the clean dishes. Through the narrow window, she spotted Tom and Mitchell heading into the garage. Mitchell seemed to have lost his sudden shyness and was chattering to Tom nonstop. Tom nodded gravely, as though he agreed with whatever Mitchell was saying. Thinking that this was a positive sign, Beth pulled on a sweater against the cool winter day and hurried outside.
When she reached them, Tom was unfolding the scooter, and Mitchell located the helmet and was dangling it at his side.
“I rode my new scooter in Dad’s driveway,” Mitchell was saying self-importantly. “I didn’t wreck it or anything. My baby sister can’t ride a scooter. She’s too little.”
“That’s right,” Tom said with a glance up at Beth, who knew she was frowning but couldn’t help it. Mitchell was too young for the scooter, but she was certainly agreeable to Tom’s teaching him safety and making sure Mitchell understood how to operate it.
Tom expounded for a couple of minutes on the importance of always wearing a helmet and never operating the scooter unless an adult was present to supervise.
“Daddy says I can ride in the school parking lot near his house on weekends and holidays when no one is there,” Mitchell said.
“That’s at his house, not here,” Beth interjected.
“Right, Mom. Hey, want me to show you how to drive it?” He’d put the helmet on, and Tom fastened the strap for him.
Overcoming her many objections to this toy—if that was indeed what a motorized scooter was—wasn’t easy, but she was reminded that Tom was here to oversee Mitchell’s riding of the thing and to impart safety hints. She bit her lip, unable to dispel a niggling spot of worry.
Mitchell showed Tom the starter switch, and they turned the motor on. Beth was surprised at how quiet an electric scooter was; the fact that it didn’t roar made it less threatening. Tom made sure that Mitchell could work the variable speed control, which he proved able to do, and then Mitchell was piloting the scooter down the driveway, concentrating mightily on his task.
Beth ignored the queasy feeling in the pit of her stomach as Mitchell sailed past the row of junipers and the pecan tree near the walkway, then past Tom’s truck, whose tires seemed humongous all of a sudden.
“See, Mom? It’s not dangerous at all!” Mitchell yelled. He circled at the end of the driveway and headed back, his eyes bright as he coasted to a stop in front of them.
“He’s figured out how to ride it, wouldn’t you say?” Tom grinned down at her, and all she could do was nod in reply.
“Can I go to the end of the driveway again?”
“I guess so,” Beth said grudgingly.
“He’s very coordinated,” Tom observed when Mitchell was on his third circuit. He cut his gaze toward Beth. “Have you thought any more about pony-riding lessons?”
“I suppose it will be all right,” she said. “If you keep in mind that he’s only five.”
“Almost six,” Tom reminded her with a grin.
“Ponies. Scooters,” Beth said faintly. “Like I really need all this.”
“Here’s what you need,” Tom said playfully, tickling her ribs while Mitchell’s back was turned. “And this.” He planted a hearty kiss on her lips.
She straightened her sweater as Mitchell turned around. “Men,” she said scornfully. “They think that’s the answer to everything.”
“What?”
“Sex.”
“That wasn’t sex. It was affection.”
Beth tried to hide her smile but was totally unable. “Tom, you’re pushing it.”
“Does that mean we can’t spend New Year’s Eve together?”
“What do you have in mind?” she asked. New Year’s Eve was tomorrow night.
“You. Me. We can go out if you like.”
“Where would we go?” she asked. The church
sometimes sponsored a get-together for singles, but if such a gathering had been announced in recent bulletins, she’d missed it.
“How about Divver’s party? He and Patty are having a few friends over,” Tom said.
Mitchell, still thrilled with his new scooter, headed down the driveway again.
“I like the idea of putting Mitchell to bed early and spending the evening alone,” Beth told him. She’d felt deprived of Tom’s presence lately, and she missed being with him.
“I’d like that, too,” Tom said, and she only had to glance at him to be convinced of his sincerity.
In that moment, she knew that she had been worrying needlessly. Everything was the same between the two of them.
She threaded her fingers between his. “We’ll talk about it more tomorrow. I could take Mitchell to the park to run and play in the afternoon, which will tire him out so he’ll go to sleep early without a fuss. How about a late dinner, and I’ll cook something you really like?”
Tom squeezed her hand. “Sounds good.”
She smiled at him, pleased and comforted that they were still thinking along the same lines. “Mitchell,” she called. “Time to put the scooter away.”
“Aw, Mom, no.”
“I mean it,” she said, but Mitchell only ignored her and summoned up a defiant expression that Beth didn’t want Tom to notice. Of course he would notice. She had the feeling that nothing escaped Tom where either she or Mitchell were concerned.
“Mitchell,” she said sweetly and patiently, “come on now.”
Beside her, Tom had gone tense.
“Mitchell?”
“Not yet, Mom.”
He kept riding the scooter, disappearing behind Tom’s truck.
“All right, only a little while more,” Beth called.
“I’m due at Leanne’s shortly,” Tom said. “Guess I’d better get going.”
She turned her attention back to him, detected a certain restlessness in his expression, as if he couldn’t wait to be gone. She’d never discerned this in him before. He usually was anything but distant, and she’d always felt his reluctance to leave her. She managed a smile and said, “Right.”
He bent and kissed her forehead. “More later about tomorrow night,” he said.
“Mitchell,” she called with slightly less patience than before. “You have to get out of the driveway so Tom can back out. Let’s put the scooter away, son.”
“That’s right, cowboy,” Tom interjected.
Mitchell hopped off the scooter in front of them. “You’re going?” he asked Tom.
“Yeah, ’fraid so.”
“When will you come back?” he asked.
“It won’t be long,” Tom said. “See you, Beth.” He kept his expression neutral.
“Call me,” she said, resting her hand on Mitchell’s shoulder. They stood like that as Tom backed the pickup out onto the road and aimed a brief salute in their direction before driving away.
Despite her son’s enthusiasm for Tom and Tom’s reciprocal interest, she couldn’t help but realize that she had fallen short of some mark. She knew it probably had something to do with Mitchell’s behavior again.
She supposed she could still try to explain about the lack of boundaries at Richie’s house, though she couldn’t expect Tom to understand. He wouldn’t care about Mitchell’s other life; he’d only be concerned that Mitchell wasn’t minding now that he was home.
Another option was not to make excuses for her son but to put pressure on Mitchell instead of cajoling him along for the next week or so. Unfortunately, she was afraid to come down too hard on the boy. What if Mitchell, now or at some later date, decided that he’d rather go live with his father? Certainly, Richie could afford to give him more expensive toys—witness the scooter. And Mitchell no doubt found living with Richie and Starla easier, since they allowed him to stay up late, wear the clothes he liked, and who knew what else. She, Beth, couldn’t compete with that. These were things that Tom, who had never been a parent, couldn’t fathom. He wasn’t aware of the underlying layers of this situation.
Well, perhaps Mitchell wasn’t a misbehaving child, merely one who took his own sweet time about following her orders. Which, when she allowed herself to admit it for only a moment, might well be considered misbehaving after all.
AS TOM HAD HOPED, New Year’s Eve turned out to be a time of reconnection for them as a couple. Beth, true to her word, made sure that Mitchell went to bed right after Tom arrived. Mitchell begged Tom to read him his story, and, unwilling to assume any of Beth’s duties unless she said it was all right, Tom waited for her to give the okay. She did, and Mitchell chose a book about a big dog that carried a baby away on adventures in a park. Tom liked the book, and he enjoyed reading it to Mitchell, who listened with rapt attention.
“Someday I’m going to get a dog. I’m going to name him Blackie,” Mitchell said solemnly.
“Good for you,” Tom said. Every boy should have a dog. He’d owned a series of them, starting when he was about Mitchell’s age.
After Mitchell fell asleep, Beth served a dinner fit for a king: beef bourguignonne and yeast rolls that melted in his mouth. Tom had brought champagne, and they finished off the bottle in bed after they’d made love. Curled up together, they watched the big ball drop over Times Square in New York, a place that was far away from Farish, Texas. Not that Tom wanted to be there on this night. He liked being exactly where he was.
They fell asleep as they had before, in each other’s arms. But the following morning, instead of surprising Beth with yet another elaborate breakfast, Tom crept out into the early-morning fog, socks on feet and boots in hand so as not to wake Mitchell.
It didn’t matter. On New Year’s Eve, traditionally a time of hope and looking toward the future, he and Beth had managed to recapture the wondrously happy and connected feelings that had sprung up between them, and he dared to believe that everything was back on track. True, he missed the carefree element of their relationship before Mitchell had returned to the scene, but he was beginning to regard Beth’s son in a new way.
THE DAY AFTER NEW YEAR’S, Beth’s phone rang around ten in the morning. Mitchell was playing at Jeremiah’s house, and she was cozily ensconced on the easy chair in the living room, going over her accounts on her laptop computer. She hoped it was Tom calling, since with Mitchell out of the house, they might be able to get together. But it wasn’t Tom; it was Chloe.
“Beth, so glad to catch you at home. Can I drop by for lunch?” Her friend sounded harried and upset.
“Of course. We can have tuna sandwiches. Mitchell is at Leanne’s, playing with Jeremiah. What’s up?”
“We need to discuss my life plan. I’m in crisis. Grandma is definitely closing the shop.”
Chloe had helped Beth clarify matters in her mind when she’d split from Richie, and she wanted to be helpful to her friend now. “I’m sorry, Chloe.”
“I’m not. Remember the old saying ‘When God closes a door, he opens a window’?”
“You’ve found a window?”
“Hmm, not sure. But business is slow today, so I’ll hang the Closed sign on the front door and come over. Maybe I’ll stop by the bakery and pick up some cookies.”
“I made pistachio cupcakes the other day for Mitchell, and we still have some in the freezer.”
“I feel a specific need for chocolate,” Chloe said. “Brownies?”
“Sure,” Beth replied.
As she hurried off to open a can of tuna, she reminded herself to ask her friend about Tom Collyer’s mysterious past.
“I’VE MADE A NEW YEAR’S resolution to get out of town,” Chloe said dejectedly once she and Beth were seated.
“This sounds major,” Beth said.
“Well, I’ve decided that though Farish isn’t exactly nowhere, it’s certainly within sight of it. Hey, do you think that slogan would look good on a T-shirt?”
“No, but if you go printing up shirts saying that, your departure from Farish mig
ht be speeded up. The folks over at the chamber of commerce would run you out of town on a rail.”
“The hometown boosterism is another thing that bugs me.”
“You were born here,” Beth reminded her. “Plus you always discouraged me from leaving Farish when I was at loose ends after the divorce.”
“You had a great support team here, Beth. It would have been crazy for you to go live among a bunch of strangers.”
“I happened to agree with you, and I’ve never regretted staying.” After Richie left with Starla, the people of Farish had closed ranks around Beth, making it clear that she was one of their own. They had loaned her money to start her business, patronized Bluebonnet Interiors and helped her find quality child care. She couldn’t have managed without her friends and neighbors.
“Farish doesn’t work for me. I’m bored to pieces lately. The best guys all seem to be married, and the ones who aren’t, I don’t want to date. After Grandma moves to the new residence-care facility in Kettersburg, I’d like to follow my dreams.”
“Which are?” Beth prompted.
Chloe’s eyes danced as she finished off her sandwich. “Remember when I went to visit my cousin Gwynne in Florida and came back with all that sea glass that I’d gathered from the beach?”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
She slid a tissue-wrapped package from her purse. “This is for you.”
“Hey, we agreed not to give each other presents this year,” Beth reminded her, but she was touched.
“You’ll like this, I promise. It’s a thank-you for being such a good friend over the years.”
“Oh, Chlo,” Beth said as she unwrapped the box. It was small, and rattled when she shook it.
When she lifted the top, she pulled aside the top piece of cotton to reveal a pair of earrings, two pieces of blue-green glass enclosed in silver cages and attached to hooks to fit through her pierced earlobes.
“You made these?” Beth said, blown away by the delicate craftmanship of the jewelry. She held one earring up, and it swayed gently in the air blowing out of the heating duct overhead. For a split second, it was as if she could actually view the ocean in the pale sand-scoured surface.
Chloe nodded, obviously proud of her handiwork. “That glass is the exact shade of your eyes. The earrings had to be yours.”
Breakfast With Santa Page 14
