Second Chance Christmas

by Casey Dawes

  How lonely her mother must have been—fourth wheel to a tricycle.

  “When I knew Reese, his mother wasn’t involved at all. What happened?”

  Her mother put down her glass, thudding against the table, and picked up her knitting needles. “That’s all I want to talk about.”

  Clack. Clack. Clack.

  “Now, or forever?”

  “We’ll see.” Almost without stopping the row she was on, her mother picked up the remote and turned up the volume on her show.

  • • •

  “So why are you and Findlay’s mother still friends?” Reese asked his mother while she prepped dinner. It was his first time to join his parents since he’d moved out a few weeks before.

  She gave a quick glance at the doorway leading to the den where the TV blared the latest news, accompanied by his father’s criticism of the current administration.

  “We always were.” The chef’s knife tore through the celery.

  “I see.”

  She glanced at him, the blade not stopping.

  “It’s complicated,” she said.

  “That’s a status on Facebook, not an answer, Mom.”

  The knife finally stilled.

  “Look, it was all a long time ago. We were all friends once. Frank . . . well, Frank and I grew up together. I thought we’d be together forever, but then, well, your father . . . He was pretty amazing back then. He still is now, of course. It’s just a little more . . . hidden.” She put down the knife and stared out the window, but he didn’t think she was looking at the scenery. “When Frank married Marie, I was happy. It solved a lot of problems.”

  “So you’re still friends because . . . ” He searched for the right word. Then it was obvious.

  “Guilt? That’s it, isn’t it?”

  She waved the knife. “Whatever.”

  The knife blade would have come dangerously close to his skin if he’d ever replied like that.

  He cleared his throat.

  “Look,” she said as she put the knife down. “It was a tragedy that didn’t have to happen. Marie’s a nice woman. Frank’s death caused her a lot of problems. I’ve tried to help her where I could.”

  “Dad know?”

  “No.” She didn’t look him in the eye.

  “Do you think he did it?” Whatever it was. Something about embezzlement was as much as he’d ever gotten from his father.

  “Who? Frank?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  She leaned back against the counter and looked at the ceiling, as if the answer was there.

  “I don’t know. I mean, all the evidence pointed to him. Your father was sure. I . . . just . . . I don’t know. I’d known Frank all my life. He’d never done anything like that before. He was a straight arrow.”

  “What was the evidence?”

  “Money into his accounts. Extra checks cut for no apparent reason. Technology was pretty new back then. There were a lot more holes for good programmers to exploit.”

  “But Frank wasn’t a programmer.”

  “No. He had to have an accomplice, but he never told us who it was.”

  Perhaps it was because he wasn’t guilty.

  “Could he have been framed?”

  “By who?”

  His father.

  The possibility lay between them like a raw hunk of meat.

  “I’ve got to finish this up. Otherwise, we’ll never get dinner on the table.” She turned her back on him and grabbed an onion. Soon it was suffering the same fate as the celery stalks.

  Reese wandered from the kitchen toward the den where his father was already indulging in a scotch. He stood in the doorway for a few minutes, studying his parent. How had the jowly-faced man with the permanently turned-down mouth ever kept his vibrant mother? Maybe it was true that some women regarded power and financial stability as traits more important than anything else, but he couldn’t see Mom believing that.

  Vague memories of laughter floated around him.

  What the hell had happened back then? When had joy turned bitter?

  Would it happen to him, too? Was it the fate of all marriages? Of course, he might never get the chance to find out if he couldn’t show his father he could make a success of running the technology company. Moving out on his own again was a good first step, but it was only that.

  He had to admit, he was beginning to enjoy the push-pull of business. Turned out that he may not understand algebra, but the mechanics of pulling everything all together for a successful software launch gave him energy.

  Yeah. Solidify that direction. Get his father to believe in him. Become a mover and shaker in the small city. Maybe he should run for office. That would show all those naysayers back in Paris.

  Who was he kidding? They couldn’t place Missoula, Montana, on a map and they weren’t inclined to learn. At least he’d finally be good husband and father material.

  Just not for Findlay Callahan.

  Why the hell had she kissed him? She’d been protesting his presence ever since she’d gotten here.

  “You coming in or just going to stand there and gather wool?” his father’s voice barked from the living room.

  “Hi, Dad.” Reese strolled to the liquor cabinet.

  “Good to see you, son. Glad you could join us for dinner.”

  Polite. Impersonal. Good. He must have not done anything to piss off his father in the last week.

  “The government’s full of hacks,” his father said, gesturing at the TV with his glass, the ice clinking against the sides. “All they want is my money.”

  “You’ve been saying that all my life.” Reese forced a chuckle. “Doesn’t matter who’s in charge.”

  “They’re professional hacks. Once they get in there—they’re there forever. Always after my money. Speaking of which, how’s that project coming? The sooner you get it done, the sooner we can tell those regulators to buzz off.”

  Reese poured his drink and sat in the matching armchair. “Going well. We’ll make the deadline.” Without any room to spare—the delays caused by the suspicious code had cost him what little padding he’d had to provide the software release in time for the government deadline.

  “Good. Keep it that way. No more incidents?”

  “No.” Thankfully. That meant no recurring pressure to fire Findlay.

  “Here’s something to tide you over a bit.” His mother deposited a pewter tray of olives, crudités, and gherkin pickles on the coffee table. A small bowl of her homemade ranch dip nestled in between leafy celery leaves.

  After making her own drink, she sat in another armchair and stared at the television without comment.

  When had the couch disappeared?

  Three separate islands left in a sea of silence.

  It hadn’t been like that when he was a kid. While they never went on camping trips like Findlay and her family, there were regular trips to the great lodges of Yellowstone and Glacier and a cabin on Flathead Lake. Summers were water, Osprey baseball games, and picnics with the neighbors.

  It’s where he’d first gotten to know Findlay.

  God, she’d been so vibrant and happy. Laughter had been everywhere, her teasing voice driving him to stare at her, aware of the developing curves and his associated lust.

  He shifted in his chair, eliciting a groan from the uncomfortable seat.

  Neither his father nor his mother looked his way.

  Hadn’t they been competitive tennis players once? Sailors on the lake?

  There was the summer day when he’d taken Findlay sailing with his parents. The sun was golden, and the water sparkling. By that time he’d known he was going to kiss her—he just hadn’t figured out when.

  “Crooks!” his father bellowed at the TV. “Those Washington folks are all crooks.”

  Reese filled a plate with olives and pickles, tempted to stick the black orbs on his fingertips to jolt his parents out of whatever malaise had overtaken them so long ago.

  Instead, he poked the
monster.

  “Why did you think Frank was a crook, Dad?”

  “What?”

  “Reese . . . ” his mother admonished. “Besides, we already talked about this. There was evidence.”

  “Nope. Not good enough. I want an answer. The three of you were close friends, trusted each other enough to start a business. Why didn’t you believe in your friend when he said he didn’t do it?” There had been too many secrets already. Too many lives ruined. He was going to be a different kind of adult—one who got the truth out into the light of day.

  “I don’t have to tell you anything.” His father’s eyes were cold.

  “I’m part of this company. Oh, I may not be a shareholder, but as your only child, I suspect I’m the one to inherit.”

  “I’ll sell it first.”

  “You need agreement from everyone to do that, Brian.” His mother set her drink on a nearby stone coaster, careful to put it exactly within the circle. “Reese will inherit.”

  “Humph.” His father’s attention returned to the TV.

  Silence returned, but it was tinged with a different type of edge.

  “Same way I know they’re crooks.” His father gestured at the screen. “They look you straight in the face when they lie to you.”

  “That’s not a case, Dad.”

  “Didn’t have to be. Frank saw he was found out, and, for once, he did the right thing.”

  His mother clenched her hands together, and her face paled.

  “What did he do . . . exactly?”

  “Stole. Embezzled. He was in cahoots with the bookkeeper your mother hired. We had to fire her . . . what was her name?”

  “Deborah Forrester.” Her voice was quiet.

  “What happened to her?”

  “Didn’t she leave town—go to Arizona or something? I don’t know. She claimed it was all Frank’s idea. Your mother felt sorry for her, so I didn’t prosecute her. Probably a mistake. But that’s water under the bridge.”

  Maybe Reese could track her down. After all this time, would she be willing to tell him what really happened?

  “So she pointed the finger at Frank, and you believed her—an employee over your partner.” Reese shook his head.

  His father glanced at his mother.

  Were those tears in her eyes?

  “We hadn’t been getting along for a while. There were . . . disagreements over the best way to do things. He was wrong. I was right. We’ve proven that over the years.”

  “We don’t know that for sure,” his mother said softly. “It might have been better . . . faster. We’ll just never know.”

  “I know it, and that’s all that matters.” He turned to Reese. “That’s why I keep telling you to get rid of that gi—woman. Frank’s daughter. She’s bound to be opinionated, just like he was. He already tried to ruin our family. I don’t want his daughter finishing the job.”

  What the hell did that mean?

  Only a subtle shake of his mother’s head kept him from pursuing the matter further.

  She looked at her watch.

  “Dinner should be ready. Let’s try to have a nice evening, shall we?”

  In other words, sweep it under the rug.

  Again.

  Chapter 8

  The morning temperature raised goose bumps on her skin, so she left her sweatshirt on. Grabbing a last swig of water, she tossed the bottle on the passenger seat of the car and got out.

  Like the last time, Reese leaned against his car, as if he was sure she’d show up.

  God, he knew her too well. A shiver rumbled deep in her chest.

  Too late to turn back now.

  “Hey,” he said.

  “Hey, yourself.”

  “Ready to go?”

  “You mean, ready to outrun you?” She laughed and did a few preparatory stretches.

  Friendship—that’s what he said he wanted. Friends were competitive, weren’t they?

  That’s why she’d snuck in a couple of early morning runs during the week. If competition got her back into shape, it was all for the good.

  Their slow jog opened up on the backstretch, and she ran full out, her legs pumping much needed oxygen and optimism to her heart. Stride by stride she inched ahead, her hair streaming behind her as she ran full out.

  Pounding footsteps behind her came closer, pushing her to dig deeper for the last bit of stamina. She pumped the air when she crossed the imaginary finish line by the river, turned, and grinned at him.

  He high-fived her raised palm.

  The banks were quiet except for their ragged breathing, the only other creature a heron examining the water across the way.

  “I don’t know how we could leave this,” he said, looking around him.

  “It seemed right at the time.”

  “Yeah. But what seems right may not always be right,” he said.

  “True.”

  “Let’s sit for a bit,” he said, gesturing to the shaded park bench.

  “Not too long, or I’ll seize up.”

  “Okay.” He took her hand and led her.

  The touch of his skin on hers sent an immediate jolt to the rest of her body. Like the feel of his lips on hers, the memory was still there.

  “I was an idiot as a teenager,” Reese said, stroking her hand with his thumb as he stared out at the water. “But we’ve already established that fact.”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m asking you to forgive me.”

  Had she grown up enough to forgive him? It wasn’t like she was perfect.

  But the words wouldn’t come.

  He pursed his lips together, and his hand stilled.

  Maybe in time.

  As long as he didn’t do anything to affect her chance to keep her daughter safe.

  The gurgle of water pierced her consciousness.

  “I don’t think we know everything,” he said.

  “About what?”

  “About what happened back then. Did you know there was a bookkeeper involved? A Deborah somebody.”

  She remembered a bookkeeper mentioned in her dad’s journals, but she hadn’t paid much attention. She’d been more interested in what was going on with him. The tangled relationship between Reese’s mother, her father, and Brian wasn’t in the books. Her dad had probably thought some ghosts should stay buried. Did Reese know the history?

  “What does it matter now, though?” Would Reese help or hinder her own investigation to clear her father’s name? Why should he care? It wasn’t his family that had been ruined.

  “I think it does matter.” He squeezed her hand. “If we could prove that your father was innocent, wouldn’t it mean a lot to your mother? To you?”

  “We should let sleeping dogs lie. Who knows what we’ll find out if we start digging too deep.”

  There must have been something in her voice.

  “What do you know?” He turned his head sharply toward her.

  “What do you mean?” She put as much innocence in the question as she could.

  He shook his head and arched an eyebrow. “You never were good at that act.”

  “What if I don’t want to tell you?”

  “It’s up to you.” His hand stroked her arm. “But I really want to do this . . . find out what happened. Even if you don’t want to pursue it, I’m going to. But we could do it better together.”

  His earnestness was like the boy she remembered, the one who pushed her to stretch herself and believe in both of them.

  She shook her head.

  “Okay.” He withdrew his hand and faced the river once again. “I suppose we should head back.”

  “Yeah.”

  They jogged the rest of the way to their cars, but the easy comradery was gone.

  “See you tomorrow,” she said as she escaped into her car and drove out of the lot.

  How was she going to keep the story of their parents’ tangled romantic history quiet? She’d never been able to keep a secret from him before—especially one this big.
Did it matter? The ancient history bothered her, but would he care?

  The next few days she kept to herself, the routine of getting her daughter to school, difficult problems at work, and a quick run every evening holding her steady. She avoided the small office by the kitchen. Dredging up old memories—hers or her father’s—was pointless.

  Unless she could figure out a way to change the past.

  Whatever Reese’s agenda was, she didn’t need to be involved. Let him figure out his life on his own. She’d clear her dad’s name by herself—in a way that wouldn’t jeopardize her protection of Kelly Anne or tarnish her dad’s past any more than it already was.

  The phone rang.

  “Chris filed a petition,” Findlay’s attorney said. “He’s claiming visiting his daughter in Montana is causing him hardship and threatening his position with the firm.”

  “He comes here on Saturdays. He can certainly afford it. He kept all the money, remember?”

  She shouldn’t be snappish at the woman, but she was amazingly tired of all the drama surrounding the divorce. When would it be over?

  Maybe she shouldn’t wish that. What if Chris won? Kelly Anne would be subjected to his sharp tongue and demands to be perfect.

  “I know that. I understand your frustration, but we’re going to have to answer it. Can you come here for a court date?”

  “With what? I barely have enough to cover my daily expenses. It wouldn’t be so bad except that I ran up my credit cards getting out here. A few months and it should be better.”

  “We don’t have a few months. They want something in the next two weeks.”

  “I don’t have any vacation days. I’d have to take three days off without pay. How is that fair?”

  “I didn’t say it was fair, Findlay. I said it was necessary. If you want to keep the arrangement the way it was, that is.”

  Trapped. Again.

  “Okay. Set up a date, and I’ll be there.”

  She hung up the phone and stared out at the backyard. Dusk was already strong by five thirty with the approaching winter months.

  “Mommy, what’s wrong?” Kelly Anne tugged at her sweater. “You look sad.”

  “I’m okay, sweetie. Where’s your grandma?”

  “She’s sleeping. On the couch. Like you do sometimes, Mommy.”

  Her poor mother. Being a caregiver was wearing her out, even with Kelly Anne’s attendance at the school. Life had been difficult for her mother—difficult for the nice person she was.