by Sharon Kleve
“I don’t know.” Blake leaned over and started drawing circles in the sand. “I guess I just felt so mad at you for the way you treated my mom.
“If you felt that way, why did you come to see me after the wedding? Why would you want to see me again after all this time?”
Blake was quiet for a moment. “I wasn’t going to. I wasn’t even going to stop and see you that day at the airport. Alan was supposed to meet me there before he flew home, but when he didn’t show, I thought I’d check to see if you were working, and stop by to say hello. And then, I don’t know...honestly Brenda, I don’t know what it is, but there’s something holding us together.”
“But you’ve been so hot and cold with me this week.”
“I know. I’ve been at war with myself, fighting my feelings for you,” he admitted. “I alternate between trying to get closer to you and trying to hold you at arm’s length.”
“But why? What are you afraid of?” she asked softly.
Blake looked out toward the ocean. “Maybe that nothing’s changed. That we’ll get back together and it won’t work—again, I guess. My heart was broken when I walked away, Brenda. It took a long time to heal.”
“Why did you break up with me, Blake? I’ve never really understood.”
He laughed humorlessly. “Well, I think that’s obvious. I finally realized that you didn’t want to be around my family, that you don’t like them.”
“What?” she gasped. “Whatever gave you that idea?”
He stared at her. “You never wanted to go to my parents’ house for the holidays. You always made up some reason not to. And when Amber told me…” He stopped suddenly.
“Go on. Amber told you…what?”
“Well, she told me about all the times she and Mom invited you over to the house and you turned them down,” he said, rather reluctantly, she thought.
“Blake, you grew up in a large, close-knit family—your dad, mom, brother and sister, two sets of grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins. My family—after my mom left us and divorced my dad—was just me, my brother Tom, and my dad. Both my parents were only children and their parents passed away before I was old enough to remember them.
“Your holiday gatherings were filled with laughter, food and lots of people —I counted twenty-five of your family, friends and neighbors that last time. And everyone sat down to dinner at the table and your mom said grace before we ate. My holiday dinners were just the three of us. I did most of the cooking when I was old enough to read a cookbook. Dad and Tom came into the kitchen, loaded their plates and plopped back down in front of the TV again to watch their games. I took my plate, sat on my bed and watched It’s a Wonderful Life, on my TV while I ate.
“So the first time I went to a holiday dinner at your house, I felt…overwhelmed.”
“Well, yeah, I figured that. You’d told me holidays were quiet at your house growing up,” Blake acknowledged. “But I thought you’d adjust. I guess I was wrong…” his voice trailed off, and a pained look crossed his face.
“I’d told Mom how things were for you, that your mom left, and it was just you and Tom and your dad. She felt bad and wanted to make things special for you… make you feel part of the family. Maybe she was a little overbearing, but I know she didn’t mean to be. She has a good heart. If you’d just given her a chance…” his voice trailed off again. “Anyway, I tried to be understanding, but my family’s important to me—”
“I know, Blake. I realized that,” Brenda said quietly.
—“and the thought that to be with you meant that I’d never be part of my large, extended family for the rest of my life, didn’t sit well. I held on, hoping that things would change, but they didn’t. And, well, you know the rest.”
“And yet, you moved away,” she said.
“Yeah. I did. The, ironic thing is, the thought of those big family gatherings without you caused me to move away from everyone I loved.”
Brenda sighed. “Oh Blake, I should have told you this a long time ago. I didn’t dislike your family; I loved being part of your family.” Blake looked at her in disbelief, but she couldn’t blame him. She rushed to explain. “It was your mom—”
“I know that Brenda,” he sounded wary.
“No, you don’t understand… I was afraid,” she whispered.
“Afraid of my mom?” he asked her in amazement. “She’s the nicest, kindest—”
“I know, Blake. What I mean is, I was afraid to get close to her, afraid to lose her,” she admitted in a quiet voice, tears hiding under her eyelids. “I was afraid to lose the only real mom I’ve ever known.”
Blake stared at her as if stunned. “I’ve been wrong about you, Brenda. I’m so sorry. Then he leaned over, reached out and folded her into his arms. She’d never had a better hug.
High-pitched children’s voices reached them. Blake dropped his arms, leaned back and stood up. He held out a hand to Brenda. “I wish we could stay longer, but we need to get the plane back by two o’clock. I only have it rented till then.”
She hated to leave the quiet beach behind and regretted that their time together was almost over. “Do you think you might take me flying again?”
“Sure, but maybe you’ll be a pilot yourself someday?”
They hurried back down the beach to the plane, and Brenda allowed Blake to pull her after him. But when she slipped on a sand-covered boulder and lost her balance, it caused her to yank back on his hand. In the midst of clambering over the next boulder himself, Blake was caught off-guard. His foot slid down between some rocks and stayed there, and they both tumbled down to the sand. Brenda got up first, spitting the sand out of her mouth, and dusting it off her sweatshirt and jeans. Blake got up a little more slowly and when he took a few steps, Brenda saw him limp slightly. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, just a little stiff, I think.”
“Are you sure you’re okay? Sorry about that.”
“I’m fine.” He looked at his watch. “We’d better hurry. I have to get the plane back to the rental place.” He reached for her hand again, and Brenda followed. His gait seemed awkward to her, but she didn’t have much time to observe him more before they reached the plane.
Once they were ready to fly, Blake taxied the plane back down the beach and opened the throttle. This time Brenda watched the air-speed indicator with interest. She saw that when it reached fifty-five knots, he pulled back on the yoke, the nose lifted and the Cessna lifted off the ground.
“Brenda?”
She’d been so absorbed in her thoughts and the view, she started when she suddenly heard Blake’s voice. “Yeah?”
“I don’t want to frighten you, but...”
His words alone were enough to frighten her. She turned and gave him her full attention. “What?”
“You were right. It is too soon; I shouldn’t have taken us out flying.”
She noticed that his face had paled. “What’s the matter?”
“I must have torn open the stitches when I fell on those rocks. My leg’s bleeding again and I feel kinda dizzy. I’m not sure I can land the plane on my own.”
“You’re not kidding, are you?”
“No. You’ll have to do it, Brenda.”
“I can’t!” She looked at him in horror. She felt shaken by the sight of his white face.
“Yes, you can. You have to...” his voice trailed off and seemed to fight against pain. Afraid to, she looked down at the bandage on his leg. It was bright red.
“Oh Blake,” she whispered, and as usual, felt light-headed at the sight of blood.
He nodded. “It won’t be that bad. Most of your work will be with your feet. I’ll talk you through it. Remember when I used to let you shift my car while I drove? It’ll kinda’ be like that. We’ll land this thing together.”
Blake made her p
ractice handling the plane again. He called the tower and told them what was happening and they said they would clear the field for an emergency landing. Brenda’s heart raced. Her hands shook and slid on the wheel with nervousness, and her legs trembled, but she forced them to obey.
Then she blocked out everything and listened only to Blake’s instructions.
All too soon, they approached Boeing Field and time to land. The wheels hit the ground with a decided thump and the plane bounced a couple times, and then they were speeding down a foam-covered runway.
“Apply the brakes!” Blake called out to her sharply, and cut the power. Brenda moved her toes up so they covered the tops of the pedals and pushed down with all her strength.
And then, finally, it was over. She looked shakily at Blake. He grasped her hands with his right one and squeezed.
A crowd gathered on the runway and several people broke away and approached their small plane. An ambulance pulled up, its red lights flashing and someone opened the plane’s door.
“You did it, Carrot,” Blake smiled wearily at her. He reached out and grabbed her hand.
“We did it Blake,” she corrected. “Together.”
“I love you, Brenda Burke. Do you suppose you could ever forgive me for the way I’ve treated you?”
“I love you too.” And with a crowd of people staring at them, and EMTs waiting to take Blake to the hospital, she leaned over, put her arms around his neck, and kissed him.
Epilogue
Earlier that morning, Brenda walked into the Preston’s steamy kitchen and found it filled with laughter and mostly―except for Blake’s dad making his special dressing―female voices. A belonging she’d never before experienced flooded through her. This, she thought, is how a Christmas dinner should be made―family, and sometimes friends, getting together to create a meal with love and laughter.
Amber looked up from the cutting board where she chopped vegetables and smiled at Brenda. She gestured to the apple pies—Blake’s favorite—Brenda prepared at home the night before, using Mrs. Preston’s recipe. “Mmm, those smell good.”
Now, as she stirred her mulled cider with a cinnamon stick, and chatted with Blake’s Aunt Kathy and his cousin, Amy, Brenda paused to listen to the strains of “O Holy Night,” that drifted in from the piano in the living room. She smiled when Blake left the piano and walked into the kitchen. He gave his mom a hug around her waist with one arm, and then reached around her with the other and grabbed a piece of ham off the platter. Mrs. Preston slapped his hand as though he was a naughty teenager.
“Aww Ma!” Blake protested. “I’m hungry.”
“You’ll just have to wait like everyone else. You’re as bad as your nephew,”
his mother chided him, while Brenda and the others in the kitchen laughed.
“Okay, I’ll bother someone else,” he pouted, moved away from his mother and stopped next to Brenda. “Hi, babe. What’cha doing?” He read the words on his mother’s frilly red and green Christmas apron that Brenda borrowed to keep her good clothes clean. “‘Kiss Me Now and Avoid the Holiday Rush’? With pleasure.” He leaned over and gave her a kiss.
“I’m so happy that all of my children are home with me for the holidays,” Blake’s mother said and beamed.
“So are we, Mom, “Blake agreed and looked at Brenda.
She smiled. She finally had a heart for the holidays.
ABOU T THE AUTHOR
Marilyn began writing as soon as she could print. Her first career was in the transportation industry, working for the airlines. Her second career was in advertising, marketing and promotions. Currently a freelance editor, Marilyn lives with her husband and cat in the foothills of the Cascade Mountains in southwest Washington State, where she watches horses and deer and sometimes owls from her home office window.
Christmas Gloves
Addison James
Christmas shopping sucks.
Maybe because you waited until the last minute to buy a gift for a terrific guy and you still have absolutely no idea what to get him? Leila Simmons debated with herself. And now it looks like there’s no parking, she added.
This debate ran through her head as she circled the mall parking lot, looking for a an open spot. Any parking spot. Even the far corners of the mall, usually taken by mall employees or people trying to squeeze exercise into their everyday tasks. But no spot, not even the Siberia of the outer parking lot where only employees dared to tread. Not even there. The weather worsened, a wet snow accumulated on the just-below-freezing icy streets.
Why did she have to shop at the last minute for Christmas gifts for a potential boyfriend? Ugh. And that’s what Nathan was, wasn’t he—or was she reading more into it? They’d dated, at least once a week, for three weeks now. They texted or talked nearly every day. And she liked him.. Hence, the panic attack thirty minutes before in her warm dry townhouse. She suddenly realized that Christmas was in a mere two days and she didn’t have a gift for him. Sure, they’d joked about not buying presents for each other because it was kind of soon, but did he really mean it? And how would she respond if he suddenly gave her a gift tomorrow night, their last date before Christmas and she had nothing for him? Why oh why did she agree to let him drive her to the airport when she flew home to see her parents in Florida? How did she get into this mess?
Five minutes later—although it felt like twenty— with an SUV behind her, its headlights beaming directly into her rear-view mirror, Leila noticed a couple with two small children in a double stroller, walk slowly by. She waited. Surely they wouldn’t walk between the parked cars and end up on another aisle? Patience, grasshopper, she thought, as the SUV seemed to inch toward her rear bumper. Leila stepped on the brake as she watched the family as though in slow motion, unstrap the kids, place them in car seats, put away the shopping, and the large stroller . Then the parents got into their own seats and seatbelts, and backed the car up and out of the parking space.
One minute later, Leila pulled in and attempted to open her car’s door with less than a foot of clearance between her car and the ones on either side.
Moments later, with a smear of car dirt on her dark rinse jeans, she walked down the row between cars, and self-consciously kept her arm over the stain. It doesn’t not look like crap, she thought to herself. Really. Trust me on this, she lied to herself.
Five minutes later, Leila stood across from a cashier at the pharmacy, buying a spot- remover stick.
Five minutes after that, she stood in front of the mirror of the women’s restroom, rubbing a pencil-like applicator across the crotch of her jeans, hoping no co-workers or high school classmates would suddenly pop out of a stall.
Within ten minutes, she stood in front of the mall directory, with a wet patch on her jeans, her brows pushed together, as she squinted to read the small print. What to buy? What to buy?
What did she know about Nathan? She smiled as she recalled a recent humorous phone conversation. . They shared the same sort of quirky humor that made her feel uncomfortable with other people, but he got her. Monty Python references? Check. The Simpsons? Check. Freaks and Geeks? Check. Buffy the Vampire Slayer? Check again. UK Office? Yep.
Okay, that’s an idea. Find a store that has memorabilia from those classic, quirky TV shows.
Leila soon realized found the Only Available On TV store only had products that appeared in infomercials late at night .
“Do you have any Monty Python gifts?” Leila asked.
“Monty who?” the barely legal shop clerk asked.
“Monty Python. It’s a comedy show.” Leila tried again.
“Like a sitcom?” he asked.
“No, no .” Leila opened her mouth to speak again, and then realized Monty Python probably ended its run decades before theboy was created. “Never mind. How about The Simpsons?” Surely a TV
show that was still on the air would be recognized by this waif.
Fish eyes were his visual response.
A woman already burdened with three shopping bags nudged Leila. “Sorry, but I’m kind of in a rush here. And I know what I want. Where are those banana containers? They’re all gone from the shelf.”
The waif reanimated.
“That’s one of our best sellers,” he said, his face brightening.”I’ll check in the back.”
“Can you get me some artichoke pockets and the fish knife too?” the woman added, adjusting her bags.
“Those aren’t out there?” the boy asked from behind a wall.
“No. And a moustache trimmer,” the woman added.
“That’s not out there?” the boy asked.
“Yes, but I want gray, not black.” The woman turned to Leila. “Don’t you love this store? I do most of my Christmas shopping here.” She juggled her bags. “That’s why I save it for my last stop. Then I don’t need to carry it all around the mall.”
Leila smiled out of politeness as she looked at the woman, then scanned the shop full of items she personally found unnecessary. Future garage sale bargain bin items, she thought. Still.
“Do you have any gift suggestions for a guy about my age?” Leila asked the woman but immediately regretted it. The timing was unfortunate. Just as the sales clerk handed the boxes to the woman, she looked at Leila and held up the moustache trimmer.
“You can’t have this,” she said. “There are black ones on the shelf; my Bruce wants the gray one.”
Leila held her hands up as if in surrender. “No, my guy does not have a moustache. I just need ideas.”
“How about the all-in-one grooming machine?” the boy suggested, holding a box with a photograph of a product that looked like a Swiss army knife for a man’s face.
“Uh, no,” Leila said.
