A Season Of Miracles

by Christine Michels

  Finally, he turned off the ignition, loaded his arms with the presents he’d purchased in Prince George, and got out

  “Hi,” she said, offering him a slight smile as she eyed him searchingly. Why did he seem so solemn? She’d noticed when they stopped for lunch that he seemed to be brooding a bit about something But she hadn’t known how to ask him what was bothering him.

  Now, Geoff nodded in response to her greeting, but said nothing as he studied the house, scrutinizing the windows, his face devoid of expression. Was he seeking his first glimpse of two young faces? Devon followed his gaze, but the windows were blank

  Clearing her throat, she hitched the strap of her purse more firmly onto her shoulder. “Are you angry about something, Geoff?”

  He pinned her with a hard look. “Why do you ask that?”

  “You look a bit. stony.”

  He studied her for a moment and then said, “I’m not angry.”

  “All right.” She still wasn’t quite certain whether to believed him or not. “Are you ready?” she asked, turning toward the house

  With a sharp nod, he fell into step beside her as she approached the double front doors which had been crafted of carved cedar. Devon rang the bell, then, without waiting, depressed the latch on the handle and entered.

  “Mom, Dad, we’re here,” she called.

  The air was immediately permeated with shrill, sharp yapping and the clicking of tiny canine claws on tile. A second later a small red Pomeranian streaked around the corner, caught sight of Geoff, yipped in surprise, and skidded to a stiff-legged sliding halt as he tried to reverse his momentum. Catching Geoff’s raised-eyebrow expression, Devon smiled as she bent to reassure the small dog. “This is Prince Charming,” she said. “Prince for short. Mom’s only had him a year, and he’s a bit of a coward when it comes to strangers.”

  “I can see that.” Geoff set the small stack of presents down on the floor and bent to unlace his boots.

  He’d just straightened when a woman came around the corner. “Thank God you’ve made it home all right.”

  “Hi, Mom,” Devon said, giving her a quick hug. Then she turned to Geoff. “Geoff, this is my mother, Honoria Sherwood. You can call her Honey if you like—my father always has You used to call her either Honey or Mom depending on your mood of the moment.”

  Geoff forced a smile to his wooden lips and nodded as he studied the woman before him In her mid-to-late fifties and slightly plump though not excessively so, she wore a bright green sweatsuit decorated with beadwork and embroidery. With the exception of her hair color which was a light reddish brown, Honoria Sherwood looked rather like an older version of Devon Uncertain as to just how to greet her, Geoff extended his hand and then hesitated He didn’t feel comfortable calling her either Honey or Mom—yet “I’m pleased to meet you, Honoria,” he said with a nod.

  But Honoria Sherwood suffered from no such uncertainty There were tears in her eyes as she searched his face, and then ignoring his outstretched hand she stepped forward and threw her arms about his neck. “Oh, Geoff,” she said. “It’s so good to have you home. They say that Christmas is the time for miracles, but this is the first time I’ve been touched by one.”

  Momentarily stunned by the unfamiliar and unexpected affection from a stranger, Geoff was slow to return his mother-in-law’s embrace, but finally he lifted his arms and awkwardly patted her back. “Thank you,” he managed to murmur. “Merry Christmas”

  A second later, she released him and, blinking back tears, began to bustle and fuss “Here, let me take your jacket,” she said, tugging ineffectually at his sleeves. “Devon, hang up your coat, dear, and pass me a hanger for Geoff ” As Devon obeyed and Geoff began to remove his jacket, Honoria quickly went on, speaking to Devon “Your father and Winston are in the den, and the children are in the guest room playing Sega. They’ve been anxiously waiting for you to arrive so that they can open their presents ” She hung Geoff’s coat in the closet.

  “I’m glad they waited I’d hate to have missed it.”

  “They wouldn’t have it any other way,” Honoria said. “I was going to allow them to open the ones from us, but they wanted to wait for you.

  “Well, come on in,” Honoria said, changing the subject and tugging at Geoff arm as though to pull him inside. Pausing, Geoff bent to retrieve the presents, but she stayed him. “Leave those. I’ll have Winston bring them in and put them under the tree. We’ll relax and visit for a couple of minutes and then call the children so they can open their presents before dinner.” As she led the way out of the foyer, she looked over her shoulder at Geoff “You must be anxious to see the children.”

  Anxious, yes. To see them and about seeing them. But before he had a chance to do more than nod, a high-pitched little voice shrieked, “Daddy!” as racing feet—accompanied by shrill yapping from Prince Charming—pounded through the house toward them. Geoff turned toward the sound and barely had time to stoop to catch the little body hurtling toward him. Small arms grasped his neck in a viselike hold while long coltish legs wrapped themselves around his waist, and he looked down into the face of the most beautiful little girl he’d ever seen. “I always knew you’d come back,” she said in a soft little voice before hugging him fiercely “I just knew it! This is going to be the bestest Christmas ever ”

  Geoff’s chest suddenly felt tight, and emotion rose up in his throat to choke him. “I’m glad,” he managed to say as he brushed a strand of midnight black hair off her face, tucking it behind her ear.

  Devon gasped and Geoff looked at her to see tears shimmering in her eyes as she held her hands in front of her face in that praying gesture again. It seemed to be something she did when she was emotional. “What?” he asked.

  “What you just did with her hair,” she murmured. “You always did that.”

  “Hi, Mommy,” his daughter said, speaking over his shoulder to her mother. “I missed you. Merry Christmas.”

  “Merry Christmas to you too, pumpkin,” Devon replied in a slightly choked voice

  Geoff’s gaze returned to his daughter. He didn’t want to stop looking at her. She had her mother’s eyes, he noticed And his hair. It was rather humbling to look into the face of this innocent child and see an echo of himself in her, to know that he had had a part in creating her. Would he see himself in Tyler? He looked beyond his daughter’s slender shoulder, seeking his son, but the boy was nowhere in sight. “So, Britanny, where is your brother?”

  She leaned forward to whisper loudly in his ear. “You used to call me Brie,” she informed him. “You can again if you want.”

  He nodded and said in a low voice, “I want.”

  She rewarded him with a dazzling smile and then said, “See! I can remember for both of us. That’s what I told Tyler, but he said it was dumb ” Then apparently remembering the question he’d asked, she added, “Tyler’s coming He said he wanted to finish his stupid game first.” She leaned forward to whisper in Geoff’s ear again, “He’s kind of a jerk sometimes.”

  “Bntanny,” Devon said in a warning tone.

  Before she could scold the child, Geoff said, “I think most little girls think their brothers are jerks. Don’t they?”

  Brie shrugged and responded doubtfully. “I guess.”

  “Well,” Honoria said, “we might as well go on to the den. I’m sure Tyler will be along shortly.” She led them across a large family room complete with a huge decorated Scotch pine in the corner. Scores of presents spilled out from beneath its sprawling boughs. “Peter, Winston,” she called. “They’re here.”

  Almost immediately two men stepped out of a doorway adjacent to the family room. The older of the two had sable brown hair winged with white at the temples and a cleanshaven face. He wore tan trousers, a polo-style shirt and mahogany-colored leather slippers. His piercing blue eyes were his most prominent feature. The younger man, undoubtedly Devon’s brother, Winston, had ginger-hued hair worn a bit long and scraped back into a short ponytail at the nape of his
neck. His blue eyes were a slightly less piercing variety of his father’s. He wore loose-fitting jeans with a baggy black T-shirt on a frame that was lean to the point of thinness.

  Devon stepped forward. “Geoff, this is my father, Peter Sherwood, and my brother, Winston.”

  Geoff shifted Britanny in his arms to set her down. She continued to cling to his left side as though she was afraid he might disappear if she let go, so he hugged her close as he extended his right hand to Peter. “How do you do?”

  Peter grasped his hand and stepped close to subject him to a long and penetrating scrutiny. Finally he said, “It really is you, isn’t it, my boy?”

  What did he say to that? “I believe so, sir.”

  “Sir!” He looked at Geoff in surprise. “Call me Pete,” he ordered, “you always did before”

  Geoff nodded. “Pete.”

  “Well, my boy!” Pete suddenly exclaimed in a booming voice as he pounded Geoff on the back. “It’s good to have you home.” Throwing an arm around Geoff’s shoulders, the older man gave him a jovial squeeze and then looked across Geoff’s body at Britanny who still clung to his other side. “Isn’t it, little girl?”

  Bntanny nodded with childish enthusiasm.

  A little overwhelmed by the older man’s sudden exuberance, and not entirely sure that he liked it—it seemed a bit artificial—Geoff looked toward Winston who, thus far, had been ignored by his father. The younger man was backing away, fading into the background. “Winston,” Geoff said, stepping toward him and out from beneath his father-in-law’s arm. Winston halted and Geoff extended his hand. “Hi. How are you?”

  Slowly Winston reached forward to accept Geoff’s hand. “Okay,” he said quietly. “You?”

  “Fine. Better since Devon found me.”

  Winston nodded, stuck his hands in the back pockets of his jeans and his gaze slid away. “That’s good.” He swallowed visibly, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. Geoff received the distinct impression that Winston was nervous. Maybe he was just that type of person.

  “Britanny, dear,” Honoria said into the silence, “run along and get your brother. Tell him I said to come greet his father now. We’re going to be opening presents shortly anyway.”

  “Okay, Gram.”

  “Winston, dear, Geoff brought some presents. They’re in the front foyer. Would you mind putting them under the tree?”

  “Sure,” Winston said, leaving them as Pete moved back into the den. Devon linked her arm through Geoff’s and followed while her mother came behind Geoff felt a bit staggered by the impressions bombarding him. Did Pete’s exuberant cordiality camouflage a certain amount of insincerity? Or was he reading things into the situation that didn’t exist? Did Winston seem reluctant to make eye contact? A bit leery of him perhaps? Or was he simply a reserved and shy young man more at home with the computers he programmed than he was with people? Geoff was too new to these people to tell.

  Devon studied Geoff as they entered the den, trying to see everything through his eyes. It was a cozy room. The outer wall contained a fireplace decorated with stockings for Christmas, flanked by two tall windows screened by lace curtains through which tiny multi-hued lights in the shape of a star flickered in sequence before flashing in unison. In front of these windows sat two upholstered chairs with mahogany arms and tnm. Her mother sat down on one of these with a sigh that suggested she was a bit fatigued

  “So, my boy, do you want red or white wine?” Pete boomed from his position in front of the liquor cabinet.

  “Oh, neither at the moment thanks. I’m fine,” Geoff responded in a low voice.

  Her parents immediately looked at Geoff with varying degrees of startlement. “Did I say something wrong?” he asked.

  Devon quietly explained. “You used to always drink a glass of wine before dinner. In fact, it was you who got Dad started in the habit You said it was healthy and aided the digestion.”

  “Oh—” His gaze swept thoughtfully over her face “Well, in that case I guess I’d better try a small glass. Red, please ”

  Pete nodded. “Red it is,” he said, but he continued to eye Geoff as he poured. “Have a seat.” He indicated the vacant chair set at right angles to the fireplace.

  As Geoff sat, Winston returned and seated himself on the sofa on the far side of the room. Devon moved across the room to join her brother. Poor Winston, he’d never measured up in their father’s too-critical eyes and, as a result, tended to stay in the background as much as possible, avoiding attention. Pete Sherwood would have been happy with nothing less than a carbon copy of himself in any son, though Devon had never been able to get Winston to understand that.

  Of the two Sherwood offspring, Devon had had it easier simply because she’d been born a girl. Her role in life was to look pretty, do well in school, and marry well. All of which she’d done to her father’s satisfaction. He wasn’t particularly happy with her career choice—too flighty and artsy to his way of thinking—but he overlooked it. She wished he’d been able to accept Winston’s career choice in computer programming with as much equanimity. But that was past now, and some things would never change.

  At the moment, Winston, like everyone else in the room, seemed to be finding it difficult to take his eyes off Geoff. With the exception of Geoff’s introduction to Britanny, so far this visit had been more awkward than she’d imagined it might be.

  Perhaps she shouldn’t have warned them that Geoff’s personality had changed in some ways. They were staring at him as though they thought the changes should be visible. Geoff cleared his throat and Devon thought perhaps he was a bit nervous. Was that why he seemed so cold? Did his expressionlessness conceal a certain amount of reservation and uncertainty?

  As soon as she asked herself the question, Devon knew the answer Of course. From Geoff’s point of view, he was in a room full of strangers. Strangers who expected him to act, talk, and even think in specific ways In his place she would have been paralyzed with tension.

  Perhaps if she could begin a conversation the tension would ease. “Well, the weather coming back was much better than going anyway,” she said into the silence. “I think I mentioned to Mom on the phone that I ran into a blizzard on the way up to Northridge.”

  “Yes, I believe she said something about that to me,” her father responded “She also said you ran into some trouble on your way home.”

  Devon nodded. “Yes. I’m going to have to have some body repairs done on the Jeep. I doubt though that the police will ever catch the guy who ran us off the road. We couldn’t give them much to go on.”

  “I’m just glad you weren’t hurt” Her father had just begun to distribute the glasses of wine he’d poured when two young faces appeared in the doorway.

  “I brought Tyler,” Britanny announced. Gripping her brother’s hand tightly in hers, she tugged him across the room toward Geoff.

  Geoff studied Tyler closely and Devon tried to envision their son the way his father would. Tyler was tall for his age, slender but not thin, and he carried himself with a proud posture that was often lacking in teens. He wore a small gold earring in his pierced ear, of course, but his sable brown, arrow-straight hair—inherited from herself—was nicely styled and shone with cleanliness. The only thing she would truly change if she could would be the sullen expression on Tyler’s face. It was obvious that this meeting would not go as smoothly as had Geoff’s introduction to his daughter, for Tyler was clearly not ready to throw his arms around his long-lost father and welcome him home.

  Devon cringed inwardly, aching for both of them. Geoff’s face still looked guarded, expressionless, with the exception of his eyes. The emotion shining in his dark green eyes could not be mistaken for anything cold, but neither could she interpret it completely. A combination of hope, pride, anxiety, and.. something more; it brought a lump to Devon’s throat.

  Geoff and Tyler stared at each other for a long moment, neither making a move, then Geoff offered his hand to his adolescent son and quietly said,
“Hey, sport.”

  Tyler eyed him with a combination of insolence, wanness and hope, and for a moment Devon thought Geoff might sweep him into his arms and hug him. She held her breath. As much as she’d like to see it, she knew it would be a mistake. Tyler tended to shun affection rather forcefully; he considered himself too mature for such displays.

  Tyler hesitantly extended his hand—a smaller version of Geoff’s own long-fingered slender hand—to accept Geoff’s greeting. Geoff must have realized that he’d have to content himself with getting to know his son a bit more slowly than his daughter, for he grasped it solemnly.

  “How are you, son?” Geoff asked.

  Tyler appeared about to respond and then, abruptly, he tugged his hand out of Geoff’s grasp. “I’m not your son. You’re not my father,” he said in a rage-filled tone that was hardly more than a stage whisper, but was strong enough to fill Devon’s heart with dread. “My father’s dead.” He backed up a few steps “Just go away. Go away.” Then, turning, he ran from the room, dodging his grandfather’s outstretched hand.

  “Tyler!” Devon’s shocked call echoed in the room. Geoff’s expression hadn’t altered, but Devon sensed his hurt, could imagine the depths of his distress, and her throat closed. Rising, she began to trail after her son, not knowing what to do or say, but knowing that there was too much pain in both Tyler and Geoff for her to leave things as they were. “Come back here this—”

  “Devon—” Geoff halted her. She met his gaze and saw the concern lurking there. “We need to discuss whatever is wrong, but not now. He needs time.”

  She considered for a moment. “All right.”

  Britanny, perhaps needing reassurance as much as Devon herself felt in need of it, clung to Geoff’s arm until he lifted her onto his knee. At nine, she was almost too big to be held that way—her long coltish legs dangled down almost to the floor—but for this moment it didn’t matter. Then, Geoff accepted a glass of wine from Pete, and they all tried to pretend that everything was fine as they settled into conversation.