by Lexi Eddings
They spent a quiet few moments just listening to each other breathe. It didn’t feel awkward. It didn’t feel like a silence that needed to be filled.
It felt right.
“Your aunt and uncle are expecting us,” she said after a bit.
Usually, Seth was glad he had a rollicking big family with lots of cousins and aunt and uncles. Now he’d give his left arm if he and Angie could be the only two people in the world.
“They’ll wait a little longer,” he said. The heat of the moment had passed, but a deep longing remained. The ache eased a bit as he simply held her.
Nothing earth-shattering had happened. No one had proclaimed undying love. He hadn’t whipped out the ring he was still carrying in his pocket. They hadn’t ripped each other’s clothes off and gone crazy in his pickup, though part of him cheered that idea with enthusiasm.
But a line had been crossed anyway.
Something in him had touched something in her. And whatever they’d been to each other before, they were something else now.
Something new. Something strong.
And Seth hoped they’d never be the same again.
But he wasn’t a betting man.
Chapter 30
If you can count how many lights you’re using in your Christmas display, you’re not using enough.
—George Evans, who never regrets the extravagance of his annual holiday decorations until the electric bill arrives in January
From half a block away, they began to hear the music. Seth parked his truck in front of the Evanses’ house because the drive was already full of cars belonging to other family members. When he turned off the engine, he recognized the tune as a familiar, but juiced-up Christmas carol. The electronic whine of synthesized holiday joy blasted from speakers behind every bush and tree.
A gingerbread house made of painted plywood stood in one corner of the yard, festooned with candy canes and dancing macaroons. Next to it, a life-sized nativity scene, complete with bobble-head sheep, blocked the view of most of the west side of the house. Several blow-up snow globes were strategically placed to fill any empty spaces on the wide lawn.
“Less is definitely not considered more here,” Angie murmured.
Seth usually viewed his aunt and uncle’s foibles through a cloudy lens of affection. He tried to see their house through Angie’s eyes for a bit.
A bulky sleigh filled with wrapped packages and pulled by six reindeer had been anchored to the roof of the two-story home. There wouldn’t have been room for eight animals due to their ponderous size. A pair of red-clad legs stuck out of the chimney. The black-booted feet moved back and forth, as if a slow-motion samba dancer were standing on his head.
“Excess rhymes with success around here,” Seth admitted.
George Evans was puttering around beneath one of his oaks, a tangle of wires under one arm and a heavy-duty extension cord in the other.
“What’s he doing?” Angie asked as they crossed the street toward the merry nightmare in the making.
“Every year, Uncle George puts together a Christmas display that would put Clark Griswold to shame,” Seth explained. “His collection of decorations has grown over the years and I’ve never known him to retire any of them, so every December, he tops himself. The music is new.”
Angie pulled her beanie down over her ears.
Probably to protect her hearing, Seth thought. “Maybe it’ll grow on us.”
“So will fungus, but it’s not recommended,” Angie said, raising her voice to be heard over the canned music. “Guess it’s not just your aunt who believes if a little is good, a lot’s a whole bunch better.”
“Naw, it’s genetic. Runs through both sides of the whole family,” Seth admitted. “If you think this is a little excessive—”
“A little?”
“I’m just saying wait till you see it all lit up at night. Uncle George’s strobes ought to come with a seizure warning for epileptics.”
“There you are, Seth!” George shouted and waved a hand at him. “Come give me a hand with these cords. We’ll hook up the rope lights wrapped around the oak trunks.”
Seth helped his uncle untangle the cords and plugged lines from the base of each tree into the surge protector that led to the longest extension cord Seth had ever seen in a nonindustrial setting. The spoke-like arrangement of the cords spread across the lawn resembled a neon orange spider web.
“I gotta tell you, Seth, I think I finally solved my squirrel problem this time,” George hollered with a wide grin.
“Really?” Seth shouted back. He wished for the hearing protection headset he usually wore on the job, but he’d left it in his truck. “How?”
“Simple. The durn things don’t seem to like this music, nary one bit,” George said. “I haven’t seen hide nor hair of the furry little rats since I started playing it this morning at eight.”
“You’ve been playing it that long?” Angie asked, her eyes wide.
“It’ll only play from eight a.m. to ten p.m. Got the CD on a continuous loop. Good stuff, huh?” George beamed. “Come see the system I set up in the garage. It’s state of the art.”
At that precise moment, the music came to a sudden halt. Blessed silence reigned, and all Seth could hear was the whirr of the small motor on the Evanses’ roof that kept Santa’s legs wiggling in the chimney. Angie sighed audibly in relief.
“What the—” George bolted for the open door of his garage.
Seth and Angie followed.
“The cabinet where all the sound equipment’s stored is still locked,” George said, fishing for a key in his pocket.
“May not matter.” Seth pointed to the hole where the main power cord went in. “Looks like this opening has been . . . well, enlarged.”
Sure enough, there were telltale signs that a rodent of some sort had been gnawing through the rubber seal and surrounding wood. When George unlocked the cabinet, they discovered several cords had been chewed down to the bare wires.
“Well, there’s why you haven’t seen any squirrels in your yard for a bit,” Seth said. “The whole bunch must have been in here working on the power cords.”
“I had to special order all this,” George said morosely, “It’ll take a week to replace.”
For which, the neighborhood should be joyful.
Seth clapped a hand on his uncle’s shoulder. “Cheer up, Uncle George. You still have more lights up than anyone else in town.”
His uncle smiled wryly. “I don’t care about that. I only care about having more up than Mayhew.”
In the matter of Christmas decorations, the rivalry between George Evans and his crotchety next-door neighbor, Mr. Mayhew, was approaching Hatfield vs. McCoy level. Each year, Mayhew tried to outdo Evans in overdoing lights, holiday scenes, and animated figures. The dueling displays looked as if a Christmas flea market had been gobbled up and then regurgitated out on the two properties, but this year, it did appear that Uncle George had Mayhew beat.
But it was only Thanksgiving. The Christmas season was just beginning. Between George Evans and Mr. Mayhew, there was no telling what new depths of poor taste would be plumbed on Oak Street.
* * *
“Come on in, kids,” Shirley Evans called out the door that led from the garage to the kitchen. “It’s too cold to stand out there. Almost everyone is already here. George, get on in and help me take the turkey out of the oven.”
Angie followed Seth into the blessedly warm kitchen. But it didn’t smell like typical Thanksgiving fare. There was an odd mix of spices wafting around her.
“Thanks for having us,” Angie said to Shirley. She waved to Heather, who was busy setting the long table that had stretched beyond the dining room into the family room to accommodate the guests.
Angie’s Angel of the Lord had been invited, too. Jadis Chu was helping her boss, Michael, carry chairs from other places in the house to fit around the long table. Angie was glad she’d been included. Jadis struck her as another orpha
n in the world. If the exotic-looking girl had family, Angie had yet to hear about it.
“How can I help, Mrs. Evans?” she asked her hostess.
“Shirley. We already settled that. And you can help by being our guest today. Next time, we’ll put you to work,” Shirley said. “Let’s get you out of that coat. Here, Seth. Make yourself useful instead of ornamental. Take Angela’s coat upstairs and lay it on my bed.”
Seth obeyed as if the directive had come straight from heaven wrapped in a bolt of lightning. Angie would have liked to keep her jacket until she’d completely warmed up, but there was no arguing with Shirley Evans. Besides, the house seemed fairly toasty.
“It smells very . . . interesting in here.” Angie’s inner dictionary kicked in.
Interesting (adjective) 1. Holding one’s attention 2. What one says when one can’t say “good.”
“Oh! That’s because we’re not having a traditional Thanksgiving meal,” Shirley said, her eyes dancing. “In honor of our upcoming world cruise, we’re going international!”
“But that is turkey in the oven,” Seth said warily as he rejoined them in the kitchen.
“Yes, it is, but only because George wouldn’t let me fix Peking duck. The man absolutely put his foot down. So we compromised,” Shirley said. “What you’re smelling is the Jamaican jerk sauce I just basted the turkey with. And all the side dishes are a taste from somewhere else around the world.”
“But you made your cornbread dressing, right?” Seth said hopefully.
“Well, I made dressing, but it’s not cornbread. It’s made with Chinese sticky rice.”
“I suppose you didn’t make noodles either.” Seth seemed truly disheartened by the news. He’d told Angie the Evans family recipe for egg noodles was as closely held a secret as the launch codes for a nuclear arsenal. And it should be. As far as Seth was concerned his aunt’s noodles were good enough to serve a president.
“Well, no, not this year,” Shirley admitted. “Instead, I bought some rice noodles to make Shrimp pad Thai appetizers.”
“No pigs in a blanket? The kind you eat with toothpicks?”
“No, not this year. We’ll use chopsticks instead. Like I told George, we’re widening our horizons.”
“But not our waistlines,” George said with a sigh. “You know, not everything is improved by changing it out of all knowing.”
“George, you can’t cling to tradition all the time.”
“Why not?”
“Well, for one thing, the usual Thanksgiving fare isn’t all that good for you. Contrary to what my husband might think”—Shirley turned to Angie for support—“gravy is not a beverage and carrot cake is not a vegetable.”
“Your international menu sounds”—Angie felt she should come to the former pageant director’s defense, but all she could come up with was—“broadening.”
“We’re not likely to get broader eating that stuff,” George grumbled.
“I’m smelling something quite spicy,” Angie said. “What other dishes have you prepared?”
Shirley Evans shot her a grateful smile. “You must be smelling my Moroccan side dish—it’s sautéed parsnips and dates in spiced yogurt.”
“The Pilgrims never had any yogurt,” George said.
“Or dates,” Seth joined in.
“They might not have had turkey either,” Shirley said, unperturbed. “But we will. What with the spice rub before it went in and the jerk sauce basting, it’ll be blackened turkey. Oh, dear! That pot’s about to boil over.”
She raced away from them to the stove in time to save the cook top from a mess. It was likely too late to avoid a disaster on the dining table.
“I wonder how you’ll all like my jicama and blood orange salad,” Shirley said over her shoulder.
“Like Riley, we wonder how we’ll like it our own selves,” Seth whispered to Angie.
“Cousin Seth!”
“Speak of the devil.” Seth knelt down and spread his arms wide. “Riley, come here, you little monkey.”
Giggling madly, the child flung herself into Seth’s arms and he hoisted her up onto his shoulders. Then he gave her a “pony ride” into the living room, being careful to duck in the doorway so she wouldn’t bang her forehead on the head jamb.
Angie followed them as far as the living room, but Riley and her faithful steed kept going. They made a circuit of the foyer, the hallway, the family room that had been converted to an extension dining room to accommodate the long table, then through the kitchen and back past Angie. They didn’t slow one bit as they started a second lap.
Crystal came to stand beside Angie as they watched the pair gallop around. Angie thought she looked more pulled together today. Her nails and hair looked salon fresh. Crystal had probably dropped ten pounds from stress, but her sleek linen slacks and cashmere sweater kept her from looking gaunt.
“Seth’s good with kids,” Crystal said.
Angie nodded. Seth was good with everybody.
“Noah used to be, too.”
“Is he coming?”
Crystal shrugged. “I don’t know. He’s been told when the meal starts. I hope he’ll drop off Ethan, at least.”
“Noah is good with Ethan, isn’t he?” Angie said, wanting to help Crystal find something good to say about her husband.
“He is, but then, Ethan’s an easy child. He’s never any trouble.”
From the other room, the six-year-old terror of the Evans clan shrieked like a Banshee.
To Angie’s surprise, Crystal smiled. “But in Riley’s favor, there’s never a dull moment when she’s around.”
“You never know what she’ll say next,” Angie said.
“True. And sometimes she says the wisest things. The other day she said she thought her dad was trying to find his way home, but maybe he couldn’t pick out the right path and didn’t want to get lost on the wrong one.”
“That sounds like Riley,” Angie said, glad to hear Crystal being positive for once. “She does have a way with words.”
“It’s my fault. I know it,” Crystal said. Tears welled in her eyes, but she blinked them back. “I make him feel every path is wrong. I had everything—a great husband, a career, two sweet kids. It was good. Great even. But . . . I ruined it because it wasn’t perfect.”
“Nothing’s perfect.” Judging from the smell of something burning in the kitchen, their Thanksgiving feast certainly wasn’t going to be.
“But if I change, I mean . . . I could change, couldn’t I? If I tried . . .” Crystal went on, as if Angie wasn’t even there. “I could stop looking for things to correct and be satisfied with the way things are.”
“I don’t think it’s ever a question of only one person doing the changing.”
“You’re right.” Crystal sighed. As a perfectionist, she also had control issues. And she was completely out of control at the moment. “Noah may not want to even try.”
Angie searched for something comforting to say, but Crystal’s phone rang at that moment.
“It’s him,” she said, her voice breathless and pathetically hopeful. She took a deep lungful and swiped the face of her phone to answer.
Before Crystal was able to even bring the phone to her ear, Angie heard Noah’s voice shouting. “Come quick. It’s Ethan. We’re on our way to the hospital.”
Then the connection was broken.
Chapter 31
Life is a string of moments, but those moments aren’t a set of matched pearls. Some of them, the golden bright ones mostly, flee by, refusing to stay longer than a blink. Others are frozen in stillness, unwilling to budge and let some kinder, more hopeful moment take their place.
—Angie Holloway, on the passage of
time in a hospital waiting room
As soon as Crystal told her mother about Noah’s frantic call, Shirley Evans took charge. She ordered Heather to the hospital stat. Being an RN and the only one in the family who could explain medical issues to the others, Heather flew out the door with
Michael and Jadis hard on her heels.
Breathing hoarsely, Crystal was tearing through her purse looking for her car keys.
“No! You’re in no condition to drive anywhere.” Shirley ordered Angie and Seth to take Crystal to Coldwater General, and then volunteered to bring Riley up later.
“George can keep her entertained while I put all this food away. Then we’ll join you at the hospital,” Shirley said as she practically shooed them out the front door. Then at the last possible second, she grabbed Crystal into a tight hug and whispered in her ear, “I’ll be praying every second, sweetheart. God’s got this. Your little family is even dearer to Him than you are to me, and that’s saying a lot.”
Then, her eyes unnaturally bright with unshed tears, Shirley waved them on their way.
“Aunt Shirley may be a little nuts in the kitchen,” Seth said as they climbed into his truck, “but she’s exactly who you want beside you in a crisis.”
Angie couldn’t agree more. They all had their marching orders and knew what to do. But not even Shirley Evans could command them how to feel about it.
Crystal was unraveling by the moment. She talked nonstop all the way to the hospital, imagining every possible emergency, from broken bones to a ruptured appendix.
When Crystal gave him a chance to slip a word in edgewise, Seth offered a few comforting thoughts. Coldwater General was a good hospital, he reminded her. Doc Warner would make sure Ethan got the best care possible.
“And if it’s something they can’t handle here, Ethan can always be airlifted to Tulsa.”
That was a mistake. It only made Crystal start imagining worst-case scenarios.
Angie kept quiet. She had no comfort to give. Bad things happened. Judging from the panic she’d heard in Noah’s voice, this was bad. Angie knew full well that family was not forever. Her parents had been ripped away from her before she’d even had a chance to know them.
That hurt badly enough. She could only imagine Crystal’s agony. She’d spent years loving her child, investing herself in him, only to have him injured or sick, possibly taken from her completely without warning . . .
