Christmas Spirit

by Amy Garvey

  “Thanks, babe. You can do the rest.”

  She smiled. “What about the lights? Aren’t they supposed to go on first?”

  He sipped his drink about halfway. “Wooah. Cold and strong. Yes, you’re right. Okay, I’ll take everything off and we can start again.”

  Charlie twined her arms around his waist. “You’re like a little kid. Happy all over because Christmas is coming and nothing could go wrong.”

  He handed her the rest of the drink and eased out of her hold, intent on his task. “On the contrary. I know everything can go wrong. It’s that I just don’t care.”

  Charlie sipped at the gin and tonic, glad that it was diluted a bit by the melting ice cubes, whose corners had rounded down. “Explain. I’m not sure I understand.”

  He was unhooking the ornaments and putting them in a neat row on the coffee table. “I did a lot of thinking on the way back.”

  “About what?”

  “Life. Us. The big stuff.”

  Charlie swallowed a largish piece of ice by accident and waited for it to slide down to her stomach, feeling a weird but not unpleasant chill. “Oh,” she said after a little while. “Um, what conclusions did you come to?”

  “That everything generally works out okay if you have a few good people in your life. And your health. And something you love to do, even if you don’t do it for a living. It really is that simple.”

  “God, I hope so,” she said fervently.

  “It was the blob that really got me thinking.”

  “The blob,” she repeated. “Is that like—your new religion? Blobism?”

  “No.” He laughed. “I just felt so damn ridiculous standing there and poking it and taking pictures of it, and later, I started to think. Kevin can fire me—I’ll land another gig.”

  “I’m sure you can.”

  “And then I started thinking about you.”

  Uh-oh. She didn’t say anything, just looked at him with what she knew were sad-puppy eyes.

  “I couldn’t wait to get back to you,” he said. “I just wanted to lie next to you, talk to you, hear what you had to say, cuddle you all night long if you wanted me to—”

  “Sure,” she said, her tension easing. “Sign me up.”

  “Then I got that scary feeling men get when things get real, though. Fair warning.”

  “Okay,” she said, her voice measured. “Then what?”

  “I talked myself out of it. Since we started doing one thing spectacularly right and that would be the fantastic sex, I figured we had a good shot at the rest.”

  “The rest. Meaning—”

  “Um, a relationship?” he said, rubbing the back of his neck and looking at her worriedly.

  “Oh, one of those. Of course.” She thought briefly of the previous candidates, Guys #1, #2, #3, and #4. “For a second, I wasn’t sure what you were getting at, Sam.” Part of her was elated and part of her was as uneasy as he still seemed to be.

  “You know, you and me, for a while,” he said helpfully. “Just us. Together.”

  “Right.”

  “You don’t sound thrilled, Charlie.”

  “I’m thinking.”

  He put his hand to his chin and pondered the tree. “Go right ahead. I did kind of rush at you with this, didn’t I?”

  “Rushing can be good,” she pointed out. “You rushed me into bed and that worked out great. Fools rush in to lots of things and no one ever stops them. So let’s take—the rest, if you want to call it that—one day at a time.”

  “That’s what I was hoping you’d say. Words to that effect, anyway. And it’ll work out. If it doesn’t, you can kick me to the curb—I’ll go back to my Roxbury place. Life goes on, whether we want it to or not.”

  “That’s deep.”

  He finished removing the ornaments. “Ready to do the lights?”

  “Sure.”

  “I’m not saying that I expect to be kicked to the curb,” he said. “Just that I realized I would be okay if you did. And that made me less scared.”

  “You? Scared?” She was joking but she did understand what he was getting at. They had shared the most glorious physical experiences of her life. “The rest” didn’t seem as easy to her, either.

  But right now they had a tree to decorate. And she wanted it to work out fine. Charlie picked out a clothespin doll and stuck it on a pine twig. It leaned way over to the side, looking a little scared itself.

  “The lights,” he reminded her.

  “I almost forgot.” She took off the clothespin and went to get them, handing him one end as she unspooled them from the package insert. He started at the top and she fed him the green wire, plugging in the next strand to it when they ran out around the middle.

  Charlie had to crawl under the tree when they’d gotten all the lights on to plug in the end of the last strand and she fumbled it. Sam got down on hands and knees to help her. His long arms made the reach and he popped the plug in, looking at her through the spindly bottom branches when the tree lit up above them.

  “Hey,” he said softly. “Did I explain myself at all?”

  “You kind of did. And I think I get it,” she answered honestly. “Anyway, Christmas is coming. One day at a time sounds like a good idea. Holidays are weird.” She backed out and he did the same.

  Both of them heard a noise from upstairs. A scrabbling sound, followed by a jump.

  “Goddamn it,” he said crossly, looking up at the ceiling while he sat on his haunches. “Are they back?”

  Charlie got up, brushing pine needles out of her hair. “I don’t think they ever went away.”

  “What do you want me to do?” he asked resignedly.

  “Go up there and look around. Call me when it’s safe to come up. Does that sound fair?”

  He nodded and scrambled to his feet. “In other words, be your hero.”

  “Yes. If you don’t mind.”

  Sam gave her a world-class grin. “I think I’m getting the hang of it, Charlie. Grab the poker and wait at the bottom of the stairs.”

  “Deal,” she said.

  A few minutes later, she was listening to him moving stealthily overhead. Something fell, he thudded against a wall, and her knuckles turned white around the black iron handle of the poker.

  “Gotcha!” he cried.

  Charlie’s eyes widened. He couldn’t actually have caught a ghost. They were invisible. Elusive. And unpredictable. She heard the steady sound of his footsteps next and got ready to whack—Daniel, she hoped. And she also hoped that she wouldn’t whack Sam by accident.

  He was looking down at her, a very relaxed Butch in his arms. “It was the cat.”

  “How did he get in?” She set down the poker and went halfway up the stairs.

  Sam shrugged, stroking his ears and rubbing his head until Butch emitted a faint but blissful purr. “He must have dashed in when we came in. Cats are real homebodies.”

  “Butchie,” she cooed to him, accompanying the two of them back down to the first floor, “you wanted to be home, didn’t you? With me ...”

  Butch, the betrayer, looked adoringly up at the man who was carrying him.

  “... and Sam,” she added.

  The cat purred loudly and settled back down inside those strong arms.

  “You have five minutes more,” she told the cat and rubbed his head. “Then I get him back. We have to finish the tree, okay?”

  But she let Sam hold him and watch while she did the rest. Five minutes, thirty minutes. So long as her two guys were happy. Plus, she got to do the decorating her way.

  Later that night, curled up with just Sam, the cat opting for a spot underneath the prickly, fragrant tree downstairs, she woke up in the wee hours and knew she wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep. She eased herself away from him and got up quietly, looking for a robe.

  Charlie wrapped it around herself and blew him a silent kiss.

  Charlie sat down at her computer, hitching her robe up so she was comfortable and clicking absentmindedl
y on the mouse to get her e-mail from BlinkLink, the world’s cheesiest Internet service provider on the planet. She was surprised, in fact, that it wasn’t their official slogan. Scrolling through after the site appeared and she’d clicked to open her inbox, she didn’t look too closely at any of it because she didn’t notice anything new in boldface type.

  Wait. There was one from Pages, which was Lillian’s work e-addy. Charlie clicked it open.

  Called my house, no answer. You and Sam must have gone home.

  It was signed with a winking emoticon and an uppercase L.

  Charlie typed back.

  Yes we did! See you tomorrow!

  She signed her brief answer with a beaming sun face, not finding an emoticon for we-had-glorious-sex-all-afternoon-and-we-seem-to-be- talking-about-falling-in-love. Especially since the glorious sex had been had in Lillian’s house and saying so just seemed weird, even though Lillian probably wouldn’t care in the least. And saying anything about falling in love would trigger a barrage of questions Charlie had no idea how to answer at the moment.

  The rest of the new messages were just come-ons but at least she knew they were generated by companies she bought stuff from online. No spam, thank goodness. It might be a fact of modern life but it still annoyed the hell out of her. She didn’t bother to sign out, just minimized the box so it appeared in the bottom frame of the screen.

  Charlie stifled a yawn, hoping to cure her insomnia by going to the most boring Web sites she knew. Which meant no Stephen Colbert, no Huffington Post, no Perez Hilton. She tried One Thousand and One Home Repairs but actually found that sort of interesting and clicked out. Fishing Fundamentals did the trick. A few minutes of watching two thick-necked guys in an aluminum boat on some anonymous lake and she was definitely drowsy.

  Charlie rubbed her eyes, shifting in her chair to take in a few more soporific moments of Milt and Spawn, or whatever their names were, chatting about some monster muskie they were after. Then the monitor shimmered and the fishermen disappeared. Oh hell.

  Was the monitor on the fritz? The computer was working fine, but she hadn’t bought them at the same time. The monitor was older—it had never given her any trouble, though. She didn’t have enough money to buy a new monitor right now. Charlie peered into it, wondering if it was her sleepiness or a trick of the low light or a malfunction that was making her see things.

  Vague shapes. Could be people. Could be dogs. They had heads, anyway.

  Then the shapes faded away and she watched letters, rapidly typed, form words and then sentences. Coherent sentences.

  Charlie sat up very straight.

  A most ingenious machine, this. Better than any of my magic contraptions. Hello, Charlotte. This is Daniel.

  She stared at the message, then typed a reply.

  Go away.

  She could almost swear she heard ghostly laughter, but she didn’t trust her ears. Or her eyes. Was Sam pulling her leg? Couldn’t be. She had left him snoring peacefully and she could still just barely hear the steady rumble from his manly chest.

  Another answer popped up on her screen. From then on, the exchange between her and the being who called himself Daniel was fast and furious.

  Why should I go away? I live here, off and on.

  —How did you get into my house? And my computer?

  The house first, if you please. It was easy. I walked in through the front door a day after you arrived in Edgartown. I had been drifting around for a while, unseen. You have a well-stocked liquor cabinet, my dear Charlotte, which you hardly touch. Alas, I have a regrettable weakness for drink.

  —I noticed that. Go away. I insist.

  She thought for a minute, then added something.

  —Is there just one of you?

  Ah, you know about Temperance. I was never worthy of her.

  —What do you mean?

  I seduced her. She convinced herself that she was madly in love with me and agreed to elope.

  —When?

  Charlie waited in breathless disbelief for the answer to that question, reminding herself that she was the only person alive who knew the approximate date. Lillian hadn’t read much of the old diary or so she’d said. That left only her friend Iris Munson and Charlie hadn’t had the impression that Iris had read it at all.

  On Christmas Eve.

  She rocked back in her chair, her hands covering her mouth. She had to keep him talking. This had to be Daniel. Only he or Temperance would know that. Or—

  Her sister Constance was the only one who knew of our clandestine affair. Dear girl. She helped us run away.

  —In the middle of winter?

  Not the wisest decision, was it? A tremendous blizzard hit that very night and raged for days. Mr. and Mrs. Prescott undoubtedly assumed we had died in it.

  —Did you?

  No. We had reached an inn on the mainland.

  —Then where did you go?

  We traveled through Massachusetts to New York. For a while, I was able to keep Temperance in splendid accommodations worthy of her beauty. Our bedroom was done up in fine red velvet, you know. We had to sell it all for pennies on the dollar after a few years in New York.

  —Did you ever marry her?

  No. After a while she did not want me to. I think she hoped to return to Edgartown eventually, but she was loyal to me in her way. She used to hide the whiskey from me.

  —I don’t doubt it.

  Well, that is the Prescott in you. Hiding things. Judging other people.

  —How dare you talk to me like that?

  I have never lacked for nerve. Cyrus Prescott always said I was a bounder and a cad. He was right.

  Charlie hardly knew what to say or how much to believe of the incredible things she was reading. For sure no one would ever believe her if she told anyone. Their back-and-forth had the creepy intimacy of a chat room exchange and a musty whiff of yesteryear. Her mind felt overwhelmed and under pressure, as if the ghost had somehow gotten inside it or could read her thoughts. She had no way of knowing if either was true. Frantically, she tapped the function keys that were meant to automatically save e-mails or anything that appeared on the monitor but they seemed to be stuck.

  Don’t bother. I have been playing with your keyboard in my idle hours. Then I slipped inside the monitor. As a wraith, I can do such things. A computer is a most ingenious contraption.

  Reading that infuriated Charlie. Doing it was bad enough. How dare he brag about it? She lost her temper and hit the Cap Lock button.

  —WHO ARE YOU REALLY????????????

  Do not shout.

  —WHAT DO YOU WANT????????

  Just to chat. I find I am lonely. Being a ghost is less interesting than I thought it would be.

  Charlie took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She composed her thoughts before her fingers touched the keyboard again.

  —Tell me everything. Who you are, what you did. I find you fascinating.

  That stuck in her craw, but he might feel flattered.

  I? It has been a while since anyone has asked that question. I was a jack of all trades, I suppose. Mostly dishonest ones. I wrote fictional accounts of ghastly crimes for the penny papers, for one.

  —Writing doesn’t pay.

  She hit the period key hard to emphasize that.

  It did if a high-ranking official or society swell wished not to be mentioned in connection with murder. I made all of that up, but it didn’t matter. Scandal is a lucrative business when it is managed right.

  —Oh.

  And I performed magic shows at private parties so I could pick pockets or simply charm wealthy women out of their baubles. I invented quite a few ingenious devices of my own to assist me in that endeavor.

  —I see. What were you doing in Edgartown?

  I was an advance man for a circus. I smoothed the way with the leading citizens so that we might be allowed to set up our tents. On the outskirts of town, of course. But my salary permitted me to stay in the best available inn and keep the
sawdust off my shoes.

  —How did you meet Temperance?

  She mistook me for a man of means, well-educated and well-placed in society. I was quite good at impressions of all sorts.

  —You took advantage of her.

  There was a pause of several moments before he replied.

  You are indeed shrewd, Charlotte. But it could also be true that she took advantage of me. I seemed like a way out, you see. Even a beautiful woman could not go far without male protection and she knew that.

  —She was beautiful. I saw her tintype.

  Another pause.

  Where?

  It was the only question he’d asked with a single word. He’d tipped his hand. Charlie wasn’t going to answer him. If the past was going to stay past, Daniel couldn’t be rummaging through the historical society archives because he had nothing better to do. It occurred to her that he might turn the house upside down looking for the tintype if he thought it was there.

  —Never mind. She looked intelligent but also innocent.

  Your comment is accurate. Her passionate nature was her undoing. And once she had fled with me, she was a ruined woman for all intents and purposes. But eventually she lived up to her name. Dear Temperance. She detested my drinking, tried to cure me of it because I got into brawls so often. I remember her dragging me out of a saloon by the collar of my coat. I found the sidewalk cruelly hard when she dropped me upon it.

  —Good for her. And shame on you. I feel sorry for her.

  Ah, well. She wanted to see the world. She did see some of it.

  —And what happened to her? You still haven’t told me that.

  No? The ending is an anticlimax, I’m afraid. She grew older, her beauty vanished, we had no children, her family had long since disowned her—the usual story. But she never did leave me.

  So there was no happy ending. Well, Charlie hadn’t expected one. But at least Temperance had a few years of luxury and a taste of freedom for a while. Maybe that was all a woman of her day could hope for.

  —Is that her I see sometimes? Naked?

  You are bold, Charlotte, to ask such a question. Yes, that is her, when she was young. But what you see is my memory of her. She faded away into nothingness.