Jingle Bell Jinx
By
Linda V. Palmer
Uncial Press
Aloha, Oregon
2010
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and events described herein are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
ISBN: 978-1-60174-104-2
Copyright © 2010 by Linda Varner Palmer
Cover design Copyright © 2010 by Judith B. Glad
Character Photograph © Ekaterina Shvaygert - Fotolia.com
All rights reserved. Except for use in review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the author or publisher.
Published by Uncial Press, an imprint of GCT, Inc.
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The Jingle Bell Jinx
At exactly 9:38 p.m. on Christmas Eve, I gave in and admitted that this year’s jingle bell jinx was the absolute worst of my life, easily beating out last year, when my brand new iPod got lost in the wads of wrapping paper and accidentally trashed.
I’d wandered every inch of the mall parking deck for the past hour looking for my car, a Honda Accord that was the only thing my dad and I had ever agreed on in my nineteen years. It wasn’t anywhere, which meant someone had stolen it. I guessed that was what I deserved for buying a vehicle ranking high on both the safest and most stolen lists.
I readjusted my load of gaily wrapped boxes and all the oversized shopping bags that dangled from my left arm. How I wished I’d gone with the cable knit sweater for Dad instead of the tool set. My right shoulder stung with the effort of lugging the heavy black case, and he wasn’t going to like it, anyway.
So what now? I wondered, more worried about calling him to say I’d be late than finding mall security to help me. With a sigh of resignation, I walked over to the You-Are-Here map mounted next to the elevator and set everything down on the cold concrete floor. An icy breeze lifted the corner of my red scarf. The air smelled wintry crisp and clear. I heard sleet pattering the windshields of cars parked on the deck’s perimeter and wished like crazy I was back in my two-room apartment in Tyler. I’d be wrapped in a fuzzy blanket watching Ebenezer Scrooge reform and sipping hot cocoa with extra marshmallows. Suddenly I wanted to sit down and bawl my eyes out.
“Buck up,” I told myself, exactly what my retired drill sergeant dad would’ve said if he’d been there. A widower since I was ten, he treated his only daughter the way he treated his men, with no tolerance for weakness or emotion. Life was what it was, he always said. Deal with it. Of course that didn’t stop him from trying to micromanage mine, the reason I’d escaped to a college in Texas instead of staying with him and attending the one in Norman, Oklahoma. I loved my dad dearly when there were miles between us. Up close and personal, he drove me crazy.
Digging my cell phone from my purse, I punched in his number. My stomach instantly knotted with dread. My goal was to say just enough to get by. He didn’t need to know what had happened until I sorted everything out and knew myself.
The phone rang on his end.
“Raquel Allison McKnight, where in the hell are you?” he asked by way of answering. “We thought you’d be here by six.”
I guessed that “we” meant his younger brother Mel, wife Josie, and their perfect daughters Sara and Steph, who sometimes spent Christmas with us. Unfortunately, my girly-girl cousins and aunt didn’t approve of tomboys, so regularly tried to engineer makeovers. As for Mel, I couldn’t quite believe he and my Dad had the same parents. Thank goodness for his conspiratorial winks, which were all that kept me from going ballistic when someone said something especially snarky about my hair or clothes.
“I told you last week I couldn’t possibly get home that early. I work, remember?” I’d so hoped for a few quiet days with him. After all, we’d been apart since July and had some serious issues to discuss, namely my decision to change my major. My dad and I were like salt and sugar—similar in looks, but with entirely different tastes. “And now there’s a complication. A little problem with the car—”
“Are you talking about a flat? After I told you about that Michelin sale?”
“My tires are fine.” Just missing, as is the Honda they are attached to.
“Where are you?”
Beep.
That warning sound made me check my cell battery, which was seconds from dead. “I’m at the Dallas mall.”
“You’re still in Texas?”
“Yes, so there’s no way I’ll get there tonight. It’s sleeting like crazy here, and I don’t want to drive in it.”
“Why are you at the mall?”
Beep.
“Last-minute gifts.”
“You should’ve finished shopping weeks ago.”
“No time. Between classes and my job, I—”
“Blame yourself for that.” Dad had withdrawn all financial support when I told him I wasn’t going to attend OU Norman. He thought that would make me change my mind.
As if.
I had a full-ride scholarship and could get by on my own, thank you very much. I didn’t need him or his strings-attached money.
Beep.
“I promise I’ll be home before noon tomorrow. Then we can do the whole present thing and eat fruitcake until we puke.”
“What’s wrong with your car?”
“Tell you when I get there.” If I get there. At the moment, things didn’t look so good, but I’d never admit that.
Beep.
“Do you have a room somewhere?”
“I will in five minutes.”
“Call me when you settle in so I’ll know you’re okay.”
“Yeah, sure. Gotta go.”
Beep.
I flipped the phone shut with relief and dropped it into my shoulder bag, which I set on the floor next to all my stuff. Without thought, I massaged the knot of anxiety that was the back of my neck and tried to locate the mall security office on the diagram before me.
The elevator suddenly dinged, and the doors slid open. When a teenaged male with an Old Navy shopping bag stepped out, all my mental alarms went off and I slipped automatically into caution mode. What girl wouldn’t, late at night on a packed parking deck with no other human in sight? But he strolled right by me with barely a glance, singing “Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer” under his breath.
I’d already forgotten him when he abruptly stopped, pivoted, and stared. A nanosecond later, he walked right back to me, stopping before he invaded my space but after I jumped a foot off the floor. He held up both hands to show me he meant no harm, then stared at my face for a couple of seconds. “Rocky?”
Only one person on the planet had ever called me that. I gave this guy a quick once over, wondering if the gangly geek that was my eighth-grade crush-slash-best friend could really be hidden inside this six-foot bundle of brawn. “Gabe?”
“Holy crap. It is you!” Gabriel Banks closed the distance between us in one step and scooped me up into a bear hug that challenged breathing.
Or was something else to blame? His twinkling eyes, as blue as ever. That smile stretching from dimple to dimple. Or even his aftershave, a manly scent guaranteed to turn any female to instant mush. Stunned by the look, feel, and smell of him, I barely found wits to hug back. In fact, I could’ve been thirteen again and head-over-Nikes nuts for him instead of the mature young woman I really was.
“What are you doing in Dallas?” he said once he set me back on my feet.
I suc
ked in some much-needed air and pointed to my packages. “You know me. Always running behind.”
“What are you talking about? I’ve never met anyone as organized.” He eyed my packages. “Can I help with these?”
“You could if I had someplace to put them.”
He arched an eyebrow and waited for me to explain.
“Can’t find my car.”
Clearly assuming I’d forgotten where I parked, Gabe burst into laughter that died when he realized I wasn’t amused. He cleared his throat. “My sister—you remember Anna?—takes a picture of the deck number with her cell phone so she can find her way back.”
“So do I.” I retrieved my phone, punched a couple of buttons, and showed Gabe the shot I’d taken of the red Level 4 painted on the wall just beyond my shiny black Honda.
He frowned. “So what’s the problem?”
“Can’t find my car.”
His jaw dropped. “You mean it’s not here anymore?”
I shook my head.
“As in someone stole it?”
I nodded.
“Shit, Rocky. What are you going to do?”
“I was trying to locate the mall security office for starters.”
“I know where it is.” He began gathering my packages. I stopped him.
“I can manage these.” I took the boxes and bags he held. “If you’ll get that.”
Gabe nodded and picked up the tool case, then turned to the elevator just as the doors opened. Several women filed out, all wearing evening clothes and spiked heels inappropriate for shopping. I guessed they’d been to the ritzy Casino that shared the parking deck with the mall. There were signs all over the place announcing some kind of special event there.
Gabe stopped the door from closing again. “Right this way.”
“Shoplift a lot, do you?” I asked as I stepped inside.
“Huh?”
“Why else would you know where security is?”
Gabe grinned and punched one. “Dad’s a mall cop now.”
“No kidding. So he’s retired, too?”
“Yep. Four years ago, and I can tell you I don’t miss the military life one bit. I actually attended the same school from the ninth through twelfth grades, if you can believe that.”
“Lucky you. I went to six different ones, two during my senior year. Dad didn’t retire until eight months ago, just in time to buy a house near the college of his choice.”
“So sergeant dad is still calling the shots?”
“Not anymore.” I explained about applying for a UT Tulsa scholarship on the sly and then actually getting it.
“So how’d he take news?”
“He disowned me. Monetarily speaking, anyway.”
“That sucks.”
“I’m actually doing just fine on my own.”
“And I’m not surprised.” We shared a jubilant high-five just as the elevator slid to a gentle stop. The door opened. Some teenage girls in sparkly dresses and guys in tuxes stepped back so we could get out.
“Aren’t they too young for the casino?” I whispered.
“They’re going to a Christmas Eve party in the hotel ballroom adjacent to the casino. It’s sort of a tradition around here.”
“Hm. I bet a lot of dads will be walking the floor tonight. That hotel’s pretty handy.”
“You got that right.” Gabe laughed and motioned for me to follow him, then led the way down the hall to an office with Security painted on the front window. I saw his dad and another man seated at a desk and staring at TV screens displaying views of the parking decks and all the mall entrances.
So someone had watched me wander Level 4. How humiliating.
Richard Banks gave me a neutral smile, then turned to his son. “Forget something?”
“Lost something. You remember Raquel McKnight, don’t you? Sergeant Sam’s daughter.”
Richard squinted at me. “Well, I’ll be damned. How are you, honey?” He stood and offered his hand, which I took, shook, and tried to release. He didn’t let me. “Still pretty as a butterfly on a morning glory, I see. No wonder Gabe never got over you.”
“Dad!”
Richard laughed heartily at his red-faced son and gave up my hand. “So what have you two lost?”
“My car. Someone stole it.”
That sobered him. “Are you sure? It’s a five-level deck and they’re all full tonight. Maybe you didn’t park exactly where you thought. Happens all the time.”
I got my cell phone and displayed the shot I’d shown Gabe earlier. The screen went black before our eyes, but not before Richard saw it.
He shook his head in visible sympathy. “‘Tis the season, unfortunately. Sorry you got caught up in it.” Richard reached for a clipboard, handed it to me, and pointed to a chair. “Take a seat, young lady, and fill this out. I’ll call the city police.”
“Do you tape what you’re watching on those monitors?” I asked, dumping my packages and glancing pointedly at all those screens.
“We do.”
“So you probably caught the whole thing.”
“Actually, we probably watched the whole thing. A smooth thief can break into and steal a car in the blink of an eye. And though one or both of us monitors these ten screens at all times, it’s hard to catch everything. But you can be sure we’ll turn the tapes over to the police when they get here.”
One hour, a zillion forms, and twice that many questions later, I wearily thanked everyone for their help and stretched to get the kinks out. “There’s a hotel in that casino, right?”
“Yeah, but you can’t stay there,” Gabe told me.
“Why not?”
“It costs two-fifty a night. Besides, Mom and Anna will be totally pissed if I don’t bring you to the house. We have plenty of room to put you up.”
It was all I could do not to cry with relief. “Really?”
“Really.” He turned to his dad. “You’re okay with riding the bike home, right?”
“Yeah, sure.” He dug into his pocket and pulled out car keys.
“Bike as in motorcycle?” I asked Gabe.
He nodded and snagged the keys his dad tossed.
“No way.” I snatched them from his hand and threw them right back to Richard, who missed the catch and had to scoop them off the floor. “I’ve always wanted to ride a motorcycle.”
“But it’s sleeting.”
“I know,” I told him, grinning like the goof I was…at least when it came to motorcycles. “What kind of bike is it?”
“An Indian.”
My sigh of pure rapture said it all and made the guys in the room grin. Richard dug up a helmet from somewhere. We left all my purchases and Gabe’s to head once more for the elevators. While we stood in awkward silence waiting for ascent, I studied our reflections on the mirrored door. We almost looked like a couple, I realized, for a second wishing it were so. That made me wonder if I’d ever gotten over him. We’d been through so much together that one year we loved each other: the death of my mom and his “Mimi” from cancer; karate lessons taught by a Jackie Chan wannabee; endless hours of “The Price is Right,” our mutual guilty pleasure. And then there were all those kisses, experimental yet so unforgettable. We’d never moved past first base as far as making out went, but I remembered being willing. Gabe wouldn’t go for it. Thank goodness one of us had willpower.
I smiled at the memory.
“Whatcha thinkin’ about?” he asked, having caught my expression in the mirror.
“Stolen kisses in the broom closet at Kobayashi Karate Academy.”
That made him smile, too.
The elevator stopped on Level 3. Way too many rowdy people crowded into the tiny enclosure. I automatically grabbed Gabe’s hand to keep him close. His fingers tightened possessively around mine. I was almost sorry to get off on Level 4.
Gabe’s bike was a Chief Roadmaster so beautiful that I squealed and got goose bumps when I spotted it. Or maybe that was just because an icy wind tugged my jacket an
d stung my flushed cheeks. I realized the sleet had turned to snow.
Perfect night. Perfect ride. Perfect guy. Take that, jingle bell jinx!
While Gabe tightened the knitted scarf around my neck, I buttoned my puff jacket and pulled on red gloves. He zipped his leather bomber jacket, then waited while I twisted my long brown hair into a knot at the back of my neck. Gabe settled his dad’s helmet securely over my head and helped me tuck my hair inside it before buckling the chin strap. Once he put on his own helmet and gloves, I gave him my purse to stash in the saddlebag. We got on the bike. Seconds after, he revved the motor, heading us into the elements.
Words couldn’t describe the thrill as we sped through snowflakes as big as silver dollars. It wasn’t until we left the lights of Dallas behind that I remembered I hadn’t even asked where he lived. I quickly realized it didn’t matter. I’d go with him wherever. Whenever, too. All he had to do was ask. I tightened my hold on his waist and rested my cheek on his broad back…or tried to. The helmet complicated the maneuver a little, but I got close enough to feel deliciously carefree.
Though I expected him to exit the freeway into a suburb, he took us to what looked like a park instead and braked by a lonely metal picnic table set among towering oaks. The snow that swirled wildly around a distant pole lamp simply sifted down through the bare branches high overhead. Gabe killed the engine, dismounted the bike, and pulled off his helmet.
“You live under a picnic table?” I asked, doing the same and shaking out my curls.
I heard his sharp inhale.
“What?”
“You’re even more beautiful than I remembered.”
“What?”
“Dad was right. I never got over you.”
Flustered, but pleased, I faked a light laugh. “I’ll bet you tell that to all your biker chicks.”
“Nope. Just the one.”
“Oh. Um, thanks.” Gulp. I looked around. “So what are we doing?”
“Stealing a minute before Mom and Anna monopolize you. Do you mind?”
“No.” I walked over to the table and brushed snow off the bench seat so I could sit. Gabe joined me there and draped his arm over my shoulder. I snuggled up to his warmth automatically, belatedly realizing what I’d done and pulling back in embarrassment. He shook his head and tugged me close again. I relaxed with a grateful sigh just as Gabe’s watch bleeped the hour. Midnight.
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