One Imperfect Christmas

by Myra Johnson

  He only hoped his daughter would eventually come around and forgive them both, whichever one she decided to live with permanently—another aspect of divorce that shook Daniel to his core. On top of everything else, how could he bear it if he moved hundreds of miles away and Lissa chose to stay with Natalie? The last thing he wanted to be—not counting being divorced—was an absent, uninvolved father.

  His immediate problem, however, was explaining this little day trip to Lissa. Yeah, he could just drive up to Langston and not tell her. But what if she had an emergency? Even if she reached him on his cell, he'd be a good four hours away. He definitely wasn't ready to tell her about the interview, so he'd have to come up with a believable excuse.

  “Hey, Liss.” He tapped on her partially open bedroom door.

  Still tucked under the covers, she gave a sleepy yawn. “What time is it?”

  “Just after seven. I forgot to tell you last night, but we need to get an early start. I'm scouting teams for a basketball tournament.” It wasn't a complete fabrication; he intended to stop for a few minutes in Carsonville on the way home, where he'd seen in the paper that the middle-school team had a home game.

  “Ugh. Jody probably isn't even up yet. Half the world probably isn't up yet.” She stumbled to the bathroom and slammed the door. Over running water she yelled, “And what's with the khakis and blazer? You never dress up for scouting trips. You look like you're going to a funeral or something.”

  He banged his head softly on the wall opposite the door. Might as well be.

  When he left her at Jody's half an hour later, the suspicious look in her eyes made him wonder if she'd already guessed the truth about his call Thursday evening. After all, she'd been the one to pick up the phone. How long did she listen in before hanging up?

  He thumped the steering wheel. Nothing he could do about it now. And no point in agonizing over his daughter's reaction until—or rather, unless—the Langston coaching position became a reality.

  Four hours later, the Langston city limit sign came into view. He stopped on the edge of town for a submarine sandwich, but by then his nerves were so shot that he barely finished half of it before he tossed the remains in the trash. Back in the Bronco, he rummaged through the glove compartment for his stash of Tums and scarfed down a handful.

  He arrived at the high school ten minutes ahead of his one o'clock appointment. The parking lot was deserted, except for a couple of school district maintenance vehicles and a shiny crimson Ford Explorer parked near the side entrance to the gym. He pulled up next to the Ford, swallowed a couple more Tums for good measure, and found his way along a shadowy corridor to Coach Arnell's office.

  A lanky, graying man with a butch haircut rose and greeted him with a handshake.

  “Coach Pearce? Dave Arnell.” He had to be a good six-feet-eight, with a grip like a grizzly bear and fingers long enough to palm a regulation basketball. “Welcome. Have a seat.”

  Daniel settled into a maroon vinyl chair, its coolness seeping through his khakis. “I appreciate the chance to talk with you and find out more about the opportunities at Langston.”

  “Well, I hope you'll find them agreeable, because from what I've seen in your résumé here"—he tapped a crisp, white sheet of paper attached to a manila folder—“your qualifications would fit in beautifully at Langston.”

  The words lit a fire in Daniel's belly. Forgetting everything but his lifelong coaching aspirations, he listened avidly as Arnell described the responsibilities of the job and possible compensation levels. Each enticing detail fanned the flames of Daniel's enthusiasm even higher.

  Arnell folded his hands atop his desk. “How's it sounding so far?”

  “Good. Real good.” Better than he'd even imagined. He did his best to keep a silly schoolboy grin from taking over his face.

  Next, Arnell fired some questions at Daniel about his coaching philosophy and background. But when he got around to the subject of future goals, Daniel's excitement fizzled like a dowsed campfire.

  “Future goals?” He gave a heartless laugh. “Whew. I thought I knew, but lately I'm not as certain.”

  “That's not exactly the answer I was hoping for.” Arnell shot him a dubious frown. “You know, being the right man in the right place at the right time, you could find yourself in a very sweet position here in another four or five years.”

  Daniel immediately caught his meaning and sat up straighter. “Yes, sir, don't think that possibility hasn't crossed my mind. It's just that I have some family concerns I need to resolve before I can come to a decision.”

  Arnell swiveled his chair sideways. “Anything you'd care to talk about?”

  Daniel wondered how much he should say to someone he barely knew, but the man had been up front with him in every respect. He owed him the courtesy of an honest answer. Taking a long, steadying breath, he bent forward, hands clasped between his knees. “My wife and I separated a few months ago. Our teenage daughter is taking it pretty hard.”

  Brooding eyes met his, and a look of understanding passed between them. “Been there myself. Coaching is tough on a marriage. Takes a lot of work on both sides to keep things running smoothly.”

  Daniel reached for the Langston High School pamphlet he'd been browsing through and riffled the pages. “I'm afraid it's a lot more complicated than that.”

  Arnell's gruff voice grew soft with concern. “Only you can say when it's time to throw in the towel. But think long and hard about it, because that decision isn't easily undone.”

  He started to blurt out, “You think I don't know that?” Then he realized maybe he'd kept this interview appointment for the very reason that the job might just provide an easy way out of a hopeless situation. Yeah, he desperately wanted Natalie to come back to him and Lissa so they could get on with their lives.

  But on whose terms? Arnell hit the nail on the head— marriage meant compromise. When it came right down to it, how much was Daniel really willing to give to make his marriage work? How much of its failure could he blame on himself?

  “I guess I still have a lot to sort out,” he said at last. “Sorry if I wasted your time.”

  “Never a waste of time shooting the breeze with another fine coach.” Arnell leaned forward, his mouth flattened into an apologetic frown. “Unfortunately, the administration's on my case to hurry this thing along, so I'll need an answer pretty quick. I just learned yesterday that Coach Baker has pushed up his retirement to March 1. Health reasons, I understand. We need to name his replacement ASAP so we can work on a smooth transition for next fall.”

  He reached for the yellow legal pad on which he'd been taking notes and perused Daniel's résumé once more. “Don't mean to pressure you, Pearce, but everything I've seen and heard so far tells me you're the man.”

  Daniel rubbed a hand across his upper lip, slick with nervous perspiration. Another opportunity this good might never come his way again. His dream job finally lay within reach, and all he had to do was say yes.

  He twisted his wedding band. His stomach churned with indecision. “How much time can you give me?”

  Arnell's brow furrowed. “End of January. That's the best I can do.”

  Daniel nodded thoughtfully as he contemplated what might be the most difficult decision he'd ever faced. He could say yes today and probably admit defeat where his marriage was concerned.

  Or he could risk everything to stay and fight for Natalie.

  He'd never felt more confused.

  God, help me! It was the only prayer he had left.

  13

  Natalie shoved away from her desk, every muscle in her neck and shoulders screaming. Her right wrist tingled with the ominous early-warning signs of carpal tunnel syndrome. The nagging headache reminded her she hadn't taken a lunch break. She used to look forward to Saturdays, kicking back with coffee and the newspaper, or swaying to her favorite music on the stereo while she captured on canvas the colors of a sunset over the mountains or a forest canopy of autumn leaves, or
even leisurely afternoon walks around the town square, which usually ended at Carla's Confections. Lissa always ordered a huge banana split, while she and Daniel—

  Natalie cupped her palms at the sides of her head and gave a shudder. Thoughts like those were dangerous. Thoughts like those were exactly why she kept herself so busy and why she now worked on Saturday.

  Lately, though, even long hours and hard work didn't keep the thoughts at bay. Images of Daniel floated in and out of her consciousness with unnerving regularity.

  It had to be the Christmas season stirring up all these old longings. They would pass. They had to. One more thing to talk out with Dr. Sirpless on her next visit.

  She shook out her wrist before hitting the intercom button to summon Deannie.

  Less than a minute later the overgrown teenybopper flounced into Natalie's office. “Present and accounted for, Your Highness.” She fired off a crisp salute.

  Natalie scooped up the last batch of proofs she'd printed out. “Don't forget: five proofreaders, with initials. Then phone the clients first thing Monday morning about approving the final copy.”

  Deannie gave her the thumbs-up sign. “Gotcha.”

  Natalie logged off the computer. “Okay, I'm shutting down and going home.”

  “I'll be right behind you, soon as I take care of this stuff. Have an absolutely fabulous weekend, okay?”

  “Right.” Sliding her arms into her coat, Natalie muttered, “If no more weird mistakes turn up, it most certainly will be fabulous.”

  In the rear parking lot, she settled behind the wheel of her car and sank back in exhaustion. By all appearances, Deannie still had enough energy for a hot date and partying all night with her friends. For Natalie, those days were long gone. Even before she'd become a certified workaholic, she could barely remember having the kind of stamina required to work all week and play all weekend.

  Weekend. What a misnomer. A measly thirty-six hours at most, from clocking out Saturday evening until she had to show up for work on Monday morning. It hardly seemed worth taking a break. Besides, she could really use an extra work day to get ahead of the Christmas rush. But Jeff remained adamant that absolutely no one on their staff would work on Sundays, no matter how far behind they were.

  Okay, she had to admit that a day away from work might actually be good for her. It couldn't hurt to relax a little and put the strain of the past week out of her mind. What that “something” might be, she had yet to determine. Of course, Sunday morning would find Jeff and his family—and just about everyone else in town—at church. Worship used to mean a lot to Natalie, too, before her mother had a stroke and her marriage began to collapse. For a long time after her mother's debilitating illness, she had tried to attend for her father's sake, if nothing else, but after the separation she couldn't bear the awkwardness of running into Daniel.

  A horn blared behind her, and she realized she'd just sat through a green light. Gunning the engine, she sped through the intersection under a yellow light that turned red before the guy behind her could make it through. The sounds of his repeated blasts died away only after she turned at the next corner.

  Yes, she definitely needed some downtime. No Mr. Craunauer, no Deannie, no accusatory looks from Jeff about her recent blunders and where their business was headed. No agonizing over her marriage or her daughter if she could help it. She'd run out of strength to cope with it all. The Christmas season closed in on her like a rapidly narrowing tunnel with barely a glimmer of light at the end. All she could think about was surviving this hectic, memory-laden holiday with at least a few shreds of her sanity intact.

  Halfway home, she remembered her cupboard was bare and made a quick stop at the supermarket. Browsing the frozen-food section, she decided to pamper herself tonight with a microwave lasagna dinner and a prepackaged spinach salad with pecans and cranberries. She even splurged on a single-serving frozen key lime pie.

  Dusk faded to darkness and a light snow had begun to fall by the time she pulled into her covered parking space next to the apartment building. She tucked her groceries under one arm and pushed the car door shut with her hip. The smell of wood smoke drifted from neighborhood fireplaces. She could see it rising against the low clouds, aglow with reflected city lights. Several of her neighbors had strung icicle lights along their balconies or rooflines. Others had draped twinkling multicolored lights around shrubs and trees. In the commons area, bright spotlights shone on a life-size Santa scene, complete with plastic reindeer, sleigh, and elves.

  Everywhere she went, she couldn't escape Christmas. Oh, Mom, this was your season. I miss you so much.

  For a blissful moment she gave in to a flood of memories, allowing them to transport her back through happy scenes of her childhood—all those special Christmas mornings with Mom and Dad and Hart. She tilted her head and opened her mouth, catching snowflakes and savoring their quickly vanishing tingle on her tongue. At that brief moment, she felt giddy, light, free—

  “Mom, what are you doing?”

  At the sound of Lissa's voice, Natalie jerked around, the blissful memories dissipating like smoke on the breeze. It took a moment before her vision cleared enough to see Lissa standing at the end of the sidewalk. Daniel waited just behind her, a stupid half-grin on his face.

  Natalie's cheeks flamed. “I … I … What are you doing here?”

  Daniel's grin changed to a look of confusion. “You weren't expecting us? Tomorrow is your Sunday to spend with Lissa—or do I have my weekends mixed up?”

  Guilt tore through Natalie's chest like an ice cube swallowed whole. “Oh, Lissa, I was so busy at work that I completely forgot.”

  Her daughter's expression crumbled. “Let's go, Dad.” She spun around and stomped toward Daniel's Bronco. “I told you Mom didn't really want me over this weekend.”

  “Wait.” Natalie took mincing steps toward her daughter. “Lissa, it's not what you think. It's been a terrible week. Our plans just slipped my mind, that's all.” She cast Lissa a pleading look. “And after the way things ended yesterday, I … well … I wasn't sure you'd even be speaking to me.”

  “It's always about you, isn't it?” Lissa lifted her chin, and Natalie could see how hard she worked to keep it from trembling. “Don't you think Dad has a life too? He might have a date or something tomorrow and need me out of his hair.”

  Daniel looked askance at his daughter and chuckled nervously. “She's kidding, of course. Seriously, if the timing is bad, we can reschedule for next weekend.”

  “No, please, it's okay.” How had Natalie grown so busy and preoccupied that weekends with Lissa could be forgotten so easily? This was her daughter, for crying out loud. She stepped close enough to lay a hand on Lissa's crossed arms. “Honey, please stay. I was just going to make myself some supper. We can—” Glancing at her small bag of groceries, she realized she didn't have enough for two. She shifted the bag to her other arm. “Hey, you don't want to eat my cooking anyway. Why don't we go out for pizza or burgers or something?”

  Lissa hesitated. Her eyes narrowed. “Dad too?”

  Daniel shuffled his feet. “Uh, Lissa, I don't think that's fair to your mom.”

  Natalie bit down her sudden apprehension. She wouldn't for anything add another brick to the already monstrous wall between her and Lissa. “No, it's okay. We can all go together, if that's what you want.” She hoped the darkness hid the tremor that rippled through her. “Just give me a minute to put these things in the fridge.”

  She rushed upstairs to her apartment, nearly dropping the keys in her fumbling attempt to get the door open. Kicking it closed behind her, she stood in the small entryway for three full seconds trying to figure out a way out of this mess. She took several slow breaths. Just dinner. Right?

  She shoved the whole grocery bag into the freezer and scurried to the bathroom for a quick check of her makeup. A dab of powder to cut the shine on her nose, a coat of lipstick on her winter-chapped lips, a futile attempt to refresh her wilted hairstyle.

>   She stopped, suddenly, and frowned at her reflection. “Get a grip, woman. This is not a date. You don't have to impress anyone.”

  With a shudder, she grabbed her purse from the kitchen counter and started downstairs. In the parking lot, Daniel had warmed up the aging Bronco. Lissa sat in the back seat.

  “Where to?” Daniel asked as Natalie took the front passenger seat. He looked as nervous as she felt.

  She chewed her lip. Sitting this close to him, how was she supposed to concentrate on anything except maintaining her equilibrium? She could feel the squeak forming in her voice before she even opened her mouth. “Anything's fine. You choose.”

  Daniel drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “There's the Saigon Buffet, or we could try that new place in Putnam— Madge's something-or-other.”

  “Madge's Taste of Home.” Brightly lit. Quick service. Natalie jumped on the idea like a frog on a bug. “I heard it's pretty good. Let's go.”

  “Hey, wait.” Lissa leaned between the seats. “I feel like Italian, don't you guys? Let's go to Adamo's.”

  “But, Liss,” Daniel said, glancing over his shoulder, “you and I just ate there last—”

  “Oh, so what? It's my favorite restaurant. What do you say, Mom?”

  Natalie felt the blood drain from her face, while Lissa fairly glowed with anticipation. Adamo's, a small, family-owned restaurant halfway between Fawn Ridge and Putnam, used to be Natalie and Daniel's favorite spot … and no secret to their scheming daughter.

  Daniel faced forward and shrugged. “It's up to you, Natalie.”

  “Well, if Lissa has her heart set on it.”

  After all, it was just dinner. Just dinner—that would be her mantra for the rest of the evening.

  But sitting so close to Daniel again, she found herself engulfed by memories and had to suppress a shiver. Her glance took in the strong lines of his profile. Her nostrils filled with the achingly familiar smell of his favorite suede jacket. Unwillingly, she let her gaze drift to his sturdy right hand as it rested on the gear shift. How small a reach it would be to touch him, to rest her head against his shoulder, to breathe in the masculine scent of his cologne.