Great. Talk about radar. Charlie must have been sitting by the window when they drove up.
“Hey!” the elderly man hollered from his stoop. “Where did that mutt come from?”
Tommy stood tall and lifted his chin. “He’s our new dog. And his name is Chewie.”
“Well, get him off my property. I don’t want you or your pets here.”
“See what I mean?” Jillian whispered to Mac. “For a man who went all out with his Christmas decorations this year, he sure is an old Scrooge. He doesn’t make it easy for the kids and me to get along with him.”
Who knew what Charlie was thinking? Either way, Mac supposed he’d have to mediate. Maybe, if the aging widower knew what the kids had been through this past year, what they’d lost, he’d be a little more understanding.
As Megan and Tommy tried their best to shepherd the collarless dog back to their own yard, Mac called out, “Hey, Charlie. Did you get a chance to see that San Diego/Denver game on TV? I’m afraid I missed it.”
“Yep. Sure did.” Charlie leaned against his cane. “The Chargers lost in overtime. That new rookie, Grady Chathers, got a chance to show his stuff today. But they should have left him on injured reserve.”
“If you don’t mind a visitor,” Mac said, “I’ll come over to your house in a minute or two and have you give me a rundown on what happened.”
“Be glad to. They’re still showing some highlights on ESPN.”
The dog, which seemed intent upon staying in Charlie’s yard and adding to the drama in an otherwise quiet neighborhood, finally pulled away from the kids and dashed back to no kid’s land. It barked several times, then hobbled up the steps and jumped up on Charlie, apparently forgetting about the sore leg it had been favoring.
Charlie brushed the mutt aside. “Get off me.”
The dog didn’t seem the least bit fazed by the scolding, and jumped up on the old man again.
Charlie grimaced. “That fool critter stinks to high heaven.” He glanced down at his dirt-stained slacks and clucked his tongue. “Its feet are all muddy. Just look what it did to my good trousers!” He shot Tommy a frown and shook his head. “Now I gotta take them to the dry cleaners, and that isn’t cheap.”
Mac strode to Charlie’s stoop. “I’ve got a few things that have to go to the cleaners, Charlie. So I’ll take your pants for you. And it’ll be my treat.”
“I’ve got some spot remover I can try first,” the old man said.
“All right. Just let me know if that doesn’t work.” Mac picked up the dog and carried it back where it belonged. With a possible vet bill and the charge for cleaning Charlie’s pants, Mac suspected being Jillian’s neighbor might get expensive.
But hey. It seemed like the right thing to do.
Jillian met him halfway and, reaching out her arms, took her new pet from him. “Thanks, Mac.” A breezy smile didn’t last long, and she scrunched her nose at the mangy little mutt. “I’m going to take him inside and bathe him.”
“Good idea.”
She glanced down at the squirmy critter, who seemed determined to wiggle out of her arms and dash back to Charlie’s yard. “I sure hope I didn’t make a big mistake in bringing this dog home with us.”
Mac feared he’d made a few mistakes today, too. In San Diego, he usually kept to himself and didn’t get involved with the people who lived in his building. But for some reason, he was letting himself get in deeper and deeper with his Sugar Plum Lane neighbors.
“Dinner will be ready at six,” she told him.
He nodded, hoping dinner with Jillian and the kids wasn’t the biggest mistake of all.
Chapter Six
After his visit with Charlie, Mac took a shower, then finished working on the drain under the kitchen sink. As he’d planned to do earlier, he also replaced the garbage disposal and changed out the hot water valve.
Now, at a few minutes before six, he stood at Jillian’s door, wearing faded Levis, a black jacket, and a white button-down shirt. The wind had really kicked up during the past half hour, and the light rain that had continued to drizzle had dampened his hair and clothes. He probably should have looked for an umbrella so he didn’t get drenched on his return home, but it was too late now.
He knocked at the door, and moments later, Jillian answered wearing a crisply pressed lime-green blouse, a pair of black slacks, and a smile. She’d also curled her hair and applied some lipstick, which suggested that she might have wanted to look nice for him. But he wouldn’t take that assumption to heart. The dinner invitation had been a neighborly response, and so had his acceptance.
Still, he couldn’t downplay his interest in the way her outfit complemented each womanly curve, the way her glossy hair curled at the shoulder, the way her eyes lit up when their gazes met.
“Hi, Mac.” She stepped aside so he could enter. “Come on in.”
Megan and Tommy, who sat on an area rug in the living room playing with the dog, glanced up at him and smiled.
“Look at Princess Leia,” Tommy said.
The stray, while still thin and scraggly, had completely morphed into a poodle/terrier mix. Its fur, which had appeared dark when they’d found her, had lightened considerably with soap and water.
“Can you believe how cute she turned out to be?” the boy asked. “She’s practically a brand new dog.”
“So now that she no longer looks like a Wookiee,” Mac said, “I guess the name Chewie is out.”
Jillian laughed. “Actually, we made a critical discovery at bath time. And as long as we stuck with a Star Wars character, Tommy agreed to a more appropriate name.”
Mac shook his head and chuckled. “She certainly doesn’t look like that same pitiful creature we found in the park.”
Jillian crossed her arms and blessed everyone in the room with a dimpled grin. “Isn’t it amazing what a haircut, three shampoos, and some conditioner will do?”
“Yeah.” Tommy laughed. “For a while, Mom smelled like a dog. Now our dog smells like our mom.”
“Very funny,” Jillian said.
“Princess Leia isn’t limping anymore,” Megan added. “At least, not very much. We found a thorn in her foot, and Mommy pulled it out with tweezers.”
“We put medicine on it,” Tommy explained. “But not the kind that stings.”
“That’s great.” Mac crossed his arms and studied the former stray that had gotten a new lease on life. He hoped having a pet helped the kids adjust to all the changes they’d gone through.
Jillian pointed to the beige, overstuffed sofa. “Why don’t you have a seat? Dinner will be ready as soon as I fry the tortillas.”
“Want some help?” he asked.
“I’ve got everything under control, but I’d love to have some company.”
“All right. You lead the way.”
Mac followed Jillian into the kitchen, where a pan simmering on the stove provided the warm aroma of beef, tomatoes, and spices. He scanned the bright, cheery room, noticing lemon-yellow walls and white café-style curtains that trimmed the window over the sink.
The appliances appeared to be fairly new.
A couple of rooster pictures adorned the walls, and a few ceramic hens dotted the white tile countertops.
“I see you like chickens,” he said, taking a seat at the polished oak table and watching as she reached for a black, cast-iron skillet from the cupboard nearest the stove.
“Well, I used to. I brought them from the old house, but I’ll be replacing them when I can.”
“Trying to reinvent yourself?” he asked.
She reached inside the pantry and pulled out a bottle of vegetable oil that was almost full. “Yes, I suppose you could say that, but I’m afraid it’ll be a long time before I’m able to do everything I’d like to do to this house.”
He opted not to comment about that, realizing her ex-husband’s cruise had taken precedence over the child support check he was supposed to send her. Mac knew he wouldn’t have liked the guy anyway, but his selfishness was
hard to stomach.
Instead, he steered his thoughts and the conversation back to the only thing he and Jillian had in common—the renovations they were both tackling. “This house must hold a lot of memories for you.”
She leaned her hip against the counter. “It does. Both good and bad.”
So much for intending to talk about fix-it projects. After that comment, he couldn’t help wondering about the bad memories she’d admitted to having. It was hard to imagine that hers could compete with some of his. “I always thought that you had the perfect childhood.”
“The early years were wonderful, but I lost my mother when I was twelve, and things were never the same again.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Me, too.” She cast him a wistful smile, then shrugged.
They’d never really gotten into the past before. Instead, as teenagers were prone to do, they’d clung to the here and now. He’d known she’d lost her mother, though, but he hadn’t been aware of the details. “How did your mom die?”
“In a car accident. She was driving home from the grocery store one night and the roads were wet.” Jillian glanced at the rain-splattered kitchen window. “It was a December night like this one: rainy, cold, and miserable.”
Mac really hadn’t meant to stir up any uncomfortable memories and, with the weather being what it was, he was sorry he’d asked.
“I think that’s why this time of the year is so…sad.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and scanned the interior of the kitchen with eyes that glimmered with nostalgic yearning. “It wasn’t always, though. My mom loved antiques and old Victorian houses. In fact, when we first moved to Fairbrook, Dad wanted to buy a place in one of the new developments off Applewood, but Mom insisted they find something on Sugar Plum Lane. He gave in to her, as he always did. And she went to great lengths to make this house a home for us. She was always picking up old knickknacks and furniture to add to the charm.”
Mac wondered why Jillian had really moved back home. Was it for financial reasons? To escape the memories of a marriage gone bad? Or had she come to the one place she’d been able to call home?
Either way, he suspected the move had been bittersweet.
“My mom would begin decorating for Christmas the day after Thanksgiving, and it would take weeks for her to finish. She’d start from the inside out. It was really something. You should have seen it.” Jillian let out a wistful sigh. “But after the accident, it was hard to get excited about anything anymore. Dad felt that way, too, which was another reason he didn’t want to remain in Fairbrook without me.”
Mac knew Jillian and her dad had been close, but he hadn’t realized they’d had to cling to each other following their loss.
“Christmas was her favorite holiday,” Jillian added, “but after she was gone, it no longer held the same appeal. In fact, even after I got married and tried to re-create my own traditions, I just never could seem to get into the Christmas spirit. Without my mom, it…” She paused for a moment or two, then shrugged. “Well, enough of that.”
Mac didn’t want to drop the subject. He wanted to find out everything he could about Jillian, about her hurts and disappointments, about her life after she’d moved up north. But he didn’t suppose he could press her about it. Not if thinking about it hurt.
That’s the way it had always been with them, though. There was a side of her she’d refused to share with him. A side he’d known better than to ask about.
The rain began a steady tap-tap-tap at the window, and they both looked out to see that the raindrops had turned to ice.
“Hail,” Jillian said.
Before Mac could comment, Tommy ran into the kitchen. “Mom, look outside. It’s snowing! I hoped and prayed that it would.”
“I’m afraid it never snows around here,” Jillian said. “That’s hail, honey.”
“But it’s turning the ground white,” the boy argued. “So Megan and I are going to make a snowman.”
“I’m afraid you can’t make anything out of ice,” Mac said. “And you’d better not put too much hope into having a white Christmas. The last snowfall recorded in Fairbrook was back in 1976.” At least, that’s what Ray had told him. It was easy to remember the date because it was Mac’s birth year.
“Well, this is practically the same thing,” Tommy added before dashing back into the living room.
“He’s a lot like his father,” Jillian said.
Mac wanted to know in which ways the boy and his dad were alike—in looks? In temperament?
He wouldn’t ask, though, even if he couldn’t help being just a little bit envious of the man who’d married Jillian, then let her get away. A guy Jillian hadn’t been ashamed to bring home. A man her father had undoubtedly approved of.
When Mac and Jillian had been teenagers, it hadn’t taken him long to realize she was making up excuses to meet him away from her house—at the library, at the park, at the beach, at The Creamery. And when he’d finally realized she was ashamed to have him meet her father, his pride had taken a direct hit.
The rebel in him had refused to accept the slight, and he’d actually planned to end things. But a part of him had needed Jillian. A lonely, hurting part that had needed her innocence and her healing touch.
As Jillian placed the skillet on the stove, then poured a bit of oil into the pan and turned the flame on high, Mac watched her work.
A few years after she’d moved away, he’d quit thinking about her on a daily basis and had figured he was over her for good. But right this minute he wasn’t so sure.
“That little dog sure seems to have settled right into the family,” he said, changing his focus to something they’d both feel more comfortable talking about.
“It certainly looks that way.” Jillian reached for a pair of tongs from the cupboard drawer. “We’ll have to keep her in the house, though. I have a feeling she’s going to run over to Mr. Iverson’s yard every chance she gets. With my luck, she’ll probably dig up his petunias or something. And all I need is one more thing for him to complain about.”
“Charlie’s getting older,” Mac said by way of an explanation. “And he’s facing his first Christmas without his wife of fifty-some years. They never had any kids, so I suspect this one will be especially hard.”
“I’m sure it probably will be.”
Mac watched her expression drift. He knew this particular Christmas was going to be especially tough on her and the kids, too.
“Did you mention Tommy when you went over to Mr. Iverson’s house this afternoon?” she asked. “Or did you just talk about the Charger game?”
“A little of both.” Mac leaned back in his chair, the old wood creaking in complaint. “I told Charlie that the more I got to know you and the kids, the more I think you’ll make great neighbors. I suggested he give you a chance.”
“What did he say to that?”
Truthfully? He’d grumbled about it, and Mac had gotten the idea it might be easier to get through to Tommy. But he wasn’t sure that was going to help build a neighborly relationship where none existed. “I’m sure, with time, things will work out.”
“I hope you’re right.” Jillian placed the first fried tortilla shell on a paper towel, then dropped another into the skillet. She jerked her hand back as the hot oil hissed and spattered.
“Charlie and I watched the game highlights,” Mac added. “Then we chatted for a while. I’ve noticed that he’s been especially talkative lately, and I suspect that’s because he’s lonely.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Jillian removed another fried tortilla shell from the pan and replaced it with a new one. “It’s too bad he couldn’t have been a little more understanding of Tommy. If he had been, I would have been a lot friendlier to him.”
She had a point, but Mac still couldn’t help feeling sorry for the old man. “I met Charlie about ten years ago, and he wasn’t nearly as crotchety back then. Before he retired, he was an insurance agent for the most part. But during
football season he was an NFL referee. You can’t believe the stories he had to tell. I really used to enjoy talking to him.”
Actually, Mac still did, but he hadn’t had much time for the elderly man since he’d been staying in the neighborhood. With only ten days of vacation time available to him, he’d had a lot to do in order to get Ray’s house back into shape, and only a short time in which to do it.
“I didn’t realize you’d known Mr. Iverson that long,” Jillian said.
“Ray Burke, my first partner, invited me to a barbecue about ten years ago. He’d also included a couple of his neighbors, and that’s when I first met the Iversons.”
“So you knew Charlie’s wife, too?”
“Her name was Grace, and she was a great lady.” Mac smiled, as he was prone to do whenever he thought about the short, matronly woman who’d mothered the entire neighborhood. “Grace used to make killer brownies that were loaded with nuts and covered with a fudge frosting. Ray was allergic to chocolate, but when she found out how much I liked them, she’d make him bring a plate to me each time she made a batch.”
“What happened to Ray?” Jillian asked.
“He died of a heart attack about six months ago.” It was a loss Mac was still grieving.
Years ago, the homeless man Mac had met in the park had predicted that Mac would find his place in the world and that he’d get the family he’d always wanted. Ray had been his first real human connection, his first real sense of belonging.
But Jesse had neglected to mention how much it hurt to lose someone who’d come to mean so much.
“Ray owned the house you’re fixing up?” Jillian asked.
“Yes. It’s mine now.”
It had been a shock when Sam Dawson, Ray’s attorney, had called Mac the day before the funeral and told him Ray had created a trust, making Mac the sole trustee. Sure, Mac had known that Ray had really liked him, but he hadn’t realized that Ray had considered Mac the only family he had.
So that’s how Mac had ended up with the old Victorian and everything else that Ray had owned.
Of course, he’d give it all up in a heartbeat to have his old buddy back.
Silver Bells Page 32
