Christmas in Cactus Flats and Other Holiday Romances

by Laura Briggs

  Tucking them into her travel bag, she shoved the rest of her things on top, including the yellow dress. The soft fabric made her think of the midnight dance, the scent of J.P.’s cologne and the stars across the plains.

  Then she thought of the exhilaration of her performance with Arlene onstage and a sense of indignation washed over her. There was another moment that should have given Arlene reason enough to wait for her to leave before turning to the rambling life again.

  The route she took to leave town let her steer clear of the Dry Street Barbecue. She was half-afraid of seeing J.P.’s truck parked out front, although the odds that he would notice her driving past were slim. Another irrational response to something in her upside-down world, she told herself, as she consulted the map folded out on the seat beside her, wedged between the luggage of her Boston move.

  The same landscape as before, the dry fields and irrigated sections where cattle roamed, the same brush and cacti like a cartoon postcard of the west. Sensible Drew behind the wheel, in a car more practical than a crazy convertible with its top down in all kinds of weather.

  When she saw the road sign ahead, she slowed down. It wasn’t the turn for the highway that would carry her in the direction of Boston, but a sign for a small town. Alverez, twenty miles to the right.

  At first, she continued driving. Then, on impulse, she flicked on the turn signal. Her car slowed as she drifted into the turn.

  Maybe she had time for one more stop from her past.

  *****

  “So you’re his little girl.” Louise Hernandez sounded neither surprised nor upset by this fact.

  She was evidently younger than Arlene, although her dark hair was streaked with grey. A few faint lines evident in the corners of her eyes, along the tan cheeks untouched by makeup.

  Her house was a little western-style structure decorated with clay pots in the front — Billy’s house, as the man at the gas station had described it to Drew when she inquired. She half-expected to be denied entrance when she knocked on the door. But Louise Hernandez had invited her in after she introduced herself.

  “You look like him,” she decided, after a moment. “A little around the eyes and the chin, I think.” She smiled at Drew, her face transformed by this simple movement.

  Drew relaxed somewhat. “I’m sorry if my showing up seems a little weird,” she said. “It’s just, I don’t think I’ll be here much longer and — well, I don’t know anything about him.” This seemed to say everything she wanted to say. Her hands were clasped together on her lap as she spoke.

  “He was a good man,” said Louise. “I met him when I was a waitress at the cafe. He drove a truck sometimes to deliver at night — in the day, he worked at his ranch.” She glanced down at her lap. “I was surprised that he would be interested in me. But he was.” She was looking at the ring on her finger with these words.

  “Is that what he did all his life?” asked Drew. Louise laughed.

  “No,” she answered. “A great deal of work later, he had a good ranch. I only sold it in the last year. I was sorry for it, but I couldn’t work it the way he could. I couldn’t get anyone to run it as well as he did.”

  She rose and took a photograph from the mantel. “This was taken two years before he died,” she said. In the frame was a picture of a man and a woman standing side by side, reminding Drew of the snapshot from Arlene’s memento box. The man was an older version of the somber boy, now smiling in his pressed Western shirt and heavy glasses, a white cowboy hat low on his brow. Louise was beside him, smiling in his embrace.

  “I guess I can’t see the resemblance between us,” said Drew, smiling faintly. “Maybe it takes time.” She handed the photo back to Louise.

  “You don’t know him as I did,” said Louise. She touched Drew’s shoulder lightly.

  “He would have been proud of you,” she said. “He would have liked to have seen you in all these years. You would be surprised, I think, to know that he mentioned you so many times.”

  “Really?” said Drew. It came as a shock to her to think that Billy had continued to think of her long after he must have abandoned his dream of Arlene. That when her mother was relegated to the past, some little part of her lived on for him in the present.

  “You should go and see him,” said Louise. “Go and pay your respects to him before you go.”

  *****

  The cemetery was on a rambling dirt road, situated above the scattered vision of houses and fields below. Drew picked her way up a dirt path lined with stones, a line of newer graves decorated with wreaths and flowers.

  Near the back of the graveyard, she found the stone Louise had described, a marble slab with a design of wild roses. William E. Walsh. 1957 - 2008. Beloved husband. Rest in peace.

  She wondered if it was true, what Louise had said. Would he have been proud of her? Would he have been happy to see his long-lost daughter return after years of existence in another place? She pictured him searching for Arlene, begging her to marry him and make right the decisions which led to her existence.

  After a moment, she turned and walked away again, glancing over her shoulder at the grave as it disappeared behind her.

  The car was hot when she climbed into the driver’s seat again. Biting her nail, she gazed out the window at the cemetery’s sign, then at her own reflection in the rear view mirror. The necklace she was wearing caught her attention. It was the little plastic bubble with the yellow bird — the one she had worn to the dance. She had forgotten to take it off in the hectic existence afterwards.

  In a flash, she saw the reflection of herself in the dresser mirror as the necklace was fastened in place; not with Arlene’s face reflected behind her, but Priscilla’s. The same knowing smile, the graceful curves that resembled her own when the corners of her lips tilted upwards.

  She did resemble her mother after all. She had been telling the truth to J.P. without realizing it; that it was not just genes which bound her to another’s life.

  She could not have that with Arlene. She could not have that same connection with anyone; only new ones, forged in different ways, with different choices and memories. Like the experience of singing off-key before a crowd of strangers, of scrambling for change across the carpet of a casino.

  Reaching down, she turned the key in her ignition. As the engine sprang to life, she shifted into reverse and pulled away from the cemetery’s parking lot and onto the road again.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Drew could see the look of surprise on his face as he stood up from lifting a menu from beneath the counter. A look of pure astonishment that she enjoyed for a moment before speaking.

  “One grilled chicken sandwich, please,” she said. “Hold the fries.”

  His lips parted, a moment of silence before he spoke. “Shouldn’t you be on the road to Boston?” he asked. “I’m wrong, I guess. But I got the impression that was your next destination.”

  Drew pinched her lips in a look of contemplation. “I considered it,” she said, thoughtfully. “But then I decided, why hurry? Not when there’s good barbecue to be had. Good company in a place like this.”

  Her words echoed his own, something he recognized as a slow smile crept across his face.

  “So what made you change your mind?” he asked.

  She shrugged. “Maybe it was something you said,” she answered. “Maybe it was because you’re right. Or maybe it’s because of something my mother — Arlene — said to me the other night. About going into the future with my eyes open.”

  He nodded. “Good advice,” he answered. His eyes met hers for a long moment, in which she could read something which made her heart beat more quickly.

  “Be right back with that sandwich,” he said, easing away from the counter. She watched him go with a smile of satisfaction at the memory of him asking her to dance, of his scowl of frustration in an argument over whether she would need someone to comfort her if Arlene wasn’t around.

  As she toyed with the salt and peppe
r shaker on the counter, she tried to imagine where Arlene might be right now. Her Cadillac speeding down the highway, her green driving scarf whipping in the wind as she drove onwards to another restless escape from her past.

  It wasn’t necessarily Arlene that Priscilla had wanted her to find, Drew realized. It was a future outside the subways and bricks of her Boston existence. A connection with another human being when the family ties she had always known were finally broken. It was something comforting and tangible and concrete that she wanted for her daughter.

  In short, she wanted her to find herself. And in this moment — in this town of quiet surprises, in the eyes of the young man who slid the platter of grilled food before her — Drew believed she had found what she had wanted all along.

  Chance, fate, luck of the draw. Someone’s life was about to change with a random slip of paper. So what if the prize was only a Christmas shopping spree at the local Grab Mart?

  Rae Randall adjusted the set of headphones and summoned her perkiest tone, as the "on air" signal flickered above the door."Welcome back, morning rush fans! The Silver Star Duo is on deck and ready to draw the big winner out of our lucky top hat!"

  She tucked a wisp of blonde hair into her messy updo and grinned as she flicked the switch for a drum roll sound effect. Her co-host, Chip Bently, fished his hand into a coffee mug stuffed with slips of paper filled out with listeners' names.

  “Congratulations to Mimi Andrews —you're our Grab Mart Giveaway winner!” Chip announced, scanning the chosen scrap of paper.

  Rae summoned her perkiness again. “That gift certificate is practically in the mail, Mimi. Thanks again to all our listeners who called in for a chance to win.” She glanced at the clock above the door. Fifty seconds before the airwaves switched to Connecticut news and weather. “Well, folks, looks like it’s time—”

  “Hold on guys.” The voice came from the sound booth and belonged to Tippy Paterson, Rae and Chip’s producer. “We’ve got a surprise announcement that comes directly from Mayor Douglas’ office.”

  The mayor? Rae and Chip exchanged curious glances as Tippy’s voice purred through the microphone.

  “As most of you learned yesterday, Rae will be co-hosting Silver Star’s annual Christmas Parade. It’s a job that comes with tremendous responsibility. And a few minutes ago the mayor announced the name of the lucky personality who will share those duties.”

  Great. The honor of hosting the parade was a dream come true— but it came with a price tag unless you were lucky enough to share it with someone good. Rae sat up straight and looked her producer in the eye, willing her to say a name that was agreeable. If she was committed to this, it had better be good.

  “This year's co-host is someone familiar to all of us,” Tippy teased, relishing the moment of suspense. “A person who started his career right here at Morning Star Radio before his big break landed him in television.”

  Rae‘s breath caught with the words. There was only one person it could be, only one Morning Star employee from the past who moved on to greener pastures. No, not him. Anyone but him. Please, please, please….

  “It’ Simon Harte from KTRP Channel Seven!”

  Rae let out a squeal, then slapped the cough button to cover it. Chafing at the thought of another hosting stint with her former radio partner turned TV anchorman.

  A devious grin spread across Tippy’s face. “That’s right folks. Simon and Rae, together again after three years! I know I can't wait to see them sharing co-hosting duties at the town's favorite annual event.”

  You’re dead, Tippy. Completely dead. She hoped her glare conveyed the message. But then, Tippy’s smile grew bigger and more wicked by the second.

  “So mark your calendars for December 20th, the live reunion of Rae Randell and Simon Harte hosting the annual Silver Star Christmas Parade.”

  Rae dropped her head between her hands and let out a silent scream. Of all the TV anchors in the state of Connecticut, why did it have to be Simon Harte?

  Cocky, conceited—and, yes, charming Simon Harte. Coffee colored eyes, broad shoulders, and a strong jaw with just a hint of stubble. Combined with the tousled hair and bronzed complexion, he would have looked more natural on a beach than behind an anchor desk.

  Except his personality cancelled out the rugged good-looks.

  Chip gave her shoulder a consoling pat. “An early Christmas present from Santa, huh?”

  “Yeah. Just what I wanted.” She yanked off her headphones and prepared to unleash her scorn as Tippy entered from the booth. “You’ve got a lot of nerve announcing that on the air.”

  Her producer shrugged and reached for a powdered donut. “It had to come out sometime. And wouldn’t you rather hear it from a friend than a stranger on the sidewalk?”

  “I’d rather not hear it from anyone. Ever.” She rose from the swivel chair and shrugged on her pea green coat. Wrapping its matching scarf around the collar, she contemplated escape plans. “Maybe I’ll just tell the mayor I can’t do it. That I’m having emergency surgery. Or going to prison.”

  Tippy snorted, scattering bits of powder in the air. “He wouldn’t believe it and neither would anyone else. Everybody knows about the tension between you and Simon.”

  Rae blushed. Her producer made it sound like some steamy romance novel. When, in fact, Simon spent most of his time pushing her buttons on everything from the music she liked to the men she dated—which were few in numbers compared to his many glamorous admirers.

  “We had a few disagreements,” she said, keeping her voice cool and surprisingly steady. “But I’m pretty sure I did my part to keep things professional.”

  “Are you kidding?” Tippy arched her eyebrows. “That love-hate relationship was what made the show crackle. You guys were like fire and ice.”

  “It was mostly a hate-hate relationship,” Rae said. Annoyed at herself for getting flustered over the memory of an irresponsible playboy. She forced a nonchalant smile as she glanced at her current co-host. “Don’t listen to her, Chip. You and I are a much better team.”

  Chip merely grinned as he stretched a wool cap over his balding head. “Hey, I believe Tippy. I mean, I’ve seen that Harte guy on KTRP’s morning show. He's got a personality like fireworks.”

  “It’s in the script,” Rae snapped, grabbing her tote bag. “Trust me, he's not that witty in person.”

  With that, she stalked into the hallway, hands jammed deep inside her coat pockets. She kept her eyes glued to her brown suede boots, aware that everyone in the building must have heard the news. No doubt this little tidbit would stay the hot topic at the water cooler for days to come.

  A few snickers reached her ears as she passed through the lobby, but she didn’t look to see if they were directed at her. But not knowing didn’t stop the heat from climbing her face as she pushed through the exit door. Imagining the whispers over her big reunion with Simon.

  Did they have the same ridiculous notion as Tippy? That her rivalry with Simon stemmed from hidden feelings of a deep, intense attraction?

  “Stupid,” she muttered. Then glanced around the parking lot as she unlocked the door to her sky blue Volkswagen Beetle. A raise would go a long ways on improving the car’s appearance and ride. But then Morning Star wasn’t the best paying gig in town, despite the morsel of fame that came with hosting one of its shows. Finger crossed, she turned the ignition key. Releasing a sigh as the engine groaned to life.

  As the car rolled towards the exit, she turned the radio dial to the only station not playing Christmas music. The mayor’s bombshell had poured a bucket of ice water on the remnants of her holiday cheer. Childish, she knew, but Simon affected her like no one else. And it wasn’t for the reasons Tippy claimed.

  Could she be jealous? Jealous he became a big time TV personality and left her stranded at Morning Star radio?

  “We’re a team, right?” he always argued, during their worst conflicts over the show’s style. Funny how that slogan didn’t apply once he lande
d an offer with the area’s top-rated station. Now he spent his mornings covering light news stories and chatting with cake-baking guests or local celebrities. She spent her mornings pepping up sleepy commuters and giving away shopping sprees.

  Don’t be a Grinch. Christmas was supposed to be the jolliest time of the year, yet she was letting an old workplace grudge threaten to freeze the whole holiday over.

  A version of Jingle Bell Rock streamed from the radio speakers and she found her fingers tapping in rhythm against the steering wheel. Downtown Silver Star came into view, its old-fashioned shops festooned with bright red and green colors. A window for Attic Antiques displayed tinker toys, wooden soldiers, and an electric train. A sign for the ice skating rink boasted a free cup of hot chocolate for every customer until Christmas.

  She eased to a stop as the traffic light turned red and a trolley swathed in Christmas garland made its stop at the Post Office. Her heart quickened as she recognized Simon’s smiling image pasted on the side in an advertisement for KTRP’s Early Bird show.

  Her eyes traced the rugged jaw with its trademark five-o’clock shadow. This picture must have been taken recently. She didn’t remember seeing the sprinkle of early gray in his hair before. As much as she wanted to, she couldn’t pretend it didn’t compliment him.

  An explosion of horns jerked her thoughts back to reality—and the fact that the light had changed from red to green who knew how many seconds ago. She pressed the gas and the car jerked forward with unhappy groans, adding more embarrassment to an already bad situation.

  “Way to ruin my day, Simon,” she muttered. And maybe my Christmas, too.