Christmas Magic

by Andrea Edwards

  Casey turned to see Midnight sitting in front of Mike.

  “That little bum wants to steal my gloves,” Mike said.

  “She likes to pick up anything small and soft,” Casey explained. “She was pregnant when I found her, but her kittens were stillborn. Since then, she seems to always be looking for a kitten substitute.”

  “Why don’t you get her a little stuffed cat?”

  Casey grimaced. “She has about ten of them. She loses interest once they’re hers.”

  “Ah,” he said, and turned back to his work. “Sounds like some women I know.”

  Don’t ask, she told herself. Don’t ask. Don’t ask. For once, Casey obeyed her orders and just opened another box. It was filled with old Christmas decorations. Interesting, but not the right kind of interesting.

  “Hey, come back here,” Mike shouted.

  Casey looked up in time to see Midnight streaking toward the stairs with Mike’s glove in her mouth. Mike was right behind her.

  “Gus,” Mike called out. “Stop that thief.”

  Gus had been sitting at the bottom of the stairs, but from the pained look that came over Mike’s face, she guessed that the big dog had done nothing to apprehend the culprit. Most likely, he was now wagging his tail and grinning up at his master.

  “I guess he doesn’t want to be a police dog.” Mike turned away from the stairs and fixed his gaze on Casey. “Does that cat hide the things she steals?”

  “No, I’m sure we’ll find it in my bedroom.”

  “Okay.” He walked back to the attic window. “If I get my glove back, I won’t press charges.”

  “Wow,” Casey mocked. “Three jokes in less than an hour. You’re on a roll.”

  “Hey, I’m a very humorous guy,” he said.

  “True. Kicking in doors, waving around guns, a laugh a minute.”

  “Watch it, lady, or I’ll have your cat arrested yet.”

  She just smiled at him, the smile staying warm in her heart even as she turned back to the next box. This was great. They could laugh and joke around without her rescue hormones kicking into overdrive. Or without her female hormones going gaga over his biceps. She opened the box; it was filled with old photo albums.

  “Oh, wow, look at these.” She heard his footsteps come closer and felt his nearness. Down, hormones, she ordered. “You know who any of these people are?”

  “Nope.”

  She looked up at him. His blue eyes were distant, like they were shut behind a hundred doors. “None of them?”

  “I doubt it,” he said, and shrugged. “Look, I was adopted, okay? These folks are all part of my birth father’s family, and I’ve only started to get to know the living ones. I don’t know a thing about the dead ones.”

  There was so much in his voice—pain, fear, longing. All the things she could relate to. He turned, going back to the dormers, but she felt he was going farther away than that.

  “I’m adopted, too,” she said, hurrying after him.

  “Is that so?” He picked up the plastic sheet and the staple gun.

  She felt as if he was going to staple that stupid sheet between them, to shut himself off from her if he could. “How’d you find your birth father?” she asked.

  “One of those registries,” he said.

  He was trying to hold the plastic sheet in place while positioning the staple gun. The plastic slipped once, then twice. She went around to his other side, brushing aside the major cobwebs in the way, and held it in place. Their shoulders touched; the tiny space between the side walls of the dormer was barely big enough for one.

  Mike seemed not to notice her. He put a staple in each of the top corners, but then stopped with a sigh.

  “I joined the army after high school,” he said, the words coming slowly as if they had to travel a long distance or fight to come out. “I was in a unit with two guys from here—those two cops that came yesterday, actually—and they kept talking about how I looked exactly like a kid they went to high school with. It got me thinking. My mom—my adoptive mother—had told me that my birth parents were from this area, so it wasn’t inconceivable that that kid I resembled was a relative. I found Stephen, my birth father. That kid turned out to be a cousin.”

  “Wow, what a great story,” she said. “So now you have two families.”

  He went back to stapling. “My adoptive parents are both dead. Dad died when I was ten, Mom when I was twenty.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  He smiled at her. “So am I. They were good people. They didn’t deserve to die young.” Then he frowned. “That was a dumb thing to say. Nobody deserves to die young.”

  “My mom died when I was twelve. Dad remarried a few years later and I really love Val, but I still miss Mom.”

  “I know what you mean.”

  She took his hand in hers, needing a bond between them, an anchor if the storm got strong. “Can I ask you something personal? How did your birth mother give you up?”

  “How?”

  “Yeah, did she go through an adoption agency or leave you in a church or give you to friends, or what?”

  “Oh.” He nodded. “Through an agency, but it was a pretty open adoption. I guess Mom and Dad got to meet her.”

  “That’s nice,” Casey said. And it was for him. He didn’t have any of the doubts or fears that came with finding out you’d been dumped in a Benton Harbor church basement in the dead of winter. Or with reading self-righteous quotes from the priest who’d found you.

  “Why did you want to know?” he asked.

  She just shrugged and let go of his hand, smoothing the plastic sheet out against the window. “No reason.”

  He took her hands in his this time, pulling on them to turn her. “No woman I have ever met asks a question like that for no reason.”

  His touch was so safe, so secure. It was like she could trust him to take care of her, to not let the fears get anywhere near her. But that was her crazy imagination going wild, as it liked to do. She tugged her hands free.

  “So we’re turning it into a sexist thing, are we?” She tried for a teasing tone. “And just how many people, male or female, have actually asked you that question?”

  “You’re avoiding the issue.”

  “No, I’m avoiding my research. I should get back to those boxes so we can bring down the ones I want and not leave the attic open all day.”

  But before she could move, he put his hand on the other side of her, trapping her in the dormer’s narrow space. “Hey, I’m a cop. I know when someone’s concealing evidence.”

  “Well, this someone’s not concealing anything,” she said.

  “No?”

  It suddenly got very still in the attic, as if even the cobwebs were listening and holding their breath. Mike’s eyes looked straight into hers, and it felt as if he was reaching into all the hiding places in her soul. Her eyes left his but stopped at his mouth, noting the fullness of his lips. She wondered what they would feel like pressed against hers, knew that her heart would race as it never had before.

  Realized that they were playing with fire. She ducked down to slip under his arm.

  “Hey, guys. You up there?”

  It was Dubber’s voice, Casey decided, though it sounded deeper than it had the last time they’d talked. She hurried over to the stairs to look down.

  “Hi, Dubber,” she said as the boy came up the stairs.

  “Hey, Dubber,” Mike said. “What’s the matter? Caught a cold?”

  Dubber studiously turned to Casey, ignoring Mike. “You coming to the Pickle Festival this weekend? I’m marching in the parade.”

  “The Pickle Festival? What in the world is that?”

  “Well, actually, it’s the Berrien Springs Christmas Pickle Festival,” Dubber said, as if that cleared things up. “We have it every year in early December. There’s a parade, pickle tasting, a Christmas-tree display, a craft show. Stuff like that.”

  Casey felt lost and looked over at Mike.

  “
Berrien Springs used to be the pickle capital of the Midwest,” he explained. “And there’s some old German tradition about hanging a pickle on the Christmas tree. Since there’s a lot of German people in the area, it seemed like a good theme for a local festival.”

  “A pickle on the Christmas tree?” she repeated. Things were not getting clearer.

  “That’s the best part,” Dubber said. “A pickle’s hidden on the tree, and if you’re the first one to find it, you’ll get your most favorite wish in the whole world.”

  Mike grimaced. “Yeah, assuming your parents can afford it.”

  Dubber gave him a dirty look. “It’s not like that at all,” he said. “Joey Kovacs found the pickle on his tree last year and then he won his mountain bike from Outpost Sports. So it had nothing to do with his parents.”

  “Coincidence then,” Mike said.

  “I think it’s a nice story,” Casey said. “Coincidence or magic, though I personally like the idea of magic myself.” She grinned at Dubber.

  He smiled back, then turned bright red. “Need any help moving boxes?” he asked her.

  “I’m right here,” Mike said. “If she needs any help, I can do it.”

  Casey gave Mike a pointed look. “There are a lot of boxes up here,” she said. “More than enough to keep a Boy Scout troop happy.”

  She could see that both of them were about to say something, but Midnight returned, padding lightly up the stairs and across the plank floor. Straight over to Mike’s other glove, still lying on the floor. The cat gave him an I-dareyou look before snatching up the glove and running for the stairs.

  “Damn it,” Mike snapped. “Your cat’s at it again.”

  Casey struggled not to laugh. “Maybe he thought they belonged together.”

  “Yeah,” Dubber snickered. “Like Romeo and Juliet.”

  “Or a pickle and a Christmas tree.”

  Mike glared at both of them for a moment, before stomping over to the stairs. “Come on, Gus,” he said gruffly as he clumped down the rickety, pull-down stairs. “You’ve been sitting on your butt enough. Let’s go outside and get a little exercise.”

  “Why don’t you wait a minute?” Casey called down. “Let me see if I can find the gloves Midnight took.”

  “She can have them. I have more.”

  “It’s no trouble, just wait a minute and—”

  “But if she wants boots, go out and buy some for her. I only have one pair.”

  The fading sound of heavy footsteps told Casey that Mike wasn’t waiting around for any kind of an answer. Shaking her head, she turned from the stairs and picked Snowflake up.

  “Come on, sweetheart. It’s warmer on our bed.” Casey turned to Dubber. “Can you bring that box of photo albums down?”

  “Sure.” He followed her down the stairs, then closed up the stairway. “You know, Mike’s a good old boy, but he does tend to be grumpy.”

  “I guess he’s still a little under the weather,” Casey said.

  “Nah.” Dubber shook his head. “He just doesn’t know how to act around you.”

  “Me?” Casey scratched the purring cat in her arms. “What did I do?”

  “Nothing,” Dubber assured her. “Mike just ain’t what you’d call a ladies’ man.”

  Casey pulled out the family tree Mrs. Jamison had given her and spent the rest of the afternoon matching up names and pictures, weddings, christenings, birthdays and holidays. Little by little, the people started coming alive for her. She found an old group shot with a man in the back labeled as Uncle Simon. Was he the same one as the ghost?

  At the bottom of the box was a stack of letters, and she delved into them eagerly. Simon Van Horne had had two brothers—Joseph, who’d lived in the area, and Timothy, who’d moved out west—but, it seemed, no children of his own. Joseph apparently had had three children—two boys and a girl, all of whom were close to Simon and his wife, Stella. There was no mention of a Priscilla, but there was mention of Stella’s much younger brother, Robert Schmidt, who’d come to live with them after his parents died.

  Casey surfaced when she noticed it was getting dark. It was almost five o’clock already. Mike was still out on his errands, which was just as well.

  Things had gotten a little tense up there in the attic. She didn’t know why she had reacted to him so strongly; she’d been around hunks before. It must have been the confidences, the talk about adoption that had forged some immediate bond between them. Or set off some immediate sparks. Whatever, they were over now, and all she was feeling was hungry. Maybe she’d make a pizza for dinner. If Mike came back in time and hadn’t eaten, he could share it. If not, it would be her dinner for today and tomorrow.

  After a quick trip to the local grocery, she whipped it up—one superhealthy, deluxe vegetarian pizza: fresh green peppers, fresh mushrooms, fresh onions, fresh alfalfa sprouts, even fresh tomatoes sprinkled over freshly grated cheese.

  “So do I put it in now or wait?” she asked herself, frowning at the clock. “If I wait, then it seems like I want him to eat with me, which isn’t exactly being as unobtrusive as a mouse.”

  So the pizza went into the oven. It wasn’t in for more than fifteen minutes, though, before Mike and Gus came in. Casey felt her stomach tighten for just a moment. Was she going to feel that rush of hunger for his lips, that need to feel his arms around her? Had she been fooling herself into thinking it had been a temporary aberration?

  “Hi.” She busied herself drying the dishes that she’d used while making the pizza. “Got all your work taken care of?”

  “Yeah, everything’s shipshape.”

  Mike went to hang his coat up and Casey breathed a sigh of relief. No hormonal surges. Well, no major ones. She had noticed how the light in the kitchen caught his eyes and turned them a deeper blue, but that wasn’t any big deal.

  She bent over to pet Gus as Mike came back in. “Snowflake and Midnight are in the living room,” she told the canine.

  “You can’t talk to him like a regular person,” Mike said. “He’s a dog.”

  “He’s a sweetie pie,” she replied, as Gus dashed into the other room.

  “And he hates cats.”

  “With a passion.”

  “I’m glad you noticed.”

  Mike’s face lit with a smile, and it seemed to touch a chord in her heart. She felt like she’d stumbled into a field of wildflowers. She smiled back; she couldn’t help it. But she only let it linger on her lips a few seconds before she went back to her dish drying.

  “So,” she said briskly. “Are you working tomorrow?”

  “Not exactly.” Wrinkling his forehead, he looked around the kitchen. “I’ll be back on the road Sunday. I’ve got to work the parade tomorrow.”

  “Ooh.” She flashed a quick grin at him. “So I get to see both you and Dubber in it?”

  “If you look quick.” He leaned against the table, his face serious suddenly. “Hey, I’m sorry I was gone for a while. Here I assured you that you’d be safe here, that Gus would be here if I wasn’t, and then I go off and take him.”

  She just shook her head slowly, not having the slightest idea what he was talking about. “I was fine. I don’t need a baby-sitter.”

  “Well, it won’t happen again. Gus’ll be here while I’m at work, and I’ll have the local guys keep an eye on the place when they’re on patrol.”

  “Are you expecting trouble?”

  “Well, you never know.” He shifted his position. “I was thinking about this whole arrangement. It’s crazy for us to live in the same house and duplicate chores. Want to order in some pizza for dinner?”

  “Actually, I’ve got one in the oven.”

  “You know how to make pizza?” The tone was more cautious than disbelieving. “Did you work in a joint in high school?”

  “No. I learned when I was a college student.”

  “Where did you go to school?”

  “The University of California at Berkeley.”

  “Berkeley?” Horror
filled his face. “What’s on it? All kinds of sprouts and stuff?”

  “Let me get it out of the oven,” she said quickly. “Before it burns.”

  “Oh, we wouldn’t want that.”

  Casey ignored the insincerity in his tone and busied herself with getting the food out of the oven and onto the table.

  “That pizza smells like that soup you made me eat.”

  “I made you eat?” The words came out fast. “I don’t make people do anything. Besides, it helped you get over your cold.”

  “Oh, it did. It certainly did.”

  She glared at him. If he was patronizing her, even the least tiny bit, he was going to have another scar—this time on that manly face of his.

  “And it was delicious.”

  “I’m glad you liked it,” she said. “That’s why I made this vegetarian pizza for our dinner.”

  “And I’m glad you did.” A tight smile came across his face. “I wanted to ask you to make one, but it seemed like so much work I didn’t think it was fair.”

  They traded stares for a long moment, then both burst out laughing. The threat of a storm had passed, leaving behind sunshine and the promise of joy. Casey put the pizza on the table.

  “Would you like some wine with the pizza?” she asked. “It’s nothing fancy. Just one of those five-liter tappers you get in the supermarket.”

  “Hey, I’m not a fancy guy.”

  Suddenly the kitchen turned pleasantly warm. Casey didn’t know any woman in her right mind who wanted fancy. She herself wanted funny. Solid. Friendly. Gentle. Passionate. Faithful. Strong, when the current was against them. She wanted—

  She wanted to eat.

  “We’d better get started or we’re going to have cold pizza.”

  Mike got the wine from the refrigerator, and a couple of glasses, then they sat down. Gus came in to settle at their feet beneath the table. It left a homey feeling in her heart, a sense of belonging and rightness that took her by surprise. She and Mike would be housemates for a while, friends even, but that was all. There was no reason for her heart to feel satisfied. Or to feel that there was such a promise of more lingering in the air.