Home For the Holidays

by Lisa Plumley

  Stymied by the thought, Rachel faltered. Her chest felt raw from sucking in big gulps of frigid air, and her feet hurt from forcing her stiletto boots actually to transport her more than a few fashionable yards. Her hair was almost certainly filled with static from her borrowed hat. All of those things made her feel like the one who was sorry. Sorry and mad.

  Mad at herself. Mad at Reno.

  Mad at Alayna and Tyson for kicking off this whole December debacle with their two-timing A.M. delight.

  Frowning, Rachel swiped a few tears from her cheek and then walked on, dragging her pitiful wheelie suitcase in her wake.

  All she really wanted was…what exactly?

  For the first time, Rachel wasn’t sure. As the breeze ruffled her scarf and the naked-limbed trees flashed by in her peripheral vision, she thought about it. At first she’d wanted to excel as a celebrity stylist. Then she’d wanted to get her celebrity stylist job back. Then she’d wanted to survive the holidays, keep her job meltdown a secret, and make sure she looked good to the people of Kismet. To everyone who knew her.

  But from the instant she’d stepped into the airport, the only person she’d been fooling was herself, Rachel realized with an unwelcome sense of vulnerability. Everyone here already knew about her job-house-car-friends fiasco in L.A. They didn’t care.

  They didn’t care because…they didn’t care?

  Or maybe because they loved her anyway?

  Before she could decide, Rachel heard the purr of an engine coming closer. Reno, she thought with a stupid surge of hope. Maybe he’d come to get her. But then she realized the truth.

  Reno’s pickup truck sounded way worse than that.

  Feeling disappointed, she kept moving. A car slowed beside her, crawling along the street between the gray-tinged snowbanks. Its window rolled down with an electronic whirr.

  Rachel steeled herself. This wouldn’t be the first time one or both of her parents had followed her. But it would be the first time they’d done so since she was approximately sixteen.

  A blur of motion caught her eye as a woman stuck her elbow out the driver’s side window. Steadfastly, Rachel walked on.

  “Rachel, is that you?” came Judy Wright’s voice.

  Startled, Rachel glanced at her. Then she absolutely had to stop for a minute. “Judy! Your new highlights look terrific.”

  Her friend patted her hair. “Thanks! Good idea you had.”

  “I knew you’d like them,” Rachel said, feeling pleased.

  So shoot her. She was upset, but she wasn’t an animal. Expert highlights like those deserved to be acknowledged.

  With her car still idling in readiness, Judy spoke loudly enough to be heard above the “Three Tenors Christmas” music on her stereo. “Where are you going? Hop in! I’ll give you a ride.”

  “Oh, no thanks.” Somehow it seemed wrong to accept help from the mother of the man who’d broken her heart. Rachel waved her off. “That’s very nice of you, but I’m fine.”

  Judy gave her a perceptive look, as though sizing her up.

  The attention made Rachel nervous.

  “You know, people use rock salt on their driveways around here,” Judy said. “Do you know what salt does to leather boots?”

  Perplexed, Rachel frowned at her beloved stiletto boots. “Makes them hard to stop nibbling on, once you start?”

  “No.” Judy shook her head. “It destroys the leather.”

  Oh. My. God. How could this barbaric fact have escaped her notice growing up? Stricken, Rachel hopped toward the street.

  “Don’t move!” she yelled, suitcase bouncing. “I’m coming.”

  At Mrs. Kowalczyk’s entrance, the men broke apart instantly, not meeting one another’s eyes.

  Jimmy walloped Reno on the back, Tom Wright guffawed in a self-conscious way, and Derek Detweiler flexed his biceps.

  “Amateurs. Don’t be afraid of a hug!” Making her way across the shop in her usual no-nonsense manner, Mrs. Kowalczyk shook her head, then stopped in front of Reno. She got down to business right away. “I heard you broke up with that Rachel Porter. Nice girl. Good teeth. Stupid of you to let her go.”

  She reared back. Reno feared another hug.

  She kicked him.

  “Ouch!” Reno’s shin smarted. “What’s that for?”

  “For you to remember not to be such a butthead next time.” Mrs. Kowalczyk pursed her lips. “Is there any chance you can patch things up with her? I’m thinking she could probably wrangle me some designer clothes or something for Crackers.”

  “I don’t think Rachel dresses dogs.”

  “Ha! You haven’t been to Hollywood.”

  “Mrs. Kowalczyk, what are you doing here? You don’t have to work today, remember?” A little concerned, Reno peered at her. “I gave you the day off and took your shift myself.”

  “What do you think I am, senile? I came to introduce you to…well, I’m calling her Peanut Butter.” Mrs. Kowalczyk set down the rectangular carrier she’d brought, unzipped it, then reached inside. Carefully, she lifted out a tiny bichon frise puppy with white curly fur. “Because Peanut Butter goes with Crackers. Get it? Peanut Butter and Crackers?”

  At the sight of that puppy, wriggly and big-eyed, with miniature paws and a distinct penchant for trying to get away, Reno smiled for the first time in days. Without even meaning to, he reached for it. Mrs. Kowalczyk transferred Peanut Butter into his open palms as Jimmy, Derek, and his dad crowded around.

  The puppy blinked up at him. Her little tail wagged.

  Something inside Reno just melted. The stony efforts he’d made to wall himself off crumbled, cratered by one warm puppy and the simple realization that nobody needed a day off spent at work, a whole day’s worth of shopping for unnecessary weights, or two impromptu man-hugs in a row. Jimmy, his dad, and even Detweiler had all been trying to help. Trying to help him.

  “You think she’ll do?” Mrs. Kowalczyk prodded, nodding at the dog. “You committed to buying that puppy when Crackers was still preggers, so maybe you’re having second thoughts by now.”

  “No. She’ll do fine. Kayla will love her.”

  Rachel likes puppies and Nickelodeon and pink sparkle lip gloss, he remembered his niece saying. You’ve got to get her!

  Rachel. Everything seemed connected to her now. Even parts of his store—which was why Reno had exiled himself to the scuba zone. He hadn’t spent any time with Rachel examining snorkels.

  It was funny though. Even Kayla had believed that Rachel was special. Of course, it was easy to dupe a six-year-old. It should have been tougher to fool a grown man like him.

  Rachel. Rachel. He had to quit thinking about her. The ironic thing was, if he hadn’t been helping Nate hook up with his dream girl, Reno realized, he never would have found time to fall for Rachel in the first place. He would have been too busy—was always too busy to do things like date.

  Wasn’t his canceled dinner with Sheila proof of that?

  Not that it mattered now. Grumpily, Reno transferred Peanut Butter to her pet carrier, getting ready to transport the puppy home so he could surprise Kayla with the teeny bichon frise as an early Christmas present. Just as he got the puppy securely tucked in though, the bell over the shop’s door jangled again.

  Now what?

  Angela and Kayla crowded inside, toting shopping bags, with Nate galumphing in the rear. Warily, Reno stepped back. He could handle a few hugs from the Gossipy Mens’ Club trio, but if Nate tried to hug him, all bets were off. Reno might just blubber like he’d done at the end of Invincible, that movie about Vince Papale getting a shot at playing for the Eagles in ’76.

  That guy Vince had so much damn heart.

  Not that Reno intended to blab about it. Or let himself be ambushed by unwanted sentiment right now. Hoping to waylay any more surprise hug attacks, he held the pet carrier in front of him like a shield. Then he spotted Kayla again, realized what he was doing, and shoved the pet carrier behind his back to Jimmy instead, shuffling sideways
to disguise the movement.

  “Hide this!” he whispered. “It’s for Kayla!”

  “Gotcha, boss.” Jimmy said. “Here, Derek. Take this!”

  “No!” Reno said. “Wait—”

  But it was too late. Jimmy had already handed off the pet carrier to Detweiler, who grabbed it like a hot potato and gave it to Reno’s dad. Tom Wright balked, turned his back to the newcomers, then sidestepped toward Mrs. Kowalczyk.

  “I don’t want it!” she said. “I’ve got four more at home.”

  The men all chuckled, forming a clump of outstretched arms as they tried to shield the pet carrier. The puppy inside scrambled. Reno heard its paws skitter, then a muted whimper.

  Kayla perked up. “Hey, what’s that?”

  “Nothing.” Reno watched uneasily as Jimmy, Detweiler, and his dad shuffled to the counter where the cash register was. “Hey! How’s it going? What’s new? Doing some shopping?”

  “Nope. Visiting Santa,” Angela said. “We just got done.”

  “I had to change my wish list.” Kayla skipped closer. She eyed the men at the counter curiously, as though guessing what they were up to. “Now that you’ve already got the perfect girlfriend, Uncle Reno, I had room for something else for me.”

  The perfect girlfriend. She meant Rachel. Reno remembered his conversation with Kayla while shopping for something from the Junior Pussycat Dolls Collection to wow her school friends.

  “You wished for a girlfriend for me?”

  Kayla grinned. “I knew you wouldn’t do it. So I did.”

  He hadn’t done it. He’d been too busy falling for Rachel.

  “Huh. Like mother, like daughter, right, Sis?” Smiling despite everything, Reno greeted Angela and Kayla with hugs.

  Then he turned to face Nate.

  At his friend’s solemn expression, Reno’s grin faltered.

  “Hey.” Nate nodded in greeting, his forehead furrowed. “Where’s Rachel? I thought she’d be here with you.”

  A hiss came from the shop’s checkout counter.

  “Psst! Hey, Nate! Don’t talk about Rachel!” Reno’s dad made shooing-away gestures. “Reno is brokenhearted over her!”

  Jimmy and Derek Detweiler nodded gravely. Seven sympathetic gazes arrowed in on Reno. He shifted uncomfortably.

  “I’m not brokenhearted, damn it!”

  “He hasn’t shoveled my driveway for days,” Mrs. Kowalczyk volunteered. “He hasn’t cleared Mrs. Bender’s driveway either.”

  As though that were proof positive of Reno’s broken heart, those seven gazes turned from sympathetic to concerned.

  “He took a Christmas gift from me,” Detweiler piped up.

  Now disbelief edged out the concern.

  “He let me help him sort out the soccer ball bin.”

  A gasp of shock went up from everyone.

  Aggrieved, Reno glanced at his friend. “You, too, Jimmy?”

  His part-time employee shrugged. “The truth’s gotta come out, Reno. And the truth is, getting a job here with you boosted my confidence so much that I went after—and got—a job at the regional office of Multicorp. Full benefits and everything.” He straightened his shoulders. “Detweiler and I got to talking one day, and one thing led to another. So thanks, Reno. And I quit.”

  Gawking at him, Reno barely registered the congratulations and jovial back pats that flowed toward Jimmy.

  In the midst of the hubbub, his dad stepped up. “Reno didn’t even argue when I said I’d be staying here all day.”

  Now the concern was back, buffered with empathy.

  “I couldn’t kick you out of the damn store!” Reno boomed.

  But his argument didn’t matter to anyone. They all came closer—Mrs. Kowalczyk, Jimmy, his dad, Angela, Detweiler, and Nate. Even Kayla paused in her momentary pursuit of the poorly concealed secret behind the checkout counter. Tightening his muscles into rigid knots, Reno stared defiantly back at them.

  “You’ve got a problem, Reno,” his sister said.

  “I do not.”

  “You’re giving up too easily,” Angela persisted. “We can all see it. That’s why we’re here. For once you need help.”

  The very idea was an anathema to Reno. He shook his head.

  “Real men give help,” he told them. “They don’t take it.”

  Nate—who until this point hadn’t said a word—finally stepped up. “I never thought I’d see the day—Reno Wright, giving up when the going gets tough. Acting like a punter.”

  “A punter?” Reno glared at his friend, hands fisted. “Those are fighting words, you jerk.”

  “They’re true words,” Nate said blithely. “I was just giving you the benefit of the doubt before. I heard about you and Rachel. I thought maybe you’d patched things up already. You are kind of a miracle worker most of the time, you know.”

  Completely puzzled, Reno stared at him.

  “But now I know the truth,” Nate went on. “You’re punting. Trying to keep things from getting worse. Trying to make sure that, if you can’t win, at least you won’t lose by as much.”

  He meant with Rachel. Of course he meant with Rachel.

  Reno muttered an obscenity. “You, of all people…” Feeling sucker punched, he shook his head. “I don’t believe it.”

  Oblivious to the tension in the air, Detweiler raised his hand. “Uh, what’s wrong with punting? You were a kicker, Reno.”

  “A kicker, not a punter.” All but snarling the words, Reno turned to the man. Everyone took a step back. “A kicker starts the game. Earns field goals. Saves the day when the clock’s running out.” Those were all things he was proud of having done. “Punters only come in when it’s time to cut losses and bail out. When it’s time to make sure the other team doesn’t have the advantage. When not losing becomes more important than winning.”

  Detweiler shrugged. “Sounds pretty nitpicky to me.”

  “It’s not. It’s an important difference.” Frustrated by all of them, Reno ran his hand through his hair. “You’d think all the booters would get along, but I hated the punters. I hated seeing those guys take the safe way out. Every damn time. No risks, no guts…nothing but giving up.”

  Surely everyone would see the truth now. Any idiot could.

  After a weighty pause, Nate shook his head. “And that’s different from the way you’re acting right now…how, exactly?”

  Settling into a booth at The Coffee Cup Diner—next door to the Kismet Greyhound station—Rachel shoved her suitcase into the far corner of the bench seat. She set down her purse beside the old-fashioned sugar shaker, then dropped her one-way bus ticket to Grand Rapids beside the chrome napkin dispenser. With a sigh, she sank onto her seat’s creased vinyl to peruse the menu.

  This was it. She’d done it. In exactly forty-one minutes, she’d be boarding a bus for the airport. Sayonara, Kismet!

  “I guess I’m all set,” she said as Judy Wright slid into the seat opposite her. With her best attitude of rebelliousness, Rachel surveyed the older woman. “From here on, it’s only a few hours back to the sunshine and backstabbing of L.A.” She lifted her water glass in a toast. “See you, Kismet! It’s been real.”

  Real kitschy. Real heartwarming. Real painful.

  “How about something to eat first?” Judy asked. “The pancakes are good here. So are the patty melts and the shakes.”

  “No thanks.” Rachel patted her purse. “This baby’s filled with just enough protein bars to get me back home.”

  Judy wrinkled her nose. “You can’t live on those.”

  “You sound like my mother.” Rachel made a face. “Sure I can. They’ve got protein. Vitamins. Nutrients. Everything.”

  “But none of it’s quite real, is it?” Her new friend’s penetrating look met Rachel’s. “None of it can keep you going.”

  Just like, Rachel read in Judy’s perceptive gaze, life in La-La Land couldn’t keep her going—at least not without all the good things Rachel had rediscovered in Kismet. Things like friends
hip. Creativity. Security. Love. Well, pseudo-love at least. But she could definitely get that in Malibu.

  “I don’t need much.” Rachel glanced up as their waitress dropped by to take their orders—one patty melt with fries for Judy and one Diet Coke for Rachel. “In the can please,” she told the waitress. “I don’t trust those fountain machines. Sometimes they have nondiet soda in them. I refuse to be bamboozled.”

  The waitress rolled her eyes. Judy sighed.

  Defiantly, Rachel stared back at them. Nobody was making her crack now. Not now that she’d learned the truth.

  People couldn’t be trusted. Not even her.

  On the street behind her, cars chugged through the snow. Buses groaned past, squealing with one last stop at the corner before breaking free for other destinations. Rachel couldn’t see them with her back to the diner’s Christmas-decal-decorated plate glass window, but she could hear them. She could see their shadows reflected in the diner’s revolving pie case, the afternoon light shifting every time someone drove by.

  She concentrated on those sounds, those shadows, and the uniquely Kismet ambiance of The Coffee Cup Diner. There was nothing quite like this in L.A. Something had imbued the diner’s checked linoleum, chrome fixtures, and busy grill with a special homeyness. Maybe it was the pictures on the wall—black and white historical prints of lakeside beaches, long weathered docks, and sailboats. Maybe it was the miniature poinsettias, dusky red and perfect for the holidays, stuck in milk bottles at each table. Maybe it was the people…including her sour-faced waitress, who set a dust-tinged can of cola in front of Rachel.

  “One Diet Coke, in the can, your highness.”

  Rachel raised her eyebrows in surprise, but the waitress only flounced away. Across the table, Judy stifled a grin.

  “You’ve got a few things to learn about dealing with people in Kismet,” her friend said. She toyed with a poinsettia leaf, avoiding Rachel’s eyes. Then, appearing to come to a decision, Judy spoke. “There’s a lot of history here. Things you either forgot or never knew. Take Reno, for instance—”

  “No thanks.” Rachel cracked open her Diet Coke. “No offense, Judy, but what happened between me and Reno was—”