All I Want for Christmas is You

by Lisa Mondello

  “Cancel dinner,” he cut in, remembering he'd forgotten to take care of that loose end himself. Cheyenne Lewis, his companion for the last six weeks when time permitted during his grueling schedule, had overstayed her welcome in his life. She was beginning to get too clingy. “Send her flowers--I think she likes lilies--and tell her...” he thought a minute and shook his head. “I'm sure you'll think of something, but don't make any promises.”

  “Yes, Mr. Michaels,” Brenda said, jotting the note in her steno. “Today's mail is on your desk as well as your phone messages. Ruth Cavarlho was insistent-”

  Devin snapped his head up, his pulse quickening. “Who called?” He sucked in a deep breath as if the wind had been knocked out of him after hearing the name. When he saw his young assistant’s startled expression, he realized his surprise was evident in the way he’d barked at her.

  “Ruth Cavarlho,” she repeated, darting her gaze from his face to her steno, her hand still poised in place for the next instruction. Then back again.

  It wasn’t like him to unravel in front of anyone. He’d be damned if he’d start today.

  “That'll be all, Brenda,” he said, straightening his spine and pushing strength into his voice as he spoke. A pen on his desk suddenly became his anchor and he gripped it between the pads of this fingers until Brenda nodded.

  “Yes, Mr. Michaels.” She turned and walked to the wide oak double doors and added, “They're toasting in-”

  “Fifteen.” He pushed up his suit jacket sleeve and glanced at the gleaming gold watch on his wrist. “Ten minutes. Call me. And get Ruthie Cavarlho on the phone for me, please.”

  The heavy door echoed in his head as it was closed. He sunk deep into his thick leather arm chair behind his desk and swung the seat around. Rubbing at his jaw, he stared out the window at the hustle and bustle of people below. Everything seemed so small. So very small.

  For a man who'd made it his purpose in life to remain frozen, void of emotion, he was thawing fast. To feel anything at all would mean death in the snake pit of a career he'd willingly entered. It amazed him that the mere mention of a name, the thought of Cara could still trigger a deep emotional response to their friendship. The years somehow hadn't managed to wash that away.

  He leaned forward in his seat and rested his chin on his steepled fingers. The Manhattan skyline had always been a source of inspiration. It was his dream. But lately, he’d been far too unsettled about the career that had always driven him hard. Instead thrilling in the victory of a court case like this morning’s win, his mind eagerly sought out memories of those easy summer days with Cara.

  He remembered it well. It was the summer before his father passed away. Carl Michaels had taken ill earlier that spring, told to get his affairs in order and spend time with his family. The elder Michaels had never been willing to take time for anything other than activities he suspected would further his business interest. When they'd received the news his condition was terminal, the family rented the same beach house on the coast of Westport, Massachusetts they’d always spent summers, hoping to capture years of what they missed in what little time they had left. Before that summer, Devin didn't even know his father, and when they finally had a chance to connect, he was losing him.

  A bittersweet grin tugged at his lips. Although they were polar opposites in the looks department, he was a lot like his father.

  Cara had been more than a friend. She'd been his rock, the one thing that he could always count on to keep him stable while the earth beneath him crumbled. When he first saw her, he was instantly attracted to her cinnamon brown eyes and chestnut curls. The coral string bikini she wore wasn't half bad, either, he recalled, thinking of her walking along the shore collecting shells, flaunting assets she hadn’t yet discovered a man found so desirable.

  But it was the friendship that bound them together. It hadn't taken long for her laughter to embrace him and, eventually, they’d become inseparable.

  Devin chuckled at the irony. He'd built his reputation being a hard as nails, cut throat, defense attorney. Respected and admired by his peers, he was feared by his opponent. In one fell swoop, seventeen year old memories flooded him and brought him to his knees like a spineless jellyfish.

  The buzzer on his telephone sounded and Devin swung around in his chair to answer the page from Brenda.

  “Mrs. Cavarlho on line one,” she announced.

  His heart raced as his pushed the blinking yellow light on the phone panel. Ruthie Cavarlho. Everything he remembered about her spoke of love and warmth.

  “Devin, dear. It's so good to hear your voice,” Ruthie said brightly.

  “It's been a long time. I hope everything is well with you.” And Cara. Tell me everything about Cara, he said inwardly. Look at him! He was shaking in his shoes like an eighteen year old boy pumped full of testosterone. If only the vultures outside his office door could see this...

  “Yes. How's your mother doing, dear? It’s been a few years since I’ve seen her. She doesn’t come to Westport anymore.” Ruthie continued her small talk and filled Devin in on the family's plans to move to Florida within the month.

  “I'm sure Harold is happy to be retiring.” With a brisk motion, he slicked back his hair in frustration, waiting for her to be the one to mention Cara's name. A hot fire burned in his gut as he waited, anticipating the news that she was married, maybe with children, living happily ever after in the arms of another man.

  But no, what was he thinking? That wasn’t Cara at all. The Cara of his memory was a carbon copy of himself, driven in her quest for success. She’d chanted over and over again how she’d never marry. But that was a long time ago...

  “Did you receive Cara's card in the mail, yet?” Ruthie said, mentioning her daughter for the first time.

  He quickly rummaged through the stack of mail on his desk, tossing each letter aside until he found the thick violet enveloped. “I’m just reading it now.” He tore the seal and pulled the cards--yes there were two, he noticed--and began to read the first.

  Happy Birthday, Dev!

  It's pay up time!

  Love, Cara

  Confused, he glimpsed the second card, finding it vaguely familiar, and laughed out loud when he finished reading the back. Lord, it felt great to laugh. “I can't believe she kept this!” A strange feeling tugged at his heart that she’d kept a keepsake of him.

  “Well, you know, Devin, she always had a thing for you,” Ruthie confided as if it was a known fact among them all.

  “How is she doing?”

  “Fine.”

  He paused a second, a tinge of disappointment settling in his gut with her lack of elaboration.

  “Good.”

  There was a slight pause before she continued. “She's staying at home until Labor Day, helping her father and me with the move and all. We're having a bit of a bash for her thirty-fifth birthday. We'd love to have you. Are you available?”

  The inflection in her voice rose as to emphasize her double meaning. Same ol' Ruthie.

  It wasn't until faced with the possibility of seeing Cara again that Devin realized he'd give anything to see her. He punched up his schedule on the computer and immediately groaned at entries flooding each and every day for the next month. “Things don't look good, Ruthie. I'm not sure I can get away.”

  “Oh, but...what about the wedding?” she gasped.

  “Who's wedding?”

  “Why...yours and Cara's, of course. You did read the card, didn't you?”

  “Yes, but...” Puzzled by her query, Devin picked up the card again and turned it over in case he’d missed some important piece of information. The search proved futile.

  “Cara will be thirty-five next week.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  “Well, then you know what that means, don’t you?”

  He was silent.

  “Do you or don't you intend to honor that contract, young man.”

  A grin tugged at his lips. Although Ruthie's voice held a
hint of amusement, he sensed her taking this line of offense immensely serious.

  Knowing in advance how Ruthie Cavarlho operated, he proceeded with caution. “Ruthie, this contract is bogus. There was no serious intention of marriage by either of us, no meeting of the minds. No-”

  “Devin, dear, don’t talk to me in legal mumbo jumbo. I don’t understand a word of it.”

  “It was a joke. It’s not legal.”

  “Not legal,” Ruthie grunted.

  There was silence on the other end of the line for a few seconds. Devin picked up the ball point pen he'd strangled earlier and started tapping in his desk to fill in the void.

  “Would Cara know this?” Ruthie finally asked.

  “Well, I-”

  “I'll bet she doesn't,” she proclaimed, an undertone of hope resonating in her words. He could almost hear the wheels in her head spinning triumphantly when she declared, “What she doesn't know won't hurt her.”

  “Ruthie, what are you up to?”

  “Nothing. I’m merely planning a birthday party for my single daughter, and I would love for you to attend. Is there anything wrong with that?”

  “Of course not.”

  “And once you're here, if things should happen to, how shall we say, fall into place, then so be it.”

  He had to laugh. It surprised him how good it felt inside. He'd always been a sucker for Ruthie’s charm and seventeen years of passing time had made no difference.

  “Devin Michaels, you know how fond I am of you. I've never made any bones about that,” she admitted warmly. “And all these years I have been praying my daughter would someday find a nice man like you. So why can’t it be you? I know you care for Cara.”

  He couldn’t deny that. But it had never been the way Ruthie had always wanted. What he and Cara had shared was friendship, nothing more. His whole world with Cara felt like a lifetime ago. And at the same time, their friendship was so close to his heart he could almost touch it.

  His heart pounded in his chest and he rubbed the spot that squeezed tight. “I'll see what I can do,” he conceded, his smile fading. “But I can't make any promises.”

  “Be sure to bring your tuxedo.”

  He heard the phone click just as Brenda paged him again. “They're waiting for you in the conference room.”

  He cradled the phone in his palm wondering what the hell had just happened. He couldn’t quite get a grip on the flood of emotions coursing through him. Dropping the phone, he fingered the pink slip on his desk with Ruthie Cavarlho's name scribbled on it for a good long time.

  He wanted to see Cara. More than he could even think right now. There was a time when she was the very first person--the only person--he'd seek out was Cara. She'd certainly seen him through the worst times in his life. And some of the best.

  This was it, he realized. Going back to Westport to reconnect with his best friend was the medicine he needed help him get his life back on track.

  Devin pressed the intercom button on the panel, suddenly feeling good for the first time in days. “Cancel,” he said briskly, the rush of excitement from this morning’s victorious court appearance long forgotten. The excitement of a new battle took its place.

  “I...I beg your pardon.”

  “I said cancel! Make some excuse; I don't care what it is.” Rubbing his face with his hand, he drew in a long breath. He couldn't believe he was actually considering something so foolish, so destructive, putting everything he'd work so hard for on the line.

  All he had to do was make a few calls and he could catch the next flight. In a matter of hours he'd be standing face to face with Cara. Something inside him clicked, as if everything that was laid out before him no longer held any meaning. He knew what he had to do.

  “Cancel the rest of the day, too. In fact, cancel the month. I'm taking a leave of absence starting now.”

  He heard Brenda’s slight gasp. “Mr. Michaels, I don't understand-”

  “Just do it! And Brenda, get me my Realtor--” His voice broke off, “No, never mind. I'll take care of that myself.”

  He leaned back in his chair and swung the seat around. Rubbing his chin between his thumb and index finger, he stared vacantly at the Manhattan skyline. The city he'd sought out in his youth that drove him with every beat of his heart, had lost its magic with a single phone call. The unsettled feeling that had plagued him for the past few months suddenly lifted and he could finally breathe again. He was taking a new direction, and it felt great.

  Hearing the buzz from Brenda again, he swung around and saw the light panel on his phone lit up like a Christmas tree. The grapevine in this office was as fast as a New York cabby racing from one green light to the next. He could almost hear the whispering vultures strategically planning his downfall outside his office door, starting with the moment he walked through it. And suddenly he didn’t give a damn what they did.

  Brenda sounded again with a repeated buzz that spoke of urgency. If he didn't make a quick getaway soon, the senior partners were sure to barrel through the doors of his office in full justifiable protest.

  * * *

  Cara smiled regally at the many people inspecting the odds and ends she and her family had accumulated her entire life and had displayed on their front lawn for purchase. She was annoyed, to say the least, at their perusal. This was her life they were scrutinizing!

  When had she gotten so sentimental? Sure, her parents were moving away, selling the home she loved so much. But she'd left home long ago. Maybe it was just her time of the month. No, that would mean she had perpetual PMS for feeling the way she did. Who could possibly endure that?

  Or maybe...it was because Roger, the man she'd been dating for the past year and a half, had become a fixture she wasn’t sure she wanted in her life. She'd been a success in business, lived on her own in her Back Bay condo for the past few years. But this thirty-five thing was beginning to hit home.

  She pushed the thought away, refusing to believe that her internal clock was waging war, and she was losing the battle.

  “Is this real crystal?” a young woman--still a girl really--asked, holding the carafe Cara had given her mother as a birthday gift so many years ago. Her other arm was wrapped tightly around the waist of a young man. Amorous glances and giggles reflected the youth of their love. She wondered if they were newly married, filling their home with items they would someday put up for sale on their front lawn.

  “Yes,” she replied shortly, watching the young man. He had a familiar stand. It took her a moment, but she realized that he reminded her of a young Devin Michaels.

  Funny. Ever since she found that damned birthday card, her mind wandered until it settled on Devin Michaels.

  “We’ll take it,” the young man said, smiling affectionately at the girl. After digging through his wallet, he handed her the amount indicated on the little white tag Cara had so carefully placed on the bottle the previous evening. With their hands entwined, the young couple walked away.

  That's when she thought caught a glimpse of him. Devin Michaels. She stood on the far side of the lawn, squinting her eyes from the sun to focus on the man sauntering through the open white picket gate. A dozen or so people had stopped and parked along the side of the road and were now leisurely waltzing across her parents pristine lawn.

  The man could just as easily be someone who lived along the beach, just out for a stroll. She’d lived away from home so long that she’d lost touch with the comings and goings of neighbors. It couldn't possibly be Devin just because her mind suddenly wanted it to be. But as he ambled closer, she knew without a doubt it was Devin.

  A glimmer of recognition registered on his face when he caught her eyes, and he mouth tilted to reveal a perfect smile. Her breath lodged in her throat, and she couldn’t keep from feeling giddy. She nibbled on her bottom lip in an effort to compose herself.

  The years had been good to him, she thought, noticing how the lanky boy he once was had filled out in all the right places. The man saunteri
ng toward her now had wide shoulders and ripples along his chest, clearly visible beneath his polo shirt, a telltale sign that he spent time working out regularly. His charcoal eyes had deepened in color, giving off a masculine power of attraction that seared straight through her. It wasn't the Devin Michaels that she remembered from her youth, the shy but funny friend she'd teased so often. He was a man now. Powerful, stunning in movement and frightening with his dynamic presence all at the same time.