by Ruby Laska
But in Deneen’s hands, the ingredients he’d purchased, and the objects she’d found around the ranch, had been transformed into something extraordinary. She’d folded the napkins into snowflake-like origami. The turkey was sprigged with herbs; the side dishes were served on platters he wasn’t even aware were in the kitchen. Roan laughed with delight at the paper crackers Deneen had made out of wrapping paper, and the shiny pennies that fell from the torn paper. Pennies! Practically worthless—in fact, there was a movement to remove them from the national currency, an idea that seemed sensible to Jimmy. But every one of his friends tucked their penny away as though it had great value, while Deneen beamed with pleasure.
(Jimmy had slipped his own penny into his pocket. He wasn’t sure why—he’d sort that out later.)
Now, Roan had carried the cake to the center of the table and everyone was admiring the elaborate decorations. Zane dug in Jimmy’s side with his elbow for the third or fourth time, and Cal kept shooting him meaningful glances. He knew that more was expected from him; perhaps his silence was being interpreted as indifference. Jimmy tried to think of something to say, but everyone had already used the usual pleasantries. As Deneen accepted an old silver cake knife and made the first cut, he finally found his voice.
“Don’t!”
She froze, the knife embedded in a thick layer of frosting.
“You might, er, exacerbate the injury to your wrist,” Jimmy said lamely. All of his physical symptoms intensified, and he briefly thought he might actually faint, until he remembered to breathe and convey oxygen to his brain.
Deneen looked down at her hand, in the brace he had made for her. “But it’s feeling so much better,” she said. “The ice made all the difference.”
“But you can’t—it isn’t—”
Now everyone had turned to stare at him. Zane was slowly shaking his head, and Cal put his face in his hands. Roan was mouthing something, but he couldn’t understand what, and Deneen—well, her lower lip seemed to be trembling and she dropped the knife on the table.
“It isn’t logical,” he burst out, somewhat desperately. “In the event of an injury, a lack of rest is counter-indicated and ignoring one’s own best interest is—is—ignorant.”
“Oh, Jimmy,” Roan whispered.
Cal groaned.
Deneen pushed back her chair and rose from the table very slowly.
“I’m sorry that I’m ignorant,” she said, her voice trembling. “Unfortunately, I have been that way for a very long time, and I don’t think I’m going to change at this point. I believe I’ll go for a walk.”
“Oh, honey…” Roan said, but she didn’t try to stop her.
Everyone watched her go to the front door. No one said anything when she took her silly old coat from the hook and pulled the hood up over her hair.
The door closed behind her.
“Now you’ve done it, my friend,” Zane said.
But Jimmy already knew that. He just didn’t know how to fix it.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Once the door closed behind her, Deneen took a deep breath, getting a lungful of frosty air as a reward. She coughed several times, adjusting to the frigid air, and pulled the hood more tightly around her chin. In her pockets were her pink mittens, which were better than nothing. As she was struggling to tug the right one over the brace that Jimmy had made for her, she heard a scratching at the door.
A moment later, the door opened a couple of inches, and a pinkish brown snout poked out, followed by a glimpse of Roan’s mass of curls.
“I know you want to be alone right now,” Roan said quickly. “But when I feel like that, sometimes Angel is good company. Don’t feel obligated to take her, but if you want to, she won’t give you any trouble.”
“Thanks,” Deneen said, accepting the dog’s leash gratefully. “I’ll be back soon.”
Roan withdrew and the door closed again, leaving the two of them alone on the porch. Angel nosed at a snow-covered lump near the front step, knocking the snow off, revealing a shiny gold ribbon bow.
Deneen recognized the ribbon—it was the same ribbon she had used to tie napkins around the cutlery for the brunch—the ribbon she had found in Matthew’s room.
Curious, she bent and picked up the package. It was a plate of cookies, covered with plastic wrap. The bow secured a white envelope on top.
On the envelope were written two words in a delicate, flowing script:
“To Jimmy.”
Deneen held the plate in her free hand while she walked down the drive. After a moment she dropped Angel’s leash; the dog stayed right by her side, and that way she wouldn’t put any strain on her wrist. Because she wasn’t going to be ignorant about it.
The hurt bubbled up, just as fresh the second time. Sure, it had been a dumb thing to do, but she’d been so honored when Cal handed her the cake knife, calling her creation a “masterpiece.” She’d been warmed by the glow of their kindness, despite the fact that Jimmy had been sitting there looking like he was being forced to eat coal, not saying a word.
Deneen whimpered. Just a little, out here where no one could hear. She wasn’t about to cry or anything. She only needed a minute or two to feel sorry for herself and then she’d get back in there with her head held high and smile her head off until she could finally slink back to bed. One more day, that was all she had to endure, and then Jayne would return and she could congratulate the newlyweds and have a nice, dutiful little visit and then head back to Arkansas and figure out what the heck she was going to do next.
The package felt far heavier in her hands than a dozen sugar cookies should.
That handwriting—definitely a woman’s handwriting. And the bow, either she had bought exactly the same ribbon that Matthew had, which was possible, or else Jimmy had used the ribbon to wrap a gift to her, which she had then recycled. A cute gesture, the sort of thing lovers do.
Everything pointed to the same conclusion: the cookies were a gift from the mystery woman, the one Jimmy had gone to see yesterday evening, the one who probably didn’t know he’d kissed her.
The envelope, Deneen couldn’t help noticing, wasn’t sealed, the back flap merely tucked into the envelope.
It would be wrong to look. Really, really wrong, an invasion of Jimmy’s privacy and the mystery woman’s as well. And criminal, too, wasn’t it? Or was that only if you opened someone’s mail that had gone through the postal service? Reading mail left on someone’s porch was probably just a misdemeanor. But she probably wouldn’t be caught—would she? Who would know? Especially if she walked over to the Tar Barn…over there…where a light attached to a pole illuminated the circle of driveway below. She could take a quick look there, just a glance, just to read a sentence or two…if it was a long letter then she’d put it back in the envelope right away. She could even do a good deed to counteract it: she could call her parents, as she had promised she would do on Christmas day.
“Do you think less of me, Angel?” she asked, as she headed for the trailer. The dog followed happily, pushing her snout against Deneen’s leg and growling playfully. Angel, at least, didn’t seem to judge her.
When they reached the Tar Barn, Deneen walked around the corner where she couldn’t be seen by anyone looking out the window of the main house. She took a deep breath and stared for a long moment at Jimmy’s name on the envelope. Who had handwriting like that? Someone as gracious and elegant as her script, that’s who. Someone who read serious books and listened to NPR, who volunteered for important causes and painted outdoors in good weather, wearing a beautiful wide-brimmed straw hat and a white linen dress.
Deneen opened the envelope carefully and slid out the card.
It was a plain white card, tasteful in its simplicity (of course!) and there were only a few sentences, all in the same beautiful hand. Holding her breath, Deneen read quickly:
Dear Jimmy,
How can I ever manage to tell you how much you have meant to me this year? You have brought joy back to Chri
stmas, something I never imagined possible. Looking forward to seeing you soon.
Love, Nan
Nan. Her name was Nan. Of course it was! A beautiful, elegant name for Jimmy’s beautiful, elegant girlfriend. She stuffed the note back into the envelope, not bothering to be careful, her eyes blurring with angry tears. With each jab of the paper—because somehow it didn’t fit right now that she’d read it—she listed the accusations against Jimmy.
He brought his girlfriend joy.
He had come to mean so much to her.
She couldn’t wait to see him again.
None of which was a crime, right? But they weren’t the sort of things that a casual girlfriend, a friend-with-benefits, said to a man. They were intimate, loving words.
And how would Nan feel if she found out that Mr. Bring-On-the-Joy had been kissing another woman earlier today?
Fueled by righteous indignation, Deneen whipped out her phone and dialed her parents’ house. She might as well get something out of this terrible development—she’d use her rage to get through the dreaded call.
“Well, hello, darling!” Her mother’s voice. “You’re father’s right here. I’m putting you on speaker.”
“Mom, don’t—”
“There, you’re on speaker. Can you hear me?”
Deneen hated being on speaker. Her parents interrupted each other, talked over her, then demanded that she repeat herself because they couldn’t hear. Immediately she felt her anger begin to drain away, replaced by powerless resignation in the face of the twin juggernaut of Marjorie and Stan Burgess. “Yes, Mom,” she sighed. “I can hear you. Merry Christmas.”
“Well, it’s about time! Aunt Fay was just asking me how you were doing at the taqueria, and I was explaining that you’d been fired and gone to work at the brow bar, and then that didn’t work out and—”
“It’s very nice up here,” Deneen interrupted, already regretting the decision to call. “A white Christmas. Lots of snow. The fire is so delightful. Chestnuts roasting on an open fire, and all that.”
“How’s your sister?” That was her father, interjecting where he could. Typically he had little opportunity to speak, especially if her mother had “had a nip,” something she tended to do on the holidays.
“Fine, Dad,” Deneen said. Then she felt guilty—might as well not compound her first crime this evening with another one. “Actually she and Matthew went on a little trip.”
“A trip? After you went all that way to see them?”
“Um, well…the thing is, they left before I got here. I was going to surprise them and…so. They’ll be back tomorrow, though.”
Her mother tsked. “I hate to tell you I told you so, Deneen. But I did suggest that you call first.”
Deneen gritted her teeth—that was just like her mother, to pat herself on the back for not rubbing it in, and then rub it in with gusto.
“Everyone here is being very nice,” she said defensively. “We just finished dinner.”
“Well, that’s very generous,” her mother said. The implication being, since you can’t possibly pay your way.
“Do you need us to wire you any money, hon?”
“Thanks, Dad, but no,” Deneen said. Her father’s intentions were good, but she was pretty sure her aunts and uncles were all listening in, and her humiliation was growing every second. “I’m set.”
“You’re set? How can you be set?” Her mother had definitely had a tipple or two. “You don’t have two nickels to rub together. Oh, by the way, I saw Trina Kensington at the grocery. Her cat is having a catheter put in, and Trina needs someone to check on him twice a day, and she’s willing to pay. You just have to learn to express the urine—apparently it’s quite easy once you get the hang of it. Should I tell her you’re interested?”
“Mom! I’m in North Dakota. Plus I’m allergic, remember? I mean, otherwise there’s nothing I’d enjoy more than squeezing pee out of a cat.”
“Well, I’m only trying to help,” her mother said, sounding wounded.
“Trina’s got great connections,” a slurring female voice chimed in. Oh, great—Aunt Ida, the first female construction forewoman in Arkansas. “If you do a good job for her, she might consider you for light housekeeping.”
Shooting pains were beginning to spike behind Deneen’s eyes. This was all beginning to seem like her worst mistake yet. “Oh, gosh, they’re about to serve dessert,” she lied. “I’d probably better get going.”
“One more thing,” her mother said. “I saw Wes Burke in the office the other day. He and Laura are finally getting a divorce.”
Wes and Deneen had gone to school together, and her mother had followed his career in environmental law with great interest. His marriage to Laura, who wanted nothing more from life than to raise her children and tend her house, was a crushing blow to Marjorie’s hopes that Deneen might somehow snare him. And now that the ink wasn’t even on the divorce decree, she was circling like a shark, trying to set him up with her.
“Mom, I met someone!”
The words were out before she could think. A mistake if ever there was one—now she would be grilled, as she always was if she mentioned someone she was seeing (which was why she rarely did). Her mother would want to know what his politics were and what his relationship with his mother was like and if he believed a woman belonged in the White House.
“That’s nice, dear, but I was actually thinking of your sister. Do you think this thing with Matthew is going to stick?”
Deneen took the phone away from her ear and stared it. She had, apparently, reached a new low in her parents’ estimation; now she wasn’t even worthy of their matchmaking efforts. The unthinkable had happened—they had actually given all the way up on her.
Silently, she tapped the end call button. Then she stood in the cold, frozen winter wonderland, shivering, and wondering if she had actually just hung up on her own mother.
A snuffling sound at her feet was the only thing that snapped her out of her reverie. She looked down to see Angel lapping up the last few crumbs of the cookies, the ribbon stuck to her ruff by the tape that had secured it to the plate.
“Oh, Angel, what have you done?” Deneen wailed. She knelt down in the snow, the cold instantly reaching through her jeans to her knees, and regarded the dog’s big brown eyes. Angel wagged her tail and gave a small, apologetic woof. Then she lifted her paw and placed it gently on Deneen’s knee.
“What are you trying to tell me, girl? Are you mad at me for reading his mail? For hanging up on my mom?”
Another woof, more urgent, and the long fringed tail wagged harder. She really was a sweet looking dog—not pretty exactly, more…full of character. Which was what people said about homely girls—Deneen had said it herself. But at this moment, Angel and her owner might well be Deneen’s only friends for several hundred miles.
She sighed, and picked up the card, which had survived Angel’s assault with only a few wrinkles and a wet, snowy paw print. She leaned forward and put her arms around the dog.
“You’re nice,” she said. “You don’t judge.”
Angel whined and licked her cheek.
And it seemed more likely that Angel was trying to tell her that only the bold end up with the cookies.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Jimmy couldn’t exactly head for the Tar Barn to pound out a few sets of chest presses, not on Christmas, and not when the woman who was driving him crazy was out taking a walk, so he settled for washing dishes with fervor. He turned down all offers of help, and as he was drying the last of the wine glasses, Deneen returned.
After stomping the snow from her boots and hanging up her coat, she came into the kitchen. Her cheeks were rosy from the cold, and a snow-dampened bit of hair was stuck to her skin near her mouth. Jimmy wanted to brush it out of the way. No, he wanted to kiss it out of the way—no, what he really wanted to do was pick her up and carry her to his room and start there and kiss his way all over every inch of her body.
But
that wouldn’t be socially acceptable, especially because she was glaring at him as she held out what looked like a crushed paper plate with an envelope on top.
“This is yours. Someone left it on the porch. It used to have Christmas cookies on it, but Angel ate them. Also, she stepped on the card.”
She jammed the plate against his shirt. For some reason, she seemed angry with him, which didn’t make much sense. Nothing she had just described—the delivery of holiday cookies, or the behavior of the dog—could possibly be blamed on him.
“Uh, thanks,” he said, taking the plate and glancing at the envelope. Sure enough, it had his name on it.
“Angel!” Roan exclaimed, hurrying over to her dog. “You are a very, very, very bad girl!”
Deneen caught the poor dog’s guilty look as she hung her head, and couldn’t bear to frame the creature. “It was my fault,” she said. “I was carrying them, and I got distracted when I called my parents, and I think she must have thought I was offering them to her.”
“Still,” Roan said, sounding mollified. She cupped the dog’s face in her hands. “We don’t eat other people’s presents, do we?”
Angel’s tail thumped the floor. Jimmy knew better than to ascribe human emotions to pets, but, for some reason, it appeared that the dog was grinning.
“We need to get going, anyway,” Cal said, getting their coats. “I’m back on tomorrow night, so I’ll be back tomorrow afternoon sometime.”
“It was really, really nice to meet you,” Roan said. She gave Deneen a big hug. “Don’t forget—tea at my place, okay? And I’m sure I’ll see you before then. I’ll come by when Matthew and Jayne get back.”
“Sure,” Deneen said, nodding brightly and smiling. Which also struck Jimmy as odd. Since the dog belonged to Roan, it would be far more logical to blame Roan for the destruction of the cookies. Instead, Deneen was acting like they were old friends.
