“Always room for the little ones. That’s what Mama used to say.” The old man looked away for a moment, then turned back to face Erica. “Sorry we’re not decorated for Christmas. Used to have holly and evergreens and tinsel to the roof, but...seems like I just don’t have the heart for it this year.”
Jason carried in the last of her boxes and set it on the table. “I put your suitcases up in the guest room, but this box looks like food.” He was removing his enormous boots as he spoke. “Sorry about the mess, Papa. I’ll clean it up.”
The old man waved a hand. “Later. Sit down and have some soup.”
Erica’s head was spinning. How had Kimmie gotten it so wrong, telling her the mean brother never came to the farm? And it sure seemed like Kimmie’s grandmother, the “Mama” Papa Andy had spoken of, had passed on. Obviously, Kimmie had completely lost touch with her own family.
In front of Erica, a steaming bowl of vegetable soup sent up amazing smells, pushing aside her questions. She’d been so focused on feeding and caring for the twins during four long days of travel that she’d barely managed to eat. The occasional drive-through burger and the packets of cheese and crackers in the cheap motels where they’d crashed each night couldn’t compare to the deliciousness in front of her.
“Go ahead. Dig in. I’ll hold the little one.” Papa Andy lifted Mikey from her lap and sat down, bouncing him on his knee with a practiced movement.
Erica held her breath. With the twins’ developmental delays came some fussiness, and she wanted to avoid questions she wouldn’t know how to answer. Wanted to avoid a tantrum, too.
But Mikey seemed content with Papa Andy’s bouncing, while Teddy plucked cereal from the wooden high chair tray and looked around, wide-eyed. The babies cared for, Erica scooped up soup and ate two big pieces of buttered corn bread, matching Jason bite for bite even though he was twice her size.
When her hunger was sated, she studied him from under her eyelashes and tried to quell her own fear. Kimmie had been afraid of her brother’s wrath if he discovered that she’d gone back to drugs and gotten pregnant out of wedlock. And she’d feared disappointing her grandparents. That was why she’d become estranged from the family. She hadn’t said it outright, but Erica had gotten the feeling that Kimmie might have stolen money from some of them, as well.
None of that was the twins’ fault, and if Kimmie’s family history were the only barrier, Erica wouldn’t hesitate to let Jason and Papa Andy know that the twins were their own relatives. She wasn’t foolish enough to think she could raise them herself with no help, and having a caring uncle and great-grandfather and more resources on their side would be only to their benefit.
But Kimmie had said Jason would try to get custody of the twins, and seeing how authoritative he seemed to be, Erica didn’t doubt it.
Kimmie hadn’t wanted her brother to have them. She’d insisted there were good reasons for it.
Erica wished she could call and ask, but Kimmie wasn’t answering her phone. In fact, she’d left a teary message two days ago, saying she was moving into a rehab center. She’d assured Erica that she was getting good care, but might not be reachable by phone.
Now that Erica was sitting still, for the moment not worried about her and the twins’ survival, sadness washed over her. For Kimmie, for the twins and for herself. With all her flaws, Kimmie had been a loving friend, and they’d spent almost every moment of the past month together. Like a vivid movie, she remembered when Kimmie—addicted, terminally ill and in trouble with the law—had begged her to take the twins.
“I know it’s a lot to ask. You’re so young. You’ll find a husband and have babies of your own...”
“No, I won’t,” Erica had responded. “But that’s not what’s important now.”
“You have time. You can get over your past.” Kimmie had pulled a lock of hair out of Erica’s ponytail. “You could be beautiful if you’d stop hiding it. And you need to realize that there are a few men out there worth trusting.”
Remembering Kimmie’s attempt at mothering, even at such a horrible moment, brought tears to Erica’s eyes even now, in the bright farmhouse kitchen. Erica wouldn’t get over her past, wouldn’t have kids of her own, as Kimmie would have realized if she hadn’t been so ill.
But Erica had these babies, and she’d protect them with her life. They were her family now.
The old black wall phone rang, and Papa answered it.
“Yes, he’s here.” She listened. “No, Heather Marie, he’s not coming out again in the storm just because you forgot to buy nail polish or some such crazy thing!” He held the phone away from his ear and indistinguishable, agitated words buzzed out from it. “You saw a what? A dog?”
Jason took one more bite of corn bread, wiped his mouth and stood. He might have even looked relieved. “It’s okay, Papa. I’ll talk to her.”
Papa narrowed his eyes at him. “You’re an enabler.”
Jason took the phone and moved into the hall, the long cord stretching to accommodate. Minutes later he came back in. “She thinks she saw a dog out wandering on Bear Creek Road, but she was afraid if she stopped she couldn’t get going again. I’m going to run out there and see if I can find it.”
“And visit her? Maybe get snowed in? Because that’s what she wants.”
Jason waved a dismissive hand. “I don’t mind helping.” Then he turned to Erica. “We have to talk, but I’m sure you’re exhausted. We can figure all of this out tomorrow.” He left the room, a giant in sock feet. Moments later, a chilly breeze blew through the kitchen, and then the front door slammed shut.
A chill remained in Erica’s heart, though. She had the feeling that Kimmie’s big brother would have plenty of questions for her when he returned. Questions she didn’t dare to answer.
* * *
It was almost midnight by the time Jason arrived back at the house. Exhausted, cold and wet, he went around to the passenger side to get leverage enough to lift the large dog he’d finally found limping through the woods near Bear Creek.
He carried the dog to the house and fumbled with the door, trying to open it without putting down the dog.
Suddenly, it swung open, and there was Erica, her hair glowing like fire in the hallway’s golden light. “Oh, wow, what can I do?” She hurried out to hold open the storm door for him, regardless of the cold. “Want me to grab towels? A blanket?”
“Both. Closet at the top of the stairs.”
She ran up and came back down and into the front room quickly, her green eyes full of concern. Her soft jeans had holes at the knees, and not the on-purpose kind teenagers wore.
After she’d spread the blankets on the floor in front of the gas fireplace, he carefully set the dog down and studied him. Dirty, yellow fur, a heavy build: probably a Lab-shepherd mix. The dog didn’t try to move much but sighed and dropped his head to the floor as if relieved to have found a safe haven.
“Go take off your wet things,” Erica ordered Jason. “I’ll watch the dog.”
“The twins are asleep?”
“Like logs.”
Jason shed his jacket, boots and hat, got two bowls of water and a couple of thin dishrags, and came back into the warm room. It hadn’t changed much since he was a kid. He half expected his grandmother to come around the corner, bringing cookies and hot chocolate.
But that wasn’t happening, ever again.
“Was he in a fight?” Erica asked. She was gently plucking sticks and berries out of the dog’s fur. “His leg seems awful tender.”
“I’ll try to clean it and wrap it. He’s friendly, like he’s had a good home, though maybe not for a while.” He put the cold water down, and the dog lifted his big golden head and drank loud and long, spilling water all over the floor.
“He’s skinny under his fur,” Erica said. “And a mess. What are all the
se sticky berries on him?” She plucked a sprig from the dog’s back, green with a few white berries.
“It’s mistletoe.” Made him think of Christmas parties full of music and laughter. Of happy, carefree times.
Erica didn’t look at Jason as she pulled more debris from the dog’s fur. “Then that’s what we’ll call him. Mistletoe.”
“You’re naming the dog?”
“We have to call him something,” she said reasonably. “You work on him. I’ll be right back.”
He puzzled over Erica as he carefully examined the dog’s leg. She seemed kind and helpful and well-spoken. So how had Kimmie connected with her? Had Kimmie gotten her life together, started running with a better crowd? Was Erica some kind of emissary from his sister?
He breathed in and out and tried to focus on the present moment. This homey room, the quiet, the dog’s warm brown eyes. Letting his thoughts run away with him was dangerous, was what had made him okay with administrative leave. The only crime he’d committed was trusting his partner, who’d turned out to be corrupt, taking bribes. With time, Jason knew he’d be exonerated of wrongdoing.
But still, he was all too aware that he’d lost perspective. He’d been working too hard and getting angrier and angrier, partly because of worrying about his sister’s situation and wondering where she was. He’d had no life. Coming here, taking a break, was the right thing to do, especially given his grandmother’s death earlier this year.
He should have come home more. He’d made so many mistakes as a brother, a son, a grandson. And a fiancé, according to what Renea had screamed as she’d stormed out for the last time. Funny how that was the weakness that bothered him the least.
Erica came back into the room and set a tray down on the end table beside the couch.
A familiar, delicious smell wafted toward him. Déjà vu. “You made hot chocolate?”
She looked worried. “Papa Andy showed me where to find everything before he went to bed. I hope it’s okay. You just looked so cold.”
He took one of the two mugs and sipped, then drank. “Almost as good as Gran’s.”
Her face broke into a relieved smile, and if she’d been pretty before, her smile made her absolutely gorgeous. Wow.
“How’s Mistletoe?” She set down the other mug and knelt by the dog.
He snorted out a laugh at the name. “He let me look at his leg. Whether he’ll let me wash it remains to be seen.” He put down the hot chocolate and dipped a rag into the warm water.
“Want me to hold his head?”
“No.” Was she crazy? “If he bites anybody, it’s going to be me, not you.”
“I’m not afraid.” She scooted over, gently lifted the dog’s large head and crossed her legs beneath. “It’s okay, boy,” she said, stroking his face and ears. “Jason’s going to fix it.”
Jason parted the dog’s fur. “Don’t look—it’s not pretty.”
She ignored his instruction, leaning over to see. “Aw, ouch. Wonder what happened?”
“A fight, or clipped by a car. He’s limping pretty bad, so I’m worried the bone is involved.” As gently as possible, he squeezed water onto the wound and then wiped away as much dirt as he could. Once, the dog yelped, but Erica soothed him immediately and he relaxed back into her lap.
Smart dog.
Jason ripped strips of towel and wrapped the leg, aiming for gentle compression. “There you go, fella. We’ll call the vet in the morning.”
“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Erica eased out from under the dog’s head, gave him a few more ear scratches and then moved to the couch, picking up her mug on the way. “I love hot chocolate, but in Phoenix, we didn’t have much occasion to drink it.”
Jason picked up his half-full cup and sat in the adjacent armchair. “How did you know Kimmie?”
The question was abrupt, and he meant it to be. People answered more honestly when they hadn’t had a chance to relax and figure out what their interrogator wanted to hear.
She drew in a deep breath and blew it out. “Fair question. I met her at Canyon Lodge.” She looked at him, but when he didn’t react, she clarified. “It’s a drug rehab center.”
“You’re an addict, too?”
“Noooo.” She lifted an eyebrow at his assumption. “My mom was. I met Kimmie, wow, ten years ago, on visits to Mom. When they both got out, we stayed in touch.”
And yet she hadn’t turned to her mom when she’d needed a place to stay. “How’s your mom doing?” he asked.
She looked away. “She didn’t make it.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Thanks.” She slid down off the couch to sit beside the dog again, petting him in long, gentle strokes.
“Where’s Kimmie now? Is she in Phoenix?”
Erica hesitated.
“Look, we’ve been out of touch for years. But if she’s sober now...” He saw Erica’s expression change. “Is she sober now?”
Erica looked down at the dog, into the fire, anywhere but at him.
Hope leaked out of him like air from a deflating tire. “She’s not.”
Finally, she blew out a breath and met his eyes. “I don’t know how to answer that.”
“What do you mean? She’s straight or she’s not.”
Erica’s face went tense, and he realized he’d spoken harshly. Not the way to gain trust and information. “Sorry. Let’s start over. Why did she send you to Holly Creek Farm?”
Simple enough question, he’d thought. Apparently not.
“It’s complicated,” she said.
He ground his teeth to maintain patience. His superiors had been right; he was too much on the edge to be working the streets right now. For a fleeting, fearful moment, he wondered if he could ever do it again.
But interviewing someone about your own kin was different, obviously, than asking questions about a stranger.
“Kimmie isn’t...well,” she said finally.
Jason jerked to attention at her tone. “What’s wrong?”
She opened her mouth to speak, but his cell phone buzzed. Wretched thing. And as a cop, even one on leave, he had to take it.
“It’s late for a phone call.” Then she waved a hand, looking embarrassed. “Not my business. Sorry.”
A feeling of foreboding came over Jason as he looked at the unfamiliar number. “Area code 602. Phoenix, isn’t it?”
She gasped, her hand going to her mouth. “Yes.”
He clicked to answer. “Jason Stephanidis.”
“Mr. Stephanidis.” The voice on the other end was male, and there was background noise Jason couldn’t identify. “Are you the brother of Kimberly Stephanidis?”
Jason closed his eyes. “Yes.”
“Okay. This is Officer John Jiminez. Phoenix PD. You’re a cop, too?”
“That’s right.”
“Good. My information’s accurate. Do you know... Have you seen your sister recently?”
“No.”
Silence. Then: “Look, I’m sorry to inform you that she’s passed away. I’ve been assigned to locate her next of kin.”
A chasm opened in his chest. “Drugs?”
“The coroner listed the cause of death as an overdose. But it also looks like she had advanced lung cancer.”
Jason squeezed his eyes closed, tighter, as if that could block out the words he was hearing. What he wanted to do was to shout back: No. No. No.
* * *
Erica sat on the couch, her arms wrapped around herself. Trying to hold herself together.
Kimmie was gone.
The twins were motherless.
Grief warred with worry and fear, and she jumped up and paced the room.
After Jason had barked out the news, said that a lawyer would call back tomorrow wit
h more information, he’d banged out of the house.
What had happened? Had Kimmie gone peacefully, with good care, or died alone and in pain? Or, given the mention of overdose, had she taken the low road one last time?
Erica sank her head into her hands and offered up wordless prayers. Finally, a little peace came to her as the truth she believed with all her heart sank in: Kimmie had gone home to a forgiving God, happy, all pain gone.
She paced over to the window and looked out. The snow had stopped, and as she watched, the moon came out from under a cloud, sending a cold, silvery light over the rolling farmland.
Off to the side, Jason shoveled a walkway, fast, furious, robotic.
Wanting air herself, wanting to see that moon better and remind herself that God had a plan, Erica found a heavy jacket in the hall closet and slipped outside.
Sharp cold took her breath away. A wide creek ran alongside the house, a little stone bridge arching over it. Snow blanketed hills and trees and barns.
And the moonlight! It reflected off snow and water, rendering the scene almost as bright as daytime, bright enough that a wooden fence and a line of tall pines cast shadows on the snow.
The only sound was the steady chink-chink-chink of Jason’s shovel.
The newness, the majesty, the fearfulness of the scene made her tremble. God’s creation, beautiful and dangerous. A Sunday school verse flashed through her mind: “In His hand is the life of every creature and the breath of all mankind.”
The shovel stopped. Heavy boot steps came toward her.
“You should have contacted me!” Jason’s voice was loud, angry. “How long were you with her? Didn’t you think her family might want to know?”
His accusatory tone stung. “She didn’t want me to contact you!”
“You listened to an addict?”
“She said you told her you were through helping her.”
“I didn’t know she had cancer!” He sank down on the front step and let his head fall into his hands. “I would have helped.” The last word came out choked.
Secret Christmas Twins Page 2
