* * *
“I’m thirsty,” Lalla said as Missy shepherded her children back inside the lodge after the Christmas Eve celebration downtown.
It wasn’t hard to guess what had inspired her daughter’s sudden thirst, and Missy led the children over to the little table at the far end of the lobby, where Olivia kept hot water, disposable cups and all manner of teas, hot chocolate and hot cider mix. It was one more treat that added to the specialness of the place. Not that she didn’t buy hot chocolate mix herself, but when she did, she doled it out carefully. Here it was on tap, and the kids were having a great time taking advantage of it.
She noticed Brittany, one of the Williams girls, sprawled on the couch, frowning as she talked on her cell phone. “It’s so lame up here,” the girl complained.
Lame? Really?
“Mom wouldn’t give me any more money.”
She was lucky she had a mom.
“No, the pool is super. But it’s just old people and little kids. I don’t know why Mom and Dad brought us up here.”
So you could have a special Christmas together?
The girl suddenly became aware of Missy standing nearby gawking at her, obviously eavesdropping, and she blushed and ended the call.
Don’t say anything, Missy cautioned herself. It’s none of your business. But she couldn’t seem to stop herself. “I guess it can seem kind of boring being stuck up here without your friends.”
Brittany shrugged.
“Do you usually go somewhere?”
“To my cousins’.”
So that was the problem. She missed her own kind. “How come your parents decided to come up here?”
Another shrug. “They thought it would be good to do something different, just us.”
Missy nodded. “I guess that would be like having to eat chocolate every day.”
Brittany looked at her as if she was nuts.
“Oh. You like to eat chocolate every day?”
“Well, duh.”
“Yeah, me, too. Although after a while, it’s just chocolate. No big deal. I mean, if you have it every day.”
Brittany was eyeing her with great suspicion now, suspecting a grown-up lecture.
“I gotta confess, I’m jealous of you,” Missy confided.
“Huh? Why?”
“Because you get chocolate every day.”
“No, I don’t,” Brittany protested.
“Yeah, you do. Or something like it. What I’m saying is that sometimes people don’t appreciate what they’ve got when they’ve never been without it, you know? You have parents. And they’re not drunk. And they’re doing stuff for you and your sister.”
Brittany’s eyes got increasingly bigger as Missy talked, but she didn’t say anything.
“Yeah,” Missy said, looking to where her children stood, guzzling their treats, “half the time my mom spent Christmas morning sleeping off a hangover. I never even knew there were places like this when I was growing up.”
Brittany bit her lip and studied her phone.
“But I guess I can see how you’d get bored. Like I said, when you’ve had chocolate all your life, after a while it’s just chocolate. Except I wish I’d had parents like yours.”
Brittany was frowning now. Missy had probably ticked her off. Lectures, like good chocolate, were wasted on teenagers. “Sorry I said anything. It really sucks when people say stuff that makes you feel bad.”
“Yeah, it does,” the girl muttered.
What were you thinking? Missy scolded herself. That she’d burst into tears and thank you for wising her up? Real life wasn’t some Christmas movie where everyone learned an important lesson and came out a better person. In real life, good parents were often wasted on bratty kids, and kids like her, kids who would’ve given anything for a decent family, got stuck with a single mom who preferred partying over baking cookies with her daughter.
Missy cleared her throat. “Uh, guess I’ll let you get back to talking on your phone.”
Brittany looked as if that would be fine with her.
“Come on, guys,” Missy said to the kids, “let’s go to our room. But don’t run,” she added. “We don’t want to spill on the carpet.” She’d already made one mess here in the lobby. She didn’t want to be responsible for any more.
* * *
On their way down to the dining room, John stopped under an archway to take advantage of the mistletoe hanging there. “Merry Christmas, babe,” he said to Holland, and kissed her.
The sound of approaching children’s voices had her pulling away before their lips had barely touched. He glanced up and saw Missy and her kids coming down the hall.
“Let’s get to the dining room before those kids mow me over,” Holland said, striding for the elevator.
John followed her, wishing they’d had longer under the mistletoe. But never mind. After dinner they’d have plenty of time for romance, and with the ring she was getting, Holland would really be in the mood.
The dining room looked festive with all the floral arrangements on the tables and the fancy china. And the crystal winked in the candlelight. Delicious smells seeped out from the kitchen—roasting turkey and sage, brewing coffee. The guy John assumed was Olivia Wallace’s son and a couple of young hirelings were putting bread baskets out on all the tables and the aroma of freshly baked rolls made John’s taste buds spring a leak.
Many of the guests were already seated at tables. John smiled a greeting at the Williamses. The two older women were also seated, wearing fancy dresses and jewelry. Vera waved at John, and he waved back.
He led Holland to a table for two in a quiet corner of the room. “Turkey dinner tonight with all the trimmings, I hear,” he said as they sat down.
Holland immediately dug into the bread basket. She picked up a crescent roll, pulled off a segment and popped it in her mouth. “Oh, this is yummy.” She broke off a piece and fed it to him.
John smiled as he chewed, as pleased as if he’d made the roll himself. “I’m glad I found this place.”
“Are you looking for compliments?” she teased.
“Well, yeah,” he admitted.
“Yes, it’s a fun place to visit.”
He took a roll and examined it. “I could see myself living someplace like this.” Then he remembered her reaction, during the sleigh ride, to his suggestion of a cabin in the mountains. “In town, I mean.”
She made a face. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
“No. What’s wrong with Icicle Falls?”
She took another bite of her roll. “It’s okay to visit but it’s kind of...hokey. And it’s so small. I’d get tired of going to the same restaurant over and over. Seeing the same people.”
“Don’t we do that in Seattle?” John argued. “We keep going to the same clubs, hang out with the people we work with.” Well, mostly the people she worked with. And some of them weren’t his favorites. Even though he and Holland were a couple, it seemed that half the time the other guys were sizing him up as competition...and he always had the impression he never came off as much of a threat.
“That’s different,” she insisted. “We can go somewhere different anytime we want. Anyway, Seattle’s more...I don’t know. More...”
“Sophisticated?” he supplied.
“Yeah. It’s just classier.”
Everything had to be the best with Holland. Expensive, classy. She always had to feel she drove the best, wore the best, was the best. Of course, there was nothing wrong with wanting to be the best, right? Across the room, Missy and her kids had joined the Spikes at their table and everyone was laughing.
Holland followed his gaze. “That woman is such a bottom-runger.”
Bottom-runger. Holland used it freely to describe taxi drivers, construction work
ers and anyone who pissed her off. John had used it a few times himself, often when referring to one of Holland’s sleazy coworkers. But it bothered him that she’d use it to describe Missy.
Granted, Missy wasn’t the kind of woman either of them would have known growing up or normally hung out with. But watching her, John had to ask himself why. Why wouldn’t they associate with the likes of Missy Monroe? She was kind, honest, hardworking. Okay, so she didn’t have a high-paying job or expensive clothes. What did that matter in the long run? And so what if she didn’t work in a downtown office building or move in their circle of friends? It was good to widen the circle, wasn’t it? After all, a person couldn’t have enough friends.
“Isn’t that a little snobbish?” he chided.
Holland raised an eyebrow at him. “Well, how would you describe someone like that?”
“How about nice? Hardworking?”
Holland rolled her eyes and shook her head. “If you say so. But she looks like a loser to me and she’s got bratty kids. Why would I want to hang out with someone like that?”
John frowned. Talk about making a snap judgment.
“Why are we talking about her, anyway?” Holland said, flashing a hundred-watt smile at him.
Good point. This was their night. Still, her attitude toward Missy rankled.
But that was just because she didn’t really know Missy. “If you took the time to talk to her you’d probably like her.”
“Maybe,” Holland conceded but not very convincingly.
Everyone has faults, John reminded himself. And wasn’t that what love was all about, caring for somebody in spite of his or her imperfections? Too bad Holland and Missy hadn’t started off on better terms. They might even have become friends.
But that wasn’t going to happen. After Christmas everyone would leave the lodge and go their separate ways. The thought made him wistful.
Of course, that was crazy. He’d just met these people. And yet so many of them felt like friends in the making, people he’d want to see more of. It had to be the town. Icicle Falls had cast a holiday spell over him.
Olivia’s son arrived at their table now, setting down a carafe of wine and wishing them bon appétit.
“Thank you,” Holland said sweetly, and gave John another killer smile. Oh, yeah. Merry Christmas.
He poured wine for both of them, then raised his glass to her. “Here’s to a great Christmas and an even greater new year,” he said.
“I’ll drink to that,” she said, and took a sip of her wine.
The staff made their way around the tables, serving family-style. Big bowls of mashed potatoes and stuffing appeared, followed by platters of turkey. Then there were all the trimmings—pickles and olives, cranberry relish, roasted vegetables. A veritable feast.
John took a bite of his stuffing. Oh, wow, even better than his mom’s. He grinned across the table at Holland, who was forgetting her diet and now on her second dinner roll. She was obviously enjoying herself. Just wait until they got back to the room later and had champagne and those Sweet Dreams chocolates he’d picked up. By then Holland would be wearing the diamond Santa had delivered. He gave himself a mental pat on the back. Truman, you are brilliant.
* * *
This is what Christmas is supposed to be like, Missy told herself, watching her kids chow down on turkey and stuffing (the real thing, not the kind out of a box like Missy always made). The Spikes, her dinner companions for tonight, had been interested in her life and were encouraging when she shared her plans to make something of herself in the beauty business.
Now she heard all about their children—the daughter who had died of cancer two years earlier, and the son who had to go to Arizona to do Christmas with his in-laws this year.
“So we decided to treat ourselves this Christmas,” Mrs. Spike concluded, “and see what interesting new people we might meet. And I’m so glad we did.”
Did that mean she thought Missy was interesting? Missy couldn’t help smiling. She’d always wanted to be, but really, it seemed she was far too busy surviving to think about being interesting.
With everyone served, Olivia Wallace had come out of the kitchen, visiting with all the guests. She made Missy’s night by paying special attention to Lalla, asking her what her favorite part of the meal was, listening as Lalla described their afternoon adventures and the Santa sighting downtown.
“You never know,” Olivia told Lalla. “Santa might pay us a visit tonight before he gets in his sleigh and starts making his rounds.”
That was enough to make Lalla dance in her seat. “I love Santa!”
Even Carlos the skeptic was looking hopeful.
“Meanwhile,” Olivia said, pulling two candy canes from the pocket of her red-and-white-striped apron, “here’s a little something for you children to enjoy.”
“Candy canes!” Lalla squealed.
“Thanks,” Carlos added, smiling as if he’d just had a close encounter with Santa himself.
Missy was smiling, too. Sitting at the table with these friendly people, having Olivia fuss over her daughter—she could almost pretend that she was an average, middle-class girl. She didn’t care what it cost. She was coming back every Christmas.
She sneaked a peek at John Truman and his girlfriend. They weren’t talking very much, just concentrating on their dinner. If she was eating dinner with John, she’d have plenty to talk about.
She pushed away the jealous thought. Someday she’d find a man like John Truman. There had to be another one like him somewhere.
The only problem was, she didn’t want a man like him. She wanted him. And she had about as much chance of getting him as her son had of getting a dog.
Chapter Fourteen
Santa Claus Is Coming to Town
After two helpings of turkey and stuffing, James was almost in a stupor but he shook himself out of it when Olivia stopped by their table.
“How was your meal?” she asked.
She smiled at everyone but her smile lingered on James. Boy, did that give him a holiday glow. A smile from Olivia Wallace was better than hot buttered rum.
“It sure beats Dad’s cooking,” Dylan joked.
“I think if my wife was still alive she’d have been asking for your stuffing recipe,” James said. But his mention of Faith tarnished the holiday glow, and he found his smile growing weak.
Olivia laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. “I still miss George. And every year, when I make my yule log cake, I can feel him hovering over my shoulder the way he used to, hoping to snitch some frosting.” She sighed. “The holidays can be hard. But I try to fill them with happy memories, and I remind myself that Christmas is all about good news—the Savior who came to give us hope.”
He needed to remember that. “Faith wouldn’t want us moping.”
“No time for moping,” Olivia said. “We’re about to start serving dessert.” She looked around the table. “But where’s your daughter?”
“She’s in her room lying down. She sometimes gets bad headaches, I’m afraid.”
“Oh, the poor girl.”
“I’m going to stop by her room in a little while,” James said. “She took a pill this afternoon. Hopefully she’ll feel well enough to come down soon.”
“If not, we’ll save her some food,” Olivia promised. “Meanwhile, I think you’d better go find Santa,” she added with a conspiratorial wink.
“I’m on my way,” he said. He pointed a warning finger at his son. “And don’t eat my piece of the yule log while I’m gone.”
Dylan turned into the picture of innocence. “I wouldn’t think of it.”
“Yeah, right.”
James slipped out of the dining room unobserved, just an old man probably going in search of the john. He always felt a little like Clark Kent when he w
ent to change into his Santa suit. An average guy, nothing special.
Faith had always insisted he was special. “You have the biggest heart of any man I’ve ever known,” she used to say. Not really, but he’d been flattered that she thought so. Still, when he came back in his Santa suit, he was a different person. Then he felt as though he could pick up the whole hurting world and carry it on his shoulders. Well, that was how he used to feel, before he lost Faith.
Tonight, however, a glimmer of the old feeling was creeping up on him. In a few minutes, he’d be back in the dining room, not as plain old James Claussen, but as Santa, the embodiment of the kindness and good cheer that Christmas held for all who believed. He began to whistle “Joy to the World” as he climbed the stairs to his room. Maybe that was what he’d needed, just a little bit of holiday hope.
He stopped by his daughter’s room and tapped on the door. It took her a few minutes to answer, and when she did her hair was mussed and her face flushed, a sure sign that she’d been sleeping.
“You feeling any better?” he asked.
She nodded and rubbed her forehead. Nothing like a nap and a couple of those magic pills the doctor prescribed. “I think it helped that I caught it early. What time is it?” He told her and she sighed. “I missed dinner?”
“Not all of it. They’re serving dessert now. You feel like coming down?”
“If I can wake up properly. Don’t wait for me.”
“I hate to see you miss all the fun, angel.” This had been her idea and she’d been so excited about it. “But if you’re not up for it, don’t push yourself,” he said hastily.
“I’ll try to get down.” She kissed him on the cheek. “You’ll be great, Daddy. Now you need to change and get back downstairs before everyone finishes dessert and scatters.”
Good point. He nodded and hurried next door to his room.
Once there it didn’t take him long to put on his Santa suit. Brooke had already stuffed the big velveteen bag full of the presents they’d purchased and left it sitting by the door. Efficient woman that his daughter was, he knew she’d have the names of all the guests printed on the gift tags. All he’d have to do was ho-ho-ho and hand them out.
The Lodge on Holly Road Page 18
