“I think it’s those bunny slippers.” He rose and peered over the desk at her feet. “Yup, it’s those slippers.”
Her heart performed crazy palpitations in response to his teasing words.
“If you’ll tell me where you keep your Christmas decorations, we can decorate the tree after I have my coffee.” He yawned and stretched again. “Only a week left until Christmas. No time to waste.”
One week until Christmas. Two weeks until her grandfather returned to Arizona. And then Joe would leave, too.
How she wished she could make time stand still.
“Alicia? The decorations?”
She stood as quickly as she was able. “In the storage closet at the foot of the stairs. The boxes are clearly marked.” She turned toward the door. “I’ll start the coffee brewing.”
“This is one of my personal favorites,” Grandpa Roger said, holding out an ornament for Joe to see. “Alicia made this at Sunday school when she was about seven or eight.”
Joe took the shellacked, walnut half-shell ornament. Inside was a miniature doll covered by a piece of burlap. It looked like a baby in a cradle. On the bottom, in tiny lettering—obviously not that of a child—had been painted “John 3:16.” Gold thread was attached at both ends so it could be hung on a tree.
“It’s meant to be baby Jesus in the manger,” Grandpa Roger finished.
Joe stared into the box on the table. “Looks like making decorations was an annual pastime.”
“It was.” Alicia came to stand beside him. “My mom loved to do crafts.”
“So that’s where you got it.”
She raised an eyebrow in question.
Joe motioned with an arm. “Your entire house is filled with those little touches.” He lowered his voice. “The things that make a place feel like a home.”
An attractive flush rose in her cheeks.
His throat felt tight as he added, “I never paid much attention to that kind of stuff before I came here.”
She smiled, a look as warm and comforting as the home she’d made for herself.
He thought about kissing her.
Then he thought better of it.
As if sensing his decision, she returned to the box Joe had placed on the sofa. “Remember bubble lights?” she asked, lifting a string of them. “I think these are older than I am.”
“They most certainly are,” her grandfather said. “Teresa bought those when your father was a boy. My goodness. How very long ago that was. Do they still work?”
Alicia plugged them into the outlet, and they lit up. “They do.” She looked and sounded as excited as a child. “Watch and see how long it takes for them to start bubbling.”
She would be the sort of mother who made Christmas special for her children, Joe thought, looking at her rather than the lights. She would bake cookies and build snowmen. She would hide wrapped packages all over the house. She would tell her children bedtime stories, and she would probably be as sleepless as the little ones on Christmas Eve.
Joe’s mother hadn’t made cookies or snowmen, hadn’t hidden packages, hadn’t told bedtime stories. He supposed she had done the best she could, but her loneliness had affected the way she approached the holidays. He couldn’t remember a Christmas his dad hadn’t gone to his office for at least part of the day. Of course, there’d been plenty of toys and other presents. That’s how his mother had tried to make up for everything else that was lacking.
But Alicia’s baby would have different memories.
Lucky kid.
Joe looked across the room and watched as Alicia began stringing lights on the tree. She moved awkwardly, her extended belly often in the way. It made Joe smile, thinking again how cute she looked.
A very lucky kid.
Decorating the Christmas tree had been an event in her parents’ home, and Alicia had tried to continue the tradition, even in the years when she’d been alone for the holidays. But this Christmas she was with Grandpa and Joe. That made it even more special.
They paused often in their decorating to reminisce. Almost every ornament had a memory tied to it. Grandpa Roger was a superb storyteller, and he was in his element today, regaling them with one tale after another. He seemed to take particular pleasure in telling Joe about Alicia’s childhood escapades.
She lost track of the number of times Joe’s gaze met with hers. Each time it happened, her pulse skittered and raced. It was obvious she’d failed in her effort to think of him as a friend. She might not be allowed to tell him she loved him, but her heart wasn’t fooled. Not for a moment.
When they finished, the last ornament in place atop the tree, the three of them stood back, Alicia between the two men, and admired their handiwork.
“I don’t believe I’ve seen a better tree in all my born days,” Grandpa Roger said with the voice of authority.
“I think maybe you’re right.” Joe slipped his arm around Alicia’s shoulders.
She could only smile in pure, unadulterated bliss.
“You know what we need now?” Her grandfather looked at her. “Hot, spiced apple cider.”
“Oh, Grandpa, how could I forget? I’ll have to run to the store.”
“No, you won’t,” he said. “I had Joe pick up everything we need last week.”
“You did?”
Joe squeezed her shoulders. “Cider. Cinnamon sticks. Cloves, I think. Was there something else?” He turned toward the kitchen, steering her with him. “Come on. I’ll help you.”
Happiness flowed through her, warm and inviting. She would treasure the memory of this day for the rest of her life.
Her vision blurred, but she managed to reply in a normal voice, “Great. I’d love your help.”
While Alicia retrieved a large pot from the cupboard near the stove, Joe brought a paper grocery bag in from the back porch.
“I’ve got a gallon of cider. Want the whole thing in there?”
“Please.”
As he poured the golden brown liquid into the pot, Joe said, “I meant to tell you. I hired someone to come in next week and finish the nursery wallpapering.” He glanced at her. “No comment?”
She smiled. “No comment.”
“Good.”
Alicia turned on the electric burner beneath the pot, then added several cinnamon sticks to the cider.
“I bet you’ll be glad when the waiting is over.”
“Waiting?”
“For the baby to be born.”
His comment surprised her, but she tried not to show it. “These last weeks have seemed long.”
“You’ve never said if you want a boy or a girl.”
“Yes.” She smiled. “I want a boy or a girl.”
He chuckled. “I walked into that one, didn’t I?”
“Uh-huh.”
“You must need more for the nursery than what’s in there now. When do you plan to finish setting it up?”
It was the sort of conversation Alicia imagined any expectant couple might have while they stood together in the kitchen. His words made her heart flutter with happiness; she yearned for it to be real.
“Soon,” she answered, hoping her emotions weren’t revealed in her voice. “Everything’s in stock except for the cradle I want. The supplier promised he’ll be able to deliver it by mid-January. That should be in time. First babies often come late.”
“I didn’t know that.” He spoke softly. “But then, I didn’t know much about babies before I was married to you.”
Their gazes met and held for a heartbeat.
She thought he might say more.
He remained silent.
“How’s that cider coming?” Grandpa Roger called from the other room.
The moment was lost.
Alicia looked toward the stove. “It needs to simmer at least an hour to be good, Grandpa.”
“You know—” Joe cleared his throat as he took a step back from the counter “—if it’s going to be that long, I think I’ll clear up some work on my desk, ma
ybe check my e-mail. Call me when it’s ready.”
“Okay.”
The kitchen felt much too large, much too empty after he left.
Joe didn’t accomplish a thing. He spent the next hour staring at a blank computer screen and wondering what was going on with him. He didn’t know his own mind anymore, and that was an uncomfortable condition for his personality type. He liked knowing what he wanted and then going after it. But now…
He was relieved when Alicia called down to him that the spiced cider was ready, glad for any interruption to his troubled thoughts.
He rolled the chair back from the desk and started to rise. He wasn’t sure what caused him to glance at the top of the two-drawer filing cabinet beside the desk where his day planner should have been—and wasn’t.
He frowned. What had he done with it? He checked in the corner behind him, then under the desk, then behind the open door. No sign of it.
“Maybe I put it in the bedroom.”
“Joe? Did you hear me? The cider’s ready.”
“Coming.”
He swept the tiny office with his gaze one more time, as if hoping the day planner would miraculously appear.
It didn’t.
When he reached the kitchen, he asked Alicia, “Have you seen my planner anywhere? About this big. Black cowhide.”
“Wasn’t it next to your desk? I’m sure I saw it there this morning.”
Joe’s scowl deepened. “That’s what I thought.” He turned toward the living room. “I’m going to check in the bedroom.”
He looked everywhere to no avail. It wasn’t long before both Alicia and her grandfather were involved in the search, but they were no more successful than Joe. The day planner had vanished.
“Something’s going on.” He left the bedroom for the third time and walked down the hall toward the living room.
He found Alicia on her knees, looking behind the Christmas tree, her backside stuck up in the air, her belly touching the floor, the ears of her pink bunny slippers flattened against the hardwood.
The sight made him chuckle.
She straightened, turning toward the sound. Joe expected a tongue-lashing, but instead, he heard a sharp gasp. A look of pain tightened her features.
He hurried across the room. “What’s wrong?”
“I moved too fast is all. But I think I pulled a muscle in my back.”
“You shouldn’t have been down there in the first place.” He took hold of both her arms and drew her to her feet.
A groan slipped from between her tightly pressed lips, although he could tell she’d done her best not to let it happen.
“You’d better lie down.”
“The cider—” she began.
“The cider can wait. Come on.”
As he turned her toward the bedroom, one arm around her back, the other holding her elbow, he discovered Grandpa Roger observing them from the kitchen doorway.
“I’m okay, Grandpa.”
He ignored her and asked Joe, “Should we call the doctor?”
“I don’t know.”
“Would you two listen to me? I’m okay. I just need a few minutes to rest.”
“Stubborn, like your grandmother,” Grandpa Roger retorted.
“More like my grandpa,” she whispered so only Joe could hear.
He suppressed a smile and kept her moving toward the bedroom.
“This is so silly, Joe. I can see myself to bed.”
“I don’t mind. Besides, it’s my fault you’re in pain. If I hadn’t misplaced my planner, you wouldn’t have been on the floor like that.”
They reached the side of the bed. Joe turned down the blankets and sheet, then plumped the pillows.
“Lie down and stay there until you feel better.”
She tilted her head to one side and narrowed her eyes as she looked up at him. “You’re getting mighty bossy, Mr. Palermo.”
“You haven’t begun to see how bossy I can be. You’ve been having twinges and pains for a couple of weeks now. You keep saying it’s normal, but I’m not so sure. Come Monday, I think you’d better see your doctor.”
She must have seen he meant business for she sighed and nodded. “All right. Next week is my checkup, anyway. Now go make sure Grandpa doesn’t worry himself sick over this. It’s nothing.”
Chapter Seventeen
The ache in Alicia’s lower back came and went all the rest of the day. Sometimes it didn’t feel like much. Other times it hurt like the dickens. But at least she convinced Joe and Grandpa Roger that she was feeling herself again.
Feeling herself.
When was the last time that had been an accurate description? She didn’t know what “herself” should feel like.
Just what was normal?
It began to snow again on Sunday afternoon. Joe shoveled the walks three different times and spread ice melt as an extra safeguard. Alicia decided the least she could do was find his missing planner. However, there would be no more crawling on the floor.
Standing at the bottom of the stairs, she stared toward Joe’s office. He wasn’t a careless sort. On the contrary, he was well-organized. He wouldn’t misplace his day planner. Since he’d come to live in her house, she’d seen him make numerous entries into that black book. She knew how important it was to him.
So what happened to it? She couldn’t imagine a thief coming into her home and stealing a planner while leaving a laptop and other valuables. No, there was no thief to blame. So who?
“Think,” she said to herself.
Rosie rubbed against Alicia’s shin, then serpentined between and around her ankles in two perfect figure eights.
“Sorry, girl. I’m too tired to bend over and pick you up.”
Rosie meowed her complaint, then dashed up the stairs in a huff. Rags galloped out of the shadows at the opposite end of the basement. She whisked past Alicia in a blur of white and gray, giving chase to the cat.
“Rags! Stop right now.”
All Alicia needed was for those two to knock something over.
“Sit!”
The dog halted at the top of the stairs. She turned and plopped down on her back haunches, looking totally unrepentant.
“Rags,” Alicia began to scold.
And then she stopped.
Surely not.
She flipped one of the switches on the nearby wall. Bare bulbs cast an unforgiving light throughout the large main room of the basement. The floor was concrete, the walls plasterboarded but never finished out. Alicia rarely came down here. Until Joe set up his office in the room near the furnace, she’d had little reason to.
But Rags and Rosie had full run of the house, including the basement.
Alicia walked to the opposite end of the room. On an old, tattered blanket that the dog was obviously using for a bed, she saw not only the remains of a day planner, but also Joe’s missing hairbrush, pen and glove, plus some items he hadn’t yet discovered were missing.
“Oh, Rags. What have you done?”
With care, she bent down to pick up the binder. The expensive leather had been chewed like a rawhide toy. Pages had been ripped from the rings and were scattered everywhere. Some were so mauled there was no hope of knowing what had been written on them.
She heard the back door slam. Boots stomped on the floor overhead. Joe had finished shoveling the walks.
She closed her eyes. He’d never liked her animals. He barely tolerated them. Maybe it would be better if she didn’t tell him what she’d found.
But that wasn’t a real option.
“No time like the present,” she said aloud as she started up the stairs.
Joe placed the mug of spiced cider in the microwave, closed the door and hit Start. The machine hummed for thirty seconds before he heard the familiar ding. But before he could retrieve his beverage, he heard the telltale squeak of the top step on the basement stairs. He looked over his shoulder.
Alicia’s gaze met his, then dropped away.
Now what? Livin
g with her, it was always something.
“I found your planner.”
“Where?”
She let out a breath. “Rags had it.”
“Rags?”
She nodded before holding out his black binder. “I’m so sorry, Joe.” She straightened her arm, urging him to take the destroyed planner.
He opened the cover. The year’s planning calendars were missing, as were several other sections.
“I guess she likes you.”
“Likes me?”
“Your other things are down there, too.”
“What other things?” The words were barely out of his mouth before he remembered—his pen, his glove, his brush. “Never mind.”
“I am sorry. Rags didn’t mean to do anything wrong. I—” She offered an anemic smile. “I’m serious. I think she has a crush on you.”
Stupid pets! His thought was automatic, but after a moment he recognized it was out of habit, not because he was angry or irritated. In fact, what he wanted to do was grin—so he did.
“Why don’t you show me this evidence of your mutt’s affection?”
She didn’t say so, but he knew his lack of anger surprised her. Almost as much as it surprised him. Then he wondered what that said about him as a person. Nothing good.
“Is it in the basement?” He motioned toward the stairs. “Might as well show me.”
“You’re not angry?”
“Surprised, huh?”
“Yes.” Her reply was honest, but it came with another small smile.
“No more so than me.”
Their gazes held a short while longer. Joe wondered what she was thinking behind those pretty eyes of hers. He might have asked in a few more heartbeats, but she turned away and he lost his chance.
Rags seemed to know she’d stepped over the line of acceptable behavior. For the remainder of the day she shadowed Joe, even going so far as to lay her head on his thigh while he sat at his desk, piecing together those planner pages that could be salvaged.
“I should wring your neck, you mangy no-good hound.”
Rags whimpered.
“That’s not going to get you any sympathy.”
Bundle of Joy Page 14
