Scrooge and the Single Girl

by Christine Rimmer

  “Oh God, Will. That’s terrible. I am so sorry.”

  He’d been looking off toward the curtain, his profile rimmed in gold from the candlelight, but now he turned to her. “Why do people always say that, ‘I’m sorry,’ like it’s their fault somehow?” His voice was harsh, his face shadowed.

  She didn’t shrink from him. “I guess because there’s nothing else to say. It’s not about whose fault it is. It’s about regret. About how we wish it could have been different, that your Nora had lived, that you’d had a beautiful Valentine’s Day wedding, that—”

  “Never mind.” His voice had gentled. “I get your point—and now I think it’s your turn.”

  She almost opened her mouth to say something coy—Oh, we’re taking turns, are we?—but then she thought of all that he had told her, especially the story of how his grandmother had died and the sad, bare facts about what had happened to Nora. Being coy just wasn’t going to cut it. She shivered.

  “Cold?”

  “A little.” She was already scooting down, reaching for the afghan.

  He helped her, smoothing it over her, tucking it in around her. “Better?”

  “Um-hm.” She was thinking that he smelled good, that she could feel his body’s warmth.

  Oh-so-gently, he brushed the hair back from the bump at her temple. “Still hurting?”

  She looked up at his shadowed face and thought of her dream, of Mavis, at the end, tucking her in. And then of the rest of it, of the way he had kissed her. That still remained so vivid, somehow, the power in his kiss….

  “Jilly?”

  The bump on her head. He had asked how it was. “I’d forgotten all about it until you asked.”

  “Not hurting, then?”

  “Not in the least.”

  He rolled away from her and stood.

  “You’re leaving?” She hoped she didn’t sound as forlorn as she felt.

  “I was just going to get another blanket. But if you want to be left alone…?”

  “I don’t. I’d rather have company. It keeps my mind off worrying about Missy.”

  “Okay, then.”

  With a contented little sigh, she snuggled down and watched him pad in stocking feet over to the dresser.

  Pure self-indulgence, Bravo, Will was thinking as he pulled open the bottom drawer and got the spare afghan.

  Pure self-indulgence to be here in the candlelight with Jilly now. He ought to be ashamed of himself. Supposedly, he’d come up here to make sure she was all right.

  She was fine. So what was he doing, lying on her bed with her, rambling on and on about himself? Just what she needed, after all she’d been through since having the misfortune to be snowed in with him—a chance to hear his long, sad story: Nightmare Christmases I Have Known.

  He should go.

  But he didn’t go. He returned to the bed, stretched out next to her again and settled the blanket over himself.

  When he turned to her, those fine gray eyes of hers were soft with understanding. “So you’ve got issues. Pet issues. Falling-in-love issues. And most definitely Christmas issues.”

  He really would have liked to disagree with her assessment. However, at that point, after spilling his guts so thoroughly, she couldn’t help but peg any denials as outright lies. “You’re right, I guess. At least about the pets.”

  “Oh, right.” She let out an exaggerated groan. “Just the pets.”

  “Hey, I’ll admit it. I haven’t had a pet since Snatch got his in the Highgrade parking lot.”

  Her eyes went wide. Even in the warm glow of the candles, he could see that her face had paled.

  “What’s the matter?”

  She blinked. “Nothing. Not a thing.”

  He didn’t buy that for an instant. “Come on. What is it?”

  “Really. Nothing.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Positive.”

  He wanted to probe further, but the look of shock he’d seen on her face was gone. Whatever he’d said that had rattled her, she’d pulled herself together now. She looked…purposeful. “Let’s talk about the Christmas issues, shall we?”

  “Let’s not.”

  “You blame yourself for your grandmother’s death—which happened at Christmas. You haven’t had a pet since your dog, Snatch, died—at Christmas. You’re hopelessly scared something awful will happen to you, or someone close to you, when it’s Christmas. I’d imagine Nora’s death was the final straw. Since you lost her, you hole up here, all alone, and wait the holiday out. You’re not willing to try again—to have yourself a decent Christmas, to care for a pet, or to get something going with a woman. You’re afraid what happened before will just happen again, that you’ll lose what you love. And you’re certain that when it does happen, it’s going to be at Christmas and you irrationally tell yourself that—”

  “Jilly.”

  “What?”

  “You can stop now. You nailed me.”

  A big, beautiful smile bloomed on that wide mouth of hers. “I did, didn’t I?”

  “And now, it’s time we moved on.”

  “To?”

  “Don’t give me that look. I’m not buying.”

  She groaned. “Oh, Will. You don’t need to hear it.”

  “That’s right. I don’t. But I want to. And fair’s fair. Don’t give me any lightweight stuff.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means I don’t want to know what your sign is. I don’t want to know your favorite color or if you prefer jazz or hip-hop or punk. I want the dirt. I want the issues. That way, when we get out of here and we both show up at Jane and Cade’s or Aaron and Celia’s for some event or other, I’ll have as much on you as you have on me.”

  She let out a loud bark of delighted laughter. He’d always liked that about her, how when she laughed, she really went for it. “Will. You are terrifying.”

  “No. I’m a lawyer with personal issues, and that is terrifying.” He realized he was having a very good time. Maybe too good a time.

  She craned her head toward him, squinting.

  God, she smelled good. He pulled back. “What?”

  “You were smiling, and then you stopped smiling. But the light’s behind you. It’s hard to see your expressions clearly.”

  “You’re evading.”

  She knew exactly what he was up to. “Who’s evading?”

  “Jilly, we’ve done me. Now, we’re doing you.”

  “Oh, all right.” She huffed and puffed a little, to show him how unnecessary she thought it was to tell him about herself. Then, at last, she said, “I have a job I love—in spite of how some people think that what I do is silly.”

  “Some people are idiots—and remember, this is about you, not me. And since your job is not an issue, that’s enough about your job.”

  “You are so demanding.”

  “Issues, Jilly. Issues.”

  She blew out another huffy breath. “I honestly don’t have a lot of them. Nothing earth-shattering, you know? I had a nice, secure childhood. My parents are still married—to each other. I’ve got two sisters, one older and one younger. They’re both happily married and they both have kids.”

  “And you’re not.”

  “That’s right. I’m not married and I don’t have kids. However, I am happy.”

  “But your mom and your sisters are always after you. They think you should find a good man, settle down, have a baby.”

  “Think you’re pretty smart, don’t you?”

  “Would that be a yes?”

  “Okay, it would.”

  “So is that what you want, then? To be married, with children?”

  “Eventually, yes. Maybe.”

  “That was an answer?”

  “Oh, Will. If the right guy came along tomorrow, who’s to say? But if he doesn’t, I’m just fine. It’s the coupled-up nature of the world as we know it that gets to me. It just gets a little old, that’s all. My mom and my sisters and their pitying looks. And
now, my best friends are married, too. Celia’s pregnant.” Aaron’s wife was very, very pregnant. Every time Will saw her lately, he felt certain she’d be going into labor any minute now. “Jane’s trying to get pregnant. Everybody’s half of a couple, and all the women are reproducing.”

  “You feel left out?”

  “At times.” She frowned. “But does it amount to an issue? Not really. The truth is, I’m happy just as I am. I’d like someone special in my life, yes. But marriage? I’m not even sure if I’m ready for it. I certainly wasn’t the first time around.”

  He’d heard from Caitlin that there was an ex, so that information didn’t surprise him. As a matter of fact, he’d been waiting for her to volunteer it. “Now, we’re getting somewhere. You’re divorced.”

  “I was twenty-two. Benny was twenty-nine. I thought it was a love for all time. It turned out to be a love for about fifteen minutes. Benny sold timeshares. He was good at it, too. He was already a millionaire, at least on paper, when we got together. Benny was everyone’s best friend. Especially if she was young and good-looking. Jane spotted him for a runaround the first time she met him.”

  “Just by looking at him?”

  “He made a pass at her.”

  “Ow.”

  “Yeah. She tried to tell me. But I only got mad at her. I thought she was being jealous and spiteful, after the way her marriage had turned out.” Jane’s first husband had been a born loser. He’d ended up dead early on, and from what Will had heard, he’d deserved what he got. Jilly said, “I didn’t speak to her for months after she dared to inform me that my darling Benny had put the moves on her.”

  “And then?”

  “Oh, it’s so classic. I walked in on him with someone else. In our bed. I divorced him and gave the bed to the Salvation Army. So much for a love for all time.”

  “I hope you got yourself a huge divorce settlement.”

  “I probably should have. But I was young and foolish, with a broken heart. All I wanted was out. He was happy to oblige me, since I didn’t ask for any of his money.” She yawned. “So okay. Is that enough with the issues for now?”

  By that time, they were both good and cozy, lying on their sides, face-to-face, pillows tucked beneath their heads.

  Time to get up and say goodnight, Will told himself. But he didn’t move. It was nice there, in the candlelight. And the storm seemed to have abated a little. The wind no longer cried through the pines or rattled the windows. The snow was still falling, though.

  Jilly whispered, “Hear that? No wind, and the snow still coming down. Oh, I love that sound. That soft, soft sound. A kind of hushed sound, you know, with a tiny crackling to it?”

  He made a low noise, agreeing with her.

  “It’s so peaceful….”

  “Yeah.”

  For a while, they just lay there in the candlelight, wrapped up in their separate afghans, the empty Cheez Doodles bag between them, listening to the quiet sound of snow falling through a windless night.

  Will watched as Jilly’s dark, thick eyelashes fluttered down. He studied her face. Good, high cheekbones and a very strong chin, that wide mouth and those dark lashes and brows. And a large purple lump on her right temple.

  He smiled to himself. She insisted it was all right. He supposed she knew what she was talking about. If that bump was going to give her any problems, there would have been indications by now.

  He wanted to reach out and smooth her hair back, ask her if she was feeling any pain at all. But he’d already done that once. If he did it again, she was bound to figure out that he was just using her welfare as an excuse to put his hand on her.

  He liked putting his hand on her. He would very much enjoy putting his hand on a lot more than the bump on her head. And now that her continued proximity had forced him to let down his guard and admit that he found her damned attractive, he had to be careful. Or he’d do what came naturally and make a serious move on her.

  Yeah, all right. He wanted her. He was willing to cop to that—he had copped to it. But he really wasn’t up for any lifetime commitment. And it just seemed like a bad idea, to get into something hot, heavy and temporary with a woman who confided in the women who were married to his brothers.

  And anyway, who was to say Jilly would even be interested in anything hot and heavy with him—temporary or otherwise? Yes, at one time he’d thought she might be attracted. But he’d taken care of that two weeks ago by opening his mouth and firmly inserting his foot while she just happened to be standing within earshot.

  Tonight, they’d come a long way toward mending the breach. But it was a friend thing with her now. Wasn’t it?

  He should go.

  But her face had softened, her lips had parted slightly. She’d fallen asleep. If he got up, the creaking and shifting of the old mattress would probably wake her.

  And he felt so comfortable, lying here in the quiet with her.

  Will closed his eyes.

  Jilly woke to an icy wind blowing through the room. Her eyes popped open and she gasped as the candles, down to mere puddles of wax now, guttered and went out. The mysterious wind died instantly, as if it had only been the cold breath of a merciless giant, intent on putting out the lights.

  Alarmed and disoriented, Jilly lay utterly still, the afghan pulled up close to her ears, staring wide-eyed at Will, who was sound asleep on the other pillow. Outside, it was still snowing. She could hear it whispering down. As her eyes adjusted, she could see Will’s face more clearly. He looked so peaceful and relaxed.

  She dared to squirm a little under her afghan, half expecting something awful to happen because she had moved. But nothing did.

  And Will was still lying there, totally oblivious to whatever was going on. She hated to wake him, but that wind thing had just been a little too weird.

  She whispered, “Hey. Will.”

  He didn’t move, didn’t so much as sigh.

  “Will. Yoo-hoo. Wake up.” Nothing. She pushed her afghan aside just enough that she could reach across and shake him. But when she tried to grab his shoulder, her hand went right through it.

  Jilly gulped. “Oh, great.” She grabbed the edge of the afghan and hauled it over her head. It smelled of mothballs. She didn’t care what it smelled like. She was keeping it over her head. No way was she going to look and see if anyone happened to be standing—or hovering—at the end of the bed. She was going back to sleep and when she woke up again it would be real life and it would be morning.

  She closed her eyes. “Sleep. I’m going to sleep. I am feeling very, very sleepy….”

  Oh yeah, right.

  Her eyes popped open again.

  “One peek. That’s all. I will check and make sure she isn’t there and as soon as I do that, I’ll be able to sleep again.” Jilly edged back the afghan and lifted her head just enough to see over the empty Cheez Doodles bag.

  And there was Mavis, floating at the foot of the bed, her blue eyes sad and knowing, her skinny arm outstretched.

  Chapter Nine

  Jilly sat up. “Okay, Mavis. I’ve got to hand it to you. That bit with the dog? Inspired. I actually believe now that something really is happening here. What, I’m not quite sure. But something, I’ll give you that. However, whatever it is, I don’t think I like it. So how about if I just say, no thank you, I don’t want to go with you now, I don’t want to see whatever it is you’ve got to show me tonight? How would that be?”

  Mavis smiled, her pretty teeth gleaming through the darkness, the wrinkles on her winter apple of a face growing deeper, more pronounced as the corners of her mouth stretched wide.

  “Yes? Are you telling me yes?”

  Mavis shook her head.

  Surely there had to be some way to get through to her. “Look. I know he’s your favorite grandson and you love him and your spirit is troubled because he’s never found happiness—or when he did, he lost it way too soon.” Thinking about Will and how he had suffered, Jilly realized she had a thing or two to
say to the apparition before her. “You know, Mavis? As long as you’re hovering there, I would like to make one teensy little point.”

  Mavis continued floating, looking sad, arm outstretched.

  Jilly laid it on her. “How could you die right in front of him like that? He was just a boy and it broke his heart. Why couldn’t you at least let him run and get Caitlin, let him do what he could to save you?”

  Mavis didn’t answer. She stared and she floated and she held out her hand.

  “And Mavis, as far as my making dream-love with Will, I think it’s a bad idea. I don’t want to do it again. Please don’t try and tempt me. Because I won’t.” Did she sound firm enough? Oh, she hoped so. Because when she thought of Will’s imaginary kiss, she got that dangerous quivery feeling in her stomach. She stuck out her chin and tried to look unbudgeable. “Got it?”

  Mavis didn’t speak, blink, smile or frown. She simply began floating toward Jilly through the bed, just like the night before.

  Jilly sighed. “I guess there’s no way to get out of this, is there?”

  That skinny, wrinkled hand was right there, waiting. Jilly gave in and took it.

  When the walls reformed again, they were outside, in the woodshed.

  Jilly groaned. She knew what would happen next: Will, in the woodpile, without a stitch on, beckoning.

  “Oh no,” Jilly grumbled. “Mavis. Please. Not out here. Not in the woodshed.”

  Mavis’s skinny finger pointed. But not toward the woodpile, toward the rag box in the corner.

  “What? By that box? Nope. Sorry. I don’t see him.”

  Mavis only kept pointing.

  Jilly floated over and looked in the box, expecting to see a miniature Will, anatomically correct and pleading in a chipmunk voice, “Help me out, Jilly. Help me out, please.”