Scrooge and the Single Girl

by Christine Rimmer

  She readjusted her ice pack. “So?”

  “So, I don’t like it. It gives me the creeps. It’s as if I’m a jinx or something.”

  “Will Bravo.”

  “When you say my name like that, I know damn well a lecture is coming.”

  “Listen to me carefully. You are a reasonable man. And as a reasonable man, you have to know that there’s no such thing as a jinx.”

  “Sure. I know that. It doesn’t change the way I feel. And I feel that I’m a jinx. People and animals get hurt when they hang around me at Christmastime.”

  “Oh, that is crazy. You know that it is. You can’t blame yourself because a branch breaks off a tree and falls on my head, because a cat runs out a door you didn’t even leave open, because I don’t look where I’m going and end up falling down a hill. None of those things was in any way your fault.”

  He set the phone on the chair arm. “Look. You’re supposed to be resting, not arguing with me.”

  She was not getting through to him and she knew it. “Will, you’re worrying me.”

  He made a low, growling sound. “I’m worrying you?”

  “Yes. Oh, don’t you see?” She waved the ice pack, a wild gesture in the general direction of the tree they’d put up two days before. “We were tricked into being here, together, for the holiday. You despised me and I couldn’t stand you. But look what happened? It’s turned out so beautifully, in the end. We made a real Christmas, just the two of us. And you said yourself that yesterday was one of the best birthdays you’ve ever had.”

  Right now, he was saying nothing. He only stared at her, his jaw set and his eyes unreadable.

  “Oh, Will, why not look on the bright side? Sometimes bad things happen, but on the whole, life is really something. You said it yourself, out there in the woods a little while ago. You just have to have a little faith. You have to trust, to believe that things will work out all right in the end.”

  “And what if they don’t?”

  “Well, then, you pick yourself up off the floor and you try again.”

  “And if trying again means that other people will get hurt or die?”

  “Oh, listen to yourself. You can’t possibly believe what you’re saying.”

  She waited for him to tell her that she was right, of course he didn’t believe such a crazy thing. But the seconds crawled by and he didn’t answer. He only looked at her, stone-faced and brooding, like the doomed hero of some tragic nineteenth-century romance.

  At last he shrugged. “You’re right. It’s not logical. Let’s drop the subject.”

  “But—”

  “Damn it, Jilly. I mean it. There’s no point in talking about this.”

  Jilly looked down at her socks. There was something about the way he’d said Damn it, Jilly that let her know the subject was closed—for the moment, anyway.

  Maybe later she could get him to talk about it some more.

  She put the ice pack down, opened her bag of Cheez Doodles and held them out to him.

  “No thanks.”

  So she took a handful for herself and picked up her laptop again. She worked for the remainder of the hour she’d promised to rest, crunching her cheese snack, taking care not to look up at him. She really didn’t want to see him sitting there, watching her like a hawk, ready with gruff denials if she dared to suggest he ought to lighten up and stop waiting for her to keel over dead.

  For the rest of the day, Will was tender, solicitous—and emotionally about a million miles away. Once he’d begun to believe that he wouldn’t have to call in the paramedics after all, he dared to leave her alone long enough to go outside and put the shovels in the shed.

  When he back came in, he looked at her probingly. “You’re feeling all right?”

  “I’m feeling great.” It was a slight exaggeration—but in a good cause.

  “Will you be okay on your own if I have a quick bath?”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  He was in and out of the bathroom in record time. When he emerged, she was standing at the refrigerator trying to decide what to whip up for a very late lunch.

  “You okay?” he demanded, as if he suspected she might have been temporarily comatose when he wasn’t looking.

  She bit back a flippant reply, shut the refrigerator door and sauntered over to him. He eyed her with a wariness she didn’t find flattering.

  However, nothing ventured, as the old saying went.

  And he really was such a gorgeous example of the male gender. How could a girl resist? All shaved and smelling so clean and good. She put her arms around him and laid her head against his shoulder. Those strong arms encircled her and held on tight. For a minute, she almost dared to hope that things were going to be okay.

  But then she lifted her head and tried to kiss him.

  He took her by the forearms—and gently pushed her away. “What’s to eat?”

  So they ate. After that, he suggested a game of checkers. She almost said she’d prefer that they take off all their clothes and do naughty things to each other.

  But no. A remark like that was a little too risqué for the mood he was in. He seemed to see her as an invalid who refused to admit she was sick. And he was hardly the kind of man who did naughty things to invalids.

  She gave him her most cheerful smile. “I’d love to beat you at checkers.”

  She didn’t. He won. Five times running.

  When he took her last man for the fifth time, she wanted to demand a kiss as consolation for the trouncing she’d endured. But then she looked up from the checkerboard. He’d been watching her—and the minute she caught his eye, his gaze shifted away.

  This was awful. It felt as if they were back at square one. They might never have been lovers, the way he looked at her now.

  A new approach was needed. Maybe, since none of her attempts to get close to him seemed to work, she’d be better off to surrender the field for a while. Give him a little private time.

  In fact, she could do with some private time herself. Some time to relax without the constant pressure of his worried gaze tracking her every move. Time to try to figure out how to bridge this chasm that seemed to have opened up between them.

  He was putting the game away. She suggested, “I think what I could use is a long, hot bath.”

  “Help yourself.”

  In the bathroom, while the tub filled, she shucked off her clothes and examined all her bruises in the cracked mirror on the back of the door.

  Ugh. Not a pretty sight. The one on her right shoulder was especially large and purple and shaped roughly like the continent of Africa. And her forehead was a mess. Aside from the gruesome bruising, she looked as if she was about to sprout a pair of horns.

  Ah, well. She had no broken bones. Yes, it was ugly, but it wasn’t permanent ugly. In a few weeks, it would all fade away.

  And also, she did have one good bruise—the tiny one at the base of her throat, where Will had marked her with a passionate bruising kiss the first time they made love.

  She climbed into the bath, shampooed and then gently washed her poor, battered body. After that, she lay back and drifted. She shut her eyes and drew in deep breaths, setting her mind on peaceful thoughts.

  Until Will pounded on the door and she lurched upright, sending water sloshing everywhere.

  “What!”

  “Are you okay?”

  “Fine.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Will.”

  “What?”

  “If I’m about to die, I’ll let you know.”

  “Is that supposed to be funny?”

  “Go. Away.”

  A silence. Then she heard his footsteps moving off. She spread her wet washcloth over her face, sank back into the cooling water, and wondered what she was going to do about him.

  It got worse.

  He went to bed with her, yes. But she should have known what he was up to when he climbed between the covers wearing a T-shirt and sweats.

 
Determined to give it her best shot, she cuddled up close and lifted her mouth for a kiss.

  She got a quick, dry peck.

  “Goodnight, Jilly.” He reached over and flicked off the light and settled in on the other pillow with his back to her.

  She lay there, staring into the darkness. She was starting to get angry. “Will?”

  He made the kind of noise that was probably supposed to make her think she was waking him up. Right. No way he was sleeping. He was lying there, listening, waiting for something terrible to happen to her so he could take steps to save her.

  “You only came to bed with me to keep an eye on me, didn’t you? If you weren’t set on protecting me from whatever awful thing you’re just sure is going to happen to me, you wouldn’t be here now, would you?”

  He sat up and turned on the light. “You want to fight, is that it?”

  “No. I don’t. I promise you, I don’t.”

  “You sound like a fight just before it happens.”

  “I admit, I’m getting close. And you just avoided answering either of my questions.”

  He raked his hand back through his hair. “Jilly…”

  She waited. But he didn’t say anything else. Only her name in that sad, unfinished, trailing-off way.

  “Are you going to talk to me, Will?”

  “Sure. What do you want me to say?”

  Be calm, she told herself. Do not start shouting at him. “You’re just so far away. I don’t know what to do, don’t know how to get through to you.”

  There was a pause, endless and awful. Then he said, quietly, “Maybe you should just let it be.” He sounded so…weary. So completely resigned.

  Her anger fizzled and died.

  She was tired, too. It had been a tough day. Right now, she simply didn’t have the energy to keep struggling to scale the wall he’d put up between them.

  Maybe tomorrow…

  “I guess so,” she said softly. He said nothing, so she whispered, “Turn off the light.”

  He reached for the lamp. The room went dark again.

  They lay down, not touching, facing opposite directions. After a while, Missy jumped up between them and settled in, purring.

  At least the cat’s happy, Jilly thought. She closed her eyes. And for the first time, she actually found herself hoping for a visit from Mavis. She could certainly use a little advice from beyond the grave concerning what to do about Will.

  When Jilly woke in the morning the only dream she recalled was a long, rambling one where she’d gone to a party of strangers. Once she realized she didn’t know a soul at that party and no one wanted to talk to her anyway, she kept trying to leave. Too bad every door she opened only led to another room full of people she didn’t know who had no interest at all in talking to her.

  She could not remember seeing Will’s grandmother in the dream. Where were the spirits of the dead when you needed them?

  And where was Will? She reached out, touched the wrinkled sheet on his side of the bed. Cold.

  She got dressed—moving a little stiffly due to her various bumps and bruises—and went downstairs. He was sitting at the table, eating his breakfast. He looked up and smiled at her, a friendly smile.

  But cool. And distant. A smile that told her the wall between them was still firmly in place.

  She had the most awful, hollow sort of feeling right then. She thought, It’s over. What we had is all we’re going to have. He’s going to get up and go outside and get the driveway cleared so that I can go.

  “Good morning,” she said and smiled back at him. Then she made her instant coffee and poured herself some cereal.

  He was done eating before she finished. He went into the bathroom. She heard the water running. When he came out, he headed straight for the coat rack and started putting on his boots.

  “What’s up?” she asked, her voice falsely bright.

  He pulled on his jacket. “I’m going to get out there, get to work on the driveway.”

  Her heart felt as if some cruel hand had wrapped around it and was squeezing hard. Oh, yeah. He needed to get that driveway cleared. No way to get rid of her until he did.

  And then she remembered that poor, lost dog. And Will’s promise of the day before.

  She said, “I’ll be out in a few minutes. We can look for the dog.”

  He was on one knee, tying his bootlace. He glanced up. “Do you really think there’s any point in that?”

  “I don’t know. I just want to try.”

  “I’d say it’s pretty unlikely we’ll find the animal now. You realize that, don’t you?”

  There was a traitorous tightness at the back of her throat. She came very close to hating herself for that, for the urge to shed her tears of hopelessness right there in front of him. “I just want you to keep the promise you made to me yesterday.”

  “Jilly…” There it was again. Her name. Trailing off into nothing. “Listen, I—”

  “No.” She swallowed, pulled her shoulders back. “You listen. If you don’t want to look for the dog, fine. I’ll look by myself.” She had him there and they both knew it. No way he would let her go off by herself—except when she left him, which would be very soon now.

  “All right,” he muttered, rising. “I’ll help you look for the dog.” Instead of turning for the door, he went through the living area. He disappeared into his bedroom and when he came out, he had an old rifle with him.

  She’d lived in the mountains as a girl. She knew that it was wise to have a weapon if you planned to traipse around deep in the woods. But they shouldn’t be going that far from the house. “I don’t think you’ll need that.”

  “Maybe not. Better safe than sorry, though.” He grabbed his gloves from the shelf above the coatrack and went to the door.

  “Will. I’d like to make one other point, if you don’t mind.”

  He paused with his hand on the knob. “Go ahead.”

  “Other than this, to help me look for that poor lost dog, I am not asking for anything you don’t want to give. I don’t want anything you don’t want to give. Is that clear to you?”

  “Perfectly.” His voice was soft and utterly flat. He pulled open the door and went out, closing it quietly but firmly behind him.

  A half an hour later, she got the second shovel from the shed and went to find him.

  He was a good two-thirds of the way down the driveway. She felt it again—that infuriating tightness at the back of her throat. He looked so strong and purposeful, rhythmically shoveling, his hair gleaming bronze in the thin winter sunlight, working hard to clear the way for her to leave him.

  He tossed a final shovelful off the driveway. Then he stuck his shovel in the high bank of cleared snow and turned to face her, panting slightly, a dew of sweat on his brow. “Ready?”

  She stood her shovel a few feet from his. “I’ll help you with the driveway once we’ve looked for the dog.”

  His gaze swept over her, from her battered forehead to the toes of her boots. “It’s not necessary. I’m sure, after yesterday, you’ve got some serious aches and pains.”

  “I’m all right. A little exercise will loosen up the stiffness.”

  He looked as if he would argue, but then he pressed his lips together and gave her a curt nod. “Suit yourself. I left my rifle on the porch.”

  She resisted the urge to argue again that they didn’t need a rifle. She knew it was an argument she’d never win. “I’ll go with you.”

  They walked back to the house together. He got the rifle and they set off, Jilly in the lead.

  “This way,” she said, when she found the spot where she’d first seen the dog the day before. They slogged through the piled-up snow at the bank and then into the bare brush, following the tracks from yesterday, widening the path their own boots had already helped to flatten. Quickly, they reached the cover of the trees and soon after that, the edge of the ravine.

  The dog’s tracks were still recognizable. They followed them along the rim of th
e ravine for perhaps two hundred yards, and then away from the edge. Once, as they began to climb the hill behind the house, Jilly lost the trail. But she picked it up again several yards on. That happened a number of times. She’d lose the tracks only to find them a few minutes later. They were descending by then. After a time, they ended up on level ground once more. About then the tracks just petered out to nothing.

  Jilly was still in the lead. She stopped beneath a tall cedar and admitted, “I don’t know where to go from here. I can’t tell where he went.”

  She expected Will to shrug, turn around and head straight for the driveway—wherever that was. She’d lost track by then of how to get directly to the place where they had started. However, she felt reasonably certain she could get them back to the ravine, and from there, retrace their steps along it until they reached the place where she had fallen. Once she got to that point, it should be a simple task to find the way back to the driveway through the trees.

  But Will didn’t do what she expected. “Over here.”

  He had picked up the trail. He took the lead and they were on the move again.

  Maybe fifteen minutes later, she heard what she thought was water—a creek or even a river, rushing fast. But then they came out to the edge of a cliff—a high embankment, really. She looked down and saw the road below them. It was clear of snow. The whooshing of the cars going by made that sound that she’d mistaken for rushing water.

  Will went to the edge. He was frowning. “Wait a minute.”

  She stayed there while he backtracked along the route they’d just taken. When he returned to her, he was shaking his head. She knew what he’d tell her before he spoke.

  “I’m sorry, Jilly. I’ve lost the trail. I don’t know where to go from here.”

  She met his eyes then. “Neither do I.”

  He waited. She felt tenderness for him rising, soothing the hurt in her heart. He wanted to keep the one promise he’d made her. He had tried to keep it. But the dog was nowhere to be found.

  And Will Bravo wasn’t ready to love again. She had to accept that. It was time they both moved on.