Christmas at Two Love Lane

by Kieran Kramer

  “You don’t want to know what I wish,” muttered Aunt Fran. She lifted her spoon and let the cream of wheat dribble off it.

  The colonel took a bite. “Hmmmph.” He put his spoon down.

  “Not to your liking, Colonel?” Aunt Fran asked rather archly.

  He wasn’t going to let on for a skinny second that he was disappointed. “It’s everything cream of wheat should be,” he said with a fake-polite smile. “But I’m full of fruitcake. Your fruitcake.”

  Aunt Fran’s brow furrowed, and then she let out a little laugh. “Full of fruitcake. How charmingly you phrase things.”

  “I already had a slice this morning,” he said, “and it was marvelous. Fruitcakes by Fran! You ought to start selling them.”

  Deacon had no idea if the man was being sarcastic or truly loved fruitcake.

  There was a long pause. “I suppose I should sell them,” Aunt Fran said with a piquant smile.

  The colonel cleared his throat. “Truth is, I hate fruitcake. Too fancy for me. But because you made it, I thought I should at least try a piece off the bottom before I regifted it to my brother Gary.”

  “You’ve never told me about him.” Aunt Fran was the epitome of gracious lady.

  “He takes anything—even an Elvis Presley blanket someone gave me as a prank.” The colonel chuckled. “But when I tried this fruitcake of yours, Fran, I loved it. So if selling your fruitcake is what you want to discuss, I’m all for helping you develop a business plan.”

  Deacon had never heard the colonel talk so much before. It was shocking. Even more shocking was how well Aunt Fran held it together. She acted as if she knew what the colonel was talking about.

  “Coffee,” she said weakly. “I don’t care how cold it is. Just load it up with cream and sugar. Macy, darling, would you mind?”

  Macy stood. “I’ll be right back.”

  Deacon stood too. He would play the colonel’s manservant. “Will you have some, too, Colonel?”

  “Of course,” he said, “black,” then looked at Fran as if taking his coffee black was a very big deal, a sign of his manliness.

  “We’re out of cream, milk, and sugar,” George called from the kitchen doorway, “and coffee. Sorry. I’ll get some later. Right now I’m obsessed with Channel Five’s news anchor. She’s holding a piglet. It’s Farm Animal week. And it’s adorbz.”

  Aunt Fran stood. “I’m going to McDonald’s. Freddie, would you take me there?”

  “Absolutely.” The colonel didn’t bat an eye at the request or the nickname. “We’ll go through drive-thru in my Jeep.”

  Aunt Fran looked down at her robe. “I could change.”

  “Nah.” The colonel waved a hand. “Why mess with perfection?”

  Aunt Fran’s head came up sharply. “All right then.” She smiled. “Shall we walk to your house?”

  “That’s where my Jeep is,” the colonel said. “You’d better bundle up first.”

  “You drive the kind with no doors? The sort Patton and MacArthur rode in?”

  “You mean there’s another kind?” The colonel look well-pleased with himself.

  Aunt Fran disappeared around the corner to her room.

  George and Macy, holding the basket of rolls, came out of the kitchen.

  “I’m so glad I got to stop by.” Macy exchanged a glance with Deacon.

  Operation Boot Camp is working, he attempted to convey to her. But she didn’t send a message back. She was too busy playing the dutiful—and innocent—neighbor.

  And maybe she still hated him. But he hoped not.

  Aunt Fran emerged from the back hall with a navy-blue wool coat and bright-red plaid scarf over her bathrobe. She’d dumped her slippers in favor of George’s favorite shabby brown leather cowboy boots.

  George’s eyes nearly popped out of his head when he saw those. Like Deacon, he was probably wondering what had happened to his glamorous employer. But neither one of them would dare challenge her on that—or her brazen stealing of those boots, which were too big but lent her a certain panache.

  “We’re off,” she said with particular energy.

  Whether it was born of defiance, frustration, caffeine deprivation, or anticipation of spending more time with the colonel, Deacon couldn’t say.

  But the boots made him think the colonel was definitely on Aunt Fran’s mind—and maybe in her heart.

  “I’ll walk out with you,” Macy said.

  Deacon’s good mood evaporated. He wanted her to stay and celebrate with him and George.

  The colonel held open the front door. Aunt Fran went first. Macy went under his arm next.

  “Macy.” Deacon realized he was saying her name as if she were some kind of lifeline, and he wondered if anyone else could tell.

  “Yes?” She looked back.

  A flicker of impatience crossed the colonel’s face.

  Stay, Deacon wished he could say. Let’s celebrate. “Have a good day.”

  “Sure.” She smiled politely. “You too.” And disappeared.

  Deacon felt George’s amusement, or maybe his pity. It was Christmas, after all, and they needed to be nice to each other. But Deacon remained stoic, his hands in his back pockets. The colonel, dammit all, was still looking at him. Fran and Macy started down the stairs.

  “I know Fran doesn’t make fruitcake,” the colonel said to both him and George, “so thank Macy for me, will you?” then winked and pulled the door firmly shut behind him.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Two days after Operation Boot Camp, Macy ran over to Anne’s house between client conferences to say hello and ask which pairs of earrings went better with the dress she’d chosen to wear to a party that night at the mayor’s house. Deacon would no doubt be there with Fran. Everything in Macy knew she was dressing up for him, but she shrugged it off as a natural compulsion because he was the last guy she’d slept with. She didn’t really want to impress him, she told herself. Only her ego did.

  She also wanted to check out Anne’s stash of Christmas presents for the kids. Do some sister bonding.

  “You okay?” Anne asked her in her bedroom.

  “Fine,” Macy said, then sighed.

  Anne’s forehead puckered. “You’re obviously not fine. Are you in love with Deacon?”

  Macy threw herself on the bed and stared at the ceiling. “I don’t know. I’ve known him for such a short time.”

  “I knew with Kyle the second I saw him, and look at us now.” Anne pointed to her bureau, where two silver-framed pictures of Lucy and Sam gleamed in the late afternoon sun.

  “But Mom and Dad.” Macy gulped hard and kept her eyes on the ceiling. For the first time in a long time, she allowed herself to think of them and their history.

  “They’re okay now,” said Anne in a soothing voice.

  Macy covered her eyes with a hand. “But they weren’t for such a long time.”

  Anne sat down next to her and pulled Macy’s hand off her face. “That’s because Mom pretended not to know what was going on. And Dad let her.”

  Macy turned to look at her. “We knew.”

  Anne took her hand. “That was tough.”

  “I always wonder if I should have told her when I found out,” Macy whispered.

  “No.” Anne squeezed her hand. “You did the right thing. You were too young to be involved. Maybe if you’d been older, yes. Maybe. But you were only nine. I was twelve. And even then, I had no idea what to do. We helped each other through it.”

  A tear trickled down Macy’s cheek. “They really are okay now, aren’t they?”

  “Yes, darling.” Anne paused. “For the last twenty years. I’m sad that you’re still carrying this burden.”

  “Me too,” said Macy.

  They were silent for a moment.

  Anne sighed. “At first things were rocky, but don’t you remember that they started trying to repair things almost right away?”

  Macy caught her sister’s earnest, loving gaze. “Yes. I do remember.”
r />   “Well, focus on that. Not the rest. Think about the outcome instead.”

  Macy closed her eyes and tried. “But I still can’t believe Dad would have done that to her.”

  “You’re thinking like the child Macy,” Anne said firmly. “Try to see it now as an adult. You understand now how people can damage relationships, right? They’re such complex things. They require a lot of attention.”

  Macy opened her eyes again. “Yes, actually. I do get it. I’ve really messed up with Deacon. It’s not hard to screw things up royally.”

  “Exactly,” Anne said. “Try to forgive Dad for being human. Mom did.”

  “I thought I had.”

  “Maybe you couldn’t. Not until you understood yourself.”

  Macy let that sink in. “I think maybe you’re right,” she said eventually. “But I wonder why you were able to come to grips with it before I was?”

  “We all learn different things at different times for reasons we may never understand fully. But maybe it’s because I was the older sister, and I was used to facing things head-on. Being the firstborn and all.”

  “You’re always so wise.” Macy sat up and smiled at her sister.

  “No, I’m not!” Anne made a comic face. “I still mess up all the time.”

  “Even with Kyle?”

  “Especially with Kyle!”

  They laughed together.

  “Do you think Celia knows?” Macy had never had the courage to ask her.

  Anne nodded. “I’m sure that’s why she hates you so much. Her mother spiraled down when Dad broke it off with her. She’s never really recovered.”

  “But maybe Celia doesn’t know.” Macy was insistent on that.

  “How could she not?” Anne shook her head. “They were careless. If you found them once, don’t you think she might have? I got the impression that a lot of it took place at Celia’s house.”

  “Poor Celia.”

  “Her mother was a widow. Maybe Celia welcomed Dad into their lives as a father figure.”

  “True. So taking him away might have been the difficult part for her.”

  “We’ll never know.”

  Macy leaned on her sister’s shoulder. “I can’t believe I’m bringing up ancient history.”

  Anne hugged her. “It’s because you’re falling in love. And it scares you. But we’re not our parents. Affairs don’t have to happen to us. And if, God forbid, one does, at least we know our parents got past theirs. They’re very happy.”

  Macy smiled to herself thinking of the last time she’d seen them, only a few days before. They’d made her a delicious spaghetti dinner, and Dad had kissed Mom in the kitchen while she was stirring the sauce, the same way Deacon had kissed Macy in Fran’s kitchen over those shrimp and grits. “They are happy,” she said.

  “Very,” said Anne.

  They stayed together on the bed chatting for another fifteen minutes, then sifted through the gifts Anne still had to wrap. They talked about what to make for Christmas dinner and laughed over the old Christmas photo album their mother had put together. It was while she was looking at pictures of her and Anne on all those Christmas mornings growing up that Macy gave into impulse and decided to call into the office. She told them she was going home early because she simply needed a little Christmas. Anne was all for it.

  “I want you to be happy,” Anne said.

  “I am,” Macy said, “as much as I can be, considering nothing’s settled between Deacon and me.”

  “You’ll figure it out,” Anne said. “If there’s any time of year that can help love find a way, this is it.”

  “You’re right.” Macy hugged her sister good-bye, walked home with a lighter heart, and lit a new log in the fireplace in the kitchen. She got cozy in an old armchair and listened to holiday music while she wrote Christmas cards.

  After her talk with Anne, she almost felt like her world was starting over, and she felt ready for it. And so it was with a great deal of excitement that she prepared for the party that night. Fran called and asked her to attend with her and the colonel. Deacon, Fran said, was going somewhere else first for drinks, and would meet them there.

  Originally, Macy had been planning to go with Greer, Ella, and Miss Thing, but she said yes to her new neighbor. Fran was going out of her way to be thoughtful, despite the obvious rift between Macy and her nephew.

  Fortunately, the mayor and his wife took a liking to Fran at the party. Plus, the colonel hovered nearby—not quite a date, yet obviously escorting the newly arrived New York City maven. Everyone respected the colonel, so Fran wasn’t persona non grata in the least. That was a good start for her.

  As for Macy, when Penelope headed her way in a perky ivory-and-black-lace number, she felt ready to take on the world in her own emerald-green satin strapless cocktail dress.

  “Macy! How are you?” Penelope’s expression was hopeful but concerned.

  “Doing well,” Macy said. “How about you?”

  “Great, thanks.” Penelope’s smile was genuine. “But I still think you should go after Deacon. He’s not interested in me. We’re friends—good friends—which is nice. But nothing more.”

  “Aw, Penelope, you’re so kind and smart, and I adore you.” Macy hugged her. Even with a half-finished drink in her hand, it was a tight embrace. Because they both knew the heartache of not being The One or finding The One. Of not connecting. Of wishing. Of hating yourself for wishing because they knew they were enough on their own.

  They were.

  They talked about it too, plainly, honestly, reminding each other of their worth. And then they hugged again and promised to look for each other at Macy’s Toys for Tots party.

  When Penelope left her, a passing server grabbed Macy’s empty champagne flute, and some very odd ideas entered her head. Why am I setting everyone else up? What am I waiting for?

  Ella and Greer walked in—Ella in pale-pink taffeta and Greer in shimmery gold—with Miss Thing in tow in sky-blue silk. They almost immediately got sucked into the social vortex by the Christmas tree. Macy felt almost traitorous looking at them because of the turn her thoughts were taking. She had never felt this way before. She was all about the business that Two Love Lane excelled at—matchmaking other people.

  Not herself.

  Why not me? the rebellious inner voice taunted her.

  Because, she answered. Because …

  Because of her parents. Of her shame at discovering her father with Celia’s mother. She’d never forget it. She’d never forget how living at her house was like walking on shards of glass for what seemed like forever but was really one school grade—fourth grade, the only year she got Bs.

  She laughed to herself. Bs. Bs were the fallout, or so she’d thought.

  The truth was, her entire life ever afterward was. She had denied herself her life. She’d denied herself love. Her signet ring twinkled up at her: Dives in caritate. “Rich in love.” It had been there all along, a message reminding her of her identity. And she’d ignored it.

  She needed a drink.

  Miraculously, one appeared.

  “This has your name all over it.” Louisa approached at rapid speed, stopping a few inches in front of her, and handed her a colorful concoction. “A Harvey Wallbanger. Vodka and OJ topped with Galliano and a cherry. Only grandmothers drink them. Mine happens to be here, and she’s already had three, so I had to take this one away. Try it. It’s damned good.”

  Macy took a sip, and it was. “Wow. What are you drinking?”

  “The usual, Jim Beam and Coke. It’s my dad’s drink.”

  “Oh.”

  “I won’t ever drink any other bourbon. You know, the good stuff. It’s sad because he wasn’t always the greatest father, but I love him.” Louisa made a comic face.

  “Someday let’s talk about it,” Macy said.

  Louisa’s brows shot up. “Really?”

  “I love my dad too. But there were some issues.”

  “I didn’t know you ever d
ealt with that. Your family seems so perfect.” Louisa stared at her as if she were a strange lab experiment.

  “Far from it.” Macy couldn’t help laughing.

  Louisa poked her in the belly, which was unusual in grownups to do, but somehow not for Louisa. “It’s good to see you laugh. You were looking a bit stricken a few minutes ago.”

  “I was?”

  “For sure.”

  “It has nothing to do with your arrangement with Deacon to get me together with him,” Macy told her. “Just some different things happening at work.”

  Louisa’s eyes nearly popped out of her head. “You know about that?”

  Macy nodded. “You mean, you haven’t talked to him?”

  “No.” Louisa had the grace to blush. “We were doing it because we wanted you to have fun. You’re always taking care of everyone else.”

  “Thanks.” Macy was touched. She wished Ella, Greer, and Miss Thing would appear at her side. Just seeing them up close would lift her spirits.

  “So?” asked Louisa. “Are you and Deacon together?”

  Macy shook her head. “Not even close.”

  “Aw, that’s too bad.” Louisa jetted a breath. “There he is. He just walked in. Alone.”

  Macy made a discreet quarter-turn to see him. He was swoon-worthy in a classic black tux. “You really didn’t mind giving up a date with him for me?” she asked Louisa.

  Louisa laughed. “I’m stuck on someone else. Someone unavailable. But I’m not bitter. Truly. That’s life.”

  “Can you tell me who?”

  “Over my dead body.”

  “Oh, okay.”

  “It’s an impossible situation. So I’m trying to move on.”

  “You’ve got a good attitude. Any time you want me to help, come see me at Two Love Lane. Friend to friend.”

  Louisa winked. “I’ll keep that in mind. See you, Macy.”

  “Bye.” She felt vaguely unsettled again. Why was romance so hard? Her job was to take some of the annoyances away from her clients, and hopefully, some of the hurt. But no matter which way she looked at it, it was a difficult road, even for people who fall in love at first sight, like Anne.

  There was something beyond technique and logistics, which they talked a lot about at Two Love Lane. There was a leaping over a dark abyss. On one side was absence of trust. On the other was total faith and commitment.