Christmas at Two Love Lane

by Kieran Kramer

  “What?” Celia’s mouth gaped.

  Macy blew a piece of hair out of her eye. The Santa hat she was wearing had fallen too low. “That sounded really bad. Let me finish. Please.”

  Celia crossed one arm over the other. “Go on.” Her reluctance meter was obviously on high.

  Macy prayed she’d do this right. “I know someone who had a huge crush on your husband. She’s extremely attractive and smart. And a great person. She actually made a play for him that night.”

  “The night we went to see Yo-Yo Ma?”

  Macy nodded.

  “But Walt was at a medical conference,” Celia said defensively.

  “I know.” Macy felt her anguish. “This woman went there.”

  Celia’s eyes widened. “To Myrtle Beach?”

  “Yes.” Macy bit her lip. “She said I could tell you her name, because she’s no longer crazy about your husband. She sees that he loves you. He totally blew her off in Myrtle Beach.”

  Celia’s face paled. “It went that far?”

  “He never even figured it out,” Macy said. “If he did, he played dumb to avoid any awkwardness. If you love him, maybe this is a good time to show him.”

  Celia’s eyes narrowed. “Who is she?”

  “Louisa.”

  Celia nearly choked. “No. She—she could have anyone she wants. She’s pretty, and funny, and Walt is so serious—” She sniffed. “I’m never going to speak to her again.” She said it as if she meant it.

  Macy needed to be blunt. “You might as well get over it. We’re going to have to see each other for the next fifty years, if we’re lucky. And Louisa said she never would have done it if you hadn’t acted so besotted with Deacon and uninterested in Walter.”

  Celia gasped.

  “Besides,” Macy forged on, “she likes someone else now. So you dodged a bullet.”

  Tears formed in Celia’s eyes.

  Macy laid a hand on her arm. “Don’t forget—friends and neighbors for the next fifty years. And hate causes wrinkles. The important thing is, do you love Walter?”

  “Hell yes, I do!”

  “Well, go get him. But leave us your unwrapped gift first, and stop flirting with Deacon. Okay? I love him, and it pisses me off.”

  “All right.” Celia softened her glare just a tad. “And thank you, Macy. For the apology and for telling me this other story. I know I’ve been unfair to you.”

  “Can we start over?” Macy couldn’t believe she was asking that question. Was she in an alternative universe? Or had she just become a real adult, perhaps?

  “How so?” Celia asked.

  “We’ve both been hurt by what happened when we were kids. You know what I’m talking about, right?”

  Celia sighed. “Yes.”

  “We had nothing to do with it.”

  “Yeah.” Celia looked away.

  “I’m sorry if my dad hurt your mom.”

  Celia looked up at the sky. “I’m sorry my mom interfered with your parents’ relationship.” She looked back at Macy. “She was lonely. Still is.” She hesitated. “But it’s her fault. She’s a real bitch.”

  Macy gave a little laugh. “I know I shouldn’t laugh, it’s sad. But—”

  “It’s funny,” said Celia. “She never learns, and I just keep telling her she needs to lighten up.” Her mouth drooped. “I’m no good at that either.”

  “Keep coming over to Fran’s house,” Macy said. “And mine. We’ll help you lighten up. Your mother too. I’d love to see her.”

  Celia looked doubtful. “You’re a good egg, Macy.”

  “Thanks.” Macy chuckled. “Let’s give each other a real hug, not the fake social kind.”

  So they did. And it was nice, even though Celia told Macy she didn’t like the smell of her shampoo and thought she should switch brands. “Good luck with Deacon,” she added. “Does he know you love him?”

  “No.”

  “Why isn’t he here?”

  Macy’s heart felt like it was in a million pieces. “I don’t know.”

  Celia shot her a look of actual sympathy. “Well, I’ll hope for the best.”

  “And I’ll hope the same for you.” Macy smiled at her.

  Celia smiled back.

  And Macy knew she’d made a new friend. A real friend.

  Her life was so weird. And wonderful!

  Except for the romance part.

  That was terrible. Worse than waking up on Christmas morning to a piece of coal in your stocking. Far worse.

  * * *

  Half an hour later, it was time to make the surprise announcement, before everyone left. Macy was genuinely happy to see Penelope Gordon show up in time.

  “Have you seen Deacon?” Penelope wore a beautiful cashmere blue scarf that matched her eyes.

  Macy shook her head. “Sorry.” And she was. Sorrier than anyone would ever know, except Oscar. She told Oscar everything.

  “Listen.” Penelope stalled a second. “Um, maybe I shouldn’t bring this up. But you’re aware that Deacon and I are only friends.”

  “Yes.”

  “But you also know we’ve been seeing each other a lot lately. And you might have thought we’d ramped things up.”

  “I did wonder, yes.”

  “Well, I honestly hoped we would. I’m sorry, Macy. I hope you forgive me—”

  “It’s okay. I understand completely.”

  “But it didn’t work. I made a play for him, and … he’s not interested. He apologized for leading me on, and I said, no, he never did. It was a mess, but we’re fine now. Still friends.”

  “I’m glad.” And she was.

  Penelope shrugged. “It’s so apparent he has you on his mind. He tried very hard not to show that with me. But it was impossible not to see it.”

  Macy was at a loss for words.

  Penelope gave a little laugh. “I just want to assure you—he never even kissed me good night beyond a peck on the cheek.” Her expression softened. “The truth is, it’s always nice to make a new friend—a true friend—and that’s what he is to me now.”

  “Real friends are hard to come by,” Macy said as she took her hand. “You okay?”

  Penelope nodded. “Thanks.”

  “I have to be honest,” Macy said. “I was worried. I love Deacon. And I want to be with him. But he doesn’t seem to think of me as anything more than a good friend. Falling in love is a real hassle. I thought it would be easy peasy.”

  “When it comes, you have to go for it,” Penelope said with a wistful smile. “I hope it works out for you two, Macy. I really do. Meanwhile, I’ve got some news about Deacon’s ancestry. Is this a good time to share it?”

  “Sure.” It didn’t seem possible that a New Yorker like Deacon would have connections in Charleston, but that was silly. Of course he could.

  “There’s a report in the old city records that a traveling craftsman stopped here for three months in 1779. His name was Shepard Banks. We don’t know what he did, exactly. But he was paid very well for his services by a family on Love Lane.”

  “Shepard Banks?” Macy actually felt lightheaded at the news. “This is the only house on Love Lane, of course, so he must have worked here. Penelope, I think you’ve provided the missing detail—an amazing, awesome missing detail. Thank you.”

  “What? What missing detail?”

  “You’ll find out in a minute.” Macy squeezed her hand. She wanted Ella to speak so badly!

  “You look really excited.” Penelope’s voice was a mere squeak.

  “Sorry if I’m making you nervous,” Macy said. “You’ll be excited, I promise. Just a few more seconds, and you’ll see.”

  “I’ll hold out,” Penelope agreed. “But when I told Deacon about Shepard Banks, he had no reaction. It dumbfounded me. And so I asked him about it, and he confessed that he was very unhappy.”

  “He did?” Macy hated hearing that. Suddenly, she didn’t care about Penelope’s research and Ella’s forthcoming speech. All she cared abou
t was Deacon. He was everything. It was probably stupid of her, but he was. She couldn’t be happy if he wasn’t happy.

  Penelope sighed. “He told me it always seems that just when he starts to belong somewhere, he feels the compulsion to move on. He’s going back to New York. So Macy, you have to move fast. No time to lose. Get that man to stay. I think he might leave the day after Christmas.”

  “I need to be honest with him,” Macy said, panicking at the idea of him leaving so soon. “I need to tell him how I feel. Even if he does think of me just as a friend.”

  “Of course you should tell him,” Penelope said stoutly. “And I know he has feelings for you. Just remember—matchmakers need to take care of themselves too, not just other people. Cupid’s also after you.”

  “I will.” Macy hugged her friend long and hard. “We need to go to lunch. Or have a spend-the-night party at my house, just the two of us. Wait—Celia too.”

  Penelope raised a brow. “Celia?”

  “She could use some fun friends,” Macy whispered. “We’ll dance, watch a movie, and have a decadent dinner and dessert.”

  “I’d love that.”

  They stood shoulder-to-shoulder when Ella took to the small stage the colonel had set up for them. Her petite self was absolutely adorable and sexy. She wore a body-hugging red dress that stopped at the top of her toned thighs, a cropped black leather jacket over it, playful snowflake tights, and cool black ankle boots. Of course, she wore the requisite Santa hat too.

  As usual, when she got on a stage, she sparkled. She was like Fran that way, a born performer. Everyone knew her from the many plays she’d starred in at the Dock Street Theatre, so there were lots of whistles and applause. She smiled broadly and waited for the crowd to settle down.

  Finally, she found her moment. “Something special happened yesterday at Two Love Lane,” she said loud enough for the people in the back of the crowd to hear, “so let me get right to it. You know how they say truth is stranger than fiction?”

  “Yes!” the crowd roared.

  Macy blew her a kiss, and Ella winked back.

  “Well, guess what,” Ella said, a little swagger in her tone. “We found a hidden compartment in my office, and behind it was this sheaf of papers.” She held a few yellowed scraps high in the air.

  The crowd reacted with stomps and whistles.

  “They appear to be part of a journal,” Ella said. She was doing a great job getting the crowd excited, and Macy could tell she was having fun. “A journal that belonged to a young woman named Miranda Langford, who used to live here.” She paused and her expression grew serious. “You’re never gonna guess how old it is.”

  “How old?” cried the partygoers.

  “It dates all the way back to the Revolutionary War,” Ella said.

  The crowd went even crazier.

  “You’re right to be excited.” Ella beamed and held the papers aloft again. “This document is part of Charleston’s history.”

  Penelope laid her hand on Macy’s arm. “Is this for real?”

  Macy laughed. “Yes. Listen closely. Your historian’s heart will love this. I think it relates to your information about Shepard Banks.”

  “I’m listening all right.” Penelope tightened her grip on Macy’s arm.

  The clapping and noise eventually subsided.

  “Apparently,” Ella said, “these pages were ripped out of the journal so no one would ever find them. We’re guessing Miranda didn’t burn them because they meant a great deal to her. They tell a fascinating love story.”

  A master craftsman, Ella explained, had come to Two Love Lane to forge its iron gate. In her journal, Miranda never let on who this man was beyond using his initials, SB. But according to her, they were madly in love. Sadly, he wasn’t considered a worthy suitor. But he left behind a loving, lasting token of his love for Miranda. His initials were in the design of the gate, entwined with hers.

  As one, everyone turned toward the piece of art that served as a gate.

  “You can see those initials if you look closely,” Ella said. “The most obvious design is the two interlocking hearts, which Miranda’s father approved. He meant those to represent his own love for his deceased wife. The craftsman—SB—satisfied that wish but managed to add his own secret romantic message to Miranda as well. It’s near the bottom, below the interlocking hearts.”

  Greer stood at the gate, practically bursting with excitement. Slowly, she ran her finger over the nearly hidden initials SB and ML to point them out to the crowd.

  “Wow,” said Penelope. “I see it! SB and ML … SB has to stand for Shepard Banks.”

  “I think so too.” Macy couldn’t help but be ebullient at the discovery. “But can we really be sure this Shepard Banks was Deacon’s relative?”

  “No,” said Miranda. “But Deacon can continue the research, especially now that he has a solid name to go on.”

  “Honestly, I think Shepard Banks is Deacon’s ancestor,” Macy said. “I feel it in my gut. Why else would his grandfather have held onto that family fact—that a Banks had lived in Charleston? This was a Banks to be proud of, a master craftsman. The details might have been lost over the generations, but look at Deacon’s family. They’re all artistic in one way or another.”

  “I wouldn’t be a bit surprised, now that I know Deacon.” Penelope flipped her scarf over her shoulder as if she were an explorer about to embark on a big adventure. “The Historical Society will be anxious to get their hands on Miranda’s papers. They’re a priceless treasure. What a story to add to our collection.”

  Macy smiled. Priceless treasure. Just like Ella’s nonna had said. “It makes Two Love Lane all the more special.” Her heart brimmed with pride. And she was so happy for Deacon.

  He had roots here. At least a very strong likelihood. That was a wonderful thing. Plus, his family connection might be directly related to Two Love Lane’s history. That was something extra special, and Macy had goose bumps just thinking about it.

  While everyone clapped, Macy looked over to where the colonel had sat with the children to ask them what they wanted for Christmas—and saw Santa sitting there again.

  It was a different Santa this time. And when their gazes met, he stood with a bag on his shoulder and made his way to the stage. Macy had no idea what was happening. But she knew who this Santa was by his eyes—and his confident gait.

  Deacon.

  She had a massive flock of butterflies in her middle. And a buzzing in her ears. She felt alive—raw and exposed. But she also felt real and full—and bright.

  A crazy thought went through her, that she was like a Christmas star shining in the night. Suspended. Alone. But looking smack dab at love.

  Celebrating love.

  The colonel made eye contact with her, grinned, and shrugged. Fran smiled broadly and clapped like mad, her eyes glued on her special Santa nephew.

  The new Santa made the universal sign to encourage the clapping to continue, raising both his arms repeatedly, and the applause went on as he kissed Ella’s cheek and exchanged places with her. Then he put up one hand to still the crowd, and instant silence reigned.

  “Ho Ho Ho,” he said first, in an awesome New York–style Santa voice that made Macy giggle. “Merry Christmas!”

  “Merry Christmas!” the audience shouted back.

  His gaze met Macy’s. He grinned, and her stomach did another huge flip-flop.

  Love, love, love!

  She was sick with it. The smile she shot him was wobbly and full of tears and laughter and a need to hold him tight and just be.

  With him.

  But all that was on hold. Deacon cleared his throat importantly, the way Santa might. “I want to tell you all about a young lady I know,” he said, “a modern Miranda Langford, if you will. She belongs to this house. And I love her dearly. Macy Frost, can you come up here, please?”

  Everyone clapped madly.

  Without hesitation, she went. And as soon as she got up there, she kiss
ed Santa for all she was worth.

  That really brought the house down. Santa was forced to ask everyone to be quiet so he could continue. “I have a present for you, Macy.”

  “Yes, Santa?” Her heart was already full.

  He took a small, square box from the bag, got down on one knee, and opened it. A beautiful diamond-and-emerald ring sat nestled in blue velvet. He paused a beat, then said, “Macy, my love, will you marry me?”

  A child in the audience yelled for everyone to hear. “Mom! I thought Santa was already married!”

  “Mrs. Claus wants me to ask her every year,” Deacon ad-libbed. “Isn’t she lovely?”

  He squeezed Macy’s hand tighter.

  She laughed.

  “Mrs. Claus lives in Charleston?” another child asked.

  “Santa and I have a second home here,” Macy explained.

  “Ohhhh,” several children exclaimed.

  Deacon’s eyes were genuinely twinkling up at her. They were digging themselves a deeper and deeper hole. But if that was what commitment meant, she was all in. And so was he.

  Ella, Greer, and Miss Thing had their arms around each other’s waists, all of them beaming up at her with pride and love. And there were Anne, Kyle, Lucy, and Sam—the children wide-eyed, Anne crying. Anne blew Macy a kiss. Kyle held a special guest—Oscar, in his tote bag. Macy’s favorite feline’s ears were flat, and he was almost cross-eyed with annoyance because he didn’t like all the noise.

  And there were the colonel and Fran, and George, pointing his camera her way. She was glad he was filming everything for posterity.

  And there were her parents! Her mom was wiping away happy tears. Her father was grinning from ear to ear as he held up a sign written in thick black marker in his familiar scrawl: HE’S BEEN TO DINNER TO ASK PERMISSION. AND WE LOVE HIM!

  Her mom had added little red hearts all over the sign. Macy knew she would keep that sign forever.

  Tears blurred her vision. “Yes Santa, I’ll marry you,” she said. She quickly added, “A-Again” for the skeptical children’s sake.

  Gazing into her beloved’s handsome face, she realized that she wouldn’t mind marrying him over and over, every day from then on for the rest of their lives. Not only that, they would keep Christmas all year round. They’d never lose the hope of the season. Love would guide them. Love would sustain them.