A Christmas to Remember

by Thomas Kinkade

  He opened his eyes and beamed down at her.

  “Your name isn’t by any chance…Lillian, is it?”

  Lillian’s mouth made a perfect circle, then she snapped it closed. “You knew that all along.”

  He feigned an innocent stare that nearly persuaded her. Except for the teasing light in his eyes.

  “I know your cousin, Charlotte. But that was fun.”

  “Fun for you, maybe.”

  “That should teach you the first thing about me, Lillian. You shouldn’t take me seriously. Unless I tell you to, of course,” he added with another teasing look.

  “Okay, I’ll remember that.”

  As if they’d ever see each other again. Not very likely. He was hardly her type. Just the opposite.

  He smiled at her warmly, seeming not to notice her sarcastic tone. “Now that we’ve got that settled, would you like to dance?”

  “No, thank you.”

  “We can dance right here. It’s very picturesque.”

  What he really meant was romantic. It was a romantic notion to dance with a handsome stranger on a deck that overlooked the harbor.

  But Lillian was not swayed. The whole idea…annoyed her.

  “Thank you, but I was just about to go.”

  “Go? You can’t go yet. I’ve been waiting all night to talk to you.”

  This last line was really too much. The man had no shame.

  Lillian practically laughed at him. “No, you haven’t. You’ve been well occupied entertaining your friends at the bar…and dancing with any number of women.”

  He beamed, as if she had just confessed her undying passion.

  “So you had your eye on me, too? I thought so, but you’re so classy and well-bred, Lillian. It was hard to tell for sure.”

  Lillian felt her face flush with color. She straightened her shoulders and took a sudden step back. “That’s not what I meant at all. I didn’t even notice you were in the room…. I took no special notice, if that’s what you’re implying.”

  He looked down at her, smiling gently. He reached out and softly ran his fingertips down her bare arm. Lillian knew she should say something. She should step away and not allow him to take such liberties.

  But somehow, she felt frozen to the spot and did nothing.

  “How many women did I dance with, do you think? I bet you know.”

  She did know. That was what was so galling about the question.

  “This conversation is getting tiresome. I’m going in now. Good night.”

  She started to walk away, but Oliver Warwick caught her hand. “I was wishing all the time I was dancing with you. I should have had the nerve to ask you, but I didn’t dare. I thought you would turn me down.”

  “You’re right. I would have.” She tried to sound convincing, but she knew she hadn’t quite pulled it off.

  She stood facing him, not quite knowing what to do next. He still held her hand, now in both of his own. She had never been in such a situation with a man before.

  “May I have my hand back, please?” she asked quietly. “I don’t want to make a scene.”

  He laughed but didn’t release her. “Not yet.” He gazed down at her, the smile gone. His gaze wandered over her face, studying her features. Did he like what he saw? Then she was angry at herself for caring. “You’re very beautiful,” he said quietly.

  “No, I’m not. You’re just saying that.”

  “You like to argue, don’t you?”

  She looked up at him, about to counter that observation, too, when he bent his head and kissed her. Right on the lips. Not too hard but not too soft either. It wasn’t the sort of hesitant, testing peck she remembered from college boys.

  He wasn’t a college boy. He kissed her as if he had a perfect right, his lips lingering for a moment, tasting her mouth. Then just in time to escape her complete wrath, he pulled away.

  He watched, waiting for her reaction.

  She drew back her hand and slapped him squarely across the jaw.

  He took a breath and rubbed his cheek. Then he smiled. “You’re stronger than you look.”

  “You have some nerve, Mr. Warwick.”

  “Oliver, please. I think we’re on a first name basis now, don’t you?”

  “I don’t think…anything about you,” she sputtered. She took a deep breath and looked out at the water. It was just a kiss. She had been kissed before. Kissed plenty. Why had it rattled her down to her bones?

  Oliver’s voice broke into her flustered thoughts. “May I call you tomorrow? You’re staying with your cousin, right?”

  Did he think she was going to go on a date with him? Of all the outrageous assumptions…

  “Lily? There you are. I’ve been looking all over for you.” Charlotte stepped out onto the deck. Lillian could tell she was surprised to find her with a man. “Hello, Oliver. I see you’ve met my cousin.”

  “Yes, I have. We’ve been having an interesting conversation, getting to know each other. Right, Lillian?”

  Why did he have to put it that way? As if there was something going on out here. Lillian knew Charlotte’s suspicions were already piqued, just by having found them out here together.

  And if mere suspicions weren’t enough, Oliver had lipstick all over his mouth, she noticed. She hoped Charlotte wouldn’t notice. But of course, her cousin would pick up on something like that right away.

  Oliver Warwick leaned back on the railing, his gaze fixed on Lillian. “I just invited Lillian to go out tomorrow, but she hasn’t given me her answer yet.”

  Lillian saw Charlotte’s eyes widen. She looked about to bubble over with a fit of girlish giggling. Lillian pinned her with a cold, hard stare.

  “I would be happy to take both of you to Plum Island and out to lunch,” Oliver offered.

  “Oh, we would love to go,” Charlotte answered quickly.

  “But we can’t,” Lillian cut in. “We promised to go to the horse show in Hamilton with your mother.”

  “The horse show? She doesn’t…”

  “Of course she does! She has tickets. We can’t disappoint her.” Lillian drew closer to her cousin with every word, signaling a silent message with her eyes.

  Finally, Charlotte took the hint. “Oh, yes. I forgot. We do have plans. Maybe another time, Oliver.”

  Lillian wouldn’t second that suggestion. She was only visiting for a week. She didn’t plan on spending any of her precious vacation with Oliver Warwick.

  The man was such a bore. Well…not boring exactly. But so pushy. Lillian didn’t like men like that.

  “Good night, Lillian.” Oliver sketched a small bow. “I look forward to continuing our conversation.”

  “Good-bye, Oliver.”

  Lillian ushered Charlotte off the deck and led her through the party and out the front door of the club, where a valet brought their car.

  She was eager to put a great distance between herself and Oliver Warwick.

  Cape Light, Late November, Present-day

  EVERY WINDOW IN HER GRANDMOTHER’S HOUSE WAS DARK WHEN Sara Franklin pulled into the driveway. That wasn’t unusual. Lillian hardly kept any lights on. The huge Victorian looked spooky in the wintry late afternoon light. It wasn’t quite five, but it was already nearly dark outside. A few loose shutters shivered and creaked in the wind, and the bare branches of trees scratched against the clapboard.

  Sara strode up the walk to the front door, a plastic bag of groceries dangling from each arm. Her boots crunched on a thin layer of ice and snow that had fallen only a few days ago, on Thanksgiving morning. Like clockwork, Sara thought. Every year since she had come up from Maryland to live in New England, snow had begun falling by Thanksgiving.

  Sara rang the bell for the second time and peered in the window. No sign of life. But that wasn’t unusual either. It often took Lillian a very long time to answer the door. She might be reading or watching TV and didn’t hear the bell or the knocking. She claimed to have perfect hearing, but Sara was doubtful. If Lillian was
napping upstairs in her room, she wouldn’t hear the bell no matter how many times you rang it.

  She also had an aversion to visitors, even those she expected. Lillian never hurried herself to let anyone in.

  Sara set the bags of food down near the door and knocked harder. She waited a few more moments then walked around to the far side of the porch where she found the emergency key hidden in a decorative wooden birdhouse that hung from the rafters.

  Lillian hated it when anyone let themselves in, even her daughters. The house was her private and sovereign domain, and “to have people traipsing in and out, as they pleased” unnerved her.

  But this is practically an emergency, Sara reasoned. She had promised to bring her grandmother some groceries and visit with her awhile. She had to meet Luke, her fiancé, later and didn’t have all that much time to spend here.

  Sara turned the key in the lock, hefted her bags, and pushed the big door open with her shoulder. She stepped into the large foyer and set the bags on the antique mail table. Then she looked around and turned on a low lamp.

  “Lillian, are you upstairs?” she called. “It’s Sara. I’ve been standing outside for a while. I let myself in….”

  Usually by now, Sara would hear some cackling response from the deeper recesses of the rambling old house. But she heard only silence. The ticking of the big clock in the foyer and the sound of water trickling suddenly through the pipes. She felt a chill and started up the stairs. Slowly at first, then faster.

  “Lillian? Are you all right?…Please answer me….”

  The hallway upstairs was dark, except for a thin shaft of light that streamed down from the attic door. The door was open, blocking her view of the rest of the long hallway.

  Sara knew something was wrong. Her grandmother was very particular about watching her expenses. She would never leave the attic door open in the winter. Sara hurried toward the open door.

  Then she saw her. Sprawled out at the bottom of the steps, curled on her side, her one leg twisted underneath her at a painful-looking angle.

  “Lillian!” Sara gasped and swallowed back a bitter taste at the back of her throat. Dear God, please let her be alive.

  She dropped down and felt her grandmother’s neck. A pulse beat faintly but steadily, thank God.

  She gripped Lillian’s hand, and her grandmother moaned softly then opened her eyes. She struggled to raise her head.

  “No, don’t move,” Sara said quickly. She didn’t know much about first aid, but she knew you weren’t supposed to move someone who’d had a bad fall. It could make the injury worse. Especially someone as old and fragile as Lillian. “I’ll call for help. They’ll be here right away.”

  Sara pulled her cell phone out of her jacket pocket and dialed 911. An operator came on the line right away. “It’s my grandmother. She’s had a bad fall. She needs an ambulance right away….”

  Sara gave the address and the rest of the information and then checked her watch. How long would it take for them to get here? Lillian might be bleeding internally. She could be very badly hurt, though she was still conscious.

  That was a good sign, wasn’t it?

  Her grandmother’s cheek was pressed against the floor. She looked up at Sara. “You…you’ve finally come…I was waiting…”

  “Yes, I’m here. It’s going to be okay,” Sara promised, hoping that was true. “I’ve called nine-one-one. The ambulance is on its way.”

  “I hate ambulances…. I hate hospitals.”

  Could her grandmother actually argue about going to the hospital in her state? Sara was flabbergasted. Then again, her grandmother could argue about anything and often did.

  Sara patted Lillian’s hand while dialing the cell phone with the other. “Are you in much pain?”

  “What do you think? It hurts all over!” Lillian’s usually sharp voice was a strained whisper. “Who are you calling now?”

  “Emily,” Sara replied, naming her birth mother.

  “Yes, of course, Emily. Tell her what’s happened. Jessica, too…” she murmured the name of her other daughter.

  Sara hoped Emily was home and would pick up the phone. She listened impatiently as the phone rang one, two…eight times. It was really no surprise. Emily was always so busy—either with Sara’s little stepsister, Jane, or her job as mayor—that she rarely picked up the phone at home.

  But as Sara began to talk to the answering machine, Emily picked up. “Sara? Is that you?”

  “Yes, I’m at Lillian’s. I just got here, and she’s had an accident. She fell down the attic steps. I just called for an ambulance. You’d better come right away,” Sara said quickly.

  “An ambulance? What kind of accident? Is she breathing? Is she conscious?” Emily’s voice rose, sounding more anxious with each question.

  “She’s awake and can talk. But she’s in pain. She must have broken something.”

  “I’m not dead yet,” Lillian managed to squawk from the floor. “Tell her that for me, will you?”

  “I’ll be right there. Don’t leave without me…. I mean, yes. Leave if the ambulance gets there. I’ll catch up at the hospital. I have her insurance cards and information. You don’t have to worry about finding all that….”

  “Okay, that’s good to know.”

  “Try to keep her awake if you can.”

  “Yes, I will.” Sara had heard that was important, too.

  The connection with Emily broke off, and Sara turned back to her grandmother again. She softly stroked her wispy white hair. Lillian’s usual upswept hairdo had come undone, and Sara realized that her hair was quite long, longer than her own.

  “What can I do for you, Grandma? Is there anything I can do?”

  “Oh dear…you must think I’m done for…. You never called me Grandma before.”

  Sara didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

  “You’ve probably broken something. But I’m sure you’re going to be all right.” Sara did her best to sound convincing. She really wasn’t sure of anything.

  As for the other question, Sara didn’t think this was the time or the place to get into it.

  There was a reason Sara had never called Lillian “Grandma.” Lillian had always sidestepped acknowledging their connection. Sara’s birth mother, Emily, had eloped at age eighteen, eager to wriggle out from beneath Lillian’s thumb. She married a local fisherman Lillian had never approved of, moved to the Maryland shore with him, and lost all contact with her family. Until her young husband died in a car accident, leaving Emily eight months pregnant and injured. Lillian had come down to Maryland to take care of her, which included persuading Emily—strong-arming her really—into giving up her baby for adoption. This way, Lillian had argued, Emily could return home to Cape Light, start college and pick up her life as if the unfortunate marriage—and baby—had never happened.

  Sara had been the baby that Emily gave up. Although she was adopted and raised by loving parents, she always wondered about her birth mother. She had found Emily a few years ago, soon after she graduated from college. It had taken Sara a long time to confess her real relationship and to forgive Emily. Now she couldn’t imagine her life without her birth mother—or her birth grandmother, as she had come to think of Lillian.

  She heard Lillian’s soft groan and took her hand. Her eyes were closed again. Keep her talking. That’s what Emily had said.

  “What were you doing up in the attic? You know you shouldn’t climb stairs with your cane.”

  Lillian didn’t answer, and Sara wondered if she had lost consciousness. “I needed something,” she mumbled finally.

  “You knew I was coming. I would have gotten it for you.”

  “I couldn’t remember…. It was driving me crazy….” She let out a harsh breath, and Sara could tell it was a great effort for her to say even a few words.

  It was suddenly very quiet. Sara heard the ticking of the grandfather clock at the end of the hallway. Then she heard a siren in the distance. She stood up. It was getting
closer.

  “They’re here. I’ll be right back.” She squeezed Lillian’s hand then flew down the stairs.

  She swung open the door to find the emergency responders hurrying up the walkway with a gurney.

  “She’s upstairs. This way,” Sara called. With the EMS crew behind her, she ran back up the steps two at a time.

  She stepped back as they reached her grandmother and knelt at her side. Sara watched as they pulled out medical instruments and checked Lillian’s heartbeat and blood pressure. They looked into her eyes with a tiny flashlight. One of the EMTs leaned over and talked to her quietly. After a moment, he looked up at Sara.

  “We’re going to put a collar on her and a full-body support. She’s broken some bones. She might have some pain.”

  Sara swallowed hard and nodded.

  The emergency crew put the supports on Lillian quickly then turned her limp body to one side and then swung it over onto the stretcher. Lillian moaned with pain, a heart-wrenching sound, and Sara felt tears well up in her eyes. She stepped closer and touched her grandmother’s hand as they strapped her on the gurney.

  “Lillian, I’m right here.”

  “No…” Lillian tried to shake her head, but the support held it rigid. “Say the other…the other thing you called me…”

  Sara paused. “Grandma, I’m right here.”

  Lillian stared at Sara and blinked. Then she closed her eyes.

  “She’s okay. Her vital signs are steady,” one of the EMS workers told Sara. “She’s very strong.”

  “Can I ride with you to the hospital?”

  “No problem. Can you turn on a light or something? It’s like a museum in here.”

  It’s true, Sara thought as she found the hall light and turned it on. The old house with its heavy antique furniture and knickknacks in every corner did look like a museum.

  The EMS crew wheeled her grandmother toward the top of the staircase, then began the careful process of carrying the gurney down the long flight of stairs.

  As Sara stood back and watched, she noticed a square of paper on the floor where she had found Lillian.