A Christmas to Remember

by Thomas Kinkade

  “One of us grew up,” Oliver’s friend added. “The other will remain Cape Light’s own Peter Pan…with a trust fund.”

  “Very funny. He’s a great wit,” Oliver said, looking annoyed at the comment.

  Lillian couldn’t help smiling at the joke.

  “I don’t know how you get all the gorgeous ones, Oliver.” He bent his head toward Lillian. “How do you do? I’m Ezra Elliot.” He extended his hand politely and Lillian shook it. “Doctor Elliot, actually.”

  “Doctor Elliot?” Oliver stared at his friend. “So you’re a real doctor now? How did that happen?”

  “The usual way, only longer. But I made it.” He glanced at Lillian. “I had just started med school when I was drafted, sent to Korea. But I made it back in one piece and started all over again.”

  “That’s very admirable,” Lillian said sincerely. She admired all the young men and women who had served their country. So many had lost their lives or come home wounded beyond repair.

  “So what’s the plan, Ezra? Coming back home to set up a practice?”

  “No plans for that right now. I’m at Children’s Hospital in Boston,” Ezra explained. “I like practicing in the city. I might come back here someday when I’m old and gray and ready to settle down.”

  “Lillian lives in Boston. She works at the Museum of Fine Arts.” Oliver sounded as if he were bragging about her, Lillian thought, though he hardly had the right.

  “That’s an interesting place to work. What do you do there?” Ezra asked, leaning toward her.

  “I’m an assistant curator in the Egyptian department.”

  “Did you study art history or archaeology?”

  “A little of both,” she answered, impressed that he knew it took a knowledge of many fields to master that era.

  “Lillian’s a very unusual woman,” Oliver cut in. “And I saw her first. Remember that.” Oliver’s warning was delivered in a jesting tone, but Lillian noticed his expression was serious.

  “In this case I might be likely to forget,” Ezra retorted. He smiled at Lillian in a way that made her blush. “You would be better off with me, Lillian. Oliver has a scandalous reputation.”

  “Oh, don’t believe him. He’s just joking.” Oliver’s tone was airy and casual, but a muscle in his jaw tightened and Lillian knew Ezra had hit a nerve.

  “Yes, of course,” Ezra said agreeably. “Oliver and I like to joke around with each other. A pleasure meeting you. Enjoy your lunch.”

  Ezra smiled again at Lillian then slapped Oliver on the shoulder, and the two men made vague promises to meet soon.

  Lillian and Oliver both watched from the window as Ezra left the diner and headed on his way down Main Street. He wasn’t nearly as tall as Oliver or as handsome, Lillian noticed. But he was clever and intellectual, more the type of man she was used to socializing with.

  “You really shouldn’t believe what Ezra said about me,” Oliver told her. “He’s just jealous. He would love to meet a girl like you, beautiful and accomplished and intelligent.”

  Lillian snapped open her menu and glanced at the list of dishes. “Everyone in town is warning me about you,” she pointed out. “Are they all jealous?”

  Oliver laughed and picked up his own menu. “People like to talk about me and my family. You’ll have to get used to that once we’re married. You seem very level-headed. I think you’ll do fine.”

  Lillian dropped her menu and stared at him an instant then looked away, trying to hide her reaction.

  Married, indeed. They hadn’t even ordered lunch yet.

  These outrageous pronouncements seemed to be part of Oliver’s flirting technique. He didn’t mean anything by it, she was sure. The man didn’t have a serious bone in his body.

  Otto approached the table, order pad in hand. “Sorry for the wait, folks.”

  “Now here’s a man who’ll stand up for my character.” Oliver turned to Otto. “Will you kindly tell this young woman that she can trust me?”

  Otto looked surprised. “Trust him? I trust him with my life.” He leaned closer to Lillian, making her feel suddenly uncomfortable. “Didn’t you know this man won the Purple Heart?” He nodded, his expression serious. “That’s right. He saved my life and the lives of about half dozen other soldiers in our unit.”

  “I didn’t even know he served,” Lillian said. Somehow the girls on the beach hadn’t mentioned that chapter of Oliver’s life, nor had Charlotte.

  “He served all right. We were on patrol and—”

  Oliver rested a hand on his friend’s beefy forearm. “Otto, please. Lillian doesn’t want to hear boring old war stories.”

  “No, go on, Otto,” Lillian insisted. “You were on patrol, you said?”

  Otto nodded. “That’s right. Night patrol, south of France. Me and Oliver had just come over. We were boys, only eighteen…”

  Oliver stared down at the table, impatient for his army buddy to finish—or lost in painful thoughts of the past? Lillian couldn’t be sure.

  “We were ambushed and a few men fell. Oliver crawled on his belly, got to the gunner up on a hill and somehow knocked him out. He took over the gun and covered us, so we could get to safety. Then he went down and helped the wounded men back to camp. I was one of them.”

  Otto rested a hand on Oliver’s shoulder. “He doesn’t like to talk about it, but you couldn’t find a better man than this one, right here, miss. That’s my opinion, anyways.”

  Lillian nodded, moved by the story and by Otto’s heartfelt testimony. Oliver didn’t seem the heroic type. He was too glib and irreverent, for one thing. Then again, you never know who will rise to the moment in a crisis. And he had saved her life today; she couldn’t discount that.

  “You never mentioned that you were in the army,” Lillian said.

  Oliver shrugged. “I don’t like to talk about the war. I would rather pretend it never happened.” He glanced at his menu. “Are you ready to order?”

  “I suppose so,” Lillian said, surprised by the swift change of topic. She ordered a cup of chowder and a clam roll, Oliver ordered the same, and Otto took the menus and headed for the kitchen.

  Lillian wanted to ask more about Oliver’s time in the service, but it was clear he didn’t want to pursue that topic. She had met other men who felt the same way. Usually, they were the ones who had seen the most bloodshed and destruction.

  The food came out quickly. Oliver carried the conversation, asking her opinion on popular books and movies. Lillian could tell he wasn’t a great reader but was trying hard to make the right impression on her.

  He was surprised—and pleased—to learn she was a baseball fan. “Lillian, you just get better and better,” he told her with a charming smile. “I’ll come to Boston and we’ll see the Red Sox.”

  Lillian didn’t answer. She didn’t want to encourage him. She had no intention of seeing him after this lunch date that she had only agreed to because he saved her from drowning.

  When they finished lunch and stepped outside, Oliver suggested a walk down to the harbor. It seemed like a good idea to her. She needed to stretch her legs after their filling lunch, and she wasn’t in any rush to take another windy ride in the little red convertible.

  They walked down Main Street, headed for the village green. It wasn’t nearly as hot as it had been earlier on the beach. A light breeze blew off the harbor, ruffling the leafy treetops and the sails of boats tethered to the town dock.

  “What did you think of the Clam Box, Lillian? Do you think he’ll stay in business?”

  “I thought the chowder pasty and the clams too chewy, and I don’t think that place will last very long…though he’s certainly a very nice man.”

  Oliver slung his arm around her shoulder. “You don’t mince words, do you?”

  “Don’t ask me a question if you don’t want an honest answer.”

  “I’ll remember that,” Oliver promised with a grin. “But for Otto’s sake, let’s hope the rest of the world isn’t as partic
ular as you are.”

  Lillian felt as if he was teasing her but in a good-natured way. Her mouth twisted as she fought off a smile, but finally she couldn’t help herself.

  Oliver led them out onto the wide dock. The harbor was filled with boats, all shapes and sizes, many tied up to the dock for the day, and more anchored out in the harbor. Seagulls swooped and swirled overhead, occasionally coming to perch on one of the wooden pilings jutting from the water.

  The far end of the dock was reserved for working fishermen and their sturdy, homely vessels. Lillian saw piles of nets and box-shaped lobster traps. A few men in black rubber boots worked together, loading buckets of fish onto a truck.

  A fisherman sat by a shed on a wooden crate, smoking a pipe while he worked on a trap with a pair of pliers. He wore a stained work shirt, tattered dungarees, and big rubber boots.

  As they drew close, Lillian could see he wasn’t much older than Oliver, though his long shaggy beard initially gave the impression of a man much older. He looked like the Ancient Mariner, she thought, or what you would think the Ancient Mariner might look like.

  Two big dogs lay at his feet, one a black Labrador, the other a shaggy brown hound of undistinguishable origin. They both had thick, wet fur and smelled badly. A little girl sat beside him, too, dangling her bare feet over the edge of the dock. She wore a yellow cotton sundress and had dark brown braids hanging down her back. Her skinny arms stuck out as she held a fishing pole over the water.

  “Hello, Digger. Are you going after lobster now?” Oliver greeted the fisherman.

  Digger shook his head. “Just working on this trap for a buddy. Nothing better to do until the tide goes out.”

  “This is my friend Lillian. Lillian, this is Digger Hegman.”

  Digger nodded. “How do you do, miss?”

  “Digger is the best clammer in town. Maybe even in all of New England.”

  Digger shook his head, looking embarrassed by the praise. “Not so loud, Ollie. The clams are always listening.” He glanced around, as if the bivalves were eavesdropping that very minute. “Haven’t seen you on the flats much this summer. You lose your rake?”

  “I haven’t had much time for clamming lately, Digger. But I’ll meet up with you soon,” Oliver promised.

  Lillian found it hard to picture urbane Oliver Warwick and this crusty fisherman digging up clams together, but Oliver did have an unexpected side.

  “Don’t forget now. You rich boys need your exercise.” Digger patted Oliver’s flat stomach and laughed. Then he tapped his daughter on the shoulder. “Say hello to Mr. Warwick, Gracie. Show him your manners.”

  The adorable little girl tipped her head back and smiled up at Oliver and Lillian. “Hello, Mr. Warwick.”

  Oliver crouched down to talk to her. “Catch anything?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Fishing is hot work,” he said sympathetically. “You look like you could use an ice cream cone. Strawberry maybe?”

  Grace considered the suggestion very carefully. Lillian could see she was a very serious child.

  “I think I could,” she said finally.

  Oliver laughed, reached into his pocket, and gave Grace a folded bill. The ice cream would only cost a nickel. The rest could buy a few bags of groceries for her family. Very generous, Lillian thought. But the girl and her father looked like they could use a little charity.

  “You go ahead. I’ll hold the pole for you.”

  Grace looked at her father, who nodded his consent. Oliver took the pole, and Grace jumped up and ran down the dock. The dogs lifted their heads, then the black one rose and slowly padded after her.

  Lillian smiled. “I guess she likes strawberry ice cream.”

  Digger nodded. “Females favor pink food. That’s what I’ve found.”

  “Not me,” Lillian said.

  “Then you must be the exception, miss.” Digger turned to Oliver. “Here, give me that.”

  Digger took the fishing pole from Oliver, stuck it on the dock, then held it in place with his boot, while he kept working.

  “I told Grace she wouldn’t catch anything out here this time of day. But she’s an awfully stubborn little girl.”

  “Women can be that way in general, I’ve found.” Oliver glanced at Lillian, a teasing light in his eye.

  They said good-bye to Digger and headed for the village green. The shady path under the tall trees felt like an oasis. They found an empty bench, and Oliver wiped it off with his pocket handkerchief, offering Lillian a seat.

  The bench faced the harbor and they soon saw Grace return with her ice cream, skipping down the dock toward her father. The black dog followed, licking the trail that dripped from the cone.

  “I enjoyed talking with your friend Digger, but clams can’t actually hear,” she said finally. “I doubt they have any senses at all.”

  “Don’t tell Digger that. He’s sure they can even smell him coming.” Oliver looked so serious, Lillian had to smile.

  His arm was slung over the back of the bench, not touching her but close enough. He leaned even closer when he spoke, face so near all she could think about suddenly was the way he had kissed her on the deck the night before.

  “I’m not sure what to make of you, Oliver. Everyone has a different story. It’s hard to sort it all out.”

  Oliver looked pleased. “At least you’re trying. I think you just have to spend more time with me and decide for yourself.”

  Lillian looked out at the water. “I’m only in town for a few more days. It doesn’t make any sense to start dating. It can’t lead anywhere.”

  “Boston isn’t so far away. I go into the city fairly often. I can come and see you anytime you like.”

  Lillian glanced at him. He wasn’t going to be put off. Not like most men who would politely accept her excuses.

  Even if half of the gossip Charlotte had related was true, Oliver Warwick was not the type of young man her family would approve of. For one thing, he was divorced. For another, despite all the Warwick money, her parents wouldn’t be eager to tie their good name to a bootlegger’s fortune.

  Lillian knew there was something more—the strong attraction she felt was mixed with a feeling of…unease. She had always been able to hold her own with men and often took the upper hand, even with her former fiancé, George.

  Oliver was another type altogether. He was older than she was, about six or seven years, she guessed. He was much more experienced with women. Impulsive and unpredictable, exciting to be around, she never knew what he was going to do next. Which she didn’t like at all.

  “Do you want to know what I think?” Lillian asked, turning to him again.

  He gave a comical wince. “I have a feeling you’re about to be painfully honest with me. Go ahead. I can take it.”

  “I think you’re bored and something about me amuses you. Maybe I’m different from other women you meet.” She shrugged. “I don’t know. But I’m really not your type. I think you know that. We had a nice day together. So why not just…let it go?”

  He stared at her a long moment. “You are different, I agree with you there. But I’m as serious as I’ve ever been. I mean to keep seeing you, Lillian. You’re not going to get away from me that easily.”

  He cupped her face with his hand. Then he leaned over and kissed her. Lillian resisted for a moment, trying to pull away. But it was no use. She felt herself melting toward him, as if she had no will of her own.

  Southport Hospital, Present-day

  EMILY SAT BY HER MOTHER’S BED, WATCHING LILLIAN SLEEP. DR. Bartow had decided to keep Lillian a day longer than he initially expected. He had some concerns about her blood pressure, which fluctuated on Monday but had stabilized today. If all remained stable, she would be sent home tomorrow morning, he said.

  The extra day had given Emily and Jessica time to get their mother’s house ready. Not much time, but somehow they had managed, bringing in a hospital bed and making a bedroom for her on the first floor in one of the many s
pare rooms. Like so much of the house, the room was drab and needed painting, but there hadn’t been any time for redecorating.

  Emily was sure her mother would insist that she needed to be in her real bedroom. But there was no way they would be able to get her up the stairs. And even if they did, how would she get back down?

  They had also hired a day nurse. Luckily, Sara was still planning on staying there at night. Emily knew that it was going to be a sacrifice for her daughter and thought it was very good of her to offer. She hoped Lillian wouldn’t be too difficult with the day nurse or Sara. But that was probably hoping too much.

  Lillian opened her eyes and turned to stare at Emily. “What time is it?”

  “Nearly six. I have to go in a few minutes. Jessica will be by later and you’re going home in the morning.”

  “Yes, I know.” Lillian closed her eyes again.

  Emily worried that her mother had been sleeping too much the past few days, drifting in and out. But Dr. Bartow said it was normal, the result of the pain medication she was still taking and the trauma of the fall.

  “Ezra called. He wanted to come visit you here, but I told him you would be home tomorrow. He’ll probably call back later.”

  “Ezra…he fought in the war. Korea. Went to medical school on the GI Bill…Did you know that?” Lillian spoke with her eyes closed, as if she were reporting from a dream.

  “No, I didn’t,” Emily replied. She stood up and touched her mother’s arm. “Your dinner is here. Do you want some help before I go?”

  Lillian shook her head, her eyes still shut. “The chowder is pasty and the clams are very chewy,” she complained. “I doubt that it will last.”

  Emily smiled. Her mother was having a dream. And complaining about her food in it, obviously.

  “It’s baked chicken, Mother, with carrots and rice.”

  Lillian’s eyes opened. “Oh, never mind. I’m not hungry,” she grumbled, turning to her side. “Just let me sleep, will you?”

  A knock on the door made Lillian turn around again. Emily turned, too, to see Reverend Ben Lewis step into the room, his coat draped over one arm. “I hope this isn’t an inconvenient time. I was visiting Vera Plante and thought I would drop by to see you, Lillian.”