Everything was the same. She wanted to believe she wasn’t.
She opened the car door and caught the empty fast food bag before it rolled into the snow. With Joel in her arms and the trash crushed in her fist, she walked to the front porch. Before she could knock, her mother opened the door and reached for Joel. “Let Nana have him,” her mother said. “Let me be a grandmother for the few hours we’re still in town.”
Hope kissed her mother’s cheek, took in the shadows under her eyes. But when her mother pressed her lips to her grandson’s hair, there was peace and happiness in her bright eyes. Joy. Her mother lived her namesake. “Mom, you aren’t supposed to be here.”
“We’ll leave early tomorrow morning.” Her mother rubbed Joel’s back. “We needed to hug our kids first. Get your bags. I’ll take him up. Your father is in the kitchen, complaining that his fig bars need ice cream.”
Hope stomped snow from her boots and set their bags inside the door. Like the street, their house remained the same: an updated leather version of the sofa sat in the family room. A flat screen TV replaced the original boxy big screen. The scent of vanilla, peppermint and warm cinnamon assaulted every breath, filling every room and making the neighbors at the end of the cul-de-sac salivate.
Her mother’s laughter drifted down the stairs along with Joel’s excited chatter. He’d discovered his second wind. Hope walked into the kitchen. Her father scowled at the cookies lined up like Santa’s helpers across every inch of available countertop.
“Your mother wasn’t certain what Joel liked.” He opened the refrigerator and pulled out a carton of milk. “Of course if you came home more often, we’d know our grandson’s favorite cookie.”
“Well, we’re here now. And mom probably didn’t want to risk the chance that I might venture into the baking world again.”
“I ate everything you ever burnt.”
She kissed her dad’s cheek. “With a pile of whipped cream on it. Don’t think I didn’t notice.”
He grinned and took a can of whipped cream from the refrigerator. “The answer to all of life’s problems.”
“I don’t think that’s mom approved.”
“Don’t see your mother in here.” He shook the can and eyed her. “Seeing that your mother is otherwise occupied, I’d like to ask you a favor.”
“I’m not lying to her.” She pointed at his plate of fig cookies. He swirled whipped cream like a snow capped mountain on each one. “Dad, you better eat those before she comes down.”
“I can handle her.” He leaned to look into the family room. “Water is running. Bath time means I have even more time.” He toasted her with his fig cookie. “I’d like you to pick-up a Christmas tree and decorate it before we return on Friday.”
“A tree,” she said. “I need to check the schedule.”
“This isn’t your law office,” he said. “You don’t need to check your calendar. Or change your plans.”
“But Dad, that’s Faith’s thing,” she said. “And mom’s expertise.”
He poured milk into a glass and looked at her. “You only have to go down to Murphy’s. It’s not like I’m asking you to drive up to Holly Acres and cut down your own.”
She gave silent thanks for that. She reached for a star cookie and knocked several candy cane cookies on the floor with her sleeve. “Can we please not talk about the tree farm?”
Her parents had left her at Holly Acres Tree Farm and blamed the excitement of cutting down their own tree. Hope had put her kindergarten lessons to good use, recited her home number to the tree farm owners and waited most of the day for her family to return.
“I won’t apologize for that.” Her dad finished off his last cookie. “You learned to be resourceful that day.”
She ignored the fallen cookies and faced her father. “And the next year, when you forgot me again at the very same tree farm, only for even longer?”
“The lesson was reinforced.” His plate empty, he swirled whipped cream on his two fingers. “And you graduated with honors and then law school with a child.”
“Because you left me when I was five for half the day at Holly Acres?”
“Because you learned fortitude, resolve and independence those few hours alone at the farm.” He stuck his whipped cream fingers in his mouth.
“Then I should thank you,” she deadpanned.
“It’s about time.” He smiled at her and motioned for her hand.
She didn’t move. “I should also plan to leave Joel in a few years for some character building.”
He aimed the container at her. “Don’t be forgetting my grandson any place.”
“It was fine for me.” She stuck her hand out.
“He isn’t you.” He swirled a pile of whipped cream on her fingers. “He’ll have his own lessons to learn.”
“But will I be qualified to teach him?” She lifted her hand, but the whipped cream slid to the side and plopped on the floor.
“You make the best decision in the moment.”
“And if it’s wrong?” She nudged the cookie crumbles on the floor with her boot and thought about the cold expression on Chris’ face when he realized Joel was his.
“You make a new one.” He grabbed her hand and swirled more whipped cream in her palm. “You get a new plan.”
But she didn’t want a new plan. She preferred the one she’d already made: law career and raising Joel. She tasted a small bite of whipped cream and washed the rest off in the sink. Walking into the pantry, she pulled the broom from the hanger, taking the makeshift nail hook with the broom handle.
Her father held out his hand. “Give it to me. I’ll fix it later.”
That’s what Chris used to tell her. He’d hold out his hand and fix her. But she’d fixed herself these last few years. She didn’t need that anymore. She dropped the nail in her pocket. “I’ll do it later.”
“And you’ll get the tree,” her father said. “There’s word Brady is coming home. But you can’t rely on your brother. That leaves you.”
“Can’t we wait and go together?”
“This is your mother’s season and I’ve ruined it by having a stroke.” He put the whipped cream away. “You’re going to help me fix it. Your mother needs help bringing Christmas to the Sullivan household. She sure as certain won’t ask. That should sound familiar.”
“I’m a strong, independent woman.” She swept up the cookies and dumped the crumbs in the trash.
He wiped off the counter with a napkin, clearing away any trace of his whipped cream spree. “We raised you to believe in family.”
“I do.”
“But you can’t only believe in family for the few days you spend with us each year.” He touched her cheek. “You have to live it. Every day.”
“I do with Joel,” she said simply. “I love him.”
“As do we when you let us.” He kissed her head. “Good night. See you Friday.”
“I’ll get the tree and have everything perfect before you return.” Her inner elf tap-danced over her inner lawyer. She frowned. She’d caved pretty easily, not her usual style in the city. And she’d just promised her father a perfect Sullivan Christmas. She’d come home for Christmas, not to put it together herself.
Hope walked upstairs to her old bedroom. The boy band posters had been replaced with pale blue paint. The beaded drapes changed out for wooden shutters. The same wicker day bed remained, now with a blue and yellow floral comforter. Nothing heart stopping.
But the red Jeep bed, complete with roll bars and lights parked in the alcove where she’d used to color, throw sophisticated tea parties without spills or messes or disasters, and gossip with friends - that red jeep four wheeled through her gut and parked on her stalled heart. They shouldn’t have. Hope didn’t plan to visit often enough for the extravagant expense to be worthwhile.
“Your father insisted.” Her mother bundled Joel in a thick blue towel. “With Brady coming home, I thought Joel might prefer to be with you. Won’t it be wonderful to have our whol
e family together for the first time in years?”
The Jeep reversed and backed over her heart, sending it into double time. Hope rubbed her chest. Now she had to make sure her brother came home. There wouldn’t be a perfect Christmas without Brady here. But Hope and her brother hardly talked at all. He’d never quite stopped judging her decision not to tell Joel’s father about the baby. She’d never quite forgiven her brother for not supporting her. “Yes, it’ll be great.”
Her mother dried Joel’s hair into a mohawk. Grandmother and grandson giggled. “I’ve heard a rumor that Santa might be stopping in this year.”
Joel jumped up and down. “I asked him. In a letter. Mom sent it.”
“Well then it’s settled.” Her mother pulled the tags off a new pair of Thor pajamas and smiled at Joel. “It’s an early present, but don’t tell Papa. He might get jealous.”
Joel shimmied into his pajamas and gave his grandmother a big hug. She helped him into the Jeep and pulled the covers to his chin. “Now that we’re sure Santa is coming, we need to make everything perfect.”
“I’ve got that covered,” Hope said.
Her mother patted Hope’s hand as if to let her daughter know she appreciated Hope’s effort, but it wasn’t necessary. She was Joy Sullivan after all. One hundred percent believer in the spirit of the season. The magic. And always the joy.
Joel grabbed his grandmother’s arm. “We need food for the reindeer, Nana.”
“We’ll make some, I promise.” She kissed his cheek. “Papa and your mother would scatter the lawn with reindeer food every Christmas eve. But before that, they’d sit for hours in the kitchen and make jars for the whole neighborhood. Then they’d make more to give away in the store.”
Hope’s inner elf cheered. Her inner lawyer picked up a gavel. “That was such a pain for Dad. He had so many things to do at the store and here at home. Why didn’t you stop me at one batch?”
“Because you don’t stop Christmas,” her mother said.
No, Hope just battered it into submission with a gavel. “Well, it’s one batch this year.”
Her mother kissed Joel’s head and whispered in his ear. He giggled and nodded.
Hope kissed his forehead. “I’m keeping my eye on you two.”
Joel lifted the covers over his mouth and laughed louder.
“Well, Joel and I are watching you too,” her mother said. “Now move along while Joel and I say our prayers.”
Hope walked into the bathroom and her mother followed a few minutes later. “Joel mentioned the “riff” rode in your car to look at the lights.”
Hope ran her fingers over her eyebrows and avoided the mirror, unsure whether she’d see the lawyer or the believer? She couldn’t rely on her elf again. Joel was the result the last time she’d let her inner elf out. She loved her son, but not the heartache. “The riff is the Sheriff. Chris Hayes.”
“You saw Christopher?” her mother asked.
More like he encountered them. She ignored the interest in her mother’s tone.” Outside the store. I stopped to get hot chocolate for Joel. Chris was there.”
Her mother leaned her shoulder on the door jam. “He’s not had it easy the last few years.”
“He hasn’t? I had a child. Alone.” Not to mention student loans. The bar to pass. A career to launch. Hope jammed her toothbrush into her mouth and scrubbed her teeth.
“That was your choice.” Her mother folded a towel and draped it over the tub. “You could have come home. We asked you to come home.”
“I had to finish school,” Hope said. “Get my degree.”
“Now you have.”
“I’m still not moving home.”
“I wasn’t asking.” Her mother reached out, brushed her hand over Hope’s hair like she’d done over the years as reassuring as the hugs Hope had never been comfortable reaching for. “I’m sure you have a plan.”
“You make it sound like it’s a bad thing.” Hope made plans: for her career. For Joel. For their future. And besides, plans kept inner elves from making surprise ambushes. Plans kept hearts from breaking and worlds from changing.
“There’s that saying: life happens while we’re busy making plans,” her mother said.
“Maybe for other people.” But Hope’s life would proceed according to her plan. She just needed Chris to agree.
“Well, it doesn’t sound like you’d planned to meet Christopher today.” Her mother met Hope’s gaze in the mirror. “How did he react to meeting his son?”
Not even the mint in her toothpaste could calm the knot in her stomach. The toothbrush clattered in the sink. “You knew?”
“I do now.” Her mother fixed her hair as if she hadn’t just delivered a well-placed uppercut into her daughter’s chest. “I had a suspicion.”
“How?” Hope dropped onto the closed toilet lid.
“Have you looked at that sweet boy out there?” She met Hope’s gaze in the mirror, one eyebrow arched in that universal mother code that broadcast: are you kidding me?
“Every day,” Hope said.
“They share the same green eyes, like the first blade of grass in the snow.”
Or like the color of the mistletoe on Hope’s favorite ornament.
“And the same chestnut hair and nose.” Her mother leaned against the counter. “Still that wasn’t enough. You probably don’t remember that I played cards every week with Mrs. Hayes and the other women on our street. I’ve talked diapers, tantrums, fevers along with built scrapbooks and applied Band-Aids alongside Christopher’s mother until their divorce. I knew that boy from the time he came home wrapped in a blue fleece blanket and matching knit beanie until he graduated from the Sheriff’s academy.”
“You never said anything,” Hope accused. She’d been so careful.
She’d rarely come home. His marriage had been a convenient excuse. Then law school and her job. Then his divorce. Then she’d run out of excuses about the same time Joel grew into a miniature replica of his father.
“I’m a mother, Hope, I’m not stupid. I did the math, looked at the calendar and remembered your gift to yourself: a trip to Las Vegas for a reunion with the Christmas Town High graduates.” Her mother took her glasses off the top of her head and cleaned the lenses.
Not that it was necessary. Mom seemed to be seeing things just fine at the moment.
“I kept expecting you to barge into Chris and Mandy’s ceremony.” Her mother peered at Hope. “You never came home. Then Christopher’s marriage didn’t last. I almost hoped it was because of Joel.” Her mother perched her glasses back on top of her head. “I figured out rather quickly that Christopher had no idea. Now he does. And now your home.”
“It’s only for two weeks, mother.” Hope walked into the bedroom.
Fourteen days in Christmas Town. That’s all she’d planned.
Chapter 4
There was no comfort in Comfort and Joy, Hope decided as she knelt on the cement floor to dig through another box for Mrs. Green’s special order of Faberge Egg ornaments and a gold plated display tree. There was starting to be less and less joy as Monday morning bumped into the afternoon.
Hope hurried back out to the counter. She’d arrived at the store two hours early. That hadn’t been enough to prepare for the rush. Everyone expected their special orders and efficient check-out. Hope had trouble understanding Faith’s storage system. Or maybe it was just that she couldn’t concentrate while she worried Joel might break something in the fragile shop.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Green,” Hope said. “I need to call the supplier and locate your order.”
“You’re certain you checked everywhere?” Mrs. Green glanced into the crowded storage room behind Hope. Her nose crinkled up to stop her eyebrows from sliding down her nose. “Faith usually keeps everything so neatly organized.”
“I’m not sure all of the shipments arrived.” Hope risked a quick glance to the front of the store and the village her sister had designed, complete with a whistle-blowing train.
No longer the small collection of Victorian houses their parents had put on the display every year, Faith had built an entire town with a frozen pond, forests, and mountains. The display drew visitors to the store. Faith believed in the season like their mother.
Hope’s inner elf sighed at the fairy tale display. Her inner lawyer slapped her elf with a lawsuit. Too many curious hands. Too many breakables. Too many opportunities for accidents. Case in point: Joel leaning ever closer to the fragile display.
“Joel,” Hope called a warning before smiling reassuringly at Mrs. Green, pulsing patience and warmth into her tone. “When I find your order, I’ll deliver it to you personally.”
Mrs. Green plunked her red vinyl purse and coordinating red plastic head wrap on the counter. “I’ll wait.”
Another glance at the miniature town. No erratic hand movements. The train whistle blew. No howls of pain. No blood. No panicked parents. Hope forced her smile wider. “There’s no charge for the delivery.”
Mrs. Green sniffed, as if only now noticing the lack of cinnamon cider scenting the air. “Used to be, I picked-up my order, a hot drink to warm me and reindeer food for my nieces and nephews.”
“I’ll add in gift wrapping.” Hope’s lips stretched and cracked, drying from the breath she sucked through her teeth. Loving to wrap, her inner elf boogied all over the lawsuit paperwork. “When you receive your items, they’ll be wrapped in lovely bows and shiny paper.”
“You and your father always made the cutest jars of reindeer food.” Mrs. Green dug around in her purse. “Did I mention my grand-nieces are three and six? My grand-nephew, well he’s about your boy’s age. I’m sure your son would love to sprinkle reindeer food in the yard.”
Hope’s inner elf nodded. Yes. Yes. Yes. “We don’t have any reindeer food this year.” Faith hadn’t made any before she’d left.
Mrs. Green sniffed and shook her head. “You lost your Christmas in the city. But you’re home now and we’ll help you find it.”
Hope’s inner elf laced up a pair of boxing gloves. She glanced in Joel’s direction then back.” What time would be convenient for me to deliver your order?”
A Heartwarming Christmas: A Boxed Set of Twelve Sweet Holiday Romances Page 49
