My Red, White, & Blue Christmas

by Julie Christianson

  That kissing me was a big mistake. Won’t happen again. Great. Just great.

  The thing is, I didn’t think he was pretending. I actually believed Beau wanted that kiss as much as I did. Which means I’m still the fool, and he still has the upper hand. I might as well have been eighteen again, shivering in my brand new graduation dress. Hiding out at Molly’s after. It was a brutal flashback, except worse. At least that day behind the gym, Beau stopped himself. But this time he let me put my lips on his. And I’d take being soaked by a bucket full of water balloons over knowing what his mouth tastes like.

  Last night, in Beau’s arms, I let my heart burst wide open. I could see our future. Days by his side. Nights holding hands. Me writing stories. Him taking pictures. We always had so much in common. Companion goals, so to speak. The competition made us enemies when we were young. But as adults this bond could cement us, right? For a split second I believed we’d make a legendary couple. The best team. So in love.

  Joke’s on you, Kasey!

  Alone in my bedroom now, I swipe at fresh tears, remembering that whole summer I was grounded. Back then the hurt was so deep. So hot and sharp, I almost didn’t mind being stuck inside. There was no risk of running into Beau here. But even though that old pain feels sharp and new again, I refuse to hole up in my room for the rest of this week. That would be like I’m grounded again. Except I’d be the one punishing me.

  And why? For letting Beau in? For believing he might have feelings for me? Ha! At least I have feelings. Unlike Beau who’s a heartless robot. And now that I know better, I can protect myself. See these walls? They’re thick and tall. No one’s getting through. I won’t let Beau Slater ruin one more minute of my life. I’ll spend all my minutes proving I don’t care.

  Joke’s on you, Beau!

  “Kasey! Hurry up!” My mother shouts from downstairs. “Betty wants the judges at the lake by eleven o’clock!” Great. Float judging with Beau. “Mac and Daisy are going with you!” My mother pauses. Probably to turn down the Christmas music. “They’re already here, Kasey!”

  “Be right there!” I blow my nose, wipe off mascara streaks, and toss the tissue in my Nicolas Cage trash can. Sure, I’ll paste on a smile, but my heart’s clearly not up for float judging. In fact I feel more like the Grinch. Or whatever you’d call a monster who hates the 4th of July. George Grinchington?

  Either way, I’m already way over celebrating Independence Day. I’ve spent twenty-three years as an independent woman. Do I really need to attend another party for singleness? A nation busting out on its own? Love the one you’re with, Kasey Graham. That means you.

  As soon as Ms. Witherspoon hires me, I’ll forget about relationships and jump headlong into work. I’ll be the biggest success story in journalism. The youngest department head in history. Well maybe not in history. But at The Chronicle for sure. Once I get that call, I’ll fly back to California, back to my real life. To a job that matters. Who needs love when you have a career, right Kasey?

  “KASEY!”

  “Almost ready!” I take a deep breath and slip on red suede sandals that match my strappy sundress. It’s got pockets, so it’s my favorite. Two quick spritzes of perfume. One last slick of cherry lip gloss. Fresh. Natural. Go time.

  That’s right. Once he sees me, Beau Slater’s going to regret sharing this country with me. I’m starting my own revolution. A full-on Boston Tea Party down at the docks.

  Did I mention the floats are actually boats, and the parade happens in the water? Yep. They literally float. That’s how we do it here in Abieville. On the 4th of July, the people who aren’t boat owners line up along the shore, across the bridge, and on the beaches. Then the people who do own boats ride around the lake, blasting patriotic music and cheering at the docks. Some Abieville boats get decked out with lights a week early. We saw those last night. But the real decorating—the stuff that gets judged—starts in the wee hours of the 3rd.

  Why?

  So the winner can be picked and ride in the first position of the water parade on the 4th. We call it the Boat Float Gloat.

  And if you think there’s not much anyone can do to decorate a boat, you’d be wrong. We go all out. Flags and banners. Ribbons and bows. Streamers. Blow up dolls. Even stuffed animals. No joke. Mr. And Mrs. Gootch’s boat has dangling Teddy bears.

  An homage to Teddy Roosevelt? I didn’t have the guts to ask. All I know is each boat picks a theme, and this year’s craziest is Auntie Mae and Uncle Cubby’s. Their boat looks like Santa’s Village. Barbra Streisand’s Christmas album is playing over their sound system at volume ten. Totally normal.

  Mac moseys up to their slip holding Daisy’s hand. They smell like fresh sunblock and cotton candy. He nods at our aunt and uncle’s boat. “You can’t pick theirs to win, right? That would be nepotism.”

  “Maybe.” I shrug. “But it doesn’t matter. My plan is to wait to see whichever float Beau picks, then vote for a different one.” I look down at Daisy. “Hey there, little cuz. Do you like lollipops? Come with me.”

  Every inch of Margery and Glenn Wrightwood’s boat that isn’t under water is covered in red, white and blue Tootsie Pops. How they attached them without ruining the paint is a mystery I don’t care to solve. As we approach their boat slip, Daisy’s eyes bug out. Margery comes down the ramp with a basket full of donuts. She’s eyeing my judge’s clipboard, she’s probably expecting to bribe me.

  Along with getting to ride in the Boat Float Gloat position, first prize is a free dinner at The Merry Cow. It’s highly sought after. But I’m not above a bit of bribery when it comes to free donuts. So I take a cruller. “Thanks, Mrs. Wrightwood.”

  “My pleasure, Kasey. Nice to see you back in town.” She turns to Daisy. “Would you like a sucker?” Mrs. Wrightwood hands Daisy a blue Tootsie Pop.

  “Tell the nice lady thank you,” Mac says. But instead of speaking, Daisy bows. I’m starting to dig this little weirdo. She’s really fitting in here.

  The midday air is thick with the smell of roasted hot dogs and the strains of country music. (Except for the space around Mae and Cubby’s boat.) Almost everyone is slurping down coffee since they woke up to decorate at the crack of dawn. As we make our way along the dock, one boat slip at a time, I take notes on each entry and nibble at my cruller. A couple of noisy birds swoop in to steal the last bite, but they don’t know who they’re messing with today. I am woman! Hear me squawk!

  My donut scarfing and float judging is almost at an end when I glance up and spot Beau a few slips down. He’s wearing red and blue striped swim shorts and a white tank top. His hair’s raked back from his eyes. In his hands he’s carrying a judge’s clipboard and... is that an apple fritter? Good old Margery got to him too.

  Mac follows my gaze to the end of the dock. “You okay?” he asks. Instead of answering, I consider bowing. But I’m not a silent four-year-old, so that would be too weird. Even for me.

  “Yep. I’m fine.”

  Beau finally looks up and sees me. Great. As he starts strolling toward us, I remind myself I’m a strong, independent woman. Boston Tea Party. No taxation without representation! Okay. That one’s a little off. But the bottom line is Beau Slater did not get to me last night. Nope. I don’t care about him. At all. To make sure he knows this, when he reaches us I frown. Extra big. Extra I don’t care.

  “Apple fritter, huh,” I say. “Take bribes much, Beau?” I lick my sticky lips to get rid of any traces of glaze.

  He squints at me, then lifts the hand holding his fritter up to block the sun. “I’ve got a sweet tooth. Couldn’t say no.”

  “Ha! Really. Well. No is a hard word for some people to say.”

  Mac, who’s standing between Beau and me, clears his throat. “Daisy? Let’s you and me leave Kasey and Beau to their...judging.” Before I can beg Mac to stay, he takes Daisy by the hand and walks her toward Abie’s Beach.

  I turn to Beau and he’s still squinting. What is with that? “So.” I square my shoulders. Try to look
unfazed. Cool as a cucumber. In a red dress. With a sticky face. “Have you seen all the boats yet?”

  He ducks his head. “Pretty much.”

  “You have to see all of them, Beau. Those are the rules. Unless you don’t care about rules.”

  He levels his gaze. “I care about a lot of things.”

  My stomach clenches. “I’m sure you do.” Too bad none of those things are me. Or my feelings. Or my dignity. Or—

  “Kasey, I think we need to clear the air.”

  I want to scoff at him. I really do. But I’m pretty thrown off by his bright, squinty eyes. So I dig deep to muster my scoff. Yep. There it is. “I don’t know about you, Beau, but my air is clear. Crystal clear.”

  His brows knit together. “Listen, Kasey. You don’t have to like me...”

  “Good, because I don’t.”

  “Nevertheless.” He shifts his jaw. “We got forced into this judging thing, and we owe it to everyone to do our job and be fair.”

  I shrug. “I’m always fair. Sorry if you’re not.”

  “I try my best. Sometimes life gets in the way of fair.”

  I frown. “I don’t even know what that means. Anyway, let me see your clipboard.” He tilts his head. “Because I need to see which boat float you’re picking to win.”

  He hides the clipboard behind his back. “Tell me yours first.”

  “No way. If I tell you which boat float I voted for, you’ll just vote against my choice and ruin things. On purpose. Like you always do.” I stomp my foot, but the show of temper makes me feel like Daisy. Who is four.

  Beau’s lip twitches. “Oh really. Is that what you think?” I swear on Santa Claus and George Washington, if Beau Slater laughs at me, I’ll sock him. “Well, I think that was actually your voting plan, Kasey. It takes a saboteur to predict sabotage.”

  “Saboteur?” I snort. “That’s a pretty fancy word.” Then I snort again. So it’s a really good thing I am not trying to impress Beau Slater.

  “You’re a journalist,” he says. “I thought you liked fancy words.” Is he teasing me? He better not be teasing me. I tip my chin up. Be strong, Kasey.

  “For your information, a good journalist never uses big words when a smaller word works better. But you’re right. I am a journalist. In fact, I just interviewed for my absolute dream job at The Chronicle. And once I get that call from my new boss, I’m blowing this town and never coming back.”

  Beau’s face clouds over. He probably liked it better when he was the only successful one. “I hope you hear from your boss soon,” he says. His voice goes deep, almost gruff. “I want you to get your dream job.”

  “That would be a first.” I grit my teeth. “Usually you steal the jobs I’m going after.”

  “Yeah.” He averts his gaze. “Not this time.”

  “Because there’s no competition anymore, right? My little newspaper can’t possibly compete with your sainted photography work.”

  “Sainted...” He studies me for a moment, then shakes his head. “I just take the assignments that are the farthest from here. This may come as a surprise Kasey, but you’re not the only one who wants out of Abieville.”

  “Good. Then we’re agreed.” A lump forms in my throat. Why do I even care that Beau’s career is halfway across the world? We both have the same goal. To stay as far apart from each other as we can for the rest our lives. So why can’t we stay apart for one week?

  Since we got here, Beau and I have been stuck together for events beyond our control. There’s always a plan. An excuse. Some reason. Every. Single. Day. Hmm.

  I wrinkle my nose. “Our mothers talk to each other, right? They’re both aware that I’m headed to LA next week and you’re headed overseas. They know our futures are elsewhere. So why have they been forcing us together all week?”

  Beau furrows his brow. “What are you talking about?”

  I start counting on my fingers because four-year-old Kasey is really coming out today. “One, my mom made sure we were alone that first night with the poster. Two, my mom invited your family for caroling. Three, your mom signed us up for float judging. Four, my mom planned gingerbread decorating after we’re done here. Five, your mom invited us all over for fireworks.”

  I hold up my completely opened hand, all fingers up, plus a thumb. “My mom. Your mom. Both our moms. They’re in on it. Saboteurs.”

  “I don’t know, Kasey. That sounds like a stretch.” He runs a hand through his hair and it practically sticks up straight. I wish he didn’t look adorable.

  “It’s not a stretch. It makes perfect sense. Our moms don’t want us to leave town. They want to keep us here in Abieville. Think about it. Haven’t they both been all mushy about having their babies home?”

  Beau nods, but not in agreement. More like he thinks I’m nuts. “Wanting your kids around is kind of normal, isn’t it?”

  “My mom?” I squawk. “Normal?”

  Well.” He chuckles. “You’ve got a point there.”

  “I’ve also got a plan.” I scan my clipboard. “Okay. Here’s the deal. I’m voting for Margery and Glenn Wrightwood to win the boat float decorating contest. Their donuts were delicious.”

  He looks down at his fritter. How has he not eaten that thing yet? “I think your aunt and uncle should win,” he says. “Christmas is way more original than fritters and Tootsie pops.”

  “Fine.” I check the box for Auntie Mae and Uncle Cubby’s entry with my trusty Sharpie. “As long as it’s your idea, no one can accuse me of favoritism.” I hand him my clipboard and stick the Sharpie in my pocket. Gosh I love a sundress with pockets.

  Beau looks at the clipboard. “What am I supposed to do with this?”

  “Go turn in our ballots. I’ve got something to do first.” I slip my phone from my other pocket and make a call while Beau looks on. Fine. I don’t care if he hears.

  “Kasey!” My mom always sounds like a giant ball being shot from a cannon. “How are things going there? I’m just getting the supplies ready for the gingerbread houses over here.”

  “That’s why I called, Mom.”

  “We’ve got frosting and candy canes and M&Ms, of course. Plus licorice and those teeny tiny peppermints. Can you think of anything else we might need? Maybe on the way back from the lake, you and Beau could stop by the mini mart for—”

  “No, Beau and I can’t do that, Mom. And your little plan isn’t going to work.”

  There’s a long pause. More silence than my mother’s managed since I’ve been home. “What’s wrong, dear? You sound upset.” Oh my wow. The guilty can sound so innocent. Well it won’t work on me, Mom.

  “You know perfectly well what’s wrong.” I glance at Beau who’s shaking his head. Sure my heart skips a beat at his cuteness, but I’m only on his side when it comes to our mothers. It’s not like a team. We just have a common enemy.

  “Kasey Elizabeth,” my mother says. “I don’t have time to guess what’s going on with you. I still need to stop by Auntie Ann’s to pick up the gingerbread before everyone gets here. She’s got walls and ceilings and floors of gingerbread to assemble. Enough for two dozen houses!”

  “Why can’t Auntie Ann bring the gingerbread when she comes over?”

  “Well.” There’s another pause and I can practically see the wheels spinning in her brain. “You make an excellent point. But the rest of your attitude has been very strange.”

  “Oh, I’m plenty strange, Mom.” When Beau nods at this—in agreement this time—I try to kick his shin, then I almost fall in the lake and he has to snatch me back up onto the dock. My whole body tingles as he pulls me in close. Stupid body. So much for dignity.

  “Kasey? Are you still there?”

  I push away from Beau and will my heart to stop skipping beats. “Yes, I’m still here, Mother. And let me be perfectly clear: Beau and I are onto you and Betty Slater and we’re not playing along.” Speaking for both of us gives me a little thrill. “This means we are not coming over for gingerbread. Instead, we a
re going to...ummm...”

  I dart my eyes at Beau and let the sentence dangle there unfinished because I’ve somehow gotten myself into a situation where I’m stuck with Beau again. His eyes go wide. Expectant. He’s waiting to hear what’s next too.

  “Kasey? Are you still there? I think you cut out on me. You and Beau are going to what?”

  Oh. My. Wow.

  8

  Beau

  “W

  here to, Captain?” I glance at Kasey sitting shotgun. She’s got the window rolled down and her red hair’s flying. She’s kicked off her sandals and her bare feet are on the dashboard.

  “Wouldn’t you like to know?” She peeks at me from under her lashes. Dang this girl’s adorable. Correction. This woman is beautiful. And she might be crazy, but crazy suits her. I just need to remember I can’t be looking at Brady’s sister through this particular filter.

  You know. The one where all I see is how much I want to kiss her. Again.

  “Drive by the school,” she says.

  My gut clenches. “Really?” I take a beat. Then I take another. “The last time we were there...was pretty messed up.”

  “You’re telling me.” She gazes out the windshield. It’s streaked with dirt. If I’d known she’d end up in my dad’s truck, I would’ve washed the glass. Heck. I would’ve polished every inch of this old thing. I just want to take care of Kasey. Make things right with her.

  “The thing is,” I say as gently as I can, “I don’t think going by the school’s such a great idea.”

  “Too bad. You owe me, Beau. Just do it.” Well. She’s got me there. I can’t say no. Or maybe I don’t want to.

  Before long we’re rounding the east side of the lake and heading toward the cemetery. Our destination is a few blocks up, beyond a stretch of moss-covered tombstones. Brady and I used to play hide and seek here, accusing each other of being scared. To me the ghosts at the school are worse, so I’m driving extra slow on purpose.