My Kind of Christmas
Page 20

“It’s a very small shower.”
“We aren’t going to need a lot of room for what I have in mind.”
* * *
I’m getting too old for this, Jack thought. The stress of this whole tree thing was driving him into the ground. People started arriving at five, about the time the sun was going down. He’d had to light the heaters on the porch because the size of the crowd meant there’d be a long wait for a table. But standing around outside and enjoying the tree didn’t seem to bother anyone. And they stayed late—the bar was busy until after ten.
This year he and Preacher had to suspend the early breakfast four days a week to compensate for staying open later. Friday through Monday they didn’t open until nine in the morning, even though typically, especially during the fall hunting season, they had the fires lit by six.
On this particular night, Jack left the bar at nine-thirty even though there were still quite a few people there. Denny offered to take over for him, and the kid was amazing—he could handle anything. Denny was a partner out at Jilly Farms and the month of December was nothing but greenhouse work, snow removal and relatively easy days. But the bar was hopping, so Denny took the opportunity to put in more hours. His young wife, Becca, was busy with the Christmas pageant at the church and the Christmas program at the elementary school (where she was director, teacher, treasurer and custodian), so if he was late getting home, it was no big deal. Besides, all that work at the bar brought in extra cash, and Denny and Becca were saving for a house of their own.
Jack was anxious to get home to his own wife. By now the kids would be asleep and Mel would probably still be up, reading or something. It was his favorite time of day.
Even so, he drove out to Angie’s cabin instead. He hadn’t seen her all day—she’d gone to Brie’s for lunch and turned down an invitation to the bar for dinner. Who could blame her, it was a zoo. But to be sure she was eating well, he had Preacher pack up some brisket, some mashed potatoes and gravy, green beans and a cherry pie made from preserves from Jilly. To prove he wasn’t such an old stick in the mud, he’d grabbed a bottle of sauvignon blanc, too, her brew of choice as far as he could remember.
When he pulled up to the cabin he found the lights out, smoke coming from the fireplace and Patrick Riordan’s Jeep parked next to Angie’s SUV.
I am so an old stick in the mud, he thought.
He backed out and went home. He left his take-out dinner and the wine in the kitchen, took his boots off by the back door, dropped his shirt and socks on the washer—he smelled like grease and beer—and followed the light to the bedroom.
Mel was sitting cross-legged on the bed, her laptop balanced on her lap. She looked up at him, smiling as she closed the laptop. “Hi, darling…”
But he was frowning. “Tell me the truth,” he said. “Did you know?”
“Know what?”
“I took a sack of takeout and bottle of wine out to my niece and guess what? Paddy’s Jeep is parked out there and the lights are out.”
She studied his face for a moment. A long, stretched-out moment. Finally she asked, “What kind of wine?”
Chapter Nine
When Angie entered the bar in the morning, it was empty. She went behind the bar, helped herself to a cup of coffee, then went back around to sit up on one of the stools. It was only a couple of minutes before Jack came from the kitchen.
“Hi,” she said. “Mel said you wanted to have a cup of coffee with me.”
“Yeah, thanks.”
He got out his own mug and filled it. She couldn’t miss the fact that he wore a troubled frown, that he was contemplative.
“Ange, I went out to the cabin last night. I got off a little early and since I hadn’t seen you all day I wanted to surprise you with some takeout and a nice bottle of wine.”
“Aww. How sweet.”
“Well, obviously I didn’t make it inside. I thought it might be awkward, what with the lights out and Patrick’s Jeep there.” He looked at her pointedly.
“He surprised me. When I got home from the clinic he was there. Did you see the lights? He put up Christmas lights and a wreath. I’m thinking about a small Christmas tree, but I don’t have ornaments. I could string popcorn or something. We used to do that—”
“Ange, Patrick was there. It was nine-thirty.”
She looked at her watch. “He was there at eight-thirty this morning, too.”
Jack groaned, leaned on the bar and put his head in his hand. “Angie, Angie, Angie.”
But she held firm, looking him straight in the eyes. “I like him. He’s a great guy.”
Jack lifted his head. “He’s a Navy pilot from Charleston.”
“I know this. On leave until the twenty-third. Then back to the base…and probably the ship.”
“So you know it has no potential? That it won’t last? That you’re having a little…?”
She leaned toward him. “Jack, he spent the night. I have very high standards, especially since that last boyfriend dumped me before I even remembered who he was. Paddy is a perfect gentleman. Uncle Jack, I’m twenty-three. I’m not a child, and I’m certainly not a nun.”
“You seem so young to your poor old uncle Jack....”
She shook her head sadly. “Emma’s going to have a hard time with you. My mother was engaged at twenty-three.”
“Your mother was engaged twice,” he corrected.
Angie sat back. “Really? I didn’t know that!”
“The first one was a mistake. Angie, I worry about Patrick. There are things bothering him.”
“His best friend was killed right in front of him! Recently. You’re right—of course it bothers him.”
“I think he has PTSD stuff going on.”
She laughed. “Jack, I have PTSD!” To his shocked expression she said, “Oh, I get it, you thought PTSD was reserved for the military. Most of my issues are very different from Paddy’s, but it’s amazing how much we have in common. PTSD is something you have to work through—it doesn’t mean you’re permanently damaged goods. And you know what? I thought I dreaded everyone knowing, but I’m glad it’s out—now maybe we can get dinner here or order takeout or be seen together. I’m kind of tired of all this sneaking around.”
“This was supposed to be a break from your mother until you two could learn to get along better, not a chance to get involved in something even more complicated.”
She took a sip of her coffee. “And thank you—it’s been much more fulfilling than I dared hope.” He groaned and dropped his head in his hands again. “Stop reading into everything,” she said, laughing. “I’m working on getting Megan Thickson some help—surgery on that scar. And I’m actually making progress. Just a little, but I have some good people trying to help me. My old neurosurgeon for one. I really love that guy.”
“Angie, I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“Jack, where were you when I was sixteen, sitting in the living room in my prom dress with Grandpa and his camera waiting, with my sisters giggling, with Mom and Dad and Aunt Mary and Aunt Brie all set to snap pictures for a date who didn’t show, who not only stood me up but took someone else instead?” She shook her head. “You know what my first choice would be? That I lived in the same general area where Paddy lives, or is stationed, and that we could date for months or years, like my mom and dad did. And my second choice? For you to let me make my own decisions for three more weeks.”
“Have you told your mother?”
“I haven’t told anyone, but around here there aren’t any secrets, I guess.”
“What will your mother say?” he asked.
“I don’t care what she says, if she even finds out. I’m not a baby or an invalid and the bunch of you better get that straight or I might do something dramatic, like run away. Again.” She stood up. “Really, I’m glad it’s out. Wrap your brain around this, Uncle Jack. I like him. I’m not giving him up. Now I have phone calls to make, so I’ll see you later.”
“Angie, those Riordans…”
She turned back to him.
“They’re good guys, don’t get me wrong. But they’re not pups. They’re warriors, every last one of them. Rugged. Not exactly…docile.”
“Yeah,” she said with a big grin. “I know.” And with that, she turned and left.
* * *
“You could’ve warned me,” Angie said to Mel.
“Angie, I didn’t discuss you with Jack. Not much, anyway. I said it was true I suspected you and Patrick but that we hadn’t talked about it and it was none of my business. I also told him that my experience with young women is that the louder the protest against their decisions, the firmer they become.” She took a breath. “How’d he do?”
“He’s batshit crazy. His little kitten is getting boinked by a fighter jock.”
Mel couldn’t help it, a laugh burst from her. She covered her mouth with a hand. “God,” she whispered.
“Well, there’s no one left to be discreet around. We can officially go steady. For three weeks.”
“Like summer camp,” Mel said. “Only this time in the dead of winter. Listen, while you were with Jack, there was a phone call. Dr. Hernandez?”
“Really?”
“Is he one of yours? Or a plastic surgeon?”
“Plastics. He left a number, I hope.”
“On the desk. He’d like you to speak to his PA.”
Angie bolted for the phone. In fifteen minutes she was back. “Okay, here’s what we’ve got. The doctor wants to see her for an evaluation. If he can help, he will. His assistant will help me tally the other costs so I know exactly how much money I have to raise. Monday at 2:00 p.m.”
Mel grinned largely. “Where?”
“Davis. I’m crossing my fingers that this is a relatively simple procedure. He must be a good man. He’s waiving the office fee.”
“Do you want me to take her?”
“No, please let me. But I’ll have to go talk to her and her parents.”
“I have a suggestion,” Mel said. “She’s very close to the elementary school teacher, Becca Cutler. And you’re close in age. You might want to talk to her, enlist her help, maybe take her with you to the Thicksons’. It could give Megan peace of mind.”
* * *
Angie waited until the end of the school day to drive over to the elementary school and introduce herself to Becca. When she arrived, she found the day care staff of three still busy with small children in one room and in another she found a pretty young blonde woman on her knees in front of a miniature table, scraping glue and clay off the top. There was a bucket of soapy water beside her.
“Hi,” Angie said. “Are you Becca Cutler?”
She sat back on her heels and smiled. “I am.”
“I’m Angela LaCroix. Jack Sheridan is my uncle.”
“I heard you were coming up for a visit.” She stood up, wiping her hand on her jeans. “Nice to meet you.”
“So, this is the new school,” Angie said, looking around. There were colorful tubs and baskets full of supplies, mats on the floor, little tables and chairs, desks lined up in one corner, a sink, blackboard and a bookshelf.
“K through fifth,” Becca said. “The sixth graders go to middle school, then there’s the high school in the valley. This was your uncle Jack’s idea. Isn’t it awesome?”
“He can really surprise me sometimes,” Angie said. “I came to talk to you about one of your kids. It was at Mel’s suggestion. It’s about Megan Thickson—I’ve been helping Mel with a special project.” When she explained what she’d been trying to do and the upcoming doctor’s appointment, Becca teared up.