A Carol for Christmas (7 page)

He heard the wistful desire in her voice. After the fight they had last night, the last thing he wanted was to disap- point her again. “Sure, babe. I’ll be there.”
Somehow.

Q

Carol smiled as she hung up the telephone. She’d been afraid Jonathan would say he couldn’t get off work early, the same way he hadn’t taken time off the day after Thanksgiving.

She walked into the living room, and her gaze went first to the sad little tree next to the television. Only it didn’t look so sad today. The lights, tinsel, and ornaments had transformed it more than she expected. And hadn’t she and Jonathan enjoyed themselves just as much, decorating it

together on a Sunday afternoon instead of the Friday after Thanksgiving? Of course they had.

Taking the borrowed guitar in hand, she sank onto the sofa and strummed a few chords.

This morning, after Jonathan left for work, a melody had started running through her mind. At first she thought it must be something she’d heard on the radio, but now she knew it wasn’t. It was something new. It was hers. It was a song waiting for lyrics.

She hummed a few bars, then searched for the right combination of chords. Tried. Failed. Tried. Failed. Tried. Succeeded. With the melody, but no lyrics came to mind.

Again, she smiled, but this one was self-deprecating. Songwriting never came easy to her, as much as she loved to do it. Maybe when she saw Travis, she could ask him for pointers.

T

he church fellowship hall buzzed with conversation on that Saturday morning, reminding Carol of the

night of the tryouts. Only this time, there were fewer people making the same amount of noise: the two women who’d been selected to sing with Carol in the backup group, one alternate singer in case someone got sick, and three mem- bers of the Travis Thompson band, who’d arrived late last night in their bus.

Carol had tried on numerous outfits this morning before leaving the apartment. She wanted Travis to look at her and think,
Country singer.
Silly, she supposed, to want anyone to think that when it wasn’t true.

“Here he is now.” The drummer played a
ba-bum-bum

to emphasize his announcement.

Travis grinned as he strode across the hall, looking every bit the star that he was. “Hey, fellas,” he greeted the band. “Glad to see you made it. How were the roads?”

The bass guitarist answered, “Pretty clear most of the way.”

“Good.” Travis turned toward Carol. “Howdy.” He gave the brim of his hat a tug.

“Hello.”

“Mrs. Burke’s not with us this morning?” he asked after a quick glance around the fellowship hall.

“No. She’s at home getting ready for tonight’s reception.” “I’m looking forward to that.” He turned toward the members of his band. “Let’s get started. Fellas, in case you didn’t introduce yourselves, this is Carol Burke. Carol, meet Hank, Friday, and Gart. We’ve been playing together since we were kids. Went to the same schools. If they cause you any trouble, you tell me and I’ll knock some sense into them.” He turned toward the three other women in the

room, a look of expectation on his face.

Carol made quick introductions. Maddy Gladstone was a thirty-five-year-old wife and mother of three who sang in the church choir. Catalin Ibarran was perhaps five years older than Carol, unmarried. She worked as a secretary in the state attorney general’s office. The alternate singer was Sara Chandler — thirtyish, divorced, and extraordinarily pretty.

“Glad to meet all of you,” Travis said, wearing his trade- mark grin.

Over the next fifteen minutes, while Travis explained his expectations, Carol imagined herself as a permanent part of his band. What must it be like to be on the road, driving from event to event, performing before thousands of fans? She wondered about the backup singers who regu- larly traveled with him. Were any of those women a love interest? Would any of them eventually make it in Nash- ville and record their own albums?

Carol had loved country music long before
Hee Haw
, Glen Campbell, and Johnny Cash made the style more popular to television viewers. She enjoyed rock ’n’ roll, but country owned her musical heart. How wonderful it would be to stand on the stage of the Grand Ole Opry. Wouldn’t she love to be present for live performances by Tammy Wynette, Dolly Parton, and Loretta Lynn?

“Carol?”

She blinked, realizing how far her thoughts had wan- dered, and met Travis’s amused gaze.

“Let’s have the three of you stand over here” — Travis pointed to a spot to the left of the band — “and we’ll give a listen to how you sound as a group.”

That was the end of Carol’s daydreaming. For the next two hours, she was completely attentive, and she loved every minute.

She could hardly wait to tell Jonathan all about it.

Q

At 6:45 p.m., as Jonathan hurried toward his car, not wanting to be late to his mother’s reception, someone dis- covered a fire in one of the storage rooms off the loading dock. After ordering the evacuation of the store, Jonathan and a few other men managed to recover much of the mer- chandise before the firemen arrived and forced them to stand out of harm’s way to watch and wait.

The fire marshal would later tell Jonathan that the fire was likely started by a cigarette butt carelessly tossed aside. The good news was, they’d avoided a major disaster for

the store, its customers, and its employees. Except for a cut on Jonathan’s hand, no one was hurt in the incident, and the evacuation of the store had taken place with smooth efficiency.

Q

Carol checked her watch. Almost nine and still no sign of Jonathan. Even her father-in-law was here, mingling with the guests and making idle conversation. Arlen had told Carol that Jonathan was coming right behind him.

He promised he’ d be here. He promised.

She looked around her in-laws’ living room. A fifteen- foot Christmas tree stood in front of ceiling-to-floor win- dows that overlooked the lights of Boise. The fresh scent of pine filled the air. Carols played softly in the background. It was a merry party, people talking and laughing. A perfect party . . . except her husband was absent.

Again.

Travis Thompson stood on the opposite side of the room, surrounded by guests, both women and men, who listened to him with rapt attention. When his gaze caught Carol’s, Travis nodded toward those around him, spoke what must have been an apology, then made his way through the crowd toward her.

“You’re looking mighty alone, Miss Carol. Don’t care for the party?”

“It isn’t that.” She glanced at her watch again. “I’m won- dering what’s happened to my husband. He should have been here two hours ago.” She tried to sound more concerned

than angry, though it was the latter emotion that gnawed at her stomach.

“Well, while I’ve got you to myself, there’s something I’d like to tell you.”

She looked up into his eyes and was reminded of Bar- bara Matthews’s description: drop-dead gorgeous. But if he knew how others saw him, if he knew the effect he had on women, he took no advantage of it. He was always the gentleman.

“You’ve got a terrific voice, Carol. Have you thought of singing professionally?”

Her heart fluttered. “Yes.”

“Country music?” He gave her one of those charmingly crooked grins that appeared on album covers.

“Mmm. I’ve loved country music since I was a little girl. My parents made a deal that if I graduated from college, then they’d help me financially when I went to Nashville.”

“So what happened?”

“I met Johnny, and we fell in love.” She shrugged. “Ida- ho’s a long way from Nashville, and my husband’s career is here.”

Travis nodded and his eyes said,
Heard that before
.

“Does your husband realize how talented you are?” He leaned closer. “Do
you
realize it?”

She drew a quick breath through her nose, her eyes widening.
Am I? Am I really?

“When we rehearse on Monday, I’ll bring you my agent’s contact information. If you decide to try singing

professionally, you can give him a call.” He smiled again. “And don’t ever think it’s too late. Plenty of careers have started decades after musicians got married and had fami- lies. You keep that in mind. It’s never too late.”

It felt too late. Here she was, standing beside a huge country star, a man only about ten years older than she was, a man whose face and voice were known by thousands upon thousands of people. Would she have been in his posi- tion ten years from now if she’d chosen differently?

From the corner of her eye, she saw Arlen and Ruth weaving a path through their guests. When she looked in their direction, her mother-in-law made a subtle but defi- nite motion with her head, indicating Carol should join them. She didn’t want to follow. She wanted to stay right where she was and let herself pretend that her dreams could still take wing.

But she didn’t stay. “Excuse me a moment, Travis.” She turned from him and followed her in-laws out of the living room and through the dining room.

Swinging the kitchen door open before her, she opened her mouth to inquire what was wrong. Then she saw Jona- than, leaning against the refrigerator, and the question lodged in her throat. His hair was disheveled. His face and clothes were smudged with what looked like soot, and his left hand, which he held against his chest, was wrapped in gauze.

“How bad is it?” his father asked.

“Not bad. That one storeroom is ruined, but there wasn’t much merchandise in it. We got out everything we could.

No real smoke or water damage inside the store itself, just in the storage area. It could’ve been worse. Much worse.”

“No customers injured?” “No.”

“You should have sent for me.”

“I took care of it, Dad. That’s what I’m there for, isn’t it?”

Carol stepped forward, drawing her husband’s gaze. “Johnny, what happened?” The anger she’d felt a short time ago had dissipated like mist. “Were you in an accident?”

“There was a fire at the store. It’s out. Everything’s okay.”

A fire?
Her heart tripped. “What happened to your

hand?”

“I cut it on something. It needed a few stitches. It hurts, but it’s nothing serious.” He gave her a reassuring smile. “Honest.” He looked down at his dirty suit. “But I don’t think I’m in any condition to mingle with Mom’s guests. Would you mind if I went on home and skipped the party?”

Carol stepped closer. “Are you sure you’re all right?” “I’m sure.” He leaned forward and kissed her lightly on

the lips. “I’m okay. Just badly in need of a shower. You stay here and have fun, and I’ll see you when you get home.”

Everything in her wanted to stay. Jonathan was all right. He’d said so himself. Carol wanted to return to stand beside Travis and hear him tell her again that she had the talent to make it as a country singer. She wanted to talk about his agent and ask him questions about Nashville and men-

tion her attempts at songwriting. She wanted to know more about going on the road. She even wanted to know why he’d never married. She wanted to pretend for an evening that things were different.

Guilt washed over her, shame that she thought of her own enjoyment when her husband was hurt. He could have been killed. “No. I’ll go with you, Johnny.” She turned her head. “Ruth, will you — ”

“I’ll make your excuses to everyone. You take Jona- than home, in your car. We’ll drive his over tomorrow afternoon.”

Wordlessly, Carol nodded as she reached to take hold of Jonathan’s arm, then walked beside him toward the back entrance of the house. For her, the party was over.

Q

Carol came awake with a jolt, the nightmare linger- ing at the edges of her consciousness. Fear lingered too. She turned her head on the pillow and listened. Jonathan’s breathing was deep and steady.

She slipped from the bed and padded on bare feet to the window, grabbing the down comforter from the foot of the bed as she passed. The air in the bedroom was chilly. Jona- than turned the heat down to sixty at night. It felt more like forty. She wrapped the comforter around her shoulders.

Moving aside the curtain, she saw a sliver of moon

— God’s thumbnail, she’d heard it called — surrounded by a blanket of stars. The glow of the moon and the stars seemed brighter because of the snow-covered earth below.

Leafless trees stood stock-still, no breeze to stir their branches. Silence reigned throughout the neighborhood.

In her dream, she’d looked for something . . . or some- one. She was outside on a night much like this one, cold with only the light of the moon to see by. The streets, alleys, and buildings were strange to her. In the odd way of dreams, it was Boise but not Boise at the same time. She ran and ran, up one street, down an alley. Looking, looking, looking but never finding.

“Finding what?” she whispered. “What did I lose?”

Yourself.

Tears slipped down her cheeks.

Help me
,
God. I’m lost and don’t know what to do about it.

Marriage wasn’t supposed to be this hard, was it? Shouldn’t love make it easy for her to know what was right and what was wrong? How could she love Jonathan and yet yearn for something more? Worse, something else.