A Christmas to Remember (17 page)

“Would you like to meet my date?” Lillian asked her. “Mother and Father aren’t here to ask him a million questions. Maybe you would like to represent the family?”

Beth grinned and shook her head. “No, thanks. I’ll just stay up here and spy on you. Besides, I believe you have a good head on
your shoulders, Lillian. You’re a good judge of character,” she added in a perfect imitation of their father’s pedantic tone.

Lillian laughed and kissed her sister on the cheek. “Behave yourself tonight. Make sure you’re home by twelve. No hanging out with boys in leather jackets, either,” she warned her. “I’ll see you later.”

Ezra looked very dignified in a dark blue pinstriped suit, white shirt with French cuffs and gold cufflinks, and his signature bow tie. He had thoughtfully brought Lillian a wrist corsage, a single white gardenia on a white satin ribbon.

The gift was a far cry from the armloads of roses Oliver had sent all week, but it was a thoughtful, tasteful gesture, Lillian decided.

Ezra brought her to a small French restaurant, not far from the hall where the touring opera company was performing. She was curious to know more about him, and over dinner Ezra told her that he had grown up in Cape Light in a family of six children. His father had worked for Harry Warwick, in the front office at the cannery. The family was comfortable but by no means rich. Ezra had always wanted to be a doctor but knew he couldn’t manage it without scholarships or going into debt.

“Then I got drafted. The main priority was surviving the war and coming home in one piece. Which I did, thank God. When I got out of the army, Uncle Sam paid for college all the way through med school. So that solved all my problems,” he explained.

“So you enjoy being a doctor?” Lillian sipped her coffee, peering at Ezra over the rim of her cup.

“Oh, yes, I do. I was born to it. I have no doubt about that. Now all I need to do is find a woman who can put up with a doctor’s scattered hours, and I’ll be set.”

He smiled at her. Lillian smiled back, but didn’t say anything more.

Ezra was loquacious once he got started, Lillian found, but not boring. Not as charming and irreverent as Oliver…but she quickly brushed aside that comparison.

The seats were as good as Ezra had promised, and the opera was Lillian’s favorite. Ezra mentioned that it was among his favorites, too, though
Carmen
was still his first choice.

It was obvious to Lillian that they shared many of the same interests, and Ezra was clearly an intellectual match for her. She felt comfortable seated next to him and they often exchanged glances, sharing the pleasure of a particularly well-performed aria.

But for all Ezra’s attentions, the story itself was a constant reminder of Oliver. The icy, virginal princess Turandot decrees that her suitors must pass a test, solving three riddles to win her hand. A perfect metaphor for herself, Lillian knew. Turandot remains unmoved, until she encounters one man who falls in love with her on sight and willingly puts his life in her hands, even after he’s met her demands. Lillian had seen the opera many times before, but that night, despite Ezra’s proximity, all she could see on stage was herself and Oliver.

Oliver’s larger-than-life personality and wild claims of affection were as romantic as any opera—and just as seductive. She might never see him or hear from him again, but Lillian knew it was going to be a long time before she would forget him.

Ezra drove her home and walked her to the front door. Taking the key from her hand, he unlocked the door for her then handed back the key.

“Thank you, Ezra. It was a lovely evening.”

Ezra took her hands in his. His blue eyes twinkled behind his glasses. He wasn’t movie-star handsome, but he certainly was attractive.

“I can’t remember when I’ve had such a fine night out, Lillian. Or such a beautiful companion to share it with.”

“Thank you,” she said. “I enjoyed it, too.”

“I’ve been meaning to ask you something. Maybe I should have brought it up before I even asked you on this date…. But it’s a bit awkward…. I wanted to know if you were seeing Oliver Warwick. He warned me that he saw you first, remember?” Ezra laughed but she could tell his concern was serious. “Oliver and I are old friends, and I don’t want to step on anyone’s toes or create a difficult situation for you.”

Lillian had expected him to mention Oliver sooner or later, but now that he had, she felt unnerved—upset and emotional. It was the opera, she decided. It always got her emotions stirred up. She would probably have trouble falling asleep tonight.

She shook her head quickly. “No, I’m not seeing Oliver. We’re not even in contact with one another. Does that answer your question?”

Ezra looked pleased and relieved. “Yes, it does. That was all I wanted to know.” He smiled warmly at her. “I hope we can go out again soon. May I call you?”

“Yes, of course. I look forward to it.” Lillian forced a smile. She didn’t know what was wrong with her. She liked Ezra and enjoyed his company. He had no great fortune to offer, but he had a promising future. He was definitely the kind of man her parents would approve of.

Ezra leaned over and kissed her good night, a gentle, sweet touch on the lips. “Good night, Lillian. I’ll call you soon.”

Lillian opened the door and stepped inside. “Good night, Ezra.”

Lillian slowly climbed the steps to the third floor. She peeked
into Beth’s bedroom, making sure that her sister was safe and sound. Then she went into her own room and began to undress.

Before she met Oliver she would have thought a relationship with Ezra had a chance. But now she knew differently. She knew there was something more that a woman feels when a man kisses her. Something she felt with Oliver, but didn’t feel with Ezra and most likely never would feel again.

She pulled off her long gloves and tossed them on her vanity along with the crumpled program from
Turandot
. Then she stepped out of her dress and carefully hung it back in the closet.

She would continue seeing Ezra. She would “give him a chance,” as her mother might advise. But she knew in her heart that there wasn’t much future in it.

She felt angry for a moment—angry at Oliver Warwick for doing this to her. For changing her in some fundamental way when she never wanted to be changed.

She washed off her makeup, put on her nightgown, and got into bed. She shut off the light but lay wide-eyed, staring at the shadows on the ceiling.

What was going to happen to her? Should she resign herself to the fact that no man would ever meet the mark Oliver had set? Or should she simply step back from the game and focus on her career, resigned to spending the rest of her life alone?

L
ILLIAN CAME HOME FROM WORK EARLY ON
T
UESDAY
. H
ER LECTURE
had gone well but she was tired from all the preparation and the stress of performing in front of the museum’s board of directors and wealthy patrons.

As she passed through the foyer, she noticed the dish on the side table that held the day’s mail was still full. Usually her mother
got to it first and sorted it into piles for each member of the family. But it looked as if the mail had not yet been sorted, and Lillian sifted through the envelopes, wondering if she might find a letter from Charlotte.

There was a letter for her in a plain white envelope. It wasn’t Charlotte’s handwriting, though. The words “Miss Lillian Merchant” were written out in a square, masculine hand, an unfamiliar hand. Lillian checked the postmark. It had been mailed two days ago from Cape Light.

Lillian felt a shiver of intuition and knew instinctively the envelope was from Oliver. Thank goodness she had come home early today before her mother. The letter would have never reached her. She was sure of that.

She stared at it, wondering what Oliver must think of her now, after her father had ranted at him over the phone last Sunday night, making all kinds of threats.

He might have heard about her date with Ezra. It had only been a week ago, but gossip had a way of traveling. Lillian suspected that Ezra himself might have made sure Oliver knew about it.

Lillian found herself reluctant to open the letter. If Oliver was angry with her and had sent a bitter tirade that canceled out all the sweet sentiments he had professed, she didn’t want to read it. If it was the opposite, restating his love and determination to win her heart, she didn’t want to read that either.

She slipped her finger under the seal. Her hand shook as she tore it open.

Just behind her a key turned in the lock and she heard voices—her mother and Beth.

Lillian tucked the letter into her pocket and drew a deep breath. She would have to wait until later to read it.

Southport Hospital, Present-day

W
HEN
L
UCY RETURNED TO THE HOSPITAL ON
F
RIDAY
,
Helen Carter was gone. She asked Margaret what had happened to her.

“This is a hospital, Bates. Patients come and go. They get better and they go home. We don’t keep them here.”

Lucy didn’t appreciate the sarcasm. She got plenty of that at the diner from Charlie. Come to think about it, Charlie and Margaret had a lot in common.

“I think she declined any further treatment and went home,” Margaret added as they walked down the hall together.

Decided against treatment? Lucy couldn’t fathom it. Did that mean Helen Carter was just giving up? Lucy knew patients had the right to determine their own course of action, but to ignore a doc
tor’s recommendation for cancer treatment seemed like the act of a person without any hope at all.

Lucy went about her work for the day, feeling distracted and upset. Her first assignment was an elderly lady named Mrs. Spivak who needed a bed bath. Margaret supervised for a while then went off to oversee another student in the room next door.

The bath was not a particularly hard job, but Lucy had to admit that it was harder washing a live human being than one of the rubber dummies in the nursing lab at school.

She concentrated, remembering the sequence she had been taught and how to keep flipping the sheets around to keep the patient warm and protect their modesty.

Mrs. Spivak was probably close to eighty. She seemed used to hospital care and didn’t say much at all during the process. Lucy changed her into a clean gown, combed her hair, and rubbed lotion on her hands. Finally, when Lucy was done she asked, “Have you ever done that before, dear?”

“No,” Lucy admitted. “Why? Was there some problem?”

“No, dear. It was fine. You could go a little lighter with that sponge though. You nearly wore my skin out.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I wish you had told me.”

“That’s okay.” The woman laughed and patted Lucy’s hand. “I got a bath and a massage rolled into one.”

Lucy smiled and gathered up the basin and sponge. She was about to leave the room when Margaret returned.

“So, how did you do in here, Bates?”

“Fine.” Lucy wondered if Mrs. Spivak would complain, but the elderly lady was already working the remote on her TV, seemingly absorbed in channel-surfing.

“Bates…” Margaret shook her head and marched over to the bed. “Look at this.”

Lucy felt a chill in her gut. What had she screwed up now? She stared at the bed, not sure what she was supposed to be looking at. Had she made the bed incorrectly?

Margaret yanked on the guardrail at the side of the bed and quickly pulled it up. “You forgot to put up the guardrail. This woman could have fallen out of bed.”

“Oh…I…I’m sorry.”

The guardrail. It was one of the first things they taught in nursing school. Countless accidents are caused simply because the guardrail is left down. Patients, especially older patients, fall out of bed and injure themselves. Then there are hours of paperwork and sometimes even lawsuits. Rule number one: Always pull up the guardrail.

And Lucy had forgotten.

Lucy followed Margaret out into the hallway, her chest tight with dread.

“I’m going to have to give you an F for the day. You know that, don’t you?”

“Yes, I understand.”

It was her third bad grade in two weeks of training. How had that happened? First the F for spilling water on Helen Carter, then an absent grade for missing the day when Jamie was home sick, and now this. Lucy almost asked Margaret how many F days you were allowed before you got one for the entire course. But then she decided she didn’t really want to know.

Lucy felt so frustrated, she wanted to cry. Again.

She steadied herself with a few deep breaths and focused on the next tasks assigned: checking lungs, blood pressure, and temperature. This time, she promised herself, she was going to get it right.

L
UCY FELT A LITTLE BETTER BY THE TIME SHE ENTERED THE CAFETERIA
for lunch. She had managed to get through the rest of the morning without further mistakes. So she treated herself to a yogurt, some fruit and tea, and a packet of celebratory cookies, then looked around for a table.

A group of nursing students sat together in one corner. One of the young women saw Lucy but didn’t invite her over. Lucy had a feeling they didn’t like her very much. There was no room at the table anyway.

Lucy wandered in the other direction, looking for an empty seat. A man at a table waved at her. Jack Zabriskie. She wanted to pretend she hadn’t seen him—she felt cranky and tired and wasn’t wearing any makeup—but it was too late.

Why would Jack care about my makeup?
she asked herself as she reluctantly moved toward him.
He probably thinks I’m old enough to be his mother…or at least his older sister
.

She sat in the empty chair beside him and forced a cheerful smile. “Thanks, Jack. I thought I was going to have to eat standing up.”

“That trick is only for interns. Sometimes they have to eat while they’re asleep.”

“Sometimes they have to work in the ER when they’re asleep, from what I hear.” Lucy flipped open her yogurt and stirred it.

He watched her curiously. “What’s the matter? Hard day?”

She glanced at him, surprised he was able to read her mood so easily. Charlie never seemed to notice that she was upset unless she burst out crying.

“Yeah. I don’t mean to complain but—”

“Go on, complain. I won’t tell Margaret Sherman on you.”

“It’s no secret to her, believe me. The thing is, I thought I would do much better at this working-with-the-patients phase.”
Lucy brushed a loose strand of hair out of her eyes. “I was great in the course work and nursing labs. Straight A’s except for organic chemistry. But I’m striking out in the real world. I’ve gotten three bad grades already, and I’m not even through my second week.”

He gave her a sympathetic look. He had such nice blue eyes—dark blue, a perfect match to the deep blue shirt he wore today. He really was very good-looking. She was sure the other nursing students all had crushes on him.

Eat your hearts out, ladies. He saved a seat for me. So there.

“Maybe you’re nervous. Sounds like you’ve lost a little confidence in yourself, and now you’re just waiting to make a mistake. It’s a self-fulfilling prophecy.”

“I’m not nervous,” Lucy protested. “Well, I wasn’t nervous when I started. I was calm as toast. That Margaret Sherman breathing down my neck every minute, she makes me nervous.”

“She makes me nervous and I’m a doctor,” he confided with a grin.

Lucy smiled back at him. “I can’t criticize her too much. She’s an awesome nurse. She can walk into a room and just look in a patient’s eye, and
boom
, she knows: Something’s wrong.” Lucy shook her head. “I’ll never be able to do that, not in a million years.”

“Sure you will. I mean, in a million years.” He gave her a serious look that slowly softened. “Margaret Sherman wasn’t born being able to do that. She learned it, one day at time. It’s just like anything else, Lucy. You have to put the time in. Are you willing?”

“Of course I am. If I don’t flunk out by next week.”

“You won’t. You know your stuff. It’s all in here.” He pointed to his temple. “Focus, concentrate, and relax. It’s not going to fall together for you unless you lighten up a little. Believe me, I’ve been there.”

Lucy sighed, knowing he was right. She had gotten herself tied up in knots. No wonder she had forgotten a stupid thing like raising the bed rail.

“All right. I’ll try.” She took a sip of her tea and glanced up at him. “Listen, how did you get to be such a smart guy?”

He shrugged and smiled at her. “I don’t know…. How did you get such pretty red hair?”

The comment took her by surprise. She felt herself start to blush and then felt even more self-conscious. Good heavens, she was too old for this. Jack didn’t mean anything by it. He was just trying to cheer her up.

“It’s just genetic. Like everything else, right?” she said quickly. She picked up her tray and stood up. “Thanks again for the pep talk.”

“You’ll do the same for some nurse in training someday. I’m certain of it.”

“I hope so. I’ll see you.”

“See you around,” he said as she walked away.

Lucy dumped her tray and headed back upstairs. She always felt better after talking to Jack. She didn’t know why he was so nice to her, but it certainly helped.

She had heard once that God can’t always send an angel when you need help, so sometimes he sends a friend who does an angel’s job. Jack was certainly her angel at this place, a cute one, too.

Maybe this is a sign,
Lucy thought. Maybe God didn’t want her to give up so easily.

S
ARA DIDN
’
T ATTEND CHURCH EVERY
S
UNDAY
,
AND
L
UKE HADN
’
T
been a churchgoer at all when he first moved to town. Then little by little, he had gotten to know Reverend Ben and started to come
to hear his sermons. Now Luke came every week, bringing any of the kids at New Horizons who wanted to attend. Sara came with him when she could.

Sara glanced at Luke, sitting down the row from her, separated by four of his students. He smiled at her over their heads and woolen hats, and their eyes met. She felt that special sense of connection, as if he were sitting right beside her, holding her hand.

Reverend Ben had started the announcements. “This being the first Sunday of Advent, we begin our preparations for the holidays. Work on the Christmas Fair is well under way, and committees will be meeting after the service in Fellowship Hall. Please see Sophie Potter if you would like to volunteer.

“Next Sunday, there’s our annual Advent Party and potluck dinner, and on Saturday December seventeenth, the Christmas Fair. Mark your calendars, everyone. Or Palm Pilots,” he added with a grin.

Reverend Ben then called the congregation to worship, and the choir began the first hymn. Sara stood up and held out the hymn book to share with the little boy beside her. She caught sight of Emily a few rows ahead, bouncing a fretful Jane in her arms as Dan balanced the hymnal between them.

Sara wondered how Lillian was doing. She hadn’t gone back to visit since last week, when Lillian had argued with her over Luke. Emily had understood why Sara wouldn’t stay there again. She didn’t even try to persuade Sara otherwise. She had just sighed, as if she expected something like that to happen and told Sara not to worry—she would hire some help at night and Lillian would just have to put up with it.

After the readings of the scripture, Reverend Ben took the pulpit and began his sermon. “It’s that time of year again, holiday time. Preparations begin. Time to make our lists and pull out those
boxes of decorations from the attic or the basement. Bake cookies, put up the tree, decorate the house. Don’t forget the inflatable lawn Santa. I’ve heard you can get them fairly cheap this year at that big garden place up on the highway.” A few people laughed and Reverend Ben smiled.

“But what are we preparing for? It’s easy to get confused about it. It’s easy to lose the real meaning of the season when we get so caught up in all the shopping and cooking and gift wrapping. It starts to seem so much like work and rather joyless, doesn’t it?

“I have a trick for you. This works for me and I’m going to pass it on. Did you ever get the house ready for a new baby? You know how that is. It’s more work than Christmas, but it’s a different attitude, a different mindset. Yes, there’s a lot of shopping and gadgets to deal with. There’s also cleaning up and clearing out. A sense of creating a peaceful, pure space for that new life to thrive. A safe, warm, loving place. Not just in our home, but in our hearts.

“There’s a deep, abiding sense of anticipation. A deep excitement about this new life coming into our world, this new person. So many possibilities. A sense of joy and wonder and hope. We are open and accepting. We are forgiving and thankful.” He paused to push his glasses a bit higher on his nose.

“We are humble, too, standing in awe of a tiny being, the innocence that will touch our souls and make us somehow innocent again. We anticipate this new life that will give our lives a new beginning.

“Those are the thoughts you might hold in your hearts as you prepare your home and your family for Christmas. That’s the perspective that can help make this season more meaningful for you. What are we preparing for and celebrating on Christmas Day but the birth of a baby, our Lord, Jesus Christ? The mystery and the joy at the very center of that day.

“Let’s move forward into the season of Advent, with joy and anticipation for the great gift God the Father will soon bestow on this world.”