A Midnight Clear (4 page)

H
ad she actually invited Doc Crawford for dinner? She parsed through their conversation. She didn't remember issuing any invitation. But she did distinctly remember that he was planning to show up at about six o'clock.

They hadn't exchanged emails or addresses or anything. So maybe the idea of a dinner date with Dr. Crawford was a figment of her imagination. Some “undigested bit of beef” as Scrooge would say.

Yeah, beefcake. Tom Crawford was like some unholy combination of TV's Dr. Derek Shepherd and Dr. Doug Ross.

So why on earth was he coming to dinner tonight? He couldn't possibly be interested in her. Maybe he was just lonely and she was the only person in town who had a nice thing to say about him. Lillian Bray sure had poisoned the well.

Well, she sure wasn't going to do anything stupid or special for him. Not that she would have done anything special if she had purposefully invited Tom for dinner. Aiden was a food tyrant.

So she popped a frozen chicken lasagna with alfredo sauce into the oven and headed out to the storage shed to find her Christmas decorations.

She'd boxed up those decorations when she'd moved from Columbia five years ago, right after the divorce. She hadn't laid eyes on them since. Most of them would stay in the box, but her white twinkle lights should be okay. And the small, artificial tree that had once decorated her dorm room at college would be perfect for the low-key Christmas she would have this year.

Her throat knotted at the thought.

She wanted a real tree. She wanted swags and garland and a zillion candles all aflame. But what she wanted conflicted with what Aiden needed. So she'd settle. It would be fine. It would be good. Aiden might actually have a Christmas to remember.

Besides, it was silly to spend the money on a real tree, since Aiden hated anything to do with Christmas.

She prayed that white lights would be okay. And she'd dig out her collection of angel ornaments—at least the ones without red on them. She might also try to put out her German Christmas nativity carousel. It had angels by the dozens. Of course, she wouldn't be able to light any of the candles in Aiden's presence, but maybe if she set it up without the candles, he'd enjoy it. Or maybe not. He was very particular about his angels.

She had just pulled the artificial tree from its box when the doorbell rang. Teri glanced at her watch—6:00 p.m. on the dot.

Damn. He was punctual. Was that a Yankee trait?

Well, he would soon discover that she hadn't put on the dog for him. Which was fine, because she wasn't interested in any romance. And relationships were out of the question.

In spite of these realities, her heart pounded when she opened the front door and found Dr. Crawford standing there with a bottle of wine in hand.

He extended the bottle. “I hope you like Soave. I'm partial to Italian wines, and I know that Aiden has issues with the color red. So I brought white.”

A flush climbed up her body from her toes to the top of her head. He was the picture of male beauty, wearing an Irish fisherman's sweater and a pair of jeans. For goodness sake, the curl in the middle of his forehead looked Superman-esque. How the heck did he manage that? It was perfect.

And perfect guys were scary.

“Uh, come in,” she said. “I was just putting the tree together.”

He strolled into her living room and stopped to watch Aiden at the spinet piano. Her son was in his music trance, playing one of the exercises from the
Well-Tempered Clavier
. Teri didn't know which one or in what key. They all sounded more or less like scales to her. She wasn't a big fan of classical music, and Bach least of all.

Tom turned toward her. “That's Bach, isn't it? Is he playing without music?”

“It is Bach. He can memorize the music with just one glance. He thinks in music, instead of words. But here's the thing, I've taken him up to Columbia to play for experts. They say he has potential, but that to be a virtuoso, he needs to learn how to play with more emotion. I'm not sure that's possible for him. But he's young yet. When he gets a little older, I'll need to figure out how to get him lessons with a master piano instructor. Right now, we're just working on our verbal and life skills.”

She was babbling. He couldn't possibly be interested in all the details of Aiden's profound gift for music. It was a gift that came with a huge price tag.

So she shut her mouth abruptly and turned toward the kitchen, needing to put distance between herself and Dr. Dreamy.

“We're just having frozen chicken lasagna with white sauce and a green salad. And when I say green, I mean green. We don't eat tomatoes or red peppers or anything like that. We can only have other green things in the salad, so there will be some green peppers and green onions. No white ones. Food has to be one color.”

Damn. She was
still
babbling. Well, maybe it was a good thing to give Tom a full accounting of Aiden's rules about food, so he'd understand what he was getting into. And so he wouldn't even think about getting too close.

He followed her into the kitchen. “The wine's already cold. Where's your corkscrew?”

She handed him the bottle opener and pulled down a couple of glasses. He made short work of opening and pouring the wine; his long-fingered hands were as beautiful as his face.

Boy, she really had been living in her own little cloister for too long.

“I'm surprised a florist puts up an artificial tree,” he said.

“I don't want to spend the money for a real one. At least not until I know that trees are one of the things Aiden likes.”

He handed her a glass. “You don't know?”

She took the wine, practically strangling the stem in her grip. “No. Most Christmas trees have something red on them. Red is evil in Aiden's world. And to be honest, I haven't put up a tree for myself in five years.”

He lifted his glass. “Well, then, this is a green-letter day. Here's to discovering Aiden's Christmas likes and dislikes.”

The wine was super dry and almost astringent. It made her mouth pucker. She wondered where he'd gotten it. Surely not anywhere in Last Chance. It wasn't the kind of wine people bought in this little town. It was the kind of wine a Yankee might have brought down from Boston. Was he trying to impress her with his northern ways?

Well, she was more of a beer drinker. Most folks in town were beer drinkers first. Tom would learn that eventually.

And then in two years he'd go back to where he came from.

“Brace yourself,” she said. “We're likely to discover that Aiden likes absolutely nothing about Christmas.”

Teri Summers was putting up one barrier after another, and using Aiden to deflect Tom's advances. He understood why.

He'd seen his own mother do the very same thing. After Pop died, Ma made a point of telling every man who walked through their front door that Tom was a cancer survivor. She'd get long-winded about the yearly tests, the uncertainty, the long days in the hospital when he was younger.

And she fiercely protected him long after he needed her protection. He loved Ma, but sometimes she was a little bit too fierce. He could see that in Teri, too. She was a terrific mom, but she needed more in her life, just like Ma did.

After dinner, they adjourned to the living room—a long space with a big bay window at one end. Teri resumed the job of assembling a small artificial tree and tried to engage Aiden. The kid was completely uninterested.

Tom could hardly blame him. The tree was lame.

It looked exactly like a plastic version of Charlie Brown's Christmas tree. All the more so because the gigantic bay window dwarfed it. Teri made the situation worse with her bright and shiny conversation about how much fun it was going to be to put lights on the dreadful thing and hang angel ornaments all over it.

Tom didn't know whether she was trying to convince Aiden of this lie or herself. Either way, it wasn't working.

Instead of engaging, the kid pulled out a plastic storage box filled with Matchbox cars and dumped them on the floor. Jimmy had cars like that, and Tom's nephew would make engine sounds and stage spectacular crashes with his cars.

But Aiden's play was entirely different. Aiden began to sort the cars by color.

Tom decided that the way into Teri's good graces was through Aiden. Besides, sorting Matchbox cars seemed like way more fun than decorating a plastic tree that was kind of lopsided. So he got down on the floor, somewhat awkwardly because of his prosthesis, and started helping Aiden.

“You're doing it all wrong,” Aiden said without looking at him. “You're an idiot.”

Good thing Teri had just left the room in search of an extension cord and therefore didn't hear her son's judgment on his sorting skills. Tom took the criticism in stride. “Oh?” he said. “What am I doing wrong?”

“You hafta sort them by color, and then the Hot Wheels come before the Matchbox ones, and then you have to put them in the right order. Coupes first, four-doors second, then vans and trucks and hot rods.”

“Oh. Okay. I got it.” He was about to ask about cars with racing stripes until he noticed that none of Aiden's cars were red or had racing stripes. The kid was a color purist.

When they had the cars all sorted according to Aiden's rules, Tom said, “So you don't like Christmas, huh?”

Aiden cocked his head but didn't make eye contact. “Santa is a bad, mean man.”

“Okay, but Christmas is about more than Santa, right?”

Aiden didn't respond.

“Your mom says you know your Bible verses. So I'm sure you remember the story in the Gospel of Luke about the time when Jesus was born.”

Aiden made brief but significant eye contact. There was a bright gleam in his pale blue eyes. Then he spoke in a rapid fire manner:
“Et pastores erant in regione eadem vigilantes et custodientes vigilias noctis supra gregem suum et ecce angelus Domini stetit iuxta illos et claritas Dei circumfulsit illos et timuerunt timore magno…”

Wow. It had been a while since Tom had studied Latin, so he couldn't say exactly what the words meant, except that he caught the word
angelus
so he knew the kid was reciting something about angels.

But Aiden quickly clarified the issue by providing an English translation. “And there were in the same country shepherds watching and keeping the night watches over their flock. And behold an angel of the Lord stood by them and the brightness of God shone round about them: and they feared with a great fear…”

Once he'd finished the complete translation, Aiden said, “The King James version is different though.” He proceeded to recite that translation as well. He punctuated his recitation by saying, “I can't read Greek yet.”

Tom looked up at Teri. She'd given up on the tree and stood there holding a strand of twinkle lights in her hands, a sheen of tears in her eyes and a small half-smile on her kissable lips. “He memorizes the Latin, but he can't really speak or translate it.” Any mother ought to be proud of these accomplishments, but Teri's voice sounded brittle.

Tom held her gaze for a fraction too long as electricity hummed along his internal circuits. He looked away before his body shorted out.

“Well,” he said to Aiden when he'd regained control, “I guess you do know all about the story of the first Christmas. It has nothing to do with Santa.”

“Or Christmas trees either.” Aiden didn't make eye contact with either Tom or Teri as he unloaded this zinger.

“No, but we always put angels on top of the tree.”

“Not always. Last year, there was a star on top of the town tree. And Grandma had a star too.”

“For the Star of Bethlehem,” Tom said.

Aiden shrugged and started picking up his cars and putting them back in their storage box.

“Would you like to have a big tree with an angel on the top?” he asked.

He got no answer. Which was better than a flat-out no.

“Okay, so would you mind if your mom and I put up a big tree in the bay window with an angel on the top?”

“No red stuff on it. Red is evil.”

“No red. Would gold be okay?”

He got no response.

“Okay, so we're going to get a real tree. Would you like to take a walk with me and your mom up to the Jaycees lot by the Methodist church? They've got trees there. You could pick the one you liked best.”

“Are we going to see the angels?”

“Well, it's dark, and I'm sure Golf—”

“We can go see the angels,” Teri interrupted.

Tom turned his gaze on Teri. The sheen of tears was gone. In its place was a tiny smile that revealed a dimple in her left cheek that he hadn't noticed before. Her smile was as good as hot chocolate for warming up his insides. “Golfing for God is kind of a long walk, don't you think?” he asked.

“Yes it is, but we're not going to Golfing for God. We're going to make a tour of nativity scenes. Every churchyard in town has one on display, and they all have angels. It might take a little while before we get to the Methodist Church and the Jaycees lot. But I warn you, we know only one Christmas carol and you might be sick and tired of hearing ‘It Came Upon a Midnight Clear' before we're done.”

T
here are four angels in town. One at the AME church. One at Christ Church. And two at the Methodist church.

There was only one angel at the Methodist church the last time Mom and I took a walk.

None of the churches has a heavenly host. Only Golfing for God. But the heavenly host at Golfing for God has only twelve small angels. The Methodist angel is ten feet tall.

I can't figure out if the second angel is a boy or a girl. It kinda hurts to look at that angel. It's bright and makes my head feel kinda funny. It's like looking at a candle, only not as scary because it's an angel.

It told me that Raphael was bringing me a present on Christmas Eve.

I don't like presents wrapped in red paper.

I don't like surprises. The new Methodist angel is a surprise. I don't know if I like it.

I told Mom about the angel and the present.

She said she didn't see the second angel. But that's not a surprise. I see lots of things that other people don't see. Like how Dr. Tom didn't notice the difference between Matchbox cars and Hot Wheels cars until I showed him.

Dr. Tom bought a Christmas tree called a Douglas fir. It's five feet three and a half inches tall. Dr. Tom carried it back home on his shoulder. It made the house smell funny. Mom put a lot of gold stuff on it.

I played Bach's Prelude and Fugue No. 1 in C Major seven times in a row without making any mistakes before Mom told me it was bedtime.