A Midnight Clear (7 page)

“Thanks, Lillian. I'm glad you like it.”

“I do.” The large church lady looked up. “But I don't want you getting involved with that man. It's not as if Miriam—” Lillian bit off the end of her warning when the old-fashioned bell above the shop's door jingled. Good thing, because Teri really didn't much like it when Lillian started pointing and waving her finger. It was a sure-fire indication that the woman was about to go righteous. And it was mildly uncomfortable to find herself agreeing with Lillian Bray about the wisdom of going out to the town square tonight at midnight.

“Oh, good gracious, it's you, Savannah,” Lillian said interrupting her own tirade.

Savannah Randall gave Lillian a wide smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. “Hey, Lillian, I just came to get my centerpiece.”

“It's ready,” Teri said, escaping to the back room. Savannah's centerpiece was nothing like Lillian's. In fact, Savannah's centerpiece had been a labor of love. Not many folks in Last Chance were looking for something different when it came to Christmas. But she could always count on Savannah.

Savannah had just finished redoing the old Victorian house that had belonged to her family for generations. She wanted something that evoked an earlier time. Teri had created a centerpiece entirely out of natural materials. A swag of magnolia leaves provided the arrangement's backbone. She'd wired orange and clove pomanders to the swag to provide the bulk of the color and a wonderful scent. Tucked around the oranges were sprigs of juniper, pheasant feathers, bundles of cinnamon, and orange pyracantha berries. Aiden would have liked this arrangement. It had not a smidgen of red anywhere in sight.

“Oh my word,” Lillian said in an avaricious voice the moment she saw Savannah's centerpiece. “That's just gorgeous. Teri, why on earth didn't you advertise this one?”

“Because it's one of a kind. Savannah commissioned it specifically.”

“Oh.” Lillian's nose went right in the air. Typical.

She picked up her flowers and gave Teri the evil eye. “You remember what I said, now, you hear? You stay away from that man.” She turned and left the store.

“I'm assuming she was talking about Doc Crawford?” Savannah asked, apparently in no hurry to get home and do whatever still needed to be done for tomorrow's holiday.

Teri rolled her eyes. It was rude, she knew, but really. “It would be terrific if the people in this town would just mind their own business.”

“It would be. But it's not going to happen.” Savannah smiled. “So Lillian thinks you should stay away from the town square, huh? That's kind of sad, really. She can't even be grateful to the doctor who paid attention to her.”

“I guess that is kind of sad,” Teri said.

“And what about you? How do you feel about the new doc?”

Teri gave Savannah a sober stare. Savannah and her aunt Miriam had a reputation for handing out infallible romantic advice. So there was no way she was going to spill her heart.

Savannah's smile warmed and reached all the way to her eyes this time. “I know this is scary for you, Teri. But, honey, I'm going to give you just a little bit of advice. You should examine your heart and do what it tells you to do. And besides, you have to admit that it's kind of exciting to have a man like Doc Crawford send you flowers.”

Teri let go of a completely pathetic sigh. “You won't believe this, but I've never gotten flowers before.”

“Of course you haven't. Who sends flowers to a florist?”

“Right. And his note was—well, he kind of hit me right where my doubts are.”

“Of course he did. He strikes me as a smart and kind man. I suppose he became a doctor because of what happened to him as a kid. In my opinion, he's got a terrific bedside manner.”

“You mean his cancer?”

“Oh, is that what it was? I didn't know. I just knew that he'd been sick as a child.”

“He lost his leg.”

“You're kidding me? Really? He doesn't even limp.”

“He's got a prosthesis. Below the knee.”

“Well, I reckon if he's setting up clandestine midnight meetings with you, then you must know him better than a lot of folks in this town.” There was a mischievous glimmer in Savannah Randall's eye.

“Savannah, quit. It's embarrassing. Every darn person who's come through the door today has wanted to know what I'm going to do.”

“What
are
you going to do?”

“Stay home.” She said it clearly and succinctly. She hadn't even known that the decision was made. But that amused sparkle in Savannah's eye had turned the tide. Everyone in town wanted her to risk her heart on a guy who was practically a stranger. A guy who wanted her to allow her son to make a fool of himself in front of the whole town. The more people who expressed interest in her decision, the easier her decision became. She had to keep Aiden away. The angels weren't going to visit the little town of Last Chance. She had to protect him from that disappointment or he'd pitch one of his fits. She wasn't going to let that happen just because she had the hots for Tom Crawford.

That old adage about “nothing ventured, nothing gained” could be turned around on its ear. Nothing ventured, nothing lost was equally as true. And she was not about to lose her head over Aiden's angel fantasies. As for her heart—well, she didn't want to lose that either.

I
played the Prelude and Fugue in F from Book II of J. S. Bach's
Well-Tempered Clavier
three times before dinner and four times after dinner. Mom made roasted chicken, which is white. We had white potatoes, but they weren't mashed. Mom took all the brown stuff off them. We had cauliflower, which is white.

I hung up a stocking with a snowman on it. Mom will put stuff in it tonight and then pretend that someone else did it. That's a lie. I don't like it when Mom lies.

At nine forty-seven, Mom said, “It's time for bed.”

I said, “It's still one hundred and thirty-three minutes before midnight.”

Mom said, “It's your bedtime.”

I said, “But we need to be at the town square at midnight.”

Mom didn't say anything for about thirty seconds. Then she said, “We are not going to the town square.”

This made my chest feel funny. My head felt funny too. I went upstairs and found Raphael and sang “It Came Upon a Midnight Clear” ten times.

At ten thirteen, Mom came in my room and said, “Put on your pajamas. I don't want any trouble from you.”

I don't make trouble. I don't lie. I decided to put on my pajamas just to make her go away. I like being alone. I turned out the light. I stayed in my bed and counted seconds and minutes.

Mom opened the door fifty-seven minutes later but she didn't say anything. I pretended to be asleep.

At eleven twenty, I got out of bed and put on my blue pants and my white shirt. The hall was dark. I went downstairs. The lights on the tree were still burning, and there was stuff in the stocking.

I got my coat and mittens and opened the door.

It was pretty warm outside so I put my mittens in my pocket. Mom doesn't like it when I lose my mittens. I heard a siren, which made my head feel funny. I don't like sirens. I don't like ambulances, especially if they are red.

I walked to the town square.

I waited.

T
om Crawford had a quiet Christmas Eve at home in his new one-bedroom condo. He nuked a chicken pot pie and settled in with a good book. It was lonely, but that was okay. He had an important appointment at midnight.

And not at church either. It would be odd, not going to midnight mass, but Tom had this feeling, down in his gut, that he was supposed to be at the village green at midnight. It was as if fate was pushing him in that direction. He had no doubt that Teri would be there waiting for him, even if she hadn't called or communicated with him since he'd sent the flowers. And he truly believed that an angel might make an appearance, and who would want to miss that?

It was absurd to have such unshakable faith. But you couldn't argue with a determined heart.

Maybe it was what folks in town said about Savannah Randall and her matchmaking advice. Maybe it was hubris, plain and simple. Maybe it was knowing that guardian angels truly did exist for some children, especially sick children and the ones with big challenges. He didn't care. He wasn't into analyzing this. Down where it really mattered, he just
knew
that Teri and Aiden would be waiting for him at midnight.

And then, at precisely eleven twenty-five, just as he was getting ready to stroll down to the village green, reality burst his bubble. His pager buzzed with the emergency code that required him to check in immediately or head to the clinic with all due haste. When this code appeared, it meant someone was battling for his or her life. Emergencies didn't give a crap about a midnight rendezvous or potential angel encounters.

He swallowed his disappointment and checked in. The dispatcher said it was a motorcycle accident with multiple injuries to the lower extremities and potential head trauma. The EMTs were bringing the patient to the clinic to be stabilized and triaged. If the injuries were severe enough, he would be sent via LifeNet helicopter to the Level 1 trauma center in Columbia. Otherwise, the patient would be sent on to the regional medical center in Orangeburg.

Tom met the EMTs at the door of the clinic five minutes later.

“I'm Doctor Crawford. What do we have?” he asked them.

The lead EMT said, “It's Elbert. He's been in a motorcycle accident.”

“Elbert? Elbert Rhodes?”

“You know him?”

“Not personally. What do we have?”

“Male patient, mid-sixties. He's got a compound fracture of the right tibia with a lot of debris in the wound. I think it's probably a Grade III fracture. Possible concussion. Road rash on the right upper quadrant. His BP is sixty over ninety and falling. There may be internal injuries. We started a saline drip. He's conscious, but confused.”

Annie Jasper, the on-call RN, came running through the doors and spoke with the EMT. “Matt, oh my God, I heard that Elbert got in an accident,” she said.

“I'm afraid it's true. He was making a run to the 7-Eleven for something. A pickup ran the red light down on Route 78 and hit him. Knocked Elbert sideways. The pickup driver's from over in Bamberg. Damian said he registered point one three percent BAC. He definitely had one too many eggnogs.”

“Have Elbert's next of kin been notified?” Tom asked.

“Yeah. Elbert's oldest son is the county sheriff. He's on his way. The rest of the family is probably in church right now. Elbert isn't much on going to church.”

The EMTs parked the gurney in the emergency triage area. Tom assessed Elbert's injuries while Annie seamlessly took over the job of monitoring and reporting on the patient's vital signs. His blood pressure was low and falling. His pulse was thready.

The fracture was a mess, filled with debris.

“We better call the helo from Orangeburg,” Tom said.

“Done,” said the EMT.

Tom leaned over and got right in the patient's face. “Elbert, can you hear me?”

Elbert Rhodes opened a pair of gray eyes. His pupils looked normal and reactive. So maybe the helmet had saved him from the worst of it. Head trauma was the single most common cause of death in motorcycle accidents. The lower extremity injuries and road rash were common. But the falling BP was the most serious thing. He needed surgical help, stat.

“We're going to get you on some pain meds and clean up and splint your leg,” he said to Elbert slowly. “And then we're going to fly you up to Columbia. You understand?”

Elbert blinked once, and then his gaze shifted away. He seemed to be staring at something on the ceiling. Tom followed his gaze, but there was nothing to see.

“She's here,” Elbert said.

“Who's here, Elbert?” Annie asked.

“So pretty. Angel.” And then he lost consciousness. Annie reported another precipitous drop in his BP.

Tom went into automatic emergency mode—his medical training and several rotations in the ER kicking in. He pulled out all the stops. When the LifeNet helo took off for the trauma center in Columbia, Elbert Rhodes was still alive, and his condition, while critical, was stable. Tom believed his patient was going to make it.

Teri had checked on Aiden a little after eleven. He had been fast asleep, thank the Lord. She had expected Aiden to have a full-out meltdown over the angel issue. She was glad he'd accepted her decision not to go traipsing off to the town square on a fool's errand.

It was better this way.

For both of them.

Now it was just before midnight and she didn't quite know what to do with herself, besides sitting here in her bedroom feeling lonely.

Right now everyone in her family, except the youngest of children, would be at midnight services. And after church there would still be stockings to fill and toys to assemble. She'd never gone to bed before midnight on Christmas, except when she was very little.

But here she was pulling her PJs out of the drawer.

She wondered what Tom was doing right now. She imagined him waiting for them in front of the town tree, with the lights twinkling in his eyes and sparking in his hair. She wondered how long he might linger there. Would he be disappointed? Would he call tomorrow?

Damn. She was being stupid. She didn't need a man in her life—not if he intended to encourage Aiden's angel fantasies.

Although she had to admit that Tom wasn't a bit like her ex. Her ex had walked out on her because he couldn't deal with Aiden. Tom, on the other hand, had gotten on the floor to play with her boy. The night of the candle debacle, he'd stood there singing with Aiden for a good twenty minutes—until all of them were hoarse. He'd gotten Aiden to wear stripes. He'd walked with him to the Methodist churchyard three times in a week.

And then there was all the other stuff. The candles on his dinner table. The flowers. The kisses. And the way he'd patiently pursued her despite Aiden's horrid behavior. Tom seemed entirely unconcerned about Aiden's challenges.

She sat on the edge of her bed, thinking these things through. Thinking about her conversation that afternoon with Savannah Randall.

Holy God. She was an idiot.

The town matchmaker—from a line of infallible matchmakers—had stood in her flower shop this afternoon talking about Tom's childhood like she knew all about it. But she didn't really know about it, did she? What had Savannah said?

Something about Tom being kind because of his childhood experiences.

Yeah, kind and wise.

Tom's childhood. Of course.

She checked her watch. Oh crap, she'd been sitting here for almost an hour debating with herself instead of seizing the opportunity that was right in front of her face. It was five minutes to midnight.

They could make it. Aiden might have to go in his PJs. She rushed into Aiden's room.

“Wake up, kiddo, we're going to the—”

The bed was empty. Aiden, it would appear, was way smarter than his mother. He'd left without her.