Christmas at Twilight (16 page)

Maybe Ashley would come home in time for Christmas.

Both Meredith and Hutch had continued to try to contact Ashley at least once a day, with no luck, but after Kimmie got sick, Meredith had started texting her every few hours. Was the woman still in Acapulco with her boyfriend? If not, where was she and why hadn't she at least called?

She and Hutch discussed Ashley's disappearance more than they had in the beginning, but he still seemed confident she'd show up. Meredith couldn't tell the man what to do. He knew his sister and her mental disorder far better than she did. Plus, what would she have him do? He couldn't speak. He could fly off to Mexico in search of her, but then what? He might be a former Delta Force operator, but he was one man on his own. And they had no idea where Ashley was. She also knew he didn't want to go off and leave her and the kids. Especially after she'd told him about Sloane.

Hutch did ask Hondo to see if he could use law enforcement connections to help track Ashley down, but the only information Hondo was able to dig up was that American Airlines confirmed that Ashley had boarded the flight to Acapulco on a one-way ticket, and they had no record of her return. There had been no man on the flight named Eric, and Meredith wondered if she'd gotten the man's name wrong.

The information about the one-way ticket sealed the deal for Hutch. I DON'T THINK SHE'S PLANNING ON COMING BACK, he wrote on the Magic Slate after Hondo broke the news, and that broke Meredith's heart.

On Christmas Eve, Sarah Walker called. “Don't forget to make the kismet cookies. It's your only chance this year to dream of your one true love.”

“Okay, okay. I give up. I'll bake the kismet cookies.”

“And sleep with a cookie under your pillow tonight?”

“Yes, yes.”

“You swear it?”

“If it means that much to you.”

“We'll make a romantic of you yet.” Sarah laughed. “Have a merry Christmas.”

Hutch made a run to the grocery story to make sure they had plenty of supplies and stacked up the wood he'd split on the fireplace.

By evening, snow covered the ground two feet deep. Hutch stood at the sliding glass door, with the Magic Slate, looking out at the deck while Meredith and the children baked cookies and scented the air with delicious smells. He turned to Meredith and showed her what he'd written. IT'S ONE FOR THE RECORD BOOKS.

He didn't use the Magic Slate as much now as he had when he'd first gotten home. They'd formed a language of their own with the looks they gave each other and the subtleties of body language. It created a special intimacy between them that went beyond sexual attraction and caused Meredith to long for things she shouldn't be longing for.

“Can I draw you a picture, Unca Hutch?” Ben asked.

Hutch handed the slate to him.

“I wanna draw him a picture first,” Kimmie said, jumping off her chair and running over to grab the slate out of Ben's hands.

“Kids,” Meredith chided. “It's Christmas Eve and Santa is watching.”

“I had it first.” Ben wrestled the slate back.

“Mine!” Kimmie snatched at the filmy gray top sheet and yanked.

The top sheet ripped clean off.

Ben's eyes widened. “You brokeded it!”

Kimmie burst into tears. “I sorrwee, Unca Hutch. I didn't mean to.”

“It's okay,” Meredith assured her. “We'll get Uncle Hutch another one. But it's getting late. Let's put out cookies and milk for Santa and feed for his reindeer, and then get ready for bed.”

Hutch picked up the bottom of the Magic Slate, naked now without the covering top sheet, the impressions of everything he'd written buried deep within the black wax. For the briefest of seconds, a look of irreparable loss crossed Hutch's face. A look so hopeless it broke Meredith's heart.

The slate was completely replaceable and she knew he was not upset with the children. But his eyes told the story. The slate symbolized his voice—tattered, broken, useless—and he was no closer to recovery now than he'd been the first day he'd come home.

I
t was the most wonderful Christmas of Meredith's life.

Just the way she always imagined Christmas morning could be. When she was a child, her avant-garde parents and their friends would take a Christmas morning balloon ride as long as the weather permitted. In December they usually camped in Florida, California, or South Texas. Although once or twice they had Christmas in Albuquerque with Gramma, for the most part, she came to them for the holidays.

Ballooning might have been in Meredith's blood, but she never caught the fire of it. Going up in the balloon on Christmas morning was no different than going up in the balloon any other morning except that Dad would trim the basket with holly and Mom would bring along eggnog for the their picnic breakfast in the basket. Mom and Dad laughed gaily and sang Christmas songs, but that always made Meredith feel a little bit sad because she did not have a real home for Santa to visit. No chimney for him to come down.

The presents she received were usually small, and best suited for a transient lifestyle. When you went from campground to campground, festival to festival, you had to travel light. Not a lot of space for toys. Mom baked her treats, and from roadside stands she bought oranges and nuts to put in her stocking. Under the table tree in their RV, she found four presents every year. Her mother believed in the rule of four when it came to gift giving—something you want and something you need, something to wear and something to read. And for every new gift Meredith got, she had to give away something old.

Townie kids who came to the balloon festivals thought she had a cool life and wished their parents were like hers, but all she had ever wanted to be was normal. To fit in.

She dreamed of one day having a family of her own. Waking up on Christmas morning to the delighted smiles of her children as they opened miles and miles of presents they would never have to give away. She would make breakfast, pancakes and hot chocolate, and her husband would snap tons of pictures, and they'd go out in the snow—in her fantasy there was always snow on Christmas Day—and make snow castles. They would listen to Christmas music, and in the evening they would pile into the car and drive around looking at Christmas lights.

Last night she'd sheepishly taken one of the kismet cookies and slipped it under her pillow. Her head had no more than hit the pillow when she fell into a deep sleep.

And she dreamed! Boy, did she dream.

Of a handsome soldier with kind eyes. A big, kind man who didn't say a word, just took her into his arms and danced with her to “I'll Be Home for Christmas.” Then he dipped her low and kissed her.

Meredith's eyes popped open before dawn, a deep smile on her face and calmness inside her that she'd never felt before.

Hutch. She'd dreamed of Hutch.

Sarah would say that meant he was her One True Love. Her mother would say she'd found her True North. All Meredith knew was now she was a believer—in kismet cookies and hot air balloons, in long slow kisses on cold winter nights.

She believed in love. She believed in Hutch.

And pancakes.

The smell of pancakes wafting into the room had her throwing back the covers and leaping out of bed, vibrating from her head to her toes. She galloped downstairs to find Hutch and her giggling children gathered around the stove making Mickey Mouse pancakes as they had done on that first morning, and joy overflowed her heart.

The drapes covering the sliding glass door were open, letting in the mellow colors of encroaching morning and revealing silvery white snow. Silently, fresh flakes twirled in that sweet space between darkness and dawn. A white Christmas. Life didn't get any better than this.

If she died now, she would die happy.

When he saw her, Hutch smiled at her in a different way. His smile was fuller somehow, richer, holding nothing back. She'd opened herself up to him, and by doing so he'd opened more fully to her.

Her heart stumbled. He reached over and turned on the radio. “Jingle Bell Rock” bounced out. He held out a hand to her.

Never mind that she was in pajamas and her hair was mussed and she had on no makeup. He looked at her as if she was the most gorgeous thing he'd ever seen.

She took his hand and he spun her around the room.

The kids jumped off their chairs and started dancing around beside them, kicking their legs and flailing their little arms. The room filled with so much Christmas cheer that tears misted her eyes.

And damn if Hutch wasn't tearing up too.

He gave her a pointed look and she thought that meant he was going to dip her. She prepared to be spun away and pulled back again before the big dip, but instead, Hutch lowered his head and kissed her, right in front of the children.

Deeply, passionately, sweetly, miraculously, putting every wonderful emotion in the world into that kiss. He didn't need to say words because his glorious kiss said everything. No man would ever need a voice if he could kiss like this. Everything he wanted to say was in that kiss.

I want you, I need you, I respect you. I desire you. I love you.

Love.

She wasn't imagining it. She could taste love on his lips and it was the flavor of Christmas. Kismet cookies and peppermint candy canes. Gingerbread and butter cream. It was the flavor of wishes coming true, of hopes actualized, of dreams realized.

In didn't matter how long this moment would last. For right now, right this minute, Meredith had everything she had ever wanted. A home. Children. A beautiful Christmas tree surrounded by presents. Meaningful music as the song changed to John Lennon and Yoko Ono singing “War Is Over.”

Another year was over and what had she done? She had found her True North. Her mother would be so proud.

The children ate as quickly as they could, stuffing pancakes into the mouths so they could get breakfast over with and get to those presents. They delighted over the fact Santa had taken a bite out of the kismet cookies they'd left for him, and the reindeer food was gone, and there was a sooty boot print on the fireplace bricks. Clever Hutch.

“Can we open our packages now, Mommy, can we, huh, can we?” Ben asked, pancake syrup stuck on the corner of his mouth.

Kimmie was already out of her chair, spinning around the living room.

Meredith met Hutch's eye. He nodded. They abandoned their own half-eaten breakfast so the kids could get to their packages.

Wrapping paper flew. A flurry of foil. Ripping. Tearing. Shouts of delight. Squeals of joy. Hutch manned a video camera. Meredith took still shots with her camera phone. When Ashley got home, they'd have every second of it recorded for her.

Ashley.

She was the missing piece, the one thing that made the holiday incomplete.

If practicing yoga had taught Meredith anything, it was how to stop focusing on what was missing and appreciate what she had. Purposefully, she turned her mind from the distressing thought of Ashley's absence and focused on what was right in front of her.

“Thomas the Train!” Ben exclaimed. “Open the box, Unca Hutch. Open it now!”

Chuckling, Hutch took a multitool from his pocket and went to work on the box.

“Look, Mommy.” Kimmie had put on a tiara and plastic glass slippers. “I Cinderella.”

Mommy. Kimmie kept calling her Mommy.

“Yes, you are, sweetheart.” Meredith smiled at her. “Yes, you are.”

Hutch freed Thomas the Train from the box and Ben flung himself across it. Joy radiated from every pore of his body. This was what Christmas morning was all about, children's happy faces.

Oh, Ashley, you are so missing out. Choosing to spend Christmas with a man you don't even know over being here with your child.

She felt a nudge against her knee, looked up into Hutch's face, and realized she'd been woolgathering. He extended a small box wrapped in silver paper and topped with a bright red bow toward her.

The box was the size of a jeweler's box, and for one awful second, she thought,
It's an engagement ring.
Immediately, images of Sloane proposing to her only three weeks after they'd met sprang into her mind. The way she'd stupidly fallen for his slick charm, thrown herself into his arms, and exclaimed, “Yes, yes, I'll marry you.”

Meredith turned to stone, stared at the pretty box sitting in Hutch's palm. “You shouldn't have gotten me anything. Christmas is for children.”

What was she going to do if it was a piece of jewelry or worst of all, a ring? Surely he wouldn't do that to her, would he? Not after everything she'd told him.

Her stomach pitched. She liked him so very much, was even on the verge of falling in love with him, but Sloane had been a cruel teacher and she was an apt pupil. She no longer trusted herself when it came to matters of the heart.

Hutch crouched in front of her, watching her face expectantly. Was he about to go down on one knee?

No, no, no.

He put a hand on her knee, stared into her eyes, and sent the mental message,
What's wrong?

She pasted a half smile on her face, pretended as if nothing was wrong. No point leapfrogging off onto a lily pad that wasn't there. She tugged on the ends of the bow and it gave easily, unfurling into one long ribbon that fell from her lap and dropped to the floor.

Her fingers felt stiff against the crisp foil. She tugged off the Scotch tape holding each end of the wrapping paper closed. It sprang open revealing a black box embossed in silver letters with the name of the company.

True North.

For one shocked second her heart literally stopped. She inhaled a sharp gasp and her heart started again, chugging like an overworked steam engine.

His hand tightened on her knee and he reached out two fingers to tip up her chin, urging her to meet his gaze. Concern filled his dark eyes.
What's wrong?

“Nothing,” she said, tracing the embossed letters with her fingers. True North. “Absolutely nothing.”