Christmas On Nutcracker Court (32 page)

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Authors: Judy Duarte

BOOK: Christmas On Nutcracker Court
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So there went any possibility of drinking hot cocoa or anything else tonight. No way did Josh want to risk a trip to the bathroom, where Ross might find him without anyone to protect him.
But then again, he realized Ross was with an adult, too, this evening—a man who must be his dad.
It seemed unfair that a jerk like Ross would have a father, when guys like Josh didn't.
As he gave the man a once-over, Josh saw that he was looking at Mr. Tolliver with a funny expression—kind of like he recognized him and wasn't all that happy about it. Or maybe he just wasn't happy to be walking in the park with his son. Josh sure wouldn't be if he felt responsible for raising a mean kid like that.
Uh-oh. Mr. Tolliver turned in the Shurlocks' direction, which meant the men really did know each other. As he reached out a hand to Ross's dad, Josh wanted to melt into the damp grass.
“Hey, Frank,” Mr. Tolliver said. “How's it going?”
Aw, man. He wasn't going to invite them to all sit together, was he?
“All right,” the man said.
“You got a minute?” Mr. Tolliver asked.
“Sure.”
Mr. Tolliver nodded his head to the left, and the men stepped away, out of earshot, leaving Ross to glare at Josh with beady little eyes that seemed to say, “I think you're pond scum.”
So much for God working miracles in this day and age—or answering prayers at all for that matter.
 
 
Max hadn't expected to run into one of his former defendants at the park, and under normal circumstances, they would have silently acknowledged each other and gone about their own ways. But that was before he'd realized that Frank Shurlock's son—and who else could it be when they looked enough alike to be brothers?—was the kid who'd been bullying Josh.
So he'd asked Frank to speak in private.
“What's up?” the man asked. “You're not my PO anymore.”
“I know. I'd heard you were doing well, and that your probation would be up at the end of the year.”
“Yeah. I've been going to AA and following the program. I'm also trying to right a few wrongs, which hasn't been easy. My wife and I split up after the trial, so I've been trying to convince her to let me see my son.”
“Is that him?” Max asked, glancing at the bully.
“Yeah. He's got a lot of anger built up inside of him, all of it aimed at me. But I'm trying to make up for all I put him and his mom through. I guess it's just going to take some time.”
“I'm glad things are on an uphill swing,” Max said. “And I'm even happier to know that you're trying to make amends with your boy, but I think his anger has been directed at more people than just you.”
“What do you mean?”
“I saw him bullying a smaller kid the other day in front of my house. I stopped the fight, and he took off. I had no idea he was your son until I spotted him with you this evening. I tried to get Josh, the boy I'm with, to tell me his name, but he refused to snitch.”
Frank glanced down at his feet, then back at Max. “I guess I'll be paying for my mistakes for a long time.”
“Not necessarily. By joining AA, making new friends, and trying to right things with your family, you're off to a good start. You also might want to check into some counseling to help you work on a better relationship with your son.” Max reached into his back pocket, pulled out his wallet, and searched for one of several business cards he always kept on hand.
When he found the one he'd been looking for, he handed it to Frank. “Here you go. Arlene Soto is a great counselor. Tell her that I referred you.”
“Thanks, but I can't afford it.”
“Arlene works on a sliding scale. She's also been given a federal grant to help keep the costs down for people who've been on probation or parole. You really ought to check into it.”
“Okay, I will.”
Max continued to thumb through his cards and pulled out one belonging to Ramon Gonzales. “Here's someone else who might be able to help. Ramon is involved in a special sports program for kids who have one or more parents incarcerated. I know you're out of jail now, but your son is still eligible to participate. You'd be surprised at how good Ramon is with those kids.”
Frank took Ramon's card. “It might do Ross some good to learn teamwork.”
“And it'll probably help him channel some of his energy.”
“I'll talk to him about it.”
Max nodded, then added, “I hope you'll handle the bullying issue discreetly. Josh refused to tattle, and if your son thinks he had anything to do with our talk, it could backfire, and I don't want Josh caught in the backlash.”
“I'll keep Josh out of it, and I'll see what I can do to put a stop to the bullying.”
“I'd appreciate that, Frank. I'd hate to see your son go down the wrong path and end up in trouble.”
“You and me both.”
When the men returned to the others, Max introduced Frank as a friend of his. Then he placed a hand on Ross's shoulder. “I spotted your son in front of my house the other day. I had no idea that you two were related. It's a small world, isn't it?”
“Sure is,” Frank said. “And thanks for the advice. I'll be giving both Arlene and Ramon a call first thing after Christmas.”
As Frank and his son walked away, Ross glanced over his shoulder. But this time, instead of that surly expression he'd been wearing on his approach, he wore one of disbelief.
“Is Frank an old friend?” Carly asked.
Max didn't want to lie, yet he didn't want to claim the guy had once been on his caseload. “I worked with him last year.”
She nodded, probably assuming that they'd been coworkers.
“So where do you want to sit?” he asked.
“Anywhere you like.”
“Then this is as good a place as any,” he said.
So they set up the chairs and took a seat, waiting for the event to start.
It felt a little surreal to be watching a Christmas program at Mulberry Park with a beautiful woman and her two sons, which was a first for him—and a nice one at that.
As it neared six o'clock, a couple of teenage girls began passing out unlit candles to everyone in the audience. As they offered them to Max, he took four, keeping one for himself and giving Carly and the boys the other three, just as if they were a family unit.
You'd think he'd be feeling uneasy about that, which was why he'd initially told Carly that he hadn't wanted to attend the Christmas program with her. But he wasn't the least bit uncomfortable now and was actually glad that he'd come.
After all, she could have invited Grant, and she hadn't.
Okay, so for all he knew, maybe she had asked Grant, and he'd turned her down. Either way, Max liked thinking that she'd chosen him over the other guy.
If truth be told, Max wasn't sure if he should be happy about that or worried. It could mean competing with Grant for Carly's affection, he supposed, which was something he'd refused to do when Karen had left him.
As Craig Houston, the pastor at Parkside Community Church, welcomed the community to the fifth annual Christmas Under the Stars event, Max turned to look at Carly, who was gazing back at him. Her eyes shimmered with something he hadn't seen in a long time—if ever—and her smile reached deep inside of him, applying a balm on whatever might have been hurt or broken in the past.
Yes, he was going to have to tell Grant that he was dating Carly, too. And if that meant a competition, so be it. Max and his character, Logan Sinclair, had been through a lot these past few days, and like Logan had decided during the course of the book, there were some women a man shouldn't let walk away.
Before long, a few people in the front lit their candles, using one flame to light another, and by the time the fire came their way, the event got underway.
A man read Luke's version of the Christmas story, then a woman led them in singing carols, including a couple Max had once considered his favorites, “Silent Night” and “The First Noel.”
When the evening was over, and they'd had their fill of hot cocoa and goodies, Max and Carly rounded up the kids and the dog, then headed for his car.
He'd never felt like a part of a family before, and while he'd reminded himself that he'd warned Grant about Carly's “baggage,” the fact that she had kids didn't seem to be a big deal. In fact, it almost made her even more appealing.
The trip back to Carly's house took only a couple of minutes, and Max found himself driving slower than usual, wanting to stretch out the time they were together.
Would she invite him in? He sure hoped so. He wasn't in any hurry to go home to an empty house after the night he'd just had.
As he pulled up in front of her house, she let out a gasp. “Oh, no!”
“What's the matter?” he asked.
“My . . . car. It's . . . gone.”
Stolen? That was terrible.
“Let's call the police,” he said. “The sooner we report it, the better chance there is that they'll recover it.”
While he reached for his cell phone, he glanced across the console and saw her face in the streetlight, the tears in her eyes.
“It'll be okay,” he said, turning on the interior lights and flipping open his phone.
She dug through her purse, then handed her keys to Josh. “Take your brother in the house, will you? I'll be there in a minute.”
Assuming that she didn't want the kids to hear the phone call to the police, Max waited until Mikey gave Hemingway a good-night hug and the boys climbed out of the car. Then, as they headed to the front door, he began to dial the number from memory.
Before he could finish, Carly reached across the console and gripped his arm. “Wait a minute, Max. That might not be necessary. I don't think it was stolen.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Because . . .” A tear slid down her cheek, and her bottom lip began to quiver. “I'm behind on the payments, and I think it was repossessed.”
Oh, no. And on Christmas Eve? Of all the nights for something like that to happen. Didn't those repo guys have families—or a heart?
“It'll be okay,” he told Carly, knowing he'd do what he could to get her car out of hock once the holiday had passed.
“No, it won't be.” A second tear slipped down her cheek, followed by one after another. “The trunk was full of presents for the boys, thanks to the generosity of one of my clients. So now those gifts are gone, too.”
Max glanced at his wristwatch. He was guessing the stores were all closed, so he couldn't even go shopping for the kids himself.
“Thanks for a nice evening,” she said, her voice breaking as she reached for the door handle.
What did he say to that? How did he end the night when he knew how devastating it must be for her?
“Is there something I can do to help?” he asked.
“No.” She managed a broken smile. “I'm afraid not. But don't worry. We'll be okay.”
So she said, but he didn't believe her. Still, he walked her to the door, hoping she'd invite him in and suspecting that she wouldn't.
When it became clear that she was going to enter the house alone, he placed a hand on her cheek and kissed her brow, wishing he could do more, knowing that he couldn't.
As she went inside, closed the door, and clicked the dead bolt, Max returned to his car, feeling as helpless as he'd ever felt in his life.
“Carly deserves a Christmas miracle,” he said in a lame attempt to pray. “I know that her prayers are more apt to reach You than mine, but can You please give her a break—at least, for the kids' sake?”
Then he started up the engine, trying to have faith when there wasn't any to be found.
Chapter 20
Susan stood behind the lit dessert table in Mulberry Park, serving goodies to those who'd just participated in Christmas Under the Stars.
Carlos and Rosa, who'd been the committee chairs for the event, hadn't been able to attend since Rosa was still in the hospital and Carlos refused to leave her side. So Susan had volunteered to do whatever she could to help out this evening. And thanks to all the work the Alvarados had put in ahead of time, everything had gone according to plan.
She would suggest that they ask the volunteers to make more of the frosted sugar cookies next year. They'd gone over especially well with the children and were gone before the singing had ended. Of course, they'd had a bigger turnout than they'd anticipated this evening, according to what Susan had been told. In fact there were still a lot of people milling about, laughing and chatting with each other.
Yet even though Susan had found herself surrounded by children and families this evening, she'd kept busy enough that she hadn't felt too awfully sorry for herself.
As she rearranged a couple of platters, a male voice asked, “How's it going?”
Susan looked up to see Pastor Craig Houston, who'd emceed tonight's event, standing before her table. She smiled at the nice-looking young man and said, “No problems whatsoever. Are you ready for a cup of coffee yet? Or maybe some hot cocoa? The drinks are to your left, and all the goodies are right here.”
“Thanks.” The fair-haired minister reached for a Snickerdoodle. “Carlos will be happy to know that everything ran like clockwork tonight.”
“Speaking of Carlos, have you been to the hospital today?”
“I stopped by this afternoon, and Rosa's condition still hasn't been upgraded.”
“That's the word I got this morning. The heart attack caused a lot of damage, and she's still critical.”
Craig's expression grew somber. “Carlos asked me to find someone to fill his and Rosa's positions for a while. He's talking about taking some time off. He even promised to take her to Belize after she's able to have surgery.”
Neither of them mentioned the fact that doctors were unable to perform a bypass due to complications from her other health issues.
“It's too bad that it takes a crisis for some people to get their priorities straight,” Susan said. “Rosa has wanted to take a cruise for a long time. I just hope she'll be able to do that.”
“She's on the church prayer chain, so we'll just have to have faith that she'll pull through.”
“I hope so.” Still, Susan couldn't help thinking about what Maggie had said.
Life is a journey, and no one knows just how long each one will be
.
Or what to expect along the way, she supposed.
“Hmm,” Craig said, as he munched on one of the chewy cookies. “These are really good.”
“Aren't they?” Susan inadvertently placed a hand on her stomach, which was always the first thing to expand when she put on weight. “I've had several already, but I'll worry about the extra calories after Christmas.”
“If there's one thing to say for the congregants at Parkside Community—we always have plenty of food at our potlucks, not to mention the best desserts you'll ever eat.” Craig tossed her a smile. “So you're going to have to start coming around more often.”
Susan's church attendance, as Craig obviously knew, had dwindled to almost nothing in the weeks after Hank's death, but instead of making an excuse when there really wasn't one, she said, “I'll make a point of it, Pastor. Don't be surprised if you see me on Sunday.”
“Good.” He popped the last of the cookie into his mouth, then reached for one of the brownies Susan had made for the event, just as Kristy, Craig's wife, approached the table with their eight-year-old son, Jason.
The minister slipped one arm around the beautiful brunette and stroked the back of the boy's hair. “Did you guys get enough to eat?”
“More than enough,” Kristy said. “Do you want us to wait for you?”
“I'm sure Jason's tired, honey. And he's probably going to be up before dawn. So why don't you take him home and put him to bed? I shouldn't be too much longer.”
Kristy nodded, then after telling Susan good night and blessing Craig with a love-you-honey kiss, she took her son's hand and led him to the spot on the lawn where they'd left their blanket.
That,
Susan realized, was exactly what she'd been missing. Or at least, it was what she'd thought she was missing. For some reason, her longing for a family seemed to have decreased over the past few days, even though Christmas morning loomed on the horizon.
“Well, I'd better get back to work and help with the teardown and cleanup.” Craig reached for two more cookies, tucked them into his jacket pocket, then grinned at Susan. “I'll just take a couple of these for the road.”
As Susan watched the man go, she looked forward to attending church services on Sunday and hearing him preach.
“Excuse me,” a young voice said, drawing Susan's attention to an eleven- or twelve-year-old girl standing in front of the table. “Is it okay if I take some of these cookies home?”
The leftovers were supposed to be wrapped up and taken to the soup kitchen, but Susan hated to say no to the copper-haired girl with a knit scarf and mittens. “Sure. How many do you want?”
“At least two, but as many as you can spare, I guess.” The girl looked a little familiar, and Susan tried to remember where she'd seen her.
“They're for our neighbors,” a dark-haired man behind the child said. “Stan and Edna are members of the church, but the cold weather bothers their arthritis, so they couldn't attend tonight. My daughter thought it would be a nice gesture.”
Now she knew why the girl looked familiar. “I saw you pick them up at the soup kitchen when their car was on the blink. And you were also with them at Lydia's House.”
The man smiled and nodded. “I'm Adam Barfield, and this is my daughter, Penny.”
Adam and Penny? Even their names sounded familiar, although Susan couldn't say why.
Had the Graingers introduced them?
No, she didn't think so. She did, however, remember what the elderly woman had said about her neighbor.
He lost his wife in a car accident nearly a year ago, but he's a good father and is trying to make the best of things this Christmas. Stan and I would like to help, but there's not much we can do. I did knit the girl a muffler and mittens with scraps of yarn I had
.
“It's nice to meet you,” Susan said, reaching out her hand to the girl's father as she introduced herself.
Her hands, which were chilly from the night air, relished the warmth of his touch, as well as his firm grip. And while she found herself wanting to study him a bit longer, she turned her attention to the girl. “That's a pretty scarf, Penny.”
“Thank you. Edna made it for me. She's teaching me how to knit, although I'm not very good at it.”
“Penny's pretty talented, especially when it comes to music,” her father said, “so I'm sure she'll catch on before we know it.”
“Do you play the guitar?” Susan asked, remembering that she'd carried one the day she'd been at Lydia's House.
Penny nodded. “Music is a lot easier than knitting, though.”
She was a sweet girl, Susan decided. And with that pretty hair color, the name suited her.
“Well, we'd better get going,” Adam said. “Stan and Edna usually go to bed early, and we want to take the cookies to them before they turn in for the night.”
Susan went right to work, filling a plate with goodies, then placing a piece of foil over the top. “How's this?”
“It's great,” Penny said. “Thanks so much.”
“No problem.” Susan studied the man for a moment. He wasn't what you'd call handsome, but she found him appealing just the same. And he clearly adored his daughter.
“Stan and Edna are lucky to have you two as neighbors,” she said.
“We're the lucky ones.” Adam placed a hand on Penny's shoulder. “We don't have any family around here, and neither do they. So we've kind of adopted each other, which makes it nice.”
“It sounds like a win/win.”
“It is.” Adam's gaze seemed to linger on Susan.
Or had she only imagined it?
“Maybe we'll see you at church sometime,” Penny said.
That would be nice. So she said, “I'll be there this coming Sunday at the ten o'clock service.”
“We'll be there, too.” Adam tossed her a smile. “Merry Christmas, Susan.”
“Same to you.” As Susan watched the man and his daughter walk off, she couldn't help thinking that there was something almost . . . magical . . . about this night . . .
Carly had fought her tears and heartache as long as the kids were around, but once she'd gone into her bedroom, she'd broken down and cried.
“Why?” she'd asked between sobs. “I don't understand why You would let this happen, especially tonight.”
But as far as prayers went, that was all she could muster. Anything more seemed like a lost cause.
Sure, she still believed that God was in control, that He'd help her work through her financial mess, that He'd somehow make all things right. But He certainly didn't seem to be very hard at work—or to see her prayers as having any kind of priority.
Feeling a bit betrayed—not to mention frustrated and a little angry—she had to admit that she really did have a lot to be thankful for—her children, their health.
So who needed a present when they had that?
But the car? Now that was a problem. How was she going to get back and forth to work?
The bus came to mind, but it wasn't a comforting thought.
Oh, well. There wasn't any use crying over spilled milk, so she cuddled beneath the warmth of the quilt her mom had made years ago and eventually fell asleep.
Minutes—or maybe hours?—later, she dreamed of glass clinking on glass.
Or was she actually being awakened by the sound?
As her eyes opened, she tried to focus in the morning light, only to hear the sound again—something hard hitting her windowpane.
What could it be?
She threw off the covers, rolled out of bed, and padded to the window. When she pulled back the curtains and peered outside, she spotted Max lifting his arm and preparing to pitch something.
A little stone?
She unlocked the window and slid it open, only to feel a blast of the cold morning air on her face. As she peered out into the gray dawn, she called out to Max, who was wearing a ski jacket and boots. “What are you doing?”
“Trying to get your attention without ringing the doorbell and waking the kids.”
She rubbed the tops of her arms, attempting to chase away the chill to no avail. “Why?”
“Because I brought Christmas to you.” He nodded toward the street. “Unlock your front door so I can bring it inside.”
She didn't know if she should laugh or cry. What had he done?
And better yet, why had he done it?
Unable to wrap her mind around an answer, she decided that the only thing that mattered was that he had. So she shut the window, hurried to the closet, and pulled out her robe. Then after slipping it on, she tiptoed to the boys' bedroom, closed the door quietly, then went to let Max in.
As she watched him untie a tree of some kind from the top of his car, her breath caught. She took a step onto the porch, planning to help him somehow, but as her bare feet touched the cold concrete, she had a change of heart and returned to the house.

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