Eight Christmas Eves
Read Eight Christmas Eves Online
Authors: Rachel Curtis
This book is a work of fiction.
Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s
imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events,
locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2013 by Rachel
Curtis. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or
transmit in any form or by any means.
Contents
Christmas Eve
eleven
years ago
Big flakes of snow were starting
to fall.
Helen watched
as they landed on the pavement, on the sleeve of her puffy red coat, on the
messy braid hanging over her shoulder, and on Niko’s closed eyelids as he lay
stretched out on the side of the road beside her.
The snowflakes
melted immediately on the road, and they disappeared into the two inches of
snow that already covered the grass. They melted slowly on her coat sleeve,
though, and they didn’t melt at all on her hair.
She watched the
flakes for a long time—until she heard a car approaching on the otherwise empty
road.
Thinking it was
the ambulance coming, she stood up. She ignored the queasy feeling from moving
so fast and stepped out closer to the road so she could see it drive up.
It wasn’t an
ambulance. It was a fancy silver car—the kind they drove in movies.
Disappointed, she sighed and wiped a trickle of blood off her cheek.
Niko was Mr.
Mac's driver. He was always nice to her. He made jokes and called her Ginger
because of her strawberry-blond hair. The ambulance needed to come soon to take
care of him.
“Hey,” a voice called
out unexpectedly. The silver car had stopped when she’d turned away, and a man
was getting out. “Hey, kid. What happened? Are you hurt?”
Helen soberly
eyed the approaching man. He was dressed up, and he had brown hair and
almost a beard. She didn’t know him. “The car flipped over. Niko is hurt. He
broke his leg and hurt his head.”
The man had
started to jog over when he’d noticed Niko sprawled out on the side of the
road. “Fuck,” he breathed, kneeling down beside him and glancing over at the
upturned car in the ditch. He reached for his phone.
Helen knew that
wasn’t a word you were supposed to use, but it seemed to reflect her own
feelings at the moment, so she ignored it. Instead, she said, “I already called
911. I’m not stupid. They said they were coming.”
The stranger
turned back toward her, his eyes widening in surprise. “That’s good, kid.”
She didn’t mind
being called ‘kid’, since he seemed to mean it in a nice way, and she felt
vaguely pleased by his words, like he’d complimented her. The truth was that,
when she’d first crawled out of the flipped car and seen how hurt Niko was,
she’d been absolutely terrified. And she’d cried a little when she tried to
help him get out of the crushed car.
She didn’t tell
the stranger that she cried, of course. She wouldn’t tell anyone.
“Hopefully,
they’ll get here soon. He looks pretty bad,” the man said, leaning down over
Niko and reaching a hand out as if he were checking for a pulse. “How did you
get him out of the car?”
“He was awake
before. He wanted to get out so I helped him. I think it hurt so bad he
fainted.” Helen had thought at first he’d died, but then she’d seen he was
still breathing. She was glad. She didn’t want Niko to die like Mr. Mac had.
“Probably.” The
man focused on her face, and his expression changed. “You’re hurt too. You’re
bleeding.”
“Not too bad. I
just bumped my head when the car flipped over.” Helen rubbed at the aching spot
on her head and came away with blood on her hand. She shrugged. “And my stomach
hurts from the seatbelt.”
“Well, the
ambulance will be here soon to take care of both of you.” He glanced from Niko
and back to her. “You called him Niko. He’s not your father?”
“My father is
dead. Niko is the driver.”
“Okay.” The man
straightened up and rubbed his hair for a minute. “It’s freezing out here. Do
you want to sit in my car until the ambulance comes? At least you could get
warm.”
Helen frowned.
“I don’t get into cars with people I don’t know.”
The man made a
strange face and muttered, “Good point. Well, I’ll wait here with you.”
“You don’t have
to,” she told him, going back to sit in her spot on the damp road next to Niko.
“I’m okay by myself.”
“I’m not going
to leave a hurt kid by herself on the side of the road with an unconscious man.
I’ll wait with you. I’m Cyrus, by the way.”
“Cyrus?” Helen
asked, peering up at him. The snow made everything seem really bright,
including the man’s face. When he nodded, she added, “Cyrus is a strange name.”
“Probably. But
it’s still my name.”
Helen thought
about this for a moment and decided he was right. She nodded her approval.
Cyrus let out a
breath of what sounded almost like laughter. He had a nice face, even
though he looked kind of scruffy with the almost-beard. His eyes were a pretty
color of blue. “Are you going to tell me your name?”
She looked at
him seriously and shook her head.
“I guess you
don’t tell strangers your name either, huh?”
“Right.”
“Can you at
least tell me where Niko was driving you?”
“To Clarksburg.
My new guardian lives there.”
“Your new
guardian? What happened to your old guardian?”
“He had a heart
attack and died.” She didn't mind saying it. She was a little sad, but she
hadn't even cried when Mr. Mac died.
Cyrus’s
expression changed, grew more serious. “And your mother?”
“She died too. Same
as my dad. I was only six then.”
“So now you’re
going to your new guardian in Clarksburg?”
“Yeah.”
Cyrus didn’t
say anything. Helen was glad. She’d heard so many people say they were sorry,
say she was a brave girl, say that things would get better soon that she
couldn’t stand to hear them anymore. All those words were empty and silly.
He got down and
sat on the road beside her. Didn’t say anything.
“You don’t
think the car will blow up, do you?” she asked, gesturing toward the black car
turned upside down in the ditch beside the road.
“I don’t think
so.”
“They always
blow up in movies.”
“But that’s in
movies, and we’re far enough away anyway.”
“But I have a
sweatshirt in the trunk that was my dad’s. I don’t want it to explode.”
He peered at
the car and said, “We couldn’t get into the trunk right now to get it, anyway.
The car is too mangled. But I think it will be okay.”
“Okay.” She
brooded over the thought for a little while, though. She’d never cared for
dolls or stuffed animals, but she slept with her dad’s sweatshirt every night.
She’d be heartbroken if it blew up.
Cyrus stretched
out his legs, getting more comfortable on the road.
“You’ll get
your nice clothes dirty,” she said, when she realized his black pants were
getting wet from the pavement.
He gave a
half-shrug. “No big deal.”
She hugged her
stomach where it was hurting and tried not to shiver. She was getting cold, but
she wasn’t going to say anything about it. She’d said no when Cyrus offered to
let her sit in his car. “Where were
you
going?”
“I was going to
Clarksburg too. My dad usually stays there over the holidays.”
“Where does he
normally live?”
“In D.C.”
“Do you always
come see your dad at Christmas?”
“Yes.”
“What about
your kids?”
Cyrus frowned.
“What kids?”
“Don’t you have
kids?”
“No, I don’t
have kids.”
He seemed a
little annoyed, so Helen felt bad for the question. Maybe it was a sore spot.
“Does your wife want kids?”
“I’m not
married.”
“Oh. Why not?
Don’t you want a family?”
“Maybe. Later
on. How old do you think I am?”
“You’re not old?”
“I’m not even
eighteen!”
“Oh.” Helen
stared at him in surprise. “I thought you were a lot older.” All the men she
knew who had beards and dressed up like him were old.
His lips
pressed together tightly. “Evidently.”
She peered at
him for a minute, but decided he wasn’t really mad at her. “Why are you dressed
up if you’re not old?” Teachers always tried to tell her that questions like
that were rude, but she just had never cared. If she had a question, she asked
it.
He shrugged
again. “My dad likes people to dress appropriately for Christmas dinner.”
“Oh. Why are
you named Cyrus?”
“My dad likes
ancient history. Cyrus conquered an empire a few thousand years ago.”
“Does he want
you to conquer an empire?”
He made another
huff that sounded almost like laughter, but not quite. “A business empire.
Maybe.”
She didn’t
really understand that, so she just ignored it. “Where do you live?”
“D.C. I go to
college there.”
Helen was about
to say something, but a shiver caught her by surprise and she made a silly
chattering noise with her teeth.
Cyrus pulled
off his long black coat and wrapped it around her shoulders. It was nice and
warm. He had a gray dress shirt and a soft black blazer on, so she hoped he
wouldn’t be too cold without his coat.
“I’m ten,” she
told him, thinking it was only fair since he’d told her how old he was.
“Are you? You
look
a lot
younger. I thought maybe you were just six or seven.”
She made a face
at him, horribly offended by this slight to her age and dignity. Then she saw
his mouth turn up a little, and she realized he was teasing her. She stuck out
her tongue.
She wasn’t sure
what he would have said in response, since she just then heard the
long-expected sirens.
The ambulance
had finally arrived.
*
* *
Helen’s new guardian lived in a
big stone house that was almost like a castle. She loved it right away.
She’d gone in
the ambulance to the hospital and had her head bandaged. A doctor had told her
she would be fine. Niko was all right too, although he was still in the
hospital getting his leg fixed. All of her stuff was stuck in the car, which
was going to get towed away.
The only thing
she cared about was her father’s sweatshirt. She really hoped it was all right.
At the
hospital, she had explained to the police who she was and where she was going.
A little while later one of them drove her out to the big house, and a friendly
housekeeper had shown her to her room. It was a very nice room with a pretty
bed and a big window, but whoever had fixed it up had thought she liked frilly
dolls and stuffed animals. There weren’t even very many books.
She shrugged it
off, though. Mr. Mac had fixed up a girly room like this for her at first too,
and she’d gradually gotten rid of all the stuff she didn’t want and filled it
with stuff she did.
She’d met Mr.
Owen when she’d first come into the house. He was tall with gray hair, and he’d
peered down at her like she was a curiosity as he’d said hello. She wasn’t sure
what she thought about him yet.
She stared out
her window and liked the look of the woods beyond the wide lawn. She would
explore it as soon as she could, when it stopped snowing. She also wanted to
look around the house, and she decided she didn’t need to wait for that.
She looked into
dozens of rooms, but all of them were boring. Then she finally got to a huge
library with a big fireplace and stained glass windows and cool-looking stairs
that led up to more books and an absolutely enormous Christmas tree.
She peered
around for a while, deciding this was her favorite, and finally pulled herself
away to go downstairs.
She didn’t see
anyone, and she wondered if Mr. Owen had left to go somewhere. She found the
housekeeper in the kitchen, and the nice lady said Mr. Owen was talking to his
son in the front parlor.
“I didn’t know
he had a boy,” Helen said, perking up a little.
“Cyrus, his
son, is in college.”
“Cyrus is Mr.
Owen’s son?”
When this was
confirmed, Helen hurried in the direction the housekeeper had indicated. She
reached a closed door and was about to open it, but then she heard voices and
stopped to listen.
“Damn it, Dad,
this is ridiculous! Why the hell did you agree to be this girl’s guardian?”
That voice sounded like Cyrus.
“Mackenzie was
a friend of mine. He was a distant relative of her father, and he took on her
guardianship when her parents' died four years ago. Mackenzie specifically
requested that I take on his responsibilities when he died. Why should I
refuse?”
“Because you’ll
be utterly incompetent at it. She’s just a little girl. You have no idea how to
take care of a girl.”
“She has a
nanny who takes care of her. I guess the nanny has some vacation days at
Christmas, but she’ll be coming out next week. I believe little Miss Coleman is
an independent child who is used to being left to her own devices. I’m
certainly as capable as Mackenzie of being her guardian.”
“Just because
she’s used to it doesn’t mean it’s in her best interests. What are you going to
do with her?”
“She’ll be in
school, and her nanny can pick up the rest of the slack. Would you prefer I let
her take her chances with the foster system? She’s already ten. It’s not an age
where children are likely to be adopted into loving families.”
Mr. Owen’s
voice was cool and distant. He sounded very smart. Helen could hear it in his
voice.
Cyrus, on the
other hand, sounded very mad. “Why the hell would Mackenzie think you’d be a
good guardian? Didn’t he know a woman to leave her with, someone who might have
a few maternal feelings for the poor kid?”
“It’s a unique
situation. Miss Coleman is an heiress now. Mackenzie bequeathed to her his
entire fortune. It will be held in trust for her until she’s twenty-one. He was
very concerned about her being taken advantage of by a guardian who would
misuse her inheritance.”
“So why did he
assume
you
wouldn’t want her fortune?”
“Her fortune is
substantial to most people, but it’s a pittance compared to mine. I have no use
for her money. Mackenzie knew that.”