It Burns a Lovely Light (22 page)

Colette laughed. "Tell her it will be just me."

Eileen marched up the sidewalk, fists balled at her sides,
head down, and curls flying from the hood of her black parka. With a start, Farley realized Eileen was becoming a young woman.

"Honey," she said, "what happened?"

Fury elevated Eileen's voice almost to a scream. "Sister Mary Ignatius made me get up in assembly and apologize to the dick-wad I hit
in front of the whole school
!"

Never underestimate the power of shame, thought Farley as
she wrapped her arms around Eileen.

"Do you want Farley to teach Sister Monster Ignatius a lesson?" said Henry.

Eileen wiped a large snot-ball from her nose. "Maybe
next time."

Pulling the bottom of his tee shirt from under his jacket, baring his - Farley couldn't help but notice - impressively tight stomach, he placed his shirt under Eileen's nose.

"Blow."

"Gross, Henry. I'm old enough to wipe my own..."

"Blow."

She blew, twice.

"I'm impressed," said Farley. "There was a
time you would have passed out cold if someone blew their nose on your shirt."

"That's not true."

"Oh, how quickly we forget shrimp-and-grits night."

Henry bumped Farley's shoulder with his. "It's
different when it's someone you love."

Colorful baskets surrounded the tall Christmas tree; one basket for each person present. Everyone had been asked to contribute one dozen
of any item of their choice. The result was a vibrant bounty: warm socks, gloves, a book, tiny ornaments made of shells, dried herbs, canned produce, and an envelope which read, in William's shaky handwriting:

Merry Christmas

From me to you.

A ticket in the cheap seats

to see

Those nice boys from Pittsburgh!

My treat.

With a myriad of love in my heart,

William Justus James.

Through her camera lens, Farley drank in the ambience of Christmas at Bridge Manor: the music and laughter, the gentle crunch of tissue
paper, and the piney smell of the tree. In no time at all, she had gone through three rolls of film.

Paddy and Ryan were in charge of the bonfire. Chanting
'Men, Men, Men, Men, Men,'
they dug a pit in the center of the lawn, gathered
firewood from the woods, placed large rocks in a circle around the pit and lit the fire. While the rest of the party set up for dinner, they monitored the flames and congratulated each other on such a splendid, manly fire.

Farley approached with a bucketful of cold beer. "Anyone thirsty?"

"Maybe just a splash to wash the dust from my throat," said Paddy. Pulling a beer out of the bucket, he tilted his head
toward Ryan's yellow Mustang convertible. "That's another nice car you've got there, Father."

"I like to trade them in every few years." Ryan took a beer from Farley. "Cost me an arm and a leg, if you want to know
the truth."

"How do you keep it so clean in this weather?"

"Altar boys," said Ryan, chuckling. "So, I hear your mill is still hanging in there. That's saying a lot these days."

Paddy shook his head. "Imported steel is so much cheaper than our American made. I'll tell you, Father, I don't know how much longer we can..."

"Hold that thought." Ryan turned and yelled across
the lawn. "Joe! Do you have a date for New Year's?"

Joe leaned away from the smoky grill where he was roasting oysters. "I'm taking Sylvia to a party."

"How'd you like to take the Mustang?"

"Are you kidding?"

Ryan elbowed Paddy. "We're only young once, right?"

Laughter and chatter filled the air as they dined on
oysters, hot beef stew, salad, and several giant loaves of bread. As the evening began to wind down, everyone moved to the bonfire. Benches and chairs had been set up around the fire, with blankets draped over the back of each chair.

"I want to sing a Christmas song," said William. "I know all the words - at least to the first part."

Fiddling with the hem of his cloak that he wore over his parka, he closed his eyes and proceeded to mutilate the first four lines of
John Prine's
Christmas in Prison.

Claire soaked in the laughter, shouting and singing as song after song was torn to shreds. She released a long, satisfied sigh. A sense of
peace seemed to have settled upon Bridge Manor. If only for one night, they were all safe and healthy and happy. Nothing could touch them.

Paddy kicked the achy-ness out of his knees. He leaned down and kissed the top of Claire's head.

"Thank you for a wonderful Christmas, love."

"You're leaving?"

He cleared his throat. Wrapped in an old faded quilt with the fire's glow on her cheeks, his darling girl had never looked more
beautiful.

"I thought I might pop into Mick's and exchange a few lies."

Dion applauded as William took a bow.

"Bravo!" she cried.

"Thank you." He struggled to hide his yawn by clenching his jaw, contorting his face into a comical strain.

"Come over here, you little nut." Dion held out a
small envelope containing a gift certificate to Rosemary's Market. "This should keep you in ice cream for a while. It's a 'thank you' for helping me catch up in school. I couldn't have brought my grades up without your help."

"Yes, you could have," he said, this time letting a yawn rip. "You learn fast for a normal person."

Henry let his arm rest on the back of Farley's chair.

"I think it's time for
someone
to go to
bed," he whispered.

Clearly he was talking about William. Still, Farley blushed like a schoolgirl.
Grow up,
she told herself.

"Come on, William." Claire folded her blanket
across her arm. "I'll tuck you in."

Ryan stood. "I'm with you. I've got an early day tomorrow."

As they walked up the lawn, Resa zipped past them, wearing
only a towel and a smile.

"Holy cannoli!" she yelled. "It's freezing!"

Ryan's jaw dropped.

"Calm down," said Claire, chuckling. "We had an outdoor shower installed."

"What kind of a fool has an outdoor shower in a place like Pittsburgh?"

She shrugged. "This kind, I guess. The pipes are insulated. Everyone loves it, from Mr. Winston on down. Farley swears that
nothing is better than bathing outdoors in the altogether." She elbowed her brother. "One of these days I might even get up the nerve to use it."

He winced. "Don't be disgusting."

Still seated by the fire, Mr. Winston put his gloved hand on Dion's arm. "How do you like your new home, my dear?"

Smiling, Dion replied without missing a beat. "I feel
more at home in Bridge Manor than I ever did in the house I grew up in."

Leaning back, he closed his eyes and let the fire warm his face. "Yes, I've found that Bridge Manor works wonders on the soul."

"Meet me in the library," said Henry. "There's a little something for you under the tree."

Farley's eyes twinkled. "I thought we were only supposed to give 'group gifts.'"

"I broke the rules."

"
You
broke the rules?" she said, her voice not betraying the pounding in her heart. "Now that you mention it, there might be a little something under the tree for you, too."

The library was lit only by the twinkling lights of the giant evergreen. From one of the trees high branches, Farley removed a white handkerchief tied with a thin gold bow and held it out to Henry. "You
first."

He kept his eyes on her as he unwrapped his gift; a shiny silver Saint Lawrence medal.

"Saint Lawrence is the patron saint of cooks," said Farley. "He's a martyr. His torturers laid him across a grill to burn
him alive. After a while he said, 'Turn me over, I'm done on this side.'"

Henry laughed, all white teeth and dimples. When he hugged her, she breathed in his spicy-clean-Henry-scent.

"Now you. Close your eyes." He reached under the tree, then placed something solid in her hands. "Open."

She stared down at the four shiny green leaves exploding from the rich dark soil.

"A lemon tree," she whispered.

"I pushed the seed into the soil last summer. I've been keeping it in the window of my apartment." He hesitated. "I wasn't sure...I hope you don't mind."

Pinching off a leaf, she crushed it between her fingers and breathed in its lemony aroma. She touched his face. His lips.

His kiss tasted like all the happiness in the world.

Farley woke to find William's face two inches from hers.

"I did it!" he cried, jumping back. "I woke you with my forceful stare!"

"Go away," she groaned. "I'm exhausted."

"How come you weren't here when I woke up?"

"I went to a sleepover."

"On
Christmas Eve
?"

"It was a Christmas Eve sleepover."

William pushed his glasses up. "How come Henry drove you home?"

"The sleepover was at his apartment."

Farley listened to William's shoes pound down the back
stairs.

Henry
. She smiled, blushing as she pulled the covers up around her neck.

They had made love as if they were starving. Henry Freeman
was everything she had imagined and more; tender, loving, forceful, vulnerable. The way he whispered to her...touched her. The way he kept the lights on because he wanted to see all of her. She loved that he took his time, kissing and stroking and tasting. She loved him.

Farley shuffled into the kitchen, her hair forming a cliff on the side of her head. "Morning."

Claire covered the leftover turkey. "
Afternoon
."

"Come over here," said Veda Marie, feeling Farley's forehead. "Are you all right? You haven't slept this late in years."

"Farley's exhausted," said William. "She had
a sleepover at Henry's last night!"

Dion popped another beer and sipped the foam as she stared out over the windshield. The music from the radio was so loud, she didn't hear the knock on the window until it turned to banging. She resisted the urge to
check herself in the rearview mirror and unrolled her window.

"Oh."

"Happy New Year to you, too," said Farley. "Let me in."

Dion unlocked the door and moved over to the passenger seat. Farley slid into the driver's seat.

"I guess Henry sent you to get his van back."

"That's not it at all. We were worried about you."

"How did you know where to find me?"

Farley nodded toward Duncan's apartment. "Lucky guess. What are you doing?"

Dion took a long swig of her beer, then subdued a belch.
"What does it look like I'm doing? I'm hanging around my ex-boyfriend's apartment on New Year's Eve." She opened her coat to reveal a red silk slip. "In my nightie. I was hoping to release my inner naughty on him.
Pretty pathetic, huh?"

Farley wiped the condensation off the window. "Have you been here all night?"

"No. I went by my parent's house. Dad wasn't there; Ma said he moved to the night shift."

"You visited your mother in your slip?"

"I was decent at the time. Not that it mattered; she wouldn't let me in."

"I'm sorry."

"You should hear the stuff she said about Bridge Manor. Apparently she knows what goes on in our 'peccadillo nest.' All our wild parties and drug-crazed bonfire rituals and people - get this - having sex all over the place."

"The gig is up, then. No more fun times for us."

Dion drew a sloppy heart on the passenger window with her index finger. "Then I went to my Grandma's old house."

"You drove all the way to Washington County?"

"Her house isn't there anymore. Just a row of perfect little townhouses where my Grandma used to live. Remember that summer we stayed at her house and snuck out in the middle of the night?"

"God, yes. We must have walked for miles, all so I could see where
The Night of the Living Dead
was filmed. What a good sport you were."

"Of course. You were my best friend." She yawned.
"You still are."

Farley started the car and pulled out into the road. For some reason her mind flashed back to Loretta, her fourth grade best friend, back when life went on forever and friendships were disposable.

"You're the only childhood friend I've ever managed to keep," she said. "You and Henry."

"You and Henry are perfect together," murmured Dion.

We sure are, thought Farley. Now I'm the one who's scared to
death.

"Bye, Mrs. Young," mumbled William, on his way out
of the ice rink.

As usual the manager - a cranky woman with a brown cavity on her front tooth - said nothing.

"William, over here!" called Mr. Winston.

He waved his walking stick from across the parking lot.

William ran across the lot, his breath visible in the cold January air. "What are you doing here?"

"I felt like getting some fresh air."

"You walked all this way?"

"Don't act so surprised," said Mr. Winston. "There's still a little life in this body. Joe mentioned he was leaving practice early to meet with his advisor. I thought you might want some
company."

"It's not dark outside," William mumbled. "I can walk by myself."

"I hear you've been a big help to Joe at hockey practice."

William clicked his tongue. He loved his responsibilities:
handing out water, picking up empty cups and towels off the floor, and blowing his whistle loud and clear to make sure everyone was off the ice when the Zamboni driver came on. He got a thrill each time he put on his jersey with
'P-A-L' printed on the back. But most of all, William loved being one of the guys. And yesterday he ruined it. He accidentally offended not just
one
of the guys, but
the
guy: Peter Gaglio.