Just This Once (17 page)

As soon as everyone had arrived, Hannah gathered the
TriStyle Woman staff around her and passed out the envelopes containing their
modest holiday bonuses, thanking them all for their hard work during the past
year.

“Our success this year is thanks to all of you,” she told
them sincerely. “I know how much I appreciate everything you bring to the
company. You make it a pleasure to come to work every day. And if anybody needs
a cab home, remember, it’s on the house tonight,” she finished, to gratified
applause.

Her duty done, she was happy to relax on a barstool at a
tall table, idly watching Emery flirt shamelessly with women and men alike. She
turned to a touch on her shoulder to find Mark Maxwell, an attorney from the
office across the hall, smiling at her.

“Happy Holidays. You’re looking very beautiful tonight.
Thought you could use a glass of wine,” Mark said, holding it out to her. “I
brought white. I noticed that was what you were drinking earlier. May I join
you?”

“Sure.” Hannah smiled cautiously back at him. He was
handsome, she had always thought, but a little too aware of it. And
his
muscles had definitely
come from the gym.

“I like this combined office party,” he confided. “The
scenery’s a lot better when it includes TriStyle.”

“We’re an active group,” she agreed. “We like to walk the
talk.”

“It’s working for you,” he smiled confidently. His eyes did
a sweep of her figure, making her glad she hadn’t worn anything more revealing.

“It’s pretty crowded in here, though,” he went on. “How
about getting out of here, going for dinner with me someplace quieter? I’ve
wanted to get to know you better anyway.”

“I’m sorry, Mark. It’s been a long day, and I’m looking
forward to getting home. Thank you for the invitation, though,” she said
politely.

“What about tomorrow night, then?” he pressed. “I think we’d
be good together. I’d like to take the chance to find out.”

“I’m sorry,” she said again. “I’m not interested, I’m
afraid.”

“You’re missing a treat,” Mark urged, leaning closer. “I’m
nine inches.”

She could only stare at him. “I beg your pardon?” she
finally asked, in as icy a voice as she could manage.

“All there for you,” he promised, reaching for her hand.
“I’ll make sure you have a good time.”

“I’m sure the two of you will be very happy together,”
Hannah managed at last. “Excuse me.”

She found Emery in the corner, chatting animatedly. At her
urgent whisper, he broke away.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

Torn between distress, outrage, and diversion, she told him.

Emery shrieked with laughter. “He said
that?”
he
finally got out. “What an asshole.”

“He is, isn’t he? What a thing to say.” She started laughing
herself.

“And what you told him,” Emery gasped. “You kill me, Hannah.
Bet he can’t believe it didn’t work.”

“Would that
ever
work?” She laughed so hard that
tears came to her eyes as she remembered the scene, Mark’s outraged look as she
had got up and left. “Who would go for that?”

“Who knows. Somebody drunker and less picky than you. Want
another glass of wine?”

“No.” She shook her head, still grinning. “I think I’ve had
about all the entertainment I can stand for one night. I’m going home. See you Monday.”

Drew was much less amused, though, when Hannah told him
about her flattering invitation on the phone the following night.

“So you see,” she finished with a chuckle. “You don’t have a
lot of competition back here.”

“Bastard,” was his comment. “I’d like to meet him for a bit.
Show him how well that sort of thing goes over with me.”

“You don’t have to worry. I told Emery. I think his revenge
will be even more effective. I suspect Mr. Wonderful has a new nickname by now.
I almost feel sorry for him.”

“What I
really
wanted to say,” she added mischievously,
“was that men who actually have it, don’t need to talk about it.”

Drew wasn’t to be diverted. “I hate to think of you there
alone, somebody saying that to you. Wish I’d been with you.”

“Yes, I think we can safely assume that he wouldn’t have
said it if you’d been there. And now you know why it had been three years,” she
pointed out reasonably. “Lots of jerks out there.”

“There is that,” he conceded. “Can’t help but look good in
comparison, can I.”

“You look good anyway,” she assured him. “But in comparison,
yes, you blow them out of the water.”

 “How in the world do people get into the Christmas spirit?”
Hannah wondered aloud one late December evening around seven, as she and Beth
looked over sales reports and discussed post-holiday discounts. “What kind of
decorations do you have at your place, Beth?”

“None,” the other woman admitted. “I always mean to put them
up, but we’re so busy, it just seems like one more chore. And since I live
alone . . .” she shrugged. “It doesn’t seem like there’s much point. But my
parents always have the house decorated,” she brightened. “I guess that’s when
Christmas really starts for me. Even if it’s Christmas Eve by the time I get
home, once I’ve gone to midnight Mass, and sung the carols, and eaten my mom’s
food, I’m ready to enjoy Christmas.”

“That’s great. You’re lucky.” Hannah couldn’t help feeling a
pang of envy.

“I’m sorry, Hannah,” Beth said contritely. “That was
insensitive of me. What are you going to be doing this year?”

“It’s all right,” Hannah reassured her. “Nothing to be sorry
about. I like hearing about your family. I’m doing the same thing as
usual—having Matt and Kristen over for the day. We’ll go for a walk, have
dinner. The only difference is that we have chicken instead of turkey. Pretty
hard for three people to eat a turkey, you know. That’s all right, though. I
like chicken better anyway, don’t you?”

Beth didn’t answer her directly. “Do you mind my asking,
Hannah—don’t you have grandparents, or anything? Why has it been just you and
your siblings?”

“Not really. My mother’s parents were never very involved,
and my father’s parents have passed away now. That’s OK, though. It was all a
long time ago. How did we get on this sad subject, anyway?” Hannah asked
briskly. “I should let us get back to work so we can get out of here.”

Beth dropped the subject, sensitive to Hannah’s mood as
always. But Hannah impulsively stopped at the tree lot on the way home and
bought a tabletop-sized evergreen that would fit into her small apartment and
give it the smell of Christmas. She might not have a lot of family, but she did
have a sister and brother, and she needed to make the holiday special for them.

She knew, really, why Christmas always seemed like an
ordeal. It wasn’t just that her family was smaller than most. Her father had
died in November, and her sorrow over his passing had cast a pall over the
holiday ever since.

She could recall that first year so clearly. They’d had a
tree, but their mother hadn’t helped to decorate it. It had been up to Hannah
to organize her brother and sister in pulling out the boxes of decorations and
putting them onto the tree. She’d put on a holiday CD, but it had all felt
forced, and Matt had cried.

When Hannah had asked her mother about stockings, Tiffany
Montgomery had just looked at her. “Aren’t you all too old?” she had asked
vaguely.

“The little kids aren’t. They need stockings, Mom. Mattie
especially. He still half-believes that Santa’s going to come. He’ll be so sad
if there are no presents. How about if I do it? I know what you put in. Could
you give me some money, and I can buy the things?”

She had continued to do it until she had gone away to
college. Little things—crayons and barrettes and stickers, Matchbox cars.
Batteries, pens, candy when they got older. Silly things, but the tradition
meant a lot to her, and to them, Hannah knew.

But filling the stockings on Christmas Eve had never felt as
joyful as it should have. It just made her remember what it had been like when
her father had been alive. How he and her mother had joked and laughed, shooing
their three children off to bed “so Santa can come.”

She remembered giggling with Kristen in the room they
shared, unable to sleep for the excitement, until her father would come down.

“If I hear one more peep out of you, I’m going to tell Santa
to skip this house,” he would warn. “Go to sleep now, or Christmas can’t come.”

Once he had gone, Hannah thought sadly, it seemed that
Christmas had never really come again. She had tried, but she had been unable
to recreate that joy. Her mother would be abstracted, until she cried. Those
were the worst times. Hannah would run for the box of tissues, helpless to do
more. How she had wished she knew how to comfort her mother, how to make her
happy, how to help her enjoy Christmas.

The little kids were easier. She had read them the stories.
The
Night Before Christmas. The Polar Express.
She could still remember all the
words. She had watched them emptying their stockings on Christmas morning, glad
for their excitement. Had helped her mother make dinner. But no, it hadn’t been
the same.

Why was she so sad? she asked herself. Why remember all this
now? Why not think about the good times instead? There were good memories, from
before. But somehow, they got mixed up with the sad ones, the contrast making
the sad years that much harder to remember.

She sighed now as she set up the little tree. It had almost
been easier once their mother had died, she thought guiltily. At least then
they hadn’t had to pretend. She would have Matt and Kristen over for the day,
they would exchange gifts and have dinner. Sometimes even go to a movie on
Christmas Eve.

On impulse, she picked up the phone and called Kristen. “Hi,
sweetie. I realized it’s already December 21, and we haven’t really talked
about our plans. I wanted to ask, do you want to go to a movie this year,
Christmas Eve? You guys could stay over if you wanted, and we could have
breakfast on Christmas. That would be fun, don’t you think?”

Kristen paused. “I was meaning to call you,” she said
slowly. “I’m really sorry. But I just got a chance to go skiing over Christmas
with some friends. I don’t have much time off, you know, but I got three days
this year. It’s not like we ever do that much anyway, so I thought you wouldn’t
mind. Have you called Matt? I’ll bet he’d like to go to the movies, if you make
sure it’s an action movie, anyway.”

“Oh,” Hannah answered blankly. “Oh, well, sure. If you have
the chance to go, you should. You’re right. That’s OK.”

“But will you be all right?” Kristen pressed. “I feel kind
of bad. I know you always try to make it nice for us.”

“No,” Hannah answered more firmly. “You go ahead and have a
good time. I missed Thanksgiving this year myself, after all. I’m glad you have
enough time off to take even a short vacation this year. It’ll be good for you.
We can call each other on Christmas. You can tell me how the skiing goes.”

Hanging up, Hannah felt an absurd urge to cry. Oh, well. She
and Matt would have a good time. It would be nice to have some one-on-one time
with him. Maybe they could shake things up, do something different. Go for a
hike, a bike ride. It might be more fun if they didn’t try to be traditional,
but used the day for one of the active interests they shared.

The next day at work, though, she had to change her plans
again when Matt called.

“Uh, Hannah,” he began. “I know you always have us over for
dinner on Christmas. But my friend Steve invited me to his house. His parents
live on the beach in Santa Barbara. Would you mind too much if I went down
there? They have surfboards and kayaks. It sounded great, so I said yes. Will
you and Kristen be OK if I don’t come this year?”

“Oh.” Hannah felt her heart sinking. “Kristen’s going skiing,
actually. I guess it’s a good year for you to do something else too, since she
won’t be there anyway.”

“Shi—shoot,” Matt corrected himself. “Do you want me to stay
and keep you company? I don’t want you to be by yourself on Christmas. I don’t
have to go, if you need me.”

“Don’t be silly,” she answered automatically. “I can find company,
if I get lonely. It’ll be kind of nice to have a break to do whatever I want.
It’s been so busy here, just sleeping in will feel wonderful. I’ll be OK, Matt.
You go ahead.”

But hanging up, she didn’t feel OK. She tried to turn back
to work, but couldn’t concentrate. She got up abruptly and told Beth she’d be
back in a few minutes. It was raining—of course it was raining. She was taking
a walk anyway, she decided. Buttoning her coat and pulling on a warm hat, she
stuffed her hands in her pockets and walked.

You’re sad, she told herself. All right, be sad. It
is
sad.
She couldn’t help feeling a flash of anger at her brother and sister as well. But
they were young, they had a few days off, and they wanted to spend those days
with friends. That was all right, she told herself firmly. Their family
Christmases, after all, weren’t exactly joyous celebrations. Hadn’t she just
been thinking that, the other day?

But that was all she had, she thought bleakly. However
imperfect, that had been her Christmas. What was she supposed to do now? Roast
a chicken and eat it by herself? She laughed, but felt tears pricking at the
back of her eyes as she pictured herself dining in solo state at her decorated
table. All right, scratch that. She would just have to come up with something
fun to do on her own.

She briefly considered calling Susannah. Maybe she could fly
to San Diego for the day? Then sighed. No. Susannah and her husband would be
visiting his parents, she remembered. Anyway, what man wanted his wife’s best
friend spending the family holiday with them? She’d have to get through the day
on her own.