One Snowy Night Before Christmas (5 page)

“There are a lot of reasons,” she finally said. “But it
wasn’t the year I sprained my ankle, or the year I had pneumonia.”

“Lots of people get sick over the holidays,” he said,
digging that hole again.
Shut up
, he told himself, but himself wouldn’t
listen. “My Uncle Bob broke his collarbone trying to do a wheelie on a
motorcycle last year. Too much high octane eggnog.”

She laughed, but looked out the window again as if talking
about it was just too painful. When she glanced back his way, she wore that
impish half smile bringing out her adorable dimple. God, she was gorgeous.
“You’re not going to let me alone on this, are you? Let me guess, you’re one of
those die-hard Christmas fanatics.”

Tom smiled back. She’d let him off the hook easier than he
deserved. He knew if he wanted to earn points here, he’d best stop prying. But
the lawyer in him just wouldn’t let him stop talking. “In a way, I am. I have
two brothers and a sister. My parents love to spoil the grandkids.”

“Aren’t they lucky,” she said with a sliver of sarcasm. “I
never had anyone to spoil me.”

He opened his mouth but she brought up a hand, cutting him
off. “
Don’t
tell me Christmas is about the ‘Spirit of Giving.’ I’ve had
people telling me that all my life. If I hear one more person tell me Christmas
is about the ‘Spirit of Giving,’ I’m going to barf. Christmas is nothing more
than a blatant exploitation by the stores to bilk consumers into spending money
under the pretense of ‘giving.’ The only ‘spirit’ is the spirit of spending.”

That flawless creamy skin was glowing and her eyes danced
with fire.

“Wow.”

“Well, it’s true.”

“Okay, I’ll give you that much. Forget the presents and the
decorations and all the expenses. Surely you’ve enjoyed one Christmas, somewhere,
sometime. Just once? For one minute? I can’t believe they’ve all been torture.”

“Oh yeah?” She lifted her eyebrows as if he’d just
challenged her. “Wanna bet?”

“Another cup of this delicious hot chocolate,” he said,
trying to diffuse her. “And maybe a piece of toast.”

“You’re on, but I’m going to make that toast for you even
though you’re going to lose.” She jumped up and headed to the kitchen. “I
wasn’t thinking. You must be starved.”

Tom settled back in the sofa. Although she was clearly
irked, their banter was comfortable, friendly. He wasn’t leaving here without
asking for her phone number. Or maybe he’d just sneak a peek at the phone and
write it down, then call her later.

He heard the plunge of her toaster’s lever. “We were poor
when I was growing up. It was just me and my mom. In the good years she worked
at the cannery, but there were a lot of years she didn’t and we were on
welfare. We hardly had any money for food, but she always had booze.”

“That can make the whole year fun,” Tom said, trying not to
insult her with some sappy, mollifying comment. “Where does Christmas come in?”

“In comparison to our neighbors, we were the poorest of the
poor. We never had a Christmas tree or a big turkey dinner. Even the neighbors
got toys and clothes, and they were always out playing with them the next day.”
The toaster popped. “Strawberry jam?”

“Now you’re trying to seduce me.” Only after he said it did
he realize he’d just flirted. He hoped he hadn’t offended her, or worse, made
her second-guess her choice to let him stay here.

“All women know the way to a man’s heart is through his
stomach,” she returned without missing a beat.

Her condo, with its kitchen bar that opened up to the living
room, was warm and comfortable. Tom felt himself sinking into the love seat as
fatigue pulled at his edges.

He shook it away. He would sleep later. Right now all he
cared about was spending time with this lovely woman and listening to the
deeply sensual resonance of her voice. A small wedge of his conscience poked at
him; here she was confessing her most painful memories and all he could think
about was how much he’d like to date her.

She returned to the living room with a fresh cup of cocoa
and a plate heaped with fat slices of bakery toast. Jessie smiled sheepishly as
she claimed the top one for herself. “I was hungry too.”

She plopped back onto the couch and picked up her mug.
“Every year my mother made another ridiculous claim about how next year she
would work, and we’d have presents and a nice dinner. Always next year. Then
she’d give a half-hearted effort to be festive, but she’d end up drunk, making
everything worse than if she hadn’t tried at all.”

“What about all those organizations that try to help
underprivileged families during the holidays?”

“Oh please, don’t try to sugar coat it,” she said in a
slightly rougher voice. “
Underprivileged
. Didn’t you just hear what I
said? It’s that phony BS that I hate the most.
Poor
, we were dirt poor.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“No, I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that. I’m just sensitive
about people trying to soften things that shouldn’t be. If there is one thing I
won’t be with myself, it’s dishonest.”

“I can appreciate that,” Tom said, not knowing what else to
say. Jessie’s brow creased and those full lips were down-turned. He wished
there was some magic incantation he could recite to make her feel better, but
he knew one didn’t exist. Unfortunately, he’d seen too many families like hers
and understood the permanent scars poverty and neglect could leave on a
person’s soul. A sliver of worry needled him as he considered the sad little
girl sleeping upstairs, and the fact he didn’t know what to do to lift her
spirits, either.

“I would never go to one of those places. Cheap toys from
strangers, crappy dinners in cafeteria food lines with the homeless… It wasn’t
for me.”

Too much pride. Somehow he knew that about her. Jessie
repositioned herself on the chair as it seemed she tried to get comfortable on
the inside, too.

“I grew up dreading Christmas, but I didn’t really hate it
until I was fourteen.”

Tom’s stomach lurched. He knew he was about to hear
something really terrible, and having already learned to care about this sad
stranger, it hurt him inside.

She leveled those piercing eyes on him. They shone in the
soft light of the living room, as if tears lingered somewhere just behind an
invisible barrier she’d erected at the edge of her emotions. When she mustered
that impish half smile, this time the dimple didn’t show.

“My mother had worked for almost the whole year. We finally had
the tree, the turkey, and the presents. She’d been dry for the most part, I
could tell, because she’d been interested in my grades and my desire to go to
college.”

She must have noticed his quizzical expression. “You don’t
have any drunks in your family, do you? They don’t care about stuff like
prosperity.” This time, when she smiled, the dimple came back. “She made this
wonderful dinner without burning a thing. The house smelled so good, and looked
so bright. We’d made our tree decorations out of ribbon bows and popcorn
strands. It was so beautiful. I’ll never forget it.”

“Looks like I just won the bet.”

She stopped and matched his smile, but hers held great
sadness. Even across the space dividing the couches, he could see the tears
swimming in her eyes. Too late, Tom realized reliving the good things probably
hurt her a hundred times more than remembering the bad.

“Yes, you did.” One tear slipped free and left a silvery
trail down her cheek. Tom rose and made his way over. He knelt beside her chair
and took the coffee cup from her. He placed it on the empty entertainment
center, and took her hand. It was a forward gesture from someone she hardly
knew, but selfishly he couldn’t stop himself. He couldn’t stand the pain he saw
in her eyes.

“I’m sorry, Jessie. This is none of my business. You don’t
have to tell me anymore.”

“Oh, but the story gets so exciting,” she said with an edge
of sarcasm. In an instant the hardened girl overcame the vulnerable one trying
to get out. “We were robbed. Cleaned out.”

“No,” Tom said. “It’s unbelievable.”

“That was what we thought. I remember standing there in the
hallway off the living room and staring at an empty living room. They took
everything—even the tree.” She choked out a pathetic laugh. “My mother’s
bedroom was closest to the living room. She didn’t hear anything because she’d
gotten drunk after I went to bed. I was foolishly dreaming about Santa and
elves and brightly wrapped boxes with wonderful gifts inside, and she was back
to her old ways, drinking her Christmas present to herself.”

He squeezed her hand, surprised to find his own shaking.
“I’m so sorry somebody did that to you, Jessie. I don’t know you very well, but
I know you don’t deserve that. Nobody does.”

She pulled her hand free and he worried he’d crossed a line
with her, but she reached out and brushed his cheek. She smiled, and this time
the silence that stretched wasn’t uncomfortable.

“None of that mattered to me, though, because the worst part
was the thieves stole the locket my father had given me when I was a little
girl. He died when I was eight. It was the most significant gift he’d ever
given me.”

Tom sat back on the floor and rested his arms on his knees.
“I’m sorry, Jessie.”

“That was the year I really gave up on Christmas. I think it
was also the year my mother did as well. If people could be that rotten to each
other, to go so far as to steal a family’s Christmas, then there truly is no
spirit of ‘giving.’ That locket was just about the most important thing in the
world to me. Out of everything I’ve lost, that’s the only thing I ever wanted
back.”

“The police never caught them?”

She shook her head, then seemed to visibly shake the misery
away. Jessie sat up taller and smiled. “Now I’ve made you sad. Remember, you
won the bet.  My Christmases haven’t all been bad. When I was sixteen, the
neighbor’s tree caught fire and burned down their house and both houses on
either side. We only rented ours, but my mother got enough from the insurance
settlement to put a down payment on this place.”

“Blessings come in strange packages.”

She laughed. “They sure do.” She pushed herself from the
chair, and Tom followed her into the kitchen.

“Then there was the year I broke my leg and had to miss a
youth ski trip I’d saved six months to pay for. The bus broke down and all the
kids were stuck in Utah for a week. Nobody got to ski, and we all got our money
back.”

“There you go. Another blessing.”

She tossed a quirk of a smile over her shoulder as she set
the empty plate in the sink. Already Tom adored the way she did that.

“And of course there was last year with Mike, another
Christmas tragedy hiding a blessing. So there you have it, my life story.” He
sat at the tiny table and let her refresh his cocoa from the saucepan.

“The worst part about Christmas is that people just won’t
let me
not
celebrate it. I really just want to be left alone, but people
won’t stop pestering me. They make such a big deal over it they drive me crazy.
It’s like they have to change my mind about it. Maybe to make themselves feel
good for reforming me, I don’t know.”

Tom swallowed a hot lump of emotion. “Guilty.”

Jessie sat across from him and put her hand over his. The
tender gesture made his insides dance. “I know your heart is in the right
place, Tom, but I really do know what’s best for me. Because it’s such a big
collection of bad memories I only want to put it out of my mind, but it’s such
an overwhelming holiday that’s just impossible.”

“You’re not alone, you know. Christmas is too much for a lot
of people.”

She laughed and leaned back in her chair. Her hand slipped
away, leaving his cold. She took a sip of cocoa and rubbed a tiny spot on the
cup with her fingernail.

“It’s not that I want to be alone on Christmas, but it’s
just so uncomfortable to get dragged along to someone else’s Christmas. It’s
really a family thing, and I don’t have any family anymore.”

“Well this year isn’t so bad,” Tom risked, trying to change
the subject. “You met me and Amy.” He groaned inwardly. He never could flirt.

“This year I killed Christmas for all kids. I ran over
Santa!”

“Santa should learn to stay out of the road,” he tossed
back. “The accident wasn’t your fault. I’ll attest to that. I know I was in the
vehicle with you, but the police can’t claim I’m an associated witness because
we really don’t know each other.”

In the back of his mind he hoped she’d say that there was
something between them, even if it was just that they were merely friends.

“I’m willing to take full responsibility,” she said instead,
shaking her head. “The poor old guy is probably homeless. He’ll have no way to
pay his hospital bill.”

“You’re a good person, Jessie. But don’t let him take you to
the cleaners.” He grinned. “I can recommend a good lawyer.”

Jessie smothered a yawn as her Felix the Cat clock on the
wall softly chimed twice.

He stood and reached for the mugs. “I’m sorry for keeping
you up. I forgot you worked tonight. You must be exhausted.”

She stood up with him and caught his hand. “Tom.”

He stopped mid-reach.

“Thank you for tonight. It’s been a long time since I’ve
talked about it. I’m sorry that I’m the wrong person to help you convince Amy
she’ll have a good Christmas this year.”

He lost himself in those vivid, emerald eyes. “I’m sorry I’m
one of those people who tried to convince you to see Christmas their way.”

She held his gaze, her eyes moving only to drift to his
mouth, then back. He was so tired and punchy he almost considered kissing her.
Inside, he knew it was wrong, and trying it would probably get both him and Amy
thrown out into the snow. For once, he listened to himself.