The Dickens with Love (13 page)
emotional complication right now. I desperately hoped all this prettiness and homemaking was not on my behalf. I’d tried again and again to make it clear I only wanted to be friends.
The Dickens with Love
I opened the CD-shaped parcel first. America’s
Holiday Harmony
. “You shouldn’t have,” I
murmured.
“My turn!” She ripped apart the foil-wrapping of her parcel and gave a scream of delight. “
James
. Oh, James, you shouldn’t have.”
That was probably true, especially if she was going to drag me along with her to see them in concert.
But maybe that wasn’t such a danger as I thought, looking around this room with the litter of Christmas cards and parcels under the miniature tree. The fact was, Darcy had more people in her life than I did. A lot more people by the look of things.
She danced across to me, hugged me tightly, and then looked stricken. “My gosh. I didn’t… I mean,
the things I got you were… I didn’t think you’d buy me anything
nice
.”
I laughed. I was actually sort of relieved though I felt silly for spending all that money on tickets.
No. Actually, I didn’t. She was inviting me to share her Christmas and had made us a wonderful
dinner. She was kind and generous and good-hearted. She was a much better friend to me than I had ever been to her. I was glad I’d bought those tickets.
“It was my pleasure. What should I open next?”
She indicated the small square parcel wrapped in leering snowmen.
I unwrapped it. Asbach Uralt brandy-filled chocolate tree ornaments.
“Of course you don’t have a Christmas tree,” she said regretfully.
“You didn’t really think I could have left these hanging on a tree for more than three minutes, did
you?” I smiled. “Thank you.” I picked up the last parcel, about the size of a Christmas ornament, which is what I deduced it was.
She said hurriedly, “That’s sort of a…well, not a gag gift exactly, but you have such a terrible diet—
when you remember to eat—and you’re always so stressed.”
I was? The box rattled as I gently shook it. “What is it, Viagra?”
She sputtered. “
James
.”
I tore off the paper. A small jar was emblazoned with the label
New Zealand Bee Pollen.
I swallowed hard. “Oh.”
Maybe I looked a little dazed, she rushed into worried speech. “Was it a bad idea? Are you allergic to bees? It was just a…a thought. It just came to me.”
“It’s really sweet of you,” I said.
She sat on the footstool in front of me. “James, what’s wrong? I could tell the minute you walked in
something was really wrong.”
For one very bizarre and confusing moment I wondered if I was going to have a total breakdown and
cry in front of Darcy. But then I pulled myself together. “Nothing is wrong. Well, nothing serious.”
“Someone beat you up. Something’s wrong.”
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Josh Lanyon
I stared at her worried face and realized I couldn’t even begin to explain what was wrong. Wrong with
me, wrong with my life.
“Basically, I had too much to drink last night and didn’t get enough sleep.”
She was shaking her head stubbornly.
I reached across and squeezed her hand. “Let it go, okay?”
She frowned, hesitated, and then to my relief, she let it go.
It was a nice day. The food was good and the company was surprisingly pleasant, and I wondered
why I always worked so hard to avoid this. What was I so afraid of? That if I let anyone get close…
Actually, I knew what I was afraid of, and I was right to be afraid. But maybe I didn’t have to cut
myself off so entirely from everyone. Hopefully I’d learned something since I was eleven years old.
Since I couldn’t have my old life back, it was time to concentrate on building a new one.
After I helped Darcy do the dishes, I looked at the clock. “I was thinking about catching a movie at
the Americana this evening. Would you like to come along?”
To my surprise, her cheeks turned pink. “Well…” She gave me a funny look and then burst out, “The
thing is, I’ve got a date.”
“
You
do?” I hastily corrected for that. “You
do
. That’s great.”
“It’s really due to you,” she said.
“It is?”
“I took your advice last night, and I made a point of talking to every single person at that party, and, well, one of the people I talked to was Jeff Jablonski. He’s the manager of our warehouse department. It turned out that he’s always sort of…”
“That’s great,” I said again, and this time I really meant it.
I said thank you and goodbye to Darcy and went back next door. I ate a brandy chocolate, took two
bee pollen tablets and looked up the show times at the Americana. I had the choice of a film about Nelson Mandela, a murdered girl whose spirit was watching over her family and her killer, the new Sherlock
Holmes or a James Cameron fantasy.
These days I didn’t find murder mysteries very amusing, so I opted for Mandela and the Rugby team.
When the film was over, I decided I did not want to go back to my apartment and I went around the
corner to a dive bar where I occasionally went for a drink when I wanted company—or at least the presence of living, breathing beings without having to talk to anyone.
“What’s the other guy look like?” the bartender inquired.
I’d forgotten that I was beginning to look a lot like Halloween. Now that I was reminded of it, my
face hurt, my back hurt, my ribs hurt. My brain hurt. It had been a long day. A long week.
“He was ugly to start with,” I said.
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The Dickens with Love
The bartender laughed.
“What’s your name, by the way?” I asked. I’d been going to that bar for three years and never thought
to ask his name. Never paid any attention at all.
“Fred.”
I ordered a Stardust from Fred.
“A what?” he asked.
“A Stardust. I think it has four parts vodka, one part crème de cacao. Goldschlager liqueur fits in there somewhere.”
He stared at me, perplexed, and then retreated to the backroom. I listened to the music piped in from
wherever. Still Christmas music, even here, but that would all be over by tomorrow. A lot of things would be over tomorrow. Sedgwick would auction
The Christmas Cake
and I would probably never see the book or him again.
I wasn’t sure why that seemed so hard to believe. So difficult to accept. I’d only known him a couple
of days. How could he have become so important?
I listened to the overhead music. Jackson Browne singing “The Rebel Jesus”. I felt cheered. If I had to pick a favorite Christmas song, it would have to be that one. Perhaps this was a positive nudge from the cosmos. I had done some hard thinking that day and maybe this was my atta boy. At least “A Christmas to Remember” no longer seemed to be stalking me.
As I listened to the song, I thought that maybe when I got back to my apartment I could try calling
Sedgwick. Simply to wish him a merry Christmas. Simply to apologize. If there was ever a day on which
he might be open to forgiveness, it was probably today.
Peace and love for one’s fellow man, right? And I was a fellow man.
I had nothing to lose, that was for sure.
Fred came out of the backroom, filled a shaker cup with ice, and started pouring in Blue Curacao,
citrus vodka, peach schnapps, pineapple juice, grenadine, and sweet and sour mix.
“Wait, that’s not right,” I said. “It’s supposed to be made with crème de cacao.”
“This is what the recipe book says.”
“Yeah, but when I had it before it was this kind of silver gold with glitters floating through it. It was beautiful.”
“How much had you had to drink at that stage?”
“I’m serious.”
Fred shook his head. “It’s this or nothing, my friend.”
Ah. Another of those celestial nudge in the ribs, right? I was getting better at picking them up.
“I’ll try that.”
He nodded approvingly.
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Josh Lanyon
I was sipping the blue Stardust—it was okay, nothing to die for—when a tall figure slid into the
barstool next to me.
A curt, familiar voice inquired, “Don’t you ever go home? This is the second time I’ve been to your
local this evening.”
My heart jumped. I turned and got a glimpse of the full-on headmaster. Stern mouth, forbidding
glasses. I was too shocked and happy to speak. As we gazed at each other, Sedgwick’s disapproving
expression changed to consternation.
“What the hell happened to you?” He reached out to touch my cheek with gentle fingers.
“I walked into a reindeer.”
He wasn’t smiling. Nothing new there. I felt that brush of fingertips in every skin cell.
“Did that bloody man hit you?” He sounded very angry. Serious anger. The kind of anger that was not
for show and not mere venting. Archangel anger. And on my behalf. It wasn’t exactly in keeping with the spirit of the season, but I was touched.
“It doesn’t matter. Really.” I realized that was true. I was glad the lies and deception were over. I had tried to make the right thing happen by doing the wrong things, and it had destroyed everything I’d hoped to achieve. I wanted it behind me. I wanted to believe I had learned something at last.
He didn’t say anything, but his thumb traced the corner of my mouth. My bottom lip quivered. I
turned my head. I could see my face reflected in the mirror behind the glittering array of jewel-colored bottles and stemware. I could see Fred the bartender’s face too, and I said, “Let’s get out of here.”
Sedgwick was already rising, one hand resting on the small of my back as we wove our way through
the chairs and tables. I felt that light, guiding touch all the way to my groin.
“How did you find me?” I asked as we stepped outside into the brisk and cold and smog-scented
night. There was a fine mist falling on our hair and faces.
“I went to your flat. Your neighbor told me you had gone to a movie. So I waited. Then it occurred to
me that you might have come here. I checked, but no joy. I went back to your flat and waited more. Then I checked back here again.”
The usual precise accounting.
“Why are you here, Sedge?” I asked quietly. “You were pretty definite Wednesday night that you
didn’t want to see me again.”
A muscle in his jaw moved. “I was very angry on Wednesday. Angry and hurt.”
I nodded. It wasn’t an explanation, though.
He said grimly, “I woke up this morning and realized that the only person I wanted to spend this day
with was you. The only Christmas present I wanted was to magically undo everything that happened
Wednesday from the minute you walked out of my hotel room.”
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The Dickens with Love
I went to him, his arms folded tightly around me. We held each other, held on tight, as though we had
narrowly missed some terrible disaster, as though a train had rushed by without hitting us or a tornado had landed a few feet from us and bounced away again.
I was distantly aware that the rain was coming down harder, but I didn’t want to move from the
shelter of Sedgwick’s arms. I sensed he felt the same.
At last he loosened his grip on me and said, “I’m parked down the street.”
“Where are we going?”
“A place we can talk.” He hesitated. “You decide.”
“What are we talking about?”
“You. Me. The Dickens.” He paused and then said, “Love.”
“The Dickens with love. There’s a mix.”
His smile was perfunctory. He still looked very grave. Unsmiling in the pallid lamplight.
I admitted, “I’m suddenly afraid of what you’re going to tell me.”
He shook his head. “You don’t have to be. I owe you an explanation. We can start there. If you still
want to continue the conversation after that, it will be your choice.”
That sounded pretty cold-blooded, but when I thought of that bone-crushing hug I felt a fraction more
confident. He had used the “L” word, and I had felt it in the way he held me.
“We can talk at my place.”
He nodded. I had the impression he wanted to say more. If so, he restrained himself. We walked
across the street to my apartment. The building felt deserted. The silence next door was blessed.
Sedgwick looked around my room curiously. I don’t know what he made of it. He didn’t comment,
but I could see through his eyes how barren it was, how unwelcoming. Except that he
was
welcome. And always would be.
“Before you say anything,” I said. “I know I was in the wrong. I did deliberately avoid telling you
who the buyer was. I did know from Stephanopoulos that if you discovered I was acting as his go-between, you wouldn’t consider his offer. I wanted the commission. I won’t deny that. But once I…started to care for you, I wanted to take Stephanopoulos for every penny I could get
for you
. I swear that’s the truth.”
He sighed.
I persisted, “I know it sounds self-serving, but I did think it would be the best thing for all of us if the deal went through.”
“But you were wrong. Do you see that?”
“Yes.”
He said almost sadly, “I couldn’t believe you had done that. I couldn’t believe you would betray my
trust like that.”
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Josh Lanyon
“Please don’t say anything more,” I pleaded. “I’m truly sorry. I can’t tell you how sorry I am. My
only excuse is I haven’t thought clearly about these things for a long time. You’ve made me see…so many things. Made me see myself.”
I could see him weighing his words before he said at last, “I needed to hear you say that. But to be