Unholy Nights: A Twisted Christmas Anthology (33 page)

Gabe grasps my arm and I flinch away. He winces like I’ve struck him.

“No. I’ll be okay. This is my house, after all.” Even if it has never felt so.

“You’re not the rustic type, Kathryn. You’re strong but in a lovely way. Not rough. You deserve a Victorian home.”

“Maybe someday,” I say wistfully.

Gabe holds me close and this time I force my body to stand still, using every ounce of my will to keep from squirming out of his arms and retreating to the kitchen. I want him like I’ve never wanted anyone before, but my nerves are raw from too much touching. I need time to get my head on straight so that I can give him more of me.

Inside I recoil from my thoughts and worries—from who I am. I am so screwed-up.

He kisses my brow. He seems reluctant as he pulls away from me, but maybe that is just my wishful thinking.

CHAPTER THREE

I’m just about to open a box containing my tin soldiers and Russian doll collections when Gabe texts that he’s going to the store. He asks if I need anything. Mentally I tabulate the money in my checking account.

“Cat food. Bread, peanut butter, and grape jelly,”
I text back. It’s been forever since I had something sweet.

“Seriously?”

“I like PJ.”
At the first sign of having to defend myself, irritation ripples through me.

“So. You like PJ and owe me a BJ,”
he responds, and I gasp out loud then chuckle softly.

I feel my face burning bright red. There’s nothing in the world I desire more than to taste him, but I do not answer. I sigh and fall back into the couch cushions. I have no idea where this sexual adventure with him is going.

“Well, I know where I’m going,” I say to myself. “Same as always. The kitchen. The dining room. Nowhere...” And maybe that’s all I’ll ever be—the girl across the street, always there and always stuck.

I brush off my self-pity and look through the box of wrapping paper Gabe and I brought down together. I choose a red striped paper for him, and holly for the girls I haven’t even met yet. My shoulders sag. I shake my head to ward off the worries that will never let me be.

I turn up the volume on the TV and listen to the midday news while I mop the kitchen floor and scrub the counters. By the time I’ve empty the dirty water into the toilet, Gabe is pounding on the door.

He holds three full paper bags precariously in his arms and shoves the middle one at me. I barely grasp it before it falls. “Sorry!”

“That’s okay. Nothing breakable in that one anyway. Damn. It’s beyond cold outside,” he exclaims and sets the bags on the bench by the front door. Then he disappears, closing the door behind him.

Is that it? I worry. He isn’t staying? But a minute later he is inside the house, carrying two more bags. Briskly walking passed me, he lists all the food he’s purchased.

I watch silently as he loads up the pantry and my refrigerator. I should be grateful but instead I feel trapped in my own skin.

When Gabe is done, he leans against the counter and offers me a satisfied grin. God he is gorgeous. Inwardly I cannot understand how I can be so angry with such a beautiful man—but I am.

Looking at me he finally gets a clue. He frowns. “What’s wrong?”

“I didn’t ask for this,” I bite out.

His expression is blank. Then wounded.

“Did you get my PJ?” I ask.

He gapes and I know my answer. I growl and turn from him. “How do you expect me to pay you back?” I fume. I pull my fingers through my hair. “I can’t afford this.”

“I don't think anyone's taken care of you for a long time, if ever.”

His words are sweet, but I scrunch up my face. “Mercy did.”

“Sure. Nice tree,” he scoffs.

“I don't need your charity!”

Gabe grasps my shoulders. I watch as he notes their bony thinness. I flush with shame.

“You're not a charity case, Kathryn. You're my north.” He kisses me deeply, pulling me toward him. I cannot resist and melt into him because it is the only thing to do. I am meant to be pressed against him.

“You complete our circle.” Gabe steps away from me and pulls out his phone. “You're meeting the girls tonight.”

He waits for the ring. I hear the small click of someone picking up. My stomach lurches.

“We’re coming over,” he says firmly and returns his phone to his pocket and grasps my elbow.

Now faced with the prospect of going outside for the first time without Mercy, I protest. “I can't!”

He opens the front door and pulls me to his side. “Trust me. If you are afraid, just close your eyes.”

I press my hand to his chest and swallow hard. With a nod, I lower my eyelids and take a deep breath. For a moment, Gabe’s lips caress my brow.

He steers me down the stairs, giving me instructions. Snow crunches under my sneakers. Soon the snow gives way to slippery ice, but Gabe steers me along, murmuring to me as we cross the street. Even in the winter the smell of tar mixes with the scent of snow.

“Careful,” Gabe warns. A second later my toe hits the curb. I step up, slosh over moist snow and crack a frozen acorn. Despite my fear I giggle. Gabe squeezes my shoulder encouragingly. Soon we mount the steps. When I hear the squeak of the front door, I open my eyes.

“Katie,” a short woman with curly auburn hair greets me with a hug. Up close, freckles pepper her nose and cheeks, giving her a girlish look though she was past her teens.

“I’m Molly,” she introduces herself.

“Thank you for taking care of Pixie.”

She grasps my hand. “Pixie’s always welcome. Like you.”

“Well, I hope she isn’t overstaying that welcome.” Truth is I haven’t seen Pixie for several hours.

Gabe pulls me through the small entranceway and into the living room. It looks so much like the way Mercy had arranged it, I almost expect her to be waiting to greet me. Some things have changed. The table is new—not square like Mercy’s—but round. Gold garland and silver mesh adorn the mantel and snake up the staircase. Mercy always preferred natural decorations.

Gabe’s tree is huge, taking up almost half of the living room. And tall. Several high stacks of presents easily fit below its lowest branches.

The hearth is lit and heats the entire room. The smell of roasted chestnuts mixes with pumpkin and cranberry. It’s so warm in Gabe’s home, I almost wish to take off my sweatshirt but I only have my bra on underneath it.

“Here’s Sandy,” Gabe says. The young blonde I saw earlier greets me in the dining room. Today her hair is twisted up into a high ponytail. Like Molly, she offers me a hug, but her hug is ferocious, like a grizzly bear’s, and I am instantly won over by her sweet roughhousing. She presses her cheek to mine and encircles my shoulders. Kissing my cheek with a wet smack she steps back, her grin wide and toothy.

Left breathless by her attack of affection, I search for something to say. “Your pot roast was amazing,” I offer.

“Great!” Sandy beams. A loud snort comes from the kitchen as the door swings open.

The last woman, the brunette, saunters into the room. Her high cheekbones hint of Native American ancestry, and her eyes could be of the same or Asian. She is breathtaking and knows it. She sets down two bottles of chilled wine and rolls her eyes. “It should be. Pot roast is the only thing she knows how to make.”

Sandy shrugs. Stuffs her hands into her jean’s back pockets. “True. Molly’s the real chef.”

“I’m Raven,” the brunette extends a perfectly manicured hand to me. I grasp her fingers and a soft smile curves her lips, brightening her features.

“You’re hands are beautiful,” I breathe.

“And who’s to thank for that?” Sandy interjects.

Raven’s smile deepens. “You, my dear,” she says over her shoulder to Sandy.

Sandy nods in satisfaction. Molly brings in some cheese and crackers and sets these on the coffee table before the fire.

I feel Gabe press in close against my back. I let him steer me farther into the living room. But Sandy pats the couch cushion beside her. “Katie sits here!” she declares.

I comply. Immediately she fusses with my hair, checking my part and my split ends. “Molly hand me a brush!” Sandy pushes me off the couch and down on the rug, finally straddling my shoulders with her thighs. Her fingers tickle the nape of my neck before she pulls them through my hair. They get stuck midway.

“Ouch,” I gasp.

“Be gentle,” Gabe warns.

“I am!” Sandy leans down to my ear. “Sorry,” she whispers. Then tsks. “Well Gabe says your house is spotless but you don’t extend that consideration to your person. That’s a no-no!” She squeezes both my shoulders. “You must take care of the body.”

Molly hands over a brush just as Pixie trots into the room. My heart jumps as my kitty rubs up against Molly, then Raven. Everyone gives her an affectionate hello. Sadness grips me, until Pixie jumps into my lap and rubs under my chin. I sigh in relief. She is still my cat.

“Raven, would you please get Kathryn a glass of wine?” Gabe asks, then looks at me like he’s forgotten my name. “Do you drink?”

“Not in ages, “ I confess.

“Bring her the bottle,” Sandy says.

Everyone laughs. Raven gives me a glass of chilled chardonnay. It’s perfect like her; dry but with a touch of sweetness. Sandy pulls the brush through my hair. I feel a tug as she gathers up my snarled tresses and works through them while protecting my scalp. “We should do your nails,” Sandy decides.

“The smell of evergreen mixed with acetone. Lovely,” Raven’s voice drips displeasure.

“I work at Summer Spa if you can believe that.” Sandy giggled. “A spa! In this tiny town? Don’t get me wrong. Humble Grove is adorable.”

“A perfect place for a small coven,” Raven adds mysteriously.

“Perfect house.” Molly chuckles while spreading cheese over crackers. She offers me one.

“I’ll say.” Sandy agrees.

“I imagine,” I offer tentatively. I cannot believe how well this introduction is going and I don’t want to blow it. I must admit I’ve instantly attached to Gabe’s ladies. “All this dark wood. Very gothic.”

Sandy bursts out laughing. Gabe and Molly chuckle, too. “You could say that,” Gabe offers when he sees my expression.

“Well. What do you mean?” I finally ask.

Raven proceeds to talk about Mercy’s vast library. It isn’t the typical library of a green thumbed gardener. “I’ve never seen so many collections of Tarot,” Raven admits. “And the collection of spell books left behind? Very rare books.”

“Dangerous,” Molly adds.

Raven scoffs. “Not if you know what you are doing.” She turns toward me and I try to smile, but what she’s just said about Mercy is a revelation I never expected. It is hard to digest. Raven offers to read my cards. I thank her but say no.

“They'd be blank my life is very monotonous.”

The three young women look at each other and giggle. “Hardly!” Sandy exclaims. “A north witch is never boring.” Sandy points to each of them. “Molly’s east, I’m west and Raven’s south.”

Gabe looks at me with his intense golden eyes. “Kathryn, you’re the north I’ve envisioned: darkest hair and palest skin.”

I shake my head, “I'm hardly a witch.”

Raven narrows her eyes. “Yet you draw the dead to you.”

Silence follows immediately, as if the air has disappeared from the room. Can they hear the heavy thud of my heart? My skin crawls like ants are marching over it.

Sandy teasingly strokes my temples before she gathers my hair back into a ponytail.

I pull away. “I'm not used to being touched.”

Without another word, Sandy sits on the floor beside me. “You need contact. Touch.” She grasps my hands. “It feeds us all, every human being. You'll wither without it.”

“I've done okay,” I say in defense.

Sandy cups my cheek. “I would never harm you. None of us would. Right now you need family.”

That word means nothing to me. No it does mean something—a cruel joke. Hypocrisy. I wince and get up too fast, my legs nearly buckling beneath me.  “I think I've drunk too much,” I confess, swaying.

Gabe comes to my side and grasps my elbow. “Here. I’ll take you home.”

With eyes closed I do pretty well for half of the journey to my house, but when we get to the other curbside, I feel my sneaker slipping on the ice.

“Stay still,” Gabe warns. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” I take a step forward. “How far?”

“Trust me, Kathryn.” No sooner is my name past his lips than I hear his feet slip. My eyes fly open in time to see Gabe doing what looks like an impression of a large bird flapping his wings furiously as he tries to keep his balance.

I inch closer to him but we both slip, tripping, until we land in the snow bank below my porch. A belly roar bursts out of me like a shout of joy. I double over in the snow, laughing so hard my eyes are crying. Gabe is laughing, too. I crawl over him and kiss his nose. His smile dazzles me before he grasps my shoulders and flips me over, straddling me. He kisses me deeply, and my body warms pleasantly. Then he falls to my side. “Let’s make snow angels.”

Like kids we move our hands and legs, giggling as the snow melts and packs beneath us. Gabe finishes first and rolls on top of me.

“Off,” I gasp, tugging at his hips. His weight pins me down. Unceremoniously he gives me a wet kiss on the lips before shoveling snow into my face. I sputter and push at him, catch his hands and hold him at bay. We wrestle until exhausted, laying beside each other, our breath panting out of us like steam from twin trains. It’s the best night of my life, I think. The very best.

I tell Gabe this.

“It can always be like this,” he offers.

I caress his rough cheek, my finger tracing the dimple of his chin. Beyond his shoulders, the thin gnarled tree branches rub against each other. Suddenly I am aware of the outside, the coldness of the wind, and the infinite vastness of this space below heaven. I squeeze my eyes shut as a shudder passes through me. I sit up.

“Come on.” Gabe jumps up and offers his hand.

Once inside my father’s house, the first things I notice are the tin soldiers and the Russian girls. I had left them in their boxes. But these boxes are now open, ripped, and scattered as if absently tossed. Each Russian girl is facing a tin soldier, each making a pair, and all the pairs arranged as if they are dancing.