A Merry Little Christmas (2 page)

“A lot of the international students are your age, Dad. They’re mostly from Africa and Asia.” Daniel took the remote from his brother and gave it back to their father. “We just thought it would be a way to do something good. If you have extra, you’re supposed to share it…. Oh, never mind. Come on, Ben. He doesn’t get it.”

“Whoa, now.” Resisting the urge to turn on the television, Jeremiah set the popcorn bowl on the side table and studied his sons. Almost mirror images of himself, they stared back—blue eyes, dark hair, a take-no-prisoners outlook on life. They wanted something from him, and Jeremiah wasn’t about to ignore them now, not after all they had been through together.

When the boys were seven and nine, their mother had vanished the week before Christmas, leaving him to pick up the pieces and try to rebuild a family. After moving to Oregon to start over with another man, Jeremiah’s former wife sent her sons birthday and Christmas cards, called now and then, even mailed money when she could. But she never saw her children again. After all this time, it was still inconceivable to Jeremiah that the woman he had loved and married could abandon her own offspring. That he had failed totally as a husband. That his wife’s rejection of their family was so complete.

Years of struggle had left their mark, but Jeremiah was determined not to become bitter. He focused on his sons and his career—and he would dare anyone to question his success in both arenas. If he left a legacy at all, it wouldn’t be the award-winning buildings that dotted the metropolitan centers of nearly every major city in the Midwest. It wouldn’t be an architectural firm ranked among the most profitable and successful in the region. It certainly wouldn’t be the sprawling stone house with its swimming pool, guest cottage and four-car garage he had designed, built and lived in for the past eight years. It would be these boys. These two fine young men in whom Jeremiah had invested his time, his money, and—most of all—his love.

Jeremiah looked at them now, their earnest expressions, their pent-up frustration. Letting out a long breath, he leaned back in his chair. “If it means that much to you, fine. Go talk to the person in charge of the program, this—” he glanced down at the flyer “—this Dr. Crane. See if the university would even be interested in putting a student in our guest cottage. We’ll look into it, and see if we can help out in one way or another.”

“He’s gonna try to weasel out,” Benjamin told his brother. “That’s how he talks when he’s leaving loopholes.”

“Don’t worry,” Daniel said. He set the bowl of popcorn back in his father’s lap. “We’ll win this one.”

As they sauntered out of the room, Jeremiah crossed his legs, turned back to the game and dipped his hand into the popcorn. His sons successfully outmaneuvered him now and then. But only when he chose to hand them the victory flag.

Jeremiah pulled his BMW into its space in the garage and let his head drop back against the headrest. A long night of work lay ahead of him, and both boys’ cars were home. That meant the basement would probably be full. And loud. Teenagers would be running up and down the stairs, baking pizzas, letting friends into the house, playing music and video games at loud volume. It was a school night, but so close to the Thanksgiving break that the teachers had all but given up assigning homework.

Lifting his briefcase from the car floor, he thought of the board meeting the following morning. Ever since the firm’s clash with historic preservationists a couple of years back, everyone was spooked. Nowadays, when an old building was scheduled for demolition, the board went through the paperwork with a fine-tooth comb.

In this project, Jeremiah was working with a developer to convert a defunct shoe factory in downtown St. Louis into loft apartments. A high-class project with excellent funding, it promised to enhance the city’s riverfront. The firm had worked hard on the design, and Jeremiah had spearheaded the effort to keep as much of the building’s original features intact as possible. But with the board arriving in the morning, he was probably going to be up most of the night preparing to defend his plan.

“Yo, Dad!” Daniel bounced a basketball around the corner of the garage. “You’re here!”

That ought to be fairly obvious, Jeremiah thought as he stepped out of the garage. Didn’t his older son have a late class on Tuesday afternoons?

“He’s home, Ben!” Daniel called. “Over here!”

Benjamin danced into the open. “Hey, Dad. Wanna shoot some hoops with us?”

As he looked at his sons, the tension in Jeremiah’s shoulders eased. Dressed in gray sweatpants and T-shirts, they were a picture of health and wholesomeness. These were two good kids. Sure, Benjamin had spent a little time in the principal’s office in grade school for acting up. And Daniel had made some unwise choices, including a girlfriend a few years before. Neither boy was perfect by a long shot. But they were turning out all right. He couldn’t be prouder.

“I’ve got a big meeting tomorrow morning,” he told them. “That St. Louis shoe factory deal is on the table.”

“Aw, just half an hour,” Benjamin pleaded. “C’mon, Dad!”

“Yeah, Dad.”

Daniel tossed the ball to his father. Jeremiah caught it with one hand and dribbled for a moment before rifling it back to his son. Dropping his briefcase on the driveway, he shrugged out of his suit coat, rolled up the sleeves of his starched white shirt, loosened his tie and headed for the basketball hoop. Still wearing his tasseled loafers, he would probably fall and crack his tailbone, but so what?

“This way, Daniel,” he called.

The older boy threw him the ball, and the three of them went at it, just as they always had. Father and sons, orange hoop on the side of the garage, air echoing with the sound of the ball hitting the pavement and the players grunting. Despite the November chill, they were sweating in no time flat. Daniel spotted an opening and put up a shot.

“Nothin’ but net!” he crowed, pumping a fist.

“Look out, Dad.” Benjamin scooped up the loose ball and dribbled away from the hoop.

Jeremiah went for a steal. With a quick move, he swatted Benjamin’s dribble and turned it into his own. Then, in two long strides, Jeremiah slam-dunked the ball through the hoop just as a blue compact turned into the driveway.

Lara stared in amazement as the man in business clothes went airborne, stuffed a basketball into the net and landed hard on the pavement. Ballpoint pens flew from his shirt pocket. A cell phone leaped out of its holster on his belt and skidded across the court. His leather-soled shoes came down with a crack, and he nearly lost his footing. But he stayed upright, high-fiving one teenager and swatting another on the back.

This boyish, handsome man could
not
be Jeremiah Maddox. After his son had left her office, Lara ran an Internet search on the architect. Divorced, wealthy, a talented designer, he had drawn the ire of every historical preservationist in the region by tearing down old buildings and erecting new structures in their place. She pictured Maddox as elderly, rigid and as sour as an old lemon, and she had fully expected to dislike him. But this man’s broad grin and playfulness—despite the ridiculous business getup—softened her heart.

Bringing her car to a stop in front of the massive stone home, Lara studied the gray facade, soaring slate roof, bank of multipaned windows and heavy oak door. With instinct born of experience, she instantly translated the cost of building such a structure into cauldrons of bubbling maize meal—enough to feed countless starving babies. Or fund vaccinations. Print AIDS education pamphlets. Build orphanages. Lara had spent only two years in the Third World, but the experience had forever changed her.

The man in the white shirt stooped to pick up his cell phone as she stepped out of her car. As she walked down the driveway toward the three ballplayers, she focused on the one face she recognized. “Daniel?”

“Hey, Dr. Crane!” Spotting her, he grinned. “This is my brother, Benjamin. And here’s my dad, Jeremiah Maddox.”

A little stunned at the disclosure that she had been so off the mark about him, Lara turned her attention to the father. “Mr. Maddox, pleased to meet you. I’m Lara Crane, director of the International Student program at Reynolds University.” She held out her hand.

Dark brown hair scattered like blown hay across his forehead, sweat dripping from his chin, breath coming in heavy puffs, Jeremiah Maddox stared at their visitor. Blue eyes glittered like ice as he looked her quickly up and down, zeroed in on her lips for a moment, and then jerked his focus back to her eyes. He glanced over his shoulder at his son, and the skin between his brows furrowed.

“Daniel didn’t tell me we were having company,” he said. He gave Lara’s hand a perfunctory shake, squeezing a little too hard, she thought.

“You told me to talk to Dr. Crane,” the younger man said. “So I did. She’s here to look at the guest cottage.”

“Yeah, Dad.” Benjamin gave the basketball in his hands a bounce. “We asked you the other day, remember? You said it would be okay.”

“I said I would consider it.”

A muscle flickered in Jeremiah’s jaw, and Lara realized this whole event had caught him by surprise. Clearly his sons wanted a student to move into the extra house on the property. But why? And how could she make sure the experience was successful for all concerned? Not every American family blended well with an international student. Lara had run into explosive situations, and she didn’t want to risk a mistake.

Jeremiah Maddox, with his starched shirt and cell phone holster, gave the impression of someone caught up in the pursuit of money and success. Someone who might not adapt well to a challenging living situation. He was a controller. She saw that right off the bat. And being caught off guard by his sons was not making him happy.

Tempted to head straight back to her car, she studied Daniel and Benjamin Maddox. Though they shared their father’s square jaw, dark good looks and piercing blue eyes, both boys were softer somehow. Needy? Vulnerable? Something inside Lara wanted to reach out to them.

“Perhaps I should explain the situation,” she told their father. “Reynolds University lacks enough housing to meet the demand. Even this late in the semester, some of our international students are living in motels or in seriously inadequate apartments.”

“Why aren’t they in dorms?” Jeremiah asked.

“Most are older than the traditional dormitory resident. Also, our international scholars tend to be extremely focused on their studies. They hold down part-time employment, and they need their sleep…more sleep than dorm life generally offers. I’m sure you know teenagers tend to keep late hours.” She gave Jeremiah a smile, but he didn’t return it.

Continuing the spiel she usually gave to prospective hosts, Lara realized that what little goodwill she had felt toward this basketball-playing father was quickly vanishing. “The university provides the International House for socialization experiences,” she told him. “Most of the students in our program live in off-campus housing.”

“I went by the I-House, Dad,” Daniel spoke up. “It’s great. They’ve got art on the walls from all over the world. They have a tutoring program to help the international students with their classes, because English is a barrier for a lot of them. Some of the I-students will teach classes in their language. Did you know that in Congo the people speak French?”

“That’s great, Daniel, but listen, I have an important meeting tomorrow.” Jeremiah’s expression went from warm to positively chilly as he turned from his son to Lara. “Maybe you could call me sometime next week to discuss this matter, Dr. Crane. I have a lot of work I need to do tonight, and I’m pretty much tied up the rest of the week.”

“We’ll show her the guest cottage,” Benjamin volunteered. “It’s got a lot of room.”

“More than you’d think from the front,” Daniel added. “Dad designed it that way.”

“Sounds wonderful. I’d love to see it.” Lara focused on the two young men. “This won’t take but a few minutes, Mr. Maddox. I need to know what you’d like to charge for rent. We have a standard agreement form.”

“Now just a minute—”

“Come on, Dad.” Daniel’s brow furrowed exactly the way his father’s had. “We have an extra house, and it’s empty.”

“We can’t say no,” Benjamin chimed in.

“You’re a couple of con artists,” Jeremiah muttered. “All right. I’ve got the keys. Follow me, Dr. Crane.”

“One second.” Lara gestured toward her car. “I’d appreciate it if Peter Muraya could see the place, too. Peter and his family.”

“His what?”

The slender Kenyan stepped out of the car and beamed at Jeremiah Maddox. “Good evening, sir,” he said as he helped a lovely young woman from the backseat. “May I present to you my wife, Tabitha Muraya?”

“Good evening, sir.” Tabitha gave a shy smile as she leaned into the car and helped a skinny little boy clamber out. In a moment, Peter took the shoulders of the boy and planted him in front of Jeremiah.

“This is my son Wisdom who has seven years of age,” he said proudly. Then he placed a second child beside the first. “My son Justice is five years old.”

Tabitha Muraya emerged one last time with a blanket-wrapped bundle in her arms. She drew aside the corner of the knitted blue cover to expose a round face with cheeks like warm chocolate muffins, a pair of bright brown eyes, and a wide toothless grin.

“And this,” Peter Muraya said, “is Tobias.”