I'll Be Home for Christmas (16 page)

“I'll do that. Thanks again, Marcus. If you ever want a building or a bridge designed, I'm yours for free. I mean that.”

“I know you do. I'll remember.”

Mo cringed. How polite they were, how stiff and formal. She couldn't walk away like this. She leaned over, her eyes meeting his, and kissed him lightly on the lips. “I don't think I'll ever forget my visit.”
Tell me now, before I leave, about the dark-haired, smiling woman in the picture. Tell me you want me to come back for a visit. Tell me not to go. I'll stay. I swear to God, I'll stay. I'll never think about Keith, never mention his name. Say something.

“It was a nice Christmas. I enjoyed spending it with you. I know Murphy enjoyed having you here with us. Drive carefully, and remember to call when you get home.”

His voice was flat, cool. Last night was just what he'd said:
it was what it was.
Nothing more. She felt like wailing her despair, but she damn well wasn't going to give him the satisfaction. “I will,” Mo said cheerfully. She frolicked with Murphy for a few minutes, whispering in his ear, “You take care of him, you hear? I think he tends to be a little stubborn. I have my ribbon and I'll keep it safe, always. I'll send those steaks FedEx.” Because her tears were blinding her, Mo turned and didn't look at Marcus again. A second later she was outside in the cold, bracing air.

The Cherokee was warm, purring like a kitten. She tapped the horn, two light taps, before she slipped the gear into four-wheel drive. She didn't look back.

It was an interlude.

One of those rare happenings that occur once in a lifetime.

A moment in time.

In a little more than twenty-four hours, she'd managed to fall in love with a man in a wheelchair—and his dog.

She cried because she didn't know what else to do.



Mo's homecoming was everything she had imagined it would be. Her parents hugged her. Her mother wiped at her tears with the hem of an apron that smelled of cinnamon and vanilla. Her father acted gruff, but she could see the moistness in his eyes.

“How about some breakfast, honey?”

“Bacon and eggs sounds real good. Make sure the…”

“The yolk is soft and the white has brown lace around the edges. Snap-in-two bacon, three pieces of toast for dunking, and a small glass of juice. I know, Morgan. Lord, I'm just so glad you're home safe and sound. Dad's going to carry in your bags. Why don't you run upstairs and take a nice hot bath and put on some clothes that don't look like they belong in a thrift store.”

“Good idea, Mom.”

In the privacy of her room, she looked at the phone that had, as a teenager, been her lifeline to the outside world. All she had to do was pick it up, and she'd hear Marcus's voice. Should she do it now or wait till after her bath when she was decked out in clean clothes and makeup? She decided to wait. Marcus didn't seem the type to sit by the phone and wait for a call from a woman.

The only word she could think of to describe her bath was
delicious.
The silky feel of the water was full of Wild Jasmine bath oil, her favorite scent in the whole world. As she relaxed in the steamy wetness, she forced herself to think about Keith. She knew without asking that her mother had called Keith's mother after the phone call. Right now, she was so happy to be safe, she would force herself to tolerate Keith. All those presents she'd wrapped so lovingly. All that money she'd spent. Well, she was taking it all back when she returned to Delaware.

Mo heard her father open the bedroom door, heard the sound of her suitcases being set down, heard the rustle of the shopping bags. The tenseness left her shoulders when the door closed softly. She was alone with her thoughts. She wished for a portable phone so she could call Marcus. The thought of talking to him while she was in the bathtub sent shivers up and down her spine.

A long time later, Mo climbed from the tub. She dressed, blow-dried her hair, and applied makeup, ever so sparingly, remembering that less is better. She pulled on a pair of Levi's and a sweater that showed off her slim figure. She spritzed herself lightly with perfume, added pearl studs to her ears. She had to rummage in the drawer for thick wool socks. The closet yielded a pair of Nike Air sneakers she'd left behind on one of her visits.

In the kitchen her mother looked at her with dismay. “Is that what you're wearing?”

“Is something wrong with my sweater?”

“Well, no. I just thought…I assumed…you'd want to spiff up for…Keith. I imagine he'll be here pretty soon.”

“Well, it better be pretty quick because I have an errand to do when I finish this scrumptious breakfast. I guess you can tell him to wait or tell him to come back some other time. Let's open our presents after supper tonight. Can we pretend it's Christmas Eve?”

“That's what Dad said we should do.”

“Then we'll do it. Listen, don't tell Keith. I want it to be just us.”

“If that's what you want, honey. You be careful when you're out. Just because the roads are plowed, it doesn't mean there won't be accidents. The weatherman said the highways were still treacherous.”

“I'll be careful. Can I get anything for you when I'm out?”

“We stocked up on everything before the snow came. We're okay. Bundle up—it's real cold.”

Mo's first stop was the butcher on Main Street. She ordered twelve porterhouse steaks and asked to have them sent Federal Express. She paid with her credit card. Her next stop was the mall in Menlo Park where she went directly to Gloria Jean's Coffee Shop. She ordered twelve pounds of flavored coffees and a mug with a painted picture of a golden retriever on the side, asking to have her order shipped Federal Express and paying again with her credit card.

She spent the balance of the afternoon browsing through Nordstrom's department store—it was so full of people she felt claustrophobic. Still, she didn't leave.

At four o'clock she retraced her steps, stopped by Gloria Jean's for a takeout coffee, and drank it sitting on a bench. She didn't want to go home. Didn't want to face Keith. What she wanted to do was call Marcus.
And that's exactly what I'm going to do. I'm tired of doing what other people want me to do. I want to call him and I'm going to call him.
She went in search of a phone the minute she finished her coffee.

Credit card in one hand, Marcus's business card in the other, Mo placed her call. A wave of dizziness washed over her the minute she heard his voice. “It's Morgan Ames, Marcus. I said I'd call you when I got home. Well, I'm home. Actually, I'm in a shopping mall. Ah…my mother sent me out to…to return some things…my dad was on the phone, I couldn't call earlier.”

“I was worried when I didn't hear from you. It only takes a minute to make a phone call.”

He was worried and he was chastising her. Well, she deserved it. She liked the part that he was worried. “What are you doing?” she blurted.

“I'm thinking about dinner. Leftovers or Spam. Something simple. I'm sort of watching a football game. I think Murphy misses you. I had to go looking for him twice. He was back in my room lying in the pillows where you slept.”

“Ah, that's nice. I Federal Expressed his steaks. They should get there tomorrow. I tied the red ribbon on the post of my bed. I'm taking it back to Wilmington with me. Will you tell him that?” Damn, how stupid could one person be?

“I'll tell him. How were the roads?”

“Bad, but driveable. My dad taught me to drive defensively. It paid off.” This had to be the most inane conversation she'd ever had in her life. Why was her heart beating so fast? “Marcus, this is none of my business. I meant to ask you yesterday, but I forgot. Who is that lovely woman in the photograph in your room? If it's something you don't care to talk about, it's okay with me. It was just that she sort of looked like me a little. I was curious.” She was babbling again.

“Her name was Marcey. She died in the accident I was in. I was wearing my seat belt, she wasn't. I'd rather not talk about it. You're right, though—you do resemble her a little. Murph picked up on that right away. He pulled the towel off your head and kind of sniffed your hair. He wanted me to…to see the resemblance, I guess. He took her death real hard.”

She was sorry she'd asked. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…I'm so sorry.” She was going to cry now, any second. “I have to go now. Thank you again. Take care of yourself.” The tears fell then, and she made no move to stop them. She was like a robot as she walked to the exit and the parking lot. Don't think about the phone call. Don't think about Marcus and his dog. Think about tomorrow when you're going to leave here. Shift into neutral.



She saw his car and winced. Only a teenager would drive a canary yellow Camaro. She swerved into the driveway. Here it was, the day she'd dreamed of for two long years.

“I'm home!”

“Look who's here, Mo,” her mother said. That said, she tactfully withdrew, her father following close behind.

“Keith, it's nice to see you,” Mo said stiffly. Who was this person standing in front of her, wearing sunglasses and a hounds-tooth cap? He reeked of Polo.

“I was here—where were you? I thought we had a date in front of your Christmas tree on Christmas Eve. Your parents were so worried. You look different, Mo,” he said, trying to take her into his arms. She deftly sidestepped him and sat down.

“I didn't think you'd show,” she said flatly.

“Why would you think a thing like that?” He seemed genuinely puzzled at her question.

“Better yet,” Mo said, ignoring his question, “what have you been doing these past two years? I need to know, Keith?”

His face took on a wary expression. “A little of this, a little of that. Work, eat, sleep, play a little. Probably the same things you did. I thought about you a lot. Often. Every day.”

“But you never called. You never wrote.”

“That was part of the deal. Marriage is a big commitment. People need to be sure before they take that step. I don't believe in divorce.”

How virtuous his voice sounded. She watched, fascinated, as he fished around in his pockets until he found what he was looking for. He held the small box with a tiny red bow on it in the palm of his hand. “I'm sure now. I know you wanted to get engaged two years ago. I wasn't ready. I'm ready now.” He held the box toward her, smiling broadly.

He got his teeth capped, Mo thought in amazement. She made no move to reach for the silver box.

“Aren't you excited? Don't you want to open it?”

“No.”

“No
what?”

“No, I'm not excited; no, I don't want the box. No, I don't want to get engaged and no, I don't want to get married. To you.”

“Huh?” He seemed genuinely perplexed.

“What part of
no
didn't you understand?”

“But…”

“But
what,
Keith?”

“I thought…we agreed…it was a break for both of us. Why are you spoiling things like this? You always have such a negative attitude, Mo. What are you saying here?”

“I'm saying I had two long years to think about us. You and me. Until just a few days ago I thought…it would work out. Now, I know it won't. I'm not the same person and you certainly aren't the same person. Another thing, I wouldn't ride in that pimpmobile parked out front if you paid me. You smell like a pimp, too. I'm sorry. I'm grateful to you for this…whatever it was…hiatus. It was your idea, Keith. I want you to know, I was faithful to you.” And she had been. She didn't make love with Marcus until Christmas Day, at which point she already knew it wasn't going to work out between her and Keith. “Look me in the eye, Keith, and tell me you were faithful to me. I knew it! You have a good life. Send me a Christmas card and I'll do the same.”

“You're dumping me!” There was such outrage in Keith's voice, Mo burst out laughing.

“That's exactly what you did to me two years ago, but I was too dumb to see it. All those women you had, they wouldn't put up with your bullshit. That's why you're here now. No one else wanted you. I know you, Keith, better than I thought I did. I don't like the word
dump.
I'm breaking off our relationship because I don't love you anymore. Right now, for whatever it's worth, I wouldn't have time to work at a relationship anyway. I've decided to go into business for myself. Can we shake hands and promise to be friends?”

“Like hell! It took me seven goddamn hours to drive here from New York just so I could keep my promise. You weren't even here. At least I tried. I could have gone to Vail with my friends. You can take the responsibility for the termination of this relationship.” He stomped from the room, the silver box secure in his pocket.

Mo sat down on the sofa. She felt lighter, buoyant somehow. “I feel, Mom, like someone just took fifty pounds off my shoulders. I wish I'd listened to you and Dad. You'd think at my age I'd have more sense. Did you see him? Is it me or was he always like that?”

“He was always like that, honey. I wasn't going to tell you, but under the circumstances, I think I will. I really don't think he would have come home this Christmas except for one thing. His mother always gives him a handsome check early in the month. This year she wanted him home for the holidays so she said she wasn't giving it to him until Christmas morning. If he'd gotten it ahead of time I think he would have gone to Vail. We weren't eavesdropping—he said it loud enough so his voice carried to the kitchen. Don't feel bad, Mo.”

“Mom, I don't. That dinner you're making smells soooo good. Let's eat, open our presents, thank God for our wonderful family, and go to bed.”

“Sounds good to me.”