Kissing Under the Mistletoe (34 page)

“Mommy, wake up.”

Regan felt little hands poke her shoulder. Careful not to move for fear that her head would explode, she opened her eyes and immediately slammed them shut. They were puffy and irritated, and the blinking lights overhead felt like lasers piercing her retinas.

Regan opened her eyes again, pushed through the pain and gasped. Her butt was asleep, her right hand was attached to her cheek with what she hoped was sap and not superglue, and something hard and pokey was sticking her in the kidney.

On second glance, she realized that she was lying under the Christmas tree next to an empty tub of Rocky Road, covered in popcorn garland, and spooning Randolph.

She had a piece of popcorn husk stuck between her teeth. Even sadder was that she hadn’t even had a sip of alcohol. Regan had accomplished all of this awesomeness by her sober lonesome.

She remembered putting Holly to bed, remembered stuffing the stockings, and remembered getting the presents out of the trunk.

She also remembered taking one look at Randolph, alone on Christmas Eve, hiding under the plastic tablecloths with little Santas, and completely lost it. Then, to really put the guilt on, he had flipped his switch and wished her a merry
Christmas. Outside of Holly’s, it would likely be the only Christmas wish she would get this year. And how pathetic was that?

Almost as pathetic as carrying Randolph in, sharing a tub of ice cream with him and telling him all about her Christmas curse. Even using his flank to cry on.

“Holy cow, Santa brought you Randolph. You must have been a really good girl this year,” Holly said, scooting closer so she could pet Randolph’s head.

Regan thought back to all that she had lost last night and wanted to disagree, but she kept her mouth shut.

Then she stared at her daughter, sitting under an enormous Christmas tree, and her heart melted, moving somewhere closer to right. Holly’s face was flush with sleep and her hair was sticking up in the back. Dressed in red footie pajamas and clutching her kitty Pillow Pet—who she had named Gold Fish—Regan, for the first time in weeks, saw things clearly, and agreed.

She must have been a good girl, because she had Holly. And nobody else in the world could say that.

Scooping her daughter up, Regan settled Holly in her lap and held her close. She breathed in little girl scent and slowly exhaled while holding her tighter. “I love you, angel.”

“I love you too, Mommy, but you’re all sticky.”

Regan didn’t let go. And Holly, getting stickier by the second, didn’t move. Regan looked around their dinky little apartment and a warm sense of belonging passed through her. It didn’t matter where they lived or what kind of job she had, or that she’d have to look for new ones the next day. All that mattered was that, in her arms and together, she and Holly were enough. They always had been.

“Why don’t we do presents first and then breakfast?” she said, tugging one of Holly’s ringlets.

Holly shook her head and looked up at Regan with excited eyes. “We have to wait until my last present comes.”

“How do you know it isn’t already under the tree?” Regan had been keeping track of things that caught Holly’s attention. She couldn’t afford them all, but with her promotion had come a raise and Regan had been able to buy a few things she knew Holly wanted.

“Nope, it doesn’t fit under a tree,” Holly said, sending Regan’s heart plummeting to her toes.

Not wanting to shatter her kid’s Christmas wish but refusing to lie to her, Regan went for honest. “I did something that I’m not proud of.”

“Did you pay the Dirty Jar?” Holly asked, as cool as if this was a daily occurrence. For Regan, as of late, it was.

“I did. Remember that letter you gave me to mail to Santa?” Holly nodded. “Well, I opened it and read it without your permission, even though it wasn’t mine to open. And”—another deep breath—“I know you asked Santa for a forever home. And I know that one year we’ll get that home, just not this year.”

“I know,” Holly said with a
duh
tacked on to the tone. “At first I wanted a forever home where I could have a kitty of my own, then I realized a daddy was better.” If Regan’s heart had been in her toes, now it was lodged painfully in her throat. “So Lauren and I sent him a second letter and Santa brought me Gabe.” Holly’s smile fell flat and her lip quivered. “Why are you crying, Mommy?”

Regan touched her cheeks, surprised to find that she was. She never cried in front of Holly. Then again, ever since
Richard, she’d avoided decisions that had the potential to break her baby’s heart.

“Honey, Gabe isn’t coming.”

Holly’s eyes went wide and bright. “Why?”

Because he’s a jerk. Because he lied. Because you got stuck with a mommy who is missing something that makes her lovable.

Regan swallowed. “Because he is spending it with his family.”

“But we’re his family.” The confusion in Holly’s voice burned through Regan’s chest.

She wrapped Holly tightly to her, hugging her fiercely and hoping to convey just how special she was, how loved she was, and most importantly, that just being herself was enough. “We are our own family, Holly. You, me, and Gold Fish.”

“And Randolph?” Holly whispered, too much understanding in her six-year-old little voice.

Regan pulled back. “No, we have to return Randolph.”

“Good, cuz the Dirty Jar’s already full.”

“They’re all staring at us,” Holly whispered, tightening her mittened grip on Regan’s left hand. Regan’s right hand was pulling a wagon.

The red wagon was heavier than she had expected, and even though a Christmas-morning storm sent frigid winds rushing though the main part of town, sweat beaded on her skin. Because the wagon, borrowed from Perkins’ toolshed, held one very wanted, fresh-from-his-bath and smiling-out-at-his-adoring-public Randolph.

The adoring public, however, was not smiling back. They were scowling. At Regan, not Randolph.

Regan tightened her grip on Holly, giving her hand three little squeezes. When Holly didn’t give her usual squeezes back, she stopped and looked down at her daughter, who looked back—terrified.

Dropping to her knee, Regan smoothed Holly’s silky hair. “
You
did nothing wrong. I made a mistake and I have to fix it, but I can bring you to Pricilla’s and pick you up after this is over.”

Holly took in the crowd, the not-so-welcoming glares, and shook her head. “Nope. You and me is family. A mistake is only wrong if you don’t right it.” With her me-too squeezes, Holly tugged her forward toward the town Christmas display.

Already packed with spectators wearing their mourning best, a gilded podium, and the mayor at the mic, it looked more like a funeral procession than a Christmas celebration. Reminding herself that there was nothing left to lose, Regan threw her shoulders back and kept on moving through the crowd, around St. Vincent’s upper-class glee club singing, “Randolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer,” past an overjoyed Isabel, only stopping after she had squeezed her way up to the podium.

“Then one foggy Christmas Eve, Santa came to say,” the glee club belted out.

The mayor took one look at the stolen goods in the wagon and stepped back. Regan walked up to the mic and tapped it. The muffled thump echoed throughout the street, instantly silencing the crowd and cutting off the glee club right as the altos sang an ominous, “Ho Ho Ho.”

“Um, hello, everyone,” Regan began, with her best the-funniest-thing-happened-on-the-way-over smile. No one smiled back. “Merry Christmas?”

Silence.

Holly looked around. Sensing that her mom was a total bust, she held up a finger and whispered something to Randolph, whose smile oddly appeared to grow bigger. Then Holly wheeled him in front of the podium and pushed his nose.

“Merry Christmas, one and all.”

When the greeting wasn’t returned, Holly ran up on stage and pulled Regan close. “Like a Band-Aid, Mommy.” And then she ran back to the front row and gave her a double thumbs-up.

Quick and painless. Right. “I know you all have a busy schedule this morning, so I’ll just come out and say it—”

“I stole Randolph.” A voice came from behind. The crowd parted, all three hundred heads turned in unison to stare back.

Frankie stood on the curb in front of Stan’s Soup and Service Station, covered in dirt and grape stains. Her hair was a disaster and she was holding Randolph. Well, not Randolph, since Regan had the stolen Randolph in her stolen wagon. But it was a close match.

The crowd looked back and forth between the two statues, trying to determine who had the real Randolph and who was the big fat liar.

She had no idea where her friend had bought the reindeer or why she was doing this, but Regan was touched. That Frankie was trying to take the fall made the lump in her throat that much tighter.

Sweet or not, though, she couldn’t allow it. Holly was in the crowd, and Martin women didn’t hide from their
mistakes. No matter how bad it sucked to fess up. “Frankie, that is so incredibly wonderful of you, but—”

“We stole Randolph,” the three Mrs. Clauses chimed in while marching across the street, each one carrying a Randolph look-alike.

“Impossible,” Mrs. Lambert said, coming from the general direction of the Grapevine Prune and Clip, a Randolph in her clutches. “I’ve had him all along. See?” She pushed his nose.

“Merry Christmas, one and all.”

From the back row, Regan could see a bundle of auburn curls rise. Abigail DeLuca stood on her chair, and the entire audience gasped at what was most likely going to be the best throw-down in St. Helena Christmas history.

Regan stood frozen, her palms sweating and her heart thundering in her chest. Last night had been one of the hardest moments of her life, which was saying a lot because she’d weathered more than her share of heartache. But this was something she refused to weather, not in front of Holly.

She stepped down from the podium and took her daughter’s hand. Before she could speak, Holly gave three squeezes and said, “Mrs. Dee, are you also going to fib and say you had Randolph?”

Abby looked down at Holly and then to Regan. The woman didn’t say a word, but then she didn’t need to. Regret was in her very expression. “No, honey, but give me a little while to get used to this.” She looked back at Regan and shrugged. “By next year, who knows.”

“Well, I’ll tell you what I know.” Sheriff Bryant stood in the back row, reading from his department-issued notepad. “That at precisely three thirty-seven this morning an
unidentified white male wearing dark clothing and a Stanford ball cap, approximately six foot one in height and weighing one hundred and ninety pounds, was caught on video surveillance depositing one Randolph the Reindeer on the south side of the sheriff’s station, next to the mail depository.”

He picked up the statue and pushed the button.

“
Feliz navidad, todos y cada uno
.”

Sheriff Bryant looked baffled. “Well, now someone mind explaining how that happened?”

“You have the wrong deer, Sheriff,” a low and sexy voice called from the back.

The crowd parted and there, standing at a good six one and wearing a Stanford cap, looking ever-so-handsome in his jeans and dark shirt, stood Gabe, with a Randolph in hand. It had a big bow on its head and a matching pink nose.

“No one here could have had Randolph because I did,” he said, making his way forward, his eyes never leaving Regan’s.

“That’s not even a real Randolph,” Isabel snapped. “His nose is the wrong color.”

“Oh, it’s real, all right.” Gabe set Randolph the Seventh at Regan’s feet and tangled his fingers with hers. “I met this sexy, smart woman and tried to woo her. Only instead of impressing her, I ended up making a fool out of myself and accidently ran ChiChi’s car into the town Christmas display. And in a panic, I took Randolph. Only she was too classy to turn me in.” He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. “I only hope she can forgive me for being such an ass.”

“Is that the truth?” Holly said, her hall monitor hand snapping to her hips.

Gabe dropped to his knees, getting eye to eye with Holly. “Yes, ma’am, and I’ve got three rolls of quarters to back Regan’s up.” Her little hand came out, and Gabe handed over the Dirty Jar money.

Their voices dropped to a hushed murmur as their heads leaned closer together. They were making some kind of deal, and by the look on Holly’s face when they pulled back, Regan’s daughter had somehow come out ahead on the negotiations.

“Question is...” Gabe looked over Holly’s head to Regan. “Do you think your mom will believe me?”

“What part do you want me to believe?”

Gabe rose and, resting his hands on Regan’s hips, nudged her closer. His voice dropped low when he spoke, and his hands dropped lower the closer she got. “The part where I said I was an ass and that you are the most beautiful and classy woman I have ever met. And the part where I tell you that I love you.”

“That’s a lot of parts,” she whispered, her heart swelling in her chest until she was afraid that she would run out of room. “But I think I like that last one the best.”

“Even if I admit that I put Randolph in your trunk?” Gabe whispered, wrapping those strong arms around her waist and giving her a slow, easy smile.