Authors: Kristin Hannah
Lauren didn’t understand. “No. I’m not.”
“So you assumed I’d leave you here alone on Christmas
Eve and run off with my
real
family to gorge on cookies and hot mulled wine.”
Lauren blushed. “Well, when you put it
that
way—”
“Get dressed. Is that clear enough for you?”
Lauren felt the smile expand across her face. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Dress warmly. They’re predicting a white Christmas. And please remember that I’m
much
too young to be a ma’am.”
Lauren closed the door and ran to the bed. She scooped up all the photographs except for the few she’d chosen, and dumped them back in the box, which she shoved under the bed. Then she gathered up her two disposable cameras and hid them in the nightstand drawer. Once all the evidence was taken care of, she dressed in her old flare-leg Target jeans, a black wool turtleneck sweater, and her fur-trimmed coat.
Downstairs, Angie was waiting. She looked beautiful in a forest green wool dress with black boots and a black cape. Her long dark hair was the very best kind of mess. It made her look hip.
“You look great,” Lauren said.
“You, too. Now come on.”
They went out to the car and got in. All the way to town they chatted. Not about anything important; just ordinary life.
By the time they reached Front Street, the traffic was bumper to bumper.
“I can’t believe all these people are out on Christmas Eve,” Lauren said.
“It’s the final tree-lighting ceremony.”
“Oh,” Lauren said, not quite understanding what all the hype was about. She’d lived in this town for years and never been to one of these ceremonies. She’d always had to work on weekends and holidays. David had told
her it was “okay,” but he hadn’t been in years, either.
“Too many people” was his parents’ excuse.
Angie found a parking spot and pulled in.
The minute she got out of the car, Lauren heard the first sound of Christmas: Bells. Every church in town was pealing its bells. Somewhere nearby a horse-drawn carriage was moving along; she could hear the clip-clop of the hooves and the jangling of harness bells.
In the town square, dozens—maybe hundreds—of tourists were milling about, moving from one store to the next, collecting in front of the booths that sold everything from hot cocoa to rum cake to candy canes. The Rotary Club was roasting chestnuts by the flagpole.
“Angela!” Maria’s voice rang out above the crowd.
The next thing Lauren knew, she was swept into the DeSaria family. Everyone was talking at once, telling jokes, holding hands. They moved from booth to booth, eating every morsel that was offered and buying bags of whatever they couldn’t eat on the spot. Lauren saw dozens of school friends moving through the crowd with their families. For once she felt as if she were a part of things instead of on the outside, looking in.
“It’s time,” Mira said at last. As if on cue, the family stopped. In fact, the whole town seemed to freeze.
The lights went out. Darkness clicked into place. Suddenly the stars overhead were stunning. An air of anticipation moved through the crowd. Angie took Lauren’s hand in hers, squeezed it gently.
The Christmas lights came on. Hundreds of thousands of them, all at once.
Lauren gasped.
Magic.
“Pretty cool, huh?” Angie said.
“Yeah.” Lauren’s throat felt tight.
They spent another hour in the square, and then
walked to church for midnight mass, which in this day and age took place at ten. Lauren almost started to cry when she entered the church with Angie at her side. It was just like her little girl’s dream; she could easily pretend that Angie was her mother. After the service, the DeSarias split up, each going their separate ways.
Angie and Lauren walked through the crowd, pointing out things to each other along the way. By the time they reached the car, it had started to snow. They drove home slowly. The flakes were huge and airy. They fell lazily to earth.
Lauren couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen a white Christmas. Rain was much more the holiday norm.
On Miracle Mile Road, the snow was sticking. It coated the tree limbs and dusted the roadside. The yard lay hidden beneath a blanket of sparkling white.
“I wonder if we’ll be able to go sledding tomorrow,” she said, bouncing up and down in her seat. She knew she was acting like a little kid but she couldn’t help it. “Or maybe we could make snow angels. I saw that on television once. Hey, who’s that?”
He was standing at the front door of Angie’s house in a wedge of golden light. A veil of falling snow obscured his face.
The car stopped.
Lauren peered through the windshield.
He stepped down from the porch, came closer.
And suddenly Lauren knew. The man in the worn Levi’s and black leather jacket was Conlan. She turned to Angie, whose eyes looked huge in her pale face.
“Is that him?”
Angie nodded. “That’s my Conlan.”
“Wow” was all Lauren could say. He looked like Pierce Brosnan. She got out of the car.
He came toward her, his shoes crunching on the gravel driveway. “You must be Lauren.”
His voice was low and rumbly, as if maybe he’d smoked or drank too much when he was young.
Lauren fought the urge to flinch. He had the bluest eyes she’d ever seen and they seemed to penetrate her to the bone. He seemed angry with her. “I am.”
“Conlan,” Angie said breathlessly, coming up beside him.
He didn’t look at Angie. His gaze was steady on Lauren. “I came to meet
you.
”
He was trying to keep his distance from Lauren; Angie could tell. He wore his reporter detachment like a suit of armor, as if a few patches of hammered together metal could protect a man’s heart. He sat stiffly upright at the head of the table, shuffling cards. They’d been playing Hearts for the last hour, talking almost the whole time, although Angie wouldn’t characterize it as conversation. An interrogation was more apt.
“And you’ve applied to colleges?” Conlan asked as he dealt the next hand. He didn’t look at Lauren. It was, Angie knew, an old reporter’s trick. Don’t look; they’ll think it’s a casual question, one you don’t care about.
“Yes,” Lauren answered without looking up from her cards.
“Where?”
“USC. Pepperdine. Stanford. Berkeley. UW. UCLA.”
“Do you still think college is an option?”
The reference to the baby made Angie look up sharply from her cards.
Lauren’s gaze was surprisingly direct. It was clear that she’d decided enough was enough. “I’m going to college.”
“It’ll be hard,” he said, pulling out cards to pass.
“I don’t mean to be rude, Mr. Malone,” Lauren said,
her voice taking on strength, “but life is always hard. I got a scholarship to Fircrest because I never gave up. I’ll get a scholarship to college for the same reason. Whatever I have to do, I’ll do.”
“Do you have any relatives to help?”
“Angie is helping me.”
“What about your own family?”
Lauren answered quietly, “I’m alone.”
Poor Conlan. Angie watched him melt, right there at the head of the table with the cards in his hands. The reporter face gave way, leaving behind the sad, lined face of a man who was worried.
Angie could tell he was trying to back away from the emotion he’d stirred up, but he was caught, trapped by the tears in a girl’s eyes. He cleared his throat. “Angie tells me you’re interested in journalism.” There it was: higher ground.
Lauren nodded. She led with the two of diamonds. “Yes.”
Conlan played the king. “Maybe you’d like to come to work with me someday. I could introduce you to some of the people there; let you see how reporters work.”
When she looked back on it, Angie saw how everything had changed in that moment. The interrogation vanished, leaving in its place a mini-party. For the next hour, they talked and laughed and played cards. Conlan told a series of funny work stories about stupid criminals. Angie and Lauren relayed some of their cookie-making mishaps.
At around ten o’clock, the phone rang. It was David, calling from Aspen. Lauren took the phone upstairs.
Conlan turned to Angie. She wasn’t sure, but she thought it was the first time he’d dared to look at her.
“Why are you here?” she asked.
“It’s Christmas Eve. You’re my family.”
She wanted to lean forward and kiss him, but she felt awkward, unsure. After all those years of living and loving together, they were separate now. “Habit isn’t enough,” she said softly.
“No.”
“Is it a start?”
Before he could answer, Lauren bounded back into the room, smiling brightly, looking like a girl with her whole life in front of her. “He misses me,” she said, sliding into her seat and scooting up to the table.
Angie and Conlan immediately went back to playing cards. For the next hour, they all talked about things that didn’t matter.
It was the best night Angie had had in years. So much so that when midnight came and Lauren announced that she was going to bed, Angie actually tried to talk her out of it. She didn’t want this evening to end.
“Ange,” Conlan said, “let the poor girl go to bed. It’s late. How can Santa come if she’s not asleep?”
Lauren laughed. It was a young, girlish sound full of hope. It did Angie’s heart good to hear it. “Well, good night,” Lauren said, surging toward Angie, hugging her. “Merry Christmas,” she whispered. When she drew back she added, “This was my best Christmas Eve ever.” Then she flashed a smile at Conlan and left the room.
Angie sat back in her chair. With Lauren gone, the room felt too quiet.
“How are you going to make it through her pregnancy?” Conlan asked the question gently, as if the words caused him pain. “How will you handle watching her belly grow and feeling the baby kick and shopping for onesies?”
“It will hurt.”
“Yes.”
Her gaze was steady, even if her voice wasn’t. “Not being there for her would hurt more.”
“We’ve been through this before.”
Angie thought about that, about
them.
They’d played cards with Sarah Dekker, too, and watched television with her and bought her new clothes. But it had always been the unborn child that connected them. “No,” she finally said. “Not this.”
“Hope always came easily to you, Angie. It was part of what ruined us. You don’t know how to give up.”
“Hope was all I had.”
“No. You had me.”
The truth of it settled heavily on her heart. “Let’s not look in the rearview mirror tonight. I love you. Can that be enough for now?”
“For tonight, you mean?”
She nodded. “Alcoholics take one day at a time. Maybe old lovers can do the same thing.”
At that, he leaned toward her, put his hand around the back of her neck, and pulled her toward him. Their gazes met; hers was overbright with unshed tears, his was dark with worry.
He kissed her. It was everything she needed, that kiss, and more than she’d imagined. The next thing she knew, he had her in his arms and was carrying her up the stairs. He started to go to Angie’s old bedroom.
She laughed. “The big bedroom. We’re the grown-ups now.”
He pivoted, pushed through the door, and kicked it shut behind him.
The next morning when Angie woke up, her whole body ached. She rolled onto her side and snuggled up to Conlan, kissing his stubbled jawline. “Merry Christmas,”
she murmured, moving her hand along his naked chest.
He blinked awake. “Merry Christmas.”
For what seemed an eternity, she gazed at him, her nipples pressed against his chest, her body ripe with a longing so sharp and sweet it hurt. She could feel their hearts beating together again. When she kissed him, it was with everything she had, all the good times and the bad and the in-between. It was a kiss that peeled back the hard layer of years and made her feel young again, carefree and hopeful.
She touched his cheek in wonder. Perhaps this was how women felt when their men came home from war. Sad somehow, and yet more in love than they’d thought possible. “Love me,” she whispered.
“I tried not to. It didn’t work,” he said, pulling her into his arms.
Much later, when Angie could breathe evenly again and the trembling in her body had stilled, she rolled out of bed and went in search of her robe. “Will you come to Mama’s with us?”
He grinned. “That would certainly start up the old rumor mill.”
“Please?”
“Where else would I be on Christmas morning?”
Angie laughed out loud. That was how good she felt. “Get dressed. We’re already late.” Finding her robe, she slipped into it and went down the hall to Lauren’s room. She expected to find the girl dressed and awake, chomping at the bit to open presents, but she was sound asleep.
Angie went to the bed and sat down. “Wake up, honey,” she said, brushing the hair from her eyes.
Lauren blinked awake. “Morning,” she murmured.
“Get up, sleepyhead. It’s Christmas.”
“Oh. Yeah.” Her eyes slid shut again.
Angie frowned. What kid didn’t jackknife out of bed on Christmas morning?
The answer came fast on the question’s heels: a kid who wasn’t used to much of a Christmas. She couldn’t help thinking of the apartment building … of the woman—mother—who’d walked away without a word.
She leaned down to kiss Lauren’s head. “Come on, Sleeping Beauty. We have to be at Mama’s in fifteen minutes. We open presents early in this family.”
Lauren threw the covers back and ran for the bathroom. They both knew there would be lukewarm water for the second shower and only cold water for the poor third-place loser.
Angie returned to her bedroom. She found Conlan dressed in her father’s old plaid bathrobe, standing by the window. He was holding a small silver-wrapped box. They’d always had their private Christmas before going to Mama’s, but she hadn’t expected him this year.
“You got me a present? I didn’t—”
He came toward her, gave her the box. “It’s just a little something.”
She peeled the foil paper off and opened the white box. Inside lay a beautiful handblown Christmas ornament. A silvery angel with crystal highlights and impossibly faceted wings.