They kept the circle going until their hands had practically turned purple. When it was time to get dressed for brunch, the children retreated back into the house, and Zee headed toward the street. As he did, Joseph called out to him, “It wasn’t your fault.”
Zee turned and nodded his appreciation. It didn’t change the scoreboard, but it reminded him that the game wasn’t over yet.
Fifteen minutes later a red pickup truck pulled to a stop at the curb, and Zee climbed in.
“Merry Christmas, baby,” Sophie said to him with her brilliant smile.
And for the first time in as long as Zee could remember, it was.
Bailey Reed ran into the house. The trip to Rhode Island was fun, but he couldn’t wait to get home to see if Santa remembered to stop at their house.
He dashed right through the kitchen, and when he arrived in the living room, he froze—not only did Santa come, but standing before him was the biggest tree he’d ever seen. And it was surrounded by a pile of presents!
Stu Reed arrived moments later, unsuccessfully trying to keep up with the energetic youngster. “Good lord,” he said, stunned by the sight before him.
“Did Mom do this?” Bailey asked.
“This looks like the work of Santa,” Stu said.
“Where is Mom? I hope she’s feeling better.”
Good question, Stu thought. Maybe she was in bed, having not joined them on their trip due to a sudden stomach bug. But he knew she was faking, so she likely felt better the minute they left the driveway.
Stu started toward the stairway that would take him up to their bedroom, but then he saw her. She was laid out on a Barcalounger that was hidden by the branches of the large tree. She was in her bathrobe, and her face was as white as a ghost. As he drew closer, Stu could smell the alcohol.
His first thought was that she was dead, and pulled Bailey back as he tried to go to her. He then made his way to his wife. “Mary,” he shook her, thankfully feeling warmth in her skin and noticing a breath. “Mary—it’s Bailey and me. We came home for Christmas.”
Her eyes slowly opened. “Stu?” she said groggily.
“Yes, it’s me and Bailey. Are you okay?”
She sat up slowly and looked around the room with wonder. “I had a dream that you were here last night.”
“Did you put up this tree, Mare? And all these gifts?”
“I thought it was you … last night … but I guess it really was Santa Claus.”
She sounded confused, and was making little sense. “Did you see Santa Claus in this dream?”
“I thought it was a dream, but it felt so real.” She began searching for something with her eyes.
“What are you looking for?” Stu asked, confused.
“The shotgun.”
“Why would you have a shotgun? Did someone try to break in?”
When she couldn’t find one, she said, “I guess I didn’t. Maybe it was a dream after all.”
Stu was confused. Dream. Not a dream. Maybe a dream. But there was nothing confusing about the hug she encased Bailey in. “Merry Christmas, Mom. I love you!”
“I love you too, Bailey,” she replied, her senses returning. She looked at Stu. “I called last night. Your brother said you weren’t there. I was worried that … something happened to you.”
Stu handed her a wrapped package. “I was out looking for this.”
She looked surprised by it, and unsure. “Go ahead, open it,” Bailey urged.
When she did, her face lit up. “It’s my necklace.”
Stu smiled. “I tracked down the guy I sold it to. Cost me twice what I got for it, but I realized that there’s a lot more important things in life than money.” He took a long look at his wife and son, as if to remind himself.
Mary struggled to her feet and grabbed hold of him like she hadn’t done in years. She kissed him. He’d almost forgotten how much he loved those lips.
“Don’t ever do that again,” she said firmly.
He knew she didn’t just mean selling off her necklace without telling her. She was referring to the dark place he’d gone to. But there was something about the intensity in Zee Thomas’ words at the police station. It was like he was an angel who’d come to warn him about the future. And it just wasn’t any angel—it was Stu’s baseball hero. He even bought a house on the same street Zee Thomas had grown up on. It couldn’t have been a coincidence. Who says that heroes don’t matter anymore?
“Who’s up for Christmas breakfast at the Tarrytown Café?” Stu asked.
It was an easy sell for Bailey. But Mary wasn’t so sure. “What about all these gifts? Shouldn’t we open them first?”
“They’ll be here when we get back, I’m starving,” Stu said.
Mary smiled her approval, then headed upstairs to freshen up.
Stu strolled into the kitchen to get the car keys that he’d dropped during his pursuit of Bailey. He was drawn to a spot on the wall behind the stove, and examined it closely. It seemed that it had been filled in with Spackle. Strange. And there were similar touch-ups nearby. He guessed that Bailey had caused some damage while playing ball in the house, and attempted to cover it up. He had performed similar touch-up jobs at his parents’ home when he was growing up.
When he walked to the counter to pick up his keys, he spotted the note. It was typed with instructions telling them to check their bank account immediately.
When Mary came into the kitchen, looking like a new woman, he showed her the note. She looked curiously at it, not remembering leaving it there, but she wasn’t exactly the best witness of what happened here last night. She assumed it was junk mail from their bank that she’d dropped on the counter, but Stu thought it was connected to the large tree in the living room, and wondered if they might be part of another scam.
Mary shrugged. “There’s barely any money in our account. It’s not like anyone can steal anything if they got into it. We can check it out when we come back.”
Stu agreed. There was no time to put the important things off any longer. He dropped the note back on the counter and headed for breakfast with his family.
Hope Roberts couldn’t stop shaking as she waited to take the stage. She wanted to blame it on the plunging temperatures at Bagram Air Field—it was in the forties during the day, but had dropped into the high twenties after nightfall—but she knew the real culprit was a bad case of nerves.
From her position offstage, she was able to view the huge crowd of army and air force members—it was like an endless sea of camouflage. And they had been hooting and hollering at the top of their lungs since the head of the First Infantry Division introduced Candi Kane.
The first portion of the show was all about Candi. She did singing numbers, dances, costume changes, and flirted with the servicemen. She even performed a Marilyn Monroe imitation, braving the temperatures in a body-hugging, spaghetti-strapped number, similar to the one that Marilyn showcased while entertaining the troops in Korea, and singing a sultry version of her classic hit “Diamonds are a Girl’s Best Friend.”
Some people were just made for the spotlight, Hope thought, as she watched Candi hold the crowd in the palm of her hand. But then she received a look from her mother, who gave her a smile and a thumbs-up. Her nerves immediately calmed.
It seemed like it was the first time she’d taken a deep breath since she made that life-altering decision to blow off work at the Christmas tree lot. Within an hour of escaping that deadly cab ride, they were on a plane to Kuwait. During the trip, they had to provide information to the military security team, including blood samples and fingerprinting. Their phones were confiscated, so that no details of the trip could be sent out. There was no time to ponder the enormity of the moment. It was probably a good thing, Hope thought—otherwise, she might have passed out on the spot.
Candi made another wardrobe change. When she returned to the stage in her iconic
Candy Stripers
uniform, the crowd cheered wildly. Candi milked the ovation for all it was worth, and then sang the first line, “Who can take the sunrise.”
It was the cue for the new
Candy Stripers
to take the stage, and they filed in behind the star. Hope could barely feel her feet, and she was sure that her voice cracked when she joined the group in harmonizing the next line, “Sprinkle it with dew.”
By the time they got to the chorus it seemed like the entire crowd was singing along with them. And when the final note was hit, Hope could barely stand, and was struggling to catch her breath in the mile-high altitude of Bagram. But she would have a moment to recover, as Candi had an announcement to make.
“This past year I learned about the power of giving and sacrifice, which I know is nothing new for all of you … but it was for me.
“There are many unable to be here today because they made the
ultimate
sacrifice. And since there’s no better day to celebrate this selflessness, as it’s Christmas morning back home, I want to announce that on behalf of myself and the
Candy Stripers,
we have started a fund for wounded soldiers and their families … and I am going to make the first donation of twenty million dollars!”
The crowd went nuts—if a missile landed in this place, Hope wasn’t sure anyone would even notice. Candi spoke over the noise, “It will be called Kane & Abled, because I met a number of wounded heroes at the medical center here on the base, and they are abled, not disabled!”
When the roars finally died down, Candi had the
Candy Stripers
introduce themselves to the crowd. And then each girl would call on a soldier to escort her to the Christmas feast in the dining hall.
First up was a girl from Seattle that Hope had sat next to on the plane ride over. “My name is Meredith Berkley, and I’d like to call up my hero, Lt. Major Jack Hood from Murfreesboro, Tennessee.”
The fresh-faced soldier didn’t look much older than Hope’s high school classmates. His fellow soldiers cheered wildly, and practically pushed him up to the stage, where he hooked arms with Meredith and they walked off stage together.
Hope was to go last. Before she stepped before the microphone she traded looks with Candi Kane, who smiled encouragement back at her. Hope couldn’t believe this was happening!
“My name is Hope Roberts from Elmsford, New York. And I’d like to call up my hero, Sergeant Maxwell Roberts … my father.”
She looked out into the audience and found her father in the cheering sea of green. It was like when he used to sit at the edge of her bed when she was a little girl, reading her to sleep. “Merry Christmas, Dad,” she mouthed.
“You followed your dream, baby girl,” he mouthed back.
Alyson Rudingo pounded the pavement of her quiet Brooklyn Heights neighborhood, nearing the end of her afternoon run. If it weren’t for the many festive decorations on the brownstones, she would have thought it was one of those weekends in the summer when everyone takes off for Jones Beach or the Hamptons, leaving the place a ghost town.
This year, Christmas was just the day between the 24th and 26th on the calendar for her. Without Robbie—and even though she didn’t want to admit it, Herm—what was the point? Last night, while exhausting, had been a great way to keep her mind off things. But no such luck this morning. After she rolled in at around six, following her breakfast with Kris, she kept up her normal weekend routine, which included this five-mile run.
The run did provide time to think, and to put things in perspective. And she came to the conclusion that she better get used to this. Christmas was normally one of the few times of the year that Herm was in the States, and she knew it was important to use the time to build a relationship with his son. And even though he offered, she knew it wouldn’t be healthy for her to spend Christmas in Pohio—it would send Robbie a mixed message—so she declined.
When she arrived at her apartment building, she climbed the fire escape, hoping not to disturb Olive and Oil. But just before she let herself in, she noticed that the window was cracked just a smidgen. Somebody was in there, and she knew Kris was spending the day with his family, so it wasn’t him. As a rule, she believed it was always best to stand and fight, rather than to run away from your problems, so she slipped inside as quietly as she could. She heard a low voice coming from her bedroom, and footsteps.
“Damn,” she muttered, remembering that her gun was in the drawer by her bed. But she had a backup plan. She removed the shotgun from under the couch. The one she took from the Reed residence, so that Mary Reed couldn’t go on a psychotic shooting spree that would ruin everyone’s Christmas. There wouldn’t be enough Spackle in the world to fix that.
She eased toward the bedroom, hoping to get a good look inside, before she made her move. But just as she reached the door, two male figures leaped out in her sightline and shouted, “Surprise!”
Only, they were the ones staring down a surprise.
“Rudi—what the hell are you doing?” the adult voice shook her and she dropped the gun.