Some Enchanted Season (19 page)

Holly wished it wouldn’t be totally rude and insensitive to ask, but of course it would. Until she got to know Maggie better, until the other woman gave some indication that she wanted to confide in her, Holly would just have to wait. And wonder.

Injecting just the right amount of carelessness into her voice, she responded to Maggie’s last comment. “You’re a braver woman than me. If I met some guy and knew right away that I was going to marry him, I’d run the other way so hard and so fast that he wouldn’t even get a good look at me.”

“But if he was the
right
guy, he’d track you down. He would know you anyway, even without a good look.”

Holly shuddered dramatically. “If I believed that for an instant, I’d be worried. But since the only signal I send out is the one that says ‘For a good time, call …’ I’m safe.” And alone. But better that than with someone and wearing that exquisitely sad look Maggie had worn a few moments ago. Better a lonely heart than a broken one.

At least, that was what she told herself. Tonight, in a busy crowd filled with the holiday spirit, with friendship and caring and love, she even believed it.

Chapter Eight
 

B
y six forty-five Thursday evening, downtown Bethlehem was packed. Main Street was blocked off, concession stands had been erected along the street to sell hot drinks and snacks, and at least half the town was shuffling along the sidewalks, window-shopping, greeting neighbors, and simply passing time until the seven o’clock parade began.

Bundled against the cold, Maggie stood beside a six-foot-tall wooden soldier. Against Ross’s wishes, they had walked over from their house. He had wanted to drive—had worried that the half dozen blocks each way was more than she could handle—but she felt fine. In fact, she was so excited, she felt she could walk the parade route a time or two, stand in line in the square to see Santa, and still have the energy for the walk back home. She was having a ball.

A chilly wind whistled down the street, and Ross stepped closer, using the soldier and his body to provide her with a windbreak. She looked up at him over her shoulder and smiled appreciatively.

“When was the last time you went to a Christmas parade?” he asked.

She glanced across the street. People were starting to claim their spots, with curbside seats for the little ones, the adults gathering in groups or taking shelter from the wind in the recessed doorways of shops closing for the evening. She and Ross had been invited to join the Winchester sisters, given a place of honor at the square, and Holly and Dr. Grayson down by the hardware store. The Thomases had offered them the warmth of Alex’s second-floor office that overlooked the street, at least until the parade started, but right there, alone with Ross in the wooden soldier’s shelter, seemed the best place to her.

“My last Christmas parade,” she repeated thoughtfully. “We went every year when I was little. It was always a big deal. We huddled together until it started, and then my father lifted me onto his shoulders so I could see everything. Afterward we went to my parents’ favorite restaurant for a celebratory meal. It was the only time all year I was allowed to go with them to such an adult place, so it was really special.”

“What happened after your father left?” Ross asked softly.

She gave him an uneasy smile. “Haven’t I told you this all before?”

He shook his head, and she shrugged as she continued.

“When my father left, most of the family traditions disappeared too. We didn’t have much of a Christmas the first year, or the second. The third year, though, Mom made an effort to revive the traditions. We made the Christmas cookies, put up the tree, decorated the house. We went to the parade and stood in our usual spot, and when it was over, we went to the same restaurant. It was an expensive place, and she’d saved two months for the meal. Right after we ordered, my father came in with his new wife and their baby daughter. They had just come from the parade. We left without eating, and my mother grew even more bitter, because
he
hadn’t given up the family traditions at all. He’d just made himself a new family to celebrate them with.” Her voice had grown softer with each sentence, until she was practically whispering. Giving a shake of her head, she returned to her normal tone. “We never went to the parade after that. What about you?”

“My mother loved parades. She watched them on TV on Thanksgiving and New Year’s Day, and we went to every single one held in town. Just her and me. Without my father.” He smiled faintly. “That was
our
family tradition.”

“I’m going to bring my kids to this one every year,” she said dreamily. “We’ll volunteer to work on the float, and on the big night we’ll walk over and have dinner at Harry’s, and we’ll sit on Santa’s lap, and we’ll have a wonderful time. Those will be
my
family traditions.”

Traditions that she’d started this year with Ross, but next year he wouldn’t be a part of them. His absence would surely diminish some of her pleasure. After all,
her family was supposed to be his too, and her traditions his. She would miss him and would regret that he was gone. But regret was a part of living. Without suffering, how could a person fully appreciate joy?

But hadn’t she done enough suffering in the last few years? Wasn’t it her turn now for the joy?

Down the street the flash of red and blue lights drew her back from the melancholy direction her thoughts had taken. A police car was making a slow crawl along the center of the street, and its approach sent a buzz through the crowd. A few kids raced across the street well ahead of the car as everyone pressed forward, eager to see. Behind her, Ross moved closer too, and rested his gloved hand on her shoulder.

It was a casual touch. Under normal circumstances she probably wouldn’t have noticed it. But their circumstances were so far from normal. The further apart they’d grown, the harder they’d found it to bridge the distance for simple contact. Even when they’d lain side by side in bed, they had rarely brushed one against the other unless it was the result of sleep and a body’s natural inclination to seek out another body nearby.

She was hungry for normal casual touches. She’d had a lifetime’s fill of the impersonal, purposeful kind—received daily from the nurses, the therapists, the doctors—but she desperately needed the other kind. She needed to be held. She needed to be kissed.

She needed to feel alive.

She was hardly aware of her own longing sigh, but Ross heard it and bent his head close. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Are you tired?”

Tired of living alone. Of living in limbo. Of waiting for that day when she would truly start living again. For several years now she’d been preparing for it. She’d gotten her degree, admitted that her marriage was over, found the courage to accept a future without Ross. The accident had been a major setback, but the worst of that was behind her. She wanted to reclaim her life—not in two months, not when others had decided that she could live on her own, but
now
.

Whether she was ready or not.

She looked up to assure Ross that she really was fine but found herself distracted by the flakes that were dotting his dark hair. “Snow,” she murmured with pleasure as she tilted her head back to watch it fall. The flakes drifting down were the perfect touch for the parade—not too heavy, not too wet, just delicate crystals that landed, shimmered, then dissolved.

With an indulgent smile Ross turned her back toward the street. “Pay attention. You can watch the snow all winter long, but right now the parade’s passing you by.”

After the police car, followed by jalopies carrying the mayor, the state senator, and the school superintendent, the real parade started. What the participants lacked in professionalism, they made up for with enthusiasm. The Scouts might have marched in straighter lines, but they couldn’t have had more fun. The dance school’s banner could have been more neatly painted, but it made no difference to the students tapping their way down the street in costumes of the season.

“Hey, Miss Maggie.” Josie Dalton left her ragged
line and danced in place in front of them. Her brown paper outfit covered her from chin to ankle, and her bright yellow headpiece swayed in the breeze. “Look. I’m a far—far— A candle in a paper bag. I was s’posed to be a tree”—she rolled her blue eyes comically—“but we got lots of trees, and this is neater anyway.”

“You look wonderful, Josie,” Maggie said with a laugh. “You’re the best dancing farolito I’ve ever seen.”

The girl grinned, then realized she’d been left behind. Calling good-bye, she raced back to her place between two trees, then resumed her less-than-rhythmic tap dance.

The first float was a small version of the McBride Inn, complete with pond and woods and a mechanical horse-drawn carriage that clip-clopped up the lane and back again. It had been built by Holly’s grandfather, Maggie knew, and had been an entry in the parade for the last forty years.

Tradition.

There were floats for every church and many of the businesses. Firefighters rode on an antique engine, and civic club members distributed candy through the crowd. The hospital float brought up the rear, followed only by the high school band and Santa, and looked
just
the tiniest bit better than the rest. Not that she was prejudiced, of course.

After Santa, who bore a strong resemblance to Mitch Walker, passed, the crowds began breaking up. Those with young children headed for the square, where Santa would hold court, and the rest began to make their slow way home.

Maggie closed her eyes and lifted her face to the
snow. She was chilled all the way through, and she’d lost contact with her toes a long time before, but she couldn’t remember ever feeling warmer or happier or more perfectly at home. She would remember this night—and this feeling—forever.

When she finally opened her eyes, Ross was watching her, his expression impossible to read. He might not understand how a simple parade could make her feel so much, but he’d understood
something
. He hadn’t spoken or taken her arm, hadn’t urged her to head home and bring this long, cold evening to an end.

After one moment passed, then two more, he finally asked, “Are you ready?”

When she nodded, he took her arm, steadying her as she stepped off the curb. Their pace was leisurely until they reached Hawthorne and the crowd thinned. After two blocks they had the sidewalk to themselves.

“What are you thinking?” she asked, expecting some comment about work. Since she’d persuaded him to try working at least a little, he’d spent much of his time in the office—most of Monday and all of Tuesday, Wednesday, and that day. There were times when she’d regretted her encouragement, but most of the time she was fine alone. It was a good time for daydreaming.

“That you’re going to have some great traditions, like the parade.”

“You could come back for it if you wanted. I don’t have exclusive rights.”

“It wouldn’t be the same. Next year you’ll be with someone else.”

He said the words so easily, but they struck her as so impossible.
Next year you’ll be with someone else
. How
could she be, when she’d spent nearly half her life with
him
? How could she ever feel for someone else all the things she’d felt for him? How could any other man ever take his place in her life, in her heart?

Right that moment she couldn’t imagine being married to anyone but Ross, loving anyone but Ross, and the knowledge sent a rush of panic through her. Now, because of the parade, she was feeling incredibly sentimental, but what if it were true two months, six months, or a year from then? What if all her grand hopes were simply dreams that she couldn’t make come true? After all, she’d tried with Ross and failed. What if she kept failing?

She had to believe that she wouldn’t, had to believe that there was a future out there better than the past she was leaving behind. After all, this was Bethlehem, a place for miracles. Her miracle wouldn’t include Ross, but it would include
someone
.

Please, God, it would.

The glow from their house caught her attention the instant she stepped onto their block. Yesterday the workers she’d hired had spent much of the afternoon putting up lights. The strong, straight lines of the house lent themselves well to the white bulbs that stretched from one end to the other and from top to bottom. The farolitos along the porte cochere roof were electric, but the real thing, currently unlit, lined the sidewalk and the porch steps.

“I’ll make you a deal,” she said as they turned onto their sidewalk. “You fix dinner, and I’ll light the candles.”

Shaking his head, he repeated her offer. “
You
fix dinner, and
I’ll
light the candles.”

“No fair. You got the fun part.” Though she knew from last night’s experience that replacing and lighting three dozen votives in the cold wasn’t entirely fun. She’d gone through an entire small tree’s worth of fireplace matches, and a nagging ache in her back had kicked in somewhere around the tenth candle. Maybe next year she could turn the lighting job over to Josie—supervised, of course—who thought candles in paper sacks were pretty neat.