Some Enchanted Season (23 page)

“I don’t believe that.” She had gotten angry with him dozens of times. She had resented the hell out of him, had stopped loving him, but she couldn’t have hated him. She wasn’t capable of it. He wasn’t deserving of it.

Impulsively she claimed his hand, wrapping her fingers around his. “All right. I’ll be happy, and I’ll never hate you. Now, how about something I can wrap up with a bow?”

“I’ll think about it. What about you? What do you want?”

She forced back her first thought—
Nothing you can give me
. It was a harsh answer, but true. She wanted love, marriage, babies, and he wanted none of that. Instead, she suggested something she really did want, that, hopefully, he could provide. “My emerald earrings. I must have been wearing them the night of the accident, because I can’t imagine leaving them in Buffalo.” She fingered one earlobe. “I’ll have to get my ears pierced again, but I’d like to have them. If you still have them. If you’ll let me have them.”

“They gave them to me at the hospital here in town.” His voice was low, troubled. “They’re at the office.”

He didn’t say she could have them, and she didn’t ask. She was sure he would return them to her. After all, they were
hers
. That fact wouldn’t be lost on him. Satisfied of that, she changed the subject. “Did you eat lunch while I was asleep?”

He shook his head.

“Why don’t you keep working here and I’ll see what I can do about dinner?” Without waiting for a response, she hung the last reindeer, then went down the hall to the kitchen.

Instead of doing as she suggested, he wandered into the kitchen a few minutes later. “Can I help?”

She scanned the recipe in front of her, then separated a half dozen ingredients from the rest and pushed them toward him. “You can make the vinaigrette.”

She gave him other assignments while she peeled the cooked shrimp and found herself wondering why
things between them couldn’t have always been this easy. If he had come home from work, changed from suits to jeans, then joined her in the kitchen to prepare together the meal they would then share, things would have been so much better. Instead, he’d come home from work only to disappear into his office for more work, leaving her to spend evening after evening alone. In some small place deep inside, she almost resented his availability now, when it was too late.

Wasn’t it?

She stared out the window.
Was
it too late? They’d gotten along better in the past twelve days than in the past three years. They had talked, apologized—even laughed. They certainly had the foundation to build on. They were bright people who learned from their mistakes. Maybe they
could
resolve their problems without resorting to divorce. Maybe, if they both tried, they could …

She gave herself a mental shake. They could remember that these last twelve days were part of an attempt to end the marriage amicably. That it was easy to get along when the end was in sight. That they each had plans for the future that didn’t include the other.

With a sigh that wasn’t forlorn—it
wasn’t
—Maggie finished peeling the shrimp and tossed them with the salad Ross had assembled. They took their plates and drinks into the living room, where he’d built a fire before joining her in the kitchen.

After the first bite, he declared the shrimp salad very good, and it was—better than anything she’d put together by herself. What a difference a clear-thinking assistant made. Maybe Dr. Grayson had been right to
suggest that she seek out Ross’s help. Now, if the give-yourself-a-little-time-and-things-will-get-back-to-normal part of his advice was also right, she’d be a happy woman.

“Do you know, by any chance, where my Christmas card list is?” she asked.

“Probably on the desk in the kitchen—you know, the thick book that has the phone company’s name on it instead of yours.”

She smiled. Their first few Christmases, they hadn’t had money to spare for luxuries like cards. Once they could afford it, though, she’d started sending out a few. Before long, the list of friends had been joined by Ross’s business associates and had become enormous, taking days to complete. But being the good corporate wife was no longer on her list of responsibilities. “Since you pay her so well, Lynda can handle your business cards this year. I thought I’d send just a few to people here and a few to Buffalo.” To her new friends and to the medical staff who’d been a daily part of her life.

Maybe even one or two to old friends, she thought as she caught sight of a three-dimensional clay tree ornament resting nearby. It was gaily painted in reds and greens, with a glimmering gold star at the top, and in the center was a small photograph of herself with her friend Jessica. They’d been Christmas shopping and, on a lark, had visited Santa’s Workshop in the middle of the mall. It’d been a slow morning for Santa, and he’d invited them to pose on his lap for a picture.

It was the sort of silly thing that Maggie never indulged in once Ross became successful, but Jessica and the kindly old man had persuaded her. Borrowing
floppy stocking caps from Santa’s college-student elves, they’d posed for two snapshots, then chosen the themed frames.

Ross hadn’t been amused by either the photo or the story behind it. After work, power, and wealth, image had taken the next slot on his list of priorities—his wife’s as well as his own. The fact that she’d been seen by no one he knew didn’t negate the fact that, in his opinion, she’d done something childish and foolish. He’d blamed it on Jessica and demanded for the hundredth time that Maggie end their friendship.

Though she hadn’t obeyed, the friendship had eventually ended anyway. Like the rest of her friends, Jessica had paid her a few visits at the center and made a few phone calls, and then she had disappeared from Maggie’s life.

He followed the direction of her gaze, and she saw him stiffen when he recognized the photograph. All these years later, it still annoyed him that she’d done something so unbefitting her status as his wife—and in public, no less. He didn’t ignore it, though, and there was no censure in his voice when he spoke. “Did you tell him you’d been a good girl?”

“Yes,” she replied, the faint smile of remembrance curving her mouth.

“What did you ask for?”

“An ‘A’ in sociology. A job. A baby.” The smile turned rueful. “He said he couldn’t help me with the last one—said Mrs. Claus would wring his neck if he even considered it. But I got the ‘A’. One out of three—that was about my average.” She sighed heavily. “I can go weeks without even thinking about my old
friends, but then, for some reason, I do, and I feel so …” Lonely. Lost. “I miss them.”

He stood up, took the ornament, and in a none-too-subtle move he hung it on the back side of the tree, where she would have to go to great effort to see it. She appreciated his choice.

When he was done, he returned to his seat. “I know it wasn’t easy for them to see you the way you were, because it wasn’t easy for me. It was frightening how quickly you went from being a bright, capable, independent woman to being trapped in a body that didn’t work with a mind that worked enough for you to be aware of your condition. In those first months you were utterly helpless—and, to make it worse, it wasn’t because of something unique to you. The same thing could happen to anyone. It made us more aware of our own vulnerability—our mortality. Some people can face that. Some can’t.”

Dr. Olivetti had told her the same thing. But all the logical explanations in the world couldn’t ease the hurt of losing her friends. She’d needed their love and support and they hadn’t given it. Reasons didn’t matter. Results did.

“You’ve made new friends here,” Ross said quietly. “They’re the important ones now. They’re the ones who are going to be part of the rest of your life. Even if the accident hadn’t happened, you would have grown away from the others anyway when you moved here.”

“I know you’re right. It’s just …”

“It’s nearly Christmas, and you’re feeling nostalgic.”

She nodded.

“So get over it. There’s no point living in the past.
You’ve got a bright future ahead of you, and there’s no place in it for old friends who let you down.”

His brusque tone made her blink, then slowly a smile started. Again he was right. She had a great future to look forward to, in a home she loved in a wonderful town filled with people she adored. There was no room for old disappointments like lost friends.

Like Ross.

That last thought dimmed her smile just a little.

She didn’t want to know why.

I
t was late and Ross was feeling it when finally he climbed to the top of the ladder and positioned the angel with her flowing satin robes over the uppermost branch. While he moved the ladder to the hall, Maggie shut off the lights, then stood in the broad doorway to look. Appreciate. Wonder.

He joined her there, a safe two feet between them. “O Little Town of Bethlehem” was on the stereo—how appropriate—and they listened in silence until its last note ended. Then she said softly, “It’s beautiful.”

It was, he agreed. Almost as beautiful as she was. The merest of smiles touched her mouth, giving her a look of utter satisfaction—a look he’d given her more than a few times himself, often after the tree-trimming.

As the next song began to play—“What Child Is This?”—Maggie pushed away from the door. “I think I’m ready for bed.”

In spite of his silent self-warnings, his body responded instantly to the image of Maggie in bed. It had been so damn long—last September, when she’d
brought him to Bethlehem to finalize the deal on the house. For the first time in too long, he’d made overtures and, also for the first time in months, she had welcomed them. He had been so aroused and she’d been so satisfying that the suspicion she was acting out of gratitude hadn’t diminished his pleasure one bit.

Then it had been back to life as usual. Sleeping in separate bedrooms. Living separate lives. She’d become as obsessed with remodeling and decorating this house as he was with business. She’d started spending more time in Bethlehem than in Buffalo, and he …

At what point had he decided that it was all right to have an affair? When had he lost that last shred of dignity and self-respect? He’d known it was wrong—some part of him
hadn’t
wanted it as much as the rest of him
had
—but he’d done it anyway, and it had been an unqualified disaster. The sex hadn’t even been particularly good—though the best sex in the world wouldn’t have been worth the price he and Maggie had paid.

The music stopped, and a moment later Maggie passed him on her way to the stairs. “Are you coming?”

Wishing the question referred to more than accompanying her up the stairs and knowing that even if it did, he would have to refuse, he followed. Maggie safely reached the top of the stairs and her room. He stopped outside his own room and watched her turn on the lights and reach to close the door.

She hesitated. “It was a really nice evening. Thank you.”

The simple words touched him. What had he done besides show up?

But wasn’t showing up all she’d ever asked of him?

“You’re welcome,” he murmured, the words huskier than he would have liked.

With an acknowledging nod she said good night, closed the door between them, and left him alone under the bright hall lights.

“I
’m really not sure this is a good idea.”

Agatha Winchester gave her sister an amazingly innocent look, the kind that, in Corinna’s experience, devious—meant with great affection, of course—young children like Josie Dalton managed best. “Not a good idea? We’re stopping by a neighbor’s house to drop off a coffee cake fresh from the oven and extend an invitation to church. Whatever could not be good about that?”

“It’s Sunday morning,” Corinna reminded her. “Some people don’t like to be disturbed on Sunday mornings.”

“Well, I don’t believe Maggie’s one of those people. Besides, if we can’t extend an invitation to church on the Lord’s day, when can we?” Agatha pulled to the curb in front of the McKinney house and shut off the engine. “Five minutes. That’s all it’ll take. Are you coming with me?”

“I would prefer to not give the impression that I think I can drop in whenever I please,” Corinna said testily. “However, since you’re determined, yes, I’ll go with you, or your five minutes will stretch into thirty and make us late for Sunday school.”

“Why, I’ve never been late for Sunday school in my life—and that’s an awful lot of Sundays, I’ll have you know.” Agatha closed the door with enough force to rock the car from side to side, though it wasn’t fueled by anger, Corinna knew. Just energy. Her sister was blessed with twice the energy of a woman half her age. In that way, Agatha reminded her, again, of Josie. The two of them could run nonstop from sunup to sundown, sleep a few hours, and be ready to do it again the next day. Of course, young Josie was partly responsible for Agatha’s vigor. Being needed and loved gave an old woman a reason to thrive.

It gave
both
old women reason, she admitted as she climbed out of the car and started after Agatha. Seconds after she reached the porch, the door was opened by Ross McKinney. His hair stood on end, and he appeared distracted, needing a moment or two to focus on them. “Miss Agatha. Miss Corinna. Come in.”

They crowded into the hallway, then he closed the door. He looked more than a little awkward. He wheeled and dealed with some of the most powerful people in the country, and yet he seemed at a loss as to how to treat two nosy old women who’d interrupted his morning. Corinna found the notion somehow endearing.

“I hope we haven’t disturbed you, Ross,” Agatha said. “We just wanted to drop this off”—she held up the foil-covered cake—“and invite you and Maggie to join us in church this morning.”

“Maggie’s still asleep, but—”

“No, I’m not. Hello, Miss Corinna, Miss Agatha.”

They all turned as one to watch Maggie approach
from the kitchen. For someone supposedly still asleep, she looked remarkably alert. Her navy trousers were neatly pressed, her turtleneck sweater without a speck of lint, her hair sleekly combed, and her face perfectly made up. Trade her slacks for a skirt and add a pair of shoes, and she would be all set for church, Corinna mused—
if
she were so inclined.