Forever under the mistle.., p.16
Forever Under the Mistletoe, page 16
Emily frowned. “Apparently he drank too much and he didn’t like to eat in real restaurants. His idea of fine dining was a hot dog at a roadside stand. In addition to all that, he apparently had a roving eye, which Heather didn’t approve of.”
“That girl always was high maintenance,” Faith teased. “What about her and Ben?”
“Who knows?” Emily said with a shrug. “She claims they’re just friends but they seem to spend a lot of time together. Ben’s going on to law school after graduation.”
“Good for him.”
“He might come down and spend Christmas with us, too.”
“You’ll have a houseful, with Heather and maybe Ben.” Despite the invitation to spend Christmas in New York at their apartment, Charles and Faith had booked a room at the Warwick Hotel. Bernice was due to arrive, as well. She, of course, would be staying at the Plaza.
Faith doubted there was anyplace more romantic than New York at Christmastime.
She and Emily walked into the Warwick and down the steps to the small lobby. Ray and Charles stood when they came into the room. Even now, after all these months, Faith’s heart fluttered at the sight of her husband. His eyes brightened when he saw her. The unexpected happiness she’d discovered last Christmas had never left. Instead, it had blossomed and grown. She was loved beyond measure by a man who was worthy of her devotion.
“Looks like you bought out Saks Fifth Avenue,” Charles said as he took the packages from her hands.
“Just the baby department, but Charles, I couldn’t help myself. Everything was so cute.”
“Buying anything is a big mistake,” Ray told them, helping Emily with her shopping bags. “Mother’s waited all these years to spoil her first grandchild. My guess is she has stock in Toys ‘R’ Us by now.”
“Don’t forget a certain aunt and uncle, too,” Emily murmured.
Faith wrapped her arm around Charles’s and laid her head against his shoulder.
Emily read her perfectly. “Listen, why don’t you two go to your room and rest for a little while? Faith needs to put her feet up and relax. Ray and I will have a drink and catch up. Then, when you’re ready, we’ll go out for dinner.”
Faith nodded, grateful for her friend’s sympathy and intuition.
Charles led the way to the elevator. He didn’t speak until they were inside. “You overdid it, didn’t you?”
“Only a bit. I’ll be fine as soon as I sit down with a cup of herbal tea.”
Her husband tucked his arm protectively around her and waited until they were back in the room to kiss her.
Then he ordered tea.
* * *
“Did you two have a chance to visit?” Ray asked as Emily removed her coat and slung it over the back of her chair. They’d entered the bar, securing a table near the window. “Or was shopping at the top of your priority list?”
“Actually, we did some of both. It’s just so good to see Faith this happy.”
The waitress came by, and Ray ordered a hot buttered rum for each of them.
“I can’t believe the changes in her,” Emily said. “She’s so much more confident.”
“I was going to say the same thing about Charles,” her husband said with a bemused grin. “I hardly recognize my own brother. Until he met Faith, all he cared about was history—in fact, I think he would’ve preferred to live in the eighteenth century. I feel like I finally have a brother again.”
The waitress brought their drinks and set them on the table, along with a bowl of salted nuts.
“Do you suppose they’re talking about us in the same way?” Emily asked. “Are we different people now than we were a year ago?”
“I know I am,” Ray said.
“I think I am, too.”
Emily reached for a pecan, her favorite nut, and then for no discernible reason started to laugh.
“What’s so funny?”
“Us. Have you forgotten the day we met?”
Ray grinned. “Not likely.”
“I was so miserable and upset, and then you happened along. I glommed on to you so fast, I can only imagine what you must’ve thought.”
“You glommed on to me?” he repeated. “That’s not the way I remember it.” Ray grabbed a handful of nuts. “As I recall, I found out that my brother had traded homes with this incredibly lovely woman. The explanation was reasonable. All I had to do was reassure my mother everything was fine and catch the train back to New York.”
Emily lowered her eyes and smiled. “I’m so glad you ended up staying.”
“You think I missed the last train by accident?”
“You didn’t?”
“Not by a long shot. As my mother would say, I was smitten. I still am.”
“That’s comforting to hear.”
“Christmas with you last year was the best of my life.”
“Except for the Christmas you got the red racer.”
“Well, that was my second-best Christmas.”
“And this year?”
“When Christmas comes, I’ll let you know.”
“You do that,” Emily whispered, raising her glass in a toast to the most wonderful Christmas gift of her life.
* * *
CHRISTMAS LETTERS
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Prologue
Zelda O’Connor Davidson
76 Orchard Avenue
Seattle, Washington
Christmas, 2006
Dear Family and Friends:
Merry Christmas, everyone!
Let me warn you—this Christmas letter won’t be as clever as last year’s. My sister, Katherine (whom you may know better as K.O.), wrote that one for me but, ironically, she hasn’t got time to do this year’s. Ironic because it’s due to the popularity of that particular letter that she’s managed to start a little business on the side—writing Christmas letters for other people! (She offered to write mine, of course, but I know that between her work doing medical transcriptions, her job search and her Christmas letters, it would be a real stretch to find the time.)
So, here goes. The twins, Zoe and Zara, have recently turned five. They’re looking forward to starting kindergarten next September. It’s hard to believe our little girls are almost old enough for school! Still, they keep themselves (and us!) busy. So do our assorted pets—especially the dogs, two Yorkies named Zero and Zorro.
I’m still a stay-at-home mom and Zach’s still working as a software programmer. This year’s big news, which I want to share with all of you, has to do with a wonderful book I read. It changed my family’s life. It’s called The Free Child and it’s by Dr. Wynn Jeffries. My sister scoffs at this, but Dr. Jeffries believes that children can be trusted to set their own boundaries. He also believes that, as parents, we shouldn’t impose fantasies on them—fantasies like Santa Claus. Kids are capable of accepting reality, he says, and I agree! (See page 146 of The Free Child.)
So, this Christmas will be a different kind of experience for us, one that focuses on family, not fantasy.
Zach and the girls join me in wishing all of you a wonderful Christmas. And remember, a free child is a happy child (see page 16).
Love and kisses,
Zelda, Zach, Zoe and Zara
(and a wag of the tail from Zero & Zorro)
One
It was him. Katherine O’Connor, better known as K.O., was almost positive. She squinted just to be sure. He looked identical to the man on the dust jacket of that ridiculous book, the one her sister treated like a child-rearing bible. Of course, people didn’t really look like their publicity photos. And she hadn’t realized the high and mighty Dr. Wynn Jeffries was from the Seattle area. Furthermore, she couldn’t imagine what he was doing on Blossom Street.
She’d never even met him, but she distrusted him profoundly and disliked him just as much. It was because of Dr. Jeffries that she’d been banned from a local bookstore. She’d had a small difference of opinion with the manager on the subject of Wynn’s book. Apparently the bookseller was a personal friend of his, because she’d leaped to Dr. Jeffries’s defense and had ordered K.O. out of the store. She’d even suggested K.O. take her future book-purchasing business elsewhere, which seemed unnecessarily extreme.
“K.O.,” Bill Mulcahy muttered, distracting her. They sat across from each other at the French Café, filled to capacity during the midmorning rush. People lined up for coffee, and another line formed at the bakery counter. “Did you get all that?” he asked.
“Sure,” K.O. said, returning her attention to him. “Sorry—I thought I saw someone I knew.” Oh, the things she was willing to do for some extra holiday cash. One witty Christmas letter written on her sister’s behalf, and all of a sudden K.O. was the most sought-after woman at her brother-in-law’s office. They all wanted her to write their Christmas letters. She’d been shocked to discover how much they’d willingly plunk down for it, too. Bill Mulcahy was the third person she’d met with this week, and his letter was the most difficult so far. Leno or Letterman would’ve had a hard time finding anything amusing about this man’s life.
“I don’t know what you’re going to write,” Bill continued. “It’s been an exceptionally bad year. As I explained earlier, my son is in a detention home, my daughter’s living with her no-good boyfriend and over Thanksgiving she announced she’s pregnant. Naturally, marriage is out of the question.”
“That is a bit of a challenge,” K.O. agreed. She widened her eyes and stared again at the man who waited in the long line at the cash register. It was him; she was convinced of it now. The not-so-good doctor was—to put it in appropriately seasonal terms—no Santa Claus. He was a child psychologist who’d written a book called The Free Child that was the current child-rearing rage.
To be fair, K.O. was single and not a mother. The only child-rearing experience she’d had was with her identical twin nieces, Zoe and Zara, whom she adored. Until recently, anyway. Overnight the five-year-olds had become miniature monsters and all because her sister had followed the “Free Child” rules as set out by Dr. Jeffries.
“My wife,” Bill said, “is on the verge of a breakdown.”
K.O. pitied the poor woman—and her husband.
“We’ve written Christmas letters for years and while life wasn’t always as perfect as we—well, as we implied...” He let the rest fade away.
“You painted the picture of a model family.”
“Yes.” Bill cleared his throat and offered her a weak smile. “Patti, that’s my wife, chose to present a, shall we say, rosier depiction of reality.” He exhaled in a rush. “We never included family pictures and if you met my son, you’d know why. Anyone looking at Mason would know in a minute that this kid isn’t a member of the National Honor Society.” He released his breath again and shook his head sadly. “Mason’s into body piercing,” Bill added. “He pierced his eyebrows, his nose, his lips, his tongue, his nipples—”
K.O. stopped him before he went any lower. “I get it.”
“You probably don’t, but that’s lucky for you. Oh, and he dyed his hair green.”
“Green?”
“He wears it spiked, too, and he...he does this thing with paint.” Bill dropped his voice.
K.O. was sure she’d misunderstood. “I beg your pardon?”
“Mason doesn’t call it paint. It’s some form of cosmetic he smears across his face. I forget the actual significance of the black smudges under his eyes and across his cheeks,” Bill said. “To me it looks like he’s some teenage commando.”
Yes, this letter would indeed be a challenge. “Have you thought about skipping your Christmas letter this year?” K.O. asked hopefully.
“Yeah, I’d like to, but as I said, Patti’s emotional health is rather fragile. She claims people are already asking about our annual letter. She’s afraid that if we don’t send it the same as we do every year, everyone will figure out that we’re pitiful parents.” His shoulders drooped. “In other words, we’ve failed our children.”
“I don’t think you’ve necessarily failed,” K.O. assured him. “Most teenagers go through a rebellious stage.”
“Did you?”
“Oh, sure.”
“Did you pierce anything?”
“Well, I had my ears pierced....”
“That’s not the same thing.” He peered at her earrings, visible through her straight blond hair, which she wore loosely tied back. “And you only have one in each ear—not eight or ten like my son.” He seemed satisfied that he’d proved his point. “Then you’ll write our Christmas letter and smooth over the rough edges of our year?”
K.O. was less and less confident that she could pull this off. “I don’t know if I’m your person,” she said hesitantly. How could she possibly come up with a positive version of such a disastrous year? Besides, this side job was supposed to be fun, not real work. It’d begun as a favor to her sister and all of a sudden she was launching a career. At some stage she’d need to call a halt—maybe sooner than she’d expected.
Her client shifted in his seat. “I’ll pay you double what you normally charge.”
K.O. sat up straight. Double. He said he’d pay double? “Would four days be enough time?” she asked. Okay, so she could be bought. She pulled out her Day-Timer, checked her schedule and they set a date for their next meeting.
“I’ll give you half now and half when you’re finished.”
That seemed fair. Not one to be overly prideful, she held out her hand as he peeled off three fifty-dollar bills. Her fingers closed around the cash.
“I’ll see you Friday then,” Bill said, and reaching for his briefcase, he left the French Café carrying his latte in its takeout cup.
Looking out the windows with their Christmas garland, she saw that it had begun to snow again. This was the coldest December on record. Seattle’s normally mild climate had dipped to below-freezing temperatures for ten days in a row. So much for global warming. There was precious little evidence of it in Seattle.
K.O. glanced at the coffee line. Wynn Jeffries had made his way to the front and picked up his hot drink. After adding cream and sugar—lots of both, she observed—he was getting ready to leave. K.O. didn’t want to be obvious about watching him, so she took a couple of extra minutes to collect her things, then followed him out the door.
Even if she introduced herself, she had no idea what to say. Mostly she wanted to tell him his so-called Free Child movement—no boundaries for kids—was outright lunacy. How could he, in good conscience, mislead parents in this ridiculous fashion? Not that she had strong feelings on the subject or anything. Okay, so maybe she’d gone a little overboard at the bookstore that day, but she couldn’t help it. The manager had been touting the benefits of Dr. Jeffries’s book to yet another unsuspecting mom. K.O. felt it was her duty to let the poor woman know what might happen if she actually followed Dr. Jeffries’s advice. The bookseller had strenuously disagreed and from then on, the situation had gotten out of hand.
Not wanting him to think she was stalking him, which she supposed she was, K.O. maintained a careful distance. If his office was in Seattle, it might even be in this neighborhood. After the renovations on Blossom Street a few years ago, a couple of buildings had been converted to office space. If she could discreetly discover where he practiced, she might go and talk to him sometime. She hadn’t read his book but had leafed through it, and she knew he was a practicing child psychologist. She wanted to argue about his beliefs and his precepts, tell him about the appalling difference in her nieces’ behavior since the day Zelda had adopted his advice.
She’d rather he didn’t see her, so she dashed inconspicuously across the street to A Good Yarn, and darted into the doorway, where she pretended to be interested in a large Christmas stocking that hung in the display window. From the reflection in the window, she saw Dr. Jeffries walking briskly down the opposite sidewalk.
As soon as it was safe, she dashed from the yarn store to Susannah’s Garden, the flower shop next door, and nearly fell over a huge potted poinsettia, all the while keeping her eyes on Dr. Jeffries. He proved one thing, she mused. Appearances were deceiving. He looked so...so normal. Who would’ve guessed that beneath that distinguished, sophisticated and—yes—handsome exterior lay such a fiend? Perhaps fiend was too strong a word. Yet she considered Wynn Jeffries’s thinking to be nothing short of diabolical, if Zoe and Zara were anything to judge by.
No way!
K.O. stopped dead in her tracks. She watched as Wynn Jeffries paused outside her condo building, her very own building, entered the code and strolled inside.
Without checking for traffic, K.O. crossed the street again. A horn honked and brakes squealed, but she barely noticed. She was dumbfounded.
Speechless.
There had to be some mistake. Perhaps he was making a house call. No, that wasn’t right. What doctor made house calls in this day and age? What psychologist made house calls ever? Besides, he didn’t exactly look like the compassionate type. K.O. bit her lip and wondered when she’d become so cynical. It’d happened around the same time her sister read Dr. Jeffries’s book, she decided.
