Bring Me Home for Christmas (12 page)

She shrugged. “I guess. Except for his quiet spells. And his arm.”

“His arm is hurt?”

“Not exactly,” Megan said. “It ain’t there. But it don’t hurt, he said.”

“Oh,” she said. Sure. What guy wouldn’t have quiet spells, hurt on the job, left disabled, out of disability pay, no job? “Do you have brothers and sisters?”

“Three brothers. I’m oldest.” She pointed to the table Christopher occupied. “Jeremy is next oldest. He’s in first grade.”

“I bet you have tons of responsibility around the house.”

“Some. My mom has a job now, so we all have more chores.”

“And will you have to help fix the Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow?” Becca asked.

Megan turned her large, sad brown eyes up to Becca’s and said, “I don’t know. My dad said he ain’t interested in no town turkey.”

Becca was completely baffled. “What’s a town turkey?”

“It’s the one you get from Jack and the church because you can’t buy your own.”

Here was something Becca hadn’t exactly run up against in her school; it was a charter school and it was quite expensive. They gave out a few scholarships, but they didn’t go to children who lived on the brink of poverty, but rather to the kids whose folks earned a living, just not enough of a living to put their kids in an expensive private school. Her kids didn’t need a charity basket to have a Thanksgiving dinner.

She had another epiphany. Just like her stable and secure family life, she’d had a job in a safe zone. Oh, she’d had some challenges, but if she were a teacher in a town like this, there would be a much broader cross section of students who ranged from well-off to quite the opposite.

“Well, I hope you and your mom fix it up and I hope the good smells change his mind, because you know what? I bet a town turkey tastes every bit as good as the kind you go out and buy. And your decorations will make it smell even better!” She put an arm around Megan’s shoulders and pulled her close. “Hopefully this will pass and your dad will find a job. I’m crossing my fingers for your family.”

Megan smiled then. “I think you’re nice. I’m glad you moved here.”

“Oh, I’m just visiting for a little while. I’ll be going home to San Diego soon. But one of the best parts of my visit so far is meeting you.”

“Me, too,” Megan said quietly.

It seemed like the time flew, yet it had been almost three hours. At five, parents started showing up to collect their kids and their crafts. When Becca saw a woman in a pink waitress uniform giving Megan a hug and helping her into her coat, she assumed that was her mother. She hobbled over and said, “Hi, I’m Becca. I worked on some crafts with Megan. She’s such a sweet girl.”

The woman’s smile, as well as her eyes, were tired. “So nice to meet you. I’m Lorraine Thickson. Nice of you to help out.”

“I had fun. I’ve been so bored, grounded with this splint on my leg. Once I met the kids, things really perked up for me.” She put her arm around Megan’s shoulders. “And this one is special. Thank you for coming today, Megan.”

“She rides the bus home with Danielle. Since my kids are about the same age as the pastor’s kids, they stay either at the church or the pastor’s house until I’m off work,” Lorraine said. “You can’t imagine how much it helps.”

“Maybe I’ll see you again before I leave, Megan. The doctor wants me to hang around a couple of weeks.”

“Okay,” she said shyly.

Little by little, the basement of the church emptied of children as they left with their parents. Becca started gathering up construction paper and other art supplies, when Jo Fitch came over to her and said, “No, no, no, Miss Becca. You’re supposed to be resting, keeping the leg up. We’ll handle cleanup. You were a fantastic help and we so appreciate it.”

“Will you be doing anything else with the kids? Because while my brother and his friends are hunting, I’m just sitting around.”

“The Christmas tree goes up this weekend,” Jo said. “We don’t exactly plan activities, but it’s such an event, almost everyone in town turns out. Stick around the bar and you can’t miss the action. You’ll love it.”

The fishermen beat Becca back to the bar, and they had returned victorious. In their coolers, packed in ice, were four big, healthy, robust salmon ranging in size from six to sixteen pounds. All four sweaty, grimy, grinning guys were enjoying a pitcher at a table in front of the fire.

“Ducks and fish—you must be in heaven,” she said, joining them at their table.

Denny immediately pulled up an extra chair to elevate her leg. “Not bad. I think we had a good take.”

“And what’s it going to be tomorrow?” she asked. “Duck or fish?”

“I think it’s turkey tomorrow. Then on Friday, it’s wood.” He pushed a beer toward her.

“Wood?” she asked, lifting her beer.

“The Friday after Thanksgiving we go into the woods and find a tree worthy of what passes for the town square—the parking lot between Jack’s and the church. It has to be about thirty feet.”

“And who does this?”

“Only the most manly of men,” Jack shouted from behind the bar.

“Yeah,” the fishermen called out, lifting their ale toward him.

“Oh, brother,” she said, sipping her beer.

“Tomorrow morning, we have to stay out of the way so Preacher can concentrate on cooking. Big holiday dinners get him all revved up,” Denny said. “So, after breakfast we’re going out to the river for a little while, do a little more fishing. We’ll take you with us. You can stay in the truck with a thermos of hot cocoa or something.”

“That’s okay. I can borrow a book from Paige and just stay in your room….”

He grinned at her. “You should come, Becca. It’s fun to watch. And Jack says a lot of men are told to get out of the house on Thanksgiving morning so their wives can cook. The river could be full of action.”

“Well…”

“You’ll come. It’s settled.”

They ate beef-and-barley soup with soft, warm bread and apple pie for dinner. Then Becca did borrow that book, but only for something to read before sleep. Jack and Preacher closed up a little early, but Denny had his own set of keys and after getting Becca safely up the stairs to his apartment, he went back to the bar for some cards with his boys. Becca didn’t feel the least bit left out. If there was anything that seemed less intriguing than watching men fish, it was watching them play poker. What she hadn’t been prepared for was how much the kids had worn her out. Before this broken ankle, she could match the little ones for energy, but she was asleep before turning a half dozen pages on her borrowed paperback.

She had no idea when Denny returned to the room, but the sun was lighting the sky when he woke her.

“I made some coffee,” he said. “You can take your time getting dressed. I have to run out to the Riordan cabins to pick up the boys for breakfast.”

“Huh?” she asked, sitting up a little.

He ran a hand over the top of his head. “Preacher took ’em all out to the cabins. Your brother bunked in with them so Preacher wouldn’t have to drive all over the mountains. Fortunately, I could walk home.”

“But why did Preacher have to drive…”

“There was some serious drinking going on.”

She sat up in bed. “But couldn’t you have driven them?” she stupidly asked.

“No. We were pretty much equally drunk. Now we can check that one off—Got Drunk With Friends. I have a headache.”

“And you want to go fishing?”

“Don’t want to so much as have to. You never let a stupid night interrupt your plans for the next day. He who gives in is wearing panties…”

She put her hand over her mouth but giggled just the same.

“Enjoy your coffee, get dressed, and I’ll come back for you.”

“Sure,” she said. But what she thought was, I’ll get myself down the stairs! She took a brief sponge bath, promising herself a legitimate grooming before sitting down to the turkey dinner later. Then she dressed warmly and made her way down the street to the bar, beating Denny and the boys there. When she got inside, she saw only a few men, who appeared to be finishing their breakfast, and Preacher, who was behind the bar. “Morning,” she said. “I heard you were commissioned to drive late last night.”

“Wasn’t all that late,” he said with a shrug. “They’re young candy-asses. Don’t know anything about pacing themselves.” Then he actually smiled and Becca realized for the first time that a smile was unusual for this big man unless something amused him a great deal.

“Not very busy this morning?”

“Not on Thanksgiving. We stay open regular hours, but there isn’t usually much business. Anyone who wanders in here after two in the afternoon is forced to join us for turkey. No one pays or leaves my bar hungry on this day.”

She smiled at him. “That doesn’t surprise me. Where’s Jack?”

“He’ll come in a little later. The kids will nap and play in my house while we’re getting ready for a big crowd out here.”

“Do you need me to help?” she asked.

Again the smile. “No, Becca. I think I need you to have some breakfast. I hear you’re going out to the river with them.”

“Denny insists.”

“You won’t regret it. Let me bring you something to eat. Eggs, just about any way you want. Cereal. Toast. Bacon. I’m not making pancakes today….”

“A couple of eggs, scrambled, bacon, toast. And thank you.”

Before her breakfast was even delivered, the guys—minus Denny—came in, seemingly none the worse for their night of drinking. They were scruffy as hell; apparently no one thought it prudent to clean up before getting in the river. It made sense on a practical level, but she wrinkled her nose at her brother.

“What?” Rich said.

“After fishing, before Thanksgiving dinner, give yourself a good once-over, please.”

“See, this is the trouble with having girls on a fishing-hunting trip,” Rich complained.

Preacher was just delivering Becca’s eggs. “There will be women at the table today,” he said. “Do exactly what she says. Smell lots better. Eggs?” he asked them.

“Thanks,” came three replies.

Then Denny burst through the door. He saw Becca sitting at the bar, eating her breakfast, and let out his breath. “You did it again,” he said.

She nodded, chewing a mouthful of eggs. “On my butt. Perfectly safe. Have some breakfast.”

He leaned close to her. “I wish you’d just let me help.”

“I will,” she said softly. “When I need something, I’ll ask.”

Contents

Eight

When they got to the river, Becca was completely surprised by how engrossing she found the whole experience. There were seven men already standing along the river, waders held up by suspenders. They didn’t acknowledge the newcomers at first, but eventually each one gave a rather solemn nod toward them. They were completely absorbed in their sport. Their art.

Fly-fishing was a beautiful thing to watch. Their lines soared in arcs and S shapes, in high curves or powerful torpedo-like shots over the water. As they plied their lines and multicolored flies, salmon fled upstream, sometimes clearing the water, sometimes jumping up small waterfalls. She saw a couple as they were caught, good-size fish.

But that wasn’t the only thing that enchanted her. The wide river as it flowed between towering pines backed by rising mountains… It was stunning. The landscape appeared both dangerous and breathtaking. The river was awesome in its beauty and the trees were enormous. The sounds were enthralling; all she could hear was the whirring of reels, rushing of the river and splashing of fish. Large fish.

Of the four young Marines, Denny was the best at this art. She couldn’t take her eyes off him. Not only his mastery fascinated her, but his physique and confidence. She hadn’t remembered him well enough, she decided. Either that, or he’d grown much taller and broader. And this skill with the rod and reel—he’d never mentioned fly-fishing when they were together. This must have come from Jack, the man who was almost his father.

He was so beautiful. So at home up to his knees in water, sending those colorful flies over the river. She loved watching the play of muscles across his back, in his shoulders. And then there was that perfect booty. Oh, my, that body… That was the body that taught her about sex, that showed her how to have pleasure and how to give it. She shivered.

She stayed mostly in the truck, her leg elevated, but from time to time she couldn’t resist and carefully got out just so she could breathe the air, get the full view, stand closer to the river to hear the sounds. The men were quiet, while the whirring, rushing and occasional splashing provided the background music. They didn’t even shout at a catch but rather made low congratulatory sounds. The man nearest the one with the catch might step closer and offer the net in assist, but that was all. It was a quiet, solitary, peaceful, plentiful sport.

She loved it. She wished she could learn it. If her ankle weren’t broken, she’d be out there trying to master that beautiful cast.

This was what Denny had wanted to share with his friends, and it was worthy. This was magnificent. Rich and lush.

After a few hours on the river, everyone dispersed. She went with Denny. She wouldn’t allow him to lift her up the stairs but she did accept his help. She was afraid that after her full morning of gazing at him, if he carried her she might just lose control and start kissing his neck.

They took their turns in the bathroom, getting cleaned up for dinner. She insisted on showing him her method for getting down. By his expression, she could tell he went along with it grudgingly.

Then the holiday proceeded, so different from her usual experience. Although Becca and Rich each had their own places in San Diego, they spent Thanksgiving at their parents’ house, just the four of them. Dinner at Jack’s was a gathering of friends and neighbors. The TV was turned off, the tables were pushed together and all the little decorations Chris helped to make adorned a long table. Becca not only enjoyed meeting a few couples from town, but she was, unsurprisingly, a magnet to the kids and spent a lot of time reading stories to Mel and Jack’s little ones, as well as Dana. Chris was too old to be read to, of course, but that didn’t keep him from hanging real close.