Home in Time for Christmas (4 page)

“And when is the man of the hour coming up?” her father asked, a sparkle in his eyes. “I'm referring to Mark, of course.”

“Mom, Dad, Mark isn't the man of the hour,” she said seriously.

“But…you were dating him, and you seemed to like him so much!” Mona protested. “He's such a gentleman, always opening doors for you, trying to get you to sit and relax…he's a lovely man, really. What happened?”

“He's still a lovely man, Mom,” she said. “Nothing happened.”

“Oh, my Lord, he hasn't been mean or rude to you, has he?” Mona asked indignantly. “I've asked him here for the holidays!”

“He hasn't been mean or rude, and I hope he enjoys the holidays, and I hope we can remain friends,” Melody said.

“Mark is such a nice young man,” her mother said sorrowfully.

“Mom—”

“I see. You're not as fond of the fellow as he is of you,” her father said, nodding as he sat back more deeply into his chair.

“Melody,” her mother said sternly, “you haven't
brought your other friend—this Jake—to…I don't know, to upset Mark, have you?”

“Mom, I brought him because…he really had nothing else to do,” she said.

“Is there a romance there?” her father asked, laughter in his eyes again.

“Good God, no,” Melody said. “Please, no match-making with Mark, Mom, Dad. And none with Jake. Got it?”

“I wouldn't dream of it,” her mother said. “You've got to live your own life.”

“Never,” her father promised.

“So, I'm confused. Aren't you and Mark working together?” Mona asked.

“Yes.”

“Well, you're not going to stop doing the book, are you?” her father asked.

“I hope not.”

Jake came into the room then. Keith's clothes fit him well, and Melody had to blink, he suddenly looked so right. With his hazel eyes, sandy-brown hair and good bone structure.

“Well, there now, you look more relaxed and comfy,” Mona said. “Jake Mallory, my husband, George. George, this is Melody's friend from college, Jake Mallory.”

“Pleased to meet you, and welcome. So, you're staying the week?” he asked politely.

Jake glanced at Melody. “If you'll have me, sir.”

“With pleasure, with pleasure,” George Tarleton said, indicating the sofa and returning to his rocking chair.

“Cocoa, dear,” Mona said, handing him a cup.

“Thank you most kindly,” Jake said.

Melody looked downward, wincing.

“You sound almost as if you're from ye old mother country,” George said lightly, taking a sip of his own cocoa.

“No, sir. I was born and bred right here, in these parts.”

“It's a charming accent,” Mona said.

“Thank you,” Jake said. “My folks were born on British soil.”

“There you go,” George said, knowingly looking at his wife. He wagged a finger in the air. “I am good at discerning the little things in accents, huh, dear?”

“Yes, dear, if you say so,” Mona agreed.

“How strange, though. I'm sure I don't know your folks,” George said. “We don't have any English friends—do we?”

“My parents have been gone many years,” Jake said.

“I'm so sorry!” Mona said.

“Thank you,” Jake told her.

“But where is your home now?” George asked, concerned.

“He's living in Boston, Dad!” Melody said, jumping in quickly with the information. She grabbed a cookie and munched it quickly. “Mom, these are delicious. Jake, have a cookie. My mom's a wonderful baker.”

“Thank you,” he said politely. “Wonderful,” he agreed.

“Where in Boston are you?” George asked.

Melody couldn't reply quickly enough—not without spewing sugar cookie over them all.

“I'm right off the Common,” Jake said.

“Lovely area, lovely!” George applauded.

She'd be a nervous, twitching wreck if this went on
too much longer, Melody decided. She had to get him off alone again. She leaped up. “Would you two mind if we run out before dinner. Um, Jake hasn't been around here for a while. I was going to take him down to the pond.”

“Lovely idea!” Mona said. “I'm not sure if you've seen all they've been up to by the pond. They have some charming shops, and a little bar—I'm sure you'll have a nice time. Oh, Keith should be home by supper. I'm planning it for around eight.”

“That's great, Mom.”

“Wait a minute. It was snowing so much—” George began.

“I think the snow has stopped,” Melody said.
Even if there was a nor'easter pounding, she was leaving the house.

She grabbed Jake's hand. “Jake, let's get going so you can see the pond before dinner. Come on, now, please?”

“Of course.” He stood immediately, trying to replace his cup on the tray, a little awkward since she was tugging at his arm. “Thank you so much. This was a truly enjoyable repast.”

“Let's go!” Melody persisted.

Her mother was laughing. “Oh, that's wonderful. You must be a fantastic guide. How absolutely charming. Children, do have fun.”

“There's skating—weather permitting,” her father called out.

“Okay, Dad, thanks!”

Melody managed to grab two parkas from the hooks by the entry and get Jake out the front door. A pale
streak of winter's day touched the sky; the snow had come down to just a few flurries.

She thanked God for small favors.

As they stood on the porch and she surveyed the muted light of the late-afternoon December sun, Mona popped out on the porch. Melody hoped that she didn't physically cringe.

“Skates!” Mona said, holding up two pairs of skates. “Keith's shoes fit you all right, don't they, Jake? If so, I'm sure his skates will do.”

“I am more than comfortable and quite grateful, ma'am,” Jake said.

“Thanks, Mom.” Melody snatched the skates from her mother and hurried to the car. Jake followed her. She was already in the driver's seat when Jake joined her.

Mona called something from the porch.

“We have to stop, she's speaking to us,” Jake said, sliding in beside her.

“It's okay—she's just telling you that I'm a klutz,” Melody said. Before he could ask her what a klutz was, she added, “I have no coordination. I'm horrible.”

He smiled, looking ahead.

“You can skate. You've heard of skates, right?”

“Yes, I have.”

She started to drive, glad then that her home was Massachusetts. They were darned good at snow. Plows were always out in a matter of minutes. The roads were decent.

“Your parents are exceptionally kind,” Jake said.

“They're—yes, they're good people. A little crazy, but good people,” she told him.

“How do you see them as crazy?” he asked.

She hazarded a glance his way. “Pirate-themed bath
rooms? Sculpted ravens, skeleton art, fairies and ghosts and goblins all over—you'll see. It's so strange. I feel like I grew up with the Addams Family or as the normal child niece in the Munsters' home.”

“Pardon?”

“Never mind.” She looked at him again and groaned. “How on earth can I give you a crash course in pop culture? Don't—don't you dare copy me! Pop culture is…what's popular now. Too bad it wasn't my dad who ran into you. He was a professor. He'd have you up to speed in no time.”

“Up to speed—”

“Oh, God!”

“No, no, I understand. I find it a charming expression.”

“Of course you do,” she murmured.

“Is that a problem?”

“No. It's just that…oh, never mind. No. Are you always so…agreeable?”

“You wish me to be disagreeable?”

“No. I wish you to—snap out of it. And don't repeat after me!”

“All right.” He was smiling, studying the scenery as they passed. “It's so remarkable. We won the Revolution, and there have been many more wars. So many inventions. Remarkable.”

They had reached the pond. There were a few skaters out, and a few children running around the outskirts, laughing, throwing snowballs at one another. The bar—aptly name the Pond Bar—was just opening. Melody parked and stepped out of the car. She wasn't sure what to do. She had driven to the pond because she was afraid
she was already lying so much she'd start to confuse even herself.

But now…

“You've forgotten the skates,” Jake called.

“I suck.”

“Pardon?”

“I wasn't lying, I'm awful.”

“Well, I'm a decent skater. Let's give it a try, shall we?”

Skate. Maybe while she was falling on her ass she'd figure out how she'd gotten into this mess.

“All right, all right, bring them.”

There were benches by the pond. They sat down. The skates might have been somewhat modern compared to what he'd
thought
he had in the 1700s, but they were still basically skates. When they had both laced up, he stood, testing the way they fit, testing his own ability to walk in them.

“Aren't you going to say
remarkable, marvelous, fantastic
—or something of the like?” she asked.

“They'll do. Come on.” He stretched out a hand to her.

“You go. I'll sit for a minute. Please.”

He watched her for a moment, then went out on the ice. At first, he moved slowly, testing the skates and then the ice. He picked up speed.

She watched him, feeling blank.

Keith picked up strange creatures. She picked up crazy ones.

A moment's panic set in. What if he was really hurt? If his head had been badly bruised? Was she doing the wrong thing, keeping him away from the hospital?

She thanked God that Mark wasn't due until Friday.

He'd have given Jake the third degree by now, and the police might have even been called in. Mark wouldn't have gone against her parents' wishes; he'd have done it on the sly, certain that he knew what was best for everyone else.

So, great. What was she going to do? This wasn't like Keith, bringing in strays when he was younger.
Can we keep him, Mom, can we keep him?

She was going to have to figure something out.

A spray of ice brought her back to the moment. Jake was stretching a hand out to her again. “Will you join me?”

“I'll make you fall.”

“No, you won't.”

She was unsteady as she teetered out to him. “Look, I'm usually all right if I'm just going forward,” she said.

“You will be fine, no matter what we do,” he assured her.

And they were. If she hesitated, he was sure. He was so comfortable on the ice that his balance and support leant her a steady hand. He didn't try to do anything outrageous; he just kept moving, picking up a decent speed, one hand supportive on her back, as they glided along.

Gliding. She was gliding!

The icy coolness of the air rushed at her face, and felt delicious. The world danced by them. She could hear the sound of their skates upon the ice, and it was exhilarating.

“Backward?” he suggested.

“No!” she protested in panic.

“You were born here, and you grew up here?” he asked curiously.

“Yes, I actually did.”

“It's all right, you don't even have to move your feet,” he said. “But—”

“Trust me.”

“I do trust you—on the ice,” she said.

And he did prove to be trustworthy.

She didn't have to move her feet.

He twisted and turned, they skated backward, forward and backward again.

“Want to try a spin?”

“No!”

He laughed. “All right. We're good for the day, I imagine.”

He slid effortlessly to a halt. She was looking into the green-and-gold sparkle of his eyes and didn't realize at first that they had come back to the bench. He was still supporting her.

“Oh, yeah, well, yeah, you know, next time, maybe,” she said. She tried to draw away, certain she could at least make the steps to the bench on her own.

Her legs started to split. She was about to go facedown—or butt-side down, if she overcompensated—on the ice.

But he caught her. Without making any kind of big deal out of it. She smiled. “I told you—no coordination on skates!”

“It will come. It's all in learning to trust your instincts.”

She cleared her throat, made her way to the bench
and took off her skates. As she did so, she saw the bar across the pond. “Time for a drink.”

“Really?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“You drink?”

“Right now? You bet. Anything wrong with that?”

“No. Pop culture, I assume.”

She stood, shaking her head. “And look, keep your story straight. I know a lot of people around here.”

“As you wish.”

“Don't keep telling me that.”

“As you—all right.”

“When we're out, and you don't know, just let me answer—please.”

“Of course.”

As they walked toward the bar, he was thoughtful.

“What?” she asked, exasperated.

“Eventually, you will believe me,” he said quietly. “Somehow, I have to get back to my own…place.”

“At the end of a hangman's noose?” she asked sharply.

“No. Right here. But when I'm supposed to be here,” he said quietly.

She studied him for a moment. “You need a drink worse than I do,” she told him.

“If you don't believe in magic, couldn't you even stretch a bit and try to believe in a miracle?” he asked. “What I'm telling you is the truth. Serena loves me, and she tried to save my life. Obviously, since I do seem to be flesh and blood, she did save my life. And maybe her magic worked because it was like a prayer for the innocent or the righteous, whichever way you want to see it.”