I'll Be Home for Christmas (14 page)

“Me either.” The wine sloshed over the side of the glass. Murphy licked it up.

“I don't want to get sick. Keith used to drink too much and get sick. It made me sick just watching him. That's sad, isn't it?”

“I never could stand a man who couldn't hold his liquor,” Marcus said.

“You sound funny,” Mo said as she realized her voice was taking on a sing-song quality.

“You sound like you're getting ready to sing. Are you? I hope you aren't one of those off-key singers.” He leered down at her from the chair.

“So what if I am? Isn't singing good for the soul or something? It's the feeling, the thought. You said we were going to sing carols for Murphy. Why aren't we doing that?”

“Because you aren't ready,” Marcus said smartly. He lowered the footrests and slid out of the chair. “We need to sit together in front of the tree. Sitting is as good as standing…I think. C'mere, Murphy, you belong to this group.”

“Sitting is good.” Mo hiccupped. Marcus thumped her on the back and then kept his arm around her shoulder. Murphy wiggled around until he was on both their laps.

“Just what exactly is wrong with you? Or is that impolite of me to…ask?” She swigged from the bottle Marcus handed her. “This is good—who needs a glass?”

“I hate doing dishes. The bottle is good. What was the question?”

“Huh?”

“What was the question?”

“The question is…was…do all your parts…work?”

“That wasn't the question. I'd remember if that was the question. Why do you want to know if my…parts work? Do you find yourself attracted to me? Or is this a sneaky way to try and get my dog? Get your own damn dog. And my parts work just fine.”

“You sound defensive. When was the last time you tried them out…what I mean is…how do you know?” Mo asked craftily.

“I know! Are you planning on taking advantage of me? I might allow it. Then again, I might not.”

“You're drunk,” Mo said.

“Yep, and it's all your fault. You're drunk, too.”

“What'd you expect? You keep filling my glass. You know what, I don't care. Do you care, Marcus?”

“Nope. So, what are you going to do about that jerk who's waiting by your Christmas tree? Christmas is almost over. D'ya think he's still waiting?”

Mo started to cry. Murphy wiggled around and licked at her tears. She shook her head.

“Don't cry. That jerk isn't worth your little finger. Murphy wouldn't like him. Dogs are keen judges of character.”

“Keith doesn't like dogs.”

Marcus threw his hands in the air. “There you go! I rest my case.” His voice sounded so dramatic, Mo started to giggle.

It wasn't much in the way of a kiss because she was giggling, Murphy was in the way, and Marcus's position and clumsy hands couldn't seem to coordinate with her. “That was sweet,” Mo said.

“Sweet! Sweet!” Marcus bellowed in mock outrage.

“Nice?”

“Nice
is better than
sweet.
No one ever said that to me before.”

“How many were there…before?”

“None of your business.”

“That's true, it isn't any of my business. Let's sing. ‘Jingle Bells.' We're both too snookered to know the words to anything else. How many hours till Christmas is over?”

Marcus peered at his watch. “A few.” He kissed her again, his hands less clumsy. Murphy cooperated by wiggling off both their laps.

“I liked that!”

“And well you should. You're very pretty, Mo. That's an awful name for a girl. I like Morgan, though. I'll call you Morgan.”

“My father wanted a boy. He got me. It's sad. Do you know how many times I used that phrase in the past few hours? A lot.” Her head bobbed up and down for no good reason. “Jingle Bells…” Marcus joined in, his voice as off-key as hers. They collapsed against each other, laughing like lunatics.

“Tell me about you. Do you have any more wine?”

Marcus pointed to the wine rack in the kitchen. Mo struggled to her feet, tottered to the kitchen, uncorked the bottle, and carried it back to the living room. “I didn't see any munchies in the kitchen so I brought us each a turkey leg.”

“I like a woman who thinks ahead.” He gnawed on the leg, his eyes assessing the girl next to him. He wasn't the least bit drunk, but he was pretending he was. Why? She was pretty, and she was nice. So what if she had a few hangups. She liked him, too, he could tell. The chair didn't intimidate her the way it did other women. She was feisty, with a mind of her own. She'd been willing to share her private agonies with him, a stranger. Murphy liked her. He liked her, too. Hell, he'd given up his room to her. Now, she was staring at him expectantly, waiting for him to talk about himself. What to tell her? What to gloss over? Why couldn't he be as open as she was?

“I'm thirty-five. I own and manage the family engineering firm. I have good job security and a great pension plan. I own this little house outright. No mortgages. I love dogs and horses. I even like cats. I've almost grown accustomed to this chair. I am self-sufficient. I treat my elders with respect. I was a hell of a Boy Scout, got lots of medals to prove it. I used to ski. I go to church, not a lot, but I do go. I believe in God. I don't have any…sisters or brothers. I try not to think too far ahead and I do my best not to look back. That's not to say I don't think and plan for the future, but in my position, I take it one day at a time. That pretty much sums it up as far as my life goes.”

“It sounds like a good life. I think you'll manage just fine. We all have to make concessions…the chair…it's not the end of the world. I can tell you don't like talking about it, so, let's talk about something else.”

“How would you feel if you went home this Christmas Eve and there in your living room was Keith in a wheelchair? What if he told you the reason he hadn't been in touch was because he didn't want to see pity in your eyes. How would you feel if he told you he wasn't going to walk again? What if he said you might eventually be the sole support?” He waited for her to digest the questions, aware that her intoxicated state might interfere with her answers.

“You shouldn't ask me something like that in my…condition. I'm not thinking real clear. I want to sing some more. I didn't sing last year because I was too sad. Are you asking about this year or last year?”

“What difference does it make?” Marcus asked coolly.

“It makes a difference. Last year I would have…would have…said it didn't matter because I loved him…. Do all his parts…work?”

“I don't know. This is hypothetical.” Marcus turned to hide his smile.

“I wouldn't pity him. Maybe I would at first. Keith is very active. I could handle it, but Keith couldn't. He'd get depressed and give up. What was that other part?”

“Supporting him.”

“Oh, yeah. I could do that. I have a profession, good health insurance. I might start up my own business. I'll probably make more money than he ever did. Knowing Keith, I think he would resent me after awhile. Maybe he wouldn't. I'd try harder and harder to make it all work because that's the way I am. I'm not a quitter. I never was. Why do you want to know all this?”

Marcus shrugged. “Insight, maybe. In case I ever find myself attracted to a woman, it would be good to know how she'd react. You surprised me—you didn't react to the chair.”

“I'm not in love with you,” Mo said sourly.

“What's wrong with me?”

“There's nothing wrong with you. I'm not that drunk that I don't know what you're saying. I'm in love with someone else. I don't care about that chair. That chair wouldn't bother me at all if I loved you. You said your parts work. Or, was that a lie? I like sex. Sex is wonderful when two people…you know…I like it!”

“Guess what? I do, too.”

“You see, it's not a problem at all,” Mo said happily. “Maybe I should just lie down on the couch and go to sleep.”

“You didn't answer the second part of my question.”

“Which was?”

“What if you had made it home this Christmas and the same scenario happened. After two long years. What would be your feeling?”

“I don't know. Keith whines. Did I tell you that? It's not manly at all.”

“Really.”

“Yep. I have to go to the bathroom. Do you want me to get you anything on my way back? I'll be on my feet. I take these feet for granted. They get me places. I love shoes. Well, what's your answer? Remember, you don't have any munchies. Why is that?”

“I have Orville Redenbacher popcorn. The colored kind. Very festive.”

“No! You're turning into a barrel of fun, Marcus Bishop. You were a bossy, domineering person when I arrived through your doggie door. Look at you now! You're skunked, you ate a turkey leg, and now you tell me you have colored popcorn. I'll be right back unless I get sick. Maybe we should have coffee with our popcorn. God, I can't wait for this day to be over.”

“Follow her, Murph. If she gets sick, come and get me,” Marcus said. “You know,” he said, making a gagging sound. The retriever sprinted down the hall.

A few minutes later, Mo was back in the living room. She dusted her hands together as she swayed back and forth. “Let's do the popcorn in the fireplace! I'll bring your coffeepot in here and plug it in. That way we won't have to get up and down.”

“Commendable idea. It's ten-thirty.”

“An hour and a half to go. I'm going to kiss you at twelve o'clock. Well, maybe one minute afterward. Your socks will come right off when I get done kissing you! So there!”

“I don't like to be used.”

“Me either. I'll be kissing you because I want to kiss you. So there yourself!”

“What will Keith think?”

“Keith who?” Mo laughed so hard she slapped her thighs before she toppled over onto the couch. Murphy howled. Marcus laughed outright.

On her feet again, Mo said, “I like you, you're nice. You have a nice laugh. I haven't had this much fun in a long time. Life is such a serious business. Sometimes you need to stand back and get…what's that word…perspective? I like amusement parks. I like acting like a kid sometimes. There's this water park I like to go to and I love Great Adventure. Keith would never go so I went with my friends. It wasn't the same as sharing it with your lover. Would you like to go and…and…watch the other people? I'd take you if you would.”

“Maybe.”

“I hate that word. Keith always said that. That's just another way of saying no. You men are all alike.”

“You're wrong, Morgan. No two people are alike. If you judge other men by Keith you're going to miss out on a lot. I told you, he's a jerk.”

“Okayyyy. Popcorn and coffee, right?”

“Right.”

Marcus fondled Murphy's ears as he listened to his guest bang pots and pans in his neat kitchen. Cabinet doors opened and shut, then opened and shut again. More pots and pans rattled. He smelled coffee and wondered if she'd spilled it. He looked at his watch. In a few short hours she'd be leaving him. How was it possible to feel so close to someone he'd just met? He didn't want her to leave. He hated, with a passion, the faceless Keith.

“I think you need to swing around so we can watch the popcorn pop. I thought everyone in the world had a popcorn popper. I'm improvising with this pot. It's going to turn black, but I'll clean it in the morning. You might have to throw it out. I like strong black coffee. How about you?”

“Bootblack for me.”

“Oh, me, too. Really gives you a kick in the morning.”

“I don't think that's the right lid for that pot,” Marcus said.

“It'll do—I told you I had to improvise.”

“Tell me how you're going to improvise this!” Marcus said as the popping corn blew the lid off the pot. Popcorn flew in every direction. Murphy leaped up to catch the kernels, nailing the fallen ones with his paws. Marcus rolled on the floor as Mo wailed her dismay. The corn continued to pop and sail about the room. “I'm not cleaning this up.”

“Don't worry, Murphy will eat it all. He loves popcorn. How much did you put in the pot?” Marcus gasped. “Coffee's done.”

“A cupful. Too much, huh? I thought it would pop colored. I'm disappointed. There were a lot of fluffies—you know, the ones that pop first.”

“I can't tell you how disappointed I am,” Marcus said, his expression solemn.

Mo poured the coffee into two mugs.

“It looks kind of…syrupy.”

“It does, doesn't it? Drink up! What'ya think?”

“I can truthfully say I've never had coffee like this,” Marcus responded.

Mo settled herself next to Marcus. “What time is it?”

“It's late. I'm sure by tomorrow the roads will be cleared. The phones will be working and you can call home. I'll try and find someone to drive you. I have a good mechanic I'll call to work on your Jeep. How long were you planning on staying with your parents?”

“It was…vague…depending…I don't know. What will you do?”

“Work. The office has a lot of projects going on. I'm going to be pretty busy.”

“Me, too. I like the way you smell,” Mo blurted. “Where'd you get that shampoo in the black bottle?”

“Someone gave it to me in a set for my birthday.”

“When's your birthday?” Mo asked.

“April tenth. When's yours?”

“April ninth. How about that? We're both Aries.”

“Imagine that,” Marcus said as he wrapped his arm around her shoulder.

“This is nice,” Mo sighed. “I'm a home and hearth person. I like things cozy and warm with lots and lots of green plants. I have little treasures I've picked up over the years that I try to put in just the right place. It tells anyone who comes into my apartment who I am. I guess that's why I like this cottage. It's cozy, warm, and comfortable. A big house can be like that, too, but a big house needs kids, dogs, gerbils, rabbits, and lots of junk.”