Making Spirits Bright (25 page)

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Authors: Fern Michaels,Elizabeth Bass,Rosalind Noonan,Nan Rossiter

Tags: #Fiction, #General, #Anthologies (Multiple Authors)

BOOK: Making Spirits Bright
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He certainly had the potential to break some more hearts.
“Say what you want about blame and guilt,” Sam said,
“but I can’t shed the feeling that it was my fault. I’ve been carrying Shane’s ghost on my back like a backpack of bricks. It’s a heavy load, but the body adapts.”
“I know what you mean.” Jo leaned her chin on her hands. “I’ve always felt that the guilt was all mine. Getting pregnant was an accident, but once it happened, I couldn’t undo it. Shane wanted me to end it, but I couldn’t. I’m so glad I didn’t. I made the right choice, but it may have killed Shane.”
“You can’t think that way. It’s not your fault that he didn’t man up and deal with it.”
She pressed a hand to her heart. “Still, the guilt is there.”
“I’d wrestle you for it, but after the way you tackled me the other night, you might win.”
“Don’t remind me. I’m still simmering inside about that. What the hell were you doing up there?”
“Trying to deal with shit.”
“Yeah, yeah, the ghost on your back and all that. Did you really think you’d accomplish anything up on Dare Mountain on a night like that? Besides getting yourself killed?” She rubbed the softly worn knees of her jeans. “Thank God you didn’t get hurt. I don’t think I can bear another strike on my conscience.”
“But that’s the thing. Shane wasn’t your fault. Shane was all about Shane, if you didn’t realize that.”
She turned to stare at him. In the pale shadows, she could barely make out his features, but she felt his sincerity, strong and true, like a weather front that stirs everything up. “He cared about the baby,” she said levelly. “That’s why he felt so bad about it.”
“He cared about what people thought about him. That was the real issue.” Sam rubbed his jaw, hesitating.
“What are you trying to say?”
“Shane took up with some chick on the Olympic alpine team. Lacey or Lucy, something like that.”
A few years ago, those words would have injured Jo, but now it was as if she were listening to a story about strangers—some celebrity couple who didn’t have a chance of making it together.
“Shane was planning to break up with you as soon as Olympic training was over, but once he heard about the baby, he freaked out about how it would make him look bad. He wanted to be a hero, like some White Mountain Superman, and he was afraid that dumping you with a baby would tarnish his image.”
Jo shook her head, wishing she could shake off Sam’s recollection as a pack of lies, though in her heart she knew it was true.
She remembered the night their relationship had turned. They’d spent the day hiking at Franconia Notch, near the spot where the Old Man of the Mountain used to be. She had planned to tell him she was pregnant with their baby, but every time she got into the conversation he managed to shift the focus back to his training, the Olympic games, or practicing Italian. At the end of the day, they’d been back at his house, getting ready to go out for pizza, except that Shane couldn’t pull himself away from the mirror in the front vestibule.
“Do you think I should get a haircut before the Olympics or leave my hair longer?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” she said.
“I could try some thickening gel. And some of those colored contacts. Have you seen those? They would make my eyes a really intense blue. Unforgettable.”
She was worried about their child, their future, their finances—and his greatest worry was his reflection in the mirror. When she finally got to tell him about the baby—good news, she thought—he fell into a funk.
“I’ll help you pay the doctor’s bill to, you know, take care of things,” he’d said gently.
His calm demeanor had changed when Jo had told him she wasn’t having an abortion. And after that, everything had fallen apart around her.
“Jo ... I’m sorry.” Sam’s voice brought her back to the chill air and the oil smell of the garage. “I never wanted to tarnish Shane’s memory, but I can’t let you go on thinking you drove him to the edge. Shane contributed plenty to his own downfall.”
“I should have known.” She shook her head. “But I never suspected ... I didn’t know ...”
“I’m sorry,” he said again, and this time his right hand tapped her knee, a brotherly gesture.
Jo felt sick with anger, relief, and sadness. She had always thought that Shane’s death was her fault, but, now, learning these circumstances, she wasn’t sure at all.
“Wow.” She took a deep breath. “I’m not sure if I should be relieved or pissed off at him all over again.”
“Relief is probably good for now,” he said.
“Thanks for telling me the truth.” She squeezed Sam’s fingers. “It’s a huge relief to know the truth after all these years. I feel so wicked calm.”
He nodded. “Good.”
“I still don’t get it, though. I would have let him off the hook if he’d asked. I would have raised Ava alone, which is what I’ve ended up doing, with help from the family. But why’d Shane have to go and kill himself? For what? To save face? To be a hero? Yeah. Big hero. People in these parts know his name because he was notoriously reckless. Sad, isn’t it?”
Sam didn’t answer, but he squeezed back. Jo smiled, grateful for the human touch, grateful for the power outage that had given Sam the courage to get close to her.
“It’s ironic,” Jo said. “Both of us blaming ourselves for Shane’s death. Both of us carrying around a burden that really doesn’t belong to us.”
“Thick with irony,” he said.
“Maybe there really is magic in Christmas; we both get a chance to forgive ourselves.”
“Let’s not get too crazy.” Sam removed his hand and stood up. “Maybe I’ll try that flashlight. See if I can figure out this problem for your brother.”
“When do you have to report back?” she asked, hoping she could see him again.
“I’m supposed to drive down to Concord for physical therapy, but other than that, the army is done with me. Too much damage for them to sew me back together and stick me out in the field again.”
She rose, hope beating in her chest like a startled dove. “So you’ll be around?”
“I’ll be around.”
She turned to him, her arms spread wide. “Thanks.” The hug was friendly, the sort of gesture she would share with one of her brothers. But as she pressed against his chest, the thrall of emotion between them was irresistible. Like a river flowing through a ravaged desert ... a stream of sunlight breaking through pewter clouds after a turbulent storm.
When he pulled away, she wondered how he could bear to break the connection.
“I’d better get back to work,” he said.
“Ay-yeah. Tommy is a taskmaster.” She handed Sam the flashlight, then leaned back against the workbench as he turned away and went around the car, moving smoothly in the darkness.
The swelling song of the carolers outside told her that the family was back. “I should go. Ava turns into a screaming pumpkin when she stays up too late.”
“See ya ’round,” he called from under the car.
“Stop by the shop sometime,” she said. She figured they’d talk again after the dust, nerves, and feelings settled.
It was something to look forward to.
Chapter 7
 
One week and no Sam.
Jo frowned at the page-a-day calendar on top of the desk and then let her eyes drop to the angel ornament she had been stringing together with fishing line. Three clear beads, one gold, and now she was ready to tie off the angel’s skirt. These angel ornaments required some concentration, but people seemed to love them. She strung a few more beads, thinking that it would be easier to focus if she had a clear head about Sam.
Was it stupid to wait for him to call?
“Maybe I’m being silly,” she said aloud.
Ava looked up from the book she was coloring on the floor. “Mommy’s silly?” She giggled.
“Oh, I can be very silly.” And insecure. Maybe she should call him ...
“Mommy, did Daddy ever meet Santa?” Ava asked, frowning over the reindeer she was coloring.
“He did. More than once.”
“Do you believe in Santa?”
“I am one of Santa’s biggest fans.” Jo looked down at her daughter, adorable in her footy pajamas beside the small tree strung with lights. “You gotta believe.”
The period of Santa’s magic was so short for kids: At two, they just started to understand it, and, by seven, they were discovering the ruse. For Ava it would be over in a year or two, which was one of the reasons Jo encouraged lots of Christmas traditions like caroling with family, making cookies, taking canned goods to the church, and decorating their own little live tree each year.
“Sometimes I just wonder,” Ava said sadly.
Jo tied off the ornament, climbed down to the carpet, and sprawled beside her daughter. “What’s this about?”
“Why are there so many Santas everywhere? Aunt Molly said there’s one coming to the shop, only he’s not the real Santa.”
“Hmm. Good point. I guess you could say all the Santas you see around town are helpers.”
Ava wrote her name at the top of the page, then began to tear it out of the coloring book.
“What are you doing?” Jo asked.
“Can we send this to my other nanna?”
“Nanna Carol?” Shane’s mother had moved to Maine to be closer to her sister last year, and though Ava only got to see her every few months, Jo tried to keep the relationship alive.
Ava nodded. “Nanna Carol doesn’t have any kids at Christmas. Santa probably doesn’t leave any toys under her tree.” She frowned. “That makes me sad.”
“I think Nanna Carol would love this picture. It’s late now, but we can call her tomorrow and see how she’s doing. And you know what? We can send her a little gift, too. Something she can put under her Christmas tree. And she can shake it and look at it every day, wondering what it is, until she opens it on Christmas morning.”
Ava’s eyes shone with her smile. “She would like that. Why don’t we see her on Christmas?”
“Because she lives far away now.” Of the many possible explanations, that was the easiest for Ava to understand. Jo wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to tell Ava that her grandmother found it difficult to look at her because she saw her dead son in those cornflower blue eyes.
“But she loves you,” Jo said with conviction, knowing that, despite Carol’s cold demeanor, she cared deeply about her granddaughter.
Jo would never forget the day she received the letter in the mail with a whopping check for nearly half a million dollars. “This is from Shane’s life insurance policy, through the Olympics,” Carol had written. “You’re a single mom now. I know how hard that is. And you’re going to need money to take care of Ava.”
“Nanna Carol is going to love this.” Jo smoothed the colored page and removed a manila envelope from the desk drawer. “And we’ll pick out a little gift for her tomorrow. But now, you need to brush your teeth and get to bed.”
Shortly after Ava was safely tucked in, there was a knock on the door. Jo pushed the curtain aside to see her brother Tommy standing there, a wooden sign in his arms.
“Ho, ho! I’ve got an early Christmas gift for you,” he said, his words forming white puffs in the cold, damp air.
“Come on in. Let’s see what you did this time.”
He stepped in and held the wooden placard up. “Nice, huh?”
It was a work of art.
COUSINS’ CHRISTMAS SHOP
was scrolled in thick black letters outlined in shiny gold to make them pop. The first “C” leaned into a ridge of puffy snow, balanced by a fat snowman at the far right. The bottom of the sign was lined with dancing Christmas trees, while snowflakes scattered through the purple sky at the top. It was warm yet wintry, cute but tasteful.
“Tommy! How the hell did you pull this one off?”
“I didn’t. Sam made it.”
“Of course he did.” Jo should have recognized the animated trees from Sam’s doodles in high school, when he could make anything from a school bus to a possum dance at the end of his pencil.
“I was tinkering with the old sign in the garage, and Sam said he thought he could come up with something better. You like?”
“I love it!” She took the sign from him and danced it around. “Can you hang it for me tomorrow?”
“What a taskmaster,” he said. “I might be able to get over in the morning.”
“I was wondering what Sam was up to.” She leaned the sign against the wall. “You know, I haven’t heard from him since our Thanksgiving is Ovah celebration.”
“He’s keeping a low profile.”
“No profile is more like it.”
“Sam doesn’t like coming out. You know he got injured in Afghanistan.”
“He mentioned that. How bad is it?”
“Some burns and whatnot from a roadside bomb. Side of his head and neck are bad. Shoulder, too. He’s lost the hearing in his left ear, and it’s pretty mangled.”
She nodded. “I didn’t notice anything the other night, but then, it was dark in the garage.”
“I told him he’s lucky to be alive, but he says that’s debatable. Long story short, he thinks he looks like Frankenstein’s monster.”
“And because of that he doesn’t leave the house?”
“He avoids being seen. When he does go out, he wears one of those caps with the earflaps.”
“And where does he go? It’s not like anyone has seen him hanging at the bar in Woodstock Station or Dunkin’ Donuts.”
Tommy put his hands on his hips. “So you’ve got the spy network looking.”
“Maybe.”
“He comes down to the shop a lot. And most nights he’s right over in Ma and Pops’s garage.” He nodded toward the big house across the lane. “Been working on the ’stang. I think he found my oil leak.”
“Sam was always good with mechanical stuff like that,” Jo said, though she was thinking that those nights she’d been stuck wondering about him, he was probably just a few yards away in her parents’ garage.
“He’s real smart. Do you know he was in the bomb squad for the army? Trained to find and dismantle explosives.”
“He’s smart, all right,” she said. Though the man didn’t have the common sense to pick up a phone and call, or to stay off a closed trail at Dare Mountain.
And yet, he’d made her a sign—a magnificent sign.
Jo wasn’t sure what to think ... though she sensed that her feelings had already run ahead without looking back.
 
 
The next morning, as soon as she dropped Ava at school, Jo steered toward Tommy’s shop, banking on Tommy’s word that Sam had been hanging there.
She wasn’t disappointed.
When she drove up, one garage bay door was open and Sam was one of three men who stood looking up at a car on the lift.
She parked her Jeep, suddenly self-conscious as the three men turned to her.
“’Morning, Jo.” Chuck Arlan, the mechanic, nodded.
“Good morning,” she said.
“Tell me you brought donuts,” Tommy said.
“I brought my Jeep for an oil change,” she said, hoping Tommy wouldn’t point out that it wasn’t due for one for another month yet. “Think you can handle it today?”
Although the question was meant for Tommy, her eyes went to Sam, who was watching her, his gray eyes intent beneath the brim of his cap.
Their eyes connected, and Jo went weak in the knees.
Oh, wow. Something wicked strong coursed between Sam and her. Although she wasn’t sure she liked being caught in a feeling so intense, there was no denying it existed. She swallowed hard, trying to track the conversation.
“Guess we can squeeze you in,” Tommy was saying. “Maybe if you promise to bring cookies when you pick it up this afternoon.”
“I think I could handle that.” Jo drew her eyes away from Sam, then lavished a second look at him. “Oh, and I wanted to thank you for the sign. It’s perfect for the shop.”
“No problem.” Sam nodded, his dark eyes tugging on her resolve to act normal in front of her brother and his mechanic. His eyes made her think of their embrace, the way she’d nestled against his chest, the way her body fit against his.
She could imagine them doing that again ... only the air around them would be warmer and they wouldn’t be bothered by wearing so many outdoor clothes and ...
“What time, Jo?” Tommy asked, knocking her out of her fantasy.
“Huh?”
“What time will you be back to pick up the car?”
“Oh. Four? No ... make that two, so I can pick up Ava from school.”
“You got it.” Tommy held out his hand, and she dropped the spare key in his palm.
“I’ll see you guys later,” she said, backing away. When she nearly bumped into her Jeep, she realized she’d better take the sign. Grabbing it from the backseat, she called another good-bye and was on her way, walking the four blocks to the store with the new sign tucked under one arm.
As she approached the charming two-story Tudor that housed the bank, she remembered that they needed change for the shop. She stopped in and joined the line for the tellers, being careful not to whack Mr. Giordano, owner of GiGi’s Pizza, with the plywood placard.
“That’s a very beautiful sign. A new one for your shop?” he asked.
“It is. Hand-painted by a friend of mine.”
“Hmm.” He scratched the white whiskers on his chin. “He should make a business of it. I could use a new sign myself. What with the rain and snow and sun, the old one is so faded.”
“I’ll have Sam call you if you’re interested.”
“You do that.”
Jo changed a hundred dollars into small bills and was on her way out when Emma Mueller, the bank manager, emerged from one of the private cubicles.
“How are you, Emma?”
“I’m fine.” In boots, a tight wool skirt, and a fine knit sweater, Emma looked like she could have stepped out of the pages of a New England magazine. A few years older than Jo, Emma was never seen in public without a matching wardrobe and perfect makeup. “Just wondering if you’re ready to invest some of that money you’ve got sitting in your savings account. We can get you a much higher yield on it.”
“I’m not ready for anything risky yet,” Jo said. “That’s money for Ava when she gets older, so I don’t want to take a chance investing it.”
“I understand. If anything changes, you know where to find me.”
Jo smiled. “I do.”
“And what’s the painting you have there?” Emma asked.
Jo showed her the sign and explained how Sam Norwood had made it for the Christmas shop.
“It’s really charming. Makes me think that this building should have something like that. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if every merchant in this complex had a placard like that? A uniform look, though every sign would be unique and individual. And that artist is so creative ...”
“You know, Emma, that’s a good idea.”
A wicked good idea.

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