One Imperfect Christmas (12 page)

Natalie couldn't respond. She wanted to change the subject, before the mildly pulsating nausea in the pit of her stomach became something much worse. She noticed a tiny chili stain on the front of her wool slacks and self-consciously rubbed at it.

“Well, anyway … ” Celia's voice took on the rapid, high-pitched timbre of nervous chatter. “I'm glad for your dad's sake that we could get together for your birthday. I'm just sorry Lissa and Daniel couldn't make it. It's such a busy time of year for you at work, I know, so—”

Dad shoved through the door, a stack of Christmas boxes balanced against his chest. “Hey, you two, cut the chatter and give an old man a hand.”

“Sure, Dad! Let's get this show on the road.” Celia jumped up, the thankful look in her eyes mirroring Natalie's own explosion of relief—anything to put an end to this awkward one-sided conversation.

Hart set the nativity box beneath the antique library table while Kevin and Kurt wrestled the tree through the doorway. Natalie knew from long years of experience that for this stage of the production, she'd be safer on the sidelines. She snuggled deeper in her chair and watched the Keystone Kops-like performance as the men in the family sorted through several containers and planned their attack on the Christmas tree. Dad dug through the boxes until he located the tree lights. By the time he and Hart secured the tree in its stand near Natalie's chair, the twins had most of the light strings untangled and sorted by color and type.

Time to get out of the way. She rose and moved a few steps to one side, leaving Celia to her assigned job of opening and arranging the ornament boxes on the coffee table.

From the stereo speakers, Julie Andrews's lilting soprano poured forth “It Came Upon a Midnight Clear.” Natalie hugged herself as memories washed over her—memories as intense as the pungent scent of evergreen filling her nostrils. How she missed Mom! She longed to be anywhere else in the universe, anywhere except this room on this night. As on Thanksgiving, she wondered if Dr. Sirpless would take a last-minute appointment.

Kurt crawled behind the tree to plug in an extension cord and connected the light strands end to end. He and Kevin meticulously checked the strings for burnt-out bulbs as the lights warmed and began to twinkle.

“Looks like everything's working, Granddad.” Kevin shoved up the sleeves of his green sweatshirt and carried a strand to the tree.

Celia nudged Natalie's shoulder and cast a disbelieving glance toward the ceiling. “Honestly, they act like it's brain surgery.”

Natalie forced a tiny laugh. “No kidding.”

The men encircled the tree and fed the lighted strings to each other, beginning at the top and choosing each placement with great deliberation. Finally, Hart stepped back and planted his knuckles on his hips. “There's too many at the top and not enough at the bottom.”

Kurt settled on his haunches and moved a branch aside. “It needs more in towards the trunk.”

“Look there.” Kevin pointed a slender finger. “A bunch of blue ones are all clumped together.”

Celia giggled and twisted her long ponytail. “Next they'll be getting out a level and tape measure.”

Natalie's father made a few adjustments and turned to her. “What do you think, Natalie? Does it look balanced from that angle?”

Her throat ached. She pressed a finger to her lips and nodded. “It looks fine, Dad.”

When the men were finally satisfied with the lights, Celia parceled out the ornaments. She gave Kevin and Kurt the box of starched white crocheted snowflakes, and she and Hart hung the gold and silver balls.

Natalie's father eased his back as he gazed at the remaining ornament boxes on the coffee table. Selecting one from a box of special keepsakes, he came up beside Natalie and held it out to her. “Your favorite,” he said softly. “Remember?”

How could she forget? The delicate white globe bore the image of a galloping horse that looked just like Windy, her Appaloosa. Her mother had painted the ornament herself the Christmas after Windy was born. Natalie still remembered how Mom had to ice her wrist every couple of hours as she worked.

“Windy doesn't get ridden much these days.” Dad slid his finger beneath the errant strand of hair Natalie could never keep out of her eyes. “She misses you.”

“I've been way too busy lately.” She turned the ornament slowly in her hands. “Actually, I've … I've been thinking about giving Windy away. Last summer I helped design a brochure for a new place in Putnam called Reach for the Stars. It's a riding center for kids with disabilities.”

“I've heard of it. Sounds like a wonderful project.”

“Don't you think Windy would be a great horse for them? She's calm, steady, and—” She shot her dad a knowing wink. “—not
too
stubborn for a part-Appaloosa.”

He cast her a doubtful frown. “Are you sure you could part with her? You raised her from a foal and trained her yourself. Why, you and your mom brought her into the world.”

Natalie pressed her cheek against his sleeve, memories clutching at her heart. “I have to face reality, Dad. The truth is I don't have time for a horse anymore—haven't for a long time.”

“What about Lissa? She's kind of attached to Windy too.” Dad pressed his lips into a tight, sad smile. “Remember last summer? She was practically camped out in Windy's stall.”

Natalie shuddered. She didn't want to remember last summer. She didn't want to remember anything about the past year.

She gazed at the delicately painted horse on the ornament she held. “I'm afraid Lissa's outgrowing her interest in horses. Can you even remember the last time she came out to ride?”

Her father wrinkled his brow. “Not since she moved to Putnam with Daniel, I suppose.” Shaking his head, he said tiredly, “I've been remiss, my mind on so many other things. I should have made a point of inviting her out to go riding with me.”

“It's not your fault, Dad, it's mine.”

“Now, Natalie—”

“No, it's true. I don't even know what my daughter cares about anymore. She's changed so much this past year.”

“A lot has changed.” The catch in Dad's voice almost undid Natalie. He took a deep, harsh breath before laying a callused hand on her arm. “You miss your little girl, I know you do.”

She could hardly speak her answer. “Yes. I miss her a lot.” She missed Daniel too.

“Then do something about it before it's too late.”

After all the mistakes she'd made? It was already too late— far too late.

She moved to the tree on leaden feet. With trembling fingers she selected a branch and carefully attached the Appaloosa ornament. Behind her, she heard her father clear his throat. She turned to see him leaning over the coffee table, peering into the ornament boxes.

“I've always liked this one,” he said, lifting out an elegant crystal bell. He rang it gently, and the beautiful, shimmering tone sent chills up Natalie's arms. When she was a little girl, she once asked her mother if that's what angels sounded like when they sang.

“
Someday we'll find out, won't we?”
Mom had answered. “
What a blessed day that will be!”

Her mother's faith had always been an inspiration—her love the glue that held this family together. Natalie pictured the vacant gaze in those liquid blue eyes that once held so much joy. How she wished her mom could be here tonight!
Why can't things be like they were?

Dad placed the bell on a branch and gave the clapper a gentle flick. When the clear, sweet chime died away, he said, “Nothing about life is easy, Rosy-girl, but the good Lord never promised us it would be. All we can do is keep trying and trusting and hoping.”

Her father's words rang coldly against the hardened shell encasing her heart. She glanced over her shoulder toward Hart and Celia and the boys, busy with decorations on the other side of the tree. At least they didn't seem to be paying any attention to this conversation. Any more well-intentioned words, sympathetic hugs, or lectures on pulling herself together and she'd implode.

Her father continued softly, urgently, “Don't you think it's about time you and Daniel worked things out? At least try, for Lissa's sake. It's almost Christmas, after all.”

She clenched her fists. “Please, Dad—”

Suddenly a blur of black and white dashed past, with Kevin and Kurt in hot pursuit. “Bring it back, Sky.” Kurt grabbed for the dog's tail and missed. “Granddad, she's got my Santa ornament, the one I made in second grade.”

Her prize dangling from her mouth, the monstrous Great Dane lunged behind the Christmas tree. The whole tree tipped sideways, and Natalie and her father each grabbed for a limb. Ornaments swung precariously on the bouncing boughs. A flurry of pine needles shimmied to the floor.

“Sky,” Dad ordered when the tree stopped swaying, “come out of there at once.”

Head down, tail between her legs, the dog crept from her place of safety and dropped the slobbery red Santa at Kurt's feet.

“You naughty dog.” Kurt smoothed the Santa's floppy cap and yarn beard, a throaty laugh belying the disapproval in his voice. He folded his tall frame to kneel in front of Sky and scratched her behind the ears. As if delighted to be forgiven, she wagged her tail furiously.

But the huge dog stood too close to the tree. The white-tipped tail caught Natalie's cherished horse ornament and swept it from its branch.

“Sky, no!” She made a desperate dive to rescue the keepsake, only to crack her knees on the hardwood floor and bang her forehead on the corner of the coffee table. A moan of shock and pain burst from her lungs. The sound changed to an amazed cry when she discovered the ornament resting in her open palm. Miraculously, she'd snagged it just before it would have shattered into a thousand pieces.

Natalie felt a wave of vertigo as she knelt there, the small globe cradled in shaking hands. The voices of her family, all rushing over to help, echoed eerily as if from deep inside a cave. The edges of her vision blurred, until she could see only the little painted Appaloosa, stark against the white background of the ornament. Her dizziness intensified, and the whole room seemed atilt on a whirling base. Even the painted horse appeared to be in motion, galloping across a wide meadow glowing green and gold in the sunlight. She imagined she saw a rider—a woman—silver hair flowing behind her like a comet's tail.

Mom?

Natalie wavered. She felt strong arms catch her.

“You okay?” It was her brother's voice.

“That was some save, Aunt Natalie,” Kevin said.

Celia laid a concerned hand on her shoulder. “You're getting a nasty lump on your head. I'll get some ice.”

A wet tongue on her cheek, doggy breath in her face, Hart helping her to her feet—a kaleidoscope of activity slowly coalesced into clarity.

“I'm okay, I'm okay.” She felt her way to the nearest chair with one hand while the other protected the ornament.

“Let me take care of it for you, Aunt Nat.” Kurt loomed over her, his peach-fuzz teenage face filled with concern. “I'll put it on the tree.”

She smiled her thanks but stubbornly shielded her treasure from his outstretched hand. “No … no, I've got it.” She waved everyone away and even refused Celia's offer of the dishcloth she'd wrapped around a bag of ice.

While her family looked on in confusion, Natalie dared another glance at the ornament. But she saw only a painted horse again, frozen in mid-stride—no meadow, no rider.

“Hey, Rosy-Posey,” Hart said with a chuckle, “you look like you've seen a ghost.”

She flung her brother a look of utter disdain. “How many times do I have to tell you? Don't call me that!”

Whether it was his unwelcome use of her nickname or the idea that he'd glimpsed something in her face that hinted at the otherworldly vision she'd just experienced, she suddenly couldn't escape fast enough. She burst from the chair and thrust the ornament into her father's hands.

Tearing through the kitchen, she grabbed her coat and purse on the run and charged out the door. It was a mistake. She never should have come tonight.

“I'm sorry, Daddy,” she whispered, jabbing the key in the car's ignition. When the engine grumbled to life, she jammed the gearshift into reverse. Gravel flew as she swung the car around and tore down the driveway. She pushed the speed limit all the way home to her apartment and hoped Dr. Sirpless would answer her call.