The Christmas Sisters (24 page)

“What?”

“You left out
conveniently
. Something always
conveniently
interferes.”

“Are you implying I'm secretly thankful for the missed opportunities?”

“You are here in your office. Nicolette is at her home. Can't get much talking done that way—unless it's to
yourself
.”

“I tried to get Nic to come over here more than once, but she has resisted the idea.” He scratched his scalp, his eyes shut tight. “And the house is always too full of people. That won't improve any with
Petie's
kids coming in this afternoon.”

“With good reason.”
Collier said it the way only a sister could, head high and loyalty unwavering. “You went through heck back then.”

Nic laughed. “But that's past me now. You know, reviewing it through the kind perspective of a lot of years and seeing how Sam is struggling to overcome the long ingrained attitudes around here, I can't feel nearly as hurt and angry about it all as I once did.”

“Nic, really?”

She nodded. “Well, what did I expect, Collier? A good girl from a solid, church-attending family has a baby out of wedlock and doesn't put it up for adoption? People were bound to talk.”

“I suppose”

“Of course.
Especially when so many people knew about Reggie's party, and me and Sam and what happened that night.”

“Nic, are you saying you've forgiven the small-minded, mean-spirited gossips in this town for making life so hard on you, on Daddy—on all of us—back then?”

“God is good, sugar, even when people are rotten. I decided last night I have to let it go.” She hugged her sister. “So you can see why I really don't want Willa, even innocently, popping off and starting a new wave of gossip about any of the Dorsey sisters.”

“Ooh, that's right.” Collier pulled away and perched on the edge of her seat. “You were going to tell me what's up with
Petie
.”

“Nothing earthshaking.
It's just that
Petie
has to tell the kids
something
about their father. I honestly don't know what she will do. I do know I don't envy her situation.”

“Oh yes, because your situation is
sooo
much better.” Her younger sister stood and began to wedge the spatula under one of the cooled, over-baked gingerbread men.

Nic opened her mouth to make some smart reply,
then
found she had nothing to say. Maybe she could thank the sights and smells of the holidays, or the sweetness of her baby sister in
supporting Willa and her. Or maybe it was finally giving voice to the ideas that had run through her head last night.

Forgiveness.
She often talked about how she expected to have it demonstrated toward her, but how often had she examined how she directed it to others? The gentle nudge of seeing Claire, of facing her own feelings about the people who had hurt her and realizing she needed all her focus to decide what was right for Willa had had an impact.
“My situation?
It really isn't all that bad, Collier. Not if you think about it. I have so
much,
have been blessed with a loving family and an opportunity to choose the best path for my child's future.”

“That's true.”

“It's not that bad. Not bad at all.” Nic laughed with
a lightness
in her spirit she had not known in a very long time. “In fact, I'd go so far as to say that even though I didn't want to come here and have met certain, um, obstacles to my original plans along the way, this has all the earmarks of being one of my best Christmases ever.”

“Gosh, I hope you hang on to that good mood.” Collier frowned at a cookie with a shriveled black clump where his arm should be. “So we can all draw on it when we need it.”

“I plan on it, honey. In fact, I'm not sure anything could dampen this mood now.”

“Nic!”
The door swung open so hard the knob banged against the wall. Sam stepped over the threshold but did not shut the door. A chill wind whipped at the tablecloth and made the curtains flutter like frightened birds. “I have to know.”

Collier rushed to close the door, her eyes never off the man who suddenly seemed to fill the room.

“Sam, not here.”
Nic shot a glance toward the living room. “Not now.”

“Yes,
now
. We've let this hang between us long enough and now I have got to know.” He pushed back his leather jacket and put his hand on his hips. “Is she?”

“Sam, no!”

“Answer me, Nic. I have a right to know now. Is Willa my daughter or not?”

Seventeen

“Are you out of your mind? Marching in here and barking out something like that?” Nic's chair legs squawked over the linoleum. The whole chair would have toppled over backward when she leaped up if Sam had not lurched forward in time to catch it.

She didn't care. Floor-bound furniture was nothing compared to the crashing blow Sam's thoughtless question might deal Willa if she overheard it. Nic rushed to the doorway to check on her daughter.

Not even noticing her mother, Willa stood over the coffee table carefully arranging the Mary and Joseph figurines in the nativity scene. Leaning back against the door frame, Nic shut her eyes and exhaled.

“I think I'd better go see if Scott and Jessica are settled in or if
Petie
needs my help with anything.” Collier brushed past Nic and into the living room. “Hey, Willa, honey, how about you come with me to find what your big cousins are up to in the back room?”

“Thank you,” Nic whispered, fairly certain her sister was too far away to hear.

“I'm sorry.” He sounded more agitated than remorseful. “That was uncalled for, but I had to know—I have to know.”

“Not now. Not here.
Not with Willa just a few rooms away.”

“Then let's go to the church office.”

Nic clenched her fists at her side. She battled back the swell of nausea rising from the pit of her stomach. “Not the church. That's hardly the place for what I have to tell you, Sam.”

“That's where you're wrong.” His whole demeanor had shifted in the blink of an eye. “I can see you're hurting. This is obviously not as simple as I let myself believe it must be.”

“No.” She wet her lips. “It's not.”

“Then let's go to the church because—at least as long as I'm still the minister there—that's exactly the place for someone to come to pour her heart out, no matter how bad she thinks her story is.”

“You...you really believe that, don't you?” At last she dared to open her eyes and meet his gaze. “I am totally amazed that both of us could have come from points of desperation and disappointment through such different roads and yet come to this same place.”

“Persuasion?”

“Home.”

“Ah.” Only the vaguest hint of a smile played on his lips as he nodded.

She took a deep breath. The quelling in her stomach calmed. “I only hope you can apply those principles to what I have to tell you, Sam.”

“I'll try, Nic. I really will try.”

“Because regardless of how bad you may feel hearing all this now, I refuse to beat myself up over it or feel like I have to make a show of how a single misdeed has ruined my life.” She looked to the nativity where Willa had stood seconds earlier.

He moved around the kitchen.

She did not have to see him to picture him taking a few restless strides in one direction, perhaps touching the laced-trimmed edge of a placemat, glancing toward the window over the sink. Sam in her family kitchen asking the one thing she had dreaded hearing from him for so long. And yet the peace that had come over her before had returned.

She put her hand over her stomach. She inhaled the smells of the
holidays
right down to singed gingerbread and the leather of Sam's jacket.
Nothing.
No sickness roiling up inside her.
Just peace.

“Will you come to the church so we can talk this through?” he asked again.

She had to do it. She had put it off long enough.
Too long.
Her priorities had changed. Her long-term plans for herself, this house, and her child now seemed as irrelevant as the temporary solutions she had offered when she found Sam living in her family home.

She tucked her hair back. “Let me tell my sisters where I'll be.”

“Nic.”
She had not known how close he stood to her until he snagged her by the arm. “Can you just tell me this much now? Can't you just say yes or no?”

“No.”

His grip loosened.

“That is, no, I can't tell you. I can't tell you if you are Willa's father, not now or even when we go over to the church—because I'm not sure myself.”

Not sure herself
. Sam jangled his keys in his open palm as they walked along the side street toward the church. The silence of a town wrapped in winter weighed down on them. No cars passed, no people sat on front porches to wave and call out hellos.

The vacant houses with For Sale signs so old the paint had flaked away and the frames had gone to rust added their own shading to the quiet around them. When the wind picked up, the bare branches rattled like old bones. The church steeple stood watch over it all.

It took every ounce of reserve Sam had not to take Nic by the shoulders and demand she explain herself immediately. Only another minute now before he'd know everything. Then what?

He stole a sidelong glance at Nic. Her thick brown hair fell like a curtain along the side of her face, obscuring her expression. She kicked at stones in the rutted road with her dusty hiking boots. Her upper body hunched forward slightly. Whether that was from the chill or her emotions, he couldn't tell. The way she kept her hands jammed deep inside her sweater pockets, he suspected the chill.

The anger and frustration that had motivated him earlier vanished as he watched her in profile. He knew this woman like he knew his own heart. He knew her as a blessing to her sisters, a credit to her family, and a wonderful mother despite difficult circumstances. Whatever story she had to tell, he would listen to it without anger-clouded judgment.

He opened his mouth to tell her so as they reached the opening of the church driveway, but the crunch of tires on the gravel cut him off.

“Hey! Imagine finding you two out together—and heading for the church, no less.” A mammoth SUV pulled alongside them with Claire
LaRue's
head poking out of the driver's side. “Out for a romantic stroll or here for official purposes? Not that it's any of my business.”

Sam stepped up to the stopped vehicle. “That's right, Claire.”

“What's right?
Y'all out and about in the name of romance or religion?”

“That's
right,
it's none of your business.” Nic closed in behind him, taking what he had offered as an answer without an answer and given it an antagonistic twist.

Sam cleared his throat. “What she meant was...”

“Oh, I think she said what she meant, Reverend. And she's right, to a degree.” The bells on Claire's holiday earrings jingled softly as she shook back her red hair. “I see where your daughter gets her directness, Nicolette.”

Nic scuffed her boots in the gravel.

“And her wonderful smile, Sam.”

“Claire, if you have something specific to say to me, I'd appreciate if you just said it plain out.”

“I admit
,
I did come over to the church today hoping to find you in. I thought I'd call later but now that we've run into one another—can we talk?”

“Do you want to come into the church?” Sam motioned.

“No, honey, Reggie bought me this fool thing as an early Christmas present, and I haven't mastered the knack of backing it up without running up over curbs and sidewalks and more than a few flower beds. I'm afraid I'd take down the whole Christmas tree if I tried it. Can we just chat like this?
Won't take a minute.”

“Nic?”
He glanced over his shoulder. “You want to go on inside and get warm?”

“Actually she might want to stay. This does concern her.”

Nic's fingertips dug into his shoulder.

“What concerns her, Claire?” He anchored his feet and folded his arms.

“Now you know, Sam, Reggie's
family as well as my own are
longstanding, respected members of this community. My mother's people were in on the very founding of this church.” She said it in such a bright and friendly manner that only someone who had reason to suspect her motives would have perceived even the hint of threat in her claim.

“To be sure, Claire.
And I hope you're showing up for the tree decorating service is just the start of your—and your family's—renewed commitment to the church we're rebuilding here.”