The Christmas Sisters (27 page)

She disregarded his teasing remark with narrowed eyes and the staunch set of her jaw. “I don't stand...no, I
won't
stand for this nonsense. And I certainly won't stand still for it, either.”

In a flurry of head tossing and pushing away from him, she pivoted and started for the door. He wanted to call out to her but to say what?

There was nothing to say, really. Not to Nic, not now. He watched her go, his heart aching and his thoughts racing. He may have just lost his best opportunity to win Nic, but he had not lost everything. He had his church, his faith, and in his heart, he now had a daughter.

All was not as he'd expected, but that did not diminish the joy he felt in his new role as Willa's father or discourage him in any way.

“In God's time.”
He repeated Willa's advice via Big Hyde as he watched Nic practically sprint across the road toward her home.
“In God's time, not my own.”

Nineteen

Nic's boot heels slammed onto the concrete steps outside the church. The jarring beat rivaled the pulse pounding in her temples. She gritted her teeth, lowered her head, and forged on through the parking lot. At the end of the entryway she glanced right, then left, then right again. But she hadn't really checked for traffic before she darted across the street.

Not that there was any traffic. She had not actually put herself at risk, but the fact that she had pushed herself so carelessly onward made her stumble to a stop on the other side of the road. Slipping behind a tree, she leaned back until the rough bark snagged her hair and rasped against her sweater. She drew the crisp winter air deep into her lungs and held it.

Sam wanted to marry her. No,
wanted
might be too strong a word. He felt obligated—by his morals, his congregation's pending mandate, and the embellished memory of the girl she had once been. The girl he had loved.

She bit her lip.
Love?
Had he actually said that? She exhaled slowly and laid her head back. No. If he had told her he loved her, she would not have run. She would not have leaped with joy into his arms and accepted his proposal, either.

“What
proposal
?” She pushed away from the tree and stole a peek at the church across the way.

...
not
proposing, more trying to see where you stand on the matter
.
“ Sam's
far from ardent angle on the matter rattled her nerves more than ever. She had come so close to trusting him completely. She had gone into his office ready to lay bare her whole story, to try to face the situation concerning Willa with reasoned compassion, hoping for a new understanding between them, and what had happened?

Good question
, she thought as she tried to fit the pieces together.
What did happen
?

Sam Moss mentioned marriage. Well, whoop-de-do, not like he hadn't done that before and left her to regret he ever opened his sweet-talking, ever-lying mouth. But that was the old Sam—or rather, the
young
Sam—not the man she knew now. This man cared about Willa and wanted to be a father to her whether she was his biological child or not. He saw possibilities for her little girl that Nic wanted most of all, that Willa would have a full, loving and remarkable life.

This man, this Sam whom she had loved so long ago, and probably still did if she could ever let her defenses down long enough to admit it, had come back to find her. After all these years, it seemed that in some way he had never forgotten his promise to come for her.

Nic hugged her arms tight around her body and shut her eyes. Tears spilled onto her cheeks. She pressed her lips tightly together. He had come back for her, but it was too late.
Too much water under the bridge.
Too many heartaches time had not erased.

Pulling her shoulders up, she shook back her hair. She would not waste her time dwelling on this. She had plans to make for whether she and Willa would stay on in Persuasion and plans for Christmas, which loomed larger than life now only a few days away. She would not get bogged down in some impossible emotional quagmire. She would be strong. She would be in control. And most of all she would not let anybody else drag her down or divert her from her new priorities.

“Nic, I'm so glad you're back.” Collier had Nic by the elbow and began dragging her toward the living room before the back door could swing shut. “We've had a small disaster here.”

“Not Willa!”

“No, Willa is fine.” She urged Nic into the padded rocker by the Christmas tree. “Scott and Jessica walked her over to
Dewi's
to get a treat and a loaf of bread and lunch meat for dinner.”

“Bread and lunch meat for dinner?”
Nic rocked back and forth.
Petie
having a small disaster was one thing, but her family resorting to sandwiches for dinner during the holidays was something else altogether. “You're not serious, are you? Why didn't you have them pick up a roasting hen or something to make a nice soup?”

“You can criticize my cooking later; right now we have a real problem on our hands.”

“You don't
cook
lunch meat sandwiches.” Nic refused to play along in her sister's mini-drama. She'd had quite an eventful day of her own already and did not need the added strain. “Best I can do is criticize your menu choices, but not
your
cooking.”

“Forget the menu for one minute, would you? The menu hardly matters because in case you've forgotten, tonight's the night The Duets and the odd assortment of cousins are coming over.”

“Oh, no.”
Nic had forgotten. “The Duets I can handle, but the odd assortment… I am not sure I’m up to that. And you’re giving them sandwiches?”

“Everyone is bringing something to eat. Since when have you
known
anyone in this family
ever
to show up at a family gathering without fried chicken, a three-bean salad, and a chocolate sheet cake?” Collier pointed to the end of the room and the extra table, the one that their parents had borrowed from the church for one day—twenty years ago. “I'm already set up for as much food as even our family can carry in.
And
I'm well-prepared for the fact that Aunt Lula's lime Jell-O wreath with maraschino cherry accents cannot occupy the same table as Aunt Nan's wreath of pistachio pudding with red
hots
and real holly leaves on top.”

“Not without causing a catastrophic hissy fit of near biblical proportions.” At least her sisters came to their overly dramatic streaks honestly. Nic flipped the collar of her sweater up and sighed. “But with all that food coming, why do sandwiches, too?”

“Because Jessica and Scott hate molded desserts, things with tiny, colored marshmallows on top passing themselves off as salads, and especially fried foods.”

“Not Willa. She loves that stuff. She even begged me to get a deep fat fryer.” Nic reached out and feigned intense interest in a faded construction paper ornament dangling low on the branch of the tree.
“Must be in her genes or something.
She hasn't lived in the South, but she instinctively yearns for the foods of her forefathers.”

“If you think I don't know that you're trying to steer this conversation away from
Petie's
problem, then you've got another think coming.” Collier knelt in front of the rocking chair and stilled its movements with both her hands on the arms. “Listen to me, Nic.
Petie
is in a world of hurt, and for once it's not a world whipped up in her own imagination.”

“You shouldn't let her upset you like this, hon.” She patted Collier's hand then brushed the straight brown bangs from her baby sister's forehead. “You know full well she could march down here any minute completely over whatever had her worked up—or have moved onto the next dilemma that threatens to rend the very fabric of her being.”

Nic played the last part up big, hoping for a laugh. Collier's eyes stayed somber. “I think it's just ugly of you to make light when Park and
Petie's
marriage and happiness hang in the balance.”

Marriage and happiness.
Like one guaranteed the other. She thought of Sam's most reluctant not-exactly-a-proposal. She pulled her legs up under her body, tucking herself into the comfy old chair as if she were cuddling up in her mama's lap. Marriage was no promise of happiness, not without two people willing to work and sacrifice, two people who went into the union for all the
right reasons. That was seemingly not the case for her and Sam—well, for Sam anyway—but even she had to admit it had always been true of her sister and her devoted husband.

“Yes,
Petie
and Park are going through a rough patch right now, but do you honestly think he would abandon her and the kids?
At Christmastime?”
Parker
Sipes
was as predictable as Sam Moss was impulsive. Nic would stake her life on that. “Mark my words, sometime between now and Christmas Eve morning, Park will stroll in that back door, presents in his arms and apologies on his lips.”

“I told you once, Parker doesn't buy presents.”
Petie
stood in the doorway.

Somehow, perhaps it was a trick of the light or something she learned from the other women of their family,
Petie
managed to loom larger than life and yet appear almost ghostlike standing there, as if she might suddenly rise up to fill the whole room with her unleashed anger or fade completely away to nothing more than a memory in the wink of an eye. She gave off a sense of frail strength that made even Nic sit up and take notice.

“You all right,
Petie
?”

“I couldn't stand it,” she murmured.

“Couldn't stand what, sugar?” Nic extended her hand to her sister.

“The not knowing.”
Petie
took a few steps. “It was the not knowing that had me on the edge this whole time. Bad news a person can handle given time, faith, and a few people to count on to get her through. But no news...”

Her voice trailed off and she seemed to stare unseeing at the Christmas tree.

Collier took Nic's hand and gave it a squeeze. It was all she had to do to convey her anxiety. Worries over Sam and his simplistic solution to their situation fell away. Her sisters needed her and she would not let them down.

“What have you done?” Nic asked her older sister.

“When the kids didn't have any real answers about what was going on with their father, not even a very solid take on his mood or frame of mind, I had to do something.”

“She went back into his e-mail,” Collier whispered.

“And?”
Nic gripped Collier's hand tightly but spoke directly to
Petie
.

“I only intended to see if it had been active, to see if he was checking it. He wasn't. The same old information remained from last time along with a new string of memos on meetings from his administrative assistant.” She cocked her head, her gaze still aimed past the sisters but not appearing to focus on anything. “And then it hit me.”

A sour sensation rose in the back of Nic's throat.

“If Park had taken time off and everyone in his office knew that, why would his administrative assistant keep sending him e-mails reminding him of current meetings?”

“Oh,
Petie
, no.”
Nic was halfway out of the chair when her older sister finally looked her in the eye.

She held out her hand to stop Nic from getting up and coming to her. “Yes.”

The rocker sighed as she settled back down. “How bad is this, sugar?

“Near as I can tell, from reading her notes to him—”

Nic tugged at the collar of her sweater,
then
clutched the lapels together. “You opened his e-mail?”

“Wouldn't you have?” Collier sprang to her big sister's defense like a sheepdog protecting a wounded lamb.

“I'm not proud of it,”
Petie
conceded. “But like I said, it was the not knowing that drove me over the edge.”

“So, now you know.” Nic did not prod for details. She understood how much more difficult facing a personal crisis could be when well-intentioned onlookers pried for more information.

“I know that it hasn't gone very far.
Flirting, innuendo.
She's apparently invited him to her home and suggested they have lunch at a hotel a few times.”

“Good thing this gal is a thousand miles away or I'm afraid the Dorsey girls might have to take her up on that invitation.” Nic rocked forward slowly. “Meet her for a light repast of watercress and regret.”

“She is persistent. To Park's credit, he clearly has not taken her up on it—a fact she decries in notes filled with those little on-line symbols for how you feel about things.”

“Emoticons,” Collier said. “That's what they're called.”