'Tis the Season (21 page)

If she gave Evan a gift and he didn't have one for her, who cared? She would be giving him something because she wanted to, because he'd made these past few weeks easier to endure, because he'd made her laugh and smile and dream. As he'd said, this could be the start of a lifelong friendship. Filomena couldn't imagine a time in her life when she wouldn't want to drop in on Evan in Arlington, to see how he and the children were doing, to gaze into his glittering eyes and remember the sensation of his fingers tangled in her hair.

She would definitely buy him a present.

 

D
UDLEY
R
OAD
was all dressed up for Christmas. Store windows had been taken over by elves, Santas and snowmen. Garlands of silver and red tinsel snaked around the displays; candy canes dangled from the showcase ceilings, and white foam shaped to resemble snowdrifts blan
keted the showcase floors. In front of the Connecticut Bank and Trust, a fellow in a Santa suit rang a bell and asked for donations for a local homeless shelter.

Filomena stuffed a dollar into his kettle and smiled. She'd spent the entire morning upstairs in the dusty, dingy attic of her house, sorting through cartons of junk. She couldn't begin to guess why her parents had thought it necessary to save plastic egg cups, old aprons, a cracked orange juicer and a percolator missing its basket, although she supposed they deserved a point or two for having assembled all those items in one carton and labeled it “kitchen.” The carton labeled “living room,” however, was filled with items that must have come from the garage: a hand spade and a gardening claw, a hose nozzle, an unopened plastic bottle of motor oil. Why had anyone carried motor oil upstairs to the attic and stored it in a cardboard box?

She'd lugged the cartons downstairs. Their contents would mostly end up in the trash, but she felt obligated to go through each carton and make sure it contained no treasures worth saving for nostalgia's sake. Still, she deserved a reward for her hours in the attic, and that reward would be a shopping excursion to downtown Arlington.

The chilly air stung her cheeks and swirled under the hem of her skirt as she strolled down the street, pausing to admire each window display. She had to be careful not to spend money like a maniac—but she'd been budgeting her funds carefully ever since she'd begun graduate school five years ago, so frugality was a habit with her.

She'd already picked out presents for Gracie and Billy. Gracie would be getting
Winnie-the-Pooh
, one of the finest talking-animal books in the history of Western literature, and a Piglet doll to hold while someone—Filomena
liked to imagine herself in this role—read chapters of the book to the little girl. For Billy, she'd bought a basic chess set, because he'd told her, one late afternoon last week when they'd been waiting for Evan to come home, that he didn't have one. She also found a book that explained the game in language a third grader could understand. And she'd bought another talking-animal classic,
Charlotte's Web
, for both children to share.

Books were her weakness.

The kids' presents were crammed into her leather backpack, slung over one shoulder. She hadn't yet figured out what to get for Evan. She'd considered a book for him, too, but she hadn't found any that seemed right. Did he read adventure novels? Did he like history? She suspected that when he came home from his long, tiring days, all he wanted to do was be with his children. He didn't really have the time to lose himself in the pages of a book.

If he had a wife or a partner, or even a full-time housekeeper, he'd probably read more. Maybe someday he would…and she decided not to think about that.

So. No book for Evan. She wanted to give him something wonderful, something that would make him smile, something perfect—if only she could figure out what.

Digging her hands into the pockets of her coat, she continued down the street. At a department store she paused. A sweater? A scarf? No, too predictable.

She paused again at a shop specializing in kitchenware. A Crock-Pot? If she gave him one, he wouldn't have to serve broiled something for dinner every night.

But she couldn't picture Evan preparing stews. More important, she couldn't picture Gracie and Billy eating stews. They'd struggled with her stuffed peppers, which
were really rather basic. In fact, she'd noticed they tended to avoid vegetables whenever possible.

Maybe she could give Evan something fun, like an ice-cream maker. But then she noticed the price tag attached to the electric ice-cream maker in the display window. Over one hundred dollars on sale.

Turning from the store, she closed her eyes and visualized Evan. She saw his perpetually tousled hair, the clean sharp lines of his face, the easy way in which he moved his body. She heard his quiet laugh, pictured his hesitant smile, observed the grace of his large, strong hands.

He needed time. More than anything, he needed time.

Grinning, she continued down the street, heading for a gift shop she remembered her mother favoring years ago. It was a boutique on Newcombe, off Dudley, and it specialized in one-of-a-kind items, handcrafted objects, some pieces utter kitsch and others works of art. She hoped the store still existed.

It did. Her grin expanding, she swept into the shop, hearing a bell jingle above the door as it closed behind her. She held herself motionless for a moment, settling her backpack on her shoulders so she wouldn't accidentally swing it and knock some fragile knickknack off a shelf.

To her left stood a display of pottery—planters and plates resonant with a deep-burgundy glaze. One bowl was so beautiful her breath caught. She gingerly lifted it and looked at the price tag underneath. One hundred twenty dollars. She set the bowl down.

She wasn't there to shop for herself, anyway. And somehow, she doubted Evan would be as taken by the magnificent craftsmanship of the wine-colored bowl. She
had to focus on finding something he'd need and appreciate and love.

Time.

When a clerk approached her with a smile, Filomena said, “I'm looking for a clock. The most bizarre, wonderful clock you've got.”

 

T
WELVE NOON
had to be the worst hour to get any shopping done, but Evan didn't have much choice. He'd spent the morning smoothing out distribution problems, as usual, and getting tallies on what merchandise was moving well and what was stagnating on the shelves in each outlet. He'd also spent a few minutes trying to talk to Jennifer, but she seemed to have transformed into a blithering goofball overnight. “What exactly is going on between you and Tank Moody?” he demanded to know.

“Rapport,” she said with a dreamy smile.

“I don't want you falling in love with him. He plays for New England. Their stadium is outside Boston. Our headquarters are here in Arlington. Do you see the problem?”

“Don't worry,” she replied. “There isn't going to be a problem.”

“As long as you don't do anything stupid and run off with him,” Evan muttered, not sure exactly what most unnerved him. The possibility of losing his indispensable vice president? The possibility of losing her to a glamorous professional athlete?

Or the strangely nettlesome notion that she was pursuing her heart's desire, while he was debating with himself about how aggressive he ought to be with Filomena, how resolutely he ought to pursue her, how much he ought to hope for.

Over the weekend, he'd convinced himself he had plenty of grounds for hope. After the Daddy School, he'd backed off from that conclusion, convinced that he could jeopardize his children's happiness by becoming involved with Filomena when he knew she was planning to vanish from Arlington in a few short weeks. Tuesday night, as he'd listened to his poker pals trading mild gripes about their significant others, he'd wondered whether he might be better off exactly as he was.

Alone.

He'd been alone too long. That was his problem. The few women he'd dated in the years since Debbie had left had never posed any threat to his heart or his emotional well-being. They hadn't counted.

Filomena did. Day and night, in his thoughts and in his dreams, she was there. Enticing him. Enchanting him. Bewitching him into believing she was the only woman in his life who had ever truly mattered.

If not for Billy and Gracie, he'd go after Filomena without a moment's pause. Why not? All he'd have to lose was his pride, which was replaceable, and his heart, which he knew from experience would heal. But his kids…he couldn't risk their hearts, could he?

He'd put together a decent shopping list with some useful input from Murphy and from his marketing guy at Champion. Stuart had suggested candy, but he'd also suggested a freestanding two-person dome tent, an item selling surprisingly strongly in all the outlets this season. Evan would bet Gracie and Billy would love camping out in the backyard. The dome tent would be easy to pitch and take down. Maybe next summer, he and the kids would go camping.

He didn't want to get all their Christmas gifts from Champion Sports, though. That would be cheating.

He had a few articles of clothing on his list—also cheating, in a way, but they were items the kids needed, and if he wrapped them up and put them under the tree, they would seem more special and make the piles of gifts look bigger. He was also planning on some major toy purchases: a civilization-building computer game for Billy, a computer arithmetic game for Gracie, a couple of heavily advertised board games that the kids had been screeching for, a race-car set with twisting tracks. And a few videos. For their stockings, barrettes and cheap jewelry doodads for Gracie, a few Matchbox cars for Billy, trading cards for both.

Evan was going to have to buy all of it during brief breaks from work. His life would have been easier if he'd been able to slip out of his office at any time other than noon, when Hauser Boulevard and Dudley Road filled to the point of gridlock with shoppers using their lunch hours to shop. But today, this was how his schedule had worked out.

He would buy the toys another day. The discount toy store was a mile down Hauser, and he'd need his car to transport all the stuff he bought. Today, since he had only a midday break, he'd check out the department stores and try to pick up some of the apparel items on his list. Clothing was light; he didn't need his car to carry it.

He wanted this Christmas to be good for the kids. Last year they—and he—had been in kind of a daze, not quite sure how to go about celebrating the holiday without Debbie present. The year before last was the year Debbie had left, and the entire holiday season had been hellish. He'd relinquished all responsibility for the occasion to
his parents, who had bought the kids some lovely presents, put up a tree in their house and had Evan bring Billy and Gracie down to New Haven for a few days, just to be away from their sad, sorry home.

But this was the year he had resolved to get on with his life. And part of getting on with it meant creating a normal, cheerful holiday for his children. On Saturday, they would pick out a tall, fragrant tree and set it up in the living room. Maybe he'd buy one of those gingerbread-house kits—he wondered if they could broil gingerbread—and he and the kids would construct a gingerbread house.

Maybe Filomena would help them.

He had to stop obsessing about her. Cripes. There he was, caught up in the midday stampede of frenzied shoppers, and suddenly his vision was filled with her. He saw her magnificent hair, her dark eyes, a long skirt swaying around her boots. Filomena, radiating beauty and warmth amid a crowd of frantic, package-toting consumers on Dudley.

He glanced toward the Santa Claus clanging a bell and collecting charitable donations near the bank, and then looked back to the spot where he thought he'd seen Filomena, expecting that she'd disappeared. But she hadn't. Not only did he see her again, but she was walking toward him, waving and smiling as if thrilled to see him.

He was thrilled to see her, too.

He nudged his way through the crowd until he reached her. Her cheeks and the tip of her nose were pink from the cold, and her eyes danced. “Wow! What a mob scene!”

“What are you doing here?” he asked. She could shop
any time she wanted. Why would she pick the worst hour of the day?

“I needed some fresh air.” She had a leather knapsack slung over one shoulder; her gloved hands curled around the strap. “What about you? Don't you have a business to run?”

He would gladly have abandoned his business for the chance to spend the rest of the day gazing into her eyes. He was going to have to get her a Christmas present, too. Even if she was nothing more than his kids' baby-sitter, he'd give her a present, just as he gave presents to his business colleagues and sales staff.

But she wasn't just a baby-sitter, and he wanted to give her more. He wanted to give her something as beautiful as her eyes, as lovely as her smile. He wanted to give her a kiss.

Standing beneath an overcast sky on the cold sidewalk, being brushed and poked on both sides by people swarming past, he bowed slightly and touched her lips with his. He didn't care if anyone noticed. He didn't care if Filomena was shocked.

He was definitely obsessed, and kissing her seemed like the sanest, wisest thing he could do.