Home For Christmas

“No Grandpa. No Mom or Dad.”

Joy walked to the checkout counter, where she used to wrap gold and silver foil around the flowerpots and swathe the flowers with colorful print paper to protect the delicate poinsettias. She and her mom would work the counter together. She could almost smell Mom’s rose soap.

Unwinding her scarf, she walked behind the counter and was surprised to see full boxes of ribbons, foil and cellophane, and bolts of wrapping paper sitting in the same spots as they had a decade ago. “Not everything was sold or discarded.”

She looked toward the back of the retail gift area. Two French doors led to a smaller greenhouse where specialty orchids, amaryllis and hybrid poinsettias used to be displayed on long wooden tables. That was Joy’s favorite area, where her grandfather would test his yearlong projects of coral-and-white-striped poinsettias, yellows, ambers, and try as he might, the absolute impossible task of creating a blue poinsettia. Blue poinsettias didn’t exist naturally, and he would dye white ones to please designers in Chicago, but he was a dreamer. He’d often told her he wanted to create a flower that was not only beautiful but timeless. Something the world would never have seen if it hadn’t been for him.

Behind the special greenhouse were the storage rooms, where the new shipments of gift items, table linens, Christmas stockings, birdbaths and feeders, scented candles and bath oils and washes used to be delivered and stored until they were put out for display.

“I wonder if any stock is left…” Joy started toward the storage room when she heard a door slam. She halted. “What was that?” She peered through the French doors. Was someone breaking into the greenhouse?

“Hello? Is someone there?”

Peering through the windows, she saw a tall man, wearing a buckskin-yellow suede jacket with a sheepskin collar and lining, jeans, a scarf around his neck and a tan cowboy hat that was pulled down low so that she couldn’t see his face. He was carrying a large sack of something on his shoulder as he pushed one door open with his booted foot.

His presence filled the room as if he owned the place and she was the one intruding.

He placed the sack on the cement floor of the greenhouse, then slapped his hands together, creating a cloud of white dust. He pushed the tip of his cowboy hat up and leveled on her the bluest eyes she’d ever seen.

Familiar eyes.

Eyes that probed her in a way that went straight to her heart.

“Adam?” She almost choked out his name, being both stunned and oddly pleased to see him.

“Hey.”

He continued to stare at her, assessing her as if she were one of his cogs in a machine he was creating.

“Hi,” she returned.

Unsmiling, he said, “I heard you might come back.”

“Yes. Of—of course. Why wouldn’t I?”

“Been a long time.”

Joy didn’t like the accusatory tone Adam used. Nor did she like the fact that he’d matured into a handsome man with flashing, mesmerizing eyes. And how was that possible? They were “over” a long time ago.

“He was my grandpa.”

“And you came back because he died.”

“Excuse me?”

“Sorry. I mean I’m sorry about Frank. He loved you a lot.”

“And you know this…how?”

“He never stopped talking about you.”

Joy felt a pang of guilt for not being there more for her grandfather. But she didn’t like Adam’s tone. She glanced through the French door, propped open by the sack of cement he’d deposited. She saw a compressor, metal pipes, PVC pipes, vent apparatus and coils of copper tubing. A toolbox with wrenches, hammers and screwdrivers sat next to the pile of materials.

“Just exactly how did you get in here?”

“Key.”

Joy had to consciously halt her eyes from flying wide open. “You? Have access to my grandfather’s place of business?”

“Clearly—” he waved his hand across the empty retail area “—it’s not a business anymore.”

“I was told Frank closed it years ago.”

“He did. Five years, to be exact.”

Joy put her fingertips to her temples. None of this made sense. “I don’t understand. I flew him to New York for Thanksgiving every year. He told me he had to hurry back here to get the poinsettia shipments in. He said business had never been better.”

“He lied.”

“I got that, Adam!”

“Don’t jump on me!” he shot back, all too quickly and with twice the force.

“Why didn’t he tell me the truth?”

“He didn’t want to disappoint you,” Adam replied, dropping his harsh tone.

Her eyes were tearing again, but she didn’t care. “He told you that?”

“He did.”

“But nothing he would do could ever, ever disappoint me. I loved him. That’s all. The attorney told me on the phone that Grandpa was too proud to ask for my help.”

“That, too.” Adam glanced down as he asked, “Would you have come back if he asked?”

“I don’t know. No. Maybe…if he’d told me how bad it was.”

Adam shook his head. “Well, we’ll never know.”

Adam took off his hat, and as he did, his thick black hair fell over his forehead.

Joy nearly gasped as the movement reminded her of when they’d been in love.

“I know that Frank didn’t want to destroy your memories of this place. How it was.”

“It was glorious, wasn’t it?” Joy felt her first smile creep slowly to her lips as she remembered so much.

“It was,” he replied wistfully, still staring at her.

“From the time I was nine or ten, it was my job to keep those tiles clean. I took pride in scrubbing them—”

“Until they glistened,” he interrupted. “I remember.”

“Adam.”

“I remember a lot of things.”

She paused, fearing what she wanted to ask, but daring to say it. “Like us?”

“Yeah, like us.”

“We were kids.”

“I thought we were pretty adult. Planning a life together.”

“Well, we’re different people now.”

“We certainly are,” he replied with that dark tone he’d used before.

“You’re angry with me. About the past…”

He took a long step toward her. “Not the past, Joy. The present. I was the one who was with Frank when he had the heart attack. I called 911. I was in the hospital with him. I held his hand when he passed.”

“Oh, God. I’m so sorry.”

“His last thoughts were about you.”

“Thank you for being with him.” A new wave of guilt and grief hit her.

“I should go.” He started to go, then turned back to her.

Joy braced as she felt a wave of heat from him.

“I know Frank lied to you about some things, but it seems to me you could have pried yourself away from your city friends long enough to visit your only living relative. All these years and you never came back. I watched Frank spend Christmas after Christmas alone. He talked about you and the old days. How he loved you. And what did he get? A ten-minute phone call, Joy. A ten-minute phone call.”

Adam slapped his hat against his thigh, turned and stomped toward the French doors.

Joy’s natural defenses shot to the fore. “I have responsibilities!”

Adam pulled to a stop and marched back to her. His face was nearly nose to nose with hers. “Nothing was as important as Frank and you know it. I would have killed to have what you had with Frank. All that love. All that concern and caring. At least I got to enjoy that after college, when I came back here. Frank befriended me as if not a day had passed. He may have been your blood, but he was my family. And I miss him.”

“Me, too,” she whispered, as she lowered her eyes.

He moved back. “I’m sorry. It’s just that I swore when I moved back here that I’d keep myself in check. Getting close to people never worked out for me.”

“Like when I left—”

“Like then, yeah.”

Joy blinked back tears. Everything Adam said was true, and she felt like dirt. She should have come to visit her grandfather, but she couldn’t. It wasn’t always college or her career. It was Indian Lake. The place where her loving parents were buried. She couldn’t face it. She wouldn’t be reminded of the way they died. And the aftermath.

“I’m sorry, Adam. For everything.”

“Yeah. Well.” He stepped back. “I guess I’ll see you at the funeral.”

“Yeah.”

Deflated, Joy watched Adam walk away before backing up to the counter and slowly sliding to the floor.

Joy pulled her knees to her chin, shivered and looked at the empty space. “I’m sorry. I’m so very sorry, Grandpa. Please forgive me.”

CHAPTER FIVE

JOY GREETED THE dark-haired, fortyish receptionist at Evans and Evans Law Firm office and asked if she could leave her luggage behind the front desk.

“Of course. I’ll let Mr. Evans know you’re here,” she said and picked up the intercom. “Mr. Evans is down the hall, Miss Boston.”

Joy wheeled her weekender around to the back wall. “Thank you.”

Kyle Evans greeted Joy at the door to his office. She guessed him to be in his midthirties. He was tall, handsome and wore a well-tailored blue suit. He held out his hand. “Joy. I’m Kyle, and I’m so sorry for your loss.” He ushered her into a bright, cheery office, decorated with Danish modern furniture and a wall-to-wall aquarium.

Joy was still mired in confusion. “Kyle, I just went by the greenhouses. I don’t understand. Grandpa told me this was going to be a banner year for him.”

Kyle held a chair for Joy as she sat. Then he went around to his side of the desk. “That was a bit inaccurate.”

“What’s going on?”

“I worked with him when he closed up. I think, though he never said so outright, that he always hoped to reopen them. I told him it would take a miracle.”

“And he never told me about any of this.”

“Frank was a proud man. And he didn’t want you to worry about his failure.”

“Failure?”

“The business was too much for him to run alone. Costs were rising and he told me he would never ask you to come home to save him.”

“No, he wouldn’t,” she replied. “I was firm on that issue when I moved to New York.”

“He was so proud of you and your career. He talked about you all the time.”

Kyle looked down at the papers on his desk. “He left everything to you. The house, the greenhouses, his old truck.”

“He…still has that truck?”

“He did. Yes.”

“And it runs?”

“Uh, yeah. It does.” Kyle folded his hands and put them on the desk. “I’m so sorry, Joy. This all has to be such a shock for you. It was for me. For the whole town.”

“Grandpa never told me he was ill,” she said, feeling another bout of tears stinging her eyes.

“I understand from his doctor that Frank died soon after arriving at the hospital.”

“That’s what I heard.” She remembered Adam’s description of Frank’s death. Joy couldn’t help her tears now. They came like a torrent. She found a travel pack of tissues in her purse and whisked the tears from her face. “We never talked about what to do if he died. I guess I’m guilty of thinking he would live forever. He was…my grandpa.” She wrapped her arms around her middle and leaned forward. “I’m sorry. So sorry. I…I can’t help it. I have no idea what to do. All he ever said was that when he died, he would make sure I was taken care of. I thought it was a life insurance policy or something. I’d always cut him off. Talking about death reminded me too much of my mom and dad.”

“I remember,” Kyle said. “I’m sorry for your loss of them, as well.”

She looked into his empathetic eyes and wondered if the caring she saw was genuine or if that was some mask law school professors taught students to wear when dealing with bereaved clients. The minute the thought entered her head, Joy realized it was something that Chuck had said once to her. She cast it away.

“It’s fine. And the details are in his will.”

“Oh.”

“I talked to Father Michael over at Saint Mark’s. He’s waiting for your call.”

“I should have a reception or something after the funeral. At his home.” Joy blew her nose in the tissue. “Pardon me.”

“Certainly. Olivia Barzonni over at the Indian Lake Deli has offered to cater a lunch for you. If you wish. She and her mother, Julia, are great people.”

“Olivia Melton? She’s married now, then. Yes, I remember her. She was a friend in high school.” Joy brightened a bit.

“And Sarah Bosworth said to tell you if there’s anything you need, she’s here. Sarah Jensen Bosworth, that is. She—”

“Sarah is married, too?”

“She is. Three kids. I see Luke at the YMCA where we work out with Gabe and Nate Barzonni. Scott Abbott joins us often, as well.”

Joy put her hands to her cheeks. “All these names. Talk about a blast from the past.”

“Joy. All your friends are here for you. You just have to ask for their help.”

She dabbed her tears again. “They are?” When her parents died, Joy had cut ties with her Indian Lake friends. She’d wanted to run away from her grief. She’d chosen Columbia University and New York as her safe haven, and it had been that for her all this time.

“That’s wonderful and so…unexpected. I haven’t been back in a long time. Years and years.”

“I know.” Kyle picked up a manila folder. “This is your copy of the will. This is the key to the greenhouse. Frank’s house keys. I assume you’ll be staying there? Is there anything else you need from me?”

Joy took the keys. “When I went to the greenhouse, the door was unlocked. I understand Adam Masterson has a key.”

“I don’t know, but it wouldn’t surprise me. He and Frank were close.”

And Adam had said he tried not to get close to people. “Well, thank you so much, Kyle.” She started to stand and stopped. “Would you be so kind as to get a number for me?”

“Sure. What do you need?”

“The best Realtor in town.”

“That’s easy. Cate Sullivan Davis.”

Joy tilted her head to the left. “I don’t remember that name.”

“You wouldn’t. She’s only been here a few years.”

“But you trust her? She’s good?”

“Very. And her husband is a detective. Trent Davis. He’s famous in these parts. Took down a huge drug ring. It was in all the papers.”

“Grandpa told me about that. He’s her husband?”

“Sure is. And she’s really smart. You’ll like her.”

“Thanks,” Joy said, rising to shake Kyle’s hand.

Once she’d gathered her luggage, she stood on the sidewalk watching the passing cars.

“I forgot. I’m not in New York.”

There were no cabs. No subways. No mass transit of any kind. Joy had sent Roy away thinking she wouldn’t need him. Fortunately, he’d given her his direct number in case she needed him while in town.

“I’m so not in Kansas anymore.” She punched in his number. “Roy. I need a favor.”

“Sure. What is it?”

“I forgot there are no cabs in Indian Lake.”

“And now you’re stranded. I’m at Cupcakes and Cappuccino. About three blocks from you. Where do you want to go?”

“Is there a car rental in Indian Lake?”

“Of course. I’ll take you there.”

Joy hung up and sighed. She’d been away a long time. And she couldn’t wait to leave.

CHAPTER SIX

ADAM HAD PICKED up Titus from Sarah’s house and stopped for groceries. Tonight was grilled chicken tenders on angel hair pasta with pesto sauce and salad. The one thing Amie had insisted that Adam do for their son was to feed him a balanced diet and organic foods. She’d been a good cook and taught him how to prepare food. Adam found the process enjoyable. So did Titus, who liked to share in the kitchen action.

When Adam had gutted the kitchen last year, he’d equipped it with everything he would need to make meals for himself and his son. He’d been sure to include a small appliance “garage” that was under lock and key so that Titus couldn’t get to any sharp knives, mandolins or the Cuisinart. Titus had been curious nearly from birth, so teaching him to be careful was important. And the fact that Titus’s impaired vision caused him to trip or bump into things worried Adam.

Angel, their four-year-old golden retriever, sat on the whitewashed wood plank floor watching her two masters cook. Angel was pregnant, a planned union with Sarah’s golden, Beau. According to the veterinarian, Angel would have Christmas puppies. Titus was curious and anxious about the coming blessed event. Their trips to Grandy’s Groomers to buy a new bed, puppy food and toys were numerous. Titus was overjoyed and so was Adam. He and Titus decided they would draw names from all the people who wanted a puppy, after Sarah and Luke had their pick of the litter, of course.

“So, Dad,” Titus said as he dipped thin chicken tenders in a mix of flour, chili powder, granulated garlic and black pepper, “do you think we should ask Mr. Boston’s granddaughter over for Thanksgiving dinner?”

Adam stopped pouring the olive oil into the frying pan. “How do you know anything about Joy Boston being in town?”

“Mrs. Beabots. She came over to Timmy’s house and made oatmeal cookies for us.”

“Oh, she did? And how many did you eat?” Adam asked, hoping to change the subject.

“Only one and a glass of milk. Organic, of course,” Titus answered, finishing the last tender. He looked at Adam. “Miss Sarah said that you knew her in high school.”

Adam grimaced. Deflecting the probing questions of a smart kid was not an easy task. Since the day Titus had learned to talk at nine months, the boy hadn’t shut up. “Of course I knew Sarah. You know we’ve been friends forever.”

“Dad,” Titus huffed. “I meant Joy Boston.”

“Oh.” Adam placed the tenders in the oil. He lifted the lid of the boiling water, added salt and then reached over and stirred the pesto sauce.

“Miss Sarah said you were boyfriend and girlfriend.”

Adam rolled his eyes. This was going from bad to worse. “And why would she say that?”

“Because I asked her a lot of questions about Joy Boston,” Titus said proudly. “Like what kind of person she was and if she liked flowers as much as old Mr. Boston…and you.”

Adam nearly burned his fingers as he turned the tenders. “And what did Sarah say?”

“That you guys worked together for Mr. Boston when you were in high school.”

“We did.”

“And you thought you were going to marry her.”

Adam coughed. He put his fist to his mouth. “Sarah said a lot, huh?”

“Dad! Think about it. I coulda been her son!”

“Not exactly.” Adam put the angel hair in the boiling water. “But things have a way of working out all for the best. What I want to know is why Sarah told you all this.”

Titus hemmed a bit and glanced away.

Adam stopped stirring the pesto. “Titus…”

“She didn’t exactly say all that.”

“What?” Adam put his hand on his hip. “What’s going on here?”

“You know how it is. I asked a few questions. Put some things together. Like you asking Joy to marry you.”

“So, this is something you deduced all by yourself.”

“Deduced? What does that mean?”

“Figured out.” Adam turned another tender, knowing fully that Titus had used the word deduced over a month ago. His son was stalling. Adam had him on the run and the idea pleased him. But only a little.

“I did.” Titus smiled sheepishly. “But I needed confirmation.”

“Which I gave you.”

“Yes.” Titus lifted his chin proudly.

“You know, Titus, I don’t think you should be a playwright.”

“No?”

“Clearly, you have the makings of a lawyer.”

“Hmm.” Titus went to the sink, stepped onto his step stool so that he could reach the faucet and washed his hands. Then he rinsed the lettuce. “I have to think about that. But about Miss Joy—”

“Son,” Adam began, taking a deep breath. “Joy is leaving soon. She’s not going to be part of our lives. Okay?”

Titus wiped his hands on a paper towel. “Okay, Dad.”

AFTER DINNER, ADAM helped Titus make pinecone turkeys, which he wanted to gift to all his friends. After gluing and glittering feathers to the pinecones, Adam watched as Titus nearly fell asleep at the kitchen table.

“C’mon, sport. Let’s brush your teeth and wash up for bed.”

Titus yawned. “Okay. But I want the Star Wars pj’s tonight.”

“I would never have guessed,” Adam said as they walked down the hall, Angel at their heels. Adam went into the bedroom, with its slate-gray walls and white trim and Star Wars, Star Trek and Avengers posters covering every inch of the space. From the dresser, Adam pulled out the desired pair of pajamas as he heard Titus in the bathroom using his spin brush.

Adam sat on the edge of the bed and looked at the stainless-steel reading lamp and the overflowing bedside bookshelf. Titus had been only four when he joined a reading group at the library. The kids declared how many books they would read over summer vacation. Titus always set high goals, so when he announced he’d read one hundred books, Adam hadn’t doubted him. Most kids’ books were only twenty pages long, after all. But Titus sailed through the picture books meant for early readers. Titus liked to read chapter books. He didn’t reach one hundred, but he did read over twenty chapter books. His kindergarten teacher told Adam that Titus had the reading comprehension of a sixth grader.

“Yeah. Sixth grade going on high school,” he muttered to himself. “Mozart was six when he started composing. Young prodigies aren’t unheard of.”

“What’s unheard of?” Titus asked, coming into the room, yanking his shirt over his head.

“Genius showing itself at a young age,” Adam said proudly, holding out the pajama top. Titus pulled it on.

“Were you a genius?”

“Hardly. Some thought I was a failure. I couldn’t make things work.”

“You do now,” Titus said as he put on the pajama bottoms and climbed into bed. “You just needed education.”

“I did. How did you know?”

“Mrs. Cook tells us that all the time.”

“Ah! Wise woman.” Adam chuckled. “So, what do you want me to read tonight? War and Peace?” Titus screwed up his face. “Sorry. Just a joke.”

“I’m too tired. Tomorrow. Okay?”

“Sure.” Adam leaned down to kiss Titus on the forehead. Titus lifted his arms and hugged him.

“I love you, Dad.”

“I love you, Titus. You sleep with the angels.”

Angel jumped up on the bed. Titus hugged her neck. “I always sleep with my Angel.” Titus smiled. “So, Dad, when Angel has her pups, can I help?”

“I’m hoping the vet will take care of that.”

Titus propped himself up on his elbow. “You think we’ll have warning?”

“I hope so. Usually, dogs try to make a nest and find a warm place.”

“Like her doggy bed?”

“Not necessarily. She might like it in front of the fireplace on her rug.”

“Yeah. I could see that,” Titus agreed and lay back down. “It’s gonna be a great Christmas present to have puppies.”

“Remember what I told you. Puppies are a lot of work in the beginning. I have to get a pen ready for them in the basement.”

“And buy more space heaters and blankets and collect newspapers for their pee.”

Adam laughed. “We need to do all that.”

“Okay,” Titus said as he lowered his sleepy eyes. “I’ll help.”

“Night, son.”

“Night, Dad.”

Adam walked to the door, turned off the light, and the glow-in-the-dark planets and constellations on the ceiling shone.

He walked down the hall and past the living room of his 1920s refurbished bungalow. Five years ago, the house had been a steal. He’d put a lot of work and money into it, and the results were worth it. The living room was furnished in comfortable charcoal-gray twill sofas that faced each other on either side of the fireplace. A maple-and-stainless-steel coffee table was heaped with books and magazines, most of them Titus’s. Under the large picture window was a long desk with two laptops, a desk chair and a small file cabinet. On top of the file cabinet were a half-dozen framed photos of Adam, Amie and baby Titus. A large TV hung over the fireplace. The dining room table was midcentury modern, made of bird’s-eye maple, and the chairs were covered in a deep blue twill.