Christmas 2011 Trio A

“Good plan.” Fletcher rose from his seat, leaning forward on his desk, his eyes never leaving Julie.

“Should I stay with you?” his assistant asked nervously.

“I’ll be fine, Ms. Johnson.”

“I wouldn’t count on that,” Julie muttered.

Fletcher waved his assistant out of the room and returned his attention to Julie. “You had something you wanted to say?”

“Your settlement offer arrived!” she said. “Why would you do such a thing?”

“Why?” He cocked one brow as if to suggest it should be obvious.

“I told you I wasn’t going to sue!”

He snickered.

“Are you so cynical that you don’t trust anyone? So cynical you think you can buy your way out of everything?”

“Money is the universal language.”

Julie folded her arms. “Listen to me, Fletcher, and listen hard. I don’t want your money.” She spoke slowly and emphatically so that even a man as emotionally obtuse as this one would get the point.

He angled his head sideways and stared at the ceiling. “Where have I heard that before?” Then, as though he was bored and ready to end the conversation, he said, “You want the money. Everyone wants the money. Just sign the agreement and cash the check. You can be outraged all over again—and twenty-five thousand dollars richer.”

Julie’s mouth sagged open. “You don’t get it, do you? I’m not cashing the check. I’m not signing the settlement.”

“Of course you’re not signing the settlement,” he snapped, his eyes so cold that for an instant she actually shivered.

She caught her breath and stepped back. “It isn’t just me you distrust,” she whispered. He wasn’t capable of trusting a single, solitary person. Some elemental betrayal had waylaid him in the past, and he’d never recovered, never moved beyond it. She didn’t know what had happened; in fact, she didn’t want to know. But right now they were at an impasse unless she could think of some way to settle this, some way that suited them both.

“All right,” Julie said. “Tell you what I’ll do.”

“Ah, the bargaining begins. Are you sure you don’t want your attorney here?”

“I don’t have an attorney. Now listen, because I’m only going to say this once.”

“The schoolteacher speaks.” He’d folded his arms and she relaxed hers.

“I’ll sign your stupid agreement.”

He flashed her a knowing, sarcastic grin. “I thought you’d come to your senses sooner or later.”

“With one stipulation.”

His smile vanished.

“I want a signed statement from you in which you concede that you caused the accident and—” she wagged her finger at his Cross pen “—I’d like a written apology.”

His eyes narrowed and, if possible, grew even colder. Hands pressed on the top of his desk, he leaned forward again. “I didn’t cause the accident and there’s no way I’ll apologize for something I didn’t do.”

She’d figured that would make him mad. Good. Maybe he’d understand how she felt. “Explain the damage to my bike, then,” she said, forcing her voice to remain calm.

His lips thinned. “I can’t.”

“What does it matter? You get what you want and I get what I want.”

“What exactly do you want?” he demanded.

“I already told you. And I already stated that I was only saying it once.”

“Good luck, sister, because you’re not getting any apology from me.”

“Okay,” she said cheerfully, and then because she enjoyed riling him, she added, “Shall I have my attorney call yours?”

“I thought you didn’t have an attorney,” he challenged as if he’d welcome the opportunity to call her a boldfaced liar.

“I don’t, at least not yet, but I imagine I won’t have any problem finding one who’d be willing to take you to court.”

“Julie …” Her father rushed into the room and stopped midway between Julie and Fletcher’s desk. He spread his arms between the two of them, trying to assess the situation.

He looked at his boss first. “Mr. Fletcher, I apologize that my daughter burst into your office.”

“Dad, you’d better hear me out before you apologize to that man.” She gestured wildly at Fletcher. “He tried to buy me off with a settlement offer!”

“I know, honey.”

“You know?”

Her father nodded. “Mr. Fletcher told me it was in the works, but it’s none of my affair, so I didn’t say anything.”

“You involved my father in this?” Julie hissed at Fletcher.

“Sweetheart,” her father said in the gentlest of tones, “perhaps it would be best if you left now.”

“Not yet.” Julie was going to stand her ground. As far as she was concerned, this conversation was a long way from over.

Her father glanced apologetically at his employer. “I’m afraid Julie’s got a temper, sir.”

“Dad!”

“She takes after her mother in that.”

Julie was horrified to hear her father saying such a thing to a man who’d insulted her.

“I’m sorry, Jules,” her father continued, “but you don’t leave me any other choice.” That said, he attempted to hoist her fireman-style over his shoulder and forcibly remove her from the office. Julie didn’t try to fight him, but she was too heavy for him to carry. He did manage to lift her several inches off the ground.

“Dad! Put me down!”

Either she weighed more than he’d assumed or he was willing to listen, because he set her down on the carpet.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“Julie, get out of this office,” he said in a low, irate voice. “Now.”

She could only imagine how amused Fletcher must be. “Not until this is settled,” she said, glaring at her father’s employer.

Suddenly her father walked behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. The shock of it caught her unawares and she toppled back against him. Satisfied, he started to drag her out of the room, the heels of her shoes making tracks in the plush carpeting.

“Let me go!” she cried. When she looked up, she saw Roy Fletcher grinning widely. “Don’t you dare laugh,” she warned, stretching out her arm and pointing at him.

“Bye-bye, Ms. Wilcoff.” He waved and had the audacity to laugh outright.

“We aren’t finished!” she shouted. “Daddy, for the love of heaven, let go of me.”

“Not until we’re in the elevator,” her father said. He dragged her through the large double doors.

Fletcher walked around his desk. Julie wanted it understood that he hadn’t heard the last of her. “Furthermore, you owe me an apology!”

Fletcher’s assistant stood at her own desk, eyes twinkling. “Nice to have met you, Ms. Wilcoff.”

“You, too,” Julie said, smiling weakly.

The elevator arrived. “This is your last chance, Fletcher!” she yelled.

“No, Julie,” her father said as he entered the elevator car. The doors slid closed. “This is your last chance. I don’t want you ever pulling anything like this again. Is that clear?”

She nodded. It was ridiculous to be chastised by her father at the age of thirty, but at the moment she felt more like twelve.

It seemed to take two lifetimes for the elevator to descend to the lobby. The silence was so tense it almost crackled—like static electricity. One glance at her father, who was the calmest man she’d ever known, told her he was furious.

“You will apologize,” he said just before the doors slid open.

She’d need to think about that.

“Your car’s going to be towed,” he announced without inflection. “You took a handicapped parking space and you know better.”

She resisted stamping her foot. Yes, she did know better.

“You can either wait for me to get off work to drive you home or you can take the bus. There’s one every half hour.”

Staying on Fletcher Industries property one second longer was intolerable. “I’d rather walk,” she muttered. It would help her work off some of her anger.

“I thought you might decide that.”

“He’s an unreasonable man, Dad.”

Her father didn’t answer. “Jason,” he said to the guard who’d first questioned her. “Until you hear otherwise, my daughter is banned from the building.”

Jason nodded grimly, as if to suggest she’d better not enter this lobby again, not on his watch. “Yes, sir!”

Great. If her father had anything to say about it, the next time she set foot on Fletcher property she’d likely be shot on sight.

Nine

Roy sat back down at his desk and for the first time in months—years—he burst out laughing. He laughed without restraint. Then he returned to work, stared at his computer screen and started to laugh all over again.

The phone rang and Ms. Johnson interrupted his laugh-fest. “Your mother’s on line one.”

His mother? Not until Roy picked up the receiver did he recall that he’d just seen her the week before. He generally heard from her once a month; any more often was unusual. She’d said something about wanting him to see one of her paintings, but he’d told her he’d do that on Christmas Day.

“Hello, Mom.”

The line was silent.

“Mom?”

“Roy, is that you? You don’t sound like yourself.”

“It’s me,” he said. “What’s up?”

“Are you …” She paused, apparently searching for the right word. “You’re not laughing, are you?”

“Laughing?” he repeated, trying to sober his voice. “I was earlier.”

“A joke?” she asked.

“Actually, it was a woman. Her father’s employed here and she stormed into my office filled with righteous indignation about some nonsense or other. I have to tell you, I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything funnier.” Humor overtook him again and he burst into waves of laughter as he described Julie’s outrage. Soon his mother was laughing, too. She seemed to find the scene as hilarious as he did.

“What can I do for you?” Roy asked as he wiped his eyes.

“I wanted to make arrangements to come and paint,” she said.

“I thought you wanted me to come to your house—to look at one of your paintings.”

She had him completely confused now. Did his mother believe he was going to let her do custodial work? “What do you want to paint?”

“The lobby windows,” she said as if it should be perfectly obvious. “Remember? We talked about this a couple of weeks ago. I’m going to paint a holiday scene on the lobby windows.”

In Roy’s opinion, Christmas wasn’t all that different from any other day of the year. He’d do his duty and spend it with his mother; they’d exchange gifts against a background of decorations that brought back painful memories for him—painful because they were good. The truth was, he no longer cared much for Christmas. The holidays didn’t even resemble what he’d once known, those warm, happy times, joking with his parents, feeling their love for him and for each other. That had been a façade, he now realized. His father had become cynical and jaded as the years passed. Roy hadn’t seen that until it was too late. Far too late.

“Oh, yes. Now that you’ve reminded me, I do remember. You can paint whatever you want, Mother,” he told her. “I’ve already let the security people know.”

“I have a wonderful idea.”

She started to detail her plans—something about angels—but he cut her off. “Mother, this isn’t the Sistine Chapel. Don’t worry about it.”

“I know, but … well, I was thinking I’d paint a religious scene with angels similar to the one in this painting I was telling you about. You wouldn’t mind that, would you?”

There was no point in arguing with her even if he did object. “All right, paint your angels. I’ll have the windows cleaned.”

Her appreciative sigh came over the telephone line. “Thank you, Roy. I’ll be there Wednesday.”

“Fine.”

“I’m not going to bother you,” she assured him. “You won’t even know I’m there.”

This seemed to be his day for dealing with irrational women. He could hear the determination in his mother’s voice. For whatever reason, she felt it was important to paint a Christmas scene, and not just any scene, either. But if painting angels on his windows made her happy, then he guessed there was no harm in it.

“Fine, Mother, come and do as you wish.”

“I promise you’re going to love my Christmas angels.”

Roy rolled his eyes. “I’m sure I will, Mother.”

She seemed to be in a chatty mood and went on about dinner with her college friend. “I’m not keeping you from anything, am I?” she asked after talking nonstop for several minutes. “I know how busy you are.”

For the first time in a very long while, Roy found he actually liked speaking to his mother—as much as he was capable of liking anything other than business. “It’s fine, Mom.”

For some reason, she seemed to get choked up over that and quickly ended the conversation. He replaced the receiver and stared down at his phone, hardly knowing what to make of his mother. Women. He’d never understand them.

Roy worked for another half hour and then realized he wasn’t in the mood. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to do, but he was leaving the office. Any file he needed could be accessed from the computer at his condo—a sprawling five-thousand-square-foot penthouse suite overlooking Lake Washington.

As Roy left the elevator and walked into the lobby, he saw a truck towing a vehicle away from the handicapped parking slot.

Jason, the security guard, wore a satisfied grin. “Ms. Wilcoff’s car,” he said, answering Roy’s unspoken question. “In her rush to get in to see you, she parked illegally. Her father wasn’t willing to make allowances.”

He was enjoying this more all the time. “Where is she?”

“Her father said she could either take the bus or wait until he was available to give her a ride. She decided to walk.”

That was exactly what Roy would have expected. “Any idea how much of a hike that is?” he asked.

Jason nodded. Grinning, he glanced down at the polished marble floor. “I think it’s about ten miles.”

A smile tempted Roy. “I see.”

“You can rest assured she won’t make it past me a second time, Mr. Fletcher. Her father’s banned her from the building, too, so you don’t have anything to worry about.”

“I appreciate that,” Roy said, pushing through the glass doors, but as he walked out of the building, he realized that wasn’t true. Despite everything, he’d enjoyed his encounter with Julie, reveled in it. He felt alive in ways he’d forgotten.

Roy turned back. “Do you know which direction she was headed?” he asked the guard.

Jason looked surprised. “North, I’d guess.”

“Thanks.” Roy was going south himself, but a small detour wouldn’t be amiss. He didn’t think she’d accept a ride, but he’d ask. Perhaps a brisk walk would help her vent her anger and make her a little more amenable to reaching some kind of agreement.

Roy drove a black Lincoln Continental with tinted glass. He could see out but no one could see in, which was precisely the way he wanted it. He exited onto the main street heading north and stayed in the right-hand lane. He drove a couple of miles, mildly impressed by how far she’d gotten. She’d made good time. Perhaps she’d grown tired and taken a bus. Or perhaps she’d hailed a taxi.

Then he saw her, walking at a quick pace, arms swinging at her sides. Roy reduced his speed to a crawl as he approached her. Traffic wove around him, some cars honking with irritation, but he ignored them and pulled up alongside Julie. With the touch of a button, the passenger-side window glided down.

She glanced in his direction and her eyes widened when she recognized him.

“Get in,” he said.

“Why should I?”

Time to play nice, he figured. “Please.”

She hesitated, then walked to the curb and leaned down to talk to him. “Give me one reason I should do anything you say.”

“I’ll drive you home.”

That didn’t appear to influence her. “I’m halfway there already.”

Horns blared behind him. “If you don’t hurry up and decide, I’ll get a traffic ticket.”

“Good. It’s what you deserve.”

“Julie, come on, be reasonable. I said please.”

She looked away and then capitulated. “Oh, all right.”

She certainly wasn’t gracious about it, but he felt thankful that she opened the passenger door without further ado and slid into the car. As he hit the gas, she fastened her seat belt.

“Give me your address,” he said.

Obediently she rattled off the street and house number.

Now that she was in the car, Roy couldn’t think of the right conversational gambit. He had no intention of meeting her demands and she apparently wasn’t interested in complying with his. Silly woman. With the stroke of a pen, she could be twenty-five thousand dollars richer, but she was too stubborn to do it. Perhaps she was looking for more.

“You don’t have anything to say?” she asked him after a moment.

“Nope. What about you?”

“Not a thing,” she returned testily.

He eased off the main thoroughfare and onto a quiet side street. It was a middle-class neighborhood of older homes, mostly small ramblers with a few brick houses interspersed among them, just enough to keep the neighborhood from being termed a development.

“Are you ready to listen to reason yet?” he asked as if he possessed limitless patience and was more than willing to wait her out.

“Are you ready to accept responsibility and write me an apology?”

“Not on your life.”

“I’m not signing that settlement offer, either,” she said, tossing him a saccharine smile. She exhaled sharply. “You can rest easy about one thing, however.”

He looked away from the road to glance at her.

“I can’t afford an attorney.”

Far be it from Roy to point out that in liability cases lawyers were more than happy to accept a chunk of the settlement. Generally it was a big chunk. “Sorry to hear that.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet you are.” She closed her eyes and leaned back.

Roy didn’t completely understand why, but he found himself not wanting to drop her off at her house; he wanted to continue driving so they could talk. “We should discuss it further. Perhaps we could reach a compromise.”

“Like what? I take twelve thousand five hundred dollars and you just apologize and don’t accept responsibility?”

“Something like that. Why don’t we have coffee and talk it over?”

Julie’s head snapped up. “You’re joking, right? Did I hear you invite me to coffee?”

“A gesture of peace and goodwill,” he said in a conciliatory tone. “I hear this is the season for it.”

“Oh, puh-leeze.” She crossed her arms. “Thanks but no thanks.”

Roy shrugged off her rejection, although he had to admit he was disappointed. “I was only trying to be helpful.”

“Were you?” Her eyes narrowed with suspicion.

“It’s no big deal.”

“You’re sincere?”

“Yes,” he said simply. He felt her scrutiny as he drove.

“Fine,” she agreed, “but I’d like to suggest we have coffee at my house.”

Roy pulled to a stop in front of the address she’d given him. It was a small, well-kept house, probably two bedrooms. Green shutters bordered the windows and a rocking chair sat on the front porch. Christmas lights were strung along the roofline.

“You have coffee on?” he asked.

“No, but I’ll make a pot.”

“Why not a restaurant? Neutral territory.”

“Because,” she said, and sighed heavily. “I’d feel more comfortable on home turf.”

He considered that. “Should I worry about being poisoned?”

“Hmm.” A smile teased the edges of her mouth. “That’s an interesting possibility.”

“Perhaps we can use this as a lesson in compromise,” he said.

“Compromise? How do you mean?”

“If I come onto your turf, we’ll order dinner and I’ll buy—”

Julie didn’t allow him to finish. “Dinner? I thought we were having coffee.”

“I’m hungry,” he said. “And we’ll eat in the security and comfort of your home.”

For a moment he was sure she was going to reject the idea; then she turned to him with a tentative smile. “All right. We’ll order pizza and I like anchovies.”

“Pizza it is. I like anchovies, too.” He’d never met a woman who did; once again she’d surprised him.

From the expression on her face, he wasn’t convinced she believed him.

“I’m just a regular guy, Julie.”

Muttering, “That’s what Benedict Arnold used to say,” she climbed out of the car and closed the door.

Roy joined her on the concrete walkway that led to the front steps. “I’m really not so bad, you know.”

“That remains to be seen, doesn’t it?”

He chuckled. “I guess it does. Friends?” He held out his hand.

She looked at his extended hand, sighed and gave him her own. “Don’t think this means I’m going to change my mind about the settlement check.”

“We’ll see about that,” he said as she inserted the key into the lock.

“Yes, we will,” she responded with equal determination.

Roy grinned. This might not be so bad. A girl who liked anchovies on her pizza was obviously reasonable some of the time.

Ten

Exhausted, Mercy flung herself onto a passing cloud. “This romance business is hard work,” she complained.

“But Julie’s having dinner with him.” For her part, Goodness felt encouraged. She had to give Dean Wilcoff’s daughter credit; Julie had spunk, which was something Goodness admired.

The young woman hadn’t been willing to accept Roy’s settlement because money wasn’t important to her. That was a rare human trait. The issue of earthly wealth confused Goodness. Money couldn’t buy the things that were truly important. Roy owned a fabulous condo on prime waterfront real estate. The three of them had gone to it and investigated, needing to learn what they could about him. Goodness had hardly ever visited a more beautifully decorated place, but it wasn’t a home. By the same token, Roy was surrounded by all kinds of people, employees and yes-men, but he had few friends. Those he’d once considered friends had drifted away out of neglect. While Roy was looked upon as rich, he was one of the poorest humans Goodness had ever seen.

“He likes Julie,” Shirley said with a rather smug smile.

“She amuses him.” Goodness wasn’t fooled. Roy had no real feelings for Julie. She wasn’t typical of the women he’d known and he wasn’t quite sure what to make of her. The laughter had been good for him. It had felt good, too, and that feeling had left him with the urge to laugh more. She suspected it was the reason he’d pursued Julie during her long walk home. Their shared pizza dinner had come about unexpectedly, and yet he was enjoying himself. They both were.

“Her stubbornness intrigues him,” Goodness added. “He can’t understand why she isn’t interested in the settlement.”

“Julie has principles,” Shirley announced, “and Roy hasn’t seen that in a woman in quite a while. Since before Aimee.”

Mercy agreed. “What should happen next?”

The other angels looked at Goodness as if she was the one with the answers. “How should I know?” She shrugged, as much at a loss as her friends. This relationship was a fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants affair. “I’m making this up as we go along.”

“Yes, but you’ve done such good work so far.”

“Me?” Goodness cried. “This is a team effort.” She peered down through the cloud cover and stared into the house below. “They’re eating their pizza now.”

“And talking,” Mercy noted with delight.

“No one seems to be yelling, either,” Shirley said. “That’s a good sign, don’t you think?”

Goodness nodded. “He should ask her out next,” she told the others, suddenly inspired. That seemed to be the most logical step. Not that she was convinced this relationship had much of a future.

“Out?” Mercy repeated. “You mean like on a date?”

“Yes, a date. He implied that he was interested in getting her on neutral turf, remember?” That was the way humans generally did those things, Goodness reasoned, because then no one had an unfair advantage. She gave a rueful grin. Humans tended to be so competitive….