The Man Under The Mistletoe

Matt, opening his suitcase on the bed, turned to the boy, wondering if it hurt him to think about his father. But Chase simply smiled and pointed to two plastic hangers. “Those are from my room.”

Chase had been only six at the time, and two years was probably like an eternity in the life of a child. He seemed remarkably well adjusted for a boy who’d endured such tragedy and was now growing up in the same house with Sonny.

He was sure Sonny was a good woman. Though she didn’t relate to her daughters very well, Francie’s free spirit particularly, he had no doubt she loved them. And she’d always been kind and welcoming to him since the first time Rosie had brought him home. But she was the stiff and slightly superior product of a privileged background and a life he guessed had turned out to be less than she’d hoped for.

She had appeared to have everything—beautiful home, handsome and successful children, an intelligent and successful husband loved by everyone. But there was always a certain disappointment in her eyes and in her manner, and everyone who loved her seemed willing to assume the blame for it.

That had always intrigued him. He’s been an only child in the most dysfunctional family this side of a Jerry Springer marathon. His father had been addicted to drugs, his mother an alcoholic, and by the time he’d been taken away by the state at fourteen and put in foster care, his father was in prison for armed robbery. His mother died of liver failure not long afterward.

But he’d never felt responsible for his parents’ lives the way the Erickson offspring felt responsible for their parents. Maybe it was because he hadn’t loved his. He’d wanted to, but neither had been sober or conscious long enough for him to really get to know them well enough to love them. Their bodies had been present, but no mind or heart for him to connect with.

He’d grown up strong and self-sufficient, and mercifully philosophical about coping with the life he’d been given. But he’d been lonely. Sometimes very lonely. Then he’d met Rosie at a party and everything had changed. Life was no longer simply acceptable, but happy, fun, filled with hope. He’d moved to Maple Hill and gone to work for the Mirror.

And then he’d lost it all again. He didn’t think he was to blame, but he had kept secrets from Rosie. When her emotional distance had made it impossible even to talk to her, he’d taken his secrets and left.

The move had seemed like the noble thing to do at the time, but he’d wondered since if it had really been cowardice.

That was something he intended to find out while he was here.

Matt hung up the few things he’d brought, put socks and underwear in the highboy, then put a pair of dress shoes and his bag in the bottom of the closet.

“What’s in here?” Chase asked, handing him the briefcase he’d carried up.

“My laptop,” he replied, “and some stories I’m working on.” He took the briefcase and placed it beside the bag.

“But that’s work.”

“Yes. I thought if I needed something to do…”

“But it’s Aunt Francie’s wedding. Grandma says she’s going to work everybody like slaves until it’s over.” The boy grinned happily. “Then she’s going away for a while and Aunt Rosie’s going to move in and stay with me until Grandma comes back. We’re gonna go to the movies and have pizza and take long walks around the lake. And sometimes she’s going to take me to the new arcade.”

“Sounds like fun.” Long walks around the lake had once been his and Rosie’s specialty. They’d identified all the flora and fauna around the lake, had loved spotting any new ones. “But right now I guess it’s just you and me.”

“That’s cool, too,” Chase said with enough enthusiasm to convince Matt that he meant it.

At the Breakfast Barn, they found a booth near a window. Rita Robidoux, a redheaded, middle-aged woman who always knew what was happening in Maple Hill and why, brought them menus and glasses of water.

“Well, will you look who’s here!” she exclaimed, grinning broadly at Matt. “Prue and Gideon Hale just got back together, you know. And now you just appear like a miracle. Goes to show you love’s catching. Where’s Rosie?”

“Hi, Rita.” Matt smiled into her welcoming face. “That’s great about Prue and Gideon. I read that she had a fashion show in Boston. But unfortunately, unlike them, Rosie and I are still separated. I’m just here for Francie’s wedding.”

Rita nodded skeptically over her order pad as though she knew better. “Yeah, that’s how it starts. Gideon came through on his way to Alaska and, well, you see how that turned out.”

“That’s them, Rita. This is Rosie and me.” He shook his head. “So, what’s the special?”

“Sirloin tips over noodles, comes with soup or salad and a roll. Or chicken-fried steak. Same deal.”

Matt consulted Chase.

Chase handed Rita his menu. “Hot buffalo wings, please, with blue-cheese dipping sauce, and…” He paused and turned to Matt. “It comes with celery, but I don’t like that. I usually get a side of coleslaw, but that’s extra.”

“And a side of coleslaw for my friend,” Matt told Rita. “Same for me, except that I like the celery.”

She wrote quickly. “Okay. And to drink?”

“Coffee, please. Chase?”

“Banana shake.”

“Wait a minute.” Matt stopped Rita’s hand before she could write that down. He leaned toward Chase and asked quietly, “Are you sure?”

Chase beamed. “I have hot wings all the time and I never get sick. I’m eight now, you know.”

Matt noticed the careful wording. “But does Grandma let you have a banana shake with them?”

“Grandma doesn’t come here. I come with Aunt Rosie.” His beam dimmed. “She never lets me have a banana shake. But I’d really like to have one now.”

“What if you get sick?”

Chase shrugged his bony shoulders. “Then I’ll still have had my two favorite things together.”

That was logical and rather profound; he was willing to pay for what he wanted. Matt found it hard to argue with such a sane philosophy.

“Okay. Banana shake,” he told Rita.

“Okay,” Rita said. “Be back with your drinks in a minute.”

“How’s school?” Matt asked. Rita returned almost immediately with the coffeepot and filled his cup. “Are you in third grade now?”

“Yes.” Chase made a face. “Multiplication tables. Yuck. But art is fun. I made Grandma a bill holder out of paper plates, and I glued a picture of me and my dad on it. She misses him a lot.”

Matt looked into his nephew’s open face and saw the sadness there. “You miss him, too?”

Chase nodded as he opened out his paper napkin. “Yeah. But Grandma doesn’t like to talk about him. Aunt Rosie does, though. Did you know that she used to ride on the handlebars of his bicycle when they were little? You’re not supposed to do that, but sometimes they did it anyway ’cause they were late for dinner and only Dad had a bike. Aunt Rosie almost drowned when she borrowed the bike and tried to ride it into the lake.”

Matt smiled. He’d heard that story. Water levels had been way down and a precocious seven-year-old Rosie had thought that meant the whole lake was knee deep. “Yeah, your dad told me,” he said.

Chase looked pensive for a moment. “Sometimes I miss him a lot, but then it’s okay ’cause I loved him very much and he really loved me. Aunt Rosie says not everybody gets that, so you have to be happy that you had it.”

“That’s right.” Matt wondered if that meant she’d come to terms with the losses in her own life or if she was just giving her nephew advice that she knew would help him cope.

Chase’s banana shake arrived with a large dollop of whipped cream on top, a little, round slice of banana sticking in it. The boy suddenly lost interest in the conversation.

ROSIE WAS PERCHED on a stool at a small bar in the kitchen, watching the news on a tiny television, when they came home. There was a bowl of cereal in front of her and a cup of tea. She slipped off the stool to give Chase a hug.

“Did you have a good time, Chaseter?” she asked.

“We had dinner,” he replied, sending Matt a look that asked him to honor the male code of silence about the banana shake. “Then we went to the store ’cause Uncle Matt forgot his toothbrush.” He held up the battery-operated toothbrush with a Nemo figure on the top that he’d exclaimed over and Matt had felt compelled to buy. “And look what I got!”

She admired it, then handed it back. “Cool. You should get to your homework, Chase.”

He rolled his eyes and blew air noisily. “But Uncle Matt’s only here for two days and I have to go to school tomorrow, then it’s the wedding, and then—”

“His room is right across from yours. I’m sure he’ll be happy to look in on you and say good night.”

“Maybe he could tuck me in tonight instead of you.” Chase turned to Matt hopefully.

Matt nodded. “Of course. I’ll be in my room working on a story. Just come and get me.”

Rosie looked just a little injured, but smiled at Chase when he hurried off. The smile vanished, though, when she turned off the television with the remote and confronted Matt. “You let him have a banana shake, didn’t you? I saw that guy look pass between you.”

What the innocent Chase didn’t know, Matt thought, was that women had long ago broken every code men had developed to keep things to themselves. “Yes, I did,” he replied calmly. “If he gets sick during the night, you’ll be back in the guest house and I’ll be right across the hall from him. So I don’t see that you have anything to worry about.”

“Except the very fact that you let him do something you’re pretty sure will make him sick,” she said judiciously.

“He made the choice,” Matt argued calmly, “and understood that was a possibility. He said he didn’t care because then he’d have had his two favorite things together.”

“As the adult…” she countered, drawing closer to him. She did it only in anger, but it revved his pulse, anyway “…you’re supposed to help him understand that he should do what’s best for him.”

“Considering he’s an orphan living with a bunch of women who love him very much but are all a little eccentric and overprotective, I thought the momentary pleasure of having hot buffalo wings and a banana shake together was better for him than ordering something sensible.”

“You always have made decisions the easy way,” she accused.

He was in little doubt what she meant. When she tried to turn away from him to go back to her cereal, he caught her wrist to hold her there. He saw anger flare in her eyes, but he thought he caught a glimpse of something else for an instant. Then it was gone.

“If I made decisions the easy way,” he said, holding on to her when she tried to pull free, “I’d have made an excuse when Francie called and asked me to come. But I’m here. I knew you’d take every opportunity to blame everything that happened on me, but I came, anyway.”

“I hate you, Matthew DeMarco,” she said feelingly.

She looked and sounded completely sincere. But he knew her. He heard that subtle, sad little sound under the harsh declaration, felt the energy in her body drawing her to him even as she tried to pull away.

“No,” he corrected. “I don’t think you do.”

She yanked away from him and stormed off.

He knew her. That didn’t mean he understood her.

CHAPTER THREE

IN THE FRONT ROOM of her shop, surrounded by the male members of the wedding party, Rosie studied the fit of their tuxes. Though Derek and his brother had been carefully measured for them, and Matt had assured her in a fax that his measurements for the tux he wore at their wedding remained the same, she wanted to be sure there were no last-minute surprises.

Despite the animosity between them, she could appreciate how wonderful Matt looked in his tux. Not only did he have the ideal broad-shouldered and lean-hipped frame, but his rugged good looks were lent an urbane maturity she didn’t remember in him.

On the job, he’d always been rough and ready, no subject too mighty or intimidating to tackle, no detail too small to track down. At home, he’d worn old jeans and sweatshirts while he worked on the house, the lawn, the car. That was what had appealed to her about him in the beginning—he’d been an intellectual with the body of a quarterback.

Francie’s groom, Derek, on the other hand, was tall and very slender, and the tux gave a sort of polish to his thin-faced, bespectacled self. His brother, Corin, an inch shorter, more thickly built and five years married, was so cheerful and funny that he’d have looked good no matter what he wore.

“Everyone comfortable?” Rosie asked, walking around them, checking length of sleeves, leg, and smoothness across the shoulder.

“No,” Derek complained, pulling on the small bow tie at his neck. “I wanted to get married on the beach in shorts and sandals.”

“It’s December in western Massachusetts,” she reminded him, pulling his arm down to see if she could adjust the tie. “There’s no beach and there’s snow on the ground. You’d freeze to death.”

He tipped his head backward while she worked. “I was thinking in terms of Florida or Hawaii. But Francie thought getting married somewhere else might upset your mother.”

“I couldn’t have flown to Hawaii, anyway.” Corin did a turn in the three-way mirror. “I have a mortgage and pediatrician bills.” His many reflections grinned at his brother. “I’m sure you wouldn’t have wanted to get married without me.”

“True. Ah, that’s better.” Derek breathed a little easier as Rosie loosened his tie. “I’m sure this is best, all in all. I just hate the fuss, you know?”

“Women are about fuss,” Corin said as Rosie drew him forward to stand beside Derek. “You’d better just resign yourself to that now. And once you have children, there’s no going back, fusswise.”

Rosie tuned out the children remark, refusing to let her brain hold on to it, and did one last walk around the men to make sure everything was perfect. But she was aware of Matt shifting his weight, and when she walked around them to stand back and take in their appearance one last time, she noted the grim line of his jaw, his unfocused gaze.

When she stood in front of him, he refocused on her, and for one split second they looked into each other’s eyes. She saw his pain and knew that he saw hers, though she tried not to feel it. But, however unwittingly, they shared the moment.

Then Corin went on about teething and sleeplessness and the moment was gone.

“You all look very handsome,” Rosie said finally. “And contrary to what usually happens, your tuxes seem to be perfect fits. Take them with you, but please don’t let them get rumpled.”

“What time’s the rehearsal dinner tonight?” Corin asked. “Katie’s excited about a night out without the kids.”

“Seven o’clock,” Derek replied. “Yankee Inn. Same place we’re having the reception, just in a smaller room.”

“Right. Okay.”

Corin and Derek went back into two of the three dressing rooms. As Matt headed toward the third, Rosie noticed what appeared to be a small split in the seam of one of the sleeves. She stopped him with a hand on his arm. She was so into her wedding-planner mode that she forgot for a moment what touching him might do to her.

As she explored the split seam to see if it went through to the lining, she felt the hard ridge of his shoulder, the warmth through the fabric of the flesh and blood that covered it. She saw the broad expanse of his back, the wiry dark hair at his nape, the shirt’s starched, white collar pressing into his neck.

Though he didn’t move a muscle, she was suddenly aware of the tension in him. For a moment she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t speak. Finally, impatient with herself, she dropped her hand from his arm and said a little sharply, “The collar looks tight. It’s cutting into your neck.”

“Formal clothes are always uncomfortable,” he replied quietly, turning to her, her change of mood noted in his eyes. “It’s not as though I’ll be in the tux that long.”

“Still, it doesn’t have to be uncomfortable. I’ll have a larger one overnighted to the house from Boston. You told me your measurements hadn’t changed.”

He shrugged. “I’ve been working out a little, but all my regular clothes fit.”

“Yes, well, so many fabrics have stretch and give today that you probably wouldn’t have noticed. Just leave the tux in the dressing room so I can fix that small tear.” She paused. “Uh, do you remember where the Yankee Inn is?”

“Of course.”

“Francie will expect to see you there.”

“I’ll be there. Want me to drive?”

“I’ll be working late, so I’ll leave from here. But you can drive Mom, Aunt Ginger and Chase.”

He accepted that for the dubious honor it was. “I don’t suppose you’re going to want to dance with me once we get there.”

“No, I won’t.” She thought she sounded firm, though she was still a little unsettled by his nearness, and surprised that he’d even suggest they dance. “Please save us both the embarrassment of doing anything to make it look as though we’ve remained friends.”

“Then please don’t touch me anymore,” he said with the same firmness. “And how is it going to look to the wedding guests if we’re at war throughout the day tomorrow?”

“We won’t be at war,” she argued. “We just won’t be…in contact.”

It wasn’t until Derek cleared his throat that she realized he and his brother were standing nearby and had probably heard most of what she and Matt had said.

“Just wanted to say thanks,” Derek said quickly, doing his best to pretend they hadn’t heard anything. “Anything I can do to take some of the burden off you?”

Rosie was momentarily distracted from Matt by Derek’s sweetness. Francie was a lucky girl. “I think everything’s under control. Just hang up the tux, and be ready on time tomorrow.”

“You got it. See you tonight.” Derek and Corin left, and silence fell over the shop.

Matt eased out of the jacket and handed it to her. “I know this isn’t the time for it, but I want to sort through what happened between us and try to figure out where we lost each other.”

“There’s no going back,” she said. But she took the jacket from him and clutched it to her. He wondered if the small gesture spoke of what she truly felt but wouldn’t allow herself to say.

“I don’t want to go back,” he assured her. “Believe it or not, there’s as much pain there for me as there is for you. But if we put effort into it, maybe there’s a way ahead.”

He saw the smallest flare of hope in her eyes. Or maybe he wanted to see hope so much that what he saw was merely the reflection of his own hope.

“You left me,” she said. Her free arm closed over the one holding the jacket. She was creating the creases she’d warned against.

“You no longer wanted me,” he said, feeling a little crazy that she didn’t remember it that way. He strained for patience. “You have to stop blaming me for what was ultimately your fault. You hated me, but for what? I didn’t do anything. Unless it was just that I was still alive and our daughter and all the other men you loved were dead.”

She looked stricken but didn’t seem to know how to respond.

“It doesn’t get us anywhere to go over that old ground,” he finally added. “Let’s just agree to talk about it after the wedding.”

She met his gaze, then seemed to realize what she was doing to the jacket. She held it in front of her and shook it out in disgust. “I don’t want to,” she said finally. “Thanks for driving the family to the dinner. I have to go fix this. Excuse me.”

He’d been with her long enough to know that when argument turned to polite dismissal, there was little point in continuing. She’d frozen up, turned off. He went into the claustrophobic little room, changed into his own clothes, hung up the slacks, placed all the other accessories on the bench and left the shop.

THE REHEARSAL DINNER was an exercise in charm and good manners. The Yankee Inn had been decorated for the holidays with chunky garlands wound with lights, huge Christmas trees in the lobby and the banquet room, and festive table linens.

All the guests did their best to be amenable. Even the outspoken Aunt Ginger engaged Corin’s wife, Kate, in pleasant conversation. Sonny captivated Derek’s parents with stories about Francie and the amusing things she and her siblings had done as children.

Francie tried to listen, but Rosie seemed determined to distract her with a brochure featuring all the highlights she could expect to see on her honeymoon in Bermuda. Rosie wore a simple purple suit, her hair loose and full, the sight of it almost more than Matt could bear. She tossed it a lot, and he knew that to mean she was acting. This good cheer was all for Francie’s benefit.

The only tense moment of the evening came when Derek’s mother asked if Matt’s presence at the wedding meant they were together again.

“No,” Rosie replied politely. “Matt and Francie have always had a great affection for each other, and with our father gone, he was the logical choice to walk her down the aisle.”

Mrs. Page frowned. “Isn’t that awkward for you?”

“Not at all,” Rosie lied, then tucked her arm in his to prove her point, and walked him onto the dance floor.

He hesitated before taking her into his arms. “I thought you didn’t want to dance with me.”

She placed her hand firmly on his shoulder. “I don’t, but I didn’t know where else to take you. I want everything to be perfect for Francie.”

“So you keep saying, but what about how things should be for you?”

She seemed surprised that he’d asked such a question. He had to forestall what he was sure would be her response.

“If you say, why should I care because I left you,” he warned, “I swear I’ll kiss you senseless right here in front of God and everybody.”

She took his hand and forced him into a dance attitude. “Then I’d say dancing is the lesser of two evils.”

Taking her into his arms was so easy. Her hand on the shoulder of his sports jacket, her fragrant hair skimming his nose, her slender body in his arms. Everything was dearly familiar.

Painful as hell, but dearly familiar.

She did, however, hold herself rather stiffly tonight, when she used to lean into him trustingly, comfortably. She’d always been warm and invitingly physical, even in a crowd, touching him, bumping against him, whispering things to him, her lips and her cheek touching his. He wanted that back with a desperation he struggled not to show.

But he’d been the one to admit there was no going back. They couldn’t recapture even the best parts of the old days. They had to find a new way to connect, another method of communication.

He splayed his left hand between her shoulder blades and applied enough pressure to bring their bodies into contact.

“Matthew…” she warned under her breath.

“Relax, Roseanne. It’s just a dance. That’s all life is. That’s all love is.”

“I’m not…” She tried to wedge some distance between them, but he thought the effort a little halfhearted, so he held on to her.

He lowered his head until his cheek rested against the side of her temple. “You’re still a warm and vital woman. The three most important people in your life may have died, but you didn’t. Just let yourself be alive for the space of this dance.”

“I…don’t want to dance,” she complained, but she’d stopped pulling away.

“You led me to the dance floor,” he reminded her.

She said in a breathless whisper, “There was nowhere else to go.”

He held her closer. “That’s right. Until the music stops, just pretend you belong right here.”

To his amazement, she did. “Embraceable You” played on, mellow and torchy, and when it was finally over, she drew out of his arms with seeming reluctance. Her eyes brimmed with unshed tears, and all he knew for sure was that she considered him responsible for those tears. That was fine with him, he thought, watching her hurry off the dance floor toward the ladies’ room. He’d become familiar with assuming the blame.