Home For Christmas
“Dad! Did you see me?” Titus hurried up to Adam and flung his arms around his waist.
Adam smoothed Titus’s thick black hair away from his forehead and looked down into his eager crystal-blue eyes. His son looked exactly like Adam had when he was “nearly six”—minus the glasses. “I did! And you were the best. You did great.”
“Thanks, Dad.” Titus hugged him again.
Timmy Bosworth rushed up to Sarah, along with his eleven-year-old sister, Annie.
“Mom,” Annie said. “Can I take Charlotte backstage to see Mrs. Cook?”
Sarah narrowed her eyes. “Why does Mrs. Cook want to see your baby sister?”
Annie glanced sheepishly at Titus, who had a conspiratorial expression. “Um. I told her Charlotte could play piano.”
Charlotte squirmed out of Sarah’s arms. “I can play!”
Annie reached for Charlotte’s hand. “Mom?”
“Oh, fine. Go.” Sarah acquiesced.
Adam watched as Annie and Charlotte bounded up the stage steps. Titus said, “Charlotte should think about her future career. Like me.”
Adam jerked his head back. This was news to him. “And that would be…what?”
Titus looked at Timmy, who elbowed him for encouragement. Timmy and Titus were close, now that Titus was in kindergarten. Timmy had taken Titus under his wing, and when Adam had been immersed in a geothermal energy construction project, or if he’d had to drive to Chicago to meet with a prospective client, Sarah generously watched Titus at her house. Adam didn’t know how Sarah juggled three children, a creatively demanding career as a busy commercial design consultant, the summer fund-raising festival for Saint Mark’s and volunteer work for the new Indian Lake Community Center.
Too often, Adam was caught spending late-night hours at his computer rather than doing the laundry, making costumes for Titus or thinking about things like Thanksgiving and Christmas holidays. The only thing that broke his focus on work was caring for Titus. His son was his joy.
“I’ve had a revelation, Dad,” Titus said seriously.
Adam crossed his arms over his chest and glanced at Sarah, who smiled at Titus. “Go on.”
“I liked working on this pageant and I think I want to go into the theater business.”
Adam coughed and held his fist to his mouth. This was not what he’d thought his brilliant son would say. He’d imagined that Titus would want to follow in his footsteps. Become an engineer or a physicist. Titus was smart and quick and liked working alongside him on his local projects. Just last week Titus had gone with him to Frank Boston’s greenhouse, where Adam had been installing a new geothermal heating unit.
“Theater? You mean you want to be an actor?”
“No, Dad. Timmy’s gonna be an actor. I want to write plays. Like I did for Mrs. Cook.”
Adam’s eyes snapped to Sarah, who shook her head. “What did you write, son?”
“My speech. I did the research, which was interesting. And enlightening.”
Adam mouthed “enlightening.” He was continually surprised at Titus’s vocabulary. He’d bought Titus a dictionary and thesaurus six months ago. He wondered if Titus had read them both cover to cover. “Well, we’ll have to talk about it.”
Titus’s smile vanished. “You always say that and we never do.”
Sarah’s eyebrow arched. She put her hand on Timmy’s shoulder. “Let’s go find your sisters.”
“Sure, Mom.”
She gave Adam a quick hug. “I’m guessing I’ll see you at Frank’s funeral?”
Adam had known Sarah and her group of friends since high school. Adam had been the nerdy guy in high school, wading through CAD programs, tinkering with machines and engines.
Adam had never known his parents, who gave him up for adoption to a church-affiliated foster home only weeks after his birth. They’d left him in a car seat at Pastor Flutie’s front door with a note giving his birth date and name, which Adam always believed was fictitious. Years ago, Adam had tried to track down information about his birth parents, but the time and money he’d spent were wasted.
Pastor Flutie and his wife, Martha, were good people and raised him, along with over thirty other children who didn’t have parents and had come their way.
Though they’d clothed and fed him, given him attention, Adam had always kept to himself. He didn’t voice opinions often, and when he did, he made certain he had all his facts.
Adam had always wanted a family. He’d envied the close-knit Barzonni family and Sarah’s loving mother, Ann-Marie, and he’d been there for Sarah when both her parents died.
Sarah had been a good friend to him ever since he’d come back to town, after Amie died of leukemia. Sarah and Luke had included Titus, and their friendship meant a great deal to him. But he was also careful not to ask too much of them.
Sarah touched Adam’s sleeve. “Look, I know how close you were to Frank…”
Adam felt the emotion in his throat grow hot. He choked it back. “He was like my own grandfather.”
“I know. He loved you, Adam. You did so much for him these past years.”
“I should have done more.”
“Come on. You were with him when he died. If you hadn’t been there… Calling the ambulance. Staying with him at the hospital until…” Sarah’s eyes filled with tears. “It’s so hard.”
Sarah had been through a great deal of grief herself. He touched her hand. It was ice-cold. “I’m sorry, Sarah. All this must remind you of your parents. They were good people.”
“The best. They liked you a lot, Adam.”
“You don’t have to say that. I was such a…dork.”
“Stop. Okay?” She looked down at Titus, who watched them both with serious, probing eyes. “I gotta go. Let me know about the funeral. I’m guessing the family will take care of everything.”
Adam shoved his hands in his jeans’ pockets. “That would be Joy.”
“Oh…my…gosh. Adam. I forgot. I’m sorry. Mrs. Beabots called her and broke the news. Have you talked to Joy?”
“Not since she left for college.” Ten years ago, Joy had been his girlfriend. Adam had given her a promise ring the day before they’d started their senior year in high school. That same day he’d received a letter from Purdue University that he’d won a full-ride scholarship for engineering. Adam had believed that he and Joy would spend the rest of their lives together. She’d promised to love him.
For a foster kid with no love in his life, Joy had been all he’d ever wanted. He was the one who dreamed of a cottage by Indian Lake with a rose-covered fence. He’d envisioned kids and a dog and a life of happiness.
All that year after school, Adam had gone to the Boston greenhouses to work until supper alongside Joy and her Frank. Frank had been the kind of grandfather Adam thought came along only in fairy tales. He gave Adam a few extra dollars to take Joy to a movie or out for a pizza. He loaned Adam his truck to drive them all out to the beach in the summer. Frank had been father, grandfather, mentor and adviser. Where Pastor Flutie had lacked in practical and business guidance, Frank filled in the blanks.
“He was family to me,” Adam whispered, trying desperately not to show the emotion he felt so sharply.
Sarah leaned closer. “I didn’t mean to open that wound.”
“It’s okay. Joy left. She wanted Columbia, her accounting degree and life in New York.” He shrugged his shoulders. “And she got it.”
“She did.” Sarah paused. “When I talked to Mrs. Beabots this morning, she said Joy’s coming back here to arrange the funeral.”
“Of course. Mrs. Beabots talked to Joy…”
“I know, right? Mrs. Beabots keeps up with the whereabouts of all of us. I suppose Frank had told her where Joy worked.”
“Newly and Associates,” Adam said.
“Yeah.” Sarah eyed him, but continued. “She’s flying out of New York today.”
“Today,” he repeated. His heart shook. Joy, who had told him she didn’t want the same things out of life that he did. She wanted to leave Indian Lake and never come back. She wanted a life in New York with hustle and noise and excitement.
She didn’t want him.
She’d given him back his promise ring and told him she was going to Columbia University. She never answered a phone call or an email after she moved.
By the end of Adam’s freshman year, Frank told him that Joy had made it clear that Frank could visit her in New York, where she’d arranged for internships in the summers, but she never wanted to see Indian Lake, her parents’ graves or any of the people of the town, whom she blamed for the car accident that killed them both.
The cut that had hurt Adam the most was the fact that Joy never gave him the chance to comfort her. She never turned to him. The pain of those days was still with him.
Adam had met physicist Amie his senior year at Purdue. She was pretty and bright and they shared common interests. She’d got pregnant on their honeymoon in Chicago. They’d had little money back then, which had bothered Adam. In two years, his midnight “tinkerings” had resulted in patents for his geothermal plans and then sales of the units themselves. Two years after Titus was born, Amie was diagnosed with leukemia. The progression was fast.
“It worked out in the end. I have Titus.”
“We all adored Amie. And Titus is a true blessing. I love every minute he’s around.” She looked at Titus. “I really have, honey.”
“Thanks, Miss Sarah,” Titus said, slipping his hand into Adam’s.
“Speaking of which,” Sarah went on. “Why not let Titus come home with Timmy and the girls and me? Miss Milse is making pies for Thanksgiving. The kids can play video games while you get your errands done.”
“Are you sure? I mean, I don’t want to impose.”
“Dad.” Titus yanked on his hand. “Please? Can I go?”
Adam had to smile. “It’s not much fun hauling cement and nails around, is it, Titus?”
“Not really and the building supply place is so dreary.”
“Dreary.” Adam grinned. Another new word. He wondered if he shouldn’t buy a second thesaurus for himself, to keep up with his brilliant son. No wonder the kid wanted to write plays.
“So? Can I?”
“Sure.” He ruffled Titus’s hair and dislodged the Pilgrim hat. Titus righted it, smiling at his dad. “Thanks for this, Sarah. I really have a lot to do at the greenhouses. For Frank.”
“I know.” She held out her hand to Titus. “C’mon, honey.”
“Titus,” Adam said. “Get your coat and zip it up this time. Don’t forget your knit cap. It’s getting cold outside.”
“Dad. I know.” Titus pouted.
“And you mind Miss Milse. Don’t poke your finger in the pies, and stay away from her Cuisinart.”
“I know, Dad. Sharp knives. Mixers. All off-limits.”
Sarah laughed. “He’ll be okay.”
“I know. I know. It’s just…”
“Hard to be mom and dad?” she asked.
“Something like that.”
“Okay. Let’s go find the girls.” She started to walk away. She looked over her shoulder. “Just text me when you’re on your way to pick him up.”
“I will. Thanks again.”
“No worries.” Titus and Timmy raced ahead of her, both boys yelling for Annie and Charlotte.
Adam chuckled to himself, leaned down and grabbed his sheepskin jacket and slipped it on. Most of the parents and children had left by the front doors to the auditorium. Adam found a couple folded playbills that Mrs. Cook had printed up. He’d come in late, a bad workaholic habit, so he hadn’t grabbed a playbill earlier.
As he started up the aisle, he noticed Titus’s name in bold print. Above his name was that of Mrs. Mary-Catherine Cook.
Above that was the title: PLAYWRIGHT.
Adam halted. “Titus’s teacher gave him writing credit for his little speech.” He was both awed and humbled.
His son was growing up far too quickly. And he wasn’t ready for it.
He put the playbill in his inner jacket breast pocket and walked out into the November cold.
He wasn’t ready for a lot of things. Titus growing up. Frank dying. And he especially wasn’t ready to see Joy again.
CHAPTER THREE
JOY HAD JUST deplaned at O’Hare Airport when her cell phone rang. “Hello, darling.”
“Darling? Who’s that?”
“That would be you, Chuck. Us being engaged and all, I was thinking we should have endearments for each other.”
“I don’t like it.”
“How about ‘baby’?”
“Nope.”
“Sweetie? Cutie? Chuckie?” she joked.
“Don’t go there. Look, Joy. Seriously, talk to me. The Taylor account…”
She shouldered her way into the throng of people moving toward baggage claim. “The Taylor account is on your desk. I sent an email to Lessings Acoustics, too. They’ll contact you directly. Until I get back.”
“When will that be?”
“I don’t know, but not long.”
“This is putting a lot on me, you know,” he groused.
Joy rolled her eyes. Looking up, she saw huge Christmas wreaths above the concourse. An enormous Christmas tree with thousands of lights rivaled the Rockefeller tree. Surrounding the bottom of the tree was a sea of lush, tropical poinsettias.
Joy pulled to a stop, her roller bag banging the backs of her legs. She felt the jagged edge of sorrow in her heart as hundreds of loving moments with her grandfather flashed across her mind’s eye. Her head dipped, and she let her tears drop to the terrazzo floor. She pulled out a tissue and blew her nose, remembering that Chuck was still on the phone.
“Joy? Joy? What’s going on?”
“Sorry. Big crowds.” She glanced up at the signs directing her to baggage claim. It would have been easy to fall apart, but she needed, no—had to stay strong now. She couldn’t lean on Chuck.
“So, how long till you get to Indian Lake?”
“An hour and a half. I hired an Uber.”
“Call me from the car. I have half a dozen more accounts to go over with you.”
“Sure.”
Chuck hung up without another word. Joy got on the down escalator. She held the phone up to see that the call had ended.
“I love you, too, Chuck.”
Joy shoved the phone in her purse and saw the Uber driver at the bottom of the escalator, holding a sign with her name on it.
She walked up to him. “Hi! I’m Joy Boston.”
The middle-aged man nodded. “I’m Roy. Happy to see you. I’ll take your bags for you. Do you have more luggage to claim?”
“No, this is it. I won’t be staying long.”
“Oh, that’s a pity,” Roy said, as he politely ushered her toward the outer door.
“Why’s that?”
“Indian Lake is so lovely at the holidays. So many decorations and activities. The Christmas Concert. The symphony. The children’s Christmas pageant. The caroling parties. The Candlelight Tour…”
They walked outside to the cold. “They still have all that?”
“Of course. I take my grandson to the Christmas parade every year, and then we mail his letter to Santa at the Elf Mail Station.” They walked to Roy’s black SUV, and he put her bags in the back as she got in the back seat.
As much as Joy had struggled to make a new life for herself in New York, with new friends and new holiday traditions, the old days and the old ways of celebrating flooded her.
Just thinking about Indian Lake released anger she hadn’t felt in years. Anger toward the townspeople for their apathy—laziness that directly caused her parents’ car accident. She hadn’t been able to forgive them then or now. The pain of her long-ago scars resonated in her. She would go to town, do her duty, find a buyer for the greenhouse and leave as quickly as possible.
She forced her mind to redirect to happier times.
She remembered her mother and father working alongside her, tending the poinsettias. The week before Thanksgiving, enormous delivery trucks would roll into the parking lot and they’d unload red, pink and white beauties. Just thinking about those gorgeous tropical flowers caused Joy to wish for faraway adventures, sandy beaches and palm trees, places she’d planned to explore with…
“Adam.”
She sat up straight.
Adam hadn’t crossed her mind once since she’d got the news of her grandfather’s death. But there he was. She remembered his wide shoulders, his thick raven hair and how he’d forget to cut it, so it would hang down, nearly covering half his face as he worked furiously on yet another machine that never reached “functionality.”
She’d known Adam was smart and was convinced he hadn’t yet found his groove. She’d urged him on, believing his genius would pay off one day. The time when he’d lost the state science fair championship, he’d been despondent and distant, but Joy had kissed away his tears and forced him to envision a golden future filled with success. He said he believed her.
They’d had a romantic senior year together, stealing kisses in the greenhouses. Learning how to cross-pollinate and hybridize poinsettias from her grandfather. Going to summer concerts in the park and dancing at the beach under the stars—with Adam humming a song to her. He’d given her a gold promise ring and told her he wished he was rich enough for a diamond. At the time, she hadn’t cared.
I loved him.
Those days with Adam had been the most romantic of her life. Idyllic days—until her parents died.
She looked out the window at the nude maple trees along the interstate. The ground was barren of flowers; the grass was frozen. The sky was the same depressing slate-gray, promising snow flurries or rain.
She felt gray inside without her grandfather, just as she had after her parents’ deaths. Grief’s fingerprint was a deep one. She wondered if she’d ever feel sunny again.
She looked down at her gloved hands and remembered a winter day once when she’d forgotten her gloves and Adam had walked her to the greenhouses after school. He’d taken both her hands in his, rubbed them until they were pink and warm again, and then he’d given her his too-big gloves to wear. He’d pulled her close as the wind whipped around them.
“I’ll always keep you warm,” he’d said.
“Ditto,” she’d replied.
“In fact, I’d like to be the one who discovers cheap energy to keep all the world warm. No one should go cold,” he’d said.
“That’s what you want to do? Save the world from freezing?”
“It’s a tall order, but it’s what I want to do,” he’d said and kissed the end of her very cold nose.
“Now, that was very warming,” Joy had replied.
She certainly couldn’t remember anything memorably romantic that Chuck had done with her since they’d met.
There was never a lack of wine or exotic food, but their dates wound up being work dates.
He’d proposed at the sushi bar they frequented, though she didn’t like much on the menu except the California rolls. He’d asked her to be his wife, and just as she’d said “yes” his cell phone rang. He’d looked down at it, but didn’t take the call. She’d thought it was a good sign. But after he kissed her and they toasted with sake, which she also didn’t like, he excused himself to take the call.
Joy knew that Chuck felt enormous pressure to perform to his father’s high expectations. Chuck had a good heart and he was eager to please both her and his father. He was mindful of their long hours and would surprise her with a latte and buttered bagel from the deli down the street. When she complained her back hurt after long hours at the computer, he introduced her to a killer pain-relieving essential oil as he rubbed her neck. Chuck had seen Joy’s performance potential on her first interview and hired her on the spot. She gave him credit for that. Because he was her boss, she ignored his excuses to work overtime with her over the years. She pretended not to notice him lingering in her office after client conferences. Chuck had actually gone to his father and discussed his growing attraction to her before asking his permission to pursue a romance. For Joy, their relationship had evolved slowly over the next few years. No fireworks. No adrenaline rush. They were solid and secure. She liked that.
She had to admit, though, that dinner with Chuck was polar opposite from the mac and cheese she used to make for Adam and Grandpa, which they’d share after a ten-hour Saturday working retail at Christmas in the greenhouses.
Joy had been so lost in thought that she’d forgotten that she’d turned off the ringer on her cell phone. She turned it back on and saw that Chuck had left three voice messages and five texts. She answered the texts and replied she would call him when she wasn’t with Roy, as some of their conversations were best kept confidential for the clients’ sake.
They had driven into town and stopped at the light with beautiful Indian Lake dead ahead. Joy leaned forward.
“Oh, Grandpa.”
“Pardon?” Roy asked.
“Sorry. Nothing. It’s just that I’ve forgotten how pretty this place is. I grew up here.”
“So, you have family here?”
“Not anymore.”
“Sorry.”
Roy drove into town, past the red sandstone county courthouse with its one-hundred-and-forty-year-old clock tower and onto Maple Boulevard. They passed houses she remembered, belonging to Sarah Jensen and Mrs. Beabots. Saint Mark’s Church. The Indian Lake Police Station. Specters of past, happy days flew around Joy, pulling her back to Indian Lake like magnets. And with each memory, she missed her mother, her father and especially her grandfather all the more.
That was why when Roy drove up to the three glass greenhouses, which her grandfather had built right after World War II, her vision had been blurred by her tears. She couldn’t possibly be seeing correctly.
“What is this?” she asked Roy, like a stupefied tourist.
“Boston Greenhouses.” He waved his hand across the expanse of the windshield. “This is it.”
“No.” She shook her head and opened the door, wiping her eyes. The greenhouses were empty. Totally devoid of even one poinsettia. Panes were filthy, cracked or missing from the glass ceilings and walls. The farthest greenhouse was in the worst condition. Its once perfectly maintained and cleaned brick-and-tile floor now sprouted weeds, frozen back from the cold November weather. Joy walked liked a zombie toward the greenhouse. Her father and grandfather had taught her how to clean the tiles with the sprayer. She’d swept the water away to expose the pretty sand-colored tiles. She’d taken a great deal of pride in the glistening glass walls and ceiling. She and her grandfather had pressure washed those panes every month. Their patrons commented on how good the plants had it when they came to live at Boston Greenhouses.
Joy felt her insides twist. Not only was her grandfather dead, but he’d lied to her. He’d told her he couldn’t come to New York to be with her because he was too busy. It was going to be his best year ever, he’d said.
She turned to Roy. “How long have the greenhouses been closed, Roy?”
“I’m not sure. A few years.”
A few years… Joy’s shock turned to a sense of betrayal.
“Grandpa lied to me. And now he’s gone.”
CHAPTER FOUR
JOY LOOKED BACK at the weeds growing through the tiles.
“Years. Not just this Christmas, but many holiday seasons it’s been closed.”
She went to the front door, peered through the windows and tried the latch. It was unlocked.
“What?” Why would the door be unlocked? Had the attorney unlocked it? Perhaps when she met Kyle Evans, she’d gain more insight.
She pushed the door and stepped in. She wasn’t prepared for the shock.
As if she’d been swallowed by a time warp, she was eighteen again, rushing in on a Saturday morning to see her grandfather already at the cash register, his big Chicago Cubs coffee mug filled with steaming coffee as he counted the money. She remembered her mother, dressed in jeans, a floral blouse and a rubber apron while she watered the flowers and sang to them. Her father whistled while he carried in heavy sacks of humus and fertilizer to sell. She’d forgotten how much she missed his whistling.
As the door swung closed behind her, a numbing chill enveloped her. The sight of empty shelves, dusty counters and cobwebs around the ceiling where garlands and Christmas ornaments once hung was heartbreaking. The walk-in flower cooler was dark and smelled like mold. The carpet needed shampooing. Worst of all, there were no poinsettias, no life, no energy.