Home for Christmas, page 11
Finn stood silent as Darcy rolled up the remainder of the batting. She didn’t look back as she disappeared into the vestibule behind the altar. Scrubbing his face, he returned to straightening the pews. The various papers and information sheets stuffed into the hymnal racks often looked like a kindergarten classroom after craft time. The team of custodians had a very strict schedule of what to clean and when to clean it. Organizing the shelves attached to each pew was a Monday afternoon activity. The task had already been checked off the list, and Finn was loathe to ask the gracious team of part-time staff to add any extra to their already burdened holiday schedule.
Stuffing the last of the “welcome cards” into the final row, he heard the click of the vestibule door into the frame. Darcy was finished. If he didn’t ask now, he would lose the nerve.
“I think that does it,” Darcy said, as she straightened the Advent wreath to the left of the altar. “The sanctuary should be fine if anyone wants to visit tomorrow.”
Finn walked to the front of the sanctuary, stopping at the three steps leading to the altar. “Darcy, we need to talk.”
She shook her head, but didn’t turn to face him. “There’s nothing to discuss. I’ve been under a great deal of stress in the last three days. I’m not making wise decisions. Even though I pride myself on making wise decisions. And yet, I have failed. I’m sorry you’re caught up in my…”
“Darcy, please look at me.”
“Nope. When I look at you, I seem to not be able to stop my lips from suction cupping themselves to yours.”
“I like when your lips are on mine.”
She pivoted, her palm raised, and faced him. “Stop. Please just stop. I can’t resist you. I admit it. I’m weak. I am. Who wouldn’t be? You’re dreamy. You’re kind. And you’re smart. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you’re smart. And smart might be the thing most attractive about you.”
“You think I’m attractive.”
“Ugh! Of course. Literally every human being on the planet would think you’re attractive. Maybe I should take the smart part back.”
“You like me?” He took the three steps in one stride until he stood directly in front of her.
“Duh.” Darcy laced her arms over her chest.
“I like you, too. But I think that’s pretty obvious.”
“But we can’t like each other.”
“Why not?”
“We have the play. Aunt Lulu. And I’m leaving. I’ll go back to my real life, Finn.”
Finn didn’t see it, but he felt an icy bucket of water splash over his entire frame.
What was he doing?
She was right. This was his life. Gibson’s Run. The church. Christmas pageants. Bake sales. Lunch on Fridays with little old ladies. But not hers.
Darcy’s life was in Columbus, or wherever her next step took her. She wouldn’t be here for Easter or the Spring Fling. She wasn’t meant to play hostess at a parsonage. She was destined for great things. His life was too small to be hers. He had to let her go and let go of the idea of what could be. “I’ll finish up. You have a big day with Lulu tomorrow.”
He stepped off the platform, and his legs gobbled the distance to the back of the sanctuary in under five steps. The faint sound of his name trailed in his wake.
30
Harper stretched against the top rung of the ladder, securing the center of the string of Edison bulbs zigzagging across Main Street. Several of the town’s public works team had been allocated to help with preparing the downtown for the Christmas Festival—beginning at six o’clock the following evening. After plowing the park free of a foot of snow, the six-man crew set up fifty booths lining the paths crisscrossing the center of town as well as an additional thirty booths inside the community center. They also managed to decorate dozens of four-and-five-foot-tall fir trees with white lights, gold balls, and silver GR insignia ornaments. Despite their combined efforts, Main Street was short nearly two thousand lights when Harper parked her car at dusk. She thanked the men, and sent them home to defrost. She had thought she would have Main Street complete in under an hour.
She was wrong.
Clenching her fingers to restore the blood flow, she glanced at her watch. At her current pace, she would be lucky to finish before the crew came back in the morning to set up the stage and decorate the twenty-foot tree in the middle of the park. Why did she always think she could handle everything on her own?
“Need a hand?”
Standing to the right of her ladder was the practically perfect Bennett Langston. Restoration of blood flow complete.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“I visited Aunt Lulu. Dropped off the remaining baked goods for the sale. And now I’m helping you.” He looked up and down the street. “What am I helping you do?”
“What do you know about light installations?”
~*~
Two hours later, Harper stapled the final strand into a telephone pole. Glancing over her shoulder, the classic beauty of gently swaying lights across the small-town parkway filled her spirit to near bursting. “Ben, can you flip the switch?”
A golden glow arched over the main thoroughfare in Gibson’s Run with a click. Of the thousands of people who would descend on this tiny town over the twelve-day festival, each of them would drive through the radiant beauty. Warm tears burned paths against her icy cheeks.
“Wow, Harper. This is stunning.” Ben’s voice tickled her heart with the tinge of wonder she felt and heard.
Climbing down the ladder, she wiped her cheek against her shoulder. “It’s not ‘wow Harper,’ It’s ‘wow Ben.’ I couldn’t have done this without you.” She hopped off the last rung and lifted her gaze to his smiling face. “I’d likely have been an icicle by morning if you hadn’t volunteered.”
“My pleasure.” He glanced at the ladder. “Does this need to go somewhere?”
She shook her head. “The guys from the city will get it in the morning.”
“Can I treat you to some hot chocolate or a tea?”
Harper glanced over her shoulder. Jenna just locked the front door of Maggie’s café, Only the Basics. “It’s a lovely thought, but the only place in town for warm drinks just closed up for the night.”
“Well, then, do you need a ride somewhere?”
“Walked from my mom’s house. It’s just down the block.” She rocked back on her heels as his shoulders slumped.
He waved good night and started walking toward his waiting car. “But you could walk me home. If you’d like. I think I can pull together some hot drinks in our kitchen.”
“I’d love to walk you home.” He stretched his gloved hand open to hers. “Shall we?”
Laying her mittened palm in his, the tiniest butterflies fluttered awake in her chest. They fanned flames, heating her from the inside. The tender connection suffocated Harper’s nearly always-on chatter. She couldn’t seem to think of a single question, fun fact, or interesting topic. Her brain had one thought: Ben. Just Ben.
They fell into an easy pace. She stretched her stride a little longer to match his. The snow crunched under the thick soles of their boots cutting through the silence of small-town Thursday. Their hands didn’t swing between them. The ease of being in his presence slid deeper into her with each step. Part of her wanted to stop time—to transfer this moment to a snow globe−perfectly suspended animation. The other part of her wanted to zoom forward. To be sitting in her mother’s cozy family room, stuffed into a pile of pillows, sipping on hot chocolate, and simply enjoying his company. But neither part would win. Reality would win. Reality always won. And in her reality, the Bennett Langstons of the world were off limits to one Harper Jessup.
She should let go of his hand, release the comfort and security, but her hand seemed to have a mind of its own.
Maybe, only for tonight, she could pretend she wasn’t Harper Jessup? And all the big and little baggage that came with being her could be ignored? And for this moment, he wasn’t a practically perfect Bennett Langston. Maybe, just maybe, they could be two people at the beginning of something.
“Did you grow up here?” Bennett’s low voice cut through the chaotic thoughts in her mind.
“Gibson’s Run? Yeah. Mostly. We moved here before I can remember. My dad was the high school football coach.”
“Really?”
She nodded. “He had a couple seasons in the NFL, but was a better coach than player. He loved football. I think if you tested his blood, it would have been filled with X’s and O’s. Poor guy had six kids. But only one boy. He was constantly torn between treating us like a coach and being a soft, gooey girl dad.” Her heart twisted at the flash of memories clipping through her mind. “Nothing was better than a dad hug. I always felt safe when he held me tight.”
“I’m sure he loved having daughters.”
She nodded and swiped at her cheek. “He died almost eight years ago.”
“Harper, I am so sorry.”
“Thanks. It’s weird. Sometimes I pick up the phone to call him. To tell him something good happening, or whine about a bad day. I forget for a split second he’s gone. And then it hits me with the power of running high speed into a brick wall.” She tugged her hand from his and wiped both of her eyes. Unable to stop the shudder of tears, she turned her back to Bennett.
“Hey,” he said, gently turning her to face him. “It’s OK. Mourning those we love is natural.” He enveloped her in his thick embrace. “Tears are just our bodies’ way of saying words we haven’t invented yet.”
Even through her thick puffer she felt the soothing stroke of Bennett’s hand trailing the length of her back.
She sucked in a breath and held it, trying to stop the onslaught of tears. But she lost. Her body shook with the flow from her eyes. She wrapped her arms around his waist, burrowed her face into his chest, and released the sadness constantly at war with her longing for happiness. She fought every day to keep this torrent of pain and guilt at bay. Most days she won. Her positive mantras and never-ending schedule framed the discipline in her life. Grief couldn’t win if it couldn’t catch up. But in this moment, grief caught her. Grief threatened to swallow her whole. Fears and failures she couldn’t voice drowned her in a sea of never-ending guilt.
Why hadn’t she been there when Daddy needed her? He had always dropped anything when she needed him, but the one time he called and asked her to prioritize him, she’d chosen her desires over his need. And then it was too late.
She took in Ben’s soft gaze. Pure human kindness shined through his eyes. How could she taint his beauty?
She shook her head and wiped her cheeks. “You will find, Dr. Langston, I have a disease known as facile clamente.”
“Easy crier? I’ve never heard of the exact diagnosis, but I’ve known quite a few with the illness.”
She shrugged. “Unfortunately, I was the only one in my family with such an ailment. No one knew quite what to do with me in a family of super athletes and academics.”
“Really? Do tell. Your experience may be helpful for future cases. Medically speaking, of course.”
“Well, Dr. Bennett Langston, you just might have a sense of humor after all.”
31
Ben placed another piece of kindling on the slow rolling fire in Nancy Jessup’s sitting room. The cozy space held floor to ceiling books, an overstuffed worn leather chair, an ottoman, better suited to be a coffee table, and a sofa just big enough for two. Pillows and hand knitted blankets were lovingly tossed on most surfaces waiting for a random stranger to snuggle in and crack open one of the worn books.
He imagined Harper spent many hours comforted by the inviting room in a house built to house a family of eight. The thought of only knowing one place for the entirety of childhood rather than the borderline nomadic existence he had with his mom and sister was beyond anything he could fathom.
A childhood led by a mother whose whims of the heart dictated every action and choice translated to a foundation built on eggshells. What would his or Darcy’s life had been like if they’d been raised in Gibson’s Run? Would they each have been as ambitious? Or would the security have translated to complacency?
He shook his head as he stoked the fire. The thought of Darcy being anything other than ambitious was wilder than his mom growing roots in something deeper than shallow sand. Setting the fire poker in the brass stand, he turned toward the fourteen-foot-high wall of books.
The books at eye level ranged from classic Greek tragedies to modern mysteries. Although he couldn’t quite figure out the cataloging, he could sense there was a system to the organization. He trailed his fingers across the hardbacks until he landed on the Jane Austen section.
After years of listening to his mother’s lectures on Austen as well as the class members on English Literature he took during undergrad, he knew the books were in order of completion rather than publication or alphabetical. He tugged at the leather-bound copy of Pride and Prejudice. Flipping to the opening page, he could hear his mother’s musical voice reading the famous opening line, “It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.”
“What are you reading?”
The soft sound of Harper flowed over him. He turned.
She carried an oval tray with holly leaves delicately painted on the wide edge. She set the tray stuffed full with steaming mugs of hot cocoa, marshmallows, graham crackers, peppermint sticks and chocolate bars on the ottoman. Rubbing her hands together, she closed the distance between them and glanced at the spine of the book. “Pride and Prejudice? Doesn’t seem very manly. Or very doctorly.”
He closed the book, gently shelving it in the proper order. “Austen holds a special place in my heart, particularly this piece. I wouldn’t have my name without it.”
Harper snorted a room clearing cackle. “I feel like an idiot. Darcy and Bennett. Of course.” She squeezed his shoulder. “Your mom was a fan of the original romance novel, eh?” She scrunched her nose and tilted her head. “You don’t think it’s a little weird to name her kids after the hero and the heroine of the most beloved romance novel of all time?”
“Uh, no.” He’d never really thought about the fact he and Darcy were named after the couple. Mom just always said it was her favorite book. “I guess I never really thought about it. Not until this moment.”
“Relax.” Harper said, turning toward the couch. She patted the seat next to her. “My mom had the same disease. My oldest sister is named Elizabeth ala Pride and Prejudice. My second oldest sister is Scout, from my mom’s all-time favorite book, To Kill a Mockingbird. And Scout, is well everything you would expect a Scout to be. Next are the twins, and she went back to Austen and came up with Marian and Elinor.”
“Sense and Sensibility.”
“Very good, Dr. Langston. But unfortunately, both sisters are more Emma than Elinor or Marian.”
Ben propped an overstuffed pillow in the opposite corner of the couch from her. Lowering onto the plush surface, he lifted a single eyebrow. “Who are you named for?”
“Harper Lee.” She shrugged. “Mom had a hard time picking. She didn’t want a Cathy or a Fanny. At the time she was pregnant with me, Mom was teaching a semester on American Literature focused on politically leaning novels. She went back to her favorite and my dad liked the idea of Harper. I think he had given up hope of having a boy and Harper seemed gender neutral. For a brief moment in time, he thought I might be the first girl in the NFL. Of course, then my brother was born. His birth coupled with my complete lack of athletic coordination sealed the deal for me.” She reached forward and lifted both mugs. Handing one to him she matched his posture against the opposite end of the sofa.
“Your mom taught literature?” he asked.
She nodded. “She was a professor at Ohio State until my dad snagged the high school football gig, then she landed at a local private university about twenty minutes east. She still teaches a course each semester.”
“What a crazy coincidence. My mom was a literature professor. Although she was more of a visiting lecturer than anything permanent. But, man, she loved books.” He glanced toward the floor to ceiling shelves. “I imagine if we get to pick out our version of heaven, my mom’s corner looks like this room.”
“When Dad accepted the job at the high school, he bought this house before he ever told Mom. He had a contractor friend of his come in and build the shelves and the window seat over a three-day weekend. He brought her here, to this room, to break the news of the move from Columbus to Gibson’s Run.”
“This room would be hard to say no to.”
She nodded. “From the stories I’ve heard, she was still fairly mad, but the book shelves were a good start.”
“Tell me everything.”
Harper’s face reflected the soft glow from the fire as she laughingly shared her parents’ love story.
“And on their twentieth wedding anniversary, Dad recreated the night he gave her his fraternity pin. He had all of us kids singing some silly song, even our dog, Woody, joined in with a howl. Unfortunately, Woody was the most on key. We all inherited Dad’s musical ability.” She took a sip of her cocoa and released a sigh.
“Sounds like you had a pretty great family to grow up in.”
“I guess I did.” Harper shifted her gaze to the fire. “You don’t really appreciate what you have when you have it, do you?”
“No. I guess not. The memory often cleanses the bad and highlights the good.”
Twisting to face Ben, a soft smile stretched across her lips. “Now that sounds as if you have a story to share.”
“Not really. Since my mom passed, I realized I spent too many years begrudging my nomadic childhood and not enough time celebrating the uniqueness of my mom. Focusing on the bad stuff is what kept Darcy and me apart all these years.”
“What happened? I mean, if you don’t mind sharing.”
He lifted his gaze to Harper. Her eyes were wide with curiosity and care.
“Someday, but unfortunately, tonight I need to get back to the house. We still have a ton to do before Aunt Lulu returns home tomorrow.”
