Home for Christmas, page 3
Lulu nodded to Bennett waiting outside the doorway. “No, my dear. Bennett’s right. I need my rest. You two go home and catch up. It does my heart worlds of good to see the two of you in the same room and getting along. If all it took was a couple broken bones, I’d have fallen off a ladder years ago.” She squeezed Darcy’s hand with her uninjured grip. “Now. You go and settle things with your brother. You can tell me all about it later. I love you.”
Darcy stood, clutched the paperwork to her chest, and kissed Lulu’s cheek. “I love you, too. See you tomorrow.”
“I’m counting on it.”
With a sigh, Darcy shuffled from the room, her rubber boots squeaking against the floor. Glancing over her shoulder, she took in Lulu’s already closed eyelids and serene posture. No more delays. No more escape.
She stepped into the hallway. Her brother leaned against the wall. His arms were laced across his ridiculously thin linen shirt. He appeared to be a man of leisure. She knew better. Her ears were already burning.
“You lost your funding?” His voice burned a new line of censure through her entire being. Nothing like being reprimanded by one’s womb-mate.
She refused to meet his steady gaze. The mix of sympathy and disappointment would be worse than when she’d told her mother she was going into research instead of practicing medicine. The guilt from that conversation shrank Darcy nearly two inches.
“Not now, Ben,” she said and walked toward the elevators. “There are still concerned visitors waiting downstairs.” Pressing the button to call the elevator, she caught sight of his reflection in the smudged steel doors. “We need to send them home and figure out how we’ll make Lulu’s nineteenth century Victorian into a rehab facility in forty-eight hours.” With a bing and a swoosh, the doors opened and she stepped inside. “You can berate me about my lack of employment later. And you can tell me what you’ve been up to for the last five years…like what is this clinic that needs you so much? And are you married? Do you have kids? Where are you living? It has been five years. There’s lots of catch-up twinning that needs to be done.”
6
Harper pressed the remaining bits of the orange and vanilla scone together to form a dime sized ball in the center of her palm. She was silly to have waited. She didn’t really know either Darcy or Ben. Of course, she was worried about Mrs. Penhearst. The woman had poured years of care and consideration into Harper. But her mother could have updated her with Mrs. Penhearst’s prognosis when Harper called to confirm she had arrived safely in her downtown Columbus apartment. She wasn’t sure what had compelled her to keep vigil with the rest of the Ladies Aid Society. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. She may not be able to say what made her stay, but she had an inkling as to whom. Bennett Langston was definitely an unexpected surprise.
Although he was dressed like a man from an action-adventure movie set in the Sahara, she had a feeling his life was a little less exciting. There weren’t exactly deserts in Nashville. She’d been racking her brain trying to remember what Mrs. Penhearst had told her about Bennett, but she couldn’t recall a single anecdote. Mrs. Penhearst often told her elaborate stories about everyone in town, but she was a kind lady who insisted on focusing the majority of each conversation on Harper and Harper’s life.
Shaking her head, she absently listened to the Ladies Aid Society or LAS ladies, as they liked to call themselves, discuss the details of the upcoming cookie sale and Christmas pageant.
“Well, we’ll all need to pick up some of Lulu’s responsibilities,” Harper’s mother said before taking a long drink of the replenished coffee Sean, the police chief and husband of the town’s only barista-baker-café-owner, Maggie, had dropped off thirty minute earlier.
“I know she’s made all of her blanks. They just need to be decorated.” Bitsy Grey said.
“Well, that’s good. Someone can help out with the decorating. But will they be as pretty as Lulu’s cookies?” Sally Donaldson, the mayor’s wife sipped her special chai latte.
“We can’t have ugly cookies. The cookie sale has standards.” Sissy Jenkins said. “What about her swoon pies and mint chocolate brownies? You know she never would share any of those recipes with us. Her shortbread and toffee chocolate chip are pretty straight forward, but that old bird wouldn’t share the recipe for the mint chocolate brownies if her life depended on it.”
Harper popped the scone ball into her mouth to hide her giggle. Mrs. Jenkins never failed to deliver on gossip or blunt honesty.
“Sissy,” Mom said with a subtle layer of chastisement, the tone all too familiar to Harper. “Please don’t refer to any of the LAS ladies as anything other than the spiritual matriarchs we are. Old bird, really? And Lulu’s secretive about those recipes because they came directly from her mother. I’m sure the cookie sale can survive without those two special treats just this year. The important thing is Lulu will be all right. Isn’t that right, Bennett, dear?”
Harper glanced over her shoulder and forgot to chew. How did someone with massive stress, no sleep, and no nutrition except for a few pastries, look as if he walked off a movie set as the leading man?
“Yes, Mrs. Jessup. Aunt Lulu will make a full recovery.” Bennett said to the LAS members.
His gaze rolled over each of the ladies, until he focused on Harper. She swallowed deeply, and the scone ball lodged squarely in her throat. Trying to subtly cough, she raised her fisted hand to her mouth and walked to the corner of the waiting room. Subtlety wasn’t working. Hacking was her next option. She prayed the floor would open up and swallow her before she had to start beating on her own chest.
Her breaths came in short spurts. Her head felt hot and cold at the same time. The room started to tilt to the side when she sensed a steel band crush her waist. Her ribs felt as if they would crack against the pressure. She was thrust upward three times. A watermelon charged through her throat but out popped only the ball of soppy scone. The dime-sized dough ball was rather a disappointing foe.
“Are you all right?”
Harper registered the words, but the voice of pure warm honey slipped through her spirit and soothed her ravaged body. She glanced over her shoulder and eyed tall, dark, and dreamy Bennett Langston. Oh! No!
He pressed his wide grip against her shoulder, guided her to a nearby chair, and told her to breathe, slowly. She sat in response to the gentle pressure of his hand and tried to suck in the burning embarrassment heating her cheeks.
Bennett checked her pulse, forcing her to remain seated.
“I’m OK.” Her voice sounded a little wispy to her ears. She wasn’t sure if it was from the Heimlich maneuver or the warmth spreading through her from the touch of Bennett’s hand on her wrist. She tried to stand.
Bennett shook his head. “You need a minute.”
“Harper, honey, are you all right?” Her mother patted her shoulder. Harper lifted her gaze from Mr. Dreamy to all the LAS ladies, Bennett’s sister, her soon-to-be-almost-relative, Finn Tarrington, and about a half dozen people waiting for their families. Physically she was fine. Emotionally she was hoping implosion would follow extreme gagging and public vomiting. She counted to five. Nothing. Today was not her day. She nodded to her mother.
“Well, you gave us a fright. You really should learn to chew your food, darling.” Mom turned to look at Bennett. “Thank you so much, dear. Harper doesn’t always chew properly. She used to choke all the time as a child. She was always hungry and shoved food into her mouth as quickly as she could. She was a little chubby. She did love her food.”
“Uh, thanks Mom. All better.” One implosion please, Lord? Harper stood and weaved to the left, landing in Bennett’s wide embrace.
“Whoa. I think you should rest a second or two.” He glanced above her head toward the visitor’s station. “Is there somewhere a little more private she can regroup?” he asked.
Harper assumed the answer was a ‘yes’ because she felt herself being guided forward. Nestled in his gentle hold, Harper moved one foot in front of the other without really knowing the direction. “Mrs. Jessup, let me check Harper over. As soon as she’s ready I’ll bring her back to you,” he said.
Harper felt his words as a rumble through his wide chest.
Stepping through the doorway of the waiting room, they turned right and he quickly opened a single door to a small examination room. “Why don’t you sit on the bench?” he asked, pointing to the medical table with its loud tissue paper wrapping.
Harper did as she was instructed, ripping the paper as she tried to smoothly sit on the surface.
“Are you feeling lightheaded? Do you have any pain in your abdomen or along your ribs?”
She shook her head, not willing to lift her gaze from the tan speckled white linoleum floor. Mr. Dreamy must have been an Eagle Scout or had extensive CPR training. He seemed quite in charge. Her cheeks were burning to the point of her eyes feeling sweaty. She wanted nothing more than to run from the hospital, but her equilibrium would take a few more minutes to right itself. She did not bounce back with speed, too often she merely bounced.
“Harper, is your throat a little raw, is that why you aren’t speaking?”
Blowing a slow breath through her lips, she lifted her gaze to him. “No. My throat’s just fine. My ego, on the other hand, could use a little ministration.”
He chuckled, a deep rolling sound that rumbled through her body, softening the sharp edges of embarrassment. “Well, the only cure I know for a bruised ego is a bit of bravado.”
“Really?”
“Sure. Anytime I feel out of sorts or embarrassed I simply convince myself I’m feeling exactly the way God intended for me to feel. And rather quickly I find my ego is the exact size it is supposed to be.”
Is he real? Too handsome to not be a cardboard cut-out. Runs to the rescue of little old ladies. Gives sage wisdom. Had she passed out and somehow fallen into a made-for-TV movie?
Gibson’s Run, Ohio could totally pass for one of those cookie-cutter, everyone knows everyone, snows on cue, television towns. And, now, a real-life hero was swooping in and wooing the heart of the cynical big-city girl home for a visit.
Well, she was wooed, but she couldn’t be certain he was being intentional about any of the woo.
Harper blinked twice and shook her head. Get a grip, girl.
The door creaked open. Bennett’s sister leaned through the doorway. “Ben, if we want to be back here to meet with the social worker in the morning we should probably head out.”
Bennett nodded. His body visibly stiffened as he stood. The joy rolling off him only a moment earlier seemed to be extinguished in a single breath.
Harper stretched her fingers to grasp Bennett’s hand.
Pivoting toward her, his face softened, but the twinkle in his eyes was gone. “Are you all right?” Harper asked in a low voice.
He nodded. “Make sure to rest up tonight. If your ribs are hurting tomorrow, you should go see your GP. It was lovely meeting you, Harper. I hope to bump into you again sometime.” He squeezed her hand before releasing his grip. The heat from his touch burned where they had been connected.
Bennett and his sister walked down the hall, the squeak of Darcy’s rubber boots echoing off the walls. As the door swung shut, she slumped against the bench.
Her heart slowed to a steady pace.
Her ribs ached.
Her head screamed for a dark room.
Her throat longed for a little tea laced with honey.
Funny, she hadn’t had a single symptom when Bennett was playing doctor.
7
“Well, that won’t do.”
Darcy heard her aunt’s sweet voice with a tinge of her Southern Ohio roots on the edges. Her heart warmed at the force and reckoning floating on her words. Lulu might be injured but she was always in charge.
“Lu, you know we don’t have a choice.” Finn? Why was Finn Tarrington, Mr. Hotty Stray with her aunt?
Trying to enter the room undetected, she slid behind the multi-colored curtain and set the shopping bag on the floor. The bag was stuffed with what Darcy considered the essentials for any hospital stay: bottled water, a variety of salty and sweet snacks, the most recent editions of every grocery store gossip magazine, and a Sudoku puzzle book. Just the bare necessities.
“You cannot disappoint the children, Finnegan. I won’t stand for it.”
Finnegan Tarrington? Were his parents trying to get him beat up as a kid?
“You can’t stand, Lulu. That is my point.”
“We’ll just have to find a replacement. I’m sure someone would love to help you. Maybe Darcy?”
At the sound of her name, Darcy choked on air.
“Darcy, darling, why don’t you come out from behind the not very concealing curtain where you’re eavesdropping and tell worry-wort Finn you’ll fill in for me as director of the Christmas program?”
The curtain’s metal hooks clinked against each other with her slow tug, revealing herself, and her face warming by the second. Darcy locked her gaze with Lulu’s twinkling, golden eyes. She was sunk. “Aunt Lulu what do I know about directing a Christmas program?”
“You were in them as a child. You even wrote one for your junior English project, if my feeble mind remembers correctly.”
Her mind was anything but feeble. Darcy had written a Christmas program—complete with stage direction, musical anthems, and a talking donkey. Every Christmas program should have a talking donkey. Of course, she wrote the play when she was seventeen years old, longed to be a playwright, and Andrew Lloyd Weber was her idol. At the start of her junior year her mother had finally agreed to stay in the same city through high school graduation, a dream she never knew she had. She wrote the Christmas play with hope. The Christmas program was the last thing Darcy ever wrote.
Shortly after the start of the second semester, her mom declared she was “in love for real this time” with a Romantics Language professor she met at a conference in Detroit. Within days, Darcy, Bennett, and their mom hitched a trailer, stacked with their meager belongings, in the back of their decade old SUV and headed to live with the new love of Mom’s life.
The love lasted four months, but Mom found her footing at the local university and her wanderlust seemed to be quenched.
Darcy’s love for writing was destroyed. She turned to the safety and predictability of science. Nothing good ever came from romance and art.
“Auntie, that was a long time ago. I haven’t written in years.” Give or take a decade and a half, but who was counting. “I’m not sure I’d be the best person to help.”
“Of course, you are. Theatre is in your blood. You know I was quite the thespian back in my day? And you definitely had the bug. Once bitten…”
“Still, that doesn’t qualify me to direct a Christmas program with kids.” She twisted to Finn. With the sight of his messy dark hair and broad shoulders, she sucked in a deep breath, wishing she could sneak one of the water bottles. Her cheeks burned with what she was quite certain was a shade somewhere between hot pink cotton candy and fall beets. Where was a fan when a girl needed one? “They are kids, right?”
“Church programs kind of mandate children,” Finn said.
She shook her head. “There must be someone else who could help.” She was terrible with children. They were sticky and followed their emotions. They were not mice. She preferred mice.
Finn released a sigh. “The Christmas program was a hard sell. Lulu was adamant with the leadership council that the church needed to produce the program this year. But with the fiftieth anniversary of the festival the folks at church have been spread pretty thin. The pageant prep has pretty much been the two of us.”
“Can you believe the church hasn’t had a Christmas program in five years?” Lulu asked.
“That’s hard to imagine.” But in Darcy’s estimation most church Christmas programs were mediocre at best, particularly in a small town where the talent pool was likely a bit shallow.
“I told Pastor Tom we had to have a program this year, what with the big anniversary of the Christmas Festival. The program will be the crowning jewel in the town’s celebration. Isn’t that exciting, Darcy darling?”
Two Darcy darling’s in one conversation. It was official. Darcy would be directing the Christmas program.
8
The elegant wrapping of guilt Lulu layered around her niece made Finn grin inwardly. In less time than it took the church to pass the collection plate, Darcy agreed to direct the program, build and organize the set construction, and curate costumes. Where was Lulu when the government was negotiating the end to the conflict in the Middle East?
Having played his part in the guilt-shaming of Darcy Langston, Finn should excuse himself, but he was loathe to leave the company of one of his closest friends in Gibson’s Run, and her beautiful niece. With the two ladies deep in pageant discussion, he was able to drink in Darcy Langston.
From her light brown hair scraped back into a neat ponytail to her wide set amber brown eyes, she was the most stunning woman he had seen in…well, long before he decided to scrap his fast-paced career in sports management. For the last four years, he had been so determined to prove to his parents, his entire family, and his friends his decision was correct, he hadn’t taken the time to notice women. But he definitely noticed Darcy.
Scrubbing his face with his hand, he stretched to stand. “Ladies, I believe you’re well on your way to handling this conundrum without my guidance. I’ll leave you to it.” He reached for Lulu’s uninjured hand and gave her a gentle squeeze. “I expect to see you power walking the town square by mid-January.”
“My goal is New Year’s but you know the body isn’t quite what it used to be. Thank you for visiting, Finn. Don’t be a stranger once I go home.”
“Never.” Draping his down coat over his arm, he turned to Darcy. “You take good care of this lady. She’s awfully special to me.”
