Mistletoe Mix-up (Christmas Holiday Extravaganza) Read online

  “Risé?”

  “Yeah, Dad. I’ll clean this up, and we’ll just drive through somewhere for cocoa. Just give me a minute.” Please don’t ask me any more questions.

  “Risé, look at me.” He took a dish towel from the drawer by the sink and handed it to her. “What’s going on, and where’d you get this bruise?” He reached for her wrist and squinted at the dark spot on her forearm.

  She dried her hands, and then dabbed at her eyes where tears began to form. Her dad opened his arms, and she fell into them. “Oh, Dad,” and the tears flowed.

  His cell phone rang. He kept one arm around her while he reached in his pocket for the phone. “Hey, Henry, what’s up?” He nodded as he listened.

  “What is it now?” Risé whispered.

  Old Henry Gray called her dad for help all the time.

  “I see. OK. Don’t worry, I’ll check it out. Bye now.”

  Whatever it was, it might get her out of having to spill it about Jeff. For now, anyway.

  “He says some stranger just let himself into Carol and Fin’s. I’ll go check it out. You stay here.”

  2

  He could have sworn that Cartier said Frond Street, but the thick French accent distorted what was apparently Front Street, which was the only street in town that remotely sounded or was spelled with Fro. Evan pulled into the driveway. 500 N. Front Street was the only black hole on the block. All the other houses vied for the attention of a satellite with their cheery Christmas lights decor.

  Somehow Cartier’s impression of opulence seemed overstated. A modest, one-story wood-frame home painted white nestled behind a border of boxwood. Hunter green trimmed windows flanked both sides of a red front door. Nice enough dwelling for his break, so what did it matter? His visions of tedious hours of decorating the large house he’d presumed about vanished into a much smaller operation. Piece of cake.

  He located the flower pot and moved it aside. The key was visible, not buried like Cartier said. Oh well, as long as it works. He slipped the key into the lock and let himself into the dark home.

  He ran his hand over the wall inside the door, found the light switch and flipped it on. Again, the word modest played in his mind, but added a few notes of cozy, quaint, and comfortable.

  He looked for his off-the-kitchen guest room. Room? More like a pantry, fully stocked as promised, but no bed. Wait, was that a sleeping bag in the corner?

  Ha! He should have checked Cartier’s references instead of the other way around. Oh, well, better than the dorm. He wouldn’t try to cram himself into a sleeping bag on the pantry floor, “guest room” or no.

  A strange inkling in his stomach made him wonder if he was in the right place. He looked around the kitchen. The promised list on the refrigerator, mostly doctor’s numbers, but it was there nonetheless. He pulled open the drawer by the sink for the envelope of cash. It was there, but contained five dollars. Seriously? What kind of exaggerator was this guy? A small framed picture of a middle-aged couple in front of the Eiffel Tower put him at ease. The inscription on the frame read C & F Forever.

  Whatever.

  Evan left the pantry holding the green, military issue sleeping bag in one hand, and a can of chili in the other. He stepped into the family room and tossed the sleeping bag on the floor. He dropped his backpack beside it. A very large Bible lay open on the coffee table.

  He plopped down on the couch and flipped through it. The massive book resembled his music scores or textbook notes. Underlined, highlighted, earmarked, and spots. Coffee, or maybe tears?

  The display made Evan think there might be something going on in the Cartier family. His growling stomach sent him back to the kitchen. His thoughts were confirmed by the basket full of prescription medicines on the kitchen counter. He spun the can of chili around the electric can opener, rummaged for a small saucepan, and then spooned in the chili. He turned the stovetop burner to low, and then perused the medicine bottles. He had no clue what the medicines treated.

  No TV. Oh, well, fewer practicing distractions. He took his music scores from his backpack and set them on the piano. A Steinway, for sure, but an ancient upright. He’d imagined a shining grand piano. His fingers toyed with the keys. At least it was in tune. He sat down to run through a few pages of the Chopin.

  Someone knocked on the door.

  Evan opened it.

  “Hi, I’m George Larkin from across the street. I thought the Carters were out of town, but saw the lights on.” He extended his hand to Evan for a shake.

  Carters? He shook Mr. Larkin’s hand. “Yes, they are out of town. They hired me to put up their Christmas lights. Supposed to be home the 25th. I’m a student at ETU. They offered room and board in exchange for the decorating,” Evan said. What kind of game did Cartier, or rather Carter, play?

  “Really? Well that’s good news. I was afraid Carol wouldn’t be coming home at all,” Mr. Larkin said.

  “I noticed the meds. Is she very ill?” Evan asked.

  “Cancer. Last stages. Fin won’t leave her side. I’m glad they plan to come home, and I’m sure he wants her usual festive decorating to greet her. Brilliant of him to barter with a college student. Their funds are struggling. Cancer is expensive. Well, if you need any help, let me know,” he said.

  Fin? Must be a nickname for Francis. “Thanks, Mr. Larkin. He said the decorations are in the basement. I think I’ll turn in and get started first thing in the morning.” Evan shook Mr. Larkin’s hand again.

  “Good deal. Well, welcome to the neighborhood, and call me George,” he said, and left.

  Mr. Carter sure had a positive attitude in such sad circumstances. He must be a real jokester with his accent and exaggeration. Maybe it was how he got through it.

  Evan decided to make the home look as festive as possible for the homecoming of Carol Carter. George seemed friendly enough. Was he the neighbor with the chef daughter and heart condition? He’d forgotten to ask. Oh, the chili! He rushed to the stove, glad he’d put it on low. It bubbled perfectly around the edges. He found a decent mug and poured in a portion, and then pulled out the drawers to find a spoon.

  His mother was probably on her gazillionth margarita on her honeymoon cruise. Did she even wonder about his holidays? He might be alone, but he was snug in a modest little cottage on a friendly street in East Texas. Not bad.

  His cell phone buzzed with Cartier’s number. “Evan? Bon jour! Get settled in? Find everything you need?” he asked, bright as a Christmas bulb.

  “Yes, and I’ll get started first thing in the morning. Your neighbor from across the street came by to check on things when he saw a light on.”

  “Good to hear. Now don’t let him help you. He’ll offer repeatedly, but remember, he’s got a bad heart. Well, we’re going to be out of pocket, so we’ll see you on the 25th.” He rang off without waiting for a goodbye. Mr. Carter didn’t sound like a man whose wife was dying.

  Well, this arrangement would get Evan through until school started again. He’d graduate this year, find a job of some kind. Maybe he’d teach like Mrs. Miller. He’d make a home for himself somewhere. A home with his own Christmas decorations, and maybe even a family.

  ~*~

  He slept on the couch in the family room rather than the floor and awakened with a stiff neck. Perfect. He’d have to put up Christmas lights with aching muscles. At least the house dwarfed inside between his initial Cartier assumption and Carter reality. It wouldn’t take long.

  He hunted up the decorations. The door to the basement was not in the kitchen. He searched in every room for a door. Two small, simply decorated bedrooms revealed no obvious or secret passageway. The hallway displayed crosses of all kinds, and each bedroom wall held an assortment of them. He figured that Carol’s cancer might have inspired this. That’s the only time people ever called on God, right? It sure hadn’t done Evan any good.

  A knock at the front door sent him jogging down the hall. He opened the door ready to ask George where in the heck the basement
was. Whoa. Not George.

  “Hi,” said a beautiful, fairy-like image, with two coffee shop containers in her delicate hands. Red, silky hair framed a small turned up nose and deep blue eyes.

  “Oh, uh, hi. I thought you were George.” Man, this girl, maybe the chef daughter, blew his mind. His throat went dry, and his face grew hot. He looked down at her maybe five-foot-two-inch height, and red hair blowing in the rainy wind. She squinted in the mist that lashed her face.

  Oh, the rain! “Please, come in out of the weather,” he said, stepping aside.

  “Thanks, I thought you might like a peppermint mocha latte. Really puts one into the Christmas spirit,” the angel said, handing him a hot cup.

  Peppermint he liked, coffee, not so much. For this beauty he’d drink that cup as though it was his life’s blood. “Thanks, and you are?”

  “Risé Larkin from across the street. My dad said you were here to decorate for the Carters. We’re so excited that Carol and Fin are coming home. We hadn’t heard.”

  “Yeah, your dad said Mrs. Carter is pretty sick. Didn’t expect her to ever come home again. Sad stuff.” Evan sipped the coffee and tried not to grimace.

  “We’ve been praying so hard. Looks as if we get to have Carol in our lives longer, and I hope, a really long time.” Her eyes watered over as she took a sip of her coffee. Their color made him think of the lake on a clear day at Caddo.

  Yeah, his mom had tried that God thing when Evan was in sixth grade. Her boyfriend made them go to church. The preacher kept coming over to tell Mom that she and Earl had to get married. Nobody asked Evan what he wanted. How could that preacher want his mom to marry a man who hit her? He’d realized as he grew up that the preacher probably didn’t know that Earl—who taught Sunday School and sang in the choir—hit his mom.

  One night Earl hurt Mom pretty badly. Evan jumped on his back and tried to pull Earl away from her. There was no flowery apology after that. The scum dumped her, and went right on singing in the choir. Evan was glad his mom was free of that man, but he missed getting to play the piano for service. They had even paid him a little. The whole mess kind of soured him on the church thing. Maybe this beautiful girl wasn’t too religious. She was definitely worth a second look, anyway.

  He realized that neither of them had spoken for half a minute. “Let’s hope she does get to come home for a long time,” he said, not able to tear his gaze away from her glistening eyes. “Please, sit down.”

  “More prayer than hope.” She found her way into the family room and curled up on the couch. “She’s like another mother to me. I’ve spent as much time here as in my own home.” Risé held her coffee in both hands and close to her face.

  “I can see that. The cozy dent in the couch is shaped just like you.” He smiled.

  “We’ve been neighbors all my life. Carol babysat me while Mom and Dad worked. She really was there for us when my mom died.”

  “I guess you miss her, since she’s been away in the hospital.” Ouch. Her mother dead, and now her friend sick as well.

  “I do, but I miss her from State. I’m just home for the holidays. Got in yesterday,” she said. “So, when are you getting started on the decorating?”

  “I’m glad you asked, because I can’t find the basement. Cartier, I mean, Mr. Carter, said the door to the basement was in the kitchen. I can’t find it. I hope you know where it is.”

  “Actually, it is in the kitchen, but in the pantry. There’s a lift latch under the rug. It goes down into the basement. Watch your step. It’s pretty dark until you get to the bottom of the stairs. There’s a light switch at the bottom on the wall to your right. Want me to show you?”

  “Sure.” He stood and took her cup from her and set both cups on the coffee table next to the Bible. “Lots of things highlighted in that book.”

  “Oh, yes, Carol and Fin had that Bible marked up way before she got sick.”

  Evan didn’t remember much Bible from church with Earl, except for what the preacher pounded about people not living together before marriage. He’d have to check out the Carters’ Bible and see what seemed to get them through.

  Once again, he found himself following the beautiful Risé. She seemed to float as she walked, lighting up the atmosphere in the lowly kitchen.

  “It’s down there.” She pointed to the pantry floor.

  Evan kicked the rug out of the way and lifted the latch. Yep, there it was, a dark concrete staircase. “I may as well bring up a batch.”.

  “I’ll come with and help you.” She passed by him and descended the stairs, a light scent of peppermint chocolate on her breath and some sweet-smelling shampoo in that strawberry hair addling him a bit.

  She crept down a few steps and then looked back at him. “Coming?”

  “Uh, yeah, just adjusting my eyes,” he said, shaking the stupor from his distracted brain. He followed her down into the basement.

  Risé flipped on the light. The typical basement mess of boxes, appliances, and old furniture spread across the room. Exposed water pipes overhead, and the whine of the furnace hummed as he stepped off the bottom step.

  “Over here,” Risé said, motioning him over. She stood by a particularly high stack of boxes.

  “You must have helped them in the past. You walked right to the Christmas things.”

  “Many times. They don’t have any children.” She bent to pick up a box marked LIGHTS.

  “Well, that’s fortunate.” He picked up another box marked LIGHTS and followed her back to the stairs.

  She whirled around and faced him. “What do you mean, fortunate?”

  “That they don’t have any children. I mean since she’s dying and everything. Won’t that make it easier?” As soon as the words left his mouth, he could have kicked himself.

  Risé dropped the box. “Carol is not dying. And not having children doesn’t make it any less tragic.” She turned and stormed up the stairs, flipping out the light as she went.

  “Wait, I didn’t mean…” He rushed after her, tripped in the darkness, and dropped the box he was carrying—and then stepped on the box she’d dropped. The glass bulbs crunched as they smashed under his shoe.

  He figured it was no use to call after her. He’d jangled a raw nerve. Carter said she was temperamental. Too sensitive for sure. So much for a little Christmas fellowship with the neighbors, especially their gorgeous, and now angry, daughter.

  The boxes broke his fall, but the lights probably didn’t fare as well. He dragged both boxes upstairs and pulled them out. He’d plug them in and determine the damage, but first, why’d his shoe feel so squishy? He must have stepped in water somewhere. He sat at the top of the stairs and untied his shoes.

  He heard someone come in the front door, shut it carefully.

  Risé stuck her head in the pantry. “I’m sorry, Evan. I know you didn’t mean anything harsh.” She sat on the floor beside him, leaning against the shelves.

  “I really am sorry. As soon as the words left my mouth, I knew it was the wrong thing to say.” His foot began to throb, but he’d not look away from her shining blue eyes for any amount of pain.

  “We love her so much. I’m not naïve about cancer. That’s what took my mom. I just can’t wrap my brain around Carol dying, too. I shouldn’t have acted like such a baby. Besides, she’s coming home. Maybe it’s good news.” She pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them.

  Evan hoped Carol wasn’t returning so that she could die at home instead of the hospital. He didn’t want to see this angel-face fall if the news wasn’t good. “No problem. There is a bit of a casualty, though.”

  “Huh?” She moved closer, and her eyes grew concerned. Her face that close to his, peppermint still floating on every breath, rendered him tongue tied.

  “Evan?”

  “I-I, uh, fell on the lights, and I think some of them broke. I sort of stepped on them.” He stretched his leg to see if the pain in his foot would subside. Ouch. Maybe he’d sprained it. He pu
lled the strand of lights from the box and held up the damage.

  “Oh, no, and it’s all my fault.” She reached for the connector and plugged it into a socket just next to her. Not a flicker. “How awful. I can replace them. That’s what I get for storming off like a baby.”

  “No, not at all. I’m the one who broke them. I’ll go down and see how many more there are.” Evan stood and the pressure on his foot sent a sharp pain through his big toe.“Ahhh!”

  “What happened?” Risé reached out to steady him.

  He plopped back down. “I think I hurt my toe when I fell.” It occurred to him the squish might be blood. Terrific.

  “Here, scoot back where I can get a look.” Risé kept her hands on his shoulders as Evan scooted to the other side of the pantry. She knelt at his feet. “Which one?”

  “The right.” It smarted, but long curls that seemed laced around air distracted him. She untied his shoe. So nice to be tended to. He’d broken his ankle once his freshman year. He’d wanted his mom to come and make a big deal out of it, stroke his forehead as she had when he was little. She sent flowers. Her new boyfriend needed her just then. Evan understood, right?

  “Uh-oh. Your shoe is filled with blood. I’ll be right back.” Two trim legs in skinny jeans hopped over his into the kitchen. She returned with a wet dish towel. She grabbed a roll of paper towels from the shelf above him, and tossed it and the wet towel in his lap.

  The most beautiful girl in the world could not be messing with his ugly feet. “Thanks, but I’ll get it.” He leaned forward to stop her from removing his sock.

  “Don’t be silly. It hurts. I can see it in your face. Just sit back.” She gently peeled off the bloody sock and set it aside. Her tiny hands dabbed at the blood with a paper towel and then applied pressure with the wet one.

  She turned his foot toward her to get a better look. The touch of her hand reminded him of soft cotton balls.

  She worked quickly, efficiently, and tenderly.