Christmas, Actually: The Christmas Gift / The Christmas Wish / The Christmas Date

Once they were in the truck, she started the engine and reversed smoothly. Soon they were on the two-lane road back to town. She drove toward his town house near the square.

“This is a Christmas gift. A parking spot in front of your home.”

Sophie’s good cheer didn’t quite mask her steely mood. Something was on her mind. He’d gone along with her wishes so far, but he was losing patience.

“Thanks for the ride.” He held out his hand for the keys.

Sophie got out and met him in front of the hood.

“Why don’t you leave?” he asked, his throat so tight it hurt to speak.

“I will, Jack. You just tell me why I’m going. Why I’m giving up when I loved you for two years, unconditionally. I didn’t talk about it, but I noticed the way you dreamed. The odd way you reacted in the subway sometimes, or on the Common or at a play, when you’d suddenly break into a cold sweat and drag me out. I assumed the problem was enclosed places, or crowds.”

“No.” It was children. Always children. Laughing or crying. Happy or sad. Children being children.

She closed her eyes, all but begging the thin, cold air for patience, and handed him his keys. “Let me talk to you. If we can’t sort out our problems tonight, I’ll go home, and you won’t see me or the baby until she’s old enough to make a different choice.” Sophie gripped her hands together. “A few minutes—not an expensive price to pay for the one thing you want.”

He did want her and the baby away from him, no matter what he had to do. He couldn’t face the kind of utter annihilation she was asking him to risk.

Not ever again.

“You have to tell me, Jack. I don’t understand, and I can’t walk away until you explain.” Frustration made her so vulnerable he had to resist reaching out for her. Wanting to comfort her and push her away at the same time.

He walked to the narrow door of his town house and unlocked it. The foyer held a bench and a small sofa, just large enough for two. He turned on a lamp and took up a stance at the newel post on the stairs opposite.

She looked frustrated, as if she’d expected him to collapse in some sort of admission.

“I think I’m figuring it out.” She pulled off her mittens and her cap. She unbuttoned her coat, and he went to the thermostat midway down the hall to make sure the house was warm enough.

To take his face out of the light, so she couldn’t see him.

“I’m trying to do the right thing, Sophie. If I wanted you to know, I would have told you two years ago.”

“Something’s wrong with you. It’s not just that one of the most decent men I’ve ever known suddenly became the most despicable.” She stroked her belly as if tracing her hands over the baby, a habit she’d formed since he’d left Boston. Maybe she’d had to love this baby for two.

“That’s why you should stay away from me. You shouldn’t consider telling that little girl my name.”