An Angel For Christmas

“When people are together—married, cohabiting, etcetera—they often go to one family one year, and another family the next. And children of divorced parents sometimes wind up so confused they don’t know where to go anymore—so they head to Cancún.”

Mike was silent, shaking his head for a minute, and then said, “Here’s the only truth I know—we’re all going to die. You can even get out of the ‘taxes’ part of death and taxes. And when we die, there’s only one thing we take with us.”

“What’s that?”

“Love,” Mike said, tapping his heart. “You and your siblings will talk about your mother and me when we’re gone, and that way, we’ll still be alive. Love lives on—not trips to Cancún, fruity drinks imbibed on a beach, or expensive clothing, or even a hotshot job. Your family loves you … you deserve a guy who knows about family, and love.”

Morwenna stared at her father, stunned. She’d never heard such a speech from him before.

“You were the one who pushed me through school,” she reminded him. “Then it was, ‘We all have to be independent, make our mark in life! There’s no one you can depend on but yourself.’ I went to school. I learned how to negotiate, engage a client, play all the business games. I even own stock, for God’s sake.”

She was surprised when he didn’t laugh, or at least crack a smile.

“Christmas,” he said softly, “always makes me kind of sentimental.”

He walked past her. Bobby came down the stairs, followed by Shayne, the kids and their strange guest, Gabe Lange.

“What’s up? What’s with that look?” Bobby asked her.

“Dad. Our father has gotten all weird,” she whispered, looking past him with a careful smile. “Christmas Eve dinner is on, Mr. Lange.”

He looked even better. Despite looking a bit worse for wear, the guy really did have a great face, all the right bone structure in place, but a face that wasn’t too pretty, and the structure didn’t take away from the strength of his jawline. In Shayne’s flannel shirt and old jeans, he looked like a sandy-haired woodsman. He could have done a commercial for some kind of rugged men’s cologne.

She reminded herself that many a serial killer had offered the world a pleasant face. She still didn’t trust him. He was a stranger in their midst.

“Thank you,” he told her. “Thank you for having me in your home like this. Christmas is a special time. I didn’t really mean to intrude,” he told her.

“Well, I guess you didn’t collapse by our house on purpose,” Morwenna said dryly. “Come along.”

She led the way from the parlor along the hall to the dining room, attached to the kitchen. Her mom was directing their extra guests to take their seats.

They hadn’t expected Shayne’s kids, and they certainly hadn’t expected Gabe Lange, but her mother could always manage to make a meal stretch. Turkey would be the main course tomorrow.

For Christmas Eve, Stacy always cooked a strange conglomeration of food—linguini with clam sauce, and potatoes and rice, a roast, broccoli with hollandaise sauce, green beans with slivered almonds, a massive “kitchen sink” salad and bread pudding. Perhaps the meal stretched so well because there were so many items to be had.

Morwenna looked at her mother. “What else? What can I get? What can I do?”

“Drinks,” her mother said, setting the bowl with the linguini on the table. “Take a tally. Kids, are you having juice? What would you like?”

They were all startled when Genevieve answered with a little sniff. “I would like Mommy to be here,” she said.

The adults froze. Connor placed his arm around his sister. “She’s on a trip. We’ll see her again soon,” he said.

Morwenna dived in quickly, not wanting Shayne to say anything. She knew he couldn’t understand what had happened to his marriage, and that he didn’t intend to hurt the kids. He also couldn’t help but be bitter.

“I’ll bet she’ll come back with great and wonderful gifts!” Morwenna said, walking around to hug Genevieve. “So, until then, what will you have to drink?”

“Can we have soda, Dad?” Connor asked.

“It’s Christmas Eve, why not?” Shayne told his son. Morwenna caught her brother’s eyes. He smiled at her; he was not going to make a disparaging remark about his ex-wife. Something about him seemed to have changed, just since he’d gotten to the house. Maybe he’d had a long talk with Bobby upstairs.

“Two sodas … Bobby? Soda, beer, wine?”

“Hey, it’s my first ‘legal’ Christmas. Please serve me a lovely glass of Cabernet,” Bobby said. “And Dad can’t even get arrested, or call the cops himself, because I am legal these days!”

“I’d have myself arrested?” Mike asked.

“Yeah, I think you would, Dad. In the name of justice for all!” He laughed. “My dad may be the best assistant D.A. in the country. I think he would have himself arrested under the innkeeper law,” he told Gabe.

Mike groaned. “You were underage—you and your friends. It’s illegal for an adult to aid a young person in securing alcoholic beverages. Now you are twenty-one. Go for it.”

“Tough to grow up in such a household,” Shayne told Gabe.

“Not so bad. We just decided to smoke pot, since everything was illegal for us,” Bobby said cheerfully.

Mike looked as if he would explode.

“Chill, Dad, chill, just kidding!” Bobby said.

“An honest man. Rare to find,” Gabe said. He had a curious expression. “I think I’d like a beer, if I may. Sounds intriguing—um, good, sorry. Sounds good.”

The seeds of mistrust settled more deeply into Morwenna’s soul. Intriguing? Beer? Where the hell had this guy been? Locked up somewhere?

“Mom, Dad, Shayne?” Morwenna asked.

In the end, she had two caffeine-free sodas, four glasses of wine and two bottles of beer. She moved into the kitchen to get the drinks, and found herself pausing to look around.

And feel guilty.

Stacy even cleaned while she cooked. With all that she had prepared, her mother had kept up with pots and other utensils as well. She had done so much; every year she did so much. She’d always been an at-home mom. Morwenna wondered if she had ever had her own set of dreams, and if their father’s career had changed Stacy’s life. She’d always cooked breakfast, made lunches, driven the children to Girl Scouts, Boy Scouts and Little League, sewn costumes, bought the candy, gone trick-or-treating and done everything imaginable.

Stacy followed her into the kitchen. “I’ll get the sodas,” she said. “If you pour the wine.”

“Mom, why don’t you just sit, and let me do this.”

“Are you kidding? I’m in my element, sweetheart. And we don’t get days like these often anymore—you know, when I have all of you!”

Morwenna walked to the counter where her mother was pouring the sodas. She slipped her arms around her waist. “Mom, did you ever want to really do anything? I mean, you know, have a career—do something else besides wait on Dad and all of us?”

Stacy turned to stare at her, her eyes wide. “Morwenna, this is my career, my life.”

“But, did Dad stop you from having any other dreams? Now would be the time to fulfill a dream. It’s never too late, you know.”

She was surprised; she was trying to stand up for her mother, and her mother was angry. “You get it out of your head that your father stopped me from doing anything. Because of your father, I could live my dream, I could have this career.”

“But we’re gone now, Mom. We’re all gone, out of the house, grown up.”

“And that means you’re not my children anymore?”