Christmas in Hawthorn Bay

They had no skin, no flesh to soften their skulls, no eyeballs to gentle their pitiless stares. But their bones shone in the moonlight.

Bones made entirely of gold.

WHEN JACK SAW THE BUSTLE in the town square, with the Santa in the band shell and the Christmas tree in the center, he wasn’t a bit surprised.

Like most little towns, Hawthorn Bay loved a good festival. Without the museums and theaters and operas and bars of a big city, the good people of the community had to break their boredom other ways. So they held parades and picnics and rodeos, carnivals and cook-offs and white elephant jumbles. Any excuse to string the town square with fairy lights would do.

Jack had actually liked the festivals, back in high school. As the reigning community leaders, “Boss” Carson and his society wife, Angela, had always been in the thick of things, busy with committees and volunteers, organizing the dances and pouring the lemonade. Which had given Jack the perfect chance to sneak away with Nora.

Back then, he’d always been burning up with the need to touch her. With a girl like Nora, you had to go slow, but over the six months of their romance he had been claiming her, inch by tormenting inch. He’d already owned her soft, sunshine-golden hair, her lips, her cheeks, her ears, her eyelids. He had left his mark on her neck, her collarbone, the inside of her elbow, her swelling, rose-tipped breasts.

He’d win her all someday, he’d been sure of that. The fire lay so deep inside her that it didn’t often show on the outside, but he knew it was there. He could taste it in the heat of her lips. He could hear it in the trapped-butterfly beat of her heart.

And then, one day, in a black Killian temper, he’d put the fire out for good.

But that was ancient history. He gave himself an internal shake and put the memories back in cold storage.

It had been late afternoon when he’d left Sean at Sweet Tides, and by the time he got to City Hall, though it was only about four thirty, the offices were closed. At The Christmas Jubilee, the sign on the door read.

He left his car by the municipal complex and walked back to the town square. It was growing colder, and the trees were already casting long shadows on the sidewalk. The sun would probably go down in about an hour or so—he could tell by the light on the river behind City Hall, which was morphing from dark blue to dirty pink.

The sky was a little busier, too, as the birds made their last-minute flights back to their nests.

Funny how quickly he could fall back into the rhythms of coastal life. He might have been gone for only twelve days, instead of twelve years.

He stood at the edge of the square for several minutes, just absorbing the scene. They’d gone all out for this particular festival. Main Street was lined with life-size, blow-up snowmen, which would have been right at home in the Macy’s parade. Every tree, large and small, twinkled with colored lights. At the south edge of the square, an ornate merry-go-round in which every horse was a reindeer twirled to the tinkling sounds of “Jingle Bells.”

But most of the activity was concentrated at the north end, up by the band shell. That was where Santa was holding court, enthroned in red velvet under the bright lights that usually illuminated the Hawthorn Barbershop Quartet. A long line of children wound down the band shell stairs and out into the square, waiting to sit on Santa’s lap.

Boss Carson used to do the Santa bit, but Jack knew that Nora’s dad had died quite a few years ago. He wondered who had taken over. He moved up a few yards, to the edge of the bank of folding chairs, to get a better look.

Well, how about that? It was Farley Hastert. Talk about casting against type. Farley had been the tallest, skinniest boy in Blackberry High. A couple of years older than Jack, he’d been a basketball jock and a straight-A student, on top of having a very nice, very rich father. Naturally, Farley was never without a gorgeous girl on his skinny arm.

Jack had been so jealous of Farley Hastert, he hadn’t been able to see straight. Once, Nora had let Farley give her a ride home from school, and Jack had gone caveman, getting up close into Farley’s long, hound-dog face and ordering him to stay away from his girl, or something equally Neanderthal.

Nora had broken up with Jack on the spot, and the week before she forgave him had been pure hell.

True to form, Farley still had a gorgeous girl with him. Santa had a sexy elf helper this year, dressed in a tight-fitting, very short red satin mini-dress trimmed in white fur. Red tights set off fantastic legs, and a perky red cap perched on top of bouncing blond curls.

Jack stood up straighter.

That was no elf. That was Nora.

“Well, knock me down with a feather! If it isn’t Black Jack Killian himself, all dressed up like a banker!”

Jack turned. It took him a minute to place the face, which looked like the much-older version of someone he once knew. The red hair was a clue, and finally he made the connection.

“Amy!” He gave her a hug, hoping his face didn’t register surprise. Amy Grantham was actually two years younger than he was—maybe twenty-nine or so? But she looked forty-five and exhausted. “I didn’t know you were back in Hawthorn Bay.”

“It sucked me back,” she said with a dry smile. “I married Eddie Folger, he’s got a charter boat business. We…we don’t have any kids yet, but we’re still trying. We do all right.”

“I’m glad,” he said, but it hurt to see her so drawn and discouraged. He had hoped her life had improved.

They’d met at an Al-Anon meeting his first year of high school. Amy’s father had been an alcoholic, too. And they’d both been poor. That had been enough to make them friends. Secretly, they’d bonded against all the happy families in Hawthorn Bay—secretly because Amy hadn’t wanted anyone to guess how much being an alcoholic’s child could define you.

Jack had already accepted his fate as an outcast—what was the point, after five generations of Killian hatred, in fighting it?—but Amy was still pretending she was just like everyone else.

They still exchanged Christmas cards sometimes…or at least his firm used to send his. He tried to remember whether they’d started to bounce back, after she’d moved. He was ashamed to realize he had no idea.

“What about you?” She smiled at him. “What are you doing here? Don’t tell me this place has got hold of you again, too?”

He shuddered inwardly at the thought. “Nope. I’m just here to see Sean. He’s in a tangle with the city council, and he needed some legal advice.”

Amy rolled her eyes. “Them! Yeah, I heard about them wanting Sweet Tides. They’re just a bunch of vultures, the lot of them. But they’ve got the power, just like they always did. Tom Dickson is one of them, did you know that?”

Jack smiled. “Sure. That’s the icing on the cake. Made the whole trip down here worthwhile.”

Amy glanced at the band-shell stage. “And she’s one of them. In fact, she’s the head buzzard. I guess you knew that, too.”

“Yeah.”

“Have you seen her yet? I mean, to talk to her? Does she know you’re in town?”

“Not yet.” He watched Nora lead a little girl up and lift her into Santa’s lap. The little girl began to cry, so Nora knelt beside her, soothing her tears. “I don’t think she’ll exactly be thrilled to see me.”

“You two never made up, then?” Amy’s pursed mouth moved nervously. “You never—explained things to her?”

He put his hand on the woman’s arm. It was painfully thin. Amy had been anorexic back in high school. He wondered if she still was. Her neck was stringy, like an old woman’s.

“I promised you I’d never tell anyone about all that,” he said. Had she carried this fear around with her for the past twelve years? “I meant it.”

“But…” Amy’s eyes looked watery and pale. “She never forgave you for what you did to Tom, did she? Surely you were tempted to explain—”

“Explaining wouldn’t change anything,” he said. “Nora didn’t want the kind of man who would try to murder anyone.”

“But—”

“And I didn’t want a woman who thought I was that kind of man.”

Amy gazed at him a long moment, then nodded slowly. “I guess I can see that,” she said. She drew herself up a little straighter. “I should be getting on home. Eddie will be docking soon, and he’ll want dinner.”

They hugged goodbye, and Jack watched her go. Even from the back she looked like a tired, middle-aged woman. He couldn’t help comparing her to Nora. In that ridiculous but strangely seductive elf suit, Nora could have been mistaken for a teenager.

He looked at the stage again. There seemed to be some kind of commotion. Nora was talking to a group of kids, and Santa was walking slowly down the stairs. As soon as she herded the kids back to the line, she posted a sign that said Santa Will Be Back In Five Minutes. Then she turned quickly and followed the man in the red suit.

Looked as if they were taking a break.

If Jack wanted to talk to her, now was the time.