Silhouette Christmas Stories Read online

"Because this way, at least I know it's working," Tony managed to grate between his tightly clenched teeth, then went on swearing.

  Karen made a derisive sound and gave him another bright blue glare. "Then you could at least try to be brave," she said as she went on blowing.

  After a moment or two of tense silence, he surprised both her and himself by chuckling.

  "What's funny?"

  Tony muttered, "Nothing." Then he shrugged and smiled. "My mother used to do that."

  "Ohh… " The angry glint faded from her eyes. He watched them grow round, luminous, as if she'd just seen something unexpected and wondrous. He couldn't imagine what he'd said or done to put that look on her face, but it had a profound effect on him. Pretty much as if someone had sat down heavily on his midsection.

  While he was trying to remember how to breathe, it apparently occurred to Karen that she was still holding his hand. She dropped it like a hot rock and began to rummage in the first-aid kit for a bandage, acting as if his life depended on her finding it. When she did finally locate it, she seemed to have trouble getting the paper wrapping off, and when she went to put it on his finger, Tony noticed that her hands were shaking a little.

  He let her struggle with it, not offering to help, just keeping his mouth shut and holding himself very still, watching the way her teeth pressed into the soft pillow of her lower lip, and the way her lashes made crescent shadows on her flushed cheeks. It wasn't until she was finished and they both let go of a breath at the same time that he realized he'd been holding his all the time.

  "There-is that all right?" She looked up at him, and the light betrayed a fine film of moisture across the bridge of her nose.

  "Yeah, thanks," Tony said absently. "I think that should do it." But for some reason he just went on sitting there, studying her, flexing his hand.

  After a moment or two, Karen suddenly pushed the first-aid kit away from her and stood up, groping for her coat. "I, um… I have to go- I'm late for work. Is it all right if I stop in after work to pick up the car? Oh-" She paused; he could see her steel herself before she turned back to him. "I forgot- I know it's an imposition, but I promised I'd ask you. Is it all right if Andrew-if my son comes over here after school? He usually comes to my office and reads, or does his homework until I'm ready to go home, but he wanted-he said-"

  "Yeah, sure," Tony said. "No problem."

  "Are you sure? I don't want him to be in the way. If you'd rather not-"

  "He's not going to get in my way," Tony interrupted her, more sharply than he intended. And then, because he didn't want her to think he was annoyed with her, he tried to soften it as best he could with a lopsided smile. "Hell, I'm shorthanded today-one of my mechanics called in sick- I might just put the kid to work."

  There was a little silence while she looked at him, face thoughtful, hands in her coat pockets. Then she said softly, "Thank you. That's very nice of you."

  Tony made an ambiguous sound-a grunt, or a snort. He couldn't have explained his feelings right then, or why it bothered him that she thought she had to apologize for her kid, and that she was treating Tony like some kind of saint for having him around. He was just a kid, for Pete's sake. A nice kid. "Here," he growled, putting an end to the matter, "you want to sign this work order?"

  He handed her a pen, but instead of giving the clipboard to her, he left it on the desk and just angled it toward her a little bit, so she'd have to step over close to him in order to sign it. He did it quite deliberately, to test her responses to him, just in case he'd been mistaken before and it was only the sight of blood that had made her so nervous.

  What he didn't expect was that it would also be a test of his own self-control.

  He drew a long, slow breath. Her hair did smell good-like nothing he could put a name to. It made him think of sunshine and fresh spring mornings, and clean clothes flapping on the line. If he closed his eyes he could feel it on his skin, cool and soft as a whisper…

  "There," she said as she put the pen down, breathless again. "Is it all right if I come by right after work? It's apt to be a few minutes past five."

  Tony tore off her copy and handed it to her. The tension in him made his movements abrupt and his voice hard. "I'll try to have it done by then, but I can't guarantee anything. I'm short one mechanic, and I've got to finish with that Lincoln out there before I can start yours."

  Her face registered dismay, alarm and, at last, pure panic. "But you told me-on the phone-you told me if I brought it in first thing this morning I could have it by tonight. I have to have my car. I don't have any other way to get home-or back to work in the morning. And Andrew has to go to school-"

  She broke off as Tony abruptly stood up, fished his keys out of the pocket of his coveralls and held them out to her. When she just stared at him, he gave the keys a little shake, making them jingle. "Here, you can take mine. It's the white Chevy out back."

  From the look she gave the keys, Tony thought, someone would have supposed he'd handed her a tarantula. She transferred the same look to him and began to shake her head. "Oh, no-no, I couldn't." She took a step backward, away from him. When it looked as if she was likely to keep going in that direction, Tony caught her hand, turned it palm up, placed the keys in the middle of it and folded the fingers over them.

  "Lady," he said, holding her closed fist in both of. his hands, "didn't you ever hear of a loaner?"

  Her eyes locked with his across their clasped hands. He saw something flicker in the translucent blue, darken, and then catch fire. He felt the tension in her muscles as she fought him… and the relaxing when she surrendered. A new emotion swelled inside him: excitement… a strange, fierce thrill of joy.

  "All right," she murmured at last. "Thank you." She straightened her shoulders and lifted her head, an unconscious assertion of pride and dignity that touched Tony unexpectedly. Her face was expressionless as she pulled her hand from his grasp, dropped his keys into her coat pocket and placed hers on the clipboard beside the pen. "You'll need these," she said stiffly. "I'll stop by for Andrew at five o'clock."

  "No need," Tony said. "I'll bring him home when I bring you your car."

  "But you said-"

  "I said I didn't know if I could have it done by five, and I don't. Might take me an hour or so longer. Look-" he said when it appeared as if she was going to interrupt him, then had to interrupt himself to take a breath. His voice was gruff; he couldn't believe the tension in him. "Look, I'll get your car done-don't worry about it. I'll have both the car and the kid home by suppertime. Okay?"

  She drew a long breath and nodded. "Okay. Thank you. Thank you very much. Um… you know where I live?"

  "Yeah," Tony said wryly, "I know where you live."

  When his office door had closed behind her he said, "Damn!" and let his breath out in a rush. He listened to the sound of Karen Todd's high-heeled shoes tap-tapping across the shop floor and finally fading into silence before he picked up her car keys, tossed them up and snatched them one-handed from the air. Warmth burst through him, and he began to smile.

  The mysterious box greeted Karen when she arrived home from work, giving her a momentary jolt. With everything that had happened since, she'd all but forgotten it. For the rest of the evening, while she rushed to clean up the apartment, it sat there in the middle of her living room like an unexpected and slightly embarrassing guest-like the pastor on a duty call, she thought, or a wealthy but not-too-pleasant uncle-someone you would really rather not have in the house but couldn't risk offending. She'd straightened up around it and moved it in order to vacuum under it, all the while fidgeting with curiosity and vague feelings of resentment.

  Who would send her son a package-such a large package!-and put no name or return address on it? There was no one in the world who had the right to do such a thing-no one! Andrew's father was dead. He had only one surviving grandparent, his father's mother, who lived in a mobile-home park outside Fort Lauderdale on a fixed and very inadequate income. Every year she sent h
er only grandson a Christmas card and a five dollar bill, which had arrived right on schedule two days ago. Beyond that there was no one-no uncles, aunts or cousins. Who could have done such a thing? What in the world could it be? And when in the world was that boy going to come home so she could find out?

  Any minute, she thought for the twentieth time, looking at her watch. Any minute now.

  She looked around, smoothing the front of her dress. The apartment looked reasonably tidy; thank goodness she'd had time to vacuum. Should she have changed out of her dress? She usually put on jeans and a sweatshirt when she got home from work. Maybe she should change right now: she wouldn't want Tony to think she was wearing a dress to impress him.

  Oh, but she was! She was. And she'd vacuumed and tidied up the place for the same reason. For Tony D'Angelo? No, she told herself, she would have done the same thing no matter who it was. She didn't have many visitors. In fact, except for the landlady, Mrs. Goldrich, and that time Mr. James had stopped by on a Saturday to pick up some papers she'd taken home to work on over the weekend-an incident Karen preferred to forget- Tony would be the first. So it was no wonder she was nervous. Oh God, were her hands shaking? She held them up in front of her. No, steady as a rock. Good. She only felt shaky. Inside.

  The front door slammed; voices drifted up the stairs. Andrew's voice, excited and young, and another, a low, baritone murmur. Karen's stomach knotted. She took a deep breath and one last quick look around. What should she do? Go out to the landing and meet them, or wait for the knock on the door? No, Andrew wouldn't knock, she reminded herself. He would just open the door and walk in, and here she'd be, standing around as if she'd been waiting for them. It would be better to go and meet them.

  Just as she got to the door, it opened and Andrew burst in, cheeks red with cold, eyes shining with an excitement even his glasses couldn't hide. Behind him, filling up the doorway, was Tony.

  "Hi, Mom!" Disdaining his usual hello kiss, Andrew brushed by her, dumped his backpack on the couch and made a beeline for the box. "See, Tony? Here it is-it's got my name on it! And I get to open it now, right, Mom?"

  Suddenly left to face her guest alone, Karen mustered a smile. "Hi. Please-come in." And then, with a little shrug of apology, "I'm sorry, he's been so excited about this…"

  "That's okay." Tony's lips curved in a smile-the same slow, sweet, unanticipated smile that had taken Karen so completely by surprise when she'd encountered it that morning in his office. He smiled in stages, she decided-mouth first, then the creases at the corners of the eyes, and finally the eyes themselves. It was the last part that got to her… a warm brown glow as wicked and rich and irresistible as melted chocolate…

  "I don't blame him," he drawled as he stepped into her living room. "There's something about a brown cardboard box, especially one with your name on it."

  "Can I open it now, Mom? Can I? Please?"

  "All right," Karen said in a weak voice, forgiving her son both his rudeness and his grammatical lapse for giving her something to do, for throwing her a lifeline she could use to pull herself away from the magnetism of that smile. She frowned at the box, gathering her wits. "It looks very sturdy. I think we'll need scissors, or a knife. I'll get one-"

  Tony was already pulling one out of his pocket. He paused in the process of unfolding the blade, looked at Karen and said, "May I?" She hesitated, then nodded. He dropped to one knee beside the box.

  It's because he looks so different, Karen thought, watching as he split the box's taped seams with a few deft strokes of the pocketknife. It was the first time she'd ever seen him in anything but coveralls. He seemed bigger, somehow, in the teal-blue turtle-necked sweater, brown leather jacket and well-worn jeans. Bigger and… sexier.

  Sexier? Where had that come from? It was a word she hadn't even admitted to her thoughts for a very, very long time; doing so now caused her stomach to perform a curious and rather frightening flip-flop.

  "There you go, kid," Tony grunted, folding the knife with a snap and tucking it back in his pocket. "Have at it."

  It wasn't Andrew's way to go ripping into something helter-skelter; even as a very small child he'd opened his Christmas presents carefully, drawing out the suspense and maddening those with less methodical habits. Now, though his eyes were shining with anticipation, he folded back the box flaps almost reverently. His hands hovered over the layers of crumpled newspaper underneath, then slowly, slowly lifted them out of the box and laid them aside.

  "Look for a card," Karen reminded him. The suspense was getting to her; she felt a strange, shivery excitement. "There must be something that says who it's from."

  Tony picked up the discarded newspaper and shook it. "Doesn't seem to be one."

  Andrew didn't appear to have heard them. He had taken a newspaper-wrapped object from the box and was holding it in his hands, and the look on his face was rapt, almost fearful.

  Though she knew it would do no good to try to rush him, Karen couldn't keep from asking, "Well, what is it?"

  "I don't know," Andrew answered, his voice hushed. "It's heavy."

  "Well, come on, open it up." Even Tony was showing signs of impatience.

  Andrew caught his breath and held his lower lip between his teeth. Then he slowly peeled away the paper and let it fall. For a heartbeat or two he was silent- dumbstruck, it seemed-cradling the small, heavy object in his hands as if it were made of glass, or high explosives.

  "What on earth…?" Karen murmured.

  "It's a train," Andrew said at last, beginning in an awed whisper and picking up speed and volume as the wonder of it sank in. "This is the engine-it's a locomotive. It's an electric train, a real one. It's a whole, real electric train!"

  "Here," Tony said, "let me see that." Andrew handed over the engine and picked up another paper-wrapped package. Karen sat down on the arm of the couch.

  "I don't understand this," she muttered, shaking her head. The whole thing made her feel edgy, even angry. She didn't like mysteries, especially those that involved her child. "Who would do this? Who would do such a thing? Where did this come from?"

  "It's an old one," Tony said, squinting thoughtfully at the underside of the locomotive. "I wonder if it runs."

  "An old electric train?" Karen said on a rising note of disbelief. And then, because it seemed so crazy, so implausible, so unbelievable, she threw up her hands and began to laugh.

  "Oh, cool!" Andrew exclaimed. "Hey, look at this."

  In a moment he had the whole train unpacked and lined up on the living-room rug, the engine and five cars: a coal tender, a flatcar, a boxcar, a cattle car, and, of course, a caboose. The paint was faded and completely gone in spots, with patches of rust showing through, but Andrew didn't seem to notice. He was busy examining each car, exclaiming with delight and enthusiasm over each and every detail-doors that opened, wheels that turned, removable side racks, and on the front of the locomotive, a tiny silver bell.

  "Look, Tony… "

  "Hmm?" Tony glanced up from the control box he'd been examining, then leaned over to see what wonders Andrew had discovered now.

  The two heads came together, bending low over the train… two heads with dark, wavy hair, a little too long at the back of the neck, brushing collars and the tops of ears. And for a moment, just a moment, the picture froze in Karen's mind, as if someone had snapped a photograph. She heard-felt?-a click, felt things shift inside her; emotion caught at her breath and rushed stinging to her eyes and nose.

  Hay fever, she thought in sudden panic, and rose from the arm of the couch to declare brightly, "Andrew, it's way past your dinnertime. You must be starving."

  "Yeah… " Andrew said absently, frowning with the concentration required to fit two slightly bent pieces of track together. Then he looked up, his face alight with the infusion of a new idea. "Hey, can Tony stay for dinner, Mom?"

  "Oh-" said Karen and Tony at the same time, and then stopped.

  "You can stay," said Andrew, both assuring and imploring. "My
mom's a good cook. Do you like grilled cheese?"

  "Yeah, sure-with ketchup." Shining with amusement, Tony's eyes met Karen's over the top of her son's head.

  "Of course," she heard herself say. "You're welcome to stay."

  There was a pause, a moment of silence that seemed much longer than it was. Then Tony cleared his throat and said, "All right, sure. Thanks very much."

  "Well," Karen said, "all right, then."

  As she made her way to the kitchen on legs that weren't quite steady, she heard Andrew say, "Ketchup? On grilled cheese? That's gross!"

  Chapter Three

  When Karen came back, Tony was on his hands and knees on the carpet, helping Andrew lay track. There was enough of it to make a figure eight that stretched half the width of the living room, from the bay window that looked out over the street all the way to the front of the couch. They'd even had to move the furniture a little to make room for it.

  The boy turned as his mother approached, looking like someone who'd just discovered birthday presents. "Hey, Mom-look, we can put our Christmas tree right there, in the middle of that loop over there by the window, so everybody can see the lights. And then the train can go around the tree-won't that be neat? We're getting a big tree this year," he confided to Tony. "A real big one, tall as the ceiling. Right, Mom?"

  Karen glanced upward. Tony could see her calculating the height of the Victorian ceiling, the probable cost of a twelve-foot tree, and the logistics involved in getting such a tree up the stairs and into the apartment. Then she uttered the age-old maternal cop-out, "We'll see," as she placed a tray on the floor beside the train track.

  On the tray, Tony observed, there were two plates made out of plastic decorated with cartoon characters, two plastic glasses in bright primary colors, two neatly folded paper napkins and two small plastic spoons. On each of the plates was a grilled cheese sandwich nicely browned, a little pile of carrot sticks, and a tiny plastic cup of applesauce. The glasses were filled with milk.