Читать книгу Christmas, Actually: The Christmas Gift / The Christmas Wish / The Christmas Date - Anna Adams - Страница 16

CHAPTER EIGHT

IF HE HAD to hear one more Christmas carol... The cheerful voices and hopeful lyrics were bitter enough to make Jack want to cancel the holidays. He couldn’t wish anyone a merry, merry anything, and he was sweating inside the Santa suit.

All those children out there. Waiting to see him.

Hopeful, happy, expectant.

They weren’t waiting for him. Just for the man he was playing.

As he’d played a strong, decent man for Sophie, until she’d actually needed him. If she could see him now, she’d have to agree he was right about keeping their child out of his life. He’d worked himself into a cowardly sweat over pretending to be a nonexistent hero for sick children, kids who were depending on him to be a plausible Santa Claus.

He shaped the pillows beneath his coat, eased the furnacelike beard over his moist upper lip and opened the door before he was tempted to head back to Boston instead of doing one simple job that his family expected him to complete.

Jack saw twinkling lights, colorful presents beneath the tree and a red velvet bag bulging with the gifts the volunteers had gathered for him to distribute.

The singing stopped. The chatter stopped. The children stopped.

Their faces turned as one. Joy shone on some, disbelief on others. Most terrifying of all, some of these innocent babies looked at him with naked hope.

“Ho, ho, ho.” It sounded pathetic and weak to him, muffled by his beard. No one else minded.

Cheers and shouts and laughter rang out, and the children flooded his way as if he were the best surprise ever.

The breath left his body in a gasp only he could hear. He was light-headed, but stayed upright by sheer force of will.

Laughter became the scream of rockets launching. Shouts became the whistle of tracer bullets passing by his ears.

He saw a face, small, bloody, in pain.

He reeled back, thankful to have his backward plunge stopped by the red bag he was supposed to haul around the room.

Again, the children didn’t seem to notice, but, hyperaware, Jack witnessed the looks tossed between his colleagues. Georgette Everly looked at Sophie as if she might know what was going on.

Sophie didn’t seem to catch the doctor’s silent question. She’d already begun to weave toward him, through the knots of happy children.

“Did you forget your elves, Santa? I’ll help you with these beautiful presents.”

She rested her hand on his shoulder, gripping him in a way that dragged him into the present. He didn’t even care that she must feel the perspiration soaking him underneath the jacket. He took the chair she pushed his way, and let her fish the first few gifts from the sack.

On each tag, a code noted whether the gift was for a boy or girl, and another sorted it by age range. He stared at the letter and numbers, unable to put it all together.

“Boy, seven to nine,” Sophie whispered next to him, already diving for the next gift.

He called a boy up and handed it over, managing small talk that made the child laugh. Jack and Sophie kept up the act, with him avoiding his curious colleagues until he recovered his composure enough to focus.

Sophie stayed with him as he took the last of the gifts to the children too ill to walk up to him.

After everyone received a gift and good wishes, he went to the goody table.

“I might take a couple of these delicious cookies for my reindeer,” he said. “I’m sorry this hospital won’t let them in to visit with you children, too. I hope you’re all feeling well soon. Thank you for having me at your party today.” He gave a much jollier “Ho, ho, ho” and returned to his makeshift dressing room, amid a chorus of goodbyes and Merry Christmases.

Sophie slipped in behind him, hugging the empty red velvet bag. “Are you all right?” she asked. “Are you ill?”

“I’m fine. You should go before I have to explain what you’re doing in here with me.”

“I don’t care what anyone thinks. You’re not safe to drive. Where are you going from here?”

“I’m fine.”

“Who do you think you’re talking to? Let me check your vitals.”

He knew what she’d find. His pulse was sky-high and his blood pressure probably made a stroke seem like his next destination.

The memories he’d been fighting made him unsafe. Sounds and faces and pain he was keeping at bay by pretending he didn’t hear, see or feel them. He just needed to look normal long enough to push Sophie out of his escape route.

“I’ll take a ride if you can drive my truck.”

“Are you kidding? I learned on a stick. My mom and I thought we were so cool, driving around in her old Rambler.” Sophie nodded at his red suit. “Are you changing clothes?”

“Wait here. Don’t go back out there.”

“Whatever, Jack.”

He slipped out the back door and headed for the bathroom. Sophie didn’t understand. His neighbors in this small town tended to be nosy. They’d want to know why the nurse he’d never admitted knowing had followed him from the party.

He wrestled with the Santa costume, breathing deeply as he got his head out of the jacket. It wasn’t just panic and memories. That getup was hot.

Sophie was waiting, her coat over her arm, when he went back to the office where he’d left her. They headed to the elevators. When the door opened, they joined two other surgeons already back in scrubs. As the elevator stopped at their floor, one of the men turned back.

“Good night, Santa.”

“Ho, ho, ho.”

Laughing, the two men went their separate ways and the doors slid shut.

“Feeling better?” Sophie asked.

“Yeah.” Jack wasn’t about to discuss what had happened.

“You’re doing me a favor. I’d have to take a cab if I wasn’t riding with you.”

“Drive to the B and B. I’ll be fine to go the rest of the way to my house.”

“Oddly, the pregnant woman is steadier than you right now, and it’s barely a block to walk.” She held out her hand for the keys as they exited the hospital.

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.”