Читать книгу Christmas in Seattle: Christmas Letters / The Perfect Christmas - Debbie Macomber - Страница 6

K.O. waited until she’d worked two hours straight before she phoned her sister. Zelda was a stay-at-home mom with Zoe and Zara, who were identical twins. Earlier in the year Zelda and Zach had purchased the girls each a dog. Two Yorkshire terriers, which the two girls had promptly named Zero and Zorro. K.O. called her sister’s home the Land of Z. Even now, she wasn’t sure how Zelda kept the girls straight, let alone the dogs. Even their barks sounded identical. Yap. Yap and yap with an occasional yip thrown in for variety, as if they sometimes grew bored with the sound of their own yapping.

Zelda answered on the third ring, sounding frazzled and breathless. “Yes?” she snapped into the phone.

“Is this a bad time?” K.O. asked.

“Oh, hi.” The lack of enthusiasm was apparent. In addition to everything else, Dr. Jeffries’s theories had placed a strain on K.O.’s relations with her younger sister.

“Merry Christmas to you, too,” K.O. said cheerfully. “Can you talk?”

“Sure.”

“The girls are napping?”

“No,” Zelda muttered. “They decided they no longer need naps. Dr. Jeffries says on page 125 of his book that children should be allowed to sleep when, and only when, they decide they’re tired. Forcing them into regimented nap-and bedtimes, is in opposition to their biological natures.”

“I see.” K.O. restrained the urge to argue. “Speaking of Dr. Jeffries…”

“I know you don’t agree with his philosophy, but this is the way Zach and I have chosen to raise our daughters. When you have a family of your own, you can choose how best to parent your children.”

“True, but…”

“Sorry,” Zelda cried. It sounded as if she’d dropped the phone.

In the background, K.O. could hear her sister shouting at the girls and the dogs. Her shouts were punctuated with the dogs’ yapping. A good five minutes passed before Zelda was back.

“What happened?” K.O. asked, genuinely concerned.

“Oh, nothing.”

“As I started to say, I saw Dr. Jeffries.”

“On television?” Zelda asked, only half-interested.

“No, in person.”

“Where?” All at once she had Zelda’s attention.

“On Blossom Street. You aren’t going to believe this, but he actually lives in my building.”

“Dr. Jeffries? Get out of here!”

Zelda was definitely interested now. “Wait—I heard he moved to Seattle just before his book was published.” She took a deep breath. “Wow! You really saw him?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Oh, my goodness, did you talk to him? Is he as hand-some in person as he is in his photo?”

Feeling about him the way she did, K.O. had to consider the question for a moment. “He’s fairly easy on the eyes.” That was an understatement but looks weren’t everything. To her mind, he seemed stiff and unapproachable. Distant, even.

“Did you tell him that Zach and I both read his book and what a difference it’s made in our lives?” “No, but…”

“K.O., could you…Would it be too much to get his autograph? Could you bring it on the fifteenth?”

K.O. had agreed to spend the night with the twins while Zelda and Zach attended his company’s Christmas party. Her sister and brother-in-law had made arrangements to stay at a hotel downtown, just the two of them.

“All the mothers at the preschool would die to have Dr. Jeffries’s autograph.”

“I haven’t met him,” K.O. protested. It wasn’t like she had any desire to form a fan club for him, either.

“But you just said he lives in your building.”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure it’s him?”

“It looks like him. Anyway, LaVonne said it was.”

Zelda gave a small shout of excitement. “If LaVonne says it’s him, then it must be. How could you live in the same building as Dr. Jeffries and not know it?” her sister cried as though K.O. had somehow avoided this critical knowledge on purpose. “This is truly amazing. I’ve got to have his autograph.”

“I’ll…see what I can do,” K.O. promised. This was not good. She’d hoped to find common ground with her sister, not become a…a go-between so Zelda could get her hero’s autograph. Some hero! K.O.’s views on just about everything having to do with parenting were diametrically opposed to those purveyed by Dr. Wynn Jeffries. She’d feel like a fraud if she asked for his autograph.

“One more thing,” Zelda said when her excitement had died down. “I know we don’t agree on child-rearing techniques.”

“That’s true, but I understand these are your daughters.” She took a deep breath. “How you raise them isn’t really any of my business.”

“Exactly,” Zelda said emphatically. “Therefore, Zach and I want you to know we’ve decided to downplay Christmas this year.”

“Downplay Christmas,” K.O. repeated, not sure what that meant.

“We aren’t putting up a tree.”

“No Christmas tree!” K.O. sputtered, doing a poor job of hiding her disapproval. She couldn’t imagine celebrating the holiday without decorating a tree. Her poor nieces would be deprived of a very important tradition.

“I might allow a small potted one for the kitchen table.” Zelda seemed a bit doubtful herself. She should be doubtful, since a Christmas tree had always been part of their own family celebration. The fact that their parents had moved to Arizona was difficult enough. This year they’d decided to take a cruise in the South Pacific over Christmas and New Year’s. While K.O. was happy to see her mother and father enjoying their retirement, she missed them enormously.

“Is this another of Dr. Jeffries’s ideas?” K.O. had read enough of his book—and heard more than enough about his theories—to suspect it was. Still, she could hardly fathom that even Wynn Jeffries would go this far. Outlaw Christmas? The man was a menace!

“Dr. Jeffries believes that misleading children about Santa does them lasting psychological damage.”

“The girls can’t have Santa, either?” This was cruel and unusual punishment. “Next you’ll be telling me that you’re doing away with the tooth fairy, too.”

“Why, yes, of course. It’s the same principle.”

K.O. knew better than to argue with her sister. “Getting back to Christmas…” she began.

“Yes, Christmas. Like I said, Zach and I are planning to make it a low-key affair this year. Anything that involves Santa is out of the question.”

Thankfully her sister was unable to see K.O. roll her eyes.

“In fact, Dr. Jeffries has a chapter on the subject. It’s called ‘Bury Santa Under the Sleigh.’ Chapter eight.”

“He wants to bury Santa Claus?” K.O. had heard enough. She’d personally bury Dr. Jeffries under a pile of plowed snow before she’d let him take Christmas away from Zoe and Zara. As far as she was concerned, his entire philosophy was unacceptable, but this no-Santa nonsense was too much. Here was where she drew her line in the snow—a line Wynn Jeffries had overstepped.

“Haven’t you been listening to anything I’ve said?” Zelda asked.

“Unfortunately, I have.”

Her doorbell chimed. “I need to go,” K.O. told her sister. She sighed. “I’ll see what I can do about that autograph.” “Yes, please,” Zelda said with unmistakable gratitude. “It would mean the world to me if you could get Dr. Jeffries’s autograph.”

Sighing again, K.O. replaced the receiver and opened the door to find her neighbor LaVonne standing there. Although standing wasn’t exactly the right word. LaVonne was practically leaping up and down. “I’m sorry to bother you but I just couldn’t wait.”

“Come in,” K.O. said.

“I can’t stay but a minute,” the retired CPA insisted as she stepped over the threshold, clutching Tom. “I did it!” she exclaimed. “I saw the future.” She squealed with delight and did a small jig. “I saw the future of your love life, K.O. It happened when I went to change the kitty litter.”

“The…kitty litter.” That was fitting, since it was where her love life happened to be at the moment. In some kind of toilet, anyway.

“Tom had just finished his business,” LaVonne continued, gazing lovingly at her cat, “and there it was, plain as day.”

“His business?” K.O. asked.

“No, no, the future. You know how some people with the gift can read tea leaves? Well, it came to me in the kitty-litter box. I know it sounds crazy but it’s true. It was right there in front of me,” she said. “You’re going to meet the man of your dreams.”

“Really?” K.O. hated to sound so disappointed. “I don’t suppose you happened to see anything in the kitty litter about me finding a job?”

LaVonne shook her head. “Sorry, no. Do you think I should go back and look again? It’s all in the way it’s arranged in the kitty litter,” she confided. “Just like tea leaves.”

“Probably not.” K.O. didn’t want to be responsible for her neighbor sifting through Tom’s “business” any more than necessary.

“I’ll concentrate on your job prospects next.”

“Great.” K.O. was far more interested in locating fulltime employment than falling in love. At twenty-eight she wasn’t in a rush, although it was admittedly time to start thinking about a serious relationship. Besides, working at home wasn’t conducive to meeting men. Zelda seemed to think that as a medical transcriptionist K.O. would meet any number of eligible physicians. That, however, hadn’t turned out to be the case. The only person in a white coat she’d encountered in the last six months had been her dentist, and he’d been more interested in looking at her X-rays than at her.

“Before I forget,” LaVonne said, getting ready to leave. “I’d like you to come over tomorrow for cocktails and appetizers.”

“Sure.” It wasn’t as if her social calendar was crowded. “Thanks.”

“I’ll see you at six.” LaVonne let herself out.

“Concentrate on seeing a job for me,” K.O. reminded her, sticking her head in the hallway. “The next time you empty the litter box, I mean.”

LaVonne nodded. “I will,” she said. As she left, she was mumbling to herself, something K.O. couldn’t hear.

The following morning, K.O. set up her laptop on a window table in the French Café, determined to wait for Dr. Jeffries. Now she felt obliged to get his autograph, despite her disapproval of his methods. More importantly, she had to talk to him about Christmas. This clueless man was destroying Christmas for her nieces—and for hundreds of thousands of other kids.

She had no intention of knocking on his door. No, this had to seem unplanned. An accidental meeting. Her one hope was that Wynn Jeffries was hooked on his morning latte. Since this was Seattle, she felt fairly certain he was. Nearly everyone in the entire state of Washington seemed to be a coffee addict.

In an effort to use her time productively, K.O. started work on the Mulcahy Christmas letter, all the while reminding herself that he was paying her double. She had two ideas about how to approach the situation. The first was comical, telling the truth in an outlandish manner and letting the reader assume it was some sort of macabre humor.

Merry Christmas from the Mulcahys, K.O. wrote. She bit her lip and pushed away a strand of long blond hair that had escaped from her ponytail. Bill and I have had a challenging year. Mason sends greetings from the juvenile detention center where he’s currently incarcerated. Julie is pregnant and we pray she doesn’t marry the father. Bill, at least, is doing well, although he’s worried about paying for the mental care facility where I’m receiving outpatient therapy.

K.O. groaned. This wasn’t humorous, macabre or otherwise. It was difficult to turn the Mulcahys’ disastrous year into comedy, especially since the letter was purportedly coming from them.

She deleted the paragraph and tried her second approach.

Merry Christmas from the Mulcahys, and what an—interesting? unexpected? unusual?—year it has been for our lovely family. K.O. decided on eventful. Bill and I are so proud of our children, especially now as they approach adulthood. Where have all the years gone?

Mason had an opportunity he couldn’t turn down and is currently away at school. Our son is maturing into a fine young man and is wisely accepting guidance from authority figures. Our sweet Julie is in her second year of college. She and her boyfriend have decided to deepen their relationship. Who knows, there might be wedding bells—and perhaps even a baby—in our daughter’s future.

So intent was she on putting a positive spin on the sad details of Bill Mulcahy’s year that she nearly missed Wynn Jeffries. When she looked up, it was just in time to see Dr. Jeffries walk to the counter. K.O. leaped to her feet and nearly upset her peppermint mocha, an extravagance she couldn’t really afford. She remained standing until he’d collected his drink and then straightening, hurried toward him.

“Dr. Jeffries?” she asked, beaming a winsome smile. She’d practiced this very smile in front of the mirror before job interviews. After her recent cleaning at the dentist’s, K.O. hoped she didn’t blind him with her flashing white teeth.

“Yes?”

“You are Dr. Jeffries, Dr. Wynn Jeffries?”

“I am.” He seemed incredibly tall as he stood in front of her. She purposely blocked his way to the door.

K.O. thrust out her hand. “I’m Katherine O’Connor. We live in the same building.” He smiled and shook her hand, then glanced around her. He seemed eager to escape.

“I can’t tell you what a surprise it was when La-Vonne pointed out that the author of The Free Child lived in our building.”

“You know LaVonne Young?”

“Well, yes, she’s my neighbor. Yours, too,” K.O. added. “Would you care to join me?” She gestured toward her table and the empty chairs. This time of day, it was rare to find a free table. She didn’t volunteer the fact that she’d set up shop two hours earlier in the hope of bumping into him.

He checked his watch as if to say he really didn’t have time to spare.

“I understand The Free Child has hit every bestseller list in the country.” Flattery just might work.

Wynn hesitated. “Yes, I’ve been most fortunate.”

True, but the parents and children of America had been most unfortunate in her view. She wasn’t going to mention that, though. At least not yet. She pulled out her chair on the assumption that he wouldn’t refuse her.

He joined her, with obvious reluctance. “I think I’ve seen you around,” he said, and sipped his latte.

It astonished her that he knew who she was, while she’d been oblivious to his presence. “My sister is a very big fan of yours. She was thrilled when she heard I might be able to get your autograph.”

“She’s very kind.”

“Her life has certainly changed since she read your book,” K.O. commented, reaching for her mocha.

He shrugged with an air of modesty. “I’ve heard that quite a few times.”

“Changed for the worse,” K.O. muttered.

He blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

She couldn’t contain herself any longer. “You want to take Santa away from my nieces! Santa Claus. Where’s your heart? Do you know there are children all over America being deprived of Christmas because of you?” Her voice grew loud with the strength of her convictions.

Wynn glanced nervously about the room.

K.O. hadn’t realized how animated she’d become until she noticed that everyone in the entire café had stopped talking and was staring in their direction.

Wynn hurriedly stood and turned toward the door, probably attempting to flee before she could embarrass him further.

“You’re no better than…than Jim Carrey,” K.O. wailed. She meant to say the Grinch who stole Christmas but it was the actor’s name that popped out. He’d played the character in a movie a few years ago.

“Jim Carrey?” He turned back to face her.

“Worse. You’re a…a regular Charles Dickens.” She meant Scrooge, darn it. But it didn’t matter if, in the heat of her anger, she couldn’t remember the names. She just wanted to embarrass him. “That man,” she said, stabbing an accusatory finger at Wynn, “wants to bury Santa Claus under the sleigh.”

Not bothering to look back, Wynn tore open the café door and rushed into the street. “Good riddance!” K.O. cried and sank down at the table, only to discover that everyone in the room was staring at her.

“He doesn’t believe in Christmas,” she explained and then calmly returned to the Mulcahys’ letter.