Читать книгу A Snowglobe Christmas: Yuletide Homecoming / A Family's Christmas Wish - Lissa Manley - Страница 14

Chapter Three

Amy’s boots echoed in the empty hall between the side door and the family center at the back of New Life Church. All day long she’d felt jittery about coming tonight. Now, to make her even jumpier, the church seemed unusually quiet. She’d expected a crowd to help sort the boxes of donated foods and gifts, and to act as a buffer between her and her ex-fiancé.

Slipping her gloves from her fingers, she stuffed them into her pockets and rolled her suddenly stiff shoulders. As she entered the large common room, Pastor Jacobson spotted her and came forward, his ruddy face open and smiling.

“Amy, you made it.” He offered his hand, swallowing hers in his much larger one. The forty-something former pro wrestler was the size of Paul Bunyan with an equally big heart.

She returned the smile and unwound a thick scarf from her neck. “I must be early. Where is everyone?”

“You may be it,” he said. “A scout troop was scheduled for tonight but something’s going on at the school and they canceled. With time short, we’re falling behind, so Rafe comes in most nights for a few hours. You’re a blessing for volunteering to help him.”

Blessing? She sure didn’t feel that way, and when Rafe appeared from the kitchen area toting a box labeled “green beans,” she wished she’d not come at all.

“No one else volunteered?”

“A few others may pop in. You never know.” Pastor patted her shoulder. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m headed over to the hospital. Sadie took a fall. Keep her in your prayers.”

Amy stared in dismay at the pastor’s departing back. Just like that, she was alone with Rafe Westfield. All day she’d considered backing out. Now she wished she had. But when she’d mentioned working late at the gift shop, her mom had pushed her out the door.

Behind her, Rafe slammed a box onto a table. Amy spun around.

“Hi,” he said, calm as could be. “Thanks for volunteering. We’re shorthanded.”

Amy swallowed a flutter of nerves. “So I see.”

“Might as well take off your coat and get comfortable. There’s a lot to do.”

Get comfortable? That was not likely to happen. But she shed her coat and hat, wondering how she’d gotten into this miserable situation.

“Look, I—uh...” She pressed her lips together, trying to think of a reason to leave but nothing came. The truth was she loved this project, had volunteered all through high school and beyond. Why should she allow an unimportant man to take that pleasure from her the way he’d taken her heart? With a soft exhale, she said, “Tell me where to start.”

She could do this. She would do this. Rafe didn’t need to know how awkward she felt. Or that the anger and resentment of their broken engagement simmered just beneath the surface of civility. Resentment she’d thought was long gone.

Rafe zipped a knife along the top of a box and flipped up the flaps.

“We set up empties on those tables,” he said, pointing, “and the finished ones over there. And these are the donated items to pull from.”

“Just like always.”

“Yes. Like old times.”

Old times? She didn’t think so. In old times, this would have been fun. They would have laughed and teased and made a game of sorting and packing. He would have tossed a bag of rice at her and later, when he wasn’t looking, she would have taped his shoe to the floor. Between the pranks and hijinks, they would have talked about any and everything and planned their holiday adventures.

Those times were as gone as their love.

Stiff as a mid-January icicle, Amy took a list and began sorting through random items donated by service groups and individuals. Several minutes passed while neither spoke. The tension in Amy’s neck tightened. She was intensely aware of Rafe’s every movement, of being alone with him for the first time since their break-up. The huge, mostly empty hall echoed with painful silence, except for the rattle of cans and scrape of boxes. She could even hear herself swallow!

“A-w-k-w-a-r-d,” she muttered to a can of yams.

“Did you say something?”

Amy didn’t look up. She didn’t need to look to know Rafe was burning her with a questioning stare. “Nothing.”

Tin cans clattered against the brown Formica tabletops while she repeated her mantra. She was doing this for Jesus and the needy. Rafe could go take a leap in a snowbank. She didn’t like him. He’d left her, broken her heart. She could work beside him for the sake of others. He would not affect her.

As if he read her thoughts, Rafe moved his half-filled box directly across from hers so they were standing face-to-face. His gray-blue eyes searched hers. “You all right?”

“Fine.”

He nodded, all the while stacking canned goods into a box with automated efficiency. Tension simmered. If he didn’t feel it and get the message that she didn’t want to talk to him, he was an insensitive slob.

“Snowglobe’s a great place to be during the holidays,” he said, rattling boxes of macaroni and cheese.

Really? Then why had he left? “It’s a great place to be any time.”

If he comprehended the jab, he dodged it. “Spokane must have agreed with you.”

“What?” Frowning, she glanced up. “Why?”

“You look good.”

“Oh. Well. Thanks. I enjoyed the time there.”

“Your mother seems really happy to have you home.”

“She is.” Now shut up and leave me alone. And stop looking at me as if you’re even the slightest bit interested in my life.

“Are you happy about taking over the shop?”

Amy suppressed a sigh. He was as insensitive as she’d thought. “For the most part. I’ve missed the small-town things we do at Christmas. The tree lighting, caroling door-to-door.”

“I’m looking forward to those myself. The ski race, too.”

She resisted the urge to ask why he’d changed his mind and come home. She didn’t want to care why he did anything.

When she didn’t speak, another uncomfortable silence fell. With an inner groan, Amy wondered which was worse, talking to Rafe or dealing with the awkward silence.

She stacked four cans of corn into a box and stole a glance toward the doorway. Not another soul anywhere around.

When she could bear the quiet no longer, she asked, “Are you competing?”

“In the race?” He shook his head. “No, but Jake is. I’m minding the store. The recreational rental business should be brisk when tourists hit town.”

“So, how’s that working out for you?”

With a box of stuffing in each hand, he grinned, transforming his serious expression into a thing of beauty. Thick lines radiated from the corner of his eyes, lines that hadn’t been there five years ago. A pinch of concern prodded Amy. She wasn’t stupid or uninformed. She knew where he’d been for most of his military career, and now she wondered what kind of toll war had taken on the breezy young athlete she remembered.

“I play with big boys’ toys all day,” he said. “Can’t beat a job like that.”

She studied him, bothered by her thoughts and this sudden, unwanted curiosity about his life. “Business must be good.”

“We’re doing all right. You should come by sometime and check us out. Take a spin on one of the new Arctic Cats.” Using a black marker, he labeled a filled box and set it aside.

“Maybe I’ll do that.” When Antarctica melts. Though she was itching to ask why he’d left the military, she refrained, struggling not to care one way or the other. But something new about him disturbed her, something more than their painful break-up.

When he came around the table toward her then, she took a step backward, wary. The last thing she wanted was for him to touch her or apologize or...whatever he was about to do.

“I’ll get the filled boxes for you,” he said, indicating the two she’d packed and slid to one side. “They get pretty heavy.”

“Oh,” she said, feeling silly. “Thanks, but I’ve still got some muscle.” She raised her sweater-clad arm and made a muscle to prove the point.

Rafe was still a little too close, so much so that his outdoorsy scent tinkled her nose. Amy’s breath caught in her throat as memories flooded her. Her chest filled with an ache too big to hold. She’d once loved him so very, very much.

Heedless of her inward battle, Rafe’s powerful fingers lightly squeezed her relatively small muscle. He whistled. “Spokane girls got the power.”

Yes, they did. The power to back away and remember what Rafe Westfield had done five years ago.

She dropped her arm to her side and turned away to rummage in the donation boxes.

They worked in silence again, sorting, stacking, boxing. Amy tried to focus on the good she was doing, on the families who would benefit from the food and toys they’d deliver to homes shortly before Christmas.

“I wish we had a radio,” she said suddenly.

“Want to use my iPod? I’ve got earbuds.”

“You downloaded Christmas carols?”

“Are you insinuating that guys don’t listen to Christmas music?”

“No, of course not—” Amy looked up to see he was teasing. “How did you know I wanted Christmas music?”

“Because you always did.” Expression easy, he pointed a cake mix at her. “You drove me nuts singing ‘Jingle Bells’ at the first sign of snow.”

Not wanting to remember those good times, Amy tossed her head. “Maybe I’ve changed.”

He stared at her for two beats before saying, “I guess we both have. You gonna sing in the Christmas cantata?”

“I hadn’t thought about it.” But she was thinking about what he’d said. They’d both changed. For some reason, the statement made her sad.

“You should. Trust me, the choir needs your soprano.”

“I doubt that.” She added packs of beans and rice to the three new boxes she’d set between them as barriers. “New Life has plenty of strong voices.”

“None as sweet and pure as yours.”

“Is that a compliment?” She looked up, smiling in spite of her resolve.

His perfect mouth shrugged while his eyes twinkled. “Maybe. Or maybe Darlene Clifford is jockeying to sing a solo.”

Amy clapped a hand to each cheek. “Argh. Say it ain’t so!”

Holding a tea box to his chest, he nodded in mock seriousness. “And we both know Darlene’s voice could take the paint off the walls.”

Amy sniggered. Then she laughed. Rafe joined her. And in the next minute, through shared silliness, she relaxed a little.

“Shame on you.” Amy tossed a bag of noodles at him.

He one-handed it. “You laughed first.”

So she had. Rafe could always make her laugh.

But she’d still be glad when the evening was over.

* * *

The scream jerked him awake. He bolted upright in bed, shaking, heart thundering inside his chest. The rat-a-tat of gunfire resounded in his head. His nostrils full of fire and dust and that peculiar, sickly sweet smell of death.

Rafe shook his head, fighting to gain reality. He was home. In Snowglobe. In his old bedroom. He’d done his job. Let it go.

He sat up on the side of the bed, elbows on his knees and head in his hands. Cold night air prickled the sweat trickling down his neck.

He could hear his own ragged breathing, loud and harsh in the silent night.

The doorknob rattled and the door opened. Light from the hall bathroom crept in around his feet.

He looked up to find Jake a dark shadow standing in the doorway.

“Are you all right?” Jake asked, voice low and worried.

Rafe ran splayed fingers through the top of his hair, collecting himself for the sake of little brother. “Yeah.”

“I heard you.”

Shame calmed the pounding of his pulse. Jake’s room was next to his just as it had always been. Rafe was thankful Mom and Dad were at the other end of the house. But he didn’t want his brother thinking he was a sissy. “Sorry.”

Jake padded across the soft carpet, quiet as a cat, and a welcome presence. “Another nightmare?”

As much as he hated to admit it.

“Something like that. No big deal. Must have been the chili dog.”

Jake hovered, uncertain. “I can get you something. Water. Milk. Ibuprofen.”

Rafe wondered if he’d screamed, if he’d cried out like a scared girl. He wondered if he’d said anything he shouldn’t. But he didn’t ask. Couldn’t. He was a marine. “Go back to bed.”

“You sure? I could stay. Talk.”

“I’m good.” He could handle it. “Don’t say anything to Mom about this, okay?”

Jake hesitated for another few seconds, then squeezed Rafe’s shoulder, slipped quietly out of the room and shut the door with a soft click.

In total darkness again, Rafe sat on the side of the bed, adrenaline jacked, his sleep shot for the night. He couldn’t remember details of the dreams but they left him feeling weak and helpless and frustrated that war had followed him home. They didn’t come often—maybe once a week—but when they did, they wrecked him.

He bowed his head, hands clasped between his still shaky knees and prayed. Afterward, he rose and went to the window, pulling up the heavy insulated shades to look outside. The world was peaceful here. Peaceful and safe. Snow fell in the moonlight and glistened like the inside of a snowglobe. He thought of the one he’d carried with him all around the world. The snowglobe Amy had given him.

“Amy,” he muttered against the cold windowpane.

Tonight had been strange. He’d known she hadn’t wanted to be alone with him at the food pantry. Even though he understood her reasons, he was bothered. They’d been such good friends, able to talk about anything and everything, even before becoming engaged. But that, like everything else in his life, had changed.

He wondered again if he should broach the topic of their broken engagement and explain how sorry he was for hurting her.

He scrubbed both hands over his face, whiskers scraping.

He and Amy lived in the same town, attended the same church, but they might as well be as far apart as Spokane and Afghanistan. She hadn’t understood then. She certainly wouldn’t understand now.

Heart heavy, he clicked on a lamp, went to his closet and took down the small snowglobe. As he had so many times before, he twisted the key on the bottom and gave the globe a shake. He returned to his bed and lay down. Globe balanced on his chest, he propped his hands behind his head to watch the make-believe snow fall over the pretty little village and let the melody of “Silent Night” serenade him toward dawn.