Comfort and Joy Read online

  ***

  “I’VE ALREADY TOLD MOM what I want for Christmas,” Philip informed Jesse as they inched along the line. “But just to be safe, I think I ought to tell Santa, too.”

  “That sounds like a wise strategy,” Jesse agreed.

  At another time, he might have found all the seasonal hoopla irritating. But he was in too cheerful a mood to be annoyed, even by tinsel and sparkling lights and cloying Christmas carols. Ever since he’d awakened that morning, feeling well-rested and not at all achy, his spirits had been high. He was glad to be alive, glad and grateful. All of this holiday bullcrap—the mannequins spruced up in silver furs and red stocking caps, the silver snowflakes dangling from the vaulted ceilings, the screaming children competing with a saccharine rendition of “Little Drummer Boy” oozing from the overhead speakers, the tight grip of Philip’s small hand within his—it was all a part of being alive.

  Christmas was just the outer trapping. The inner truth of this frenzied environment was that these people, all these frazzled parents and demanding children, were alive, too. They were all survivors. That was what they were here to celebrate.

  “Are you really gonna ask him for a Porsche?” Philip questioned Jesse. “I used to have a Matchbox Porsche, but I don’t know where it is. I think Jeff’s kid brother lost it. He loses everything. He’s four years old.”

  “That’s a rough age,” Jesse said, nudging Philip forward in the line. “Does your mom want a picture of this?” he asked, scanning the placard posted by the fence listing the prices the photographer charged for his snapshots and enlargements.

  “Nah. Too expensive,” Philip said rationally. “I’ve got to get a present for her, too. And for Mrs. O’Leary. I’ve got almost fifteen dollars. You know what? Adam Worblin, he’s the worst speller in our class, he said he’s gonna give Ms. Becker a Christmas present. Ms. Becker’s my teacher.”

  Jesse nodded. “She’s my neighbor.”

  “She is?” Philip regarded him with a saucer-eyed stare. “She lives near you?”

  “She lives next door to me.”

  “Wow.” Philip took a minute to absorb this astounding news. “Is she as boring at home as she is in class?”

  Jesse laughed. One of the best things about children was that they weren’t hypocrites. They said exactly what was on their minds. “She isn’t that boring at home,” he told Philip. “Maybe what’s boring about your class isn’t the teacher but the schoolwork.”

  Philip considered that possibility, then discarded it. “Nah. It’s her. She’s really boring. My turn’s next!” He strained at Jesse’s hand, leaning toward the gate. “What a weenie,” Philip whispered to Jesse after listening to the wish list of the child on Santa’s lap. “He wants books.”

  “What’s wrong with books?” Jesse asked.

  “You can get them for free at the library. It’s my turn!” After practically colliding with the young bookworm leaving the fenced enclosure, Philip hopped onto Santa’s knee. Jesse stood to one side of Santa’s throne, signaling to the photographer that he wasn’t interested in a photograph. “My name’s Phil Greer,” Philip announced, “and here’s what I want: another Transformer, like in the movie, some more Legos, and a rocket ship. Maybe a battery-operated one, with lights that go on and off. Okay?”

  Grinning, Santa glanced at Jesse to make sure he’d heard Philip’s requests. He winked, then bowed to address the boy on his lap. “That’s a lot of stuff, Phil. Have you been a good boy this year?”

  “I’ve been so good it’s disgusting,” Philip boasted.

  “Well, I’ll see what my elves can do for you.”

  “Okay, but no clothes,” Philip implored him. “My grandma’s going to send me clothes. She always does.”

  “That’s what grandmas are for,” Santa said. He reached into a sack at his feet and pulled out two candy canes. “Here you go, Phil, one for you and one for your dad. Merry Christmas! Ho ho ho!” With that, he shoved Philip off his lap, eyed the line, and sighed wearily.

  “Hey, did you hear that?” Philip asked Jesse, handing him one of the candy canes and tearing the wrapper off the other. “He thought you were my dad. Pretty funny, huh?”

  Jesse was too unnerved to find Santa’s error funny. He liked Philip a lot, and he liked Philip’s mother at least as much. But to be mistaken for Philip’s father was a bit disconcerting.

  “You got any kids, Jesse?” Philip inquired, taking Jesse’s hand and leading him toward the department store at the center of the mall. He playfully hooked the rounded end of his candy cane over his lower lip, smirked, and bit off an inch of minty candy.

  Jesse pocketed his candy cane and tightened his hold on Philip, afraid of losing him in the surging crowds. “No, I don’t.”

  “Maybe you ought to have some,” Philip advised him.

  Jesse closed his eyes and tried to sort his thoughts. First Santa had taken him as Philip’s father, and now Philip was counseling him on paternity. Was this what the Christmas spirit did to people?

  “My mom told me where kids come from,” Philip claimed. “It sounds pretty gross to me.”

  “It isn’t gross,” Jesse calmly corrected him. “It’s the most beautiful thing in the world.” He was surprised to hear himself make such a statement. The subject of birth and babies had never been particularly relevant to his life. Anne hadn’t wanted children—if she had, she might have been keener on the idea of marriage—and Jesse had assumed that if children were ever to enter his world, it would be some time in the distant future.

  Yet what he’d said to Philip was the truth, and as soon as he’d said it, he understood how right he was. “I bet your mother looked beautiful when she was pregnant with you,” he said. “I bet those were some of the happiest days of her life, Philip.”

  “Call me Phil,” Philip said, effecting a mature tone. “Wow. Look at that necklace. Maybe I’ll get that for Mom.”

  Jesse followed Philip’s outstretched finger to the diamond-and-gold pendant on display inside a locked glass showcase. Grinning, he shook his head. “I think that might be beyond your means,” he commented gently.

  “Yeah? How about those gloves, then?” Philip asked, pointing to a pair of fur-lined leather gloves inside another showcase.

  Jesse chuckled. “Rule of thumb, Phil—if it’s locked up and doesn’t have a price tag showing, you can’t afford it.”

  Philip considered Jesse’s observation and accepted the sensibility of it. “What are you gonna get my mom?” he asked.

  Jesse swallowed. He hadn’t planned to buy any Christmas gifts this year. But then, he hadn’t planned to meet someone like Robin. Or like Philip. “I haven’t given it much thought,” he admitted.

  “Maybe I ought to get Mrs. O’Leary’s present first,” Philip said. “Where do you suppose they’ve got those remote-control trucks?”

  “I don’t know that she’d really want one of those,” Jesse muttered. Not that he was on intimate terms with Philip’s babysitter, but he felt it safe to assume that an elderly woman like Mrs. O’Leary wouldn’t be pining for such a toy. “How about a book?” he recommended, recalling the boy Philip had called a weenie at Santa’s Workshop. “That might be within your budget.”

  “Hey, that’s a good idea!” Philip moved masterfully among the crush of shoppers and dragged Jesse out of the store. “She likes crossword puzzles. Maybe I could get her one of those books of puzzles.”

  “She’d love that,” Jesse said. They made their way across the mall in the direction of a book store.

  Philip paused near the workshop at the center of the atrium and studied Santa for a moment. “You know what?” he whispered. “That guy—he isn’t really Santa Claus.”

  “Oh?” Jesse didn’t bother to temper his smile. No wonder he’d liked Philip right from the start—he must have recognized the boy as a fellow cynic. “How do you know that?”

  “Two things,” Philip explained. “Number one, the real Santa doesn’t have time to sit around shopping cent
ers. He’s too busy supervising the elves at the North Pole right now. And number two, the real Santa would’ve known that you weren’t my dad. This guy’s a fake. But that’s okay,” he concluded with a shrug. “Maybe he’ll get my message to Santa, anyway.”

  “I’m sure he’ll do his best,” Jesse said as he led Philip into the bookstore.

  ***

  ROBIN JOGGED PAST the lengthy row of cars and back into the mall. It was five-thirty-five, and she’d just locked her packages inside the station wagon. The crowds had thinned slightly with the arrival of dinnertime, and she had little difficulty locating Jesse and Philip near the entrance to the steak restaurant. Jesse was holding a large paper bag with a bookstore’s logo printed across it.

  “Didn’t you buy me anything?” Philip asked, his face registering disappointment as he stared at her empty hands.

  “It’s in the car,” she told him before lifting her face to Jesse. “You seem to have survived,” she observed.

  “By the skin of my teeth,” he complained, though he was smiling. “Can I interest you in some food? We men are starving.”

  They entered the steak house. Like the stores surrounding it, the restaurant was doing a brisk business, but they didn’t have to wait long for a table. Jesse and Robin ordered steaks, Philip a hamburger. He studied his mother while they waited for their food. “Did you get lots of stuff?” he asked.

  “I got what I came for,” she answered cryptically. Part of the fun of Christmas was to keep Philip fretting and guessing, even though he had to know that she wouldn’t let him down on the big day.

  “You didn’t get me clothes, did you?”

  Robin laughed. “I’m leaving that for your grandmothers. And don’t worry—I’ve already sent them both linens from Woodleigh’s. With your name on the cards.”

  Philip’s relief was palpable. He twisted to Jesse. “Mom takes care of everything,” he explained. Then he turned back to Robin. “Did you get something for Jesse?”

  Her cheeks colored slightly as she glanced across the table. Jesse leaned back in his seat, obviously amused by Philip’s lack of discretion. While she’d been running from store to store, purchasing toys for Philip, a sweater for Kate O’Leary, yo-yos for Jeff Calloway and his brother and a box of chocolates for Joanna—Joanna loved chocolates but Glenn refused to buy them for her because he didn’t want her to get fat—Robin had searched for something that would be right for Jesse. But other than a new car, she didn’t know what he could use, what he might want. She decided to wait until she knew him better. Maybe she could find something for him at Woodleigh’s. Given what he’d told her about his condominium, she felt safe in assuming that he could use a household item of some sort. Maybe one of the brass wine racks.

  “I’m sure Santa’s got Jesse covered,” she answered Philip, then sent Jesse a teasing smile. He smiled back.

  “So listen, Mom,” Philip ventured. Their food had arrived, and he was drowning his hamburger in ketchup. “I think we ought to get our tree tomorrow.”

  “We’ve already discussed this. It’s too early to get a tree.”

  “They’ve got a tree here,” Philip argued. “And it isn’t an artificial one, like the one you’ve got at Woodleigh’s. Jesse and I checked. It’s a live one.”

  “This is a huge mall,” Robin pointed out. “If their tree dries out, they can afford to replace it. If ours dries out, all we’ll have by Christmas morning is a carpet full of brown needles.”

  “Not if we water it a lot,” Philip argued. Then he glanced at Jesse, seeking an ally. “Tell her, Jesse. Tell her we should get a tree tomorrow.”

  “You should get a tree tomorrow,” Jesse obliged.

  Robin’s eyes widened. She had concluded from his happy, exhilarated mood that Jesse hadn’t had too terrible a time with Philip. But to hear him state that Robin ought to buy a Christmas tree—let alone that she ought to buy one tomorrow—astonished her. “Get serious,” she chided him.

  “I am serious.” He sliced a chunk of steak and speared it with his fork. “It won’t dry out if you keep it watered.”

  “Jesse. I thought you didn’t...well...” She refused to finish the sentence; she didn’t want to reveal to Philip that Jesse disliked the holiday rituals.

  “It’s for Phil, not for me,” Jesse reminded her.

  Phil. Apparently things had gone quite well between her son and Jesse, if Philip had given him permission to call him Phil. Yet, as well as they’d gone, she couldn’t imagine why Jesse was urging her to buy a tree. “Jesse—”

  “What’s the point of having a tree for only a few days?” he asked, his eyes meeting hers above the table and glowing enigmatically. “If you’re going to have one, you may as well enjoy it for as long as you can.”

  “I can’t believe this,” she muttered, unable to disguise her pleasure. “I can’t believe that you, of all people—”

  “Having trouble with your beliefs?” he joked. “Perhaps it’s time you revised your faith system.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with my—faith system.” She stumbled slightly over the words.

  “Then get the kid a tree.”

  “Two against one, Mom,” Philip chimed in. “You lose.”

  Robin laughed. There was nothing wrong with her faith system. She believed in miracles, and Philip had obviously worked a miracle on Jesse to get him excited about a Christmas tree, of all things.

  And the truth was, two against one notwithstanding, Robin didn’t feel the least bit as if she’d lost.

  Chapter Six

  IT WAS ONE THING for Jesse to argue that Robin ought to buy a Christmas tree. It was another for him to insist on accompanying her and Philip when they went to get it.

  In saner moments, she told herself that her relationship with Jesse—if “relationship” was the proper term—was downright peculiar. Weren’t men and women supposed to get acquainted, go out on a few dates, explore their sexual attraction gradually, and, much later, attempt to build a friendship with each other’s offspring? Once she had decided, during that Open School Night gathering in Eileen Becker’s classroom, that the time had come for her to reactivate her social life, she’d assumed that this was the route she would take.

  She had also decided that night that Jesse Lawson wasn’t the man to reactivate it with. She’d thought he was too good looking. Too poised. Intimidatingly sexy. But maybe she’d also sensed that he wasn’t the sort of man with whom she could ease into things gradually.

  Everything about the times she’d spent with him seemed fragmented, backward, bewildering. And yet, in her less sane moments—and she seemed to be having more and more of them—she was too pleased by whatever it was she had with Jesse—relationship? friendship? potential affair?—to care about how things were supposed to develop.

  Abandoning him to spend most of Saturday afternoon with Philip at the mall might have been odd, but it had worked out beautifully. Driving to his condominium late Sunday morning to pick him up for their tree trip made just as much sense to her. The fact that Philip was as excited about seeing Jesse as Robin was reassured her that Jesse and her son liked each other. Which was good.

  Philip needed a man in his life—a mentor, a role model, someone he could do guy things with. Unlike so many children of divorce, he didn’t have a father who neglected him. But Ray simply wasn’t around most of the time. Twice a year might not be enough time for Philip to spend in a man’s company. Maybe he saw Jesse as a substitute daddy.

  Which was well and good, Robin supposed, except... Shouldn’t she and Jesse be forging something, too? Or did Jesse merely view the Greers as a family that conveniently afforded him an opportunity to be a Big Brother without joining the national organization?

  He had to view them as more than that. If all he wanted was to be a Big Brother, he wouldn’t have kissed Robin the way he had Friday night.

  Was he ever going to kiss her again? The same way?

  She turned onto his street and braked. “Which house is his?�
�� Philip called from the back seat. He had left the front passenger seat empty for Jesse.

  “That one,” she said, pointing to one of the townhouses as she pulled into a parking space. The door to the adjacent townhouse swung open and a curly-haired woman in a pink sweater and tight jeans emerged, lugging a huge evergreen wreath.

  “Yuck!” Philip moaned, slinking down in his seat. “It’s Ms. Becker!”

  “Don’t you want to say hello to her?” Robin asked as she opened her car door.

  “Uh-uh.” Philip slouched lower, covering his face with his arms. “I don’t want her to see me. It’s Sunday.”

  Robin shrugged. “Suit yourself. I’ll get Jesse.” She shut the door, strolled around the car to the steps, and started down them.

  As soon as Eileen Becker spotted her, Robin suffered a twinge of apprehension. How would Philip’s teacher view the fact that the mother of one of her students was involved with her next-door neighbor? Eileen Becker might be privy to information about Jesse. She might have knowledge about his affairs with women. Maybe she’d seen him escorting numerous young lovelies into his house at odd hours. Maybe she herself was one of those young lovelies.

  “Ms. Greer?” Ms. Becker called out, obviously startled. Drawing closer, Robin noticed that Philip’s teacher had a hammer and a nail in her hand.

  “That’s a beautiful wreath,” said Robin, figuring that the only way to handle this potentially awkward encounter was to behave as unruffled as possible.

  “Isn’t it? It used to be my husband’s job to hang the wreath every year, but...” Ms. Becker bit her lip to cut herself off, and Robin felt a fresh swell of sympathy for the woman. Her own experiences the first few months after her divorce hadn’t been too challenging for her, since Ray had been gone for long stretches of time during the preceding year, flying off to Bolivia and Honduras in his new job with the Agency for International Development. By the time they were legally divorced, Robin had grown used to not having him around. Yet certain jobs, chores that Ray had always taken care of, had been difficult for her to tackle at first. It had taken her nearly a year to refill the windshield washer fluid in her car, not because she didn’t know how but because Ray had always been in charge of auto maintenance.