Christmas in Hawthorn Bay. Kathleen O'Brien

had already accepted his fate as an outcast—what was the point, after five generations of Killian hatred, in fighting it?—but Amy was still pretending she was just like everyone else.

      They still exchanged Christmas cards sometimes…or at least his firm used to send his. He tried to remember whether they’d started to bounce back, after she’d moved. He was ashamed to realize he had no idea.

      “What about you?” She smiled at him. “What are you doing here? Don’t tell me this place has got hold of you again, too?”

      He shuddered inwardly at the thought. “Nope. I’m just here to see Sean. He’s in a tangle with the city council, and he needed some legal advice.”

      Amy rolled her eyes. “Them! Yeah, I heard about them wanting Sweet Tides. They’re just a bunch of vultures, the lot of them. But they’ve got the power, just like they always did. Tom Dickson is one of them, did you know that?”

      Jack smiled. “Sure. That’s the icing on the cake. Made the whole trip down here worthwhile.”

      Amy glanced at the band-shell stage. “And she’s one of them. In fact, she’s the head buzzard. I guess you knew that, too.”

      “Yeah.”

      “Have you seen her yet? I mean, to talk to her? Does she know you’re in town?”

      “Not yet.” He watched Nora lead a little girl up and lift her into Santa’s lap. The little girl began to cry, so Nora knelt beside her, soothing her tears. “I don’t think she’ll exactly be thrilled to see me.”

      “You two never made up, then?” Amy’s pursed mouth moved nervously. “You never—explained things to her?”

      He put his hand on the woman’s arm. It was painfully thin. Amy had been anorexic back in high school. He wondered if she still was. Her neck was stringy, like an old woman’s.

      “I promised you I’d never tell anyone about all that,” he said. Had she carried this fear around with her for the past twelve years? “I meant it.”

      “But…” Amy’s eyes looked watery and pale. “She never forgave you for what you did to Tom, did she? Surely you were tempted to explain—”

      “Explaining wouldn’t change anything,” he said. “Nora didn’t want the kind of man who would try to murder anyone.”

      “But—”

      “And I didn’t want a woman who thought I was that kind of man.”

      Amy gazed at him a long moment, then nodded slowly. “I guess I can see that,” she said. She drew herself up a little straighter. “I should be getting on home. Eddie will be docking soon, and he’ll want dinner.”

      They hugged goodbye, and Jack watched her go. Even from the back she looked like a tired, middle-aged woman. He couldn’t help comparing her to Nora. In that ridiculous but strangely seductive elf suit, Nora could have been mistaken for a teenager.

      He looked at the stage again. There seemed to be some kind of commotion. Nora was talking to a group of kids, and Santa was walking slowly down the stairs. As soon as she herded the kids back to the line, she posted a sign that said Santa Will Be Back In Five Minutes. Then she turned quickly and followed the man in the red suit.

      Looked as if they were taking a break.

      If Jack wanted to talk to her, now was the time.

      But did he? What did they have to say, after more than a decade? Wouldn’t it just open up a wound that had healed nicely over the years, hardly giving him so much as a twinge anymore?

      The questions were purely rhetorical. Jack was already moving toward the stage.

      NORA HADN’T EVER BEEN IN a men’s restroom before. And if she never went into another one, that would be fine with her.

      But this time she’d had no choice. The minute she’d realized Farley was drunk, she’d had to do something. The kids had been crushed, of course, and a couple of parents were annoyed, but she’d explained in her best elf voice that Santa had an emergency call from the North Pole, and he’d be right back.

      She’d managed to get him in here before he started vomiting. But unfortunately, she hadn’t pulled his beard off in time. When he was finished groaning into the bowl, she unhooked the elastic carefully, and deposited the beard in the trash can.

      As an afterthought, she covered it over with paper towels. No point shocking innocent kids.

      “Thank you, darlin’,” Farley said in a little boy voice as she wiped his face with a cool paper towel. “I think you saved my life. My lunch must have disagreed with me.”

      Nora felt too grumpy to participate in the charade. “More likely the bottle of wine you drank with lunch, don’t you think?” She scrubbed at his white fur collar, which wasn’t quite white anymore. “Look at you. What are we going to do about that line of kids waiting to see Santa?”

      “Tell them Santa’s been distracted.” He reached up and caught Nora’s hand. “Tell them Santa’s fallen in love with his beautiful little elf.”

      “Gross.” She batted his fingers away unemotionally. “I’m not kidding, Farley. There are at least fifty kids out there. You’d better call one of your friends and get them to take over.”

      “Whatever you say.” He smiled. He might have thought the smile was sexy, but he was wrong. Farley had been sexy in high school, and even in college, but from the time he’d started drinking heavily a couple of years ago, all that had disappeared like smoke in the wind.

      “I’ll call Mac,” he said. “But only if you give me a kiss.”

      Nora turned away and tossed the paper towel into the trash. “Your mouth smells like a toilet, Farley. Nobody’s going to be kissing you tonight. I’ll go stall the kids. You stay here and make that call.”

      She would have thought he was too wobbly even to stand up. But she had just exited the men’s room when she felt him wrap his gloved hand around her waist.

      “I’m serious, Nora,” he whispered in her ear. She nearly vomited, too, as she recognized the odor of half-digested seafood. “I think I love you.”

      “Farley Hastert,” she said through gritted teeth. She kept her voice low, in case any children were nearby. “Let go of me.”

      “But Nora—” He brought his other hand up to her waist and began trying to spin her around to face him. “Nora, you’re so beautiful.”

      “Goddamn it, Farley.” She put the heel of her hand on his chin and shoved his face up, so that at least he wasn’t exhaling rotten food into her nose. “Get a grip.”

      He was so tall, and though he was as thin as a stick he was pretty strong, from all those years playing basketball. Her arm was failing. His face was getting closer and closer.

      Oh, hell. She brought her left knee up hard.

      Farley made a sound somewhere between a curse and a kitten’s mew, and then he slid to the ground, clutching his red velvet-covered crotch.

      She looked down at him, just to be sure he hadn’t cracked his head on the sidewalk. Nope, he was fine. She felt kind of sorry for him, but not sorry enough to stay and face the wrath when he recovered. She brushed the front of her elf dress, in case he’d left anything disgusting there, then turned to go back to the band shell.

      She’d have to think of something to tell the kids. Santa’s a drunken letch probably wasn’t the right approach.

      But she never made it to the stage.

      She got only about ten feet, and then, there on the path, clearly watching the whole thing with a broad grin on his face, stood a man she hadn’t seen for a dozen years. A man she’d hoped never to see again.

      Jack Killian.

      Her