Christmas Trio B. Debbie Macomber

That meant her own apartment would have to wait, but … oh, well.

      Despite her boss’s complaints about one thing or another, Holly’s smile stayed in place all morning. A kind deed by a virtual stranger buffered her from four hours of commands, criticism and complaints.

      Jack … no, Jake. He’d said his name was Jake, and he was cute, too. Maybe handsome was a more accurate description. Classically handsome, like those 1940s movie stars in the old films she loved. Tall, nicely trimmed dark hair, broad shoulders, expressive eyes and … probably married. She’d been too shocked by his generosity to see whether he had a wedding band. Yeah, he was probably taken. Par for the course, she thought a little glumly. Holly was thirty, but being single at that age wasn’t uncommon among her friends. Her parents seemed more worried about it than she was.

      Most of her girlfriends didn’t even think about settling down until after they turned thirty. Holly knew she wanted a husband and eventually a family. What she hadn’t expected was becoming a sole parent to Gabe. This time with her nephew was like a dress rehearsal for being a mother, her friends told her. Unfortunately, there weren’t any lines to memorize and the script changed almost every day.

      At lunch she heated her Cup-a-Soup in the microwave and logged on to the internet to check for messages from Mickey. Her brother kept in touch with Gabe every day and sent her a quick note whenever he could. Sure enough, there was an email waiting for her.

      From: “Lieutenant Mickey Larson” <larsonmichael@ goarmy.com>

      To: “Holly Larson”<[email protected]>

      Sent: December 10

      Subject: Gabe’s email

      Hi, sis,

      Gabe’s last note to me was hilarious. What’s this about you making him put down the toilet seat? He thinks girls should do it themselves. This is what happens when men live together. The seat’s perpetually up. Has he told you what he wants for Christmas yet? He generally mentions a toy before now, but he’s been suspiciously quiet about it this year. Let me know when he drops his hints.

      I wish I could be with you both, but that’s out of the question. Next year for sure.

      I know it’s been rough on you having to fit Gabe into your apartment and your life, but I have no idea what I would’ve done without you. By the way, I heard from Mom and Dad. The dental clinic Dad set up is going well. Who’d have guessed our parents would be doing volunteer work after retirement? They send their love … but now that I think about it, you got the same email as me, didn’t you? They both sound happy but really busy. Mom was concerned about you taking Gabe, but she seems reassured now.

      Well, I better get some shut-eye. Not to worry—I reminded Gabe that when he’s staying at a house with a woman living in it, the correct thing to do is put down the toilet seat.

      Check in with you later.

      Thank you again for everything.

      Love,

      Mickey

      Holly read the message twice, then sent him a note. She’d always been close to her brother and admired him for picking up the pieces of his life after Sally died of a rare blood disease. Gabe hadn’t even been a year old. Holly had a lot more respect for the demands of parenthood—and especially single parenthood—now that Gabe lived with her.

      At five o’clock, she was out the door. Lindy Lee threw her an evil look, which Holly pretended not to see. She caught the subway and had to stand, holding tight to one of the poles, for the whole rush-hour ride into Brooklyn.

      As she was lurched and jolted on the train, her mind wandered back to Mickey’s email. Gabe hadn’t said anything about Christmas to her, either. And yet he had to know that the holidays were almost upon them; all the decorations in the neighborhood and the ads on TV made it hard to miss. For the first time in his life, Gabe wouldn’t be spending Christmas with his father and grandparents. This year, there’d be just the two of them. Maybe he’d rather not celebrate until his father came home, she thought. That didn’t seem right, though. Holly was determined to make this the best Christmas possible.

      Not once had Gabe told her what he wanted. She wondered whether she should ask him, maybe encourage him to write Santa a letter—did he still believe in Santa?—or try to guess what he might like. Her other question was what she could buy on a limited income. A toy? She knew next to nothing about toys, especially the kind that would intrigue an eight-year-old boy. She felt besieged by even more insecurities.

      She stepped off the subway, climbed the stairs to the street and hurried to Gabe’s school, which housed the after-hours activity program set up for working parents. At least it wasn’t snowing anymore. Which was a good thing, since she’d forgotten to make Gabe wear his boots that morning.

      What happened the first day she’d gone to collect Gabe still made her cringe. She’d been thirty-two minutes late. The financial penalty was steep and cut into her carefully planned budget, but that didn’t bother her nearly as much as the look on Gabe’s face.

      He must have assumed she’d abandoned him. His haunted expression brought her to the edge of tears every time she thought about it. That was the same night she’d prepared her favorite dinner for him—another disaster. Now she knew better and kept an unending supply of hot dogs—God help them both—plus boxes of macaroni and cheese. He’d deign to eat carrot sticks and bananas, but those were his only concessions, no matter how much she talked about balanced nutrition. He found it hilarious to claim that the relish he slathered on his hot dogs was a “vegetable.”

      She waited by the row of hooks, each marked with a child’s name. Gabe ran over the instant he saw her, his face bright with excitement. “I made a new friend!”

      “That’s great.” Thankfully Gabe appeared to have adjusted well to his new school and teacher.

      “Billy!” he called. “Come and meet my aunt Holly.”

      Holly’s smile froze. This wasn’t just any Billy. It was Bill Carter, Junior, son of the man who’d broken up with her three months earlier.

      “Hello, Billy,” she said, wondering if he’d recognize her.

      The boy gazed up at her quizzically. Apparently he didn’t. Or maybe he did remember her but wasn’t sure when they’d met. Either way, Holly was relieved.

      “Can I go over to Billy’s house?” Gabe asked. The two boys linked arms like long-lost brothers.

      “Ah, when?” she hedged. Seeing Bill again would be difficult. Holly wasn’t eager to talk to the man who’d dumped her—especially considering why. It would be uncomfortable for both of them.

      “I want him to come tonight,” Billy said. “My dad’s making sloppy joes. And we’ve got marshmallow ice cream for dessert.”

      “Well.” Her meals could hardly compete with that—not if you were an eight-year-old boy. Personally, Holly couldn’t think of a less appetizing combination.

      Before she could come up with a response, Gabe tugged at her sleeve. “Billy doesn’t have a mom, either,” he told her.

      “I have a mom,” Billy countered, “only she doesn’t live with us anymore.”

      “My mother’s in heaven with the angels,” Gabe said. “I live with my dad, too, ‘cept he’s in Afghanistan now.”

      “So that’s why you’re staying with your aunt Holly.” Billy nodded.

      “Yeah.” Gabe reached for his jacket and backpack.

      “I’m sorry, Billy,” she finally managed to say, “but Gabe and I already have plans for tonight.”

      Gabe whirled around. “We do?”

      “We’re going shopping,” she said, thinking on her feet.

      Gabe scowled and crossed his arms. “I hate shopping.”