A Small Town Christmas Part 85

"Zach," she began.

He held up a hand. "Let's not go there."

"I think we need to."

"I don't need to," he said, pus.h.i.+ng away from the table.

"Zach, wait," she pleaded. "I want you to know, I didn't want to leave you and David."

Okay, enough. "But you did." He stood up. He felt like he was towering over her.

Her eyes filled with tears. "I didn't want to uproot you and take you away from your friends."

So she'd just made his decision for him. "Well, that explains everything, like why we hardly heard from you all those years."

"I..." She hung her head.

Yeah. You. That about summed it up. Zach left the kitchen just as Kendra was coming in. "Are you leaving already?"

"I've got to go," he said. Before he really let Mom have it.

"But you just got here," Kendra protested, trailing after him.

"I'll catch up with you guys later."

They were in the living room again now. Natalie sprang from the couch, Queenie draped over her shoulder. "You can't leave yet, Zachie," she protested.

"Sorry," he said tersely.

"Where are your cookies? You forgot your cookies," Natalie said.

Zach shook his head and kept walking. "Thanks anyway. I'm not hungry." In fact, he felt like he was going to puke.

A visit to the gym didn't help him feel any better. Neither did grabbing a burger on the way home. Once he was back inside his house, he pulled a c.o.ke out of the fridge and then went into the living room, determined to leave behind all thoughts of his messed-up past. He flopped onto the couch and grabbed the TV remote. Tom appeared out of nowhere and jumped onto his lap. "Hey, buddy," he said, and patted the cat. "It's just us guys tonight. No women. Who needs 'em?"

The cat stopped purring and twitched his tail.

"Trust me. You're better off on your own," Zach said, and aimed the remote at the TV. But in all of Cable Land he found nothing to grab his attention. Nothing in his Netflix queue interested him either. He switched off the TV and tossed the remote aside. He looked at Tom and Tom looked right back, his tail whipping back and forth.

"Yeah, I know. Can't live with 'em. Can't live without 'em. But we're going to, dude."

The determined affirmation sent him to the kitchen in search of beer. Then he returned to the living room and picked up the book he'd ordered from Amazon, The Handyman Handbook, and dove in.

CHAPTER ONE: TOOLS EVERY MAN NEEDS.

Never mind tools. What every man needs is a good woman's love.

Okay, that was enough sitting on the couch. He needed to do something, like take an inventory of what he had.

He already owned a lot of the basics: hammers and screwdrivers, wrenches, pliers, and a skill saw. But some of the items mentioned in the book, like a miter box, staple gun, grinder, and C-clamps, he still needed.

Wait a minute. Didn't he have C-clamps in that old toolbox Dad had given him when he moved out? What else was in there? He couldn't remember right off. Well, now was as good a time as any to find out.

He made his way to the second floor, Tom trotting up the stairs beside him. "What a man needs," he informed the cat, "is to stay busy." He pulled the chain that let down the ladder and climbed up into the attic with Tom still along for the ride.

Due to the steep pitch of the roof, Zach had to stoop until he got into the middle of the room. He looked around him and frowned. Chamber of Horrors II.

The attic of his childhood home, dubbed the Chamber of Horrors by his dad, had been a collection of everything imaginable, from birdcages that had outlasted the bird to childhood toys. One of the biggest messes in the attic had been the boxes of Christmas decorations which his mother had collected since the Mayflower landed. She would spend hours decorating the house each year, always in new colors and motifs. Every year Mom replenished her stock. Zach remembered Dad saying that he would sooner be dragged by the devil into h.e.l.l than have to schlep any more Christmas stuff up to the attic. But the cache of holiday decorations continued to breed, right along with all the other household detritus-everything from winter boots to washers for the kitchen sink wound up in there, all in boxes, none of them labeled. It became a vortex, sucking in everything and anything.

Zach looked at the mess around him and shook his head. How did people manage to collect so much stuff so quickly? Over there by the far wall was the basketball hoop he'd taken when he moved out. He'd hauled that dumb thing from apartment to apartment. And now it was here even though he was planning on selling this place and moving to a condo. What did he think he was going to do with a basketball hoop in a condo?

That was just the beginning. He wove past the neglected markers of his life, wondering why he was keeping all this stuff. There were skis and poles and boots he hadn't used in the last two years, his lacrosse stick and gloves from high school, boxes of textbooks he'd never read again, and Gram's old rocking chair that he was going to get around to refinis.h.i.+ng one of these years. There was the box of Christmas ornaments, souvenirs from happier times. Mom had left them behind for him along with a note that read, "For your first tree, when you have a family of your own."

Dad had insisted he take them. Why was he keeping them? G.o.d only knew.

He was halfway across the attic when he caught sight of the box with his Nintendo. He and David used to play that all the time. Now, that would be fun to haul down and ...

He never finished his thought. Too distracted by the sight of the old game, he forgot to watch where he was walking and tripped over the runner on the rocking chair. Down he went, doing a face plant with a thud and a curse, raising enough dust to give himself a sneezing fit. What was he doing up here anyway?

"To h.e.l.l with this," he decided.

But just as he was getting to his feet, Tom jumped onto a pile of boxes. It had been stacked haphazardly and the landing wasn't a success. The top box tipped over and as Tom leaped for safety it broke open, spilling c.r.a.p across the floor. Lovely.

Zach scowled at Tom, who was now crouching in a corner, ready to bolt if anything new toppled. "Thanks a lot, dude," he grumbled.

Tom flicked his tail, not happy with getting scolded.

"Yeah? Well, I'm not happy cleaning up after you. What do you think of that?"

The cat kept his thoughts to himself.

Zach had come up here to stay busy. He heaved a resigned sigh and made his way over to the box, which held a collection of mementos: his first baseball mitt, a couple of Little League trophies, his high school diploma, senior prom picture, and some photo alb.u.ms. He took one and plopped onto the floor cross-legged, all the while telling himself he was a fool. Going down memory lane was fun for some people, but his particular path was tangled with thorns.

Tom joined him now, and rubbed up against him as he opened it. "You're lucky you're a cat," he muttered. "No problems."

Tom meowed and rubbed again.

"And no, I'm not feeding you now. I'm busy." Wandering uselessly down that th.o.r.n.y memory lane, for no good reason. Except that he was already irritated and wanted to get good and p.i.s.sed off? Maybe.

He thumbed through the alb.u.m, seeing snapshots of himself in his Little League uniform, at Christmas with his first pocket knife (the one he managed to cut himself with less than two hours after opening the present), at the ocean with his dog Dexter, sitting on the deck, drinking lemonade and hamming it up for the camera with his brother, his best friend Henry, and Henry's sister Anna. In the background, lolling on a deck chair with a drink in her hand, sat Aunt Leslie.

Aunt Leslie. It had been the greatest day in Zach's young life when she and her two kids moved in next door. She'd been his mom's best friend and their two families did everything together. He still remembered how sad he felt when Aunt Leslie moved away and took his friends with her.

Now, searching through the mists of time, he remembered another thing: his mother on the phone with his grandmother, saying, "She can't move soon enough for me."

Why?

What did it matter? That was just another relations.h.i.+p his mother decided wasn't worthy of her. He closed the alb.u.m with a snap. Small wonder he didn't do relations.h.i.+ps well, given the example he'd had.

Except Mom hadn't been the only one scrambling his psyche. There was another alb.u.m in that box, the one he hadn't wanted to open, containing pictures of him with Ella, the last woman he'd ever been serious about, on the night they got engaged. They'd been crazy in love, or so he'd thought until she dropped him and broke his heart.

You were already pulling away.

"I was not!" Zach insisted forcefully enough to make Tom jump and dash to the other side of the attic.

He got up and tossed the alb.u.m and the other useless junk back in the box. Then he picked up Tom and went downstairs to find a TV sitcom, where life was nothing but laughs and problems were solved in half an hour.

Ambrose was puzzled. Something in one of those picture books he'd helped Zach find when he tipped open that box had made Zach stop and do what humans seemed to need to do a lot: Think. Then he'd thrown things back in the box and he and Tom had left that interesting treasure room. Now Zach looked sad, always a bad condition for a human.

What happened? For the first time in his lives, Ambrose found himself feeling badly for someone else. Discouraged, too. He had tried his best to help Zach and obviously he'd failed. You can only do so much, he reminded himself. Ultimately, like every other creature, humans had to make their own choices and then live with the results.

Well, Zach would live with them. Ambrose, on the other hand, was on his ninth life and running on fumes. This wasn't good, not at all.

THIRTEEN.

There was always plenty to do at the station, but Christmas Eve brought an extra duty. As soon as it turned dark it was time to take the truck, all decked out for the holidays, and visit the various neighborhoods, serenading residents with Christmas songs. This year it was Zach's turn to be Santa and toss mini candy canes to all the neighborhood kids.

"We need another pillow," Ray decided, eyeing Zach's costume. "Man, you just don't fill that thing out."

"Then let's put you in it. We won't need any pillows," Zach retorted.

"Amber thinks I'm just fine the way I am," said Ray, untouched by the barb.

"She's known you what, twenty-four hours? Give her time."

"We've known each other longer than that."

"E-mailing on HotHookUps.com," Zach said in disgust.

"You can learn a lot about a person that way," Ray insisted. "Anyway, we've had a date." He grinned. "She's really nice. And man, is she hot. Almost as hot as Merilee."

At least this new chick had distracted Ray from Merilee. That was a good thing.

"We should all go out," Ray said as he shoved another pillow at Zach.

"This isn't going to fit," Zach said with a frown.

Ray s.n.a.t.c.hed back the pillow. "Never mind. n.o.body's gonna climb in the truck to see how fat you are anyway. We need to get going."

And so off they went, armed with prerecorded music and the appropriate equipment to blast it loud enough to wake the dead, the truck decorated with lights and a huge Christmas wreath on its front, Ray driving and Zach hanging out the window, waving like some fool on a parade float. He much preferred the Fourth of July. Then they cruised down Angel Way with the siren at full tilt, looking buff in their uniforms. In this stupid red suit Zach looked like he'd escaped from the mall.

But this was a town tradition. When the truck rolled into a neighborhood playing "Here Comes Santa Claus" kids ran along the sidewalk, leaping for the candy Santa tossed. Senior citizens watched from their front windows, and moms and dads with little ones waved from their front porch.

As they drove through Falls View Estates one couple in particular held Zach's attention. They stood in the doorway of a modest house encrusted with lights, its yard sporting a manger scene. They were young, standing so close together they looked as though they were one person, and the dad held a baby in his arms.

That could be you.

Zach quickly pushed away the thought as the truck left the housing development and rumbled off down the road. Yeah, the couple looked happy. They probably were, for now. But it wouldn't last.

His reasonable argument should have popped that little bubble of longing. It always had in the past. But not this time. Something inside him insisted, Don't be stupid-do you want to end up bitter and alone like old man Turner? End up that way? He was already there.

Next thing he knew, they'd turned and were circling the parking lot of the Angel Arms Apartments. Merilee's place. Except Merilee wasn't there. She'd be with her family by now, maybe getting ready to eat dinner. What did her parents look like? How did they look at each other across the table?

Ray gave him a shove. "Hey, turkey, smile!"

Zach forced the corners of his lips up. Why was he in a funk? His life wasn't so bad.

Maybe not so good, either. They had just returned to the station when the holiday fun began. Dad called to check in. Zach looked at the caller I.D. on his cell and was tempted to let it roll over to voicemail. He loved his father, but he didn't love hearing from Dad on Christmas Eve. It took three rings for the responsible half of his brain to override his reluctance. He picked up and said a wary h.e.l.lo.

"Hi, son," Dad began. "I was just thinking about you."

Dad was always thinking about him on Christmas Eve. And David. And Mom. Especially Mom. Especially after Dad had tossed back a couple of holiday drinks.

"How're you doing, Dad?" Zach asked and braced himself for an answer.

For a moment his father didn't speak and all Zach heard was the tinkling of ice. That would be Dad stirring his Scotch on the rocks with his finger. "Oh, fine. Got the cigars you sent. Thanks. Did you get my check?"

"Uh, yeah. Thanks." He should have called the week before when it came, before Dad got feeling too sentimental.

"I thought maybe you could use it to buy a plane ticket to come see your old man this summer. It's been awhile."

"Yeah, it has." He should go see his dad. Except every visit somehow turned into a thinly disguised interrogation about Mom. Kind of like Dad's annual Christmas Eve call. Any minute now ...

Sure enough. "How's your mother? Have you talked to her?"

"Yeah, she's good."

Another silence fell, broken only by the tinkling of ice. "Well, that's good. I'm glad she's happy." Dad heaved a big sigh. "You know, after all these years I still miss her. You kids grew up so fast. You know that? How're you doing, son? I miss you."

"We'll get together this summer," Zach promised.

"We had good times, you know."

"I know, Dad. How's Diane?" Zach asked in an attempt to steer the conversation in a less maudlin direction.