Bring Me Home for Christmas

me a bonus at the end of last summer. Then I’ve been working at Jack’s….”
    “What are your hours at Jack’s?” she asked. “It’s kind of hard to tell.”
    He laughed as he piggybacked her to the kitchen. He put her on one of the kitchen chairs and propped her foot. “It’s hard to tell because they’re real irregular. I started helping out and refused to take his money. He gave me free room and board for a long time right after I got here—I have a lot to pay off. But it rankled him—he’s proud. He’s also generous. The only freebies he likes are the ones he gives. So he opened a savings account and put money in it. I’d usually just step up if I was there for dinner and the place got real busy, but then he had to call me to help a few times and he told me he’d been paying me all along whether I liked it or not, so I quit arguing. Besides, I’ve been saving for that house.”
    She thought of the way his arms felt around her, how it felt to have him say he loved her and she held her tongue. “What kind of a house do you think about, Denny?”
    “There are lots of houses on big plots around here. But there’s also the houses Paul Haggerty builds. I’ll take you out to Jack and Mel’s one of these days—they have an awesome house on a few acres, and from his front porch you can see forever. He helped build it. That kept the cost down. I’d like to do that—help build my house.” He laughed. “I guess the answer is, I don’t know. I haven’t gotten serious about it yet. But you make me want to get serious.”

Twelve
    The homework club grew to seven kids, about three of whom could have led the class. Danielle, Christopher and Juliet were all ahead of their age groups. But Megan, Maron, Mary and Zoe needed a little extra help. Coincidentally, Megan and Maron were both in the same third-grade class and had the very same issues—very little encouragement, a lot of negative reinforcement, low self-esteem and little confidence.
    Becca looked forward to their club every day.
    Ellie asked her to help out with organizing the nativity pageant with the children for Christmas Eve, and they met on the weekend afternoons—Mary and Joseph, three shepherds, three wise men and a slew of little angels. She couldn’t be sure she’d be available for more than one rehearsal, but she couldn’t resist. Besides, Megan was going to be Mary! That in itself had done so much for the girl’s confidence.
    On Friday, the splint came off, the stitches came out and the splint was replaced with a soft, removable boot. “You can get the foot wet now,” the doctor said. “But I discourage showers. If you lose your balance and put weight on the foot, you could be back where you started. And that’s if you’re lucky!”
    He told her to move her ankle, though. No weight on it, but she was instructed to pretend to write the alphabet with her pointed big toe. A. B. C. And so on.
    “That hurts!” she said.
    “It’s just stiff and sore. It’ll loosen up. Do it five or six times a day. It’ll save you a lot of heartache and physical therapy. Am I going to see you again or are you headed home to San Diego?”
    She glanced at Denny. “I’m going to hang around. For a little while. Maybe another week, anyway. I’m helping with the Christmas pageant.”
    She couldn’t miss the gleam in Denny’s beautiful brown eyes.

    Becca was making her way down to the church for Saturday-afternoon pageant rehearsal when she spotted a familiar car parked in front of the bar. A late-model BMW. Standing beside it was Doug. His hands were plunged into the pockets of his black London Fog dress coat. She could see his shiny black shoes, all mucked up from the mud and melting snow in the street. He wore a red turtleneck and gray wool slacks—he looked so classy and professional.
    She slowly made her way to him. “Should I be surprised to see you?” she asked him.
    “Let me take you home, Becca. We can talk on the drive. I’ll stay in San Diego for a few days to give us time to sort things out.”
    She shook her head. “I’m not ready to go home, Doug. And there’s nothing to sort out. I think what we have, if we want it, is a casual friendship.”
    “I’m not interested in that,” he said. “We talked about marriage! We deserve another chance.”
    “It was the talk about marriage that forced my hand, Doug. I felt that coming. I knew I wasn’t going to say yes. I had to figure out why.”
    “And did you?”
    She