Christmas Wishes: Christmas Letters / Rainy Day Kisses. Debbie Macomber

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СКАЧАТЬ as it was safe, she dashed from the yarn store to Susannah’s Garden, the flower shop next door, and nearly fell over a huge potted poinsettia, all the while keeping her eyes on Dr. Jeffries. He proved one thing, she mused. Appearances were deceiving. He looked so...so normal. Who would’ve guessed that beneath that distinguished, sophisticated and—yes—handsome exterior lay such a fiend? Perhaps fiend was too strong a word. Yet she considered Wynn Jeffries’s thinking to be nothing short of diabolical, if Zoe and Zara were anything to judge by.

       No way!

      K.O. stopped dead in her tracks. She watched as Wynn Jeffries paused outside her condo building, her very own building, entered the code and strolled inside.

      Without checking for traffic, K.O. crossed the street again. A horn honked and brakes squealed, but she barely noticed. She was dumbfounded.

      Speechless.

      There had to be some mistake. Perhaps he was making a house call. No, that wasn’t right. What doctor made house calls in this day and age? What psychologist made house calls ever? Besides, he didn’t exactly look like the compassionate type. K.O. bit her lip and wondered when she’d become so cynical. It’d happened around the same time her sister read Dr. Jeffries’s book, she decided.

      The door had already closed before she got there. She entered her code and stepped inside just in time to see the elevator glide shut. Standing back, she watched the floor numbers flicker one after another.

      “Katherine?”

      K.O. whirled around to discover LaVonne Young, her neighbor and friend. LaVonne was the only person who called her Katherine. “What are you doing, dear?”

      K.O. pointed an accusing finger past the elegantly decorated lobby tree to the elevator.

      LaVonne stood in her doorway with her huge tomcat, named predictably enough, Tom, tucked under her arm. She wore a long shapeless dress that was typical of her wardrobe, and her long graying hair was drawn back in a bun. When K.O. had first met her, LaVonne had reminded her of the character Auntie Mame. She still did. “Something wrong with the elevator?” LaVonne asked.

      “No, I just saw a man...” K.O. glanced back and noticed that the elevator had gone all the way up to the penthouse suite. That shouldn’t really come as a shock. His book sales being what they were, he could easily afford the penthouse.

      LaVonne’s gaze followed hers. “That must be Dr. Jeffries.”

      “You know him?” K.O. didn’t bother to hide her interest. The more she learned, the better her chances of engaging him in conversation.

      “Of course I know Dr. Jeffries,” the retired accountant said. “I know everyone in the building.”

      “How long has he lived here?” K.O. demanded. She’d been in this building since the first week it was approved for occupation. So she should’ve run into him before now.

      “I believe he moved in soon after the place was renovated. In fact, the two of you moved in practically on the same day.”

      That was interesting. Of course, there was a world of difference between a penthouse suite and the first-floor, one-bedroom unit she owned. Or rather, that the bank owned and she made payments on. With the inheritance she’d received from her maternal grandparents, K.O. had put a down payment on the smallest, cheapest unit available. It was all she could afford at the time—and all she could afford now. She considered herself lucky to get in when she did.

      “His name is on the mailbox,” LaVonne said, gesturing across the lobby floor to the mailboxes.

      “As my sister would tell you, I’m a detail person.” It was just the obvious she missed.

      “He’s a celebrity, you know,” LaVonne whispered conspiratorially. “Especially since his book was published.”

      “Have you read it?” K.O. asked.

      “Well, no, dear, I haven’t, but then never having had children myself, I’m not too concerned with child-raising. However, I did hear Dr. Jeffries interviewed on the radio and he convinced me. His book is breaking all kinds of records. Apparently it’s on all the bestseller lists. So there must be something to what he says. In fact, the man on the radio called Dr. Jeffries the new Dr. Spock.”

      “You’ve got to be kidding!” Jeffries’s misguided gospel was spreading far and wide.

      LaVonne stared at her. “In case you’re interested, he’s not married.”

      “That doesn’t surprise me,” K.O. muttered. Only a man without a wife and children could possibly come up with such ludicrous ideas. He didn’t have a family of his own to test his theories on; instead he foisted them on unsuspecting parents like her sister, Zelda, and brother-in-law, Zach. The deterioration in the girls’ behavior was dramatic, but Zelda insisted this was normal as they adjusted to a new regimen. They’d “find their equilibrium,” she’d said, quoting the book. Zach, who worked long hours, didn’t really seem to notice. The twins’ misbehavior would have to be even more extreme to register on him.

      “Would you like me to introduce you?” LaVonne asked.

      “No,” K.O. responded immediately. Absolutely not. Well, maybe, but not now. And not for the reasons LaVonne thought.

      “Do you have time for tea?” LaVonne asked. “I wanted to tell you about the most recent class I attended. Fascinating stuff, just fascinating.” Since her retirement, LaVonne had been at loose ends and signed up for a variety of workshops and evening classes.

      “I learned how to unleash my psychic abilities.”

      “You’re psychic?” K.O. asked.

      “Yes, only I didn’t know it until I took this class. I’ve learned so much,” she said in wonder. “So much. All these years, my innate talent has lain there, unused and unfulfilled. It took this class to break it free and show me what I should’ve known all along. I can see into the future.” She spoke in a portentous whisper.

      “You learned this after one class?”

      “Madame Ozma claims I have been blessed with the sight. She warned me not to waste my talents any longer.”

      This did sound fascinating. Well...bizarre, anyway. K.O. would have loved to hear all about the class, but she really needed to start work. In addition to writing Christmas letters—which she did only in November and December—she was a medical transcriptionist by training. It paid the bills and had allowed her to put herself through college to obtain a public relations degree. Now she was searching for a job in PR, which wasn’t all that easy to find, even with her degree. She was picky, too. She wanted a job with a salary that would actually meet her expenses. Over the years she’d grown accustomed to a few luxuries, like regular meals and flush toilets.

      Currently her résumé was floating around town. Anytime now, she was bound to be offered the perfect job. And in the meanwhile, these Christmas letters gave her some useful practice in creating a positive spin on some unpromising situations—like poor Bill Mulcahy’s.

      “I’d love a cup of tea, but unfortunately I’ve got to get to work.”

      “Perhaps tomorrow,” LaVonne suggested.

      “That СКАЧАТЬ