The Cottage on Juniper Ridge. Sheila Roberts

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СКАЧАТЬ one surly thirteen-year-old. Once Toni had decided to ignore both her daughter and her own irritation, she’d had a good time, too. She hoped she’d be able to enjoy Christmas Day, although she knew her daughter would do her level best to ensure she didn’t.

      Sure enough, Jordan woke on the grumpy side of the bed and stayed grumpy all through the morning’s present-opening, as well as Christmas brunch. She was barely polite when they went to visit Wayne’s family that afternoon.

      “You know, if you keep up this bad attitude, you won’t be getting your phone back until New Year’s,” Toni warned as they drove home.

      “Well, it’s not fair.”

      “We’ve already had this conversation. You need to think about how it makes the people who love you feel when you can’t be bothered to look up from your cellular attachment and talk to them or even listen respectfully when they’re saying grace. Maybe next time you want to tell Dad or me something important, we should just ignore you.”

      Jordan fell silent, and in the dark car, Toni couldn’t tell if she was seething or actually considering what her mother had said. Probably the former.

      Once home, both her children vanished to their rooms, Jeffrey in his normal happy mood, Jordan subdued and serious.

      “Do you think anything I said got through to her?” Toni asked Wayne.

      “Oh, yeah. It’s submerged somewhere in her brain and should surface in about ten years.”

      “Thanks.”

      He kissed her. “Hey, we still have to get through her learning to drive.”

      There was a scary thought. “And dating.”

      “Oh, God, I need a drink,” Wayne said.

      He helped himself to a beer, and then, just as she was about to suggest they put the fireplace to work and snuggle up and listen to some Christmas music, he pulled out his laptop. “Oh, no, not you, too,” she groaned.

      He looked at her, perplexed. “What?”

      She shook her head and reached for the TV remote. “Never mind.”

      Whatever happened to the good old days when people spent time cuddled up with each other instead of their techno toys? Hey, Santa, in the new year, do you think you could give me back my family?

      * * *

      Christmas in the Thomas household had been perfect. Stacy had done everything possible to make sure the kids enjoyed their visit home—baking their favorite treats, putting her espresso maker to work making eggnog lattes for everyone each morning, playing Christmas music, hauling out all their favorite holiday movies.

      It had been late afternoon the day Autumn arrived and she’d taken in the lit tree and the glowing candles on the mantel with a happy smile. “It’s so good to be home,” she’d said, and hugged Stacy.

      Ethan had been more interested in the aroma of melted chocolate wafting from the kitchen, but his girlfriend had been seriously impressed. “Gosh,” she said, “everything’s so...Christmassy.”

      “I told you, it looks like a department store in here,” Ethan had said to her.

      Stacy hadn’t been so sure that was a compliment but she’d let it pass.

      She’d found it harder to ignore his lack of enthusiasm for the Christmas surprise she’d set under the tree for him. His girlfriend had been delighted with her Target and Gap gift certificates, but Ethan had left his latte maker behind.

      “I can just go to Starbucks,” he’d informed Stacy when she saw he was leaving home without it. “Hang on to it, Mom.”

      Autumn had made the same request regarding the Victorian village starter kit Stacy had given her—a snow-frosted house and an old-fashioned church complete with stained-glass windows. Of course, Stacy had expected that. She’d known she’d end up storing the decorations until Autumn graduated from college and had her own place.

      Still, graduation was only three and a half years away so the time to start was now. Stacy had gone out the day after Christmas and purchased more on sale to tuck away for next year. There was so much to get when you were building a village—houses, shops, trees, old-fashioned streetlamps, people, little gates and fountains and snowmen.

      Stacy frowned as she looked at her own village. It was fun to put out but such a pain to put away. It was now New Year’s Day, the day she always took down her decorations. Dean had promised to help her, but he’d gotten lured next door to watch a football game and, rather than wait for him, she decided she’d get started on this year’s disappearing act on her own. By the time Dean got home, she’d have everything packed and ready for its return to the attic.

      She went up there to fetch the boxes for her treasures. The sea of containers stretching across the floor made her sigh. This was going to take all day.

      Oh, well. That was the price you paid when you had a lot of decorations. And a lot of decorations was the price you paid to set the scene for a happy family Christmas. When everything looked festive, everyone felt festive. She grabbed a couple of boxes and climbed back down the stairs. Why was it so much less fun putting things away than it was putting them up?

      Several trips later, she was ready to begin stowing her treasures. She picked up a ceramic Santa. This little guy had sat on the dining room buffet when she was growing up, and her mother had given him to Stacy for her first Christmas with Dean. It was vintage, possibly valuable. She wrapped it in bubble wrap and stowed it carefully in the box.

      She lifted a second Santa from the herd of Clauses. She and her mom and older sister had met in Seattle and hit the postholiday sales together three years back, and her sister had insisted on purchasing the little guy for her. She blinked back tears as she remembered her sister. Sue had died suddenly from an aneurysm ten years ago. This little guy got protected with two sheets of bubble wrap.

      A third Santa was one Dean had bought for their tenth Christmas, back in the days when he didn’t complain about all her “stuff.” She had the accompanying note he’d written in her scrapbook. “I’ll always be grateful to the old guy for bringing us together,” he’d written, alluding to when they’d first met at a friend’s Christmas party.

      Yes, Christmas was special. And all these little mementos served to remind her of it. Obviously, they didn’t serve the same purpose for her husband. Well, he was a man. There were some things men simply didn’t get.

      She worked for the next two hours, packing away both her decorations and her memories. By the time she was done, the living room looked positively naked. It won’t be once you get your other decorations back up, she reminded herself. That in itself was a daunting job.

      But not nearly as daunting as hauling these decorations back up to the attic. She wished Dean would come home. It would be nice to get this done.

      So why wait? She wasn’t helpless. She could take all this to the attic herself, and be spared listening to any complaining.

      Stacy picked up the box containing the nativity set and went upstairs. She left it in the hallway under the trapdoor to the attic and returned to the family room for another load. Upstairs went the candles, then the tree decorations, followed by the long, heavy box containing the СКАЧАТЬ