Angels Everywhere - Debbie Macomber [111]
“Mind if I change the channel?” he asked.
“Be my guest,” Billy said, handing him the controller.
Chet worked his way through the stations. Nothing appealed to him, not even a rerun of a play-off football game telecast earlier that week.
“Hey, go back, would you?” Billy asked. “I have a friend who was picked up by the pros. He’s a defensive lineman for the Redskins.”
Disgusted, Chet handed the remote control back to the bartender. So much for that idea. Oblivious to Chet’s ugly mood, Billy punched the controller until he found the play-off game.
The kid focused his attention on the screen, which suited Chet just fine as long as he left him alone.
Before he realized it, Chet had turned around on his bar stool and was watching the game himself. So this was what his life had boiled down to—sitting in some bar on Christmas Eve, talking to a kid he didn’t know and didn’t want to know and watching reruns of old football games on television.
At halftime Billy disappeared into the back storeroom. Chet cradled the coffee mug in his hands and studied the television screen. The commentator was the well-known former coach of the Los Angeles Raiders, John Madden.
“You should be ashamed of yourself, Chet Costello,” the TV commentator said.
Chet’s head snapped up. He was losing it. The television was actually talking to him.
“Yes, I’m talking to you,” John Madden said again. “You’re the biggest fool I’ve ever seen.”
By that time Chet was on his feet. He stared down at his drink, thinking the kid had played a cruel joke on him and laced it with some mind-bending drug.
“Quit looking at your drink,” the former coach told him. “It’s only coffee.”
Other men claimed to see pink elephants, but not Chet. Oh, no, that would have been too easy. He had to have some voice come out of a television to chastise him.
“You’re in love with Monica Fischer, and she’s in love with you. So what’s the problem? You think you’re being noble, don’t you? Wrong. You’re a fool.”
Chet had had enough. He didn’t need this. Slamming his cup down on the bar, he started out the door.
“Go ahead and run,” the voice said, sounding so close he swore he could feel the breath against the back of his neck. “It’s what you’ve been doing for most of your life.”
“Shut up,” Chet shouted.
The couple in the back of the room glared over at him, and Billy, who was hauling a box of pretzels to the front, stopped in his tracks.
“Something wrong?” the kid asked.
Chet shook his head and slammed out of the bar. “Damn,” he muttered, running his hand down his face. It was worse than he imagined. Monica had decided ruining his sleep wasn’t bad enough, now she’d taken on his waking hours as well.
He was putting an end to that right now. With purpose directing his steps, he walked to the parking garage and drove to her house.
The streets were full of parked cars. The Blue Goose might be less than busy, but Lloyd Fischer’s church was doing a bumper business. Light spilled out of the church, and the parsonage was dark, all but one small light in the front of the house. Music filled the night, traditional Christmas carols played on an old-time pipe organ.
Chet found a place to park on the street, half a block down from the church. Several people were walking toward the building. There was a family with two small children in tow, and an older couple, holding hands, smiling up at each other.
Chet stayed where he was, hidden in the shadows. One thing he knew, he wasn’t walking into that church. He was deciding what he was going to do when he spied Monica coming out of the parsonage. The porch light went on as the light in the living room was extinguished. Her silhouette was framed in the warm glow of the single bulb on the porch.
She seemed to be in something of a hurry, Chet noted. Rushing across the street, he met up with her on the sidewalk.
She stopped when she saw him. Surprise worked its way across her features, starting with her eyes and then her mouth. She opened it as if to say something, then closed it again. She hugged sheet music against