Trading Christmas - Debbie Macomber [42]
“Are you still interested in getting a Christmas tree?” she asked, as Ray dug into his bacon and eggs.
“Definitely, but first I think I’d better call my mother.”
They’d listened to the messages the night before. Bernice Brewster made it sound imperative that she speak to her oldest son immediately.
After breakfast, Ray went to retrieve the portable phone.
“It’s barely six in Arizona,” she warned.
“Mom’s an early riser and trust me—she’s waiting with bated breath to hear from me.”
He knew his mother well, because almost as soon as he’d dialed, Bernice was on the line. While they exchanged greetings, Emily scraped off the plates and set them in the dishwasher. She could only hear one end of the conversation, but Ray seemed to have trouble getting a word in edgewise. After a while, he placed the receiver carefully on the counter and walked away. He leaned against one of the stools, arms crossed, and waited patiently for his mother to finish her tirade. Even from the other side of the kitchen, Emily could hear the woman ranting.
“Ray,” she whispered, half amused and half shocked at what he’d done.
He poured himself a third mug of coffee and shrugged elaborately.
After a few minutes, he lifted the receiver and pretended to be outraged. “Yes, Mother. Yes, of course, it’s dreadful.” He rolled his eyes. “What do I plan to do about it? Frankly, nothing. Charles is over twenty-one and for that matter, so am I. Have a wonderful Christmas—your gift should arrive by the 24th. I’ll be in touch. Bye now.” He listened a few seconds more and then turned off the phone.
“Did you, uh, reassure your mother?” Emily asked.
“I doubt it.” Ray chuckled. “She wanted to know what’s going on with Charles. I didn’t tell her, because basically I don’t know. Besides, hard though it is for my mother to grasp, it’s none of her business who Charles is with.”
Still, Emily understood the other woman’s concerns. “She’s worried that both her sons are with strange women.” She gave a short laugh. “Not strange, but strangers.”
He smiled, too. “You know, frankly I think she’d be overjoyed if she met you. You’re exactly the kind of woman she’s wanted to introduce me to all these years.”
Emily wasn’t sure what to make of his comment. “Is that good or bad?”
“Good,” he assured her and briefly touched her cheek. “Very good.”
As soon as they’d cleaned up the kitchen, they put on their winter coats and ventured outside. The sky was dull gray, threatening snow. Arms linked, they walked several blocks until they found a Christmas-tree lot.
“Merry Christmas.” The lot attendant, a college student from the look of him, wandered over when they entered. He didn’t seem especially busy, Emily noticed, but with only three days until Christmas most people had their trees up and decorated.
“Hello,” Emily said, distracted by Ray who was straightening a scraggly fir that leaned against the makeshift wire fence. She shook her head at the pathetic little tree with its broken limbs and one bald side.
“Do you want your tree tall or small?” the young man asked. His breath made foggy wisps in the air.
“Medium-sized,” Emily said.
He stared at her with narrowed eyes. “Would you mind telling me where you got that scarf?”
Emily turned away from the Christmas trees to look at the young man. “I knit it. Why?”
He shrugged. “I had a friend who had a similar one. That’s all.”
A chill raced down Emily’s spine. “Your friend wouldn’t happen to be Heather Springer, would she?”
“Yeah,” he said excitedly. “How’d you know?”
“She’s my daughter.”
“You’re Heather’s mother?” He whipped off his glove and thrust out his hand. “I’m Ben Miller,” he told her. “Heather and I were in art history together.”
Ben Miller…Ben Miller… She had it! “Didn’t you and Heather date for a while?”
“Yeah.” He replaced his glove and rubbed his hands together. “I apparently wasn’t…dangerous enough for her.”
“Dangerous?”
“Never mind,” Ben shook his head. “She’s seeing Elijah now. Elijah with no last name.” He spit out the words. “From