The Christmas House Read online

  Wyatt ignored the jab straight through his heart, delivered by his preteen daughter in one short sentence, practically dripping with irritation. But it was a welcome distraction, because he’d been living in the past since the moment he’d opened Ruby Harris’s front door to find Charlotte standing there last night. Charlotte was the past he’d been trying to forget his entire adult life.

  “Dad, hurry,” Samantha said as they walked through the dark parking lot of the bustling ballet studio, forcing him to concentrate on the present. He’d been a cop for over a decade and had seen a helluva lot of nasty stuff, but nothing had prepared him for having a twelve-year-old daughter. There were some days he didn’t know if he was cut out for this—like his daughter going through puberty and all the sass that came with it might actually kill him. He glanced down at the top of her dark hair, pulled back into a perfect bun, as he held open the door to the dance studio and tried to play it cool. “Okay, thanks. I’ll just pay for your class and hobble back under the rock I came from.”

  He was rewarded with an eye roll before she ran off and caught up with her friends. The studio was swarming with dancers ending and starting their classes. Making his way through the sea of parents and kids, Wyatt tried not to remember the day Sam had started ballet after begging him for a solid month. The receptionist at the front desk had quickly hopped out of her chair and rushed over to them, horrified by his sorry-ass attempt at a real ballet bun. Penny had taken the time to show Wyatt how to do a proper ballet bun and, after only half a dozen more sessions with her, he’d mastered it. He could now proudly do a bun in his sleep, except Sam did her own buns now.

  He wasn’t so sure when it had happened, but somewhere between eleven and twelve he’d become … embarrassing to her. Of course, he knew preteens were self-conscious and all the memes about them were basically on point, but somehow he’d thought maybe he’d be exempt from that. He had naïvely—which was ironic because he wasn’t naïve about anything—thought that because they were so close she would never be embarrassed by him. What was even more surprising was that his feelings were actually hurt. Not so hurt that he made an issue of it, but it made him nostalgic for simpler days. Like the days when he would instinctively place his hand out and know that within seconds her smaller one would clasp onto his like a magnet. Now, he knew if he held that same hand out, he’d just feel air on his skin. No one had prepared him for that. No one had prepared him for guiding a daughter through adolescence.

  He sought out the empty bench in front of the viewing window of the ballet studio, ignoring Sam’s statement that he didn’t need to watch.

  “You look like you could use something a hell of a lot stronger than coffee.”

  Wyatt turned in the direction of the voice and smiled up at his oldest and best friend, Scott Martin. Scott joined him on the bench and handed him a coffee and placed a giant basket wrapped in cellophane and a red ribbon between them. “Yeah, probably until Sam’s in her twenties. What’s with the basket?”

  “Oh, yeah. Here, you can have it,” he said, shoving it closer to Wyatt.

  Wyatt glanced inside. It looked like … cheese and crackers and a bunch of other random things he had no use for. “What is this?”

  Scott stared straight ahead and took a sip of coffee. “An early Christmas present or something. Aunt Mary made me buy it.”

  Wyatt pondered where to start with that one. His Aunt Mary was also “Aunt Mary” to Scott and his daughter. “She’s forcing you to buy cheese baskets?”

  Scott turned to him and pointed to things in the basket. “Uh, yeah, with ulterior motives I guess. I had just picked up a coffee at the Main Bean next door and ran into your aunt outside. She basically shoved me into the cheese shop and made a beeline to the back in order to introduce me to the new owner, Meghan, I think. I felt bad so I had to buy something.”

  His aunt needed to be stopped. Clearly she thought he and Scott were in need of her help. “Wow, sorry, man. I’ll see if I can tell her that we’re perfectly happy alone.”

  Scott snorted. “Yeah. So happy. Who would have thought the two of us would be sitting here one day, two girls the same age and single?”

  “With a random basket of cheese between us,” Wyatt said before taking a drink of the coffee. He and Scott had become friends in the first grade when Scott had shared his sandwich with him when he noticed Wyatt didn’t have a lunch. Wyatt repaid the favor later that day when he spotted a third-grader bullying Scott at recess and decked the kid. From that point on they had been inseparable, even when Wyatt’s family had moved from Silver Springs to the city. And when Scott’s wife died, Wyatt had dropped everything to be there for him. When a job opening was available, he’d jumped on it. His aunt was happy to have him back in Silver Springs, and his best friend was grateful. Sam had been the only holdout.

  Now, their daughters were best friends and instead of having a beer by himself on Saturday nights, or pretending he didn’t need a beer when Aunt Mary was around, he had a beer with Scott while their daughters hung out in any room of the house that the dads weren’t in. He’d thought their days of feeling like idiots in high school were over, but their preteen daughters had managed to rekindle that particular emotion.

  He’d almost go so far as saying they were thriving, but he knew that would be a stretch. He didn’t know if Scott would ever get over the loss of his wife. They’d been the real deal, and many times Wyatt had found himself envying the kind of relationship they’d had. Scott’s wife’s death had shaken all of them.

  “Saturday morning coffee is on me,” he said, taking a sip of piping hot coffee.

  “Damn right. This is my second time in a row picking up coffee,” his friend said, sitting beside him on the bench. “Also, you should know that Aunt Mary is trying to set you up with Ruby’s granddaughter.”

  Wyatt shut his eyes briefly, only to find the image of Charlotte Harris in his mind, where she’d remained since he saw her yesterday. Her dark, glossy hair had tumbled around her shoulders and her blue eyes—that he was pretty certain were the same as Ruby’s—had been inquisitive and sharp. Her seriousness had seemed almost severe on an otherwise beautiful face, so much so that it had almost taken him aback. He could still picture her back in Toronto. Charlotte had been a ray of sunshine in his otherwise shitty life. There were things he had never talked about with anyone except Scott, but on his walks to and from school with Charlotte, he’d found himself opening up to her without intending to. She had always seemed to understand. He knew her home life had been shitty too, and maybe that’s why he’d opened up to her … but there was more to it than that.

  He hadn’t been prepared for the emotional hit when he saw her standing there last night. But he’d been kind of an ass. He hadn’t given her a proper reaction, he hadn’t been warm, and then he’d brushed her off. She deserved more than that. She had been important to him and he had disappeared and never saw anyone from that school or building again. He owed her an explanation. But he didn’t want to get into it, he didn’t want to dredge up the past. He’d spent years outrunning it.

  Charlotte had been as sweet as he remembered—her affection for her grandmother had been obvious, as had her disappointment in him. But she’d been very gracious to his persistent aunt. At least she hadn’t fallen for the gift certificate scheme hatched by Aunt Mary.

  ”Apparently, Ruby’s granddaughter is a gorgeous and talented entrepreneur,” Scott said.

  “Yeah … She’s actually someone I knew in Toronto when I was a kid,” he said, bracing himself for the reaction he knew this statement would illicit. He wanted off this topic.

  “Seriously? What are the odds of that? I’m sure Aunt Mary is going to put some kind of destiny spin on that one.”

  Wyatt shrugged, already knowing what was in his future. The coincidence hadn’t been lost on him either. When he’d first spotted Charlotte’s picture in Ruby’s house last year, he’d dismissed it, thinking it must just be a faint resemblance to the girl he used to
know. But then Ruby had talked about her granddaughters. And he’d seen the picture of Charlotte’s little sister, and he’d known. Hell of a curve ball life threw sometimes.

  “She can try. I’m not interested though, and I’m pretty sure Charlotte isn’t either. We were kids. We’re basically strangers. I’m not looking to complicate my life right now with someone from my past … or any woman at all. You get it. There’s just too much going on. I made a mistake once, and I’m not going to do it again. I can’t do that to Sam.”

  Wyatt turned back to watching the class and the students jumping around the room. He didn’t want to introduce a woman to Sam, to have her go through the insecurity of allowing a woman into their lives that would be some kind of mother figure. He had seen shows where divorced parents started over again, and it looked like hell. He’d been to hell, and he was thankful he was back. He had no intention of revisiting it and dragging his daughter with him. As long as he could make Sam happy, then why the hell would he go searching for something that could ruin everything for them?

  Scott let out a rough sigh. “I know. It kind of sucks.”

  “It does.”

  “When did we get this old and pathetic, Wy?”

  Wyatt sat upright and glared at his friend. “Speak for yourself. We’re not old, and I’m definitely not pathetic. We’re just being good dads and we’re busy with work. I’m barely hanging on, man. It’s work or the dance studio. I can’t even cook a meal or keep up with laundry. There’s no time for anything else.”

  Scott nodded. “Okay. You’re right, let’s go with that; we’re too busy. You update Aunt Mary on our position.”

  Wyatt nodded. “Done. I’ll tell her. We have no interest in relationships.”

  “That’s a great plan. She won’t buy it. But good luck.”

  Wyatt shot him a look and turned his attention back to the window. He was right.

  An hour later, Wyatt was arguing with Sam as they walked up the front steps of their house.

  “I don’t get why I can’t wear makeup,” she said as he held the door open for her and balanced their takeout pizza and stupid cheese basket in the other.

  He hung up his coat and tried not to lose his temper when she threw hers on the hallway chair and it flopped to the floor. They had been circling this same argument for the entire car ride home. Or maybe the entire year. Seventh grade was a crash course for both of them. It was so bad that he’d kept scanning the sides of the roads in the hopes there might be some kind of non–life threatening accident, a car in a ditch, or anything that would get him out of finishing this conversation he wasn’t qualified for. He just wanted to say, “because I said so” and open a bottle of beer. “Because you’re twelve. You don’t need makeup.”

  She rolled her eyes and stomped into the kitchen. “You don’t even know what it’s like to be a kid these days. I’m not even allowed to have any social media accounts, which has basically solidified my social status as loser. You don’t get it because when you were a kid people used flip phones.”

  He nodded, placing the takeout pizza on the table and cramming the large cheese basket into the already messy fridge. He handed Sam a plate when he turned around and found her already eating. “Yes, it’s your generation that has it all together. Clearly. Judging by the teenagers coming into the station, you guys have all the answers.”

  “I don’t even want this pizza!” she said after eating a slice and then throwing her crust down on the table.

  He spoke through clenched teeth. “You know it’s only kids who don’t eat crust. So as much as you think you’re all grown up, you’re still a kid, Sam. My kid. And it’s my job to make sure you’re safe and happy.”

  “Well, you failed at the happy part!”

  * * *

  Charlotte had no idea how she’d agreed to deliver a gift certificate to Wyatt next door. Oh, she did know—his aunt and her grandmother had bulldozed her into doing it. That was fine.

  Charlotte buttoned up her navy wool coat in front of the front hall mirror as she bundled up to walk over to Wyatt’s house and deliver the gift certificate. She needed the fresh air, and a nice little walk was perfect. It’s not like she had to talk to Wyatt or anything. She’d just slip the envelope with enclosed gift certificate under the front rug and run away like a child. Except as a child she never would have run away from him.

  She picked up her hat and then placed it back on the coat rack. It would be a shame to ruin the hair she’d actually taken the time to curl into soft waves. Not that she’d styled it on the off chance that she would run into Wyatt, because she didn’t know what that said about her.

  A few minutes later she was breathing in the sharp smell of pine and winter as she walked along the road that led to Wyatt’s house. Now this was a street of dreams; century-old homes were scattered along the winding roads like stately symbols of a bygone era that was filled with propriety and prestige. Enormous oak trees, with leaves long lost to the fall wind, bordered the properties, and towering pines majestically lined the streets, their branches bowing under the weight of the freshly fallen snow. Some houses had professionally strung lights, reaching all the way up to the towering evergreens, creating a sparkling landscape.

  She knew so many people complained about the winter weather, but she loved it. She loved how crisp the air was, how it was almost startling when you first breathed it in after coming from the warmth inside. She loved the feel of snow under her boots as she walked, the way it coated and topped the grass. She could watch the snow fall for hours, and it always brought a smile to her face, even when things were at their worst. Even after her father left.

  There was a point in her life when she had fixated on the day her father would come home. Lying in bed at night after Olivia had fallen asleep, she’d imagine hearing the reassuring sound of his footsteps approaching their room, and she could practically feel his lips pressed on her forehead whispering goodnight. Other nights she’d dream about opening the front door after hearing a pounding and have her father tumble in, blood soaking the front of his police uniform and him mumbling about how he’d gone undercover to save a family and that was why he’d stayed away. She’d run and call 911 and would save his life and they’d all be reunited.

  But her favorite fantasy was the Christmas Day one—the one where she and Olivia would run into the family room, and sitting beside the tree would be their father, drinking coffee with their mother and smiling. That fantasy didn’t even have an explanation about where he’d gone. In that one, her hurt, her pride, her anger didn’t matter because he’d come home to them. After a year, she’d stopped going to sleep dreaming of him, angry with herself when she’d have a bad day that she’d want to revert to those old comforting thoughts.

  The world could be so cruel, and her father, her hero, had been a part of the cruelty. Maybe that was the worst of all of it, because he’d instilled this deep sense of mistrust in her, this belief that people were inherently selfish beings, that when the going got tough, love, blood, honor meant nothing compared to one’s own needs. She had blamed herself for so long—that she hadn’t been good enough for him to stay.

  Which was why she never made relationships a priority. She didn’t need men … just like her grandmother. She needed to find out about the box of memories. The women in their family were basically cursed. Grandma Ruby had been on her own forever, and now with what Charlotte had found in the basement, she knew there was something even bigger in her grandmother’s past, which she was planning on discussing with Liv. Their mother had been a single mom for a long time. Olivia was the only one who seemed to be managing as a married Harris woman. But then again, it’s not like Olivia’s husband, Will, was a gem or anything. Not that Charlotte would ever express that to her sister—the time to voice any thoughts about Olivia’s love life was long gone.

  Pausing at the end of the driveway that led up to Wyatt’s house, Charlotte quickly surveyed the house and grounds. The misty blue siding stood out boldly against the
white snow and white trim of the front porch. White lights were strung along the roofline and on the front bushes that lined the walkway. A Christmas tree was visible in the front window, with twinkling lights. The Cape Cod–style home seemed cheerful and casual and very much the idyllic family home. The house was nestled and protected from the road by the rows of massive pines and was pretty enough to be on the front of a postcard. It was a far cry from where they’d grown up, and Charlotte was happy for him.

  She made her way up the walkway. What was she going to say if Wyatt saw her? It would be awkward. She hated awkward conversations.

  She paused on the bottom step of the porch when she heard a young woman’s voice yell from inside: “Well, you failed at the happy part!”

  Charlotte cringed and decided to hurry. This clearly wasn’t a good time. Wyatt’s deep voice boomed: “Well, at least I’m trying, and I don’t roll my eyes so much that they’re in danger of disappearing into the back of my head forever.”

  Charlotte looked around frantically for a place to just leave the envelope and run. The rug had snow on it, and the gift certificate would be soaked and ruined. Maybe she could slip it in between the screen door and the frame. Carefully opening the screen door, she winced at the loud creak it made as she tried to get the envelope to stay.

  The door swung open, and she looked up to see Wyatt standing there. “You just saved my life.”

  Maybe it was that display of vulnerability, or that half second before they both burst out laughing, or the way he’d run his fingers through his already mussed-up hair, or the way his five o’clock shadow seemed to accentuate the strong lines of his handsome face, or that genuine sparkle in his eyes, the one that hadn’t changed after all these years, that made Charlotte very happy that Aunt Mary had roped her into delivering this gift certificate.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  DECEMBER 24, 1968

  TORONTO

  Ruby leaned her head against the cold front door of her home and cried like a child. She pounded her fist on the door again and again, begging for them to let her back in, letting any pride in her body seep out of her until she was a pathetic shell of the woman she had thought she was. She wept for Richard, for her childhood that was gone, for the rejection that had ripped a hole inside her heart she knew would never heal.