Christmas 2011 Trio A. Кейт Хьюит
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doesn’t look good,” Shirley had the audacity to say. “Rosalie wants to wait until after Christmas.” Mercy didn’t know what to do. “That won’t work.”
“Why not?” Both her friends turned to face her. Mercy sighed, more burdened now than ever. “Because Harry will be in Heaven by then.”
Ten
Joyce Fischer had found a table at the ultra-busy Nordstrom Café by the time Beth got to the store. As soon as she appeared, her mother waved to catch her attention.
Beth felt wonderful and couldn’t have disguised her mood had she tried.
“Hello, Mom,” she said, giving her mother a quick hug.
“I took the liberty of ordering for you, dear. I just got two of what we usually order.”
“That’s fine.” Beth only had an hour for lunch and although she would’ve liked to try something new rather than her standard soup du jour and turkey sandwich, she didn’t object.
Taking off her coat, Beth draped it over her chair.
“You’re positively glowing. What’s going on?” Her mother looked like she was about to rub her hands together in glee. “Is it that young man from the computer game?”
“We’re going to meet.” Beth wasn’t sure how and why the situation had changed. Just as she was losing hope that they’d ever take a chance, Peter had stepped forward. Without understanding why it had happened, she realized that a transformation had taken place.
They’d logged on to play World of Warcraft last night and after a while had started exchanging messages again. In the beginning it wasn’t anything special, just their normal chitchat. Then out of the blue Peter had made a startling admission.
“He’s divorced,” Beth informed her mother.
“Well, dear, so are you.”
“I know … That’s not the point. Peter and I were talking.”
“On the phone?”
“No, no, online. That’s the only way we’ve communicated so far.”
Her mother frowned, then decided not to make whatever comment hovered on the tip of her tongue. “Go on,” she urged instead. “I want to hear everything.”
“Well,” Beth said, eager now. “He told me that it’s taken him some time to get over the divorce, but he thinks he’s ready to move on.”
“How long has it been?” her mother asked. “I mean, since his divorce was final.”
Beth frowned. Her mother was right; that was an important question. “I didn’t ask him.”
“You should, dear. If it’s been less than a year, it might be best to move slowly and carefully in this relationship.” Then, as if she regretted having given advice, she shook her head. “Follow your heart. Don’t listen to a thing I say.”
Beth thought cynically that this was all part of the wager her parents had. Her mother didn’t care if Peter was the brother of Frankenstein’s monster as long as he showed up. “You really want him there for Christmas, don’t you?”
Her mother’s eyes brightened. “Is there any possibility that might happen?”
Beth shrugged. Despite her mother’s bet—and personally she felt Joyce deserved to lose—she’d like it if Peter could spend Christmas with her. She wanted to invite him, but it was a lot to ask of someone she hadn’t even met. Everything depended on this weekend.
Her mother waved one hand impatiently. “So you told him you’re divorced, too?”
“Yes, of course, and then we both started talking so fast it was hard for my fingers to keep up with my thoughts.” Peter had been deeply hurt by his wife, who’d more or less kicked him out of the house and excluded him from her life. It’d been painful and harsh, and he’d taken the breakup of his marriage hard.
Beth understood. She’d experienced the same grief over the death of her own marriage. In the course of their conversation, they’d talked about regrets and all the things they might’ve done to save their marriages. Based on the few details Peter had divulged, Beth regarded his ex-wife as cold and calculating.
She talked about John in ways she never had with anyone else, including her parents. It was as though a festering blister had burst inside her and she spewed out the devastating pain of her own divorce.
The game was forgotten as they continued talking. It was after midnight when Peter reminded her that they both needed to be at work in the morning. Reluctantly Beth had signed off.
“What else did he say?” her mother asked. “Did you tell him your real name is Marybeth?”
“Hardly,” she cried, annoyed that her mother would ask such an inane question. “And don’t you tell him, either.”
“So you did invite him for Christmas?” Her mother looked pleased beyond measure.
“No … not yet.” The optimism Beth felt was a sign of her excitement about the way their relationship was developing. No man had interested her this much since college, when she’d first met John. Peter gave her hope. Maybe this wouldn’t go anywhere, but at least she was finally taking a risk. Finally willing to try again.
The server brought their lunches, giving Beth a respite from her mother’s relentless questioning. She tasted her cream of broccoli soup, and it took a few minutes for the conversation to return to Peter.
“You do expect to introduce him to your family, don’t you?” Her mother smiled expectantly at Beth, the turkey sandwich poised in front of her mouth.
“If things go well.” She nodded. “We have a lot in common, Peter and me.”
“That’s wonderful, dear.”
Beth felt the giddy sensation of everything coming together at last. “I never dreamed that after all these months we’d connect the way we have.”
“Well?” Her mother paused. “When are you going to meet?” Before Beth could answer, she added, “Soon, I hope.”
“Is tomorrow soon enough for you?”
“Saturday? But I thought you were going to Leavenworth with Heidi.”
“I am.”
“You’re meeting Peter there?”
Beth nodded. Peter seemed to be a closet romantic, although she suspected he’d never admit it. He was the one who’d wanted to have this initial meeting right away. He’d mentioned getting together on Saturday for lunch, and Beth had said she’d be in Leavenworth. Undeterred, Peter had suggested meeting there.
“But how will that work when you don’t know what he looks like? Good grief, Beth, do you have any idea how crowded that town can get, especially this time of year?”
“We’ve got it all figured out. Heidi and Sam and I are taking the train with the kids and—”
“Peter will meet you on the train?” her mother broke in.
“Not exactly. The train sold out weeks ago, so Peter’s taking the bus. We arrive at eleven and, depending on the weather, he should get in around noon.”
“The train’s always late.”
“Oh, ye of little faith.”
“I have a lot of faith,” her mother said. “But I happen to be practical, too.”
“We took that into consideration, Mother. The bus could be late, too, you know.”
“Yes, of course.”
“We’re meeting by the gazebo in the center of town at four o’clock.”
“Why