Christmas Wishes. Debbie Macomber
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long graying hair was drawn back in a bun. When K.O. had first met her, LaVonne had reminded her of the character Auntie Mame. She still did. “Something wrong with the elevator?” LaVonne asked.
“No, I just saw a man...” K.O. glanced back and noticed that the elevator had gone all the way up to the penthouse suite. That shouldn’t really come as a shock. His book sales being what they were, he could easily afford the penthouse.
LaVonne’s gaze followed hers. “That must be Dr. Jeffries.”
“You know him?” K.O. didn’t bother to hide her interest. The more she learned, the better her chances of engaging him in conversation.
“Of course I know Dr. Jeffries,” the retired accountant said. “I know everyone in the building.”
“How long has he lived here?” K.O. demanded. She’d been in this building since the first week it was approved for occupation. So she should’ve run into him before now.
“I believe he moved in soon after the place was renovated. In fact, the two of you moved in practically on the same day.”
That was interesting. Of course, there was a world of difference between a penthouse suite and the first-floor, one-bedroom unit she owned. Or rather, that the bank owned and she made payments on. With the inheritance she’d received from her maternal grandparents, K.O. had put a down payment on the smallest, cheapest unit available. It was all she could afford at the time—and all she could afford now. She considered herself lucky to get in when she did.
“His name is on the mailbox,” LaVonne said, gesturing across the lobby floor to the mailboxes.
“As my sister would tell you, I’m a detail person.” It was just the obvious she missed.
“He’s a celebrity, you know,” LaVonne whispered conspiratorially. “Especially since his book was published.”
“Have you read it?” K.O. asked.
“Well, no, dear, I haven’t, but then never having had children myself, I’m not too concerned with child-raising. However, I did hear Dr. Jeffries interviewed on the radio and he convinced me. His book is breaking all kinds of records. Apparently it’s on all the bestseller lists. So there must be something to what he says. In fact, the man on the radio called Dr. Jeffries the new Dr. Spock.”
“You’ve got to be kidding!” Jeffries’s misguided gospel was spreading far and wide.
LaVonne stared at her. “In case you’re interested, he’s not married.”
“That doesn’t surprise me,” K.O. muttered. Only a man without a wife and children could possibly come up with such ludicrous ideas. He didn’t have a family of his own to test his theories on; instead he foisted them on unsuspecting parents like her sister, Zelda, and brother-in-law, Zach. The deterioration in the girls’ behavior was dramatic, but Zelda insisted this was normal as they adjusted to a new regimen. They’d “find their equilibrium,” she’d said, quoting the book. Zach, who worked long hours, didn’t really seem to notice. The twins’ misbehavior would have to be even more extreme to register on him.
“Would you like me to introduce you?” LaVonne asked.
“No,” K.O. responded immediately. Absolutely not. Well, maybe, but not now. And not for the reasons LaVonne thought.
“Do you have time for tea?” LaVonne asked. “I wanted to tell you about the most recent class I attended. Fascinating stuff, just fascinating.” Since her retirement, LaVonne had been at loose ends and signed up for a variety of workshops and evening classes.
“I learned how to unleash my psychic abilities.”
“You’re psychic?” K.O. asked.
“Yes, only I didn’t know it until I took this class. I’ve learned so much,” she said in wonder. “So much. All these years, my innate talent has lain there, unused and unfulfilled. It took this class to break it free and show me what I should’ve known all along. I can see into the future.” She spoke in a portentous whisper.
“You learned this after one class?”
“Madame Ozma claims I have been blessed with the sight. She warned me not to waste my talents any longer.”
This did sound fascinating. Well...bizarre, anyway. K.O. would have loved to hear all about the class, but she really needed to start work. In addition to writing Christmas letters—which she did only in November and December—she was a medical transcriptionist by training. It paid the bills and had allowed her to put herself through college to obtain a public relations degree. Now she was searching for a job in PR, which wasn’t all that easy to find, even with her degree. She was picky, too. She wanted a job with a salary that would actually meet her expenses. Over the years she’d grown accustomed to a few luxuries, like regular meals and flush toilets.
Currently her résumé was floating around town. Anytime now, she was bound to be offered the perfect job. And in the meanwhile, these Christmas letters gave her some useful practice in creating a positive spin on some unpromising situations—like poor Bill Mulcahy’s.
“I’d love a cup of tea, but unfortunately I’ve got to get to work.”
“Perhaps tomorrow,” LaVonne suggested.
“That would be great.”
“I’ll call upon my psychic powers and look into your future if you’d like.” She sounded completely serious.
“Sure,” K.O. returned casually. Perhaps LaVonne could let her know when she’d find a job.
LaVonne’s eyes brightened. “I’ll study my class notes and then I’ll tell you what I see for you.”
“Thanks.” She reached over and scratched Tom’s ears. The big cat purred with pleasure.
With a bounce in her step, LaVonne went into her condo, closing the door with a slam that shook her Christmas wreath, decorated with golden moons and silver stars. K.O. headed for her own undecorated door, which was across the hall. Much as she disapproved of her sister’s hero, she could hardly wait to tell Zelda the news.
K.O. waited until she’d worked two hours straight before she phoned her sister. Zelda was a stay-at-home mom with Zoe and Zara, who were identical twins. Earlier in the year Zelda and Zach had purchased the girls each a dog. Two Yorkshire terriers, which the two girls had promptly named Zero and Zorro. K.O. called her sister’s home the Land of Z. Even now, she wasn’t sure how Zelda kept the girls straight, let alone the dogs. Even their barks sounded identical. Yap. Yap and yap with an occasional yip thrown in for variety, as if they sometimes grew bored with the sound of their own yapping.
Zelda answered on the third ring, sounding frazzled and breathless. “Yes?” she snapped into the phone.
“Is this a bad time?” K.O. asked.
“Oh, hi.” The lack of enthusiasm was apparent. In addition to everything else, Dr. Jeffries’s theories had placed a strain on K.O.’s relations with her younger sister.
“Merry Christmas to you, too,” K.O. said cheerfully. “Can you talk?”
“Sure.”
“The girls are napping?”
“No,” Zelda muttered. “They decided they no longer need naps. Dr. Jeffries says on page 125 of his book that children should be allowed to sleep when, and only when, they decide they’re tired. Forcing them into regimented nap-and bedtimes, is in opposition to their biological natures.”
“I see.” K.O. restrained the urge to argue. “Speaking of Dr. Jeffries...”
“I know you don’t agree with his philosophy, but this is the way Zach and I