Authors: Ann Warner
At the moment, though, he was too sick to worry about that. “I don’t want to give you the flu for Christmas.”
“I’ve had my shot. Boy, you sure don’t have much food here.” She closed the refrigerator and opened a cupboard. “Oh, good. Tea. But if I want to eat, it looks like I need to go shopping. And I definitely want to eat. I’m starving.”
Of course. Nearly five o’clock on Christmas Eve. She had just danced in the
Nutcracker
matinee. He made his way out of the kitchen and plopped on a chair, desperately wishing he didn’t feel so lousy.
“You okay?” Clare’s face swam in front of his, then there was a strong push on the back of his head. “Here we go. Don’t want you passing out on me, babe.”
The buzzing in his ears gradually decreased. He sat up slowly, still feeling dizzy.
Clare stared at him for a moment. “You okay?”
He nodded. Although claiming to be okay was optimism of a high degree.
“I think you need to get back to bed.”
She walked him down the hall. By the time they reached the bedroom his head was spinning again, and he was glad to lie down. Clare pulled off his jeans, straightened the covers over him, and plumped a pillow for his head.
Her lips were cool on his forehead. “Sleep tight, Rob.”
She left the room and he slipped into a feverish doze, awakening some indeterminate time later to a cool hand on his brow.
“How are you feeling?”
“Like I’ve been stomped by something large and hairy.”
“Well, I think it’s a good sign you still have your sense of humor. Can you sit up? I’ve got acetaminophen and tea here.”
He struggled upright and Clare turned on the lamp. He peered at the clock. Six-thirty. It meant he’d been sleeping an hour and a half while Clare had been...?
She handed him water and two tablets and he downed both.
“Now, tea while I finish fixing dinner?”
He accepted the warm mug. “Dinner?” His voice was a croak.
“Lucky you have a Star Market so close. It was a madhouse, what with it being Christmas Eve. But I managed to find the makings for chicken noodle soup and a salad and I snagged the last loaf of French bread. I was totally ruthless. Pulled it away from a little old lady. She gave me a dirty look but when I told her I needed it for a sick friend, she caved.”
While Clare chattered, Rob sipped tea, surprised afterward to discover he was both hungry and clearheaded enough to make it to the dining room without difficulty. Once there, he discovered more of what Clare had been doing while he slept. She’d tuned the radio to a station playing Christmas carols and transformed his dinner table with a poinsettia plant and a cluster of candles. With the only light coming from the candles, the worst of his decorating defects were invisible.
“It’s nice. Really nice, Clare.” Great, so along with clear sinuses, the virus had deprived him of the power to put a coherent compliment together?
He took a seat and Clare went into the kitchen, emerging shortly with steaming bowls of noodle soup that even to his stuffy nose smelled wonderful. Then came the purloined bread followed by plates of salad, another cup of tea for him, and a glass of white wine for her.
“Not exactly how I pictured spending Christmas Eve. The soup is delicious, by the way.”
“Old family recipe. Always dispensed in times of ill health.”
“I’m sorry about this.”
“What? Getting sick? Well, you didn’t do it on purpose, did you? You know, in the cause of scientific inquiry or something?”
He shuddered. “Absolutely not.”
“That’s what I thought. Besides, you’d do the same for me if I’d been the one who was sick.”
“What? You mean show up, decorate, and cook you homemade chicken soup?”
“Well, maybe not all that, but you wouldn’t have left me alone on Christmas Eve.”
She was right about that.
When they finished eating, she hopped up and cleared the dishes. When she returned, she brought a large package with her. “The other reason I had to see you was I wanted to give you your gifts.”
“Just a minute, I need to get yours.” Good thing he’d figured out what to get her in time to wrap them before the flu felled him. He returned to the dining room, pleased the trip down the hall hadn’t left him dizzy this time.
“Ladies first.” He handed her the larger of the two packages.
She shook it and checked its heft before beginning to carefully dismantle his awkward taping.
“Are you trying to save the wrapping paper?”
“Of course not. I’m merely trying to appear sophisticated and mature.”
“Count me convinced.”
Meeting his eyes, she ripped the paper off and opened the lid of the box. “Oh, Rob, this is too, too funny.”
She left what he’d given her in its wrappings, picked up one of the presents she had for him, and thrust it in his hands. “Go on, open it. And none of that prissy stuff. I want it open. Now.”
He did as ordered, finally lifting out of its nest of tissue paper a purple panama hat with a green and yellow parrot perched on top.
“Here, allow me.” Clare took the hat from his hands and set it on his head.
“Guaranteed to impress small children and frighten elderly ladies.”
She chuckled. “No really, it’s very becoming.”
“Your turn.” He placed his gift to her, a pink baseball cap with a perched parrot, on her head. “And please note how much more tasteful my selection is.” He’d chosen a parrot a third the size of the one she’d picked.
She shook her head, making the parrot bob.
“You realize there’s only one place we can wear these,” he said.
“Behind locked doors?”
“We’ll have to attend a Jimmy Buffett concert.”
She shuddered, making him chuckle.
“I have something else for you.” She handed him a long, narrow package. “It’s something you won’t have to hide in the back of your closet. And don’t think I can’t see that’s what you’re planning.”
“Never.” He accepted the second package. It was heavy and whatever was in it shifted slightly when he shook it. “A length of pipe? A long narrow brick?”
“Not even close.”
He removed the paper, opened the box, and examined the contents.
“It’s a kaleidoscope. You always notice colors, so I thought you’d like it. Well, I hoped you would.”
Smiling, he lifted the tube to his eye and rotated the barrel. Colors cascaded, the effect intensified by the flickering of the candles.
“It’s amazing. Here, take a look.” He handed her the tube, resisting, in the interest of hygiene, the impulse to lean over and kiss her. When she finally set the kaleidoscope down, he gave her his second gift, a small square box.
Clare accepted it, looking hesitant. She glanced at him before beginning to pick at the wrapping tape. In his debilitated condition, it took him longer than it should have to realize she was worried it might be a ring. He gently removed the partially unwrapped box from her hands. “Let me help you with that.”
He glanced at her to find her eyes riveted on the box as he finished removing the paper. He snapped open the lid, gauging her reaction as he did so. He’d be willing to bet a great deal her expression was one of relief, not disappointment, as he placed the gift back in her hands. He filed the thought away for later.
“It’s lovely, Rob.”
She looked at him with a question in her eyes.
“It was my grandmother’s.”
“Oh. Are you sure?”
“That I want you to have it? Absolutely sure.”
She pinned the brooch, a bisque porcelain rose, to the neckline of the dress she was wearing then jumped up to check how it looked in the mirror. She came back smiling, and leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “I’ll treasure it. Thank you, Rob.”
On New Year’s Eve, a mostly recovered Rob escorted Clare and Denise to a party attended by most of the Danse Classique company. When they arrived, Clare took their coats upstairs to the loft-style bedroom leaving Rob and Denise below in the apartment’s large living area. All the furniture was pushed to the edges of the room and forties band music accompanied the loud hum of voices. In one corner couples were dancing.
“That’s our host, over there,” Denise told Rob, nodding toward a man Rob recognized as Clare’s dance partner.
Rob leaned over to speak in her ear. “Should we say hello?”
Denise tucked her hand in his arm and stood on tiptoe. “That’s an outstanding idea.”
They made their way to Stephan, and Denise performed the introductions, referring to Rob as a good friend.
“Glad you’re here,” Stephan said. “Any friend of Denise’s and all that. Beer’s on the deck, wine’s in the kitchen.”
As Denise started to say something else, Stephan’s attention was pulled away by a petite blonde who came up to him and slipped her arm through his.
“Ah. Lisa, good to see you.”
Rob shrugged at Denise. “We’re obviously dismissed. What will it be? Wine or beer?”
“I don’t care. Wine, I guess.”
“Hey, why so glum?”
“Her.” Denise tipped her chin, indicating the blonde who appeared to be hanging on to Stephan for dear life.
“I think he wants to ditch her,” Rob said, whispering back.
“Really?”
Just then, Stephan pulled free of Lisa and pushed past Denise and Rob. “Clare. My party is now complete. Come, dance with me.”
Clare shrugged, meeting Rob’s eyes, but she went with Stephan to the area set aside for dancing. Without letting go of Clare’s hand, Stephan leaned over and spoke to the man running the record player. The man nodded, lifted the arm from the current record, and flipped another into place.
The music that floated out was soft and seductive. As Stephan pulled Clare into his arms, Rob became aware of Denise’s fingers digging into his arm. He shifted, and she removed her hand with a quick apology.
He looked from Denise to Clare and Stephan, a distinct picture beginning to form. “Shall we dance?” he said.