A Christmas Promise Page 13

  Joshua stared at him for a moment, then erupted into a peal of deep laughter. “Damn, you remind me of your mom sometimes.”

  Greg thought that was a pretty awesome endorsement.

  Chapter Fifteen

  After more than three weeks of being stuck indoors, Greg’s senses went into overload. The crisp, cold air on his face, the wonderful scent of the Christmas trees, the luxury of being mobile again…. It was all too much. He stopped the motorized cart at the edge of the tree lot and closed his eyes, turning his face toward the sun.

  “I guess it feels like you just got out of prison,” Micah said quietly into his ear.

  Greg opened his eyes. “You have no idea.” Getting in and out of Joshua’s truck had been awkward, but they’d managed it. And Micah had gone to fetch the cart first, so Greg hadn’t had all that far to go. Still, it was a pain not being able to bend his leg, and Greg couldn’t wait to be rid of that cast.

  Micah eyed the cart. “Are you to be trusted in that thing? I have visions of you mowing down innocent shoppers who can’t get out of the way fast enough.” His eyes twinkled.

  Greg chuckled. “I’m a sensible driver, I’ll have you know. Besides, the only person I’ll be aiming for is you.” He grinned. How does that saying go? Many a true word is spoken in jest. Maybe the exhilaration had gone straight to Greg’s head: it wasn’t like him to flirt. Except… maybe Micah didn’t recognize the fact that he was flirting.

  Okay, enough innuendos. “Let’s go find a tree.” He drove onto the lot, conscious of the space between the trees. That heady scent pervaded the air, rekindling memories of Christmas when he was a kid. In later years, Mom had gone down the route of artificial trees, and although they were beautiful, it wasn’t the same experience.

  Micah strolled beside him. “Basically, we have three types of trees to choose from. I have my own preferences, of course, but seeing as you’re the guest, you get to choose.”

  Greg widened his eyes. “Hey. It’s your home. So tell me, what are your thoughts?”

  Micah wandered over to the section containing Douglas firs. “These are beautiful, big and bushy, but…” He fingered a branch. “That’s great if all your decorations are nice and light. These branches aren’t cut out for anything heavy.”

  “Agreed. That’s a no to Douglas firs then.” He moved the cart along to the next section. “And what do we think of Fraser firs?” He liked the silvery blue-green foliage and that perfect Christmas tree shape.

  “These are what I always think of when I remember past Christmases.” Micah got a faraway look in his eyes. “This was Mom’s favorite.”

  Which was a two-edged sword, in Greg’s mind. A continuation of tradition, but bringing with it a wealth of memories, some of them painful.

  He sniffed the air. “That smell. Now that is Christmas.” Greg moved the car around the corner to a huge section, and peered at the label. “Balsam firs.” He glanced at Micah. “What do you think?”

  Micah gazed at the trees. “I think… we’ve found our tree. Well, the type anyway. Now to find our tree.” The way he stressed our made Greg’s chest tighten. It made the situation sort of… personal, something just for them.

  Then he gave himself a mental shake. Just… stop it. Such thoughts only served to torment him. It was enough that Micah was already present in Greg’s dreams. He didn’t need to be thinking about him in his waking hours too. Then he gave an inward snort. He only had to look at Micah, and that was enough to get him thinking.

  Greg cleared his throat. “So, how big can we go?” Micah snickered, and Greg rolled his eyes. “When you’ve finished being a little kid, tell me. Are we talking six feet? Seven? Eight? Ten?”

  Micah snorted. “We go home with a ten-foot tree, and Dad will hit the ceiling before the tree has a chance to. Let’s stick with eight feet max.” He peered into the section. “Wait a sec.” Micah dove in and wrestled out a tree, wide at the base, with a fragrance that filled Greg’s nostrils. “What about this one?”

  Greg beamed. “I like it. Do we need to buy any decorations?” Micah laughed so heartily that Greg started laughing too. “What did I say?”

  “Wait until you see all the boxes Dad keeps in the attic. Then you’ll know why I’m laughing.” He glanced around. “I’ll go get someone to net this for us. Oh, and Naomi asked me to buy something else.” His cheeks flushed.

  Greg was intrigued. “Like what?”

  Micah attempted a casual shrug. “She wants some bunches of mistletoe. Said it reminds her of Mom.”

  Greg tried not to think about it, but no, the thought wormed its way in there. Micah standing below a bough of mistletoe, those soft-looking lips parted, just waiting for a kiss… Greg’s kiss.

  He coughed. “That’s… sweet.” Thankfully a guy in coveralls wandered in their direction, and that was an end to the conversation.

  Not that it was an end to Greg’s thoughts, however.

  The living room looked like there’d been an explosion inside a Christmas store, and Micah couldn’t have been happier. There were boxes everywhere, garlands lay draped on the couch next to Greg, and every available surface was covered in decorations.

  What made it all special was Greg. He demanded to see what was in the boxes, and as each bauble and ornament was removed, Micah and Naomi brought them to him, so he could gaze at them. When it came to placing the decs on the tree, Greg had really come out of his shell, giving instructions on where to put certain pieces. More than once, Naomi had caught Micah’s gaze and grinned. It was clear she was loving it too. Dad had insisted on keeping out of the way in his office: he wanted to see the finished result. Micah could understand that. Agreeing to them having a tree was one thing—handling all the decorations that he and Mom had collected over the years? That was something else entirely.

  When it became obvious that there wasn’t a single part of the tree that wasn’t covered, Micah and Naomi stepped back. “You wanna do the honors?” she asked him.

  Micah shook his head. “I think we leave that task to Dad.”

  Naomi nodded. “I’ll go get him.”

  As she walked away, Micah called out, “Wait!” When Naomi stopped and turned, he smiled. “Let’s turn on the lights first?”

  She nodded and knelt down to reach the wall beside the tree. Seconds later, the room was filled with color, the lights reflecting off the baubles and garlands that festooned the tree. Naomi smiled. “Perfect. Now I’ll go get him.” She walked out of the room.

  Micah looked across at Greg. “Well? What do you think?”

  Greg’s face shone. “It’s awesome.” He frowned. “What’s Joshua going to do?”

  Before Micah could answer, Dad came into the room, stopping at his arm chair to stare at the tree. “Oh my.”

  Naomi joined him at his side. “Do you like it?”

  Dad put his arm around her shoulders and squeezed. “It’s beautiful, honey.” He glanced at Micah. “Well, where is it?”

  Micah handed him the last box, and Dad opened it almost reverently. “It still amazes me that this box is still holding together. It was 1991 when we bought it.”

  From the plain brown carton emerged an angel in a gold and white dress. She held a golden harp, and beautiful gold wings spread out behind her. Her delicate face was painted with a serene expression.

  “Oh.”

  Micah looked at Greg, who was staring at the angel open-mouthed. Micah smiled. “Mom and Dad bought this, their first Christmas together after they got married. It’s been on the top of every tree ever since.” He watched as Dad climbed up onto the mini step and carefully lowered the angel into position. When he stepped down, his eyes shone.

  “She’d love this. You two did great.”

  “Hey, I helped too!” Greg proclaimed loudly.

  Naomi snickered. “Yeah, it was like having Mom here, giving out instructions.”

  Dad pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his eyes and nose. “I think I’ll go make some hot chocolate.
Anyone else want some?” Before they could respond, he left the room.

  Naomi’s face fell. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me. I shouldn’t have said that.”

  “It was fine, honest,” Micah reassured her, even though his chest had tightened as soon as the words had left her lips. “You were right, too. That was always Mom’s trick.” He joined Greg on the couch, and gazed at the tree in front of the window. “It’s starting to feel like Christmas.”

  “Almost.” Naomi pointed to the bunches of mistletoe on the coffee table. “I still have to hang these up.”

  Micah couldn’t resist. “You thinking you’re gonna get lucky?” He snickered. “I mean, I got you enough to cover every doorway in the house, so if some unlucky guy wanders in, he won’t be able to escape.”

  Naomi flipped him the bird. “Who knows what Santa will have in his sack for me? Maybe a cute hunk, all wrapped up in a big red bow?” She winked. “Want me to put in a good word for you too? That is, assuming you’ve been nice and not naughty.” Her eyes gleamed wickedly.

  “I think Micah’s always nice,” Greg piped up. “And I’m sure Santa will bring him whatever his heart desires.”

  Micah sighed inwardly. What I really want is to find you under the tree come Christmas morning, but somehow, I don’t think that’s about to happen. Damn Naomi and her talk of Christmas magic. He knew better than to get caught up in such thoughts. They only led to disappointment.

  Micah sent up a silent prayer. Let us just enjoy Christmas? Maybe some peace for Dad, a little joy….

  It wasn’t much to ask for, was it?

  Fran sat back on her haunches and stared at Greg. “Wanna tell me what’s wrong?”

  Greg leaned back on his hands and huffed. “Nothing’s wrong. Let’s just get this over with, all right?” Anything not to extend the torture.

  Fran’s eyebrows lifted so high, they almost reached her hairline. “Okay,” she said slowly. “How about you tell me what they told you at the hospital three days ago? What did the X-Ray show?”

  Greg narrowed his gaze. “You already know that, don’t you?”

  “Maybe.” Fran sat beside him on the rug next to his exercise mat, crossing her legs. “Give me your version.”

  “They said I can manage with over the counter pain stuff now.”

  She nodded. “And that’s good, right?”

  “I suppose.”

  “And the bone’s healing?”

  Greg sighed. “He said because the break was minor, and because of my age and general health, he was happy with the X-Ray.”

  “Then what’s the problem?”

  Greg stared at the cast. “He also said femurs heal very slowly. Not that I hadn’t heard that before. I asked if I could stand on it yet. He said no, that full healing takes a long time, and that I had to leave it until at least six weeks had passed before I tried putting any weight on it. I still have to wear the damn cast in the shower, and I still have to sit down in there.” He hated that feeling of helplessness. Nearly five weeks since he’d been taken to the hospital, and he still couldn’t wash himself without sitting down? It was depressing the hell out of him.

  “Sweetie, it could be two months before that leg is capable of bearing weight, and you’ll still have to use the crutches. I know taking the cast off twice a day to change the dressings is a pain in the neck, because you hate having to put it back on, right?”

  He nodded, his heart heavy. It just didn’t feel like he was making any progress.

  Fran patted his shoulder. “You’re doing really well, Greg. I know it doesn’t look like it to you, but you are. You’re keeping mobile on the crutches, you’re doing your exercises…. You just have to be a little patient, that’s all.”

  Greg scowled. “Then I guess we’re going to be having this conversation again, because patience is not one of my virtues.”

  Fran got to her feet. “I think we’re done for today.” She glanced around the living room. “It sure is looking pretty in here. And that’s a great tree. Eleven days to go!”

  Despite his mood, Greg had to smile at her gleeful expression. “I bet you have an advent calendar at home, don’t you?”

  “Two, actually. The hardest part is stopping the boyfriend from opening the one with the chocolates behind the doors. The little shit eats them all!” She held out her hands. “Come on. I’ll help you onto the couch. Then you can spend the rest of the day recovering from my torture.” Her eyes sparkled with good humor. “Watch a Christmas movie or three. That always puts me in a good mood.”

  Greg winced as Fran helped him to stand, his left leg off the ground, before she guided him to the couch. He knew once she’d left, he’d head for the shower. Greg was sick and tired of wearing nothing but sweats, something he normally avoided.

  I must look like a slob. No wonder Micah isn’t interested. It wasn’t as if Greg could even catch him under the mistletoe that hung everywhere. Yet another reason to curse his damn leg.

  Watching a movie was a bad idea. Right then Greg wasn’t good company for anyone. Better to stay in his room and read, where he wouldn’t be tempted to stare at Micah and torture himself with dreams that might never come true.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Micah had no idea what was going on with Greg, but it felt like a backwards step. He’d spent all day in his room, only surfacing to eat or go to the bathroom. Even Dad had noticed. He kept glancing toward Greg’s door, his brow furrowed. Naomi had suggested going to talk to him, but Micah shook his head.

  “He obviously needs some time on his own.”

  Naomi frowned. “I don’t get it. He was fine at the weekend when we decorated the tree.”

  Micah had a theory. “I think he’s depressed.” Just the thought made him ache inside.

  Dad put down his phone and stared at him. “What’s getting him down? I know we haven’t known him all that long, but this seems out of character, somehow.”

  “I saw his therapist just before she left this morning. She didn’t look happy. Maybe his leg is bothering him.”

  “And maybe what he needs is cheering up,” Naomi said firmly.

  Dad peered at her. “I know that tone. You’re up to something.” He smiled. “You got a plan?”

  She nodded. “How about we all put on our coats and jackets, get into Micah’s car, and take Greg to see the Festival of Lights? That would bring a smile to anyone’s face.”

  “Why my car?”

  Naomi rolled her eyes. “Because you could push the passenger seat back so Greg could sit up front with his leg straight. I’m only little. I could squeeze in behind him.”

  “Maybe you kids should go,” Dad said after a moment. “You don’t need me with you.”

  “Maybe we’d prefer to have you with us.” Naomi met his gaze. “Come on, Dad. It’ll be fun.”

  “Maybe we should find out if Greg wants to go first?” Micah said with a wry smile. “That is the point of the trip, right? To cheer up Greg?”

  Naomi bit her lip, and Dad chuckled. “Good point. Go see if he likes the idea.”

  Micah went up to Greg’s door, and rapped gently on it.

  “Come in.”

  Greg was sitting on his bed, propped up by a heap of pillows. He was fastening the Velcro straps on his cast as Micah stepped into the room. He looked up as Micah approached. “Hey.” He sounded cheerful enough, but Micah wasn’t fooled: Greg’s smile didn’t reach his eyes.

  “Listen, there’s something we’d like to do this evening, and we want you to join us.”

  Greg arched his eyebrows. “Sounds intriguing.”

  “We’re all going to the Festival of Lights. Would you come?”

  After a moment’s hesitation, Greg shook his head. “Thanks for asking, but I don’t think that would be a good idea. I’m not exactly good company right now.”

  “Aw. I was hoping you’d say yes. Dad was really looking forward to you coming with us,” Micah lied. It was only a tiny white lie, after all, and if it worked, t
hen it didn’t count as a lie. He smiled to himself at the almost childlike reasoning.

  Greg stilled. “Really?”

  Micah nodded, sensing capitulation. “It was mine and Naomi’s idea. After the tree worked so well, we thought we’d try a little nudge in a positive direction. I sort of told Dad you wanted to come too, and his face lit up. You wouldn’t wanna disappoint him now, would you?” Okay, that was an outright lie, but Micah was past caring. He really wanted Greg to come along.

  Greg sighed. “When you put it like that? No, I wouldn’t. When were you thinking of going?”

  “Er, now, actually.”

  Greg stared at him, then rolled his eyes. “Fine. Could you grab my jacket? It’s in the closet, along with my boots.”

  “Sure. I’ll give you a hand to put them on too.” Micah darted into the closet and grabbed the jacket off its hanger. Inwardly he was grinning. Yes!

  It wasn’t until he was helping Greg into the front seat that he realized just how much this meant to him.

  Micah glanced in the rear-view mirror. “We all okay back there?”

  “No, we are not,” Naomi said pointedly. “I can hardly move. My legs are squashed up against the seat.”

  “I’ve got plenty of room,” Dad said, smirking. “It’s only a forty-five-minute trip. What are you complaining about? Just think about what’s at the other end.” He caught Micah’s gaze in the mirror and grinned.

  What the hell? Dad agreeing to go to the lights in the first place was enough of a shock. His enthusiasm was nothing short of perplexing.

  Naomi cleared her throat. “You’re right. I can put up with a little discomfort. What’s forty-five minutes?”

  Right then Micah wished he could see Naomi’s face, because that didn’t sound like his sister at all. And judging by the whispers and chuckles coming from the back seat, she and his dad were up to something.

  “Well, what are you waiting for? Santa’s reindeer to come pull us there?” Dad snickered. “Let’s go!”

  Now Micah was certain they were up to something.