Chapter 34

Heather smiles beatifically when I walk through the front doors of the United Way office, and I wonder why. It's too bright, too cold, and far too early for anyone to be that chipper.

“Morning,” I mumble.

“It's a beautiful winter day,” Heather says. “And we're less than a week away from Christmas. If you check the break room, you'll see a surprise for everyone from me.”

I close my eyes and breathe in and out once. I need to find my Christmas joy. I'm letting men steal it from me. First Luke, and now Foster. No more. From today forward, I'll channel Heather's holiday spirit until mine regenerates.

“Thanks, Heather. I'll be sure to check it out. Is Foster in yet?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “He may be pretty late today. I think he had his bachelor party last night.”

Of course he did. I massage my right temple and walk down the hall to my office to take some Tylenol. It's not fair that I feel horrible this morning, because like always, I didn't have a single drink. Even so, I tossed and turned with dreams of Luke and dreams of Foster, and dreams of Luke with Foster's head, or Foster's voice coming from Luke's mouth.

All in all, I've never wanted to turn my alarm off as badly as I did this morning. I did hit snooze once, and pull the covers up over my head. But I only gave myself six extra minutes, because I have too much to do today, and they're things that can't wait. Besides, my cleaning lady was coming by this morning to make sure everything's ready for Trudy to start moving in. I only have her come once a month usually, but she squeezed me in once she found out about Troy.

I slide into my tall, black, leather backed desk chair, a gift from Foster for my birthday last year. I make a few calls to Trudy's landlord to confirm he received her notice, in spite of the place being rented in Chris's name. I also call the moving company I hired to get her stuff packed and shifted over today, and they confirm they'll be at her house by nine a.m.

Once I'm done with my messy personal stuff, I dig in to the Sub-for-Santa work. This week's officially check-in week. I call each volunteer family to make sure they've found appropriate gifts and are wrapping them. I confirm they've been able to reach their family and schedule a delivery time, usually on Christmas Eve. This year, Christmas falls on a Sunday, which puts Christmas Eve on a Saturday, and sometimes that complicates matters.

I work my way down the list, chatting with some people, leaving messages for others. A few of them haven't bought all the gifts yet, but are going today. A few have had everything purchased and wrapped for almost a week. The over-achievers make me smile.

Of course, that smile that drops off my face when I reach the bottom of the list of names. Lucas Manning. Aka, Luke Manning. Penciled in as a confirmed sponsor. I pick up the phone. It's business, not personal. I take a deep breath, because I can do this.

The phone rings.

Luke's deep voice intones, “Hello?”

“Mr. Manning,” I say, trying my best to remain detached. Professional. “This is a courtesy call from the Sub-for-Santa organization. We'd like to remind you that your family's gifts need to be wrapped and ready to deliver for Sunday. Have you been able to touch bases with the family to confirm a time and place for delivery?”

“Mary?”

“Uh, yes, this is Mary Wiggin.”

Luke's voice bristles more than a porcupine in a needle factory. “You dump me, and then you call me the next day and pretend . . . what? That you don't even know me?”

I sigh. “I have a job to do Luke, and I wasn't sure, er, I mean, this has never happened before.”

“What, dating a sponsor parent? Or dumping someone because you're scared?”

My hand clenches on the receiver. “I'm not scared. I'm sensible.”

“Sensible? What are you, British? Is your real name Mary Poppins?”

“Luke, I'm not trying to pick a fight here. I'm just trying to check in with you, okay? I've got a holiday party Wednesday that I'll have to attend alone because I'm getting a promotion I don't want. And I got invited to a wedding on Thursday for my ex-boyfriend, which would suck on a normal week, but now I'm dreading it because I don't have a plus one anymore, but he's put one on my invite. I don't have the time or energy to argue with you anymore.”

“I'll still go with you, if you want me there,” Luke offers. “I'm sorry I said what I said last night, for what it's worth, and it sounds like it would suck to go alone, to both of those. Of course, if I help you out, you'd have to come to my red ribbon ceremony on Friday morning.”

I want to tell him yes so badly, but everything the girls said is still true. He has kids, and I can't deal with them, I just can't. And he's still leaving, and on and on.

I clear my throat. “As much as I'd love that, Luke, and I really would love to have a gorgeous, funny, smart man on my arm at both events, but I can't do that. I can't learn to lean on someone who won't be here in a few weeks. And I can't keep spending time with your kids when they won't ever be my kids, and they can't be.”

“The kids love you. It doesn't hurt them to spend more time with you.”

I shake my head, but of course he can't see that through the phone. “I think it does cause them pain. Or at least, it shows them what they're missing. Did Amy tell you what she really wants for Christmas?”

“I know she wants a dog. Everyone in the entire RV Park knows she wants a dog.”

“Amy told me what she really wants is a mother, right before she told me she wanted a home that's not on wheels. She said since she knows she can't have that, she asks you for a dog.”

Silence on the line.

“Luke?”

“I'm here. I'm sorry, I was processing. She's never said anything like that to me. Not ever.”

“My sister's son is sick, and they're moving in with me today. Plus my promotion is taking up a lot of time, plus this week is my last big push to get the United Way to keep Sub-for-Santa on its docket. I'm going to beg off on the wedding, I hope. And either way, I've got to be able to handle these things alone, just like I'll have to when you move away in a few weeks.”

Silence again. I think about hanging up.

“Well, thanks for checking in,” Luke says. “We've got all the gifts purchased, and we'll be wrapping them all tonight.”

“That's wonderful to hear,” I say. “And you've talked with the family?”

“I called the number twice. No answer the first time and no machine, but on the second try, I connected with the father. He only speaks Spanish, but I speak enough to make things work. I'll be dropping them off on Saturday at noon. His kids will be with their grandmother. He has a shed we can store the presents in.”

“Perfect,” I say. “Thanks so much. I'll make note of it. And don't forget to keep all your receipts. You can deduct them.”

His receipts. I smack my forehead. “Oh, Luke, I'm so sorry. We never divvied up the cost of the gifts that were for my family. You have the receipt. Can you text me the amount and I'll mail you a check?”

“You paid for Chuck-e-Cheese. As much as I'd love to lure you over under the pretense of dividing up a check, we're square. Don't worry about it.”

Not a chance. I'll guesstimate and send him twenty percent more. “Uh huh. Okay.”

“Mary?” Luke asks.

“Yeah?”

“It's really good to hear your voice. I really am sorry for what I said last night. I don't know what you went through, and I don't think you're running away. Quite the opposite. Your sister's moving in with you, and you're taking a promotion you don't want to help her with her son. You couldn't be more different than your own mother, from what I can tell.”

My throat closes off and I can barely breathe, much less talk. I choke out a few words. “Thanks, Luke. Goodbye.” Then I hang up the phone. A moment later, I hear a familiar voice booming from down the hall.

Foster's here.

“Precisely,” he says, his voice moving from the hallway into the conference room. “Please, come right this way. I'll show you the plans for the new healthcare supplemental access for children. Once we've reallocated funds like you suggested—”

Foster stops speaking, presumably because the person he's with asked him a question.

“Right, yes, I have a list of programs we'll be cutting. Of course. I'll have Heather grab that for you right now.”

I grab the stack of papers off the corner of my desk, and jog down the hall to Heather's kiosk with them under my arm. I need to catch Foster's eye. It's almost time for me to leave, but I need to make my case for keeping Sub-for-Santa, and I need to tell him I can't make it to his wedding.

Foster turns to face me when I reach the receptionist desk. “Mary?” His eyes search my face, looking for my purpose in chasing him down the hall. “I'm a little busy right now.”

“I can see that you are,” I say. “I only need a minute. I think you're making a huge mistake letting corporate cut the Sub-for-Santa program and I've got evidence to back up my claim.”

Foster exhales heavily. “Not right now, Mary, okay?”

“What evidence do you have, exactly?” A short man, balding, with thick black-rimmed glasses stands in the doorway of the conference room.

I glance from Foster to the man and then back again. “Uh, Foster?”

“Uh Mary?” Foster asks me, his tone so condescending that my hand itches to slap him. “Answer Mr. Peters. He came all the way out here from Alexandria, and I was about to hand him a list of under performing charities we should eliminate to make room for a larger initiative for sick kids. So go ahead. Show him your evidence that giving kids some toys at Christmas is more important than, say, providing them with a prosthetic limb, or glasses that will enable them to see the chalkboard and learn how to read and add and subtract.”

I frown. I wasn't expecting to present to the Vice President of the United Way. And with that glowing introduction, Mr. Peters isn't likely to listen to a word I say.