What She Wants for Christmas. Janice Johnson Kay
Bellevue fit your dad better than it did me. I like small towns, I like Eric, I like this house.” She wrinkled her nose. “I guess I like a challenge. And I’ve certainly bought into one, haven’t I?”
The screen door banged and both Nicole and her mother looked up. Mark kicked the kitchen door shut, dropped his backpack on a chair and headed straight for the fridge.
Mom’s face brightened. “How was your day?”
Nicole knew what he was going to say even before he said it.
“Cool! Can I have this chocolate milk?”
“Sure. Still liking your teacher?”
“Yeah, she’s okay.” He’d found the cookies. “She’s into astronomy. I like stuff like that.”
“Make some friends?” Mom asked casually, as if it was that easy.
He shrugged and shoved a whole cookie into his mouth. Around it, he mumbled, “I hung around with a couple of guys all day. Can I watch TV?”
“Yes, you may watch TV. For half an hour.”
“Gol, I don’t have any homework or anything.” He grabbed three more cookies and his chocolate milk and headed for the living room.
Nicole blew her nose. Her own brother hadn’t even noticed she’d been crying. “How come it’s so easy for him?” she asked.
Her mother kissed the top of her head. It felt good. Comforting. “Maybe because his personality is different. He’s always been cheerful and outgoing, uncomplicated. Maybe because he’s a boy, and boys accept newcomers more readily. Maybe just his age. It’s harder to leave your friends when you’re a teenager.”
“Then…why wouldn’t you let me stay in Bellevue? I could have finished school there.”
Brown eyes serious, her mother faced her. “For lots of reasons. I might have considered it if you’d been a senior, but you have three more years of high school. I don’t think Jayne’s parents were really prepared to finish raising you, and I didn’t want to let them. I’m already in shock at how fast you and Mark are growing up. You’ll be gone before I know it. But I’m not ready yet, and neither are you. You’re still a kid, and you’re mine.”
She hardly ever sounded that firm. Secretly Nicole didn’t mind. She’d wanted to stay in Bellevue, but the idea of becoming part of her friend’s family had been a little scary. She hadn’t wanted to lose her mother or even Mark, brat though he was. She just didn’t want to move.
Now she nodded. But she wasn’t going to pretend she was Mark, either. “I still hate it here.”
“I know.” Her mother gave her an odd twisted smile. “But I hope, after a while, that you won’t. Think about getting a horse. That might be some consolation.”
Nicole had always wanted a horse more than almost anything else in the world. But she wasn’t about to let her mother buy her cooperation. She shrugged sulkily. “I’m not a little kid anymore.”
“Well, then,” Mom sounded as tart as a green apple, “don’t act like one.”
Nicole stomped off to her bedroom.
LEAVING NICOLE sulking in her bedroom and Mark in front of the TV, Teresa went to town. The farmhouse needed remodeling, starting with the basics, and she might as well take advantage of the rest of her day off. She hadn’t forgotten Joe’s sister worked at Browder’s Flooring, but Teresa told herself curiosity wasn’t why she’d chosen to start there.
A woman named Carol offered to help her, then let her browse in peace among the carpet and vinyl samples. Almost immediately she realized she’d better choose kitchen and bathroom countertops before the flooring.
The back of the store was a veritable treasure trove, if you liked redoing houses. Shelf after slanted shelf held tiles in a mouth-watering selection of colors and textures. Blinds in colors equally rich covered mock windows on the wall and were topped by calico and satin and wood valances.
Teresa headed straight for a lacy pleated blind that would be perfect for her old house.
At her murmured “ooh” of pleasure, an amused voice from behind her said, “A woman of taste, I can tell. I put that one in my own living room.” When Teresa turned, the woman held out one hand. “Hi, I’m Rebecca Ballard.”
Joe’s sister-with-a-big-mouth. In her mid to late thirties, she had little in common with him physically except the blue eyes. Her curly brown hair brushed her shoulders, her smile was as warm as a cup of hot chocolate, and she was just a little plump—and undeniably pregnant. Teresa liked her on sight.
“Teresa Burkett,” she introduced herself.
“The new vet.”
“Yes,” she said a little warily.
“Jess told me about you. Jess Kerrigan. She’s my sister. She said you were dating Joe.” Rebecca clapped her hand over her mouth. “And I was to pretend I don’t know,” she said sheepishly.
Teresa grinned. “He did mention the family grapevine.”
“More like a patch of blackberries. You know how fast they spread.”
Teresa’s laugh felt good. “Yes, we had dinner. Your brother seems nice. He took out some trees for me and gave me a good deal.”
“Oh, he’s nice.” Rebecca shook her head. “A little hard to get to know, but don’t let that stop you.”
She wanted badly to ask why he was so guarded, but refrained. This was, after all, a complete stranger. Her struggle must have showed, though.
His sister tilted her head to one side. “I’d love to tell you his life history, but I have a suspicion he’d be annoyed at me.” She thought about it for a moment. “Well, probably not annoyed. Mad as hell. I’d better let him tell you in his own good time.”
“You’re probably right,” Teresa said. “What I’m really here for is help picking out some tile. And window covers. And, heck, I even need a new kitchen sink. You don’t happen to sell those, do you?”
“Nope, but I keep some catalogs on hand, so you can match colors if you’re not planning to go with plain white or stainless steel. The hardware store sells Kohler and a couple of other brands. Shall I dig the catalogs out?”
Teresa spent a happy couple of hours poring over the tiles, carrying them to the vinyl, discussing how best to get the hardwood floors refinished.
“My daughter’s room first,” she said. “Nicole’s miserably unhappy about the move. She keeps bemoaning her old bedroom’s built-in vanity and window seat. Maybe I can shut her up by making her new one equally charming.”
“How old is she?” Rebecca asked.
“Fifteen.”
“You have my sympathy. My son, Alan, was barely sixteen when I met my current husband. Alan didn’t think he liked him, and you wouldn’t believe the stunts he pulled.”
“Oh, I’d believe them,” Teresa said grimly.
Rebecca tilted her head to one side again. “I don’t suppose your daughter is petite, dark-haired and takes French III?”
“That’s her.”
“Ah. Alan’s mentioned her.” Rebecca heaved a wallpaper book onto the counter. “He thinks she’s, uh, pretty.”
“I don’t suppose that’s the word he used.”
Joe’s sister gave her a wry look. “I don’t want to sully your ears with current teenage-boy terminology.”
“Probably no worse than ‘chick’ or ‘babe’ or ‘fox.’” Teresa contemplated briefly. “’Babe’ and ‘baby’ were always my personal pet peeves. They’re so…so…”