Christmas Wishes: Christmas Letters / Rainy Day Kisses. Debbie Macomber
with a Christmas tree pin she’d inherited from her grandmother. The blouse was her very best. Generally she wore her hair tied back, but this evening she kept it down, loosely sweeping up one side and securing it with a rhinestone barrette. A little lip gloss and mascara, and she was ready to go.
A few minutes after six, she crossed the hall and rang LaVonne’s doorbell. As if she’d been standing there waiting, LaVonne opened her door instantly.
K.O. was relieved she’d taken the time to change. Her neighbor looked lovely in a long skirt and black jacket with any number of gold chains dangling around her neck and at least a dozen gold bangles on her wrists.
“Katherine!” she cried, sounding as though it’d been weeks since they’d last spoken. “Do come in and meet Dr. Wynn Jeffries.” She stepped back and held open the door and, with a flourish, gestured her inside.
Wynn Jeffries stood in the center of the room. He held a cracker raised halfway to his mouth, his eyes darting to and fro. He seemed to be gauging how fast he could make his exit.
Oh, dear. K.O. felt guilty about the scene she’d caused that morning.
“I believe we’ve met,” Wynn said stiffly. He set the cracker down on his napkin and eyed the door.
Darn the man. He looked positively gorgeous, just the way he did on the book’s dust jacket. This was exceedingly unfair. She didn’t want to like him and she certainly didn’t want to be attracted to him, which, unfortunately she was. Not that it mattered. She wasn’t interested and after their confrontation that morning, he wouldn’t be, either.
“Dr. Jeffries,” K.O. murmured uneasily as she walked into the room, hands clasped together.
He nodded in her direction, then slowly inched closer to the door.
Apparently oblivious to the tension between them, LaVonne glided to the sideboard, where she had wine and liquor bottles set on a silver platter. Sparkling wineglasses and crystal goblets awaited their decision. “What can I pour for you?” she asked.
“I wouldn’t mind a glass of merlot, if you have it,” K.O. said, all the while wondering how best to handle this awkward situation.
“I do.” LaVonne turned to Wynn. “And you, Dr. Jeffries?”
He looked away from K.O. and moved to stand behind the sofa. “Whiskey on the rocks.”
“Coming right up.”
“Can I help?” K.O. asked, welcoming any distraction.
“No, no, you two are my guests.” And then as if to clear up any misconception, she added, “My only guests.”
“Oh,” K.O. whispered. A sick feeling attacked the pit of her stomach. She didn’t glance at Wynn but suspected he was no more pleased at the prospect than she was.
A moment later, LaVonne brought their drinks and indicated that they should both sit down.
K.O. accepted the wine and Wynn took his drink.
With her own goblet in hand, LaVonne claimed the overstuffed chair, which left the sofa vacant. Evidently Dr. Jeffries was not eager to sit; neither was K.O. Finally she chose one end of the davenport and Wynn sat as far from her as humanly possible. Each faced away from the other.
“Wynn, I see you tried the crab dip,” LaVonne commented, referring to the appetizers on the coffee table in front of them.
“It’s the best I’ve ever tasted,” he said, reaching for another cracker.
“I’m glad you enjoyed it. The recipe came from Katherine.”
He set the cracker down and brushed the crumbs from his fingers, apparently afraid he was about to be poisoned.
K.O. sipped her wine in an effort to relax. She had a feeling that even if she downed the entire bottle, it wasn’t going to help.
“I imagine you’re wondering why I invited you here this evening,” LaVonne said. Phillip, her white Persian, strolled regally into the room, his tail raised, and with one powerful thrust of his hind legs, leaped into her lap. LaVonne ran her hand down the length of his body, stroking his long, white fur. “It happened again,” she announced, slowly enunciating the words.
“What happened?” Wynn asked, then gulped his drink.
Dramatically, LaVonne closed her eyes. “The sight.”
Obviously not understanding, Wynn glanced at K.O., his forehead wrinkled.
“LaVonne took a class this week on unleashing your psychic abilities,” K.O. explained under her breath.
Wynn thanked her for the explanation with a weak smile.
LaVonne’s shoulders rose.“I have been gifted with the sight,” she said in hushed tones.
“Congratulations,” Wynn offered tentatively.
“She can read cat litter,” K.O. told him.
“That’s not all,” LaVonne said, raising one hand. “As I said, it happened again. This morning.”
“Not with the litter box?” K.O. asked.
“No.” A distant look came over LaVonne as she fixed her gaze on some point across the room.
Peering over her shoulder, K.O. tried to figure out what her neighbor was staring at. She couldn’t tell—unless it was the small decorated Christmas tree.
“I was eating my Raisin Bran and then, all of a sudden, I knew.” She turned slightly to meet K.O.’s eyes. “The bran flakes separated, and that was when two raisins bobbed to the surface.”
“You saw...the future?” K.O. asked.
“What she saw,” Wynn muttered, “was two raisins in the milk.”
LaVonne raised her hand once more, silencing them. “I saw the future. It was written in the Raisin Bran even more clearly than it’d been in the cat litter.” She pointed a finger at K.O. “Katherine, it involved you.”
“Me.” She swallowed, not sure whether to laugh or simply shake her head.
“And you.” LaVonne’s finger swerved toward Wynn. Her voice was low and intent.
“Did it tell you Katherine would do her utmost to make a fool of me at the French Café?” Wynn asked. He scooped up a handful of mixed nuts.
As far as K.O. was concerned, nuts was an appropriate response to her neighbor’s fortune-telling.
LaVonne dropped her hand. “No.” She turned to K.O. with a reproachful frown. “Katherine, what did you do?”
“I...” Flustered, she looked away. “Did...did you know Dr. Jeffries doesn’t believe in Santa Claus?” There, it was in the open now.
“My dear girl,” LaVonne said with a light laugh. “I hate to be the one to disillusion you, but there actually isn’t a Santa.”
“There is if you’re five years old,” she countered, glaring at the man on the other end of the sofa. “Dr. Jeffries is ruining Christmas for children everywhere.” The man deserved to be publicly ridiculed. Reconsidering, she revised the thought. “He should be censured by his peers for even suggesting that Santa be buried under the sleigh.”
“It appears you two have a minor difference of opinion,” LaVonne said, understating the obvious.
“I sincerely doubt Katherine has read my entire book.”
“I don’t need to,” she said. “My sister quotes you chapter and verse in nearly every conversation we have.”
“This is the sister who asked for my autograph?”
“Yes,” K.O. admitted. Like most men, she concluded, Dr. Jeffries wasn’t immune to flattery.
“She’s