Chapter Seven

 

“Why don’t we have Christmas music playing?” Phoebe lifted the steaming mug hot chocolate to her mouth and blew on the sweet beverage.

Her dad walked into the room. “Because it’s November first.”

“Your point?” Phoebe grinned and pointed across the room. “Look, Mom’s even got a candy cane melting in her hot chocolate.”

“It’s a peppermint stick.” Mom lifted it from her drink to prove it.

“Same difference.” The snow outside stirred her Christmas spirit early. “Thanks for letting me crash here tonight.”

“Of course, honey. We wouldn’t let you drive home in this.” Dad settled in his recliner. “We always love having our kids home. After having Trixie, Alice, and then Hunter back for a while when they left, we had to get used to quiet all over again.”

“I know how to fix the quiet.” Phoebe tapped her phone several times until Mannheim Steamroller began playing.

Mom laughed. “I give up.”

A frown creased Dad’s forehead. “I hope your siblings all made it home safely.”

“I’m sure they did.” She turned the music’s volume down from the high level she’d had it set to in the car. “The meteorologists have warned about this storm since the weekend.”

“But few people took it seriously.” Dad raised his brows. “Like you.”

“It’s not that I didn’t think it was coming, but I thought I had enough time to check on the property first.”

“Either way, I’m glad it wasn’t far from here, so you had a safe place to pull off.” Mom rose from the loveseat. “Now that we’ve started on dessert, should I get dinner ready?”

Phoebe stood. “I’ll help. What are you making?”

“Baked ziti. I made it earlier, and all that’s left to do is putting it in the oven.”

“Want me to make a salad to go with it?”

“That would be nice.” Mom started toward the kitchen. “With only your dad and I, I rarely worry about extras. We had salads for dinner last night, so there are still fixings in the crisper.”

Carrying her cup, she followed her mother to the kitchen. Once Mom had taken the baked ziti out of the refrigerator, Phoebe rummaged through the vegetable drawer for the ingredients to a salad. She pulled out a half head of romaine lettuce, a cucumber, and a red bell pepper. “Do we have any onions?”

“There should be a red one and a bag of Vidalias in the bin,” Mom answered over her shoulder.

“Thanks.” She grabbed a sweet onion and then a Roma tomato from the clay bowl.

She was slicing the onion when the doorbell rang.

“I’ll get it,” Dad called from the living room.

She heard his footsteps, then the opening of the door. Strong gusts of wind whipped into the house.

Dad welcomed the person in and closed the door. Only then could she hear well enough to figure out who had arrived.

And her heart skipped a beat.

Stay cool. Stay normal. Pretend you never saw that stupid article on the internet earlier.

She waited until they came into the kitchen to acknowledge him.

Of course, Mom would welcome him with open arms and a motherly embrace. “What are you doing out this way, Mac?”

He grinned sheepishly. “I got caught in the snowstorm. I knew your house was just up the road, so I drove really slow until I made it here.”

Dad looked her way and grinned. “Seems to be the trend tonight.”

Raising her hand, Phoebe offered him a paltry wave then returned to making the salad. Her feigned disinterest didn’t make it to her ears, however, and she listened intently to every word.

“I didn’t expect it to amount to anything, but the several inches on the road proved me wrong.”

“Think school will close tomorrow?” Dad took Mac’s coat and hung it on a peg.

“If it stops soon, no, but if it continues at this pace, I’m sure they’ll cancel.” A flicker of sadness tinged his tone. “After that school bus accident last year, they don’t want to take any unnecessary risks.”

“Always better to be safe than sorry.” Dad nodded his head with authority. “I’ve been saying that for years. In this day, with all the technology available, there’s no reason we can’t accommodate a few extra snow days through online work.”

“That’s been discussed often at the school board meetings. I wouldn’t be surprised if we see that happen in the next year.”

Mom handed him a mug. “Have some hot chocolate and warm up. Can you stay for dinner?”

Mac held the cup tightly between his hands, seeming to appreciate its warmth. “I don’t see that I have a choice. Even my four-wheel-drive started slipping and stalling. Even if I had a choice, I’d be honored to stay.”

“Go sit by the fire and get warm. I think we’ll eat in the living room tonight where the heat’s concentrated.” Mom glanced at Dad. “Is that okay with you, hun?”

He nodded. “I’ll set the tv trays out and stoke the fire.”

“I’ll help.” Mac followed her dad out of the kitchen.

Once they were out of hearing range, Phoebe gave her mom a sideways glance. “Is he staying the night?”

“If he has to. We can’t just send him on his way with the roads in this condition.”

Phoebe wrinkled her nose. “It will be awkward.”

Mom sighed. “I know you have feelings for him, and I also know you're upset about the gossip surrounding him and that actress, but that’s no excuse for poor hospitality.”

“I wasn’t saying to kick him out.” She leaned her head back and blew out a breath. “I don’t know what I’m saying other than this stinks.”

Coming to her side, Mom wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “Since it appears you’re both snowbound here, maybe you can have that long overdue conversation about your feelings for each other.”

She snorted then coughed on her laughter. “That’s funny. It couldn’t be more obvious he feels nothing but friendship for me.”

“If you say so.” Mom smiled then peered inside the oven. “Never underestimate the power of a fireside chat.”

“Mom.” She drew the word out into several syllables as a warning to drop the subject. “Do you have any bread to go with dinner?”

“There’s a loaf of French bread on top of the refrigerator. Could you hand it to me, please? I’ll pop it into the oven to warm.”

“Do you remember when we were little, and you always let us have ice cream on snow days?” She stretched to reach the top of the fridge.

“Only when you were little?” Mom took the bread from her. “Look inside the freezer.”

She didn’t fight the temptation and pulled on the handle. “Neapolitan and cookies and cream. Nice.”

“Your father loves his ice cream. That’s how the tradition began.”

Resuming salad prep, she arranged the cucumbers in even rows. “How so?”

“You were just a toddler, and Jessa was four or five. The forecast predicted a massive blizzard, and your dad declared if he had to be stuck at home for a week, then he’d have ice cream to enjoy. We stocked up on necessities, but ice cream was our luxury.” Mom pulled the ziti from the oven. “Jessa insisted on a bowl, and she shared it you. When the next storm came around, that’s what she remembered about it and asked for ice cream. The rest is history.”

“Other kids at school called it weird, then privately told me they wished they had cool parents like mine.”

“Every kid deserves the occasional splurge.”

“I can’t fathom eating ice cream right after coming in from playing in the snow, but we were kids, so what did we know.”

“The four of you would play for hours. Somewhere I still have your old snowsuits.”

She cringed. “I looked ridiculous in those hideous things.”

“No, you didn’t, and they kept you warm.”

“I’m glad fashion and technology have developed new gear to keep me warm without looking like a giant pink marshmallow.”

Mom chuckled under her breath. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“We’ll pull out the old photos later, and I’ll prove it to you.”

“Oh good. I can show Mac your pottytraining pictures.”

“Mom!” she screeched in horror.

“Don’t worry. I don’t even know where they are.” Mom tousled her hair like she would a child then lifted the pan of baked ziti with two potholders. “I’ll set the table if you get drinks and napkins ready.”

Dad sat at the head of the table, and Mom sat across from him. That left Phoebe to sit beside Mac or across from him and have to see him the entire time. She opted to sit across from him so she wouldn’t accidentally bump his knee or elbow.

The radio played in the background, left on an AM station courtesy of Dad. Two middle-aged men debated the latest in politics and the upcoming elections. Phoebe tuned them out and listened to her dad catch up with Mac.

“I enjoyed my visit with your father last week. His spirits have improved since the last time I stopped by.”

“He has good days and bad.” Mac laid his fork on the rim of his plate. “Thank God, the good days come more frequently now.”

“He’ll keep improving.” Dad forked a bite of noodles. “My uncle had a stroke, and he surprised everyone with his recovery. Your dad’s tough. I bet he’ll be back to work by spring.”

“Don’t tell Mom that unless you want an earful.” Mac’s subtle smile left Phoebe to wonder if he was serious or not. Thelma Banfield was a force to be reckoned with when she had her mind set on something, but Phoebe also knew how Thelma longed for her husband’s full recovery.

A special weather report cut into the radio programming near the end of the meal. The meteorologist predicted a foot of snow to fall by midnight, with an additional one to two inches in the early morning hours.

Mom stood up. “Would anyone like seconds?”

When they all declined, she gathered the empty plates from the table.

“I’ll give you a pair of my pajamas to sleep in tonight.” Dad pushed away from the table and patted his belly. “They’ll be large on you, but better than nothing.”

Mac glanced down at his outfit. “You don’t have to go out of your way on my account. I can sleep in my clothes.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Mom chided him, returning to the table. “There’s no reason for you to be uncomfortable all night.”

“I’d be grateful for them.” Mac graced her mom with one of his full smiles.

Dad cleared his throat and stared at Mac. “Why do you decline my offer and accept my wife’s?”

All four of them laughed.

Mac looked her dad straight in the eye. “I’ve known Mrs. Bonnie since I was a toddler and learned quickly she won’t take no for an answer.”

Mom squeezed his shoulder. “That’s my boy.”

Watching the interaction between Mac and her parents squeezed Phoebe’s heart. He fit in well with her family, and it would be too easy to imagine him as part of it. Why couldn’t she stop wanting that to happen? She’d prayed for God to take away her feelings for Mac, but they always came back.

How would she make it through until tomorrow with Mac spending the night in the same house? She needed distance, not closer proximity.