CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Amelia
Most of the next morning passed in a dreamy haze. I guessed that anyone looking at me for longer than three seconds would notice how happy I was, but I couldn’t hide it. I knew I should, because if anyone noticed they would ask questions that didn’t have easy answers. I didn’t want to hide it, though.
“You’re cheerful, sis,” Reese had observed that morning when I sat down to breakfast.
“It is almost Christmas,” I had said, smiling blandly. That seemed to be a good excuse, but I wasn’t sure if it would be enough to fool my sharp-eyed relative. Even my voice sounded happy.
“That makes sense,” she said. She glanced at me shrewdly and I blushed.
I had broken eye contact before she caught the silly, drowsy look in my eye and guessed once and for all what was on my mind.
Well, who was on my mind would have been a more accurate description.
My mind was full of Carson. When he came down to breakfast, my eyes went to him immediately. My heart felt as if someone stabbed it, so sudden and overwhelming was the feeling that possessed me.
“Hi, everyone,” he said. He looked as if he hadn’t slept. I couldn’t help smiling. I looked quickly away. Brett was looking at us and I knew it was only a matter of time before he guessed.
“Hi,” I said softly.
He looked into my eyes. We couldn’t look away. He broke the gaze. It was just as well. The silence had already stretched a little, as if Brett and Reese were looking at us oddly. I coughed. Carson walked in and looked for somewhere to sit, studiously avoiding glancing my way.
I was seated with Josh on my right, Brett on my left. Reese and Cayley were opposite me, so the only option was for Carson to sit at the head of the table, the furthest place from me.
Good, I thought.
If he had been next to me I wouldn’t have been able to help my knee touching his and then I would have been distracted all morning.
As it was, he was quiet. I sat in contented silence, the warm, melty feeling of the night before flooding my limbs with sweet sleepiness. I feel amazing.
I heard Carson cough. “Pass me the milk?” he asked.
“Sure,” Reese nodded amiably. “It’s a cold morning,” she added mildly.
“Is it?” I said. I really hadn’t noticed—my whole body was warm and drowsy and content.
They all looked at me oddly. Brett chuckled.
“It’s freezing out there,” he observed mildly. “Did you sleep, sis?” he asked, frowning at me.
“A bit,” I said. My cheeks flamed and I bit my lip, delicious shyness filling me.
After that, conversation died down. The kids kept up a lively debate about the nature of their Christmas presents, but other than that, there was little talk. I was wrapped in the haze of memories and every little thing, from the taste of berries to the smell of coffee, was new, as if my nerves had sharpened during the night. I was so happy.
After breakfast, Reese announced she had to go to town. “I need to go to the post-office…I think Mom sent something from Miami.”
“A parcel from Granny?” Josh asked, eyes shining.
“Hurray!” Cayley cried. I smiled.
“My mom spoils them,” Reese observed with a grin.
“Well, it’s only had positive effects,” I smiled at the kids. Cayley beamed at me.
“I’d better head off and shower,” Brett commented, pushing back his chair.
“Brett Carlyle. Must you beat me to it?” Reese pouted.
“Okay, okay. I’ll check my mail. You go first.”
“Thank you.”
They both laughed.
Brett headed upstairs and Carson excused himself at once. I pretended not to wish he’d stay longer. I turned to the kids.
“So,” I said. “Who wants to make decorations?”
“Me!” they shouted. I smiled.
“Okay, then. We’ll go through to the sitting room. It’s warmer in there.”
“Hurray!”
“Can we make polar bears?”
I frowned. “If you like?”
“I can draw a polar bear!” Josh announced grandly.
Listening to their chatter, I let myself sink into the quiet joy of morning.
“Amelia?”
“Mm?” I asked. I was sitting at the table in the dining-room, plaiting paper chains for the ceiling. Cayley was with me, covered in glitter, holding the other end, smooth brow furrowed with concentration. Josh had abandoned us for the attic and his cars once more.
“You’re making the gravy, right?” Brett asked me. He had evidently been cutting up onions and came from the kitchen redolent of cooking. He had a cautionary frown as if making the gravy were some intricate part of football strategy. I laughed.
“That’s right,” I said warmly. Cayley smiled up at me.
“Can I help? Are you cooking now?”
I smiled at her. “Don’t see why not!”
“Good. I want to be the best chef when I grow up. Then I’ll win all the competitions. Isn’t that nice?”
I laughed. Brett guffawed. “She’s as bad as I am,” he said. “Which reminds me. It’s my turn to make the fire. I’ve got to beat Carson!”
I laughed. Carson was good at making fires. He had lit one in me that evening too, I thought distractedly, and it was still burning fiercely, melting me from the inside. No matter how many distractions were on hand, I couldn’t stop thinking about him.
“Is there anything else you need for the gravy, Mel?” Brett’s voice interrupted me.
I bit my lip, thinking. “You have strawberry jam?”
“Yes,” he called, voice echoing from the cupboard. “It’s going into the gravy? You sure about that, right?”
I laughed. “Sure I am! It’s my secret weapon.”
“As long as it isn’t a weapon of mass devastation,” he said. The instant the words were out of his mouth we looked at each other, both feeling awkward. I cast a guilty eye around, checking Carson wasn’t in immediate range of hearing. Making jokes about the Iraq War, however indirect the reference, wasn’t something either of us meant to do where he might hear it.
“He’s in the attic with Reese and Josh, probably.”
“Whew.”
Brett smiled and patted my hand. “I think he’s okay, Mel,” he said gently. “In fact, he’s looking good. I didn’t think he’d ever lose that stressed expression; but from yesterday he seems to have changed. Literally overnight, he looks relaxed. It must be Christmas, or something.”
I felt a glow spread through my chest. I hoped I was right, and that it was because of me that he looked happier now. I certainly felt happier.
“It could be,” I said, warmly. “I feel happier too.”
“I know. I noticed,” Brett smiled. “You look great, sis. It’s so nice to see you so happy.”
I smiled and wrapped an arm around his shoulder, ruffling his hair fondly. “Thanks, bro.”
I squeezed his hand and he stroked my hair like he used to when we were kids. Then he cleared his throat, looking away.
“I should go and wrap gifts,” he said. “It’s Christmas tomorrow.”
“Hell,” I said, shaking my head with amazement. “It really is. So should I.”
“I hope you haven’t spoiled me, sister,” he said, giving me an affectionate shove.
“I think I regrettably haven’t,” I said, biting my lip.
“Perfect,” Brett grinned. “Having you here’s gift enough, you know.”
“Aw,” I said, feeling my throat tight with feeling. I really didn’t know Brett cared so much. I blinked against my tears. “Thanks, bro.”
“Not at all. Now I’d better get busy. Where’s the wrapping paper.”
“It’s in the attic, Brett,” Reese called patiently from the study by the front door. “Where you put it.”
He sighed. “Thanks, sweetie.” he grinned at me. “Wives: catering for short-term memory-loss on seven continents.”
“There aren’t people in Antarctica, daddy,” Cayley objected. I hadn’t known she’d followed us from the kitchen. I stroked her hair, grinning at Brett.
“She’s got you there, brother.”
Brett rolled his eyes, a long-suffering sigh on his lips. “Does everyone in this family have to outsmart me?”
We all laughed. I headed upstairs feeling my heart lighter than it had felt for years. I closed my door and locked it—a necessary precaution when wrapping gifts for two inquisitive youth—and opened my case.
As I took out the gifts, I felt a twist of guilt. I hadn’t brought anything for Carson. It was too late now to go out and buy something. What shops were open would be absolute mayhem at this time—and too short notice to order anything either. I sighed.
“I’m sure he’s brought nothing too.”
I didn’t even know whether or not Brett had told him I was staying here. I pushed the thought aside and reached for my wrapping paper and scissors, starting on the job for that afternoon.
It took me about an hour to get everything exactly as I wanted it, to write out the cards and pack it all into the right bags with different names on them. I felt a stab of excitement as I looked at the four shopping bags of gifts, lined up by my door, ready for distribution tomorrow. I had always loved Christmas. We would do what we always used to do when I was a kid. Wake up and have a long, leisurely breakfast, open our gifts and then all sit down for lunch, then spend the afternoon playing games or reading. It was a lovely holiday.
I spent another minute or so admiring the neatly-packaged gifts, then headed downstairs to the hallway. As I neared the kitchen, planning to make the early preparations for my special dish tomorrow, I heard voices in the kitchen. I tensed instinctively. One of them was Carson, one Reese. They sounded worried.
“It’s okay, Carson,” Reese was saying slowly. “It’s okay,”
“No,” Carson said, slurring. “No, it’s not…’snot okay.”
I closed my eyes, fearing the worst. When I walked in, I confirmed it. Carson was drunk. Badly drunk. He was leaning against the cupboard, swaying, eyes unfocused. When he saw me, he leered.
“Amelia!” he said loudly. “Come say hi.” He reached for me and swayed dangerously. I tensed as his arm crept round my shoulders, his mouth pressing on mine. My lips compressed tight and I pulled away from him, skin crawling.
“Aw, C’mon. Give’s a kiss…” he crooned. He swayed again and, teetering, crumpled forward onto his knees on the floor. He looked up at me, giggled and lay down.
“What’s…wrong with you?” he slurred, looking up at me. Then he closed his eyes and started to breathe deeply, clearly passing out.
I looked at Reese. My cheeks were hot and I wanted, badly, to cry. I looked at Carson where he lay, eyes closed, body contorted, on the floor. His chest heaved and I was frightened he was going to be sick. If he threw up while unconscious, he might inhale it and die. Reese winced.
“We can’t leave him there,” she said, briskly. “Roll him onto his side…that’s it. That way, if he throws up, he won’t drown. Put his arm up under his head. There we are…”
I could smell the stench of liquor on him, and his skin was cold as I pulled his arm under his head, elbow bent, as Reese instructed. I had never felt closer to my brother’s wife than I did at that moment. Classic, elegant executive she might be, but she was also practical and a first-aider. She was the first-aid officer for her workplace and, it seemed, that meant she knew exactly what to do in a situation like this, able to switch off and just do things in a ruthlessly and practical way I couldn’t.
“There. Now we’d best call Brett. We can’t leave him here where people can trip over him. Brett…honey…can you come down? We need help.”
I stood in the doorway behind her. I looked down at Carson where he lay, curled on the floor as we had left him, breath snuffling softly. “I can’t believe this,” I whispered. “I can’t handle this.”
Brett is right. He has changed, has Carson—the young Carson would never have done this.
As I looked down at his sleepy, prone form, I realized that I was being silly. Carson was facing challenges I would never be able to understand. He was a changed man. He was way too complex for me. Sharing his life was a full-time job, one for which I was wholly unequipped.
As Reese, practical and unfazed, returned to the kitchen, followed by my brother who bent down and lifted his friend, straining and flushed, to carry him upstairs, I flattened myself against the wall, getting out of the way. I bit my lip and tried very hard not to cry.
I can’t do this, I told myself. I should turn away now. I should try and put all my feelings for Carson back in the box and forget him. He needs someone different to me.
Someone like Reese was what he needed: coolly practical, able to deal with his difficulties with an objective clarity. He needed something other than the love and softness I would give him.
As much as I loved Carson, I was wrong for him. I would make myself turn away. Even if it killed me, I would forget him. It was the best thing—the only kind thing—I could do.