I'll be Home for Christmas ©

by Phantasmarose

Disclaimer: I lay no claim to any of the original POTO characters such as Erik, and Christine. These belong to Leroux. The settings outside Opera House and all original characters to this story belong to me.

Title for story is taken from the song I'll be home for Christmas by James Gannon (lyrics) and Walter Kent (music) copyrighted in 1943. It's first recording was by Bing Crosby that same year. Lyrics from the song are used throughout the story.

A/N: The beta for this story is Busanda, She was working on this story this morning Christmas day!. So, a very special thank you to her. She is also the beta for my other story "Black Despair." Thank you as always.

Merry Christmas to all my readers and reviewers. I hope you enjoy this modern short story. It will only run during the Christmas season. If you find a few minutes please leave a review. Thank you

Chapter 2

December 23rd

It was 6:33, the same time when she had knocked on his door yesterday. If she did not come, he could not go across the hall for her. Erik paced back and forth, from the kitchen to the living room.

All day at work, he had been excited. This was monumental. He was going to have dinner with a woman. She had agreed to return to his home. What if she had changed her mind? What if her husband had returned? When he was younger, he had been stood up so many times he had given up. It was too painful. What woman wanted to be seen with a masked companion? This was different though. She was his neighbor, and they would remain in his apartment, so she would not be embarrassed to be seen with him. If she comes. The downside was that she was married. It's just a meal. What harm can there be? By midday, he had been trying to convince himself that she could not possibly want to join him for dinner just so it would hurt less when the inevitable happened. On his way home, he had a major headache and wished he had not started the whole business. He stopped by the butcher's to get the lamb.

At 6:37, he heard a soft knock. Calm down, Erik. He made himself breathe slowly and opened the door. He greeted her and stepped aside so she could enter. He returned to the kitchen to stir the freshly-made mint jelly. He would not serve her the bottled green stuff from the supermarket.

She was wearing another faded dress and her grey sweater. Her eyes closed, and she seemed to swoon. He could swear she was smelling his food.

"It will be ready in a short while, make yourself comfortable."

"Do you celebrate Christmas?"

"In a way. I don't have family, so I suppose it's not the same," he answered sincerely.

"No it's not." She furrowed her brow a bit and continued, "I don't have family either. Since my father died, I really haven't celebrated the holidays again."

He had to ask. Erik took a long drink from his wine glass and swallowed in a gulp. "What about your husband? He doesn't celebrate?"

"You mean Brent? He's not my husband. I live with him…well, not that way." He saw her blush slightly. "He's a friend. I didn't have a place to stay when I finished in school, and he offered me his place while he…well, he helps people from my country. He knows about American laws."

Erik had to put his glass down. He had just riden a roller coaster—first, the exhilaration of learning she wasn't married; then, the plummet when he thought she was confessing that that man was her lover; followed by the uplifting revelation that he was a friend who was helping her. Erik felt exhausted and the evening was just beginning.

Her last words opened a chasm of suspicion in him. That guy knew about the law? Yasser knew more about American law than that guy could, and he was a professional gardener. Something is wrong with this picture.

She ate well, but not like the day before. The desperation was gone.

After dinner, they sat on the sofa and talked. She was interested in his music school. She had come to America to study preschool education.

She looked around his living room. "You don't have Christmas decorations," she stated with disappointment.

"No, I usually don't celebrate except for cooking myself a nice meal."

"I could make some."

"Excuse me?"

"I could make you some decorations," she explained.

"How?" He had to see this.

"I'll be right back." She dashed out the door. The moment she left, the room grew dark and gloomy. He felt a cold draft and closed a tiny gap in the window. He was glad that she wanted to do something for him. It was rare that anyone did. A few minutes passed, and his heart began to sink. What if she doesn't return? At least now, I have an excuse to go get her. I'll give her two more minutes.

He checked his door to make sure it remained slightly open. In a moment, he heard a rattling of the door jamb, and she entered. It was incredible how the room automatically began to warm up in her presence. She came in with a tiny square box and sat in a corner. He went into the kitchen and checked on his cake. He had put it in late so she would have to stay longer. When he returned to the living room, a small paper menagerie sat on his coffee table. She was still busy making more. Her small hands flew as she folded and turned, flattened, and folded yet again. She had a swan in her hand. She got up and began to place the small paper animals on a dying ficus tree in the living room.

"I really should water that thing more often," he murmured in embarrassment. The plant looked completely neglected.

By the time she was done, the tree was no longer a dying ficus but looked like a Christmas tree, his first. He stood staring at it in disbelief.

"If you don't like it, I can take them off. Perhaps, it was too presumptuous of me." Her cheeks were turning rosy.

"No, no, please, I love it. I…I am amazed at the way you transformed an ugly, dying tree."

"You do like it then?"

"Absolutely. Can you make a star for the top?"

She smiled and taking out several pieces of paper went on to combine them and create a large, five-pointed star. When it was done she handed it to him. He placed the star on top of the tree. This is something a husband does. Stop these thoughts, Erik. Just stop!

They had their dinner and enjoyed a lively conversation. Before she left, they had a piece of cake and coffee. Although his heart felt like it was coming out of his mouth and about to choke him, he casually invited her over next evening for a dinner of duck á l'orange. Just as casually, she accepted.

She looked fragile and from the look in her eyes when he mentioned food, he guessed that his dinners were the only substantial meal she was getting all day. He could easily have provided her with bread, milk, and eggs or given her money, if she'd accept it, to buy a few supplies. He figured she would remain in her apartment without food waiting for him. It made him feel horrible, but he could not bring himself to risk her not returning. If she had food at home, she might never see me again. For some reason, this Brent had left her alone in that apartment to starve. He hated the man for doing that to her but sent him blessings for giving him this opportunity with the girl.

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Again, she had eaten with her masked neighbor, Erik. He had turned out to be the owner of a well-known music school, and he was a most marvelous cook. She had never seen him without the mask and still wondered why he wore it. It was so odd to see someone with a mask that covered the entire face, but the mouth. The only people she knew that covered their entire faces with masks were burn victims, but those masks looked different. She would not ask him why he wore it for fear of hurting his feelings. Now that she was eating dinner at his house, she didn't dare borrow for her other meals as well. She would just do with crumbs softened in cold water until the night's feast. She felt she was using him, but she had no choice.

Christine was just coming to the realization that Brent had cheated her. He had run away with her money. There was no permanent residency and no green card coming. She looked at her passport and other papers, her student visa would expire on the third of January. Time was running out, she had ten days left. She would have to leave the country or face deportation. At least, she had her return ticket. Brent had asked her for that, but she had not turned it over to him. All her dreams of staying in America and opening up her own preschool were now gone. Brent had taken all the money her father had saved so she could come over. She could never save that much money to return again. Thanks to Erik, she would not starve during her last days in America. There had to be some way to show him her gratitude.