Don't Save It All For Christmas Day
Joss was having the weirdest dream. She was sitting on the beach of a tropical island and basking in the sun. In her hand she held a cold drink—a margarita made just right; and the music was playing—except it was a song unlike any she had heard before. The rhythm sounded like the shuffling of feet or sandpaper on wood. She tried to place where she had heard the sound before but couldn't.
Rolling over, she burrowed deeper under the covers that had suddenly stopped giving warmth. Opening one eye, she peered at the room and found it suspiciously dark—darker than it should have been since it was nearly dawn. Then she heard the noise—the same noise that had been in her dream. And she groaned.
The sound wasn't sandpaper; it was snow being forced against the house and brushing up against the wood siding. They were having a blizzard. And there was no way she was heading back to L.A. today or tomorrow. If she was lucky. And so far, luck was in short supply.
She swung her legs over the side of the bed and shoved her feet into fuzzy slippers, then reached for the oversized robe hanging on the back of the chair. She slipped it on and quietly walked to the door. Stepping into the hallway, she checked to see if the coast was clear before heading downstairs.
Joss tip-toed into the living room, careful not to wake Taylor, who was snoring peacefully. Reaching for the throw on the back of the recliner, she gently placed it over the sleeping boy. She took a moment to look at him as he slept in peaceful slumber. A part of her wanted to know what his story was and how he found John and her grandmother. But the logical, no nonsense part knew that it would be foolish to get attached. Not all ties were meant to bind.
She stepped back. On alert, her nose caught the faint scent of coffee and she perked up. Then inwardly she groaned. John was awake, and there was no avoiding him. Still, she tip-toed across the floor.
"Good morning," John greeted from his place at the kitchen table.
"Hi John." Joss stood in the doorway and soaked in the warmth. Still she shivered for some unknown reason. Maybe it was the way John's blue eyes were focused on her. Or maybe it was the way that in saying nothing, he was already finding a way of bombarding her with dozens of questions.
"I made coffee," he offered and held up a mug.
Memories of the cup of coffee he had made on her first morning caused her to blanch. She shook her head. "No, thanks," she declined the offer. "I want my toothpaste to last until the storm is over."
John's eyes danced with humour. "It's good. I promise." He crossed his heart.
She gave in. "Uh, okay."
"Sit. I'll get you a cup." John stood up and walked over to the counter. While he filled the thick ceramic mug with the scalding hot, aromatic brew, Joss took the chair opposite his. Her finger traced the faded but familiar daisies imprinted on the table top.
"Two creamers?"
Surprised by the question, Joss sputtered, "S-s-sure. Yes. Thank you." She watched as he prepared the cup. "You remembered," she murmured, a little touched by the act.
"Here." John handed over the mug. Joss took it and wrapped her hands around it to absorb the warmth. "Are you hungry?"
"No, thanks." Her appetite was still non-existent, but she wasn't going to tell him that because he would hover. She didn't need hovering. She needed the fastest way away from the piercing blue eyes that seemed to pity and condemn her at the same time.
"I have left-overs from last night that I can warm up," he pushed the issue. A part of him didn't care if she ate or starved, but a little part of him—the part that still cared—thought she was too thin. But if she didn't care, why should he? Because you do. You care more than you'll ever admit.
"I'm not really..." Joss started to decline, then changed her mind. If saying yes meant that he wouldn't be sitting across from her, staring intently as though he was lining her up as a hunter would a kill, then she would eat. "Okay, I'll have something," she relented.
Not particularly hungry himself, but knowing that Taylor would be awake shortly, John busied himself with preparing something light. The air was tense while each person waited for the other to speak.
"Guess you won't be flying out today," John remarked casually as he broke the eggs into a bowl and whipped them with a fork. Focusing on the chore kept him from staring at Joss and the fresh-out-of-bed look. It kept him from doing or saying something that could make things worse.
Joss picked at the tattered letter printed on the side of the mug. "Probably not. I should check with the airline, though. See if I can re-book." It was going to cost a fortune, but what was money if it saved her nerves and sanity?
"Cell service is down. I already checked when I woke up. This storm has pretty much shut down everything," John said with a shrug of his shoulders.
Joss sighed. Her plan to escape was thwarted and now she was stuck in the house with the last person she never wanted to be with again.
"Disappointed?" John's tone held just a touch of accusation. He pulled a few more items out of the fridge and set them on the counter.
"I miss my cat." Joss was sure Sameen was taking care of the feline, but she wanted to call and make sure. But there was no way. All she could do was trust that everything was alright.
"I'm sure Fluffy will survive a couple of days without you." John poured the eggs into the pan and stirred them with a wooden spoon. It surprised him that Joss would open her heart to another person—even if that person had four legs and a tail. He felt the flicker of jealousy, so he turned to completing breakfast. Pulling an onion out of the hanging basket, he quickly skinned it and began dicing it.
"Szymanski," Joss corrected.
John looked up from his task. Huh?"
"His name is Szymanski. My cat. That's his name."
John's lips curved in a smile. "That's quite a mouthful. And unique."
A secret smile tugged at Joss's lips. "He's unique. In fact, he saved my life."
Intrigued and startled by the revelation, John stopped chopping and turned around. "Really? When?" His heart nearly skipped at beat at the thought of her being hurt, almost killed. Quickly he tried to tap down his overactive emotions. Besides, what did it matter to him? Except it would have mattered to Sara. He was instantly sobered by the truth.
"About five years ago. I was heading home from work and this car was tailgating me. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw this kitten sitting on the sidewalk. Totally random sidewalk on a busy street, but I pulled over and let the car behind me speed past. Not a few seconds later, a huge truck plowed into the car—T-boned it and killed the driver. Had I not seen the kitten, that could have been me." Joss sipped the coffee and tried not to remember the sound of crunching metal and busting glass. Her hands shook as she put the mug down. Something that was not lost on John.
"You saw it all?"
Joss bit her lip, nodded. "Heh. Pretty much happened just a few feet away from where I stood." On hot, humid days she could still smell the putrid stench of gasoline and tire rubber on asphalt. It made her sick to her stomach every time.
"What did you do?" His voice was kind, gentle, as he probed for more information. He could tell she was still shaken, and it took everything he had not to reach over and take her hand in his.
"I threw the kitten in the car and then rushed over to help. The driver of the truck was injured a little, but nothing serious. Typical texting while driving."
"And you named the cat Szymanski after him? The driver who died?" John asked.
"No, after the street sign where I found him. Kind of a tribute to his miracle appearance." One of the fewer than few times she had had her faith restored.
"I'd like to meet him."
"Heh." There was no way that was ever going to happen, but Joss kept her comments to herself. She was stuck in the house with him for the next God only knew how long, and she didn't want to fight.
"The kitchen is warmer than it used to be," Joss said, changing the subject.
"I gutted it a couple of years ago and laid a new foundation. Then I reinforced the walls with material that keeps the heat in, and the cold out. And vice-a-versa. It has cut down on energy consumption."
"Hmmm. Who knew that you would go 'green'."
"Not green; necessity. It was breaking the bank account to heat and cool the house. It's paid off."
"Except for upstairs."
"I plan on tackling that this summer. If things go my way."
"What do you mean?"
"Nothing you need to worry about. If the will goes the way I think it will, then it really won't matter." John didn't elaborate, but it was apparent that he thought the house wasn't going to be his. The thought was enough to start closing his heart and darken his eyes. The temperature in the room seemed to drop.
Joss shifted uncomfortably in the chair. "John, we're going to be stuck here, together, for the next couple of days—or more. I think we should meet halfway."
John shrugged. He took a lid from the cupboard and placed it on the frying pan. "Sure. Anything you say." Now it was his turn to throw up the wall.
"I-I mean it. I'm still going to need to call work and tell them that I won't be flying in tonight."
"Those three days go by fast, don't they?" John asked rhetorically before continuing, "But don't worry, the storm will end and you'll be back in sunny L.A. in no time."
Overwhelmed by the snideness of the remark, Joss pushed back her chair. "I'm going to go freshen up. Maybe put on some warmer clothes," she excused herself. The warm kitchen has suddenly turned chilly.
John watched Joss hurry from the room. He gave himself a mental kick. "Good going, John. Next time don't beat around the bush; just go for the jugular," he muttered under his breath.
"What did you say?" Taylor asked from the doorway. His feet were bare and his hair was wild from sleep. He rubbed his eyes and yawned.
"Nothing, sport. I made breakfast, so why don't you go get dressed?"
"We're not going anywhere today, are we?" Taylor asked, disappointed that he already knew the answer.
"Afraid not. Maybe we can play some video games later," John suggested an alternative activity.
"Yeah."
John walked over and rumpled Taylor's hair. "Maybe when the blizzard stops we'll go out and build a snow fort and have a snowball fight," he sweetened the deal.
Taylor smiled at the prospect of spending time with John. "Okay. I'll be down in five."
"Take your time, Taylor."
John leaned back against the counter. He managed to rock the boat with Joss, but he smoothed things out with Taylor. Not quite the happy medium he was shooting for, but the day was still young. And if the storm lasted a little while longer, then maybe he could find a way to meet Joss half-way.
"Two steps back and one step forward." He sipped the now cold coffee.
******
Huddled under the four-strand thick, crocheted afghan, Joss sat curled up on the recliner with a book. It was a mystery thriller with a page turning plot, but she hadn't quite made it past the first chapter—much less the second page. As much as she tried to concentrate on the words, her attention kept going to the two guys sitting on the coffee table playing the video game.
"Come on. Come on. Come on," Taylor urged the virtual soldier who was running thru the deserted streets of the demolished city. His eyes stared, unblinking, at the plasma screen. "Guy on the wall."
"Got him." John's thumb quickly pressed the small red dot on the hand-held control, disposing of the potential threat. "Bad guy down. Get ready. Here they come."
Gunfire filled the room as John and Taylor put everything they had into conquering the enemy. Simultaneously, they leaned over and hunched themselves as the fighting picked up in intensity. Caught up in the moment, even Joss leaned forward to watch.
Five minutes later, Taylor jumped up and raised his hand for a victory high-five, which John delivered with pride.
"That was great work, Taylor," John praised. His eyes shone with happiness.
"I was scared that I might lose. Especially when I couldn't find you," Taylor confessed.
John raised his fist for a reassuring bump, which Taylor reciprocated. "What are you talking about? I had your six."
"I know. We beat the bad guys."
"Yes, we did." John stood up and turned off the game console. "It's almost time for lunch. If you want to turn on a movie, I'll check on the soup." He rumpled Taylor's hair. He turned to look at Bear. "Come on, boy."
Getting up from the warm bed beside the fireplace, Bear stretched then followed his master. He cast a backwards glance at Joss as if to warn her, then he turned the corner.
Joss closed the book. "What were you playing?" she asked.
"Seal Team Six." Taylor took the DVD out and placed it in the case. Walking over to the bookcase, he shelved it. He ran his finger across the DVDs on the shelf above until he found what he was looking for.
"That's a good game. Intense and almost too realistic, but I like it." She stretched out her legs. It felt good to get the blood flowing again.
Taylor's eyes opened in surprise. "You play STS?" he asked with doubt. She was refined and cold and not very nice—from what he had seen; there was no way she played video games.
"I do. I did," she amended. "A friend of mine bought it a couple of years back, and we played it all the time." Joss stood up, stretched. She turned to pick up a log from the stack and carefully added it to the fire. Grabbing the poker, she stirred the burning logs to make room. The flames licked at the wood a few times before it caught. The sound of snapping and crackling, and the scent of burning wood filled Joss.
She set the fire gate back in place and turned around. For a moment it seemed as though the wall had come down. "Do you want to play a game or two?" she invited, extending a part of the olive branch. A moment later it was back.
"No, thanks," Taylor declined. "I wanna watch a movie."
Thoroughly rebuffed, Joss gave a weak smile. "I didn't mean today. Maybe tomorrow, or another day?"
"I don't know. We may not have a place to stay by then, and you have to go back to California," Taylor replied tonelessly. He pressed the power button to turn on the DVD player and inserted the disc.
Stunned by the remark, Joss tried to think of a comeback. "Well...uh..." And failed.
John came back into the room with a large tray filled with soup bowls and condiments. He set it on the coffee table.
"Soup's on," he announced. "Anything wrong?" He looked at Joss and Taylor. Taylor shrugged.
"Nothing's wrong," Joss replied quickly. She sniffed the air. "That smells good."
"Chicken noodle. Sara's recipe. Here." He handed over the bowls. "Careful, it's hot."
Joss took the bowl and sat back down. "Thanks."
"What are we watching, sport?"
"'Angels In The Outfield'."
"Good choice. I like that one."
"Me too. It's got lots of California in it," Taylor grumbled before he started to slurp his soup.
John looked over at Joss, who had her head down and was intently focused on the contents in her bowl. He shifted his look between each person looking for an answer, but only silence filled the room.
Shrugging, John picked up the remote and hit PLAY. He was curious as to what transpired while he was gone, but until someone fessed up, all he could do was get lost in the movie. Which he did with pleasure.
