Story disclaimers are all in Chapter 1.
Chapter 8: Please Come Home for Christmas
Snow from the parking lot crusted off the wheels of Stephanie's suitcase, landing in dirty clumps on the tile of her building's entryway. As she stood waiting, the creak and rumble of the aging elevator was a welcome sound, since it meant that it was actually working. No need to lug suitcases up the stairs to her apartment.
She reached her mittened hand up to warm her nose and stomped her feet. More clumps of snow released from her boots and pants, plopping on the entry tiles. Hearing a sniffle behind her, she looked back at her father, who was rolling her other suitcase while also lugging her impressively large back of leftovers.
"Thanks, Dad. Sorry to drag you back out into the cold, tonight. I had no idea it had started to snow."
"It's okay, Pumpkin," he replied in his usual gruff voice. Then amusement lightened his craggy gaze. "Besides, it's a good excuse to get out for a bit."
Stephanie snorted in agreement. She'd had her full exposure to go-go dancing, whinnying, and "Smooshie Mooshy" talk tonight. Actually, having been away, she'd been full-up even before dinner had been over. Seeing Val cut both Lisa's and Albert's ham into bite-size pieces had probably been when her eye had started to twitch.
The elevator's sluggish doors opened with a ding, revealing the diminutive Mrs. Bestler next to the button panel. The older woman's eyes lit up as she announced, "Ground floor: fire exits and package delivery." The elderly woman held her hand so it was vaguely in the way of the elevator's door. Even without her help, it would take almost a minute to close, but Stephanie's neighbor wasn't about to lose a customer. "And, where do you want to go tonight?"
"Thanks Mrs. Bestler," Stephanie rolled her regular suitcase inside, waving at her obviously leery father to follow, "Second floor, please."
"Okie dokey," Mrs. Besler pushed the button with her thin, bent finger. "So, who's your handsome man?" she asked.
Her father started coughing as Stephanie giggled. "This is my father. Dad, this is Mrs. Bestler. She lives down the hall from me."
"Um, pleased to meet you," Mr. Plum's politeness kicked in, though he didn't hold out his hand for a shake. That was apparently a bridge too far.
The short, gray haired woman wasn't daunted. "How lovely. It's the season for family visitors, isn't it? My own son, Lenny, visited earlier. Stop by my place tomorrow, dear, if you want some of the sugar cookies he brought me." She leaned toward Stephanie as though revealing a secret. "They're the kind that came in a sealed tin, so you know they're good."
"That's great, Mrs. Bestler, maybe after breakfast," Stephanie said as the elevator clattered to a stop, bouncing gently until it was level with the floor.
"Second floor. Ladies lingerie, small explosives, and lost Tupperware lids." The doors opened with a low sigh. Stephanie thanked her neighbor and rolled out of the elevator, turning back for her father who was trying to exit without coming anywhere near Mrs. Bestler. This, apparently, was impossible to do.
"Come on, Dad. Mrs. Bestler has other floors to visit."
"There are only three floors in this building," her father muttered while sliding himself, the suitcase, and her leftovers through the closing elevator doors. Still looking askance at Mrs. Bestler as the elevator door closed, he frowned. Turning to his daughter, he asked, "Why does she think I'm your handsome friend?"
As sinister visions of sugar daddies no doubt danced in his mind, Stephanie started rolling her suitcase down the hall. "Dad, she's senile. She says that about every man she doesn't recognize, even new tenants." She stopped to fish for her key, glad that she'd never removed it from her winter coat in Florida, so it was still where it belonged. Though, according to Ranger, anyone over the age of ten, or maybe seven depending on the neighborhood, could pick her lock.
She sighed, imagining for a moment that Ranger was with her as she approached her door. And yet, that was unfair to her father, who'd spent hours today in cold, icy weather, making sure she got home safely from the airport, and now to her apartment. She looked back at his still suspicious expression. "Dad, when Grandma Mazur came to stay with me, every day Mrs. Bestler asked who my sexy young friend was. She's really just a nice old lady who's in her own world."
"Hmm," her father replied as she unlocked her door and reached in for the foyer light. The scent of her apartment was the first thing she noticed. It was a bit musty, and smelled a bit more of her neighbor Mr. Pulaski's kielbasa than she remembered. But, even with that, it smelled like home.
She rolled inside, followed by her father. Pausing to take off her mittens, she wrestled herself out of her parka, with its wonky zipper. As she hung it on one of the pegs by the door, she shoved aside an empty gun belt, the hand-me-down padded vest that Lester Santos gave her last year, and her Rangeman windbreaker. The extra-long hanging shoehorn left by her grandmother clunked against the wall, ready to be used as an impromptu weapon, along with the canister of pepper spray on a string. Yup, definitely back home.
She reached up for her hat, realizing she was still wearing her Florida elf cap. No wonder her ears were so cold. But really, how did elves even survive in the North Pole with just felt hats that couldn't possibly cover their long pointy ears?
Which made her realize that it wasn't even close to warm or cozy now that she was inside, even though she was still wearing her mother's borrowed sweater. Leaving her suitcase and bags in the foyer for the moment, she went to the old-fashioned, round thermostat next to the kitchen. Well hmm, she thought, either Val or Dillon must have adjusted the temperature upward, because it actually showed 70 degrees, rather than the 62 she'd set it to before leaving.
But, with the unmistakable draft emanating from the windows, it was less than warm. And, the chill along her tanned skin made the difference from Miami even more noticeable. How could 70 degrees feel so different in two locations? Well, she'd get used to the temperature soon.
She flipped on the overhead light in the living room, then turned toward her father. He stood just outside the foyer, suitcase and bag still in hand, looking around. Jaw set, eyebrows drawn together, his expression reminded her of the time, shortly after she'd started at Vinnie's, that he'd accompanied her to buy a used car. As it had turned out, she'd had to go back later, by herself, to actually purchase the battered vehicle she could afford. It just hadn't been right for her parents to spend their limited income on any of the cars that her father actually approved.
"Thanks again, Dad," she said, returning toward him. "I really appreciate your help getting all my stuff upstairs. I can take it from here."
Her refrigerator chose that moment to make itself known by clunking several times to the accompaniment of a mechanical groan. Another sound of home, Stephanie thought, along with the periodic tattoo of running feet upstairs from Mrs. Dirkson's grandchildren. And also, the muffled sound of a Turner Classic movie from Mr. Wexler's TV next door and the slam of a door closing further down the hall. They were all evidence of her little "village." Her lips lifted into a smile; she never felt alone here.
In fact, all that was missing was the sound of Rex practicing for the hamster Olympics on his wheel. Tomorrow, after she retrieved him from Val, her village would be complete.
Meanwhile, her father had taken a couple of steps forward while still scanning the living room. She realized he'd never been here before.
Following his eyes, she attempted to see what he did. Her cozy, familiar huddle of perfectly broken-in furnishings revealed themselves to be a salvaged brown, convertible sofa, a set of recliners she'd bought from the apartment's previous owner, and a yard sale coffee table ("It's not 'banged up,' it's distressed. You'd have to pay extra for that in a store," Dougie's snippy neighbor had insisted). Her sister's old kitchen table was ringed with a set of comfy though not-matching chairs. Her mother's cast-off drapes, thankfully less overtly floral after decades in the sun, hung alongside the windows.
She frowned; the whole room seemed smaller than she remembered. Emptier, or maybe just tidier, possibly due to Val's touch. Her sister had obviously stopped by to pick up her mail and stack in a few piles on the kitchen table. It was still home, but with a tired, sepia cast that was probably borne of her time away. After all, how could her pre-war, post E.E. Martin apartment on a winter's night ever compare to Ellie's bright Key Biscayne beach condo?
"Pumpkin, are you sure you don't want to come back home with me tonight? Your old room is made up and ready for you." His eyebrows furrowed as he haltingly added, "Honey, it's cold in here." As if to prove his point, the clear, plastic insulating film on her living room window belled and gently fitted back to the window glass, and a puff of cool air sought the skin under her hair and sleeves. "Maybe it would be better to come back and unpack during the day."
"No, that's okay, Dad. I'm ready for a bit of peace and quiet, so it'll be good to settle in and sleep in my own bed."
Her father considered her for a few moments, lips taut. Then he exhaled. "Well, all right," he said, releasing the handle of her suitcase. After another pause, he stepped forward and handed the leftover bag into her waiting arms. "If you change your mind, though, just call me and I'll come back." He then reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, pushing a few bills into her hands. "Or if it's late, just get a taxi and come over. Any hour. You still have a key, right?"
"Yeah, Dad, but really it's okay.
"Mmm," he replied, his brows still lowered in thought.
"Honest, Dad. Don't worry." She put down the bag of food from her mother and hugged him. "Thanks again. And take care driving home. Have a good night."
His arms tightened around her and, wreathed in his aftershave and the sound of her father's breathing, she was a little girl again. All was warm and safe. Santa had, once again, magically wriggled his way down the Plum's non-functioning chimney to leave the best gifts. The day after Christmas would be an extravaganza of waking up to play again with new toys, eating brunch at Denny's with the whole family, shopping the after-holiday sales with Mom and Val, and returning to dinner back at home.
Her father released her, disbursing the magic. "You too, Pumpkin. Call if you need anything."
"Will do," she promised as she followed him to the door. Out in the hallway, the evening "easy listening" concert drifted from Marnie Mikkelsen's door down the hall. One of her younger neighbors— at close to fifty, which said something about the age range in her building— Marnie had recently moved in, and already contributed her part to keep the floor entertained.
Over the threshold, Mr. Plum kissed her forehead and then walked down the hall, hands in his coat pocket, to the current song's refrain. As her father veered toward the stairwell door, the quiet male voice sang, "Please come home for Christmas. If not for Christmas, by New Year's night."
She swayed in her doorway, lost in the song until the bass thud of the stairwell door let her know that Mrs. Bestler had apparently lost Mr. Plum as a repeat customer. Snorting, Stephanie closed and locked her door, setting the security bar in place. Then she turned to lean back and exhale. It had been a heck of a long day.
After a moment's reflection, she picked up the bag of leftovers and headed into the kitchen. The overhead fluorescent fixture buzzed and then the light flicked on, revealing another room that was tidier than she remembered. Distance makes the house seem tidier, she thought.
She squared her shoulders and opened the fridge slowly, as though entering the house of a skip reported to have a gun. She dreaded what she might find in her refrigerator after months of unexpectedly being away. It had been long enough that her forgotten leftovers might have evolved a civilization and developed weapons by now.
And then, as her jaw dropped in surprise, her leftover bag dropped from her hand. Because the inside of the fridge also was clean. More importantly, the top shelf boasted an Entenmann's crumb cake and a bag from Tasty Pastry. She pulled out and opened the crinkly pastry bag, releasing the perfume of baked dough, shortening, and sugar that was the hallmark of quality donuts.
She pulled one out. Mmm, Boston Creme, she thought while nibbling. It was just to ensure that it was fresh, which— oh my— it was. While munching, she spotted an unopened container of orange juice on the top shelf of the fridge door. That was new, too.
Out of curiosity, she opened the freezer. And, wow. There was a whole stack of microwaveable dinners. New, and not covered with freezer frost. Banquet Meat Loaf, Stouffer's Chicken, Swanson Salisbury Steak with mashed potatoes and yummy, salty gravy….
What the heck? Frozen comfort food? Was Joe Morelli now also breaking into her apartment to leave her food? Or had her sister somehow turned into her personal shopper. But no, she'd spent hours with Val today, and she'd never been able to keep surprises even as a child. This was not her work.
She found herself inspecting the remainder of her Boston Creme. Well, don't look a gift donut in the mouth. With that moment of perfect clarity, she took a bite, followed by another, continuing until she was done. Dusting her hands together, she resumed her initial project of loading her mother's leftovers into the fridge. As she unpacked, it became obvious that her mother was attempting to keep her fed for several days. Holy cow, it was almost a full fridge, like normal people had.
A bit stunned, she left the kitchen to take her luggage back to her bedroom. Which she idly noted was just as close to the front door as in Ellie's condo, though it seemed like a much shorter distance.
She steered her suitcases to the foot of her bed, her initial unpacking plan quickly losing appeal at the thought of falling over onto her bed, pulling up her covers, and hard-snoozing until the morning. Straightening as a puff of cool air lingered along her neck and slithered under her collar, her shoulders twitched with a momentary shiver. Cripes, it was even colder in here than in the living room.
Going to the window, she pulled back the curtain. Ice rimed along the inside edges of the window, while fog trapped between the glass and the storm window opaqued the view. Dripping moisture had loosened the tape she'd used for her impromptu window plastic, leaving a gap along the side. And, looking down, it seemed that it had maybe gotten so cold that the wad of chewing gum she'd MacGyvered to plug a window frame gap had fallen out.
She shook her head. It was time to remind Dillon, yet again, that her windows needed to be fixed. Well really, the ones in the bedroom should probably be replaced, due to the crack in the top pane from a BB-gun incident earlier in the year that Dillon and the apartment owners didn't know about. At least, not yet, since that would probably be a repair she'd have to pay for.
In the meantime, she went over to her bureau and pulled out her hefty roll of duct tape, and resealed the window plastic. She could do something more thorough tomorrow morning.
As she went to return the tape, she looked up and noticed a fresh bouquet of flowers on her night table. Flowers… flowers. She squinted at them, wondering whether to approach closer. While for most people a bouquet of flowers was a good thing, with her history there was a decent chance that it was more sinister.
This particular arrangement, though, was oddly reminiscent of the one she'd purchased for Ranger's brother and his wife. Just yesterday morning, though it seemed like weeks ago, now.
Hmm, she pondered. That was in Florida, so it was doubtful she had a copycat stalker mimicking her actions to send her a creepy memento. So, she hovered closer to the head of her bed and pulled out the card. In careful handwriting— a familiar script, though it wasn't Ranger's— it said, "Cuban Santa comes on Christmas Day. I hope you like what the elves left for you." It wasn't signed, but it didn't need to be.
This was from Ranger. And probably that was Ella's script. Had Ranger and Ella-the-elf also been the source of her unusual refrigerator bounty? Or did she have multiple food and cleaning elves? She wanted to call Ranger to thank him, but... Tasty Pastry? Banquet? Stouffers? Ranger was more a protein shake, nuts and berries, and Healthy Choice kind of guy.
She paused, not wanting to accidentally thank Ranger for something that maybe Joe had done. She'd finally realized how she'd likely confused both men, over time. And, she was done doing that.
She glanced at the clock; probably Ella was still awake. She pulled out her cellphone, only to discover that she needed to recharge it. She rolled her eyes, remembering that she'd stashed her charging cable in one of her suitcases during a last-minute roundup of her belongings this morning. So, instead, she picked up her old landline phone handset from her bedside table. Dialing a familiar number, she reached the Rangeman front desk.
"Rangeman Main Office, Trenton. How can I help you?"
"Hi, is this Binkie? This is Stephanie Plum. I'm looking for Ella, if she's around." she said.
"Oh, hey Stephanie. Ella said you might call. Hold on, I'll forward you to her number."
After a brief visit with the office Muzak ("Classical is soothing, Babe. Important for our business."), the other line picked up.
"Merry Christmas! Stephanie, dear, is that you?" Ella said.
"Yup," she replied. "Merry Christmas to you and Luis." She cleared her throat. "Thanks for dropping off the flowers. They're really lovely, and such a nice surprise. But, um, while you were here, maybe did you drop off some food? And maybe, like, straighten up?"
"Yes, dear," Ella chuckled. "Ranger wanted to get you comfort food because you were coming home to winter after a nice vacation in Miami. Poor man, he got the brands all wrong, so I guessed a bit. Did I come close to what you'd like?"
"Yeah," Stephanie drew the word out, combining her enthusiasm with her surprise. "Ranger told you to buy me meat loaf?"
"He did. And I'm glad I guessed right, dear. But, in case I missed the mark, I also included a container of beef stroganoff and another one with turkey chili. They're behind the frozen dinners. I left cooking instructions on your counter."
"Wow," Stephanie said, while Ella continued talking.
"And that reminds me. There's also a tin of turrones on the counter, if you didn't already find it. I wasn't sure what type to get, so I bought the brand Ranger buys when he's having a 'Cuban moment.' Which you never heard me say," she added, amusement still coloring her voice.
"Oh my gosh," Stephanie said, turning back toward the kitchen. "I don't know what to say, but thank you." This time she found the tin. And, even though her dessert stomach was reaching capacity, she felt compelled to sample the turrones. Just so she could tell Ella they were delicious. Which, oh heavens, after the first bite she knew they were.
"The turrones are perfect," she said quickly so she could take another bite. Looking around her, as though someone might be watching, she wrapped the remainder in a paper towel, closed the tin, and started back to her room. Why reserve snacking to only one room?
Ella chuckled again. "I'm glad you like them." She cleared her throat, then added, "By the way, I hope you don't mind, but I also brought over my niece to help me tidy up while I was there. I figured that it's always so much nicer to come back home when everything is already in its place."
And that explained her apartment's cleanliness. It certainly hadn't qualified for Home Beautiful when she'd left. And, being realistic for a moment, her sister Val wasn't very likely to have cleaned for her. With the rambunctious mess of three children— four if you counted Albert— Val had enough work already on her plate.
"It did make it a lot nicer, Ella. Thanks." As she spoke, she remembered something else. "Oh, I met some of Ranger's family. His sister Ariana said you got her started in her job. She seems to really enjoy it."
"Oh, I miss Ariana, she's such a lovely girl." Ella said. "I did give her some pointers to get started, but she took them and ran with them." Her warm voice deepened, reminding Stephanie of times she and Mary Lou traded confidences. "I don't know if I'm supposed to tell you this, but Ranger mentioned that Ariana offered to hire you. From what I've seen, and heard from everyone at Rangeman, I think you two would really get along. And you'd be great at the job."
"You think so?" Stephanie replied as she took a final bite from her torron and absent-mindedly cleaned her sticky fingers on her paper towel. As Ella continued talking, Stephanie went into her bureau to pull out a set of flannel pajamas; Wonder Woman print, of course.
"I do think Ariana's job is right up your alley." Ella's voice was slightly raised against the sound of singing that had started in the background. "Of course, we'd miss you up here, but I think you'd really like it. And I know Carlos, I mean Ranger, would really like it if you were down there and had a nice job."
Okay, so that was something worthy of discussing further, but instead Stephanie found herself blurting, "So you call him Carlos, too?"
Ella chuckled again. "Only in private. I try not to, since he likes to be called 'Ranger' professionally, and he's so proud. But I've known him all his life, so I sometimes slip when I'm thinking about family." Still clearly amused, she confided, "I heard that his Abuelita Mañoso basically lit him up, last night, because he hadn't brought you and Julie to any family events until now. He probably thinks he dodged a bullet because Abuelita said it all in Spanish, but he never quite swore his mother to Rangeman super secrecy."
As Stephanie snorted, Ella continued. "Apparently his Abuelita also informed him that you and Julie are both his family, and that he should do something about it and stop being a cobarde. Which my niece says is basically the same as calling him a 'wuss.' But that's another thing you never heard me say."
Stephanie burst out laughing. "Pinkie swear, I promise I'll never tell," she replied. Then as commotion in the background of Ella's call picked up, she remembered she was interrupting the woman's holiday evening. So, she wished her a Merry Christmas and ended the call.
She leaned back against the wall and couldn't help smiling at the image of Ranger's petite, gray haired grandmother poking him and calling him a wuss. Tilting her head, she began to formulate a new theory about where Ranger's courage and pride might come from.
And, once again, she was thinking about Ranger. This time, though, she didn't need to hide the smile on her face to avoid questions.
She started punching in Ranger's number, realizing that she was having a bit of difficulty because her fingers were so cold. Time for the antique space heater of doom, she sighed. Ranger picked up while she walked over to pull the bedroom space heater out of her closet.
"Babe," his deep, husky voice practically warmed the room on its own.
"Yo," she replied with a slow giggle. "Ranger, I survived day one with the family. I'm back home now."
"I always knew you could make it through anything," he said. "Though surviving Christmas in Trenton after a month away, on the beach, might be your greatest achievement yet. Bobby told me it started snowing again." His words were… well, words… but his voice lapped slowly, making each one like a caress against her ears that set warmth all the way to her core.
Stephanie shivered, this time not from the cold. If Ranger were here in person, she'd have no need for the space heater she was pulling from under the bulk load of hamster bedding she'd bought from Dougie before Thanksgiving. Instead, she'd be fanning herself.
Ranger's unhurried chuckle made her realize that, yet again, she'd probably said some of that out loud. Well, it was true. And Ranger already knew that she considered him a superhero of sex, so why not reveal that she recognized some of his additional abilities?
Finally freeing the space heater in a flurry of flying shoes, she plopped onto her bed. Securing the phone headset between her shoulder and ear, she began untangling the heater's cord, along with the extension cord she'd simply left attached when she'd last put it away. Happily, the angle of her head also gave her a view of her flowers in the mirror.
"By the way Ranger, thank you for Cuban Christmas." She paused as a mischievous smile lifted her lips. "Ella is the best gift, ever." She shifted the phone to better secure it while her hands grappled with the heater's stiffly bent cord. "The flowers and comfort food were an awesome surprise, too."
"I always like to try something new," he said in a smoky voice. Oh my, she thought, what this man could do, just over the phone. Why hadn't she been calling him every night as she got ready for bed? Mmm, with him in Miami, she might have to develop the habit, like starting tonight.
"By the way, Babe, I noticed the number you're calling from. And that you haven't returned my texts. So, I'm online, buying you a backup battery pack for your phone." She heard him typing as he spoke.
"Wow, thanks, Cuban Santa," she said through her amusement. She figured there was no point in telling Ranger that she already had one. Or that she'd given up using it since apparently it also required recharging. Just like her phone that she often forgot to recharge. But then, she realized that if she called Ranger every night, she'd be totally motivated to keep her phone technology in tip-top, fully charged shape.
Wow, Ranger was really the solution to almost every problem, she realized brightly as she finally managed to free her space heater's plug. She leaned off the bed to clear space from in front of her free power outlet.
"Very funny, Steph," Ranger replied, apparently not picking up the mantle of Cuban Santa enough to say something like "ho ho ho." As Stephanie paused to wonder how they said that in Spanish, Ranger added, "Your power pack should arrive tomorrow. I ordered two, so you can still back one up after losing the other one."
She laughed. Yes, Ranger knew her well. "So anyway, dinner with my family was actually mostly nice," she began to regale him with stories of the evening while finally plugging in her space heater. In a moment, a blissful wave of heat wafted her with the smell of dodgy electrical power and burnt hair. At which moment, she heard a rumbling snap and the lights and heat went out.
"Cripes!" she interrupted her monologue. "I blew the power again. I have to go find Dillon the Super and get the fuse reset. This space heater sucks lemons. Remind me to never buy appliances from the thrift store." She reached down with a wadded T-shirt and pulled the plug from the now singed outlet and carried the whole thing into the bathroom, setting it onto the tile floor, the way her Dad had taught her.
She wondered if he'd be proud that she remembered the lesson, or horrified that she'd been using a space heater that maybe dated from the Cold War.
"Babe," Ranger's tone had changed from sexy lover to business owner. "I'm sending Ramon over with an energy efficient space heater." She heard him typing again. "He should be there in about a half hour."
"Okay, I might still be in the basement," Stephanie murmured while heading to her front door in the distant street light that made its way through her windows.
"Steph, Ramon can get in your front door even if it's locked," Ranger reminded her. She pictured the annoyance that was probably drawing his brows together as he contemplated the insecurity of her apartment.
"Oh yeah, that's true," she acknowledged while picking up her keys and letting herself out of the aforementioned front door. "Ranger, this phone cuts out at the end of the hallway, so I'll call you back in a bit, okay?"
Wait, was that a sigh she heard over the phone? "Okay Steph. Stay safe. If I don't hear from you, I'll call you at this number."
"Okay, bye for now," she said quickly before the phone cut to silence. It was too big for her pocket, so she just kept it in her hand as she pushed the elevator button.
The dented doors opened to Mrs. Bestler's ever cheerful voice. "Second floor. Last minute holiday gifts. Where to, dear?"
"To the basement," Stephanie said, realizing that she needed to buy a six-pack of beer, tomorrow, to make sure she'd have the proper currency to remind Dillon that she appreciated all of his help.
"Basement level," Mrs. Bestler nodded, pressing the button. "Here we go," she said, patting her permed, white hair as if getting ready for an adventure.
Well, Stephanie admitted wryly, visiting Dillon and his collection of repair parts, spare TVs, and Star Wars figures was a bit of an adventure. She looked at the phone in her hand, imagining Ranger on the other end of the line, waiting to hear the next installment of the ongoing excitement of her day. And hey, it was almost tomorrow, so she could relay some bonus fun in her next call.
The elevator whined slowly as it passed the first floor and bounced to a stop. "Basement level," Mrs. Bestler announced. "Wrapping paper, complaints, and mismatched parts. Oh, and Merry Christmas, one and all."
Stephanie couldn't help laughing. "Thanks Mrs. Bestler. Merry Christmas to you, too. See you in a bit." The elevator door closed and Stephanie turned to knock on Dillon's door. Yup, Stephanie thought with a brief smile, Merry Christmas Stephanie, and welcome home. Her life was never dull.
To be continued…
Notes: Please Come Home for Christmas is a blues holiday hit from the '60s that the Eagles covered again in the '70s. Surprisingly, I'd never heard it before this year, or at least never noticed it. But, right around the time when I was initially plotting this part of the story, it came on the radio. And, somehow, it just worked.
As a final note: please stay safe, Babes, and take care of yourselves in this strange and difficult time. Each of you makes the world a better place.
