Silhouette Christmas Stories

impolite comments he'd proceeded to remove everything he considered to be inedible from each piece of his pizza and deposit it carefully on his plate. 'We can't go to the library tomorrow, because we're going to go get our Christmas tree.' Finally satisfied with the condition of the pizza, he trans-ferred his cloudless blue stare to his mother. 'You promised.'

'Yes,' said Karen, knowing what was coming, 'I know I did.' The bite of pizza she'd just swallowed lodged in her chest, making the sudden pounding of her heart that much more painful.

'And,' continued Andrew with bland innocence, 'you said we could get a big one. A really, really big one. You promised.'

'Yes,' Karen sighed, 'so I did.'

Tony chewed and swallowed, took a long drink of milk and said thoughtfully, 'A really, really big one, huh? You think you and your mother can get a big tree up those stairs all by yourselves?'

'Well,' said Andrew, elaborately casual, 'you could come with us, if you wanted to. Then you could help us.'

Oh boy, Karen thought. Subtle as a truck. She drew a quick breath. 'Listen, you don't-'

'Sure, I guess I could do that,' Tony interrupted, imitating Andrew's carefully offhand manner. 'I'll give you guys a hand. What time you planning to go?'

'I hadn't really thought,' Karen said. 'When-ever's convenient for you…' Inexplicably, she felt a desire to cry.

'Well,' Tony said, 'why don't we go early, then? That storm's supposed to get here tomorrow night. Why don't I pick you up around noon? We can go get some hamburgers or something, pick up the tree and get back before it hits. How's that?'

'Yeah!' said Andrew.

'That's… fine.' Karen stood, hurriedly gathered up plates and pizza crusts. 'Thank you-that's really… very nice of you,' she said, and fled to the kitchen.

Alone, she steadied her hands on the edge of the sink and stared at her reflection in the dark window. What's happening to me? she thought, trying to quiet the panic that was rampaging through her insides. Something's happening, and I don't know what to do about it!

It's too soon.

But that wasn't true, not anymore. It had been five years. And it seemed that Andrew had grown tired of waiting for her miracle to happen and had simply taken matters into his own hands.

But what about the miracle? The miracle of love, real love, the kind that lasts forever, the kind that she had known with Andrew's father and that had been so cruelly taken away from her. The kind she had believed she would never know again.

Right now, for the first time in five years, she wasn't sure of that. She wasn't sure of anything. Something was happening to her, and she was frightened.

For the rest of the evening Karen tried her best to avoid the living room. She carried in two more glasses of milk, carried out the last remains of the pizza, and spent more time than was really necessary tidying up the dishes and scouring the sink, running water to drown out the unfamiliar sound of a masculine voice. When she ran out of chores, she sat down to write a Christmas card/thank-you letter to Bob's mother. But after 'Dear Elaine… ' and ten minutes of listening for the sound of the mousetrap, she abandoned the effort.

After all that, when she finally did gather her courage and return to the living room, both Tony and her son were so engrossed in what they were doing that they didn't seem to notice she was there. She spent several moments gazing at the two dark heads-how uncannily alike they were!-and bathing in the warm, syrupy feelings that vision evoked within her, then retired to her bedroom, where she spent the next hour or so ironing.

And trying not to think. Which was, of course, like reading a sign that implores you to ignore it. The more she told herself not to think about Tony, the more his name seemed to fill her mind, flashing like neon, first one color then another: Tony. Tony!

It seemed so unlikely. Almost impossible. It had come out of nowhere, so suddenly, so surprisingly. But… when she did allow herself to think about him, really think about him, remembering the way he looked at her sometimes, the feel of his hands enfolding hers, the contrast between the gruffness of his voice and the kindness of his actions… her stomach felt hollow and her skin too hot. Tony…

No! It's too soon, she told herself, pressing her cold fingers to her burning cheeks. Too soon to know whether or not to believe in second miracles.

Andrew knocked on the door to say good-night promptly at eight-thirty, which surprised Karen a little. She'd expected him to put up a fight and beg to stay up later, especially since it was Friday and there wasn't any school tomorrow. She didn't want to ask about it and maybe embarrass him in front of Tony, so she just kissed him, reminded him as usual to brush his teeth and told him that she would be in later to tuck him in.

Tony was in the living room, putting the lid back on the last can of paint. He stood up when she came in and made a gesture with his hand that took in the newspapers spread out on the carpet, the paint-spattered paper towels, the brushes soaking in a jam jar on the coffee table, the towels and engine parts neatly arranged on a flannel cloth.

'Sorry about the mess,' he said in the gruff way that was already becoming familiar to her. 'Is it okay if we leave it there? I guess I could have moved everything over there by the window, out of the way, but I figured that's where you'd want to put your tree. If you'd rather-'

'No, no, it's all right,' Karen hastily assured him. 'I don't mind.'

There was a curiously awkward little silence, and then Karen said, 'Well, did you-' just as Tony said, 'Well, I guess I'd better-' They both laughed, and Tony reached for his jacket while Karen tried again. 'Did you get a lot accomplished?'

He shrugged his jacket on, making it an answer to her question at the same time. 'Hard to say,' he said with a little half smile. 'I've never worked on an engine that small before.'

'But,' Karen persisted as she followed him to the door, 'you do still think you can get it to run?'

He paused and looked at her. 'I sure as hell mean to try.'

'I know. I didn't-'

'Hey, it's okay.' The smile was lurking again, teasing the corners of his mouth. 'So I'll see you to-morrow, I guess. I'll pick you up about noon, and we'll go get that tree.'

'All right,' Karen murmured. 'Thank you. It really is… so very ni-'

'Shh.' His finger touched her lips, tingling as if it carried its own electrical current. 'Don't say it.'

She stared at him, her heart hammering so hard it rocked her, until it seemed as if the silence might go on forever, as if the dryness in her throat was permanent, and she would never speak again.

But the silence wasn't permanent; it lasted for only a second, perhaps two. The sound that broke it wasn't loud, but as shocking in that stillness as cannon fire.

SNAP.

With one small, anguished cry, Karen lurched forward and buried her face in the nylon softness of Tony's jacket.

'Bingo,' he said, with sympathy but no apparent surprise.

The instant she felt his arms come around her, she pulled away from him, but it was already too late; his warmth was in her bones, his masculine smell under her skin, awakening dormant instincts and responses. She whispered, 'I'm sorry… ' and brushed at the front of his jacket as if trying to set it to rights. But, of course, it wasn't the clothes that wanted tidying- just her own chaotic emotions.

Tony wasn't saying anything. His hands were still on her shoulders, palms flat against her back, thumbs lightly stroking. His eyes were warm chocolate, perhaps a little amused.

'I'm sorry,' she said again, forcing herself to quiet her hands. Her nerves were fluttering like moths in syrup. 'It was an accident. That awful thing startled me-'

'Accident, huh?' His voice was a soft growl. 'Well, this isn't… '

It was the same little struggle they'd had before. He felt the resistance in her tense shoulders, in the fists pressed against his chest, in that one quick gasp just before he kissed her. Surrender came gradually, by degrees. He felt it first in her mouth, the trembling, the softening, the slight parting of her lips, followed almost instantly by the faintest of sighs. Her hands stopped pushing against him; the fists slowly uncurled; her fingers opened and