Page 65 of Confessions

“Hogwash. We’ll just turn it so that it slants toward the corner. No one will ever know!” Nadine dusted her hands, eyed her handiwork, and had to admit to herself that the tree bordered on pathetic. “Just think Charlie Brown,” she told herself as she poured water into the tray.

John was testing the lights, seeing which colorful bulbs still glowed after a year in the garage, by plugging the string into a wall socket, when there was a knock on the door. Hershel, searching the kitchen floor for scraps of food, bolted across the room, growling and snarling and nearly knocking over the tree as he raced by.

Bobby jumped onto the couch and peered out the window. “It’s the guy from across the lake!”

“Mr. Monroe?” John asked, and his eyes were suddenly as bright as the string of lights at his feet. “Maybe he wants to take us on a ride in his boat at night! Wouldn’t that be great!”

“Hershel, shush!” Nadine commanded. “And I doubt that he wants to take you two boys out on the lake tonight,” Nadine added, but her heart seemed to take flight as she opened the door and found Hayden on the front porch. He loomed before her, and his musky male scent wafted on the breeze that crept into the room, billowing the curtains and causing the fire to glow brighter for an instant.

“Hey, did you bring your boat?” Bobby asked, jumping up and down on the couch in his excitement.

Hershel barked loudly.

Nadine snapped her fingers in her youngest son’s direction. “Stop that jumping, Bobby, and you—” she whirled on the dog “—Hush! Right now!” She managed a smile for Hayden as she caught Hershel by the collar. “Welcome to my zoo.” She swung the door open a little farther with her free hand, and Hayden stepped inside, only to kick the door closed behind him.

Nadine released the dog, and Hayden whispered to her, “This is the nicest damned zoo I’ve been to in a long time.” His gaze found hers again and held. Her breath seemed to stop and time stretched endlessly. In those few seconds Nadine felt as if her future was wrapped up in this man, as if there were some unspoken bond between them.

“Come on, you can help us with the Christmas tree,” John said, shattering the moment. “I didn’t want to tell Mom that it was crooked, but it really needs some help.”

Hayden shook his head. “I didn’t mean to interrupt—”

“You didn’t. John’s right. You can help,” Nadine said quickly.

Hayden’s forehead creased. “I don’t think I’m the right one to ask about this sort of thing.”

“Hey, you’re the only candidate who walked through the door,” she joked, but no trace of humor entered his eyes.

“I’ve never put up a tree before.”

“Oh, sure you have. When you were a kid...” Her voice trailed off when she saw the shadows crossing his eyes.

“When I was a kid, my mother hired a decorator to design a tree—actually a look for the house—around a theme, mind you, and I was never allowed to touch the creation.” He eyed the tiny tree standing in the corner. “One year it was a Victorian theme, with huge bows and fake candles and lace, another something very sophisticated and contemporary—that year the tree was flocked pink. One other time it was sprayed gold and hung with red bells. There were strings of red bells all over the house—up the stairs, over the mantel, around the front door, in the foyer. Whatever some artist came up with, that was our look—but it was only skin deep.”

“Oh, come on!” John said, sure that Hayden was pulling his leg. “A pink tree? And you didn’t get to put it up?”

“Well, there’s no time like the present to learn,” Nadine said, despite the tears threatening her eyes. All her life she’d envied Hayden for his easy existence; she’d never really bought the “poor little rich boy” scenario, but now she wished she could ease his pain, tell him that she cared.

For all her family’s lack of money, Christmastime had been a time of celebration. From the tinsel and candles on the mantel, to Sunday services at the church, where her mother would sing a solo in the choir, to cups of cocoa and bowls of popcorn as they decorated the tree with the meager decorations her mother had collected over the years—the same decorations that were probably trimming a tree on an Iowa farm.

Nadine wondered if her mother still made dozens of Christmas cookies and played her piano after dinner on Christmas Eve. She’d probably never know. The packages and cards she received never seemed to tell her much about Donna’s life as a farmer’s wife in the Midwest. A huge lump filled her t

hroat, and she touched Hayden’s fingers with her own.

“It’s never too late to learn how to trim a tree,” she said, driving away her own case of melancholy. “John will help you try to straighten it and Bobby and I will make some popcorn.”

Bobby bounded from the couch and scurried to the kitchen, and John was all business as he explained what was wrong with the tree and how he proposed to keep it from leaning. “...the problem is,” John confided to Hayden, “...Mom’s a woman.”

“I noticed,” Hayden replied dryly.

“Well, women don’t know nothin’ about man things like hatchets and axes and—”

“I heard that, John,” Nadine called from the kitchen. Smiling, she added, “Better be careful what you say or you’ll be chopping all the firewood yourself....” Winking at Bobby, she plugged in the air popper and couldn’t hear the rest of Hayden and John’s discussion about the “weaker sex.” Usually a conversation in that tone sent her temper skyrocketing, but tonight, with Hayden in the house, she decided not to take offense.

Bobby put a Christmas tape in his boom box, and by the time the popcorn, cranberry juice and cocoa were ready, Hayden and John had revived the little tree. Not only did it stand upright, but the first string of lights was winking between the branches. “How does it look?” John asked proudly.

“Like it was done by professionals.”

Hayden shook his head. “Like it was done by amateurs, the way it’s supposed to be.” They ate the popcorn by the fire, discussed the fact that the boys would be on vacation in less than two weeks and laughed as Hershel tried to steal kernels of popcorn out of Bobby’s fingers. “He knows you’re a soft touch,” Hayden told Bobby. “Be careful of that.”