I'll Be Home for Christmas
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Amie Denman
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27
CHAPTER ONE
THE CHRISTMAS ISLAND ferry sounded a deep, throaty blast. Rebecca Browne had the sinking feeling the long blasts of the horn meant the boat was about to leave as she ran through the parking lot and approached the sloping dock. Her enormous wheeled suitcase nipped her heels, and the heavy bag on her shoulder slipped, its handle murdering her elbow as she kept running.
She couldn’t miss the last ferry. For one thing, she had no place to stay on the mainland. For another thing, she was not the kind of girl who missed ferries, planes, or the correct answers on exams of any kind. Rebecca paid her bills on time, fertilized her office plants according to a schedule and replaced the baking soda box in her refrigerator precisely every three months as recommended. Exceeding expectations and depending on herself had been saving her life since she was old enough to tell time and pack her own bags.
Rebecca ran faster and the plastic wheels on her suitcase whirred like an overtaxed engine. Even from fifty paces away, she saw a small strip of lake appear between the ferry and the dock. The ferry was pulling away. The gap grew wider with every one of her strides, but there was no slowing down now. She reached the edge of the dock, ignored the teenager who waved both hands over his head in a universal don’t do it gesture and leaped onto the moving ferry.
She would have been all right if it wasn’t for the laws of physics. The heavy suitcase behind her did not leap. It didn’t soar. And it didn’t make it onto the boat. She heard the splash and felt the terrific tug of the suitcase as the lake water clutched it and pulled it in. Rebecca braced her feet and pulled with all her might, but the ferry continued to back away from the dock and the weight of the suitcase was daunting.
From long experience moving from place to place, Rebecca had learned to fit anything she really valued into one suitcase. She never took things for granted, and she couldn’t let the suitcase go. It had all her clothes and books for the entire summer. Her favorite hair dryer. Her laptop. Everything she would need for a season on an island.
“Man overboard,” a voice called over the boat’s loudspeaker.
In the brief moment before the suitcase pulled her in, Rebecca felt unjustly treated by the announcement. She wasn’t entirely overboard...yet. Her outrage didn’t last, though. Cold water took her breath and loosened her grip on the suitcase as she went under. It was early in the summer season, and the water felt like ice. She struggled to swim, fought her way to the surface and heard angels singing when a hand gripped hers and pulled her onto the boat. Someone dragged her away from the edge, and she felt the gentle humming of the ferry engine beneath her.
Rebecca, the girl who could usually solve any problem and who’d been trusted by her company with an important summer mission, lay soaking wet on the hard deck. It was almost dark, and she hoped that either the ferry was empty or all the passengers suffered from poor night vision. Perhaps no one had seen her disgrace.
She opened her eyes and saw dark trouser legs and black uniform shoes. She rolled to her knees and shot up, but the man put both hands firmly on her upper arms as she swayed.
“Slow down,” he said. “Are you okay?”
Just her luck, her rescuer was brown-haired, blue-eyed and muscular. He also had a voice resonant with concern and authority. If she was lucky, she would never see his handsome face and crisp white shirt again.
She squared her shoulders as she sought the correct answer. “I’m fine, but my suitcase...”
“It might float up. We’ll watch for it.”
“Are you kidding? Isn’t there a way we can dive down and get it before it’s ruined?”
The man looked at the sky as if he was considering how much daylight he had left, and Rebecca hoped he might be crafting a plan to rescue her suitcase.
“What are we doing, Captain?” a teenage crew member asked. He had a dock line looped over his arm, obviously ready to fulfill whatever orders he got.
Rebecca took a closer look at her rescuer. He was the captain. This could work in her favor! On a boat, the captain’s word was final, and he could choose to take mercy on her earthly belongings marinating in the lake.
“We’re going to Christmas Island,” the captain said. “If a suitcase floats up in the next few days, grab it.”
With one long look at Rebecca’s face, the captain strode to the pilot’s house and the ferry lurched into movement. Rebecca numbly picked up her shoulder bag. At least she had a granola bar, her wallet and phone, keys to a car she wouldn’t need for months and her favorite big book of piano classics. Not that she needed the book. All the music was in her head, where it had always been.
She sighed, wondering if this was an indication of how her summer was going to go. At least she might flap her clothes dry in the warm summer evening and be presentable before the boat docked and she had to face the indomitable woman she’d been assigned to babysit for the summer.
It had been two weeks since the CFO of Winter Industries had closed Rebecca’s office door and sunk into the chair across from her desk. Jim Churchill had begun by pointing out the one picture on her desk—Rebecca and her college friend Camille in front of the Welcome to Christmas Island sign that had stood in the island’s waterfront park. He’d then asked her to return to the island for an assignment requiring the loyalty and professionalism he’d come to expect from her.
Rebecca fluffed out her wet hair, put a hand on the steel railing and got a good look at her fellow passengers. Only a dozen or so people sat on the open-air benches, most of them staring at her to see what the reckless lady with the submerged suitcase would do next. Thanks to her unexpected swim, her clothes clung to her and left her without her professional armor.
The Christmas Island ferry was both a passenger and car service, so there were several vehicles on board. A spectacular silver vehicle sat between a family minivan and a pickup truck. She squinted in the evening light. Was that a Bentley? It had to be from the nineteen fifties judging from its massive fenders and curves.
Who would be taking an incredibly expensive vintage car to the island?
A white-haired lady with a cane made her way toward Rebecca, taking careful steps on the moving ferry. In a flash, Rebecca knew who she had to be and began walking toward her, trying to convey responsibility and employability with her confident strides.
“I saw the whole thing,” the older lady said.
Rebecca tried to smile and stand up straight, but she knew her days on Christmas Island were over before they had even started. No way was the titular head of Winter Industries going to want a hapless and soaked summer companion. Rebecca would fail in her assignment and disappoint the CFO at a company that had given her everything.
“That was a plucky performance,” the old lady said. “And I’d have gone in the drink to save my suitcase, too.”
Really? Rebecca calmed her breathing and tried to hope.
“I’m Flora Winter, and you must be Rebecca Browne,” the woman said. “Your friend told me you’d be arriving on the last ferry today, and you’re the only single female on board. Aside from me, of course.”
“I don’t always look like this. I’m usually much more...put together.”
“I’m sure you are,” Flora said.
Rebecca didn’t think Flora believed her.
A tiny dog poked his nose out of the bag over Flora’s shoulder, and Rebecca reached out a hand for him to sniff. The dog lapped at her hand and perked up its ears, and Rebecca hoped it was a nod in her favor.
“This is Cornelius,” Flora said. “We’ll wait in the car with my luggage while you...dry out.”
When Rebecca had imagined herself posing as a lady’s companion, she had pictured herself behaving with a lot more dignity. She would serve scones and select shawls to make Flora’s outfits. Instead, she swiped a hand through her wet hair as Flora and her brown Yorkshire terrier got into the backseat of the Bentley. In the darkness she couldn’t see if there was someone in the driver’s seat. Surely, a car like that came with a driver?
Rebecca avoided the spectators on the bench seat and went to the rail, where she could get a clear view of Christmas Island. A large hotel perched on a bluff, and the downtown area was twinkling with hundreds of lights. Her college friend Camille had told Rebecca stories of growing up on the island and enjoying five-course dinners at the Great Island Hotel, with orchestras and ball gowns.
Rebecca had visited once with Camille for a weekend, and she remembered the hotels, bars, souvenir and boutique shops, ice cream and fudge parlors, bicycle and golf cart rentals and the island scenery. A cheerful Christmas theme dominated the downtown with wreaths on the lampposts, a giant Santa statue near the harbor, welcoming day tourists, and perpetual holiday music playing. Christmas Island came alive during the summer and again in December, but it was also a year-round home to several hundred people including her friend Camille. According to her, the Christmas in July celebration was a luscious ode to the holiday and the biggest event of the summer.
“I hope I’ll still be here July twenty-fifth,” she said aloud as she watched the island lights grow closer. As soon as she said it, she looked around, hoping no one had heard her over the ferry’s engine and the waves churning in their wake.
The ferry coasted smoothly alongside a downtown dock on Christmas Island just as the last light disappeared from the sky. The app on Rebecca’s phone told her when the sunset officially ended, but seeing it from the deck of a boat, she was surprised at how much leeway there was between the official sunset and the moment the delicate balance between daylight and darkness tipped over into night.
The captain and the deckhand worked together to secure the boat, and then a shore hand rolled out the gangplank. The minivan and the pickup truck drove off the boat first, and Rebecca waited, wondering what she should do.
“You’re next,” the captain said. “Pedestrians usually get to go first, but there aren’t too many of those tonight, so you can get in and take your passenger home.”
“You want me to drive the Bentley off the boat?” she asked. She shivered in the night air with a wave of trepidation washing over her.
“I wouldn’t have pegged you as a lucky woman when you flopped onto my boat, but getting to glide through the gears on that car ups your good fortune a lot.”
“Gears?” she asked.
“Sure. You can drive a standard, right?”
Rebecca hesitated. “I know how to drive one,” she said. “In theory.”
“There’s a theory on driving standard?”
“Well...there’s academic knowledge and then there’s practical application, just like everything else.”
A grin spread slowly across his face and Rebecca counted to five before his smile had reached its full proportions. The captain had a beautiful smile, and she wished she had the leisure to enjoy it. Instead, she had an important job to do and there was already an unexpected obstacle.
“You’re having a tough first day at work,” he said. “We heard a friend of Camille’s was coming for the summer to match wits with Flora Winter, but I guess I somehow pictured someone more—” he spread his hands as if trying to describe something, and Rebecca was quite glad he chose not to finish his sentence “—competent,” he said.
“I’m competent,” she protested.
His grin faltered and then widened and Rebecca was tempted to elbow him in the gut. But then he did something she would never have expected. The captain without a name took off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders.
“This was our last run of the night, and I wouldn’t mind a chance to drive that car. If you think you can operate a golf cart, you can follow me to the Winter Palace up on the bluff.”
Rebecca was speechless. He was offering her a way out, a chance to save face and survive until the first full day of being a companion—and possibly chauffeur—to Flora Winter.
“You...you know where she lives?”
“Everyone knows everyone on Christmas Island. If you want, I’ll tell your new boss that you didn’t want to get her car seat wet and I couldn’t resist an opportunity to talk to an old friend on the drive.”
“Thank you,” Rebecca whispered as the window on the classic car rolled down.
The captain leaned in close to Rebecca and he smelled like fresh air and lake water. Or was she the one who smelled like the lake? “You’ll have to figure out how to survive tomorrow on your own,” he said quietly.
“Griffin May, come over here and give me a kiss now that you’ve docked this old battleship of yours,” Flora said.
Rebecca smiled as her employer held up a cheek for the captain to kiss as if she was his grandmother. Flora didn’t have any children or grandchildren, so her relationship with the captain must be one of the many things about Christmas Island Rebecca was about to discover.
GRIFFIN MAY LOVED driving almost anything. Well, not golf carts, with their lack of heart-pounding horsepower. Boats were a pretty tasty bread and butter for him, and the occasional run around the island in someone else’s powerful car was chocolate cake and cold beer.
The dark-haired woman in the golf cart following him was attractive, impulsive and would probably last three days on Christmas Island. Maybe four, depending on the status of her sunken suitcase. In his twenty-seven years on the island, he’d seen plenty of things, but remembering her spectacular leap onto the moving ferry made him smile.
“I can see you in the rearview mirror,” Flora said. “Even in the dark, I see that grin.”
“It’s the company.”
“Hmmph. More likely it’s the way you’re careening around this island toward my summer house.”
“I’m doing thirty-five.”
“Feels like a hundred. Too bad my usual driver refuses to step foot on an island, or more specifically, a boat. He’s going to have a lonely summer, but there was no talking him into coming with me.”
“Who’s going to drive you around every day?” Griffin asked. “I could give up my job on the ferry, but I think my brother would get tired of doing all the work himself.”
Maddox was the other captain, and the two of them were knocking themselves out after taking over from their parents, who started the ferry line. His father’s death the previous year had laid a whole lot of things bare, especially the fact that the main burden was on Griffin’s shoulders.
“How is your mother?” Flora asked. “I got a Christmas card from her and was surprised to learn she was moving in with her sister in Texas.”
“She’s enjoying retirement, I guess,” Griffin said.
“Hmm. She hardly seems old enough to retire.”
Griffin smiled. His mother probably did seem young to Flora, who had to be in her mideighties because she had grown up with his Grandpa May on the island. He’d seen pictures of them with groups of young people at skating parties and summer dances.
“You’ll have to get caught up with everyone on the island this summer, although not much has changed,” Griffin said. That was both the beauty and the curse of the island, in Griffin’s opinion.
“Most of the people I used to know are gone now, which is why I hired a companion and helper. Although...”
Griffin could imagine why Flora might be regretting her choice. He considered jumping in and defending Rebecca, but her wild fall from his boat could have turned into a disaster for herself and for his family’s company. The lawsuit and liability insurance would triple if someone had an accident, no matter whose fault it was. Griffin was grateful Rebecca was okay, but he didn’t need any more surprises.
“Although she’s much more interesting than I had pictured,” Flora continued. “I thought she would be smart but dull and would show up with a notebook, an umbrella and a book of manners under one arm.”
“Maybe those things are in the suitcase at the bottom of the lake.”
Flora sighed in the backseat. “Tired?” he asked.
“No.”
Griffin hoped she was okay. What was behind her decision to spend the summer on the island? Memories, maybe. The Winter family was the wealthiest family with the longest history on the island. As long as Griffin could remember, he’d found the elderly lady a bit intimidating even though she had always insisted that he and his brother call her Aunt Flora.
“This will be so much fun,” Flora said. “Don’t you think so, Cornelius?”
The dog snuffled in reply.
“I hope you’ll teach Rebecca how to drive this car,” Flora said.
“Maybe she knows,” Griffin replied, not wanting to blow Rebecca’s cover.
“Ha,” Flora snorted. “If she knew, she’d be driving me now instead of following a mile behind us on a dark road in a golf cart. I think you lost her before we even left downtown.”
Griffin slowed as he neared the entrance of the road that wound up a hill to Flora’s impressive Victorian mansion. “I’ll give her a chance to catch up. She can’t get lost on the one road that loops around the outside of the island.”
“Such a gentleman.”
Cornelius sneezed right behind Griffin’s head and Griffin laughed. “Are you sure your dog is going to like island life?”
“Cornelius has been here before. He spent the summer here four years ago, the last time I spent the entire one hundred wonderful days of summer on Christmas Island. My doctors talked me into short visits since then and told me I should stay on the mainland and close to medical care. I say phooey on them. I’m sick of hanging around waiting to die.”
Griffin felt a familiar cold squeeze in his chest as he thought about his father’s death last fall, which had seemed sudden despite several years of decline. Coming home halfway through college five years earlier—when he first realized his father was sick—hadn’t been in his plans, but someone needed to save the May Ferry Line, and it had to be him. It was still all on his shoulders, even though his brother was a lot more helpful lately.
As he glanced out the window of the rare and expensive car, he caught the sight of dim headlights on the road behind him. Rebecca might have been driving the golf cart at top speed, but its lawn mower–size engine was no match for the elegant horses under the hood of the Bentley. He would have to remember to thank Rebecca for the chance to drive the incredible car. It was likely to be the most fun and carefree night of his summer.
“I’m ready for my nice, soft bed,” Flora said from the backseat.
Knowing Rebecca was close enough to see where he turned, Griffin put the car in low gear and wound up the long driveway to the home perched high on the cliff.
“The lights are on,” he said.
“I hired a housekeeper from the village—the same one who takes care of the place while I’m gone. She said she’d have everything ready for me.”
Griffin got out and held the door for the elderly lady and her dog.
“Want me to come in and make sure no one is hiding in the closets or under the beds?”
Flora laughed. “On Christmas Island? No one would have the nerve to mess with me.”
The golf cart bounced along the driveway and stopped right behind the Bentley. Griffin watched Rebecca climb out of the cart and hoped for her sake she didn’t mind facing unusual circumstances. Would it be a lonely summer bumping around in that massive home on the cliff with an eccentric but interesting old lady? What would compel a person to take such a job?
Life on Christmas Island, no matter how scenic and quaint the day tourists found it, could be lonely. Luckily for him, he didn’t have time to be lonely.
“Good luck,” he said as he exchanged sets of keys with Rebecca. She pulled off his jacket and handed it to him, but he was close enough to see her shiver as she was outlined by the headlights of the golf cart.
“Thank you,” she said.
“Keep the jacket for the night.” He put it back over her shoulders, and his fingers brushed long, soft hair that still felt damp. “It’s all you’ve got.”
He got in the golf cart and made his way carefully down the hill in the darkness, hoping there would be a soft bed and a warm bath waiting in the Winter Palace for Rebecca Browne, and that daylight might help him find whatever was left of her suitcase.
