Marisa Carroll - Keeping Christmas

“As much as you can give me.” She gave Patrice’s hands a squeeze. “We’ll need coats and heavier clothes and diapers for Kyle. I won’t be taking anything with me when I leave.”

“What the hell do you mean, she’s gone?” Andrew Moran threw his starched linen napkin down on the table as he stood to confront his chauffeur. Theo, a tall, grim-faced Haitian, also served as Andrew’s personal bodyguard. He’d been with Andrew for as long as Patrice could remember but he never stood in awe of his employer.

“Just what I said,” he replied in the melodious tenor voice so at odds with his broad-shouldered physique and scarred blue-black face. “She’s gone. Give me the slip, she did. Took off. Her and the man child.”

“Where the hell could she go? Did you drive her to the airport? What? Speak up, man.”

“I took her shoppin’. She wanted the little tyke to see Santa Claus,” the chauffeur replied, his composure unruffled. “The place was crawlin’ with kids and people. They just disappeared.”

Andrew snapped his fingers. “Just like that?”

“Jus’ like that.”

“Dad, don’t get yourself all worked up.”

Patrice shifted her gaze from her father-in-law’s angry face to her husband’s. Father and son resembled each other a great deal physically. Neither man was above average height. Gregory’s brown hair was receding from his forehead. Andrew was nearly bald, with only a monk’s fringe of white hair circling his head from ear to ear. Andrew’s eyes were faded gray, sunk in wrinkles. Gregory’s eyes were blue-green, changeable, steady and clear. She loved his eyes, and his smile, the one feature he’d inherited from his long-dead mother.

“I’m not worked up.” Andrew leaned both clenched fists on the table. “I want to know what the bloody hell’s going on here.” When her father-in-law was very angry the faint echoes of his Liverpool, England, upbringing could be heard in his speech.

“She’s gone,” Theo repeated stubbornly. “I drove ’round and ’round the mall lookin’ for her. There ain’t no sign. They be gone. Both of them.”

“Damn it! I knew the crazy bitch would do something like this. She’s stolen my grandson.”

Andrew pinned Patrice with a hard stare. She jumped. Not because she was afraid of her father-in-law but because she knew he was going to start asking questions, and she was a terrible liar.

“What do you know about this?” he demanded.

“I do wish you’d watch your language at the table, Andrew,” she said, calling on memories of her unflappable Southern belle grandmamma to keep her voice level and clear.

“You didn’t answer my question,” he said ominously, but he did sit again in his heavy teak high-backed chair.

“What precisely do you want to know?” she asked in her turn, wishing that Gregory would come to her rescue, knowing that he would not. She was seeing Andrew through new eyes, Katie’s eyes, and she didn’t like what she saw—a bullying old man riding roughshod over everyone around him.

“You two are thick as thieves,” Andrew said. “How long’s she been planning this stunt? Where did she go?”

“To answer both your questions: I have no idea.” Patrice folded her napkin neatly beside her plate, her roast beef left untouched. No leftover turkey the day after Thanksgiving at Andrew Moran’s table. No leftovers, ever.

“You’re lying.”

“Dad,” Gregory protested, but he in turn immediately began questioning her himself. “Why would she run away, Pat?”

“Because she’s unhappy.” Patrice felt a sharp, cutting stab of pain at Greg’s accusatory tone. She wondered if he really understood what she was saying. “She felt trapped. And she…she was afraid.”

“Afraid?” Gregory wrinkled his high forehead. “Afraid of what?” He looked genuinely perplexed, and then angry in his turn. “What has she got to be afraid of?”

“Nothing,” Andrew broke in before Patrice could reply. “Where’d she go?”

“I don’t know,” Patrice answered. She gave her father-in-law back stare for stare. She still wasn’t afraid of Andrew. She didn’t believe he was evil. But she knew he was ruthless and cunning and determined to get what he wanted.

“Her family’s from Pittsburgh,” Gregory said thoughtfully. “Maybe she went back there.” He frowned, looking more than ever like his father, hard faced, intent, a hunter closing in on his prey. Patrice’s heart gave another painful little jump.

“There’s nobody left for her there. Maybe she went back to Key West,” Patrice said hurriedly. Katie had been brave enough to run away, to make a new life for herself and Kyle. She looked from her husband to his father once again. Katie was right. It was time Andrew’s dictatorship came to an end. Patrice had done a lot of thinking during the long sunny afternoon. She’d asked herself some hard questions. One of them, particularly, demanded total honesty: Was this the way she wanted her child to grow up? The baby she’d finally conceived after so many barren years. The baby Greg didn’t know about yet.

“Too close,” Greg mumbled. “But we’ll check it out. I’ll get some detectives on it first thing in the morning.”

“Why don’t you just let her go?” Patrice stood so quickly her chair went skidding backward across the parquet floor.

“Because she’s stolen my grandson, you fool woman,” Andrew growled. “She can stay gone till hell freezes over for all I care but I want my grandson back.”

Patrice felt cold fear curl around her heart. “What do you mean by that?”

“Dad’s right, Pat,” Greg said, standing also. “I’m not sure Katie’s the best person to have custody of Kyle. She’s so young. No education to speak of and now pulling a harebrained stunt like this.”

“You’d take Kyle away from her if you found her?” Surely this wasn’t happening. Greg, the man she loved, couldn’t be so callous, so cruel.

“Katie’s not being rational. It might be the best thing to do,” he said, watching her closely. “Pat, don’t look at me like that.” He sounded amazed and hurt. “I’m only thinking of my nephew’s interests. We have a responsibility to see that Michael’s son receives the best life he can have.”

“The best life he can have is being with his mother.” It was funny how quickly your heart could break. She’d felt it snap, just like that. There wasn’t any pain yet. That would come later.

“Are you sure? We’d love him and take care of him just as if he were ours. And we can bring him up to be comfortable with his inheritance. Can Katie do that?”

“Kyle isn’t ours.” She wanted to give Greg one last chance. “He’s Katie’s. How could you even consider something like that?”

“It’s not such a bad idea,” Andrew interjected. He rubbed his hand over his chin. “The girl’s wild. Always was, always will be. She’s got a criminal record, too. Not a fit mother. We could use that if we have to.”

“She was caught shoplifting food from a grocery store when she was still a teenager. Barely eighteen. She was starving. Surely you wouldn’t use that against her.” Patrice couldn’t believe her ears. Things like this didn’t happen in this day and age.

“Pat’s right. I don’t think it’s necessary to bring that up.” Greg was still watching her but she could no longer meet his eyes. What he said was too little, too late.

“All right, we’ll forget that scenario for now,” Andrew said placatingly, but his eyes were fierce. “I’ll use it later if I have to. I’ll do whatever’s necessary to get my grandson back.” He turned to Greg. “You’re dead right about one thing, though. You and Patrice would be better off caring for the boy. A judge might balk about turning the little fellow over to an old man like me—” he chuckled “—an old man with a reputation like mine. But you two are the perfect parents—”