Heather Graham - Home In Time For Christmas

“Boston College. That’s where we met.”

“Boston College,” he repeated.

“Will you listen, please? This is important.”

“Yes, yes, of course. Whatever you wish.”

“We’ll make you a…an English lit major. And your tremendous interest in local history and lore made you go to work for one of the tour companies. That’s why you’re still dressed up à la General George.”

“Dressed up?”

This was ridiculously difficult. “You are wearing old-fashioned clothing. It’s no matter, I can rummage through my brother’s things, and my brother is the type who would literally give anyone the shirt off his back, so we’re fine on that. The traffic was horrendous, I was desperate to get headed north, so I wouldn’t let you go back for your things.”

He was staring straight ahead. She realized that she had come around the curve that led to her house. She was about to take the turn onto the driveway.

“Jake, are you listening to me?” she demanded, trying to slow the car without doing any more skidding.

“My God,” he breathed.

“What?”

The lights.

Of course, it had to be the lights.

Her mother definitely got carried away with lights. The house looked like a giant birthday cake with candles in a multitude of colors. There were reindeer on the lawn—fashioned in wire and covered in lights as well—that burned brilliantly, as well.

Even the old oaks laden in their snow blankets seemed to be glistening. Ablaze.

It was a warm house, a welcoming house. It….

“It’s my home,” Jake said. “It’s my house. Where I live.”

Okay, that was all she needed.

The mental-man thought that her house was his.

She inhaled deeply. “Okay, okay, I hit you on the head really hard. But you can’t go in there telling my folks that this is your house.”

He was staring at the lights. It was as if he had never seen such a vision.

Well, to be truthful, not many people had. Her folks did get carried away.

“Jake.”

“Um, yes! Sorry.”

He looked at her again. His eyes gave the impression that he was entirely sane, completely honest, and giving her his steadfast attention. She felt a little start. Something that tightened and trembled within her.

Why did he have to be a madman?

They were striking eyes. They made him something other than just a handsome man. They made him real. Deep and hazel, and seeing her, really seeing her.

“Jake, whatever happened before in your fantasy world, trust me. My folks own this home. They paid off the mortgage several years ago. They worked hard, they love it—and they own it.”

“Of course.”

“You’re not ready for this,” she said worriedly.

He had turned to stare at all the lights again in pure wonder. “How do the lights work?” he marveled.

“Electricity. Your buddy, Ben Franklin, laid all the foundations. Hundreds of years later, I think Thomas Edison got it all really going, and hey, now we’re in the age of real technology— you cannot stare at everything like a kid in a candy store! “

He looked at her. “I’m sorry. But it’s just wonderful. The colors, the brilliance! So very, very beautiful. Ben always was a genius.”

“Yes, of course. There have been a few improvements,” she said dryly. Oh, this was going to be a disaster. She leaned her head on the steering wheel and groaned. “What am I going to do?”

He waited. “My dear young woman, it will be all right.” He smiled.

She gave him a fierce stare. “Listen, we can’t tell my family the truth or they will take you to the nearest hospital. Let’s say we know each other for now—until I can figure out what to do. Soo… We met at college. You’re an historian, okay? You dress up and give people tours.”

“All right. Tours of what?” he inquired.

“Um—Boston. You work for Boston Tours, Incorporated. All right?”

“Boston Tours, Incorporated. Yes, I understand.”

He still stared at her.

She shook her head. “Just follow my lead. And don’t gape at anything that’s—that’s not familiar to you in your, um, current state of mind.”

He smiled, but his eyes were grave, as was his tone. “You must understand. I was hanged during the Revolution.”

“Sure.”

He looked at the house with the Christmas lights blazing and then looked back at her, that odd and endearing smile teasing his lips once again. “You need to learn to believe in magic,” he told her. “But, I do understand. We met at Boston College. I studied English literature. Now, I’m working for Boston Tours.”

“You’re a costumed interpreter,” she said, nodding.

“The lights are beautiful,” he said.

She shivered suddenly. Reality. It was getting cold in the car.

“Come on. Let’s go in,” she said.

She leaned over and opened his car door. He grimaced, thanked her and stepped out into the glittering snow. Then he waited.

She got out of the car, questioning her own sanity once again as she walked around and crooked a hand around his arm. They hurried up the walk and onto the porch together. As they neared it, the door burst open.

Her mother had been waiting for her.

Mona wasn’t exactly a hippie. She was a strange combination of old-fashioned lady of the house with a bit of the wild child thrown in. She had tons of thick, curling blond hair that had only a few strands of gray. She loved yoga and Enya and anything that smacked of man’s peaceful coexistence with his fellow man. She had grown her own food years before the word organic had begun to appear in supermarkets.

She’d been at the original Woodstock.

She always wore long, flowing shirts and dresses, like the flower grower’s version of Stevie Nicks.

Her one great drawback was that even though she had passed that mark of having lived on the earth for over half a century, she saw no evil in anyone, and believed that all could always be made right with the world. She had no enemies. Strangers were always friends waiting to happen.

“Melody! Mark. Oh, Melody, I thought you said that Mark couldn’t come with you—oh, goodness, I’m sorry, you’re not Mark!” Mona said, a hand fluttering to her breast.

“No, ma’am, I’m Jake Mallory. How do you do? I’m sorry to be a strange and uninvited guest, but Melody assured me that you would not mind the intrusion.” He spoke naturally, even if his accent was more than strange. More England than New England, Melody thought.

But he was doing well enough. He was natural and courteous. Her mom greatly appreciated common courtesy in anyone. Manners were a main grievance with her—Mona believed they cost nothing and made the world a better place.

Mona smiled, accepting his hand. “Well, of course, you’re welcome here. Everyone is welcome here, young man.” There was warmth in her tone, but confusion in her eyes. She looked at Melody, questioning.

Melody gave her mother a big hug. “Mom, I found out Jake was going to be at odds for Christmas and picked him up last minute in Boston. He was working, and didn’t have time to change, and when we realized we’d forgotten his things, I was already on the road.”

“Oh, and the weather is horrendous!” Mona agreed, hardly listening as she ushered them inside. “And here I am, chatting away on the porch. You young people come in and sit by the fire and I’ll make some hot chocolate.” She turned, heading into the house. Melody and Jake followed. She paused, telling Melody, “Take Jake to Keith’s room, get him something comfortable to wear. Poor dear, working all day, and then that long drive.”

Poor dear! Oh, yeah. Poor lunatic!