Heather Graham: Home In Time For Christmas

The house was old, very old, some parts of it were built sometime in the early 1600s. A small entryway led directly to a massive parlor. A curving staircase led to the second floor where there were five bedrooms. Behind the massive parlor were the kitchen and dining room on one side, and a family room on the other.

Behind the house itself—now covered in snow—was her mother’s summer garden.

And her father’s office. Laboratory, as she and her brother called it. Her father had a fascination with waves. Radio waves, microwaves—sound waves. Any kind of wave.

A happy baying that seemed to fill every inch of sound space came to their ears; Brutus, the basset with wheels for hind legs, came clip-clapping happily into the room, his tail wagging a mile a minute. He was followed by Jimmy, the sheepdog, who was now fat and healthy. Melody knelt down to pat both dogs and they wove around Jake.

“Ingenious,” he said, hunkering down to meet Brutus.

“Yes, and he does quite well,” Mona said happily. “He’s a darling. That’s Brutus. And the pile of fluff there is Jimmy. There’s a cat running around, and that’s Cleo. She’s blind, but she has an excellent sense of smell and hearing. Just don’t panic if she walks into something—she still does that upon occasion.”

“Charming,” Jake said.

“We do love our strays,” Mona assured him happily.

Melody stood. “Okay, we’ve done the petting thing for the moment. Come on up, Jake, and I’ll find some of Keith’s things for you to wear.”

“Poor young fellow!” Mona said, “You’re soaked, you must be freezing. Hurry along now, get into something warmer.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Jake said.

Melody headed for the stairs. She stopped and looked back.

Jake Mallory was in the parlor, looking around. She started to snap at him again, but her words froze in her throat.

There was something about his expression that seemed so pained and nostalgic that it was almost… real. She wondered if he wasn’t suffering some kind of tormented dementia. Maybe he really believed that he had been a Revolutionary War soldier. He had fallen out of a time warp in the sky and landed on an ice-covered road more than two and a half centuries later.

She let out a sigh. She honestly didn’t think he was homicidal, and she had been the one to strike him down on the road. She needed to practice patience.

“Jake,” she said softly.

He looked at her, startled, then nodded and followed her. They walked up the stairs together, and turned. “This is your brother’s room?” he asked, stopping at the door where Melody pointed.

“Yes.”

They went in. She left him standing by Keith’s bed, staring at the posters of her brother’s favorites, Axl Rose and the Killers. There was also a large poster of Keira Knightley dressed up for her role in the Pirates of the Caribbean movies.

“Beautiful,” Jake said.

“Keira Knightley? My brother thinks she’s the most beautiful woman alive,” Melody said.

“I mean—the art. Amazing.”

“It’s a poster from a photograph.”

He started to repeat the word, but didn’t. Melody smiled broadly. “Okay, photograph. It’s from an invention that captures the image of…well, just about anything. Cameras capture the stars now, through telescopes. Oh, a telescope—”

“I’ve seen telescopes,” he said. “Just not…a photograph. Or a camera. But it sounds like an exceedingly wonderful creation. To capture images without charcoal or paints.”

“Right. There are movie cameras, too. They capture—movement. Anyway…”

“Does your brother still live here?” he asked.

“My brother is still in college. But he comes home often,” she said.

She dug into Keith’s wardrobe, grateful that her brother was a lot like her mother—he never minded in the least if anyone else made use of his things.

She found a pair of jeans and an Armani Exchange sweater and handed them to Jake, then hesitated, found a pair of Keith’s briefs, socks and sneakers. She had no idea how to judge foot size, but Jake and Keith were about the same height. Maybe Keith’s feet would be a little bit bigger, but rather too big than too small.

As she produced the sneakers, she found him playing with the zipper. “Ingenious!” he told her.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s a zipper. Figure it all out. You know the house. We’ll be in the family room,” she said dryly.

“The family room?”

“Now it’s a family room, I don’t know what it might have been before. You know, when you owned it. Whatever. It’s just below us,” she said. She paused. He’d been drenched. Covered in snow and mud. “The shower is just next door.”

“The shower?”

“Oh, my God, did I pick up a parrot?” she demanded. Okay, play the game. She shook her head and sighed. “The bathroom.”

“An indoor washroom?” he asked, seriously trying to understand.

She crooked a finger at him. He followed her.

Leave it to her mom. It wasn’t all traditional New England decorating that she’d used—it was more New England meets Goth. Her folks loved pirates. The upstairs bathroom was done in early Blackbeard; the shower curtain boasted pirate flags, the decoration had ships—and the standing toilet paper holder was a silver-colored spyglass replica.

She pointed to the toilet. “Indoor…necessary, I believe. Sink. Water comes on and off when you twist the faucets. The shower works just the same. Be careful—they have a mega water heater and when you turn on the hot, it gets hot.”

He still stared.

She pulled a towel from the rack.

“Shower. You turn on the water to your temperature liking. Stand beneath the spray. Use soap. Rinse off. Dry with towel—put on clothing. Okay?”

“Amazing,” he said.

“Oh, God! It’s a hot shower. Get in and get out. And come downstairs when you’re done. No gaping. We have a stove and a television and—”

“Television?”

“Television. You see moving images on it. Fiction, and nonfiction. The news, the weather.” She made a face. “Reality shows for entertainment.”

“Reality as entertainment?” he inquired.

“Precisely.”

“But a television…”

She let out an oath of absolute impatience and hurried on out, closing the door.

In the family room, she found her father. He had been seated in one of the wing-back chairs by the fire, but he stood when he saw her, a tall lean man with a cap of snow-white hair. Cleo had been happily curled just behind his neck and she mewed a protest at his movement. Her father absently patted the cat, then came to Melody. He folded her into his arms. “Melody! I was getting worried about you coming today, the news about all the accidents on the roads has been terrible.”

She gave him a fierce hug in return, and they parted. “So, what’s up, Dad? How’s it all going?”

“Beautifully,” he assured her. “I like being retired.”

Her mother breezed into the room, carrying a tray laden with cups of cocoa and fresh-baked cookies. “He nearly blew up his study last week,” Mona said.

Her father shrugged, a tolerant smile for his wife on his face. “I did nothing of the kind. I had a little spark and a tiny fire going, and that was it. I keep a fire extinguisher on hand at all times, and I was never in any danger of losing the study.”

“Humph,” Mona said, rolling her eyes. She sat. “So, my dear, I don’t remember you mentioning this Jake fellow. Is he related to Mark? He resembles him quite a bit.”

“No, no, they’re not related at all.”

“You’re kidding,” Mona said. “I thought he’d be a cousin or something…even a brother. Wait till you see him, George,” she marveled to her husband.