Debbie Macomber: Home for Christmas: Return to Promise / Can This Be Christmas?

Cal stood and scooped Mary Ann into his arms. His daughter squirmed, eager to break free and explore this wonderful new place. It was probably a good thing they didn’t have a lot of time for farewells, he reflected unhappily.

“I’ll phone often,” Jane said after he kissed her.

“Do.” Saying goodbye to his family was even more difficult than Cal had anticipated.

The four of them moved toward the jetway, slowed down by the children’s pace and Jane’s carry-on luggage.

“I’m going to miss you,” he murmured as they reached the airline representative who collected the boarding passes.

“Two weeks will go quickly.”

“Right,” Cal agreed, but at the moment those weeks loomed before him in all their emptiness.

Juggling two bags and clutching both children, Jane disappeared into the jetway. Had it been anyone else, Cal would have left then, his duty completed, but he stood at the window and waited until the plane had taxied toward the runway. The feeling of emptiness stayed with him, growing. Deep in his gut, he recognized that he’d let his wife down. He should have gone with her; it was what she’d wanted, what she’d asked of him, but he’d refused. He shook his head miserably. This wasn’t the first time he’d disappointed Jane.

As he turned toward the parking garage, Cal couldn’t shake his reaction to seeing his wife leave. He didn’t want to go to California, and yet he regretted not being on that plane with his family.

“You heard about Jane, didn’t you?” Dovie Hennessey asked her husband. Frank had just come home from the golf course, where he’d played eighteen holes with Phil Patterson, Cal’s father.

Frank, who’d retired three years earlier from his position as sheriff, nodded and made straight for the refrigerator. “According to Phil, Cal drove Jane and the kids to the airport yesterday morning.”

“I give him a week.”

Frank turned around, a pitcher of iced tea in his hand. “A week before what?”

“Before Cal heads into town.”

“Why?”

Exasperated, Dovie rolled her eyes. “Company. He’s going to rattle around that house like a lost soul.”

“Cal? No way!” Frank argued, pouring himself a tall glass of tea. “You seem to forget he was a confirmed bachelor before he met Jane. I was as surprised as anyone when he decided to marry her. Don’t get me wrong. I think it was the smartest thing he ever did….”

“But?” Dovie said.

“Cal isn’t any stranger to living alone,” Frank continued, sitting down at the kitchen table with his tea and the newspaper. “He did it for years. Now, I know he loves Jane and the kids, but my guess is he’s looking forward to two weeks of peace and quiet.”

Dovie couldn’t help herself. Peace and quiet? Frank made it sound as though Cal would welcome a vacation from his own family. She planted her hands on her hips and glared at her husband. “Frank Hennessey, what a rotten thing to say.”

He glanced up from his paper, a puzzled expression on his face. “What was so terrible about that?”

“Jane and the children are not a nuisance in Cal’s life,” she said in a firm voice. “Don’t you realize that?”

“Now, Dovie—”

“Furthermore, you seem to imply that he’s going to enjoy having them gone.”

“I said no such thing,” Frank insisted. “Cal’s going to miss Jane…of course he is. The children, too. What I was trying to say is that spending a couple of weeks without his wife might not be all that bad.” Flustered and avoiding her gaze, Frank rubbed his face. “That didn’t come out right, either.”

Dovie suppressed a smile. They’d been married long enough for her to know what he meant, but she liked giving him a hard time once in a while—partly because he made it so easy. He’d remained a bachelor for the first sixty years of his life. Like Cal, he’d grown accustomed to his own company. He and Dovie had been involved for more than ten years, but Frank had resisted marriage until Pastor Wade McMillen had offered a viable solution. They became husband and wife but kept their own residences. In the beginning, that had worked beautifully, but as time passed, Frank ended up spending more and more nights with her, until it seemed wasteful to maintain two homes. Since he’d retired, Dovie, who owned an antique store, had reduced her hours, as well. They were traveling frequently now, and with Frank taking a role in local politics and becoming active in the senior citizens’ center, why, there just weren’t enough hours in a day.

Patting her husband’s arm as she passed, Dovie said, “I thought I’d make Cal one of my chicken pot pies and we could take it out to him later this week.”

Frank nodded, apparently eager to move away from the subject. “Good idea.” Reaching for his paper, he claimed the recliner and stretched out his legs. Almost immediately, Buttons, the small black poodle they’d recently acquired, leaped into Frank’s lap and circled a couple of times before settling into a comfortable position.

“Nap time?” Dovie asked with a grin.

“Golf tires me out,” Frank said.

“You promised to drive me to the grocery store,” she reminded him, although she was perfectly capable of making the trip on her own. It was the small things they did together that she enjoyed most. The small domestic chores that were part of any marriage.

“In a while,” Frank said sleepily, lowering the newspaper to the floor.

True to his word, an hour later Frank sought her out, apparently ready to tackle a trip to the supermarket. Once they arrived, he found a convenient parking spot, mentioned her offer to make a meal for Cal and grabbed a cart. Dovie marched toward the produce aisle, with Frank close behind.

“Do you have any idea what Cal would enjoy with the pot pie?” she asked.

“I know what I’d enjoy,” Frank teased, and playfully swatted her backside.

“Frank Hennessey,” Dovie protested, but not too loudly; that would only encourage him. She didn’t really mind, though. Frank was openly affectionate, unlike her first husband. Marvin had loved her, she never doubted that, but had displayed his feelings in less obvious ways.

“Who’s that?” Frank asked, his attention on a tall brunette who stood by the oranges, examining them closely.

It took Dovie a moment to remember. “Why, that’s Nicole Nelson.”

“Nicole Nelson,” Frank repeated slowly, as though testing the name. “She’s from Promise?”

“She lived here a few years back,” Dovie said, taking a plastic bag and choosing the freshest-looking bunch of celery.

“How do I know her?” Frank asked, speaking into her ear.

Which told Dovie that Nicole had never crossed the law. Frank had perfect recall of everyone he’d encountered in his work as sheriff.

“She was a teller at the bank.”

“When?”

“Oh, my.” Dovie had to think about that one. “A number of years ago now…nine, maybe ten. She was roommates with Jennifer Healy.”

“Healy. Healy. Why is that name familiar?”

Dovie whirled around, sighing loudly. “Frank, don’t tell me you’ve forgotten Jennifer Healy!”

He stared back at her, his expression blank.

“She’s the one who dumped Cal two days before their wedding. It nearly destroyed the poor boy. I still remember how upset Mary was having to call everyone and tell them the wedding had been canceled.” She shook her head. “Nicole was supposed to be her maid of honor.”

Frank’s gaze followed the other woman as she pushed her cart toward the vegetables. “When Jennifer left town, did Nicole go with her?”

Dovie didn’t know, but it seemed to her the two girls had moved around the same time.

“Cal was pretty broken up when Jennifer dumped him,” Frank said. “Good thing she left Promise. Wonder why this one came back…”