Debbie Macomber - Trading Christmas - When Christmas Comes / The Forgetful Bride

He sipped it gratefully. “What day is this?” It was a question he asked often—so often that it didn’t even cause the department secretary’s brow to wrinkle.

“Tuesday, December fourteenth.”

“It’s the fourteenth already?” He could feel the panic rising.

“Yes, Professor. And you have three student appointments today.”

“I see.” But all Charles saw was trouble. If his mother wasn’t pestering him, then it was his students. He sighed, suddenly exhausted. He’d spent the better part of fifteen hours writing his American history text, focusing on the Colonial era, the Revolutionary War and the country’s founding fathers. Much of his work that night had been about the relationship between Thomas Jefferson and Aaron Burr. It wouldn’t be light reading, but he knew his history and loved it. If he met his deadline, which Charles was determined to do, and turned in the completed manuscript shortly after the first of the year, it would be published and ready for use by the start of the 2006 autumn classes. High aspirations, but Charles knew he could meet the challenge.

“Your mother just phoned again,” Mrs. Lewis informed him. She’d left his office and returned to set the mail on his desk.

Charles sighed. His mother’s intentions were good, but she worried about him far too much. For years now, she’d been after him to join her in Arizona for the holidays. Personally, Charles would rather have his fingernails pulled out than spend Christmas with his mother. She suffocated him with her concern and irritated him with her matchmaking efforts. Try as he might, he couldn’t make her understand that he wasn’t interested in another relationship. His one and only attempt at romance had practically demolished him. After Monica’s Christmas Eve defection, he’d shielded himself from further involvement. He was content with his life, although his mother refused to believe it. He didn’t want a relationship. Women made demands on his time; they were a luxury he couldn’t afford if he planned to get ahead in his profession. He wanted to write and teach and there simply weren’t enough hours in the day as it was. Frankly that suited him just fine.

If Ray would do him the favor of marrying, Charles would be off the hook. Unfortunately his older brother seemed to be a confirmed bachelor. That left Charles—and his mother wasn’t giving up without a fight. At every opportunity she shoved women in his path. Twice in the last six months she’d sent the daughters of friends to Boston to lure him out of his stuffy classroom, as she called it. Both attempts had ended in disaster.

“She wants to know your plans for the holidays.”

Charles stiffened. This was how their last conversation had begun. His mother had casually inquired about his plans for Labor Day, and the next thing he knew she’d arranged a dinner engagement for him with one of those young women. That particular one had been a twenty-four-year-old TV production assistant in New York; to say they had nothing in common was putting it mildly. “What did you tell my mother?” he asked.

“That you were occupied and unable to take the call.”

From the way Mrs. Lewis’s lips thinned, Charles guessed she wasn’t pleased at having to engage in this small deception. “Thank you,” he muttered.

“She insisted I must know about your plans for Christmas,” Mrs. Lewis said in a severe voice.

Apprehension shot up his back. “What did you say?”

Mrs. Lewis crossed her arms and stared down at him. “I said I am not privy to your private arrangements, and that for all I knew you were going out of town.”

Actually, that didn’t sound like a bad plan. He needed an escape, and the sooner the better. If his mother’s behavior was true to pattern, she was about to sic some woman on him. As soon as Mrs. Lewis had made that comment about traveling, the idea took root in his mind. It would do him good to get out of the city. He didn’t care where he went as long as it was away from Boston, away from his seasonal misery. Someplace quiet would suit him nicely. Someplace where he could work and not worry about what time or day it happened to be.

“Hmm. That has possibilities,” he murmured thoughtfully.

The older woman didn’t seem to know what he was talking about. His students often wore the same confused look, as if he were speaking in a foreign language.

“Traveling.” The decision made now, he stood and reached for his overcoat. “Yes.”

Her gaze narrowed. “Excuse me?”

“That was an excellent idea. I’m leaving town for the holidays.” All he wanted was peace and quiet; that should be simple enough to arrange.

“Where?” Mrs. Lewis stammered, following him out of his office.

He shrugged. “I really don’t care.”

“Well, I could call a travel agent for recommendations.”

“Don’t bother.”

A travel agent might book him into some area where he’d be surrounded by people and festivities centered on the Christmas holidays. Any contact with others was out of the question. He wanted to find a place where he’d be completely alone, with no chance of being disturbed. And if possible, he wanted to find a place where Christmas wasn’t a big deal.

He told Mrs. Lewis all this, then asked her for suggestions. He turned down Vermont, Aspen, Santa Fe and Disney World.

Disney World!

At her despairing look, he sighed again. “Never mind,” he said. “I’ll do it myself.”

She nodded and seemed relieved.

Later that day, Charles had to admit that finding an obscure location for travel on such short notice was difficult. Taking his briefcase with him, he walked to his condo, not far from the university area. But after he’d showered, heated up a microwave lasagna for his dinner and slept, he tackled the project with renewed enthusiasm. It was now shortly after 8:00 p.m.

After calling half a dozen airlines, he realized he was seeking the impossible. Not a man to accept defeat, Charles went online to do his own investigative work. It was while he was surfing the Internet that he found a site on which people traded homes for short periods.

One such notice was from a woman who’d posted a message: Desperately Seeking Home in Boston for Christmas Holidays.

Charles read the message twice, awed by his good fortune. This woman, a schoolteacher in a small town in Washington State, sought a residence in Boston for two weeks over the Christmas holidays. She could travel after December 17th and return as late as December 31st.

The dates were perfect for Charles. He started to get excited. This might actually work without costing him an arm and a leg. Since he didn’t have to register in a hotel, his mother would have no obvious means of tracking him. Oh, this was very good news indeed.

Charles answered the woman right away.

From: “Charles Brewster”

To: “Emily Springer” springere@aal.com

Sent: December 14, 2004

Subject: Trading Places

Dear Ms. Springer,

I’m responding to the DESPERATELY SEEKING IN BOSTON advertisement shown on the Trading Homes Web site. I live in Boston and teach at Harvard. My condo is a two-bedroom, complete with all modern conveniences. You can email me with your questions at the address listed above. I eagerly await your reply.

Sincerely,

Charles Brewster

Before long Charles received a response. Naturally, she had a number of questions. He had a few of his own, but once he was assured that he’d be completely alone in a small Eastern Washington town, Charles agreed to the swap. He supplied references, and she offered her own.

A flurry of emails quickly passed between them as they figured out the necessary details. Emily seemed to think she owed him an explanation as to why she was interested in Boston. He didn’t tell her that he didn’t care about her reasons.