“Does what?”
“Gets her way. I’ve known her for years, and that’s just the way she operates. No biggie.” Ray headed toward his truck.
“She’s into you,” Randy Veltry remarked as they reeled in the stereo speakers.
“What?”
“That woman. The one you were talking to. Totally into you.”
“Right.” Eddie gave a derisive laugh. He tried to dismiss the notion. Into him? Maureen Davenport? No way. She made it clear she couldn’t stand him. Her being into him—that was the last thing he wanted or needed.
And yet…he liked her, bossy attitude, librarian bun and all. It was crazy.
“You ought to ask her out,” Moby suggested.
“Nope. No way. We have to work together on this Christmas production so I can’t be getting personal with her.”
“Chicken.” Omar flapped his wings.
“I’m not. It’s just…I don’t have such good luck with women around this time of year. You know what I call Christmas? Ex-mas. With an E-X. I’ve been dumped three times at the holidays.” It was true; he hadn’t learned his lesson with Natalie. He’d never tried proposing again, but his next two girlfriends both dropped him at Christmastime, too.
“Oh, let me get out my tiny finger-violin.” Randy pantomimed the action.
“I’m just saying.”
“You’re looking for excuses.”
Eddie regarded the three brothers. Thinking about their background and current troubles, he was amazed they even spared a thought for his love life. “Yeah, you’re a bunch of wiseguys,” he said. “That’s what you are.”
“Hear that?” Omar said. “We’re wiseguys, all three of us.”
“Which reminds me, you’re going to try out for the pageant.”
“Ha. That’s a good one.”
“You think I’m kidding? I wouldn’t kid about something that’s going to get you released from school an hour early, three times a week.”
That clinched the deal for them. The Veltry boys caught a ride home with Noah and Max, leaving Eddie to finish up with the other volunteers. People trickled away, heading home, nagging their kids about weekend chores, checking their e-mail and seeing what was on TV. Eddie didn’t have to worry about any of those things, so he lingered to finish up with the lighting. After a while, he realized only he and Maureen Davenport remained.
“Pretty cold tonight,” he said, just to fill the silence.
“I hope the snow comes soon,” she said. “It’s always so lovely to have snow at Christmas. It never officially feels like the season has started until it snows.”
“Not a fan. But don’t worry. You’ll get your snow any minute now.”
“No, the weather report earlier said there’s no snow in the forecast.”
“Maybe not, but it’s still going to snow. Tonight,” he said.
She shook her head. “I’ve been checking the weather report regularly. There’s not a hint of snow.”
“Have a little faith, Miss Davenport.”
“I have plenty of faith,” she retorted.
“Right.”
She studied him for a few minutes, her gaze both probing and compassionate. “What is it with you and Christmas? Did it start that night?”
Eddie studied her keen-eyed expression. So she’d heard the story. Maybe she’d been at the church when his van had gone flying into the nativity scene. He wondered how much she knew. “Wasn’t my best night.”
“People said it was a miracle you survived the wreck,” she said.
“That’s me. A Christmas miracle. Yeah, people can believe whatever they want,” said Eddie.
He was found lying in a snowbank some twenty feet from the van. Panicked worshipers exiting the church found him that way—dazed, reeking of alcohol.
“Maybe it wasn’t a miracle, but incredibly good luck,” she suggested. “I heard you weren’t wearing a seat belt, and that was what saved you.”
“That’s what you heard, eh?”
“Am I wrong?”
The accident report had been exhaustive because there was an entire congregation to draw from. Witnesses reported seeing the van careen around the bend in the road and, “at a high rate of speed,” it left the icy pavement, plowed down a slope, mowed over the nativity scene and burst into flames, all in a matter of seconds.
There could be no disputing these facts. Too many unrelated witnesses reported seeing the same thing. What no one had witnessed—what no one could explain—was how Eddie had survived. Without serious injuries.
Investigators theorized that the impact of the vehicle hitting the building had caused him to be thrown clear of the van and that the deep snow had cushioned his fall. Experts on such things said that this was one of those rare occasions when the victim had benefited from not wearing a seat belt.
The report went on for pages, recounting the statements of witnesses, police and investigators. It was very thorough in presenting the facts.
One key fact had been neglected, however.
Eddie had been wearing his seat belt that night. A lap belt with a shoulder harness.
He had explained as much to the investigators, and they instantly dismissed that part of his statement. For some crazy reason, he decided to test his theory out on Maureen. “Yeah,” he said. “You’re wrong. I had my seat belt on.”
A soft gasp escaped her, and she pressed a mitten-clad hand to her mouth. “The paper said the only reason you survived was that you were flung from the vehicle before it exploded.”
“I know what I know,” he insisted. “And don’t look at me like that—I read what the reports said. And I know I was in shock from a dislocated shoulder. I also read what the paper said about my blood alcohol level. It’s not so unique for someone on Christmas Eve. Haven’t you ever knocked back a few on Christmas Eve?”
“No,” she said bluntly.
“Well, you might, if you’d had the kind of evening I’d had. My memory is not impaired. I wish it was, because there are things about that night I’d like to forget.”
“What kind of things?”
“It’d take all night to explain. I don’t want us to turn into a couple of Popsicles. Doesn’t matter, because I do remember, and one thing I remember was clipping on my seat belt.”
