Once Cash had his plate filled, heavy on the meatloaf and mashed potatoes, light on the Brussels sprouts, he headed back to the table where Joely and Ted were at, and was just about to sit down when the door to the diner slammed open, taken by the wind. Chess slipped inside and stood there for a few moments, swiping snow from her shoulders, her eyes wide and glassy and nervous. She looked as if she was going to turn her butt around and head back outside. Cash didn’t give her a chance to do that. He set down his plate and strode over to her.
“I’m glad you decided to come,” he said, watching her closely. Her cheeks were red, from the cold or nerves, he didn’t know, but she looked so damn unsure of herself, it pulled on that protective string inside Cash. It was a string that had been slowly unravelling ever since he’d landed at this damn motel.
She cleared her throat and nodded. “I thought, it’s Christmas, so…”
“Come on,” he said, reaching for her hand. “The food is hot.”
She moistened her lips and looked up at him, and he felt her gaze like a punch to the gut. There was no other way to explain it. Something happened in that moment that flustered the hell out of him. Which was damn silly, because Cash Bodine was a guy who didn’t get flustered or worked up.
It stopped him cold, and his hand fell away from hers.
“Is something wrong?” she asked softly. Her voice wavered a bit.
Yes.
“No. I’m good.” He nodded to the table behind him. “Come on, grab a seat.”
Cash turned and waited until she walked past him, then he put his hand at the small of her back as she walked over to Joely’s table, where the waitress had already set another place. He introduced Chess to Ted and Joely, and she sat in the empty chair between Cash and Ted.
“Would you like some wine?” Joely asked. “I brought a couple of bottles. It’s not the expensive kind, but it does the trick.”
“I’m good, thank you,” Chess murmured.
“You two know each other for long?” Ted asked.
Cash shook his head at the same time Chess did. Her hair was left loose and natural, with long curls cascading over her shoulder. She wore makeup, an attempt to cover her bruises, though her cheek was still puffy. When she pulled some hair forward to cover her face, he felt that something happen again. It was an inconvenient something. And he had a feeling that that something was going to complicate the hell out of his stay in Crystal Lake.
“Plates are by the food on the counter. Help yourself.” Joely pointed, and Chess got up from the table. She’d barely vacated her seat when Ted leaned over.
“Just passing through, huh?” He winked at Cash. “Good luck with that.”
Chapter Seven
It took a bit, but eventually, Chess relaxed. Considering she hadn’t planned on coming to the diner until she walked out into the storm, that was saying something. She was curled up on her bed when Cash had knocked at the door, and after he gave up, she stared at a room filled with empty bottles, a half-eaten burger that had molded over, and a note that had fallen from the dresser to the floor. It contained a name, Dave, a phone number, and casino had been underlined.
The mystery of where her mother had gotten to, solved.
Chess had slipped from the bed, sent her mother a text message to let her know she was back at the motel and that she was okay. And then she’d gotten dressed. It was Christmas Eve, after all, and damned if she was staying in this dump alone.
Ted Williams was funny and warm and had more stories to tell than her former Sunday schoolteacher, Mrs. Eddes. Chess ate her food, which was better than anything she’d eaten in ages, and, along with Cash, Joely, and Steve, listened to Ted talk about his wife, his kids and grandkids, and his favorite time of year, which happened to be Christmas.
“Gosh, my Bernadette loved Christmas. We’d wait until the kids were tucked in bed Christmas Eve, and then I’d nibble on the cookies they left out for Santa and drink the milk, which I didn’t mind one bit even though I’ve never been a milk lover. Then I’d make reindeer footprints in the snow, toss out a few half-eaten carrots, while she laid out the presents under our tree.” He sighed. “We didn’t have a lot back then, but what we had was enough. Each kid got a new coloring book and a big pack of those Crayola crayons, then whatever special thing they’d been asking Santa for. A new ball glove, some doll with hair you pulled out of the damn head, or maybe it talked. New socks, underwear, and nightclothes. Bernie and me, well, we didn’t buy for each other. We decided early on to spend what little we had on the kids. Seeing their faces light up was more of a gift than we’d ever want.
“But one year, I thought I’d surprise her. It was long after the kids had moved out, and it was just the two of us again. I was downtown, and the pet store was running an adoption event. Now, we’d had a dog a while back, and it up and died, sending the kids and Bernie around the bend. They were so upset, I swore we’d never have a pet again.”
Ted paused, and Chess could almost see the memories unrolling inside him. She reached over, wanting to grab his hand, but something stopped her, and she froze before carefully withdrawing her hand.
“I walked into that pet store and over to a big cage filled with cats. Fluffy kittens sitting there like toys, looking up at all these prospective new parents. But this one little kitten, a calico half the size of the others, was hanging upside down from the top of the cage. I looked at her and she looked at me, and I was a goner. The little thing had one blue eye and one hazel. I took her home and presented her to Bernie, and her smile was as big as the world. We called her Tinsel because by that first morning, she’d pretty much tore apart the place and taken every piece of tinsel off the Christmas tree. That was a week before we found out Bernie had the cancer. Tinsel was by her side until she left this world.”
Ted’s voice was shaky, and Chess felt her eyes water. This was love. The kind of love she dreamed about and the kind of love she doubted she’d ever find.
“I had that old girl for nearly fifteen years after Bernie left us, and she died a few months back, in the fire.” Ted swiped at his eyes. “Stupid thing knocked a candle over, and the house went up. Sometimes I wish I went up with it,” he whispered.
For a moment, there was silence, and then Steve cleared his throat. “No, you don’t, you old goat. You live to come in here every day and complain about my food.” He cocked his head. “Today’s the only day you haven’t.”
“That’s because it’s Christmas Eve,” Ted retorted. “And the meatloaf wasn’t half bad.”
Steve smiled. “How about some apple pie?”