We Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus (3 page)

Cole went through the motions of eating and tried to make a halfway-decent pitch for the funding to do the Sparks project, but he couldn’t concentrate. Seeing Jaclyn brought back the most painful years of his life—memories that crept in between each sentence he spoke, wove through the whole conversation like an invisible thread. For the first time in eight years, he couldn’t shut out Feld and the stifling, hot trailer he’d lived in there, the cloying smell of illness, his poor mother, pale and dwindling, his hungry brothers and absent father. And Rochelle. God, Rochelle. Just the thought of her made his throat feel as if it were closing up.

In a quick, desperate gesture, he loosened the knot of his tie and undid the top button of his shirt.

Larry glanced up at him in surprise. “Somethin’ wrong, Cole?”

“No.” Cole took a deep breath and a drink of water. He was free. Feld was history. Rochelle was on her own. His mother and father were gone…

“Would you like dessert?”

Jackie stood next to him, waiting with her pad. She’d left Feld, too, even though he never dreamed she would. He’d thought she would shackle herself to Terry and live under Burt Wentworth’s thumb forever, or at least until she and Terry inherited his land and his money. All the girls in school had wanted Terry, and the family name and bank account that stood behind him. They’d wanted everything Jackie had just walked away from—for this. Who would have thought it?

“I’ll just have a cup of coffee,” Larry said.

“I’ll have the same,” Cole added, and Jackie soon returned with two steaming cups.

“Will there be anything else?”

Cole shook his head. He couldn’t look at her anymore. When he saw her face, he saw Feld and the desert, and felt things he didn’t want to feel.

“It was good to see you again, Cole,” she said, slipping the check onto the table.

Cole wished he could say the same. “You look great, Jackie,” he said, searching for some scrap of truth to offer.

She smiled, but it was only a ghost of the smile he remembered from high school. “Thanks,” she said. “You always did have a way with the ladies.”

Cole couldn’t tell by the tone of her voice if she meant it as a compliment. But she walked away then, and he was free to pay his bill and go—and pretend he’d never seen her.

J
ACLYN WATCHED
Cole leave and was glad to have him gone. She needed no reminders that her life had turned out far differently from everyone’s expectations, including her own. She faced that fact every day when she put on her uniform, when she had to leave her children with Holly Smith, a young mother who lived down the street, when she wrote a check and knew it would barely clear her account.

Why did I have to run into him here?
she asked herself, clearing off his table. Joanna’s patrons paid at the cash register, but Jaclyn could see the edge of a crisp bill—her tip—stuck under Cole’s plate. She slid the money out, expecting ten, maybe even twenty dollars, but found fifty, instead.

She stared at the 5-0 on the bill, amazed and sickened by what it meant. Fifty dollars was pure charity. Cole understood her situation—and he pitied her.

Damn.
She was once the prom queen of Feld High. No one had doubted she’d marry Terry and live happily ever after. But she’d achieved no fairy-tale ending. She was divorced with three children and nearly penniless, her situation pathetic enough to make old friends feel obligated to give her money when they saw her.

Tears burned behind Jaclyn’s eyes, and she began to wonder if she’d been crazy to try to escape Terry. She could have continued as his wife—but what kind of life would that have been? She had a right to fight for something better, didn’t she? She longed to go back to school and become a nurse or a schoolteacher,
something
professional, to prove to herself and others that she could pull out of the tailspin of divorce and loss and regret.

If only she had the time and the money. She had four mouths to feed and bills that couldn’t wait until she graduated from anything. Heck, she had bills that couldn’t wait until payday.

Jaclyn shoved the money in her apron and finished stacking the dishes. Forget Cole, she told herself. He didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except survival. So what if she felt as if the world were closing in on her and she was trying to run through quicksand to escape. She certainly wasn’t the first woman to feel this way.

“Jaclyn?”

Turning at the sound of Rudy’s voice, she found her manager standing at her elbow. At five feet five inches, he was just tall enough to look her straight in the eye.

“Yeah?”

He gave her an insincere smile, revealing eyeteeth that stuck out like fangs. It was her first indication of trouble. His words were the second. “I just had a gentleman call me. He claims a friend of yours threatened him with bodily harm when he was here just a few minutes ago. Can I see you in my office?”

The table next to them stopped eating to watch, but
Jaclyn ignored them. Too much fear prickled down her spine to worry about embarrassment now. “That’s not true,” she said.

Rudy nodded his greasy, dark head toward the kitchen. “In my office,” he said, turning away.

And Jaclyn had no choice but to follow.

“I
’M AFRAID
I’m going to have to let you go.”

Rudy sat behind his desk, gazing up at her with small eyes that were mere slits in his brown, fleshy face. His belly rested in his lap, and Jaclyn’s personnel file was spread out in front of him.

Jaclyn stood near the open door, leaning against the wall for support, nearly leveled by shock, and horror, and myriad other emotions evoked by the injustice of his actions. “B-but you can’t,” she stammered.

He smiled, proving what Jaclyn had suspected all along. He was enjoying this. This was the moment he’d been waiting for ever since the last time she’d rebuffed him when he’d tried to talk her into coming over to his place after work.

“Actually, I can,” he said, rocking back and steepling his fingers. “I’m the boss, in case you’ve forgotten. And the complaint I just received requires serious action.”

“Serious action?” Jaclyn echoed weakly. “I’ve been a model employee ever since I started almost a year ago.”

“A model employee doesn’t threaten patrons.”

“You know I didn’t threaten anyone. And neither did—”

He held up a hand for her to stop. “A model employee shows up for all her shifts.”

“I’ve never left you hanging—”

“It’s all right here.” He tapped her personnel file. “On August fourth, you didn’t appear for work—”

“I had strep throat, and I called you—”

“You weren’t here, that’s what matters, and you received a written warning. On October tenth, you were late for work. A second written warning. On December ninth, your last and final no show—”

“And my third warning,” Jaclyn finished. “But I couldn’t come in that day. My baby was sick, and I couldn’t get anyone to cover for me.”

“Because you gave them no notice.”

“The chicken pox gave me no notice! What did you expect me to do?”

“There’s always some excuse,” he said with a theatrical sigh. “But I have a restaurant to run here. I need waitresses who are dependable.”

Jaclyn knew few waitresses were as dependable as she was. She’d missed a few days when Alyssa had the chicken pox, and she’d been late once when the bus had broken down and hadn’t come to pick up Mackenzie and Alex for school. But she never called in sick unless it was a real emergency. She had a stack of customer commendations, and she was just about the only one who took the side work—filling salt and pepper shakers and ketchup bottles, scrubbing down tables and cleaning the kitchen—seriously.

Drawing an unsteady breath, she clung tenaciously to her temper. Even with Cole’s fifty bucks, she needed the money she’d planned to make this week. She couldn’t let Rudy, and his vindictiveness, cost her that.

“Come on, Rudy,” she said. “That guy today was just trying to get a free dinner. I didn’t keep him waiting more than five minutes.”

“It was enough to make him and his wife miss their movie.”

“So he says. Give me a break. It’s only five-thirty now.”

“He says he’ll never eat here again!”

Jaclyn moved closer, but the smell of old sweat pressed her back. Rudy’s office had no windows. It was more of a
pantry, really. Small and close, with loaves of bread and other packaged items lining shelves that wouldn’t allow the door to shut, it reeked of him. He was the kind of man with stains under the arms of every shirt.

“Then Joanna’s is better off for it,” she replied. “I wouldn’t put it past that guy to plant a fly in his food.”

“If he was so bad, why didn’t you come get me?”

Because of this,
Jaclyn wanted to say.
Because I need my job too badly to give you any reason to take it away from me.

Aware of the cooks barking back and forth, the burgers sizzling on the grill, and the constant tramp of feet just outside, Jaclyn lowered her voice. “You’ve been out to punish me for a long time now, Rudy. This has nothing to do with the quality of my work, does it. What is it you’re trying to prove?”

He laughed derisively. “That’s pathetic, Jaclyn. I don’t need your tight little ass running around this place. Now get your things and go.”

For a moment, the kitchen clatter outside faded away, and Jaclyn heard only the beating of her heart. Its quiet tattoo seemed to echo the words:
Alex, Mackenzie, Alyssa.
As much as she hated to lower her pride any further, especially for a man like Rudy, she thought of all the things her children would need, and knew she had no choice.

“Please,” she whispered. “You know I have kids who are depending on me. At least let me work out the week.”

He snapped her file shut and hefted himself to his feet. “I’m afraid I can’t do that,” he said. “Now, if you’ll go, I have to get back on the floor.”

D
AMN HIM
,
Jaclyn thought. She’d run into Cole Perrini for the first time in ten years, and he’d gotten her fired. Just like that.

Her eyes blurred as she scanned the want ads, and she paused briefly to wipe away two stubborn tears that rolled,
one at a time, down her cheeks. As soon as she’d left Joanna’s, she’d stopped by a convenience store to buy a newspaper. The checker had stared at her red, swollen eyes, causing her to chafe under the unwanted scrutiny, but it hadn’t taken long to plunk down a buck seventy-five, grab a newspaper and a cola, and hurry away. Now she sat at her scarred wooden dining table, the sun fading to dusk outside, feeling the emptiness of her small house surrounding her like a shroud, and was both grateful for the privacy and terribly lonely.

Things’ll get better,
she told herself.
It’s only been a year.
But it was hard to have much faith in finding a pot of gold at the end of this rainbow, when everything she saw in the paper either paid too little or asked too much.
Computer experience required. Medical experience required. Bachelor’s degree required. Technical skills a plus…

Her chair raked the linoleum as she rose to stare into the refrigerator. She hadn’t eaten since breakfast, but with the children gone, there seemed little point in preparing a home-cooked meal. Retrieving a package of instant noodle soup from the cupboard, she set some water on the stove to boil, went to the bathroom to blow her nose, and returned to the kitchen table to resume her job search.

She’d never get ahead working as a waitress, she thought. She had to find something else, something with a future.

What about becoming a secretary? Though she was probably a little rusty, she’d taken typing in high school, and she still had some nice clothes left over from her married years. Office hours would be ideal, especially during the winter when the children were in school.

Problem was, most of the secretarial positions she saw required computer experience. She barely knew how to turn on a computer, let alone run Quickbooks or Excel or Microsoft Word or any of the other programs she saw listed so
frequently. Some companies demanded previous experience, as well, and she doubted having changed a million dirty diapers would qualify her.

At last, Jaclyn saw an ad that made her pause:

Wanted: receptionist. Phones, light typing. $9/hr. No benefits.

No benefits? Well, she didn’t have benefits now. Quickly, she did the math. If she worked forty hours per week, she’d make $1,440 a month before taxes. Rent was $850. Her car payment was $350. Car insurance, $100. Health insurance, $340, utilities $180, and the list went on. Even with Terry’s $750 in child support, she’d be in the red before she bought any gas or groceries or clothes for the kids—she still had the credit-card bills she’d rung up while they were married that the court had ordered her to pay.

The pressure of tears began to build behind her eyes again, causing a headache. Dammit! What now? She’d have to go back to waiting tables. She had no choice. She could have augmented what she made as a waitress giving piano lessons, but she didn’t have a piano. Terry had kept her baby grand, along with almost everything else, when they divorced.

The telephone rang, and Jaclyn looked at it with no intention of answering. But then she thought it might be the kids, that they might need her, and picked up the receiver.

“Hello?”

“Jackie?”

Terry.
Jaclyn’s stomach tensed, the way it did whenever she heard her ex-husband’s voice. Their conversations were never very pleasant.

“Is something wrong with the kids?” she asked.

“No. I thought you’d be at work. I was just going to leave a message for you to call me.”

“What for?”

“Alex says you returned the Nikes I bought him when he was here last and got him some cheaper shoes.”

The accusation in Terry’s voice was unmistakable. Jaclyn closed her eyes and shook her head. She wasn’t in the mood to fight about the shoes. She’d just lost her job, and Terry’s biggest concern was making sure Alex had brand-name sneakers.

“I did,” she admitted.

“Why? You had no right to do that.”

“I had every right, Terry. They were sixty dollars, enough to buy shoes for all three children, and you deducted it from my child support this month.”

“That’s what child support is for. To buy clothes and shoes and other things.”

“But it’s not up to you to decide how the money is spent. The kids are living with me most of the time, and we had other priorities.”

“Like?”

Like food and electricity.
But Jaclyn wasn’t about to admit that things were quite that dire, even though she suspected Terry already knew. She figured the kids had to reveal in everyday conversation bits and pieces that gave her away, but Terry wasn’t about to make life any easier on her. He wanted her as miserable as possible, and he didn’t seem to care if his children suffered right along with her.

“It’s none of your business how I spend the money,” she said. “I don’t have to account to you. Believe me, it takes every dime and then some to give the kids what they need. It’s not like I’m spending the money on myself.”

“But they don’t have what they need. I don’t want a kid of mine running around in ten-dollar tennis shoes!”

Jaclyn stifled a groan. “That’s great, Terry,” she said. “Then, I have a simple solution. Buy Alex the Nikes and don’t charge me for them. You can buy him whatever you
want. Buy him and the girls whole new wardrobes. I won’t stop you, and I won’t take anything back, as long as you don’t deduct it from my child support.”

“You’d love that, wouldn’t you? Then you might have the money to get a new dress and a manicure and go on the hunt for another man.”

“It’s a tragedy that you won’t be generous with your kids for fear I’ll benefit in some way. It’s the same thing with the piano issue. You won’t let me have my piano even though, if I had it, I could teach the children to play.”

He chuckled bitterly. “I bought you that piano, and it cost me thousands. If you want it back, you know where to find it.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“If you don’t like the way things are, you can always change them, Jackie.”

“By coming back?”

“That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

“You sure have a strange way of showing it.”

“Are you kidding? I’ve tried every way. I’ve begged, I’ve pleaded, I’ve promised—”

“And drank and philandered and lied…”

“I’m sorry about that, Jackie. How many times do I have to say it? I’m damn sorry. I wasn’t thinking straight.”

“For twelve years? What’s changed?”

“I’ve paid my price. You’ve taught me a lesson. That’s what you wanted to do, isn’t it? Now, come home. I want my kids back.”

That’s what he thought the divorce was about? Revenge? Jaclyn could hardly believe it. What about the trust he’d destroyed, the faith, the love, the family ties? If he didn’t understand by now what losing those things had cost them all, he never would.

“You get your kids whenever you want them,” she said. “I’ve never tried to keep them from you.”

There was a long pause. “I want my wife back,” he said softly. “I still love you, Jackie.”

Jaclyn’s stomach hurt so badly she thought she might throw up. “You and your high-priced lawyers have done everything possible to make my life miserable because you
love
me? That’s not what I call love, Terry. Neither is how you treated me when we were married.”

He cursed, growing angry again. “The lawyers were your idea, dammit. I’m not taking the blame for that. I never wanted the divorce in the first place.”

Wordlessly, Jaclyn shook her head, feeling the dull throb escalate to a sharp, pounding pain. This conversation was certainly par for the day, but she and Terry had been down this road too many times. She thought about hanging up on him, but she had an issue she wanted to discuss, too, and now was as good a time as any.

“What about the decisions we made concerning the kids?” she asked.

“What decisions?”

“We agreed to make the divorce as easy on them as possible. We were going to speak kindly to and about each other. We weren’t going to place blame. We weren’t going to compete with each other for their affection. I’ve done my part, Terry.”

“And you’re saying I haven’t done mine? What exactly are you accusing me of?”

He knew, but he was playing his favorite role—the innocent, persecuted martyr.

“Every time the kids come home, they seem angry with me, as though they blame me for something,” she said.

“And you think it’s my fault that they’d rather we were a family again?”

“Don’t twist this. Alex told me what you’ve been saying about me.”

Silence.

“How can you tell them the divorce was all my fault?” she asked.

“Who should they blame, Jackie? I had nothing to do with it. I can’t believe you want me to be the bad guy.”

“I don’t think either one of us should have to be the bad guy. That’s the whole idea. We’re supposed to support each other, for their sakes. Don’t you understand, Terry? You’re not doing it for me. When you say bad things about me to them, you make them choose between us. That’s hard on a child. And it’s terribly selfish.”