Lucas
He opened the door.
Sheila was standing there, wearing a parka over her scrubs. “I’m sorry—I know I’m too late for the party,” she said. “But I just wanted to see you.”
“Come in!” He had to stop himself from picking her up and carrying her to the sofa, but he stood back as if he were a normal man and allowed Sheila to walk into the hall. “Come see our tree. Would you like some punch? May I take your coat?”
She laughed. Sheila had the best laugh.
“I would love to see the tree. Most of all, I’d like to sit down. It’s been a day.” She slid her coat off.
Lucas took the coat, only narrowly preventing himself from burying his nose in it to inhale Sheila’s fragrance. He hung it on a hook and led her into the living room.
“Oh, it’s so beautiful!” Sheila exclaimed.
She moved close to the tree, gently touching some of the ornaments. The lights shimmered across her face, making her appear even more magical.
“I’ll get some punch,” Lucas said.
“No punch, please. If I have anything alcoholic, I’d pass out right here.”
“Right,” Lucas said. “Right. Would you like some coffee?”
Sheila settled on the sofa. “I’d love a glass of water. Just plain water.”
Lucas hesitated, almost afraid she’d disappear if he left the room. But that was crazy. He went into the kitchen and filled a glass with water.
He handed the glass to her and sat on the sofa, near her, but not crowding her.
“Thanks.” Sheila sipped the water. “Everyone at the hospital was talking about you tonight.”
“What?”
“Beatrice couldn’t stop chattering about how you saved her life.”
“Really?” Does this mean Sheila will like me more? Lucas wondered, but immediately asked, “Is she all right?”
“Of course. Thanks to you. Beatrice is ready to nominate you Nantucket Citizen of the Year.”
“Good for her!” Lucas decided to buy Beatrice the biggest box of Aunt Leah’s fudge he could find. “It was only common sense.”
“Maybe.” Sheila brought her legs up to the sofa and curled up like a cat in the corner.
“But you’d be surprised how many people freeze or freak out at the sight of blood, especially when it’s pouring off someone’s body.
And some people go into a panic state. They rush to find Band-Aids or a clean towel or call 911 and end up slipping on the floor. You were totally calm and collected.”
Lucas didn’t know what to think. It was great that Beatrice had said so many nice things, and now Sheila was here saying nice things. But did it mean something more, that she had come to the house to tell him about it?
“Cool,” he said. “Maybe now you’ll like me a little more?”
“Oh, Lucas,” Sheila whispered. “I already like you more than a little more.” She leaned forward and kissed him.
Lucas was shocked. Then he was kissing her back.
Then they were making out like teenagers on the sofa in front of the Christmas tree.
It wasn’t about sex—well, this kind of kissing was always about sex—it was about Sheila accepting his love, but accepting wasn’t the right word.
It was about—Lucas stopped thinking. He’d never been happier in his life than now, when he and Sheila, both fully dressed, even with shoes on, somehow managed to be so tangled up in each other he didn’t know where he began and she continued.
They heard the front door open and slam shut.
“My parents,” Lucas said, pulling away.
“Your parents!” Sheila echoed, struggling to sit up straight.
“Your hair,” Lucas whispered.
Sheila patted her hair down. “You have lipstick all over your face.”
Lucas grabbed a paper napkin from the coffee table and wiped his face.
They skittered to opposite ends of the sofa.
Lucas’s mother walked into the living room. “Sheila! So nice to see you.” She immediately executed an about-face, saying over her shoulder, “Brick Three and I are so tired we’re just going upstairs to bed.”
They heard Brick Three mutter, “What the h—”
“We’re going to bed,” Jane said firmly and pulled Brick Three to the stairs.
Lucas and Sheila sat very still, like two guilty children who’d been caught peeking at the Christmas presents.
“My parents are home,” Lucas said. “To state the obvious.”
“You’ve never seen my apartment, have you?” Sheila asked.
“No,” Lucas said, his voice suddenly hoarse, “I haven’t, but I would very much like to.”
“Not tonight,” Sheila told him. “I’m exhausted.” She stood up. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Lucas went with her back into the hall. He helped her with her coat and somehow they ended up kissing again, leaning against the front door, all wrapped up in each other again, until they were kissing and laughing and panting and moaning at the same time.
Sheila whispered, “Tomorrow.”
Lucas walked her to the car, opened the door, watched her slide in and get settled.
Her hair was tossed into a tsunami of curls and her lips were swollen.
He wanted to tell her he loved her. Sheila shut the door, started the engine, and drove away.
Lucas put his hand on his mouth. His lips were swollen, too.
Merry Christmas, Lucas said very softly to the sleeping island, to the whole wide wonderful world.