Free Christmas Short Story

Christmas music played softly in the apartment above Hurricane Photography. The two occupants of the building played too, in a manner of speaking. Specifically they were, as the British might say, snogging.
They only came up for air when a voice, approaching from outside, finally overpowered the music on the radio.

Allie Craine broke contact and tilted her head. “I think I’m having a nightmare.”

Beside her on the couch, Chance Hamlin shook his blond head with a groan of protest. “Not unless we both are.” Chance recognized the singer. He could tell by the annoyed look on her face that Allie did, too. “It’s your brother. He’s a better singer than I thought he would be.”

“Dad paid for him to get singing lessons, until he made a pass at the instructor. He was twelve.”

“Precocious little tyke, wasn’t he?” Chance wondered if a psyche evaluation had ever been done on Ian Grant, and what it would reveal. Although Ian and Allie shared a father, they had different mothers, which apparently made a huge difference in their upbringing. Allie had never once gotten into a fist fight with a mall Santa, for instance.

“Oh, the weather outside is frightening, but at least it’s snow, not lightning ….” Ian Grant’s feet tramped up the outside stairway to the apartment, audible despite being at the opposite end of the building.

“He’s changing the words.” Climbing to her feet, Allie adjusted her blouse. “He’s done that since we were kids. I hate that.”

“And as long as you have your clothes, strike a pose, strike a pose, in the snows ….”

With a sigh, Chance also rose. His ardor had faded away as soon as he heard the third voice. “You want me to shoot him?”

“Give me a minute to decide.” Allie marched into the hallway that led past the bedrooms, into the large kitchen/dining room at the back of the building. “I can’t believe he didn’t flee back to California the day we got our first frost.”

It warmed Chance that Allie thought of Indiana as a “we” place. In recent months she’d thrown herself whole heartedly into small town Indiana life, starting her own photo studio and—temporarily, at least—leaving her storm chasing reputation behind. It would be a shame if she wasted all that good will by punching out a person who’d become a popular local celebrity—punching him out on Christmas Eve—so he hurried after her.

“When we finally say goodnight, you might have yourself frozen toes, but as long as we don’t fight, I’ll warm them up with my noooooeeeeeessssss …..” Ian Grant rapped smartly on the back door.

Just as they reached the door, Chance overtook his fiancée and gently edged in front of her. “He’s trying, Allie.”
With a sigh, Allie stepped aside. “So … you’re not going to shoot him?”

“State Troopers have to account for every bullet.” Chance pulled the door open.

“Trooper Hamlin!” Ian Grant came to attention and saluted, shaking snow from his shoulders. He wore a black winter parka, and now pulled back the hood to show those dimples made semi-famous in a series of B movies, television appearances, and celebrity magazines. But he’d recently cut his dark brown hair and shaved, which scoured away the somewhat scraggly, wild look he’d once been known for. “You’re not going to shoot me, are you?”

“On Christmas Eve? No. What are you doing December twenty-sixth?”

“Uh, trying on bullet proof vests.” Ian turned to wave his hand outside, and broke into a wide grin. “Check it out! Christmas Eve snow is the second most magical snow of all.” Huge flakes floated down behind him, haloed in the security light across the street.

“It causes a lot of magical accidents.” Cops didn’t necessarily love holidays, especially in his case: Chance had to work Christmas Day. “You haven’t seen a lot of snow, have you?” Behind Chance, Allie snorted.

“On skiing trips. This is … different.” Ian watched the falling snow for a moment, then turned back with a more contemplative expression. “Peaceful. Like—it means something different here.”

Chance had trouble keeping a straight face. Ian Grant, the partiest of party animals, couldn’t reconcile the idea of something being both fun and peaceful. When Allie’s brother arrived five months ago Chance had been fully prepared to hate him on her behalf, but even when they first met he could tell Ian had changed from the character Allie described—when she spoke of him at all. Maybe it was because he’d never met that former personality, but Chance had less trouble adapting to the new Ian than Allie did.

“I’m a little surprised you’re still in Indiana,” Allie finally said.

“I said I would stay. Remember, I rarely fail to follow up on my promises—I just didn’t make many promises to follow up on.” Ian blinked a flake from his eyelash, then caught his sister’s expression. “Did I interrupt anything?”

“Not at all,” Chance said.

“Yes,” Allie said.

“Ah.”

They stood for a moment in uncomfortable silence, until Chance’s mind focused on what his mother would say about being impolite. “Would you like to come in?”

“Thanks.” It was an uncertain response, but Ian stepped through the door, shook the snow off, and carefully stayed on the rug right inside. “Mrs. Hamlin sent me over to remind you about the service tonight at seven.” Then he looked past them, and his eyes grew wide. “Wow. Cool.”

They’d erected the Christmas tree in the corner of the kitchen/dining area, the largest room in the house. Red and green lights ran across the ceiling to all four corners, and down from there to the floor. Every surface was covered with some colorful, Christmas related trinket, from a cheery Santa on the kitchen counter to a nativity scene on a shelf. The room was, quite literally, glowing with Christmas.

Ian took a step forward, craning his head. “Wow. Beth was involved with this, wasn’t she?”

“My sister can be a force of nature,” Chance confirmed. “She and Allie did it while I was working—the whole place looks like this.” He wouldn’t have gone this far. But Allie’s wandering life the last few years had kept her from decorating for any holiday, and he suspected she was overcompensating.

“Why didn’t someone just call us?” Allie asked, although she didn’t sound as irritated as before.

“They tried.” Ian continued to gaze around the room.

Simultaneously, Chance and Allie reached for their pockets. Then they looked to the dining room table, where they’d deposited both their phones—both their silenced phones. Then they looked at each other. Allie took a breath. “We were in the—”

“Bedroom?” Ian wagged his eyebrows.

“Living room!” his sister snapped, as she marched over to pick up her phone.

“Sorry.” Ian looked around again. “I didn’t decorate.”

Time to change the subject. “Where are you staying?”

“That apartment in Albion. I bought the building to start a production company, but it’s too small.” Ian’s smile vanished. “Fran told me I should decorate, but I got busy. I did buy a chair and bed from Ikea … put it together myself, and now I’ve got a chair-bed. A ched. Yeah.”

For a moment an expression passed over Ian’s face that was so bleak he appeared almost in mourning. Chance glanced at Allie and saw her surprise. “Fran doesn’t decorate that much, herself,” he told the other man.

“Yeah, but I should have listened to her. She’s my girlfriend, you know? Or … partner, or steady, or whatever the kids are calling it these days. I’ve never had a significant other at Christmas. I’ve never had a significant other. Not really. I was always too busy being charming and funny.” It didn’t sound like bragging.

“Trying to be, anyway.” Allie was typing onto her phone, half listening.

That said something about his former life, didn’t it? “You’ll find Fran is very forgiving.” Chance had known Fran for what—ten years? Twelve? “She really likes you—trust me on that.” He checked his watch, and almost missed the look that passed between his fiancée and her brother.

“Are we good?” Ian usually radiated confidence, but now he looked almost like a whipped puppy. “I haven’t talked to you much.”

“We’re good,” Allie told him, with a slight smile. “But you need to learn balance. Things go slower here in Indiana: We try to take a little time to stay in contact with friends and neighbors, and relatives.”

“Wait.” Ian tapped himself on his chest. “It’s my fault? Again?” Chance thought Ian was joking—his default position—then realized the other man was dead serious. “Have I already fallen off the personality wagon?”

“You never really got on to begin with.” Seeing Ian’s expression, and to the surprise of both men, Allie put the phone away and hugged her brother, hard. “Working long hours is a far cry from being a notorious Hollywood playboy. People around here like hard workers.”

“Yeah, well …” When she released him Ian stood back, started to speak, then shrugged. “See, that’s my secret: I wasn’t partying just to have fun. That’s why I never drank a lot, or did any drugs. It was my way of networking—making contacts, staying in the pubic eye, that kind of thing. You won’t find anyone who’ll complain about me being difficult at work—I just made sure my name was out there.”

Allie stared at her brother, eyes wide and eyebrows arched toward the sky. “Are you telling me you faked all that trouble you got into?”

“Oh, no, I had lots of fun, especially at the start. It was just kind of … a multilayered thing. Like Bruce Wayne being Batman.”

With Allie still too stunned to speak, Chance tried to break the spell, even though he was almost as surprised. “Wait—Bruce Wayne is Batman?”

Allie glanced at him, shook her head, and hugged Ian again. “We’re good. I was only annoyed when you showed up because I was making out with my fiancé, and I don’t like to have that interrupted. I know there’s a lot of history between you and me, but you’ve been trying. Just remember to pay attention to friends and family.”

“I’m not used to having friends who aren’t talking business. Guess I’ve still got a lot of make up for.” When she released him, Ian reached inside his coat. “On a related note, I have this for you.” He handed Allie a present, wrapped—badly—in red paper, with a green ribbon. “Sorry about the wrapping job—I’m practicing. By the way, Chance, I bought your sister a horse.”

“You—what?”

“I didn’t wrap it, though.”

“You mean a real—?”

“Beth was my first friend in Indiana, and she’s been a great help. Don’t worry, I got her a saddle too.”

Chance’s mind buzzed, while Allie touched his arm, then opened the gift. She stared at it for a long time, then turned to show it to him.

The horse thing was surely a joke, so Chance turned his attention to what was right in front of him. It was a fashion figure, outfitted in a brown and tan field outfit, and armed with a camera. “Photojournalist Barbie?”

“Oh, my.” Allie stared down at the doll, her mouth open.

“I, um, kind of destroyed her first Barbie when we were kids. I couldn’t find another exactly like it, but when I saw this I thought—well, there’s our little storm chaser, right there. Her hair’s even brown.”

Allie handed the doll to Chance. “Wait here.” Her voice caught, but she turned away and headed toward the bedrooms before he had a chance to speak.

“You think she likes it?” Ian stared after her, clutching his hands together.

“I think she does. But why not give it to her tomorrow at Mom’s house?”

“Well, I didn’t know what her reaction would be. See, I thought it would be neat to tape her original Barbie to a model rocket, but there was flame, and melting, and … would she throw this one? Bite it’s head off, and spit it at me? She’s a strong woman, she could probably pierce my skin with a Barbie leg.”

“Don’t worry about that. She has a knife in that multi-tool she keeps on her belt.”

“Oh, great.”

When Allie approached again, she held a present of about the same size as the one given her—in green paper, with a red ribbon, and a much better wrapping job. “I was going to give this to you tomorrow, but now turned out to be a better time.”

“Did you get me a Ken doll?” Ian started to tear the paper off, then carefully peeled back the tape to keep the wrapping intact. “I’m trying to avoid leaving more messes behind—whoa.”

It was indeed a doll, or rather an action figure. Chance grinned, remembering how Allie had crowed in triumph when it arrived in the mail.

“Wait, this is—this is—whoa.” He pulled it from the box, his mouth open as he examined the green clad figure. “It’s Talking G.I. Joe. ‘All units, commence firing!’ ‘Enemy planes, hit the dirt!’ It’s just like the one you threw in the trash after I destroyed your Barbie.”

Allie took a breath. “It is the same one. I never threw it in the trash, I just hid it and told you I did.”

He looked up at her. “What?”

“Well, it was from the 70s—I heard Dad tell you it was a collectible when he gave it to you. What made him think he could trust you—”

“I was eleven.”

“Yes, and the next year you destroyed my Barbie, and made a pass at your voice instructor. I saw the writing on the wall. So I hid it before I left to see Mom, and by the time I got back you’d gone to see your mom—which is when I told Dad what really happened, and he put it back in his safe. It arrived in the mail from him three days ago, so I guess he’s forgiven you for almost getting sued by the instructor.”

Ian stared at her, his eyes wide. “Wait, what—she threatened to sue? All I did was ask if she could help me practice kissing.”

“I wanted revenge, but I couldn’t just throw it away—it was Dad’s action figure before it was yours.”

Slowly, Ian’s expression softened. “So … you think he’s forgiven me?”

Allie had tensed, but now also started to relax. Ian, Chance decided, had addressed the correct concern. “He was okay with you getting it back,” Chance told him. “Now, you know what this means.”

Ian glanced at the figure again, then looked to Chance. “What?”

“Now that you have a collectible, you have to settle into some place where you can display it.” When Ian first arrived in Indiana, Chance had checked into him. Ian Grant, at the time, had been living mostly with friends or in hotels. He had the money to get a place of his own, but apparently never thought about it.

“Heh.” Ian exhaled. “Yeah. Except for what I packed in my car, all my worldly belongings are in a storage unit in California. I don’t care all that much for stuff, but it would be nice to have a place to hang my hat. And I love Indiana. I love a place that has four seasons.”

“We’ll see if you feel that way come January,” Chance muttered. Remembering they were supposed to be heading out for Christmas Eve services, he glanced at the glowing angel wall clock.

“I’m going to build a house here, and G.I. Joe will go on the fireplace mantle,” Ian was saying. “A house for me, and Fran. We’ll decorate every holiday. Christmas. Independence Day. Arbor Day, Festivus, whatever. If she’ll have me.”

“She’ll have you.” Allie gestured toward the door. “Now, let’s get going. Fran’s at the Catholic Church and Beth is with her friends, so Chance’s mom will be especially upset if the three of us are late. I’ll drive us.”

“Great! I’ll admit to getting a little cold on the way here.” Ian turned and headed out the door, but Chance grabbed Allie’s arm to delay her.

“Fran’s church has midnight mass. She and Beth were both supposed to be with the family, so what—?”

Allie whispered in his ear. “They’re on their way to Ian’s apartment … to decorate for Christmas. It seems Fran understands how hectic starting a business can be.”

“Something tells me you instigated this.” Taking her arm, Chance followed Allie’s brother out the door. Ian was halfway down the stairs, singing in the whirling snow.

“I’m dreaming of a white Christmas, to bury all those scary gnomes. They hide in your garden, and beg your pardon, they’re clear danger to our homes …”

Allie sighed.

It's time for your annual Christmas story!